PurposeIt was another long night of work for Jacqueline. She stood before the door to the young master's bedroom, arms crossed and posture professionally straight-one did not get into the business by slouching. Her expression was its usual cold self, calculating gray eyes panning over the hall for any sign of an intruder. Her breathing had grown slow and methodic, her muscles quivering but not jumping, her heart pounding like distant jungle drums somewhere within her ears. The knife handle felt warm in her hand, soft and familiar as a third arm.Purpose5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Okay, now you pick a card-"
"Six of clubs."
"Hey! You're not supposed to tell me!"
Beyond the door, the voices of the two boys rose and fell in a steady, harmless series of waves, their childish bickering analyzed, acknowledged, and promptly discarded by the bodyguard. A weaker person, having spent the past several hours listening to them play, would have felt envious, even indignant, at the contrast. Here she stood, humble and anonymous Jacqueline,