𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓘𝓬𝓮 [𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊]

28

She would probably always walk with a slight limp. She no longer needed a cane, and it had only been three months since Kim Jongin had riddled her with bullets. She'd come a long way in a short time, but there was nerve damage in her thigh, and all the hard work and therapy in the world wasn't going to change that.

She wouldn't work in the field again. From now on she'd be behind a desk, gathering Intel. The Well-known Ice would exist no longer, the best closer in the business would work no more. She'd retired from the field, her last mission a spectacular failure on her part, at least. For some reason it didn't bother her. She'd paid for her screw up, Jennie was alive and happy and back at work, she expected, having recovered from her brief sojourn in thee world of death and intrigue. She would have recovered from her infatuation quite quickly, she expected, the moment she got back into her Chanel and Gucci.

She'd been in London three months, a month in hospital, another in rehab and a month stuck in her empty, sterile apartment, thinking about a mouthy lawyer namely Jennie Kim, thinking what went through in those few months, until she finally got leave to go out of town. She'd put it off too long; she had to put the Wiltshire house on the market. It was part of a world that she'd never live in. Fires in the hearth, babies in the rug, gardens with the scent of wild roses filling the air. Not for her. She'd become another Park. Cold and efficient, but not quite so ruthless. Madame Lee wouldn't work forever, even though she looked far younger than she had to be. There was always room for advancement in the bloody Committee.

She couldn't drive her car, It was a standard, and working the clutch was a little more than she was up to, so she rented an automatic and headed out into the country on a bright, warm summer day that seemed to mock her bleak mood.

She stopped for lunch on the way, for some reason putting off getting to the house. Once she arrived she'd need to call the real estate agent, go through the place and see what needed work, see if someone could come in and do something about the overgrown gardens.

She'd meant to do that earlier in the spring, but things had taken a strange turn. But life was back to normal, her icy control was back in place, and she could move forward as she'd meant to all along, before things had gotten sidetracked.

She turned into the winding driveway, frowning. The weeds that had choked the paving stones were gone, the hedges neatly trimmed. Had she hired a gardening firm and not remembered? It was always possible, considering it had been a rough few months.

The back door was unlocked, another unnerving occurrence. She wasn't worried about unpleasant surprises and she was no longer worthy of being terminated. Not worth the trouble of setting up a hit, she could live out the rest of her life any way she wanted it.

She stopped dead in the hallway. The place was spotless, sunlight sparkling through the tiny windowpanes on either sides of the door, fresh flowers on the table. There were car keys lying there, but she hadn't seen another car. Then again, she hadn't looked in the garage.

Good God, had Madame Lee sold the place behind her back? She wouldn't put it past her since she'd already told her she didn't belong here. The table in front of her looked familiar, but it could belong to someone else. She walked though into the study, to see that her grandfather's huge desk was still there. With a sewing machine on top of it.

Left turn and down two step to the kitchen. She could see new dishes in the glass-door cupboards, and someone had installed a dishwasher. She stared at it in amazement, then looked out to the kitchen door to the garden beyond.

They were beautiful. The flowers were a riot of color, waving in the soft summer breeze, and she could smell the scent of wild roses. She'd been dreaming about that, but she couldn't remember there being any wild roses nearby.