Chapter 4
Standing in front of the Seeley's bedroom mirror, Elle's image, sleek and statuesque reflected back towards her. With a new sense of self, a razor sharp bob that graced her cheekbones, and a newly laundered suit, that screamed professional female, she took a deep breath. Then, she took another. Tiny flashes of lights flickered before her eyes. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, standing firmly with her feet planted on the ground, waiting for them to shimmer and fade. Now wasn't the time to stress out. This was her second chance.
"Wow," Seeley whistled, "forgot how good you look in a suit."
"So did I," she never took her eyes off the mirror, Seeley's presence apparent in the same reflection.
Her crisp white button down, her collar just as sharp as the angles of her hair, fit her well. Emphasizing her lean neck and providing enough cleavage to be deemed proper she left the first two buttons undone. She zipped up her leather boots, with the half-inch heels and thick soles, perfect for walking and comfortable enough to strike up a jog if the situation called for it. In addition, the heels gave her confidence, something she had long since forgotten she owned, since Iraq. The last time she wore a suit, was when she was transported back to the United States after her mission in Iraq. As if, putting on that suit, could mask the shell of an agent she had become.
Her appearance had drastically been altered; she initially posed as a graduate student who was secretively involved with a high profile, though low on the radar, terrorist cell. Her mission was to gather Intel as she simultaneously fed the enemy vital, yet, benign information, from her own government. Once, she proved viable, her sleek appearance became more relaxed, yet foreign; she donned a burqa when in public and her long, deep, chocolate brown hair, which she took pride in, began to gain inches as she kept it concealed.
"I spent months with this covered," she tugged at her shortened tresses, "and now that I have the freedom to wear it down…" her voice trailed.
"Uncle Sam's insisting you follow protocol," Seeley finished.
"Uncle Sam…Big Brother," she flicked her hand, "fictitious men representative of a male dominated government."
"I took an oath," she turned to face him, "to serve and protect," she smiled a bit wickedly.
"But I never said I'd be happy about it."
Seeley knew not to add fuel to the fire and as he straightened his tie, he mentioned that cup o' Joe that he promised they'd get on the way to headquarters. Elle looked down at her watch and her eyes went wide with shock.
"Seeley," she tapped the face of her watch, "I think my battery's slowing down."
"I have ten to eight," she looked up, "that can't be right."
"It's true," he laughed, "I let you sleep in."
"Seeley!" she threw up her hands in frustration, "Being late isn't something I had planned for my first day back."
"Relax your pretty little head," Seeley reassured her, "I got a call this morning saying your interview got pushed back."
Stunned, Elle furrowed her brow,
"Why didn't I receive that call?"
"Seems the Director wants to speak with me as well," Seeley's eye twinkled with mystery.
"Perfect," Elle sighed, "how is it that the agent who shot at an ice-cream truck, has any say on my being reinstated?"
"Easy," Seeley headed towards the front door, "you know how touchy I am when it comes to clowns."
"Prickly is more like it," she gritted her teeth, "nonetheless, you know how touchy I can be when my identity comes as a package deal," she pointed a finger at him and back at herself, "rather than being seen as an individual capable and willing to do her job."
"Admit it," he irresistibly smiled, "we did make a great team, you and I."
Closing the door behind him, he knew she agreed, regardless of her silence. The look on her face gave it all away; they were a great team, on and off the job. No matter how infuriating he could be, or how stubborn, she was known to be, they could outmaneuver the shrewdest of criminals, without speaking a word. Now, that, was a symbiotic relationship.