Exactly. Popular fictional character: Mitch Rapp, the late Vince Flynn's unequaled thriller hero, his legacy resumed by Kyle Mills.
We left off here last Friday. Here's a brief snapshot of that segment moving right into the next.
Perusing the menus, they closed them simultaneously and sipped their drinks.
“I’m not great at making conversation.”
“A man of few words. I can appreciate that.”
“What about you?”
She gave a brief laugh. “I have a tendency to spill my guts with little provocation. An open book mostly. Except where work is concerned.”
She noticed he gave her that almost smile.
“Husband, boyfriend?” He caught her quick look away and back to him.
“I believe we share a similar circumstance in our distant pasts. My fiancé was KIA. We were told it was in Afghanistan, but I suspect that was a ruse.” She adjusted her posture. “No one even remotely serious since.”
He studied her. She didn’t flinch. “But many have tried?”
She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Some.”
The young man returned with pad and pencil. Rapp nodded at Christine and she gave him her order. Rapp followed with his. He nodded to them and quickly returned to refresh Rapp’s coffee with the dark brew.
“So, you want to ‘spill your guts’ to me? Outside of work of course.”
She laughed. “Okay. I’m willing to tell you some things that Irene wouldn’t have mentioned and that you possibly might not appreciate.”
“Intriguing.”
She spoke directly to him, her tone firm and serious. “Not that ‘intriguing’, Rapp, but very real to me. I’m a Christian.”
She watched as the expressionless mask took over his face but not before she caught the minute moment of a reaction in his eyes.
The waiter arrived and carefully placed their plates in front of them. He spoke for the first time. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be back with a refill of your drink and more espresso.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said after they’d both taken a few bites and got their beverages refilled.
She set her fork down and took a drink from her glass. “Well, I’m surprised that you’re not.” She smiled at him.
He too set his fork down, sat back a bit, and looked at his plate, pensive.
She waited, her glass on the table still in her hand.
“As you’re well aware, we come across all kinds of people in this world. I’ve seen some of the worst.” He paused and grasped his cup but left it on the table. “You could say I’ve had to look the devil in the eye.”
She waited.
“I’ve wondered how I’ve managed to make it this far.”
He picked up his fork and went back to his meal as did she.
“I see why this is a favorite place of yours. Great food, nice atmosphere, good people. Feels good to have a few ‘normal’ minutes.” He took a drink of his espresso. “So what else?”
It took her a moment to realize his reference, but she added, “I love to hike, but I can’t do heights or cliffs. Really can’t. As a kid, I rode my bike everywhere, but I hate bike riding and bike riders now – at least those who think they should have equal space with cars.”
He gave one of his rare laughs but sobered quickly. “Yeah, thought I’d take up biking for a brief stint.” He paused. “Didn’t work out.” He finished his espresso. “Heights I can do. It’s caves for me. Do my best to stay out of them.”
She felt her face heat briefly as she considered what to say next.
“What?”
She glanced up from a quick look at her plate.
“It’ll no doubt strike you as silly, and comparably it’s downright ridiculous,” she said with a brief shake of her head.
“Let’s have it.”
“I,” she looked away and then sat up straighter. “I’ve taken some private military instruction with various weapons combined with my self-defense classes. I’ve learned so much, and, please don’t take this wrong, but I’ve found it to be quite fulfilling as I’ve accomplished certain challenges.” She knew she blushed. “It’s nothing like what you’ve had to do,” her voice dipping.
He cocked his head slightly and watched her. “I respect that,” he said after several moments. “Did your dad suggest you do that at some point?”
“He did.”
“He must’ve known you had the talent and drive to do it.”
“He didn’t want me to get involved in . . . in what he did, but apparently he thought I could have. My brain kind of operated the way his did, and he told me I was gifted with a gun. He was my hero, you know, so his praise meant everything to me.” She reached for her napkin and quickly patted under her eyes. “I’m sorry, Rapp. I didn’t mean to make this conversation about me.”
“That’s the best part of this conversation. I prefer not making it about me.”
She took another drink and hesitated briefly before saying, “Is there anything you want to tell me or ask me? I know you’ve been trained to evaluate people. Not only because of your line of work but because of your innate sense of self-preservation, you won’t easily trust me if ever at all. If you don’t want to be my client, I would hope that somehow we might be able to cultivate a friendship. Do you think that could ever be feasible?”
Rapp decided right then that he liked this woman. She was truthful and had no obvious desire to play games. She didn’t pry into his life even though he suspected she knew a fair amount about him, having said as much in her office when she told him she’d admired him for some time. He considered her offer.
“If you had to choose, which one would you take?”
“Friendship, hands down,” she replied without hesitation. “But before that could happen, I have a confession to make. Not here though.”
Father, thank you for the fun, the absolute enjoyment, of writing this. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.