Paris Geller is a CIA agent, who lives out her life stealing secrets from foreign officials and changing her identity to keep a low profile. Though her life is hectic and lonely, it definitely heats up after she meets a convict on the run named Tristan Dugrey. Can the two learn to work together or will they risk exposing themselves in the process?? Review!!! POV: Paris
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I was raised in a devout Jewish family with five brothers ranging in age from twenty-seven to ten years old. My mother was a homemaker and a friend whenever you needed a little boost after a long, hard day. When I was little, I use to follow her around like a lost puppy and partook in anything that she would do around the house. If she was sweeping, I was sweeping. To me, the whole thing was just a fun, little game of follow the leader.
The true leader in our family though was my father, Lieutenant Jarred Geller, military informant for the United States' army. He was a man of pride and anything controversial. If you ever got into a fight with him, the odds are that you would lose automatically. My father studied the art of speech and debate in his free time, and loved to have arguments with my brothers and me. I can still remember him now, leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on top of the desk. There was usually a fat cigar slanted downwards from his mouth, creating puffs of smoke in the air.
"What stand do you take on this issue?" he would ask in a gruff voice, as he grotesquely inhaled the toxic fumes from the cigar. My hands would be folded neatly in my lap and my gaze resting on the floor.
"I have no real opinion…" I stammered in a small voice. His eyes would narrow and pierce through my tiny frame; analyzing and observing my movements.
"Neutrality is a choice, and it's the wrong one…" he barked, as he slid forward and dabbed the ashes into the tray.
To be quite frank, my father was a tough man, but I admired him for that. When money was tight and tragedy struck the nation, he would always be there to hold us together.
My thoughts were interrupted by a loud chuckle heard from a little ways away. Dim lighting hovered over the pocket-sized café. It was in the evening, no later than 6:00 pm, as the sun prepared to rest behind the shadows. Rays of light glared through the maroon curtains of the shop and fell short across the hardwood floor.
I was seated alone in the corner with my newspaper neatly folded in front of me. Low murmurs and the occasional banging of cups against porcelain plates were heard. I peered around me only to come across intimate circular tables lined along the walls and the windows. The general appearance created such a cozy and inviting atmosphere. I smiled ever so slightly and then, tipped my eyes back down towards the words written in ink:
"United States government seeks to secure lines with Chinese officials…"
I had seen this type of rubbish all too well. It was printed and reprinted in practically every magazine and newspaper in the world. Problems existed internally within both governments, causing a CIA agent, like myself, to automatically work overtime. My whole life revolved around staying aware and attentive to all my surroundings. I could tell you how many people were seated at the bar, what they were wearing and how many drinks they've had already without looking up another time. It came along with the job description.
The small bell on the door rang, signaling that someone had entered the café. I briefly looked up, trying not to appear too conspicuous, and traced my eyes from the old men sitting at the bar to the new comer. He had a light head of hair, tossled and muddled a bit. Stormy blue eyes peeked through the strands. I gazed back down at the article in front of me. I had already spent too much time observing him. The maximum limit an agent was supposed to survey an individual was around five seconds.
The man sauntered past my table and sat one over. My fingers gripped tightly around the newspaper, losing their usual olive cast and acquiring a pale tinge. He was making me nervous. Something about this guy was not quite right. I shifted in the wooden chair for a second and used the milk container plated with silver to view his reflection. The man was in his early twenties, with dull looking clothes and a bland complexion. If someone tried to rob him on the street, they'd be deeply disappointed because the guy hadn't a stitch of wealth on him; no watch, no ring, nothing. I gazed at him through the mirror image for a bit longer, before his eyes shifted over to me.
Darn…I thought in my mind, diverting my attention back to the article. I feared that he might have noticed my watchful stare. My thoughts were interrupted by an older woman who was now bringing pastries and coffee to his table. The young man thanked her in a low acknowledgment and then, proceeded to take a sip from the small cup. The energy this guy radiated was detached and outlandish. I knew that he wasn't a local, but nothing more. It's like he was an open book with empty pages.
All of a sudden, the young man scooted back his chair and let a few grayish coins fall against the wooden table. Then, he pulled his coat tightly around him and made his way out of the café. Old men sat smoking their pipes at the bar or slowly sipping their coffee; not noticing the absence of one less member. I got up quickly as well and placed a bill on top of the porcelain plate. Subsequently rolling the newspaper under my arm, I paced out of the shop and into the rapidly approaching night air. The man was speedily walking down the street. I followed him at a safe distance and made barriers between me and the man in question.
He crossed the avenue and darted down a sidewalk towards the town square. I followed him every step of the way. Soon, the distance between us became further and further. Pedestrians and bicyclers blocked my view causing me to stop and do a 360.
"Where is he?" I muttered under my breath; shifting my eyes from person to person, shop to shop. He was gone.
Then, out of nowhere, a hand wrenched my arm and pulled me into an alley. I slammed against a brick wall, as a body pressed firmly against my own.
"Who are you?" he spat brusquely, releasing his palm from over my lips. I stared at him blankly and took a deep breath. His eyes were large and blazing with fury. Small green accents blended into the light blue swirls. I slanted my eyes and bit my lip.
"I might ask the same question" I replied steadily, not dropping my gaze. His heart-shaped face had stubble all down the cheeks. Reddened lips parted to release warm breaths, which tickled my neck.
"Don't be an idiot…I know you were following me!" he roared, pushing me flesh against the wall now. I inhaled sharply and tried to look at anything but him. My eyes landed on a Chinese officer who was now crossing the town square and making his way towards us. Not risking the chance of getting questioned, I dipped my face close to this mysterious man's and kissed him. A loud groan of confusion and unexpectancy exuded from his throat. I released my hands from under him and ran them through his hair. My tongue dove into his mouth, as my lips attacked his hesitant ones. I could feel his grip slowly releasing on me. His hands found their way to the sides of my face and brought me into him. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the officer stopped and then, turned to walk away.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I pushed the man back and tried to escape; but his arm caught mine.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded, throwing me against the wall again. I tried to steady my breath, but was violently taken by the shoulders and forced to walk with the man. We paced down the alley way through a narrow street.
A dingy building with broken windows and peeling paint stood in direct view.
"Come on…" he barked, peering around him before pulling me up the steps to the place.
The next thing I knew, I was being tied to a chair in a cluttered room with little to no light. Night was approaching quickly over the small town.
"Who are you?" he asked again, while tying the rope into a knot. I tried to free myself by twisting and turning, but it didn't work. He got up from behind me and pulled back my head by my hair. I winced a little from the sudden pain pulsating through my scalp.
"Tell me who you are!" he growled. I narrowed my blue eyes and let my expression remain relaxed.
"You're a spy aren't you? I can tell…" he muttered letting my head fall forward. My blonde strands of hair fell at the sides of my face.
"Why am I here?" I articulated softly. He ambled over to the window and peered out on to the street.
"I wouldn't do that…" I warned. He turned his head and glared at me; his soft blonde hair falling over his eyes.
"And why's that?" he insisted, placing his hands on his hips. My face hardened and my body tensed.
"Because they might be taking pictures…" I asserted calmly.
"Who are you?" he screamed, racing towards me and taking out his gun from his coat pocket. My eyes didn't even flinch. I was trained for this sort of scenario. He held the small black point right in front of my face and yelled:
"Tell me! Who sent you…how many are there?" I furrowed my brow in confusion, as he grabbed the hair on my head and wrenched it forward. I leaned down and allowed him to dust the strands away from my neck.
"Number: 0184762…you're an agent for the United States Central intelligence. I should have known…" His voice trailed off, as he let my head lift upright again. Staring deeply into my eyes, he watched as my chest rose and fell rapidly.
"How did you—" I began slowly, but was cut off. The man placed the gun on top of the coffee table and proceeded to strip off his coat and his shirt. I sighed, as my gaze trailed down his muscular body. A broad chest and well-built stature caused my cheeks to flush. He turned around and pointed to the back of his neck.
"I have the same tattoo. Number: 0184760…we're in the same sanction in the CIA" he announced, quickly spinning around again and retrieving his shirt. I blinked once or twice and looked out the window.
"What were you running from?" I asked monotonically. He pulled his shirt over his head and slipped it down his stomach.
"I'm convicted with murder" he stated bluntly; glancing over at me to see my reaction. Noticing this, I purposefully remained still.
"Who did you murder?" I questioned again.
"I didn't murder anyone…that's the point. Why am I even telling you this?" he roared, picking up the gun from off the table and pointing it at me.
"Tell me your codename or I swear to God, I'll shoot you!"
"What?" I mumbled, pretending to play dumb.
"You know what I said…tell me what your codename is!" His face filled with frustration and hostility. I knew that if I pushed him hard enough, he would kill me.
"So, what…you're just going to sit there and not say anything?" he mocked, taking a few steps toward me. I diverted my gaze away from him and remained nonchalant. The man leaned forward and whispered in my ear:
"Right leg or left leg?" I could fell the cold pistol brush against my bare skin. Gulping with difficulty, I opened my mouth.
"Lima…" I whispered, closing my eyes. It was the hardest thing in the world to admit to someone something so private. I had spent my whole life trying to keep that piece of information confidential.
The man licked his lips and let out a small sneer.
"That doesn't matter…"—he asserted evenly—"we're working for the same people. Codenames are worthless." I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him. His fingers ran through his hair, as he sat down on the arm of the couch.
"I'm agent Tristan Dugrey a.k.a. Titan. I work for the CIA, sanction 4.2 and graduated last year from the University of Cornell. My head operatives are Josh Glencoe and Harris Mcglaton. Enough said…" His voice disappeared and his eyes gazed down at the floor. My heart stopped beating so fast, as I came to realize that this guy was on my side.
"Who are charged with killing?" I asked in a small voice. The muscles around his eyes twitched.
"Lu Chin Mao's daughter…he was an official for the Chinese Imperial Council." My lips quivered slightly, as my eyelids fluttered.
"If you get convicted here in China, you'll be executed…" I whispered disbelievingly. Tristan nodded his head and ran his hand down the side of his face.
"That's why I thought you were following me…and then, you kissed me" he declared with a slight chuckle, causing me to blush.
"I only did that because—"
"Yes, I know. That officer would have stopped and questioned us…why not make him think we're just two stupid Americans making-out" he asserted teasingly. I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth.
"That's not funny" I argued defensively. Laugh lines around his eyes and cheeks became visible. He was actually a very handsome man.
"Look, will you untie me now?" Tristan stared at me for a moment and then, made his way over to the chair.
"You're too memorable to be a spy" he commented, as the rope loosened around my body. I pulled myself up and tossed the rope onto the floor.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I inquired apprehensively. A smirk crept onto his face, as a finger brushed down the side of mine. My breath caught in my throat and my blood began to race through my veins. Tristan bit his lip and concentrated on my chin. Then, out of nowhere, he ripped my necklace right off my neck and dangled it in the air.
"Collateral…" he stated firmly, while backing up.
"Give that back! Collateral for what?" I yelled in protest, hitting him against the chest. He continued to walk backwards with my silver chain suspended over my head.
"Incase you run to the authorities and tell them where I'm staying…you have to let me hold something in return. Let me guess, your mother or a boyfriend gave you this—"
"Stop it!" I cut in clutching onto his shirt and arms. My goal was to lower his hand and grasp my precious treasure. He finally stumbled backwards and fell onto the couch. I followed suit and ended up above him. The necklace now lay on top of his rapidly rising and falling chest. I didn't dare grab or touch him; too afraid to leave the wrong impression.
"What are you waiting for?" he inquired, peering up into my eyes. My long strands of hair cascaded down near his face. Tristan's fingers grazed along my sides and rested on my exposed waist. The sensation was bitter sweet and left me feeling disoriented. After being alone and detached from people for so many years, it was nice to find someone in the same situation.
"Now, will you please give that back…I promise I won't tell the authorities. I'd risk getting exposed myself." Tristan debated my argument in his head and finally gave a quick nod. Picking up the delicate chain, he dangled it in front of my face and waited for me to claim it.
"Thank you" I whispered, as I snatched it from his hand and proceeded to stand upright. Tristan's eyes followed my every movement causing my nerves to jump out of control.
Then angrily, I stormed out of the rickety apartment and through the hallway. I managed to pull myself down the steps before a hand turned me around and pushed my body against the smooth wall.
"Stop…"—he uttered—"I didn't mean to be such a jerk. Stay if you want. I'd like to finally talk to someone who speaks English around here." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I couldn't help but sympathize with what he was asking. Being a CIA agent was an extremely lonely and hectic job.
"If you're a spy, then you know that I have to go" I asserted faintly. With one last glance, I continued to descend the wobbly staircase. I didn't bother to turn my head back and check if he was following me; it wouldn't have mattered. I merely composed my expression and blended in with the crowd on the street; something that I had grown accustomed to.