Episode 03-01: The Beginning

In a world of good versus evil, a day of reckoning has arrived.

The night shattered and writhed with the depth of his pain and when the sound died away the emptiness reverberated.

Ethan Fairchild was suddenly shocked out of a deep sleep literally. Gone was the emotional pain he’d been dreaming about, replaced instead by a pain of the physical variety, a pain that was of particular annoyance.

A blonde amazon towered above him like a gorgeous Mt. Olympian temptress wielding a stun gun. Not quite the sight he expected to awaken to. She’d changed her clothing since their previous meeting and now her hair cascaded in long, yellow curls. She came closer and brought her hand to his neck. She smelled like a mixture of Irish Spring and Red Door. Her hand offered pain as the device came in contact with the skin around his throat.

Obviously, today was electroshock therapy day. And nobody had warned him.

His body shot straight upward at the next electrical jolt. His face contorted in a mask of concentration, yet he didn’t reveal to his captor the pain he was in.

All at once he was completely awake. He wondered why. Thank god he was a morning person, otherwise there was no telling what he’d do to the blonde.

Octavia Kassoff took immense pleasure in torturing the spy before her. Ethan now knew why. She thought he had killed her brother. That was a load of blarney probably told to her by one of Ethan’s many enemies to give yet another person reason to kill him. The let’s-kill-Ethan bandwagon was filled to overflowing, and he for one was ready to upset the apple cart once and for all.

Ethan batted the stun gun away and twisted Octavia’s arm in a painfully awkward position. The pain he caused didn’t register on her face. Instead a knowing smile tainted his bitter morning.

"Oh, did I wake you?"she asked sweetly. Octavia kissed him hard on the mouth and he catapulted her away from him. She only laughed at his theatrics.

Her kiss was like venom. He would never take pleasure in it again.

"I thought you said you were going to kill me? Get on with it already." Ethan was tired of these petty games.

"I will, in due time."

His ex-lover lingered at the doorway casting him a lecherous glance, then she was gone.

Ethan Fairchild shook his head and laid back down on the mass of tangled bed sheets. "I hate being so popular."

*******

A familiar breeze greeted Kevin as he entered the Legacy Manor on Smith Island. A large somewhat castle-like structure inhabited one entire sector of the grounds. A small air strip and the occasional boat ride was the only entry onto the isle. Inland enough to be concealed from prying eyes and open enough not to seem too suspicious, it'suncharted and virtually hidden location made it the perfect Headquarters for the world's most secret spy organization.

The elaborate courtyard, or bailey, was rimmed with green foliage matching the trees beyond the gate. In the areathat would have been allocated for the silversmith in medieval times, was a greenhouse filled with his father’s prizedrose and tulip collection. The irregular pattern of the cobblestones flattened toward the castle itself leading to themost modern portion of the primary house... the main hall.

This was where the architect must have gone wild. There was nothing medieval or even old about the main hall. Theonly thing relatively medieval about it was that the Fairchild’s still called it the Main Hall. Stark dark brown slats rosetoward a cathedral ceiling making the inside dim and depressing. It must have been the architect’s dark period. Thewood was contrasted by stark silver accents everywhere. Kevin had never been particularly fond of this motif but hehad gotten use to it over the years.

Legacy operatives milled about in underground tunnels beneath the castle structure like ants in a farm. For a short time he made his presence known, but most knew to steer clear of him when he wasn’t his jovial self. A half an hour later he was back up in the castle. To date, not one Legacy operative had surfaced to roam the halls of the Smith

Island castle. Many were afraid the ghost stories of hauntings were true and others stayed away merely out of respect for the Legacy Director's privacy. Kevin didn't care why they stayed away. He was just glad they did. As

Kevin saw it, even if his father, Franklin, was thought to be dead, he was still the Legacy Director until the Knights

Foundation appointed a new chieftain. Hopefully, that day would be a long time in coming. Somehow, he didn’t thinkso. There was one person who was chomping at the bit to replace his father. And that person was now in a positionto take it all over. Kevin didn’t know if he liked the odds.

*******

Even as the Smith Island house brought back old memories, Kevin Fairchild couldn’t forget what had happened.

Ethan was among the missing. Faith was supposedly dead and Michela had not only lost her memory but the one lead that pointed to where Ethan might be. The castle was the perfect place to be in his current mood. The Main Hall reflected a depressing aura as did his own mind and body. Depressing was a very uncharacteristic emotion for him.

This was purely Ethan territory, and knowing that made him sulk even more.

He was not in the mood to communicate at the moment. Ethan was missing, his father was momentarily absent, and Michela was incapacitated. Only she knew where Franklin Fairchild was being hidden. And only she held the key to Ethan's disappearance. All clues remained with her. All leads stopped at her hospital room door. The only problem was ... she was unconscious in the Legacy infirmary.

The day they'd kept Michela in the Bulgarian hospital had been the worst of his life. He didn’t want to remember the look of death on her pale face, the sound of her scratchy voice, or the worst part of all... that she didn’t remember him. She didn’t remember Ethan either but that part hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Only the nudge of his trusty hound, Rocky, pulled him somewhat from his frumpy frame of mind.

"Hey there, Rockster! How ya doing? Glad to see me?" Kevin said, vigorously rubbing the pooch's furry back. Rocky gazed back at him with grateful eyes. His master had finally returned. For a second the dog hesitated, then as if compelled by a command, Rocky pounced on Kevin trailing his rough tongue all over his master’s face in long slurpy licks. Kevin couldn't help but laugh at the dog's antics.

"Good to see you too." Kevin plopped down on the couch and turned on the football game.

****

An hour later, Rocky, now comfortable with his master being home, jumped up onto the sofa next to Kevin and stared at him with a knowing only a faithful companion would have. Kevin tried to focus on the game but Rocky wouldn't tear his gaze way.

"Oh, so now you think you're Mr. Psychic Dog? Think you know what's going on in my head? Think again."

Kevin chugged on his beer glancing from time to time at Rocky who was still staring at him. Ten minutes later he realized he couldn't take another minute of this. He had never been able to lie to the dog. Why start now?

"Stop looking at me like that. It's not like I did it on purpose. It was a mistake. Pure and simple." Rocky placed his big mug on Kevin's lap as if awaiting the entire horrific story in full detail.

"She didn't know what she was saying."

 *****

"How come I never saw you before?" Michela had asked him wearily.

"Don’t worry about that now. We just need to get you out of here." He grabbed her around the waist to lift her and she twirled her fingers in his hair. It was a distraction he really didn’t need at the moment. Kevin tried to dissuade her but she wouldn’t be drawn from the subject of the two of them.

"So, I liked someone named Ethan? What about you?" Michela placed her hand on Kevin’s face and he held his breath as she slid it down to his neck. "Why didn’t I like you? I think I would have liked you much better than this

Ethan person."

He cleared his throat and forced his body to stop reacting to her touch.

"You don’t know what you’re saying." Kevin pulled her hand free from his neck.

"Of course I do." With that one simple statement she raised herself from the uneven surface and kissed him. And it hadn’t been one of those friendly little pecks either. It had been a shock all the way to his toes sort of kiss. One he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. The seconds seemed like hours. Lips touching, tongues meeting, hearts giving in. A minute later she was limp in his arms. A minute after that Kevin knew he was seriously falling in love with her.

Kevin threw his pack on the table exhaling a large sigh. He’d root through his pack later. Making a bee line to the kitchen he grabbed another beer from the fridge. All these memories of Michela was making him thirsty. Rocky watched Kevin’s aimless movements from his lazy position on the couch as if uncertain whether what he'd just heard was true.

"What was I suppose to do, huh, Rocky? Fess up? Be the man and tell her she really meant to be kissing Ethan, my brother?"

Rocky rolled onto his back still watching Kevin through long doggie lashes. The dog then stood staring at him tongue and tail wagging. Kevin took that as a yes.

"Okay, so that's what I should have done. I'll remember that for next time Michela kisses me by mistake. And maybe next time my brain might actually work to my advantage."

Kevin paced between the kitchen and the living room. The last rays of sunlight cascaded on the floor in a montage of sparkling color trailing behind him. He quickly turned as if hit by a moment of inspiration.

"I'm a professional agent, Rock. I don't get blind-sided. I wasn't expecting a reaction like that from myself and definitely not from her." Kevin paused remembering the sensation. The feel of her lips. Her hands as they touched his face. In after thought he still shuddered.

"Damn that woman can kiss. But that's just between you and me, right Rock?"

"And me." The colorful twilight patchwork pattern on the floor was interrupted by a shadow crossing its path. It was Faith.

"Oh, brother. How much did you hear?"

"Enough. Enough to send Ethan on an endless brood. Which considering the circumstances would be great for you and your newest fling."

"She's not a fling. Nothing happened."

"Right, just like the last time with... what was her name?" Faith sauntered over to the fridge and pulled a soda from inside.

"Is it really important?"

"I guess not. But this one is always different, isn't it? You always think that maybe this one is the one who can handle the pressure. Who can take your being away more than you are home. But it never quite works out that way does it, brotherly? No one appreciates a secret agent, especially a secret agent with his heart on his sleeve. Better watch out. If you keep placing your heart out there, you're bound to bleed to death."

Kevin's mouth pressed into a small hard line and the vein at his jaw throbbed. He didn't like having his life analyzed by his seventeen-year-old sister.

"No one asked you for your opinion?" Kevin plopped down on the couch again and Rocky pressed his body into his master's side as if trying to comfort him.

"Ah, man and his dog. The perfect companion."

"Faith, shut up and get out! I don't care in which order."

"Touchy, touchy. Did I hit a nerve?"

For a moment Kevin stared a hole in the television neither seeing it nor hearing it. Then it hit him.

"What happened to boarding school?"

"It's boring. You know that."

"Don't you have four more classes before you can graduate?"

"Yes. I was over at Scarlett's dad's house yesterday talking about this very thing. He tells me that Phoenix and

Scarlett's school in the Embassy would be happy to have me."

"Oh, no! If Ethan comes back and finds you're not where you're suppose to be -- he'll have my head."

"He'll have your head anyway when he finds out about you and Michela."

"That curiously sounds like blackmail."

"Take it how you like. I'm not going back there. And anyway, it's my life. I'm seventeen. Ethan has no say over it anymore."

"Like hell. Ethan has every say over it. He, number one, pays for it. Number two is your legal guardian since dad's death and number three..."

"And number three -- could give a rat's ass whether I live or die much less where I go to school. Think about it brotherly. It's either the Embassy school or your head served on a very nice silver platter. Your choice."

Kevin awoke to the television blaring and an announcer calling a totally different football game. Had it all been a dream? The entire fight with Faith an elaborate daydream? It had to have been. Faith was gone, missing. And if she wasn’t missing she was dead. Kevin placed his hands on his head and for the first time in two days cried.

*******

Through a small slit in the door, Ethan could see exactly what Octavia was up to. She apparently hadn't wasted any time getting over him. She was plastered all over another man showering him with kisses and groping all the appropriate places women tended to grope on male bodies.

Good riddance to bad rubbish was all he could say.

One thing struck him as odd, though. The man she was with seemed familiar. Too familiar. Familiar in that way which set off sirens in his head.

A minute later it came to him.

Derek Lloyd.

Ethan had vouched for the man himself as a favor to one of the Knights Foundation men working stateside. His recommendation had gotten the dolt entrance into the Legacy. He felt like such a schmuck. He let his problems with Michela takeover his brain. He was letting too many small details fall through the cracks. Derek Lloyd didn't exactly qualify as a minute glitch but at least he had a remedy for this particular problem.

Now all he needed was a cell phone and an internet connection. Without killing either of them, he could get both permanently banned from the Legacy. He didn't want them causing further chaos for any of the other agents.

Their mumbles and sighs were annoying at best but something still drew his attention. They were talking about the Paris project. Neither seemed to know more than the Legacy rumor mill did but the distraction got him back on track. He needed to find out who killed his father and why.

Hanging out with his ex-flame wasn't the best way to go about discovering exactly what the Paris project was. While Octavia was otherwise engaged with the new Legacy lunk, Ethan decided to formulate an escape and a plan. He had only one lead. A strange correspondence between his father and Jacques DuPre.

In the fax, Jacques alluded to an experimental project he wanted to incorporate into the Legacy's training facility. The first time Ethan had casually read the note it's subtle meaning was missed. Now he was sure there was more to this experiment than Jacques wanted anyone to know. He guessed at this because Franklin immediately shot down the procedure as too extreme.

Ethan wondered why. What exactly was the Paris project and how did it relate to his father's death? He had too many unanswered questions. Too many what ifs.

He wasn't usually one for revenge, but sometimes vengeance was the only way.

***** 

While Octavia and Derek were otherwise engaged Ethan swiftly retrieved a Swiss Army Knife from a secretspot in his boot. He used the blade to remove the hinges from the door frame. Three minutes later the door was ajar angling sideways like a drunken lout in a darkened alley.

As he steeled through the house making his silent retreat, Ethan heard a moan and it wasn’t a moan of ecstasy. It was a moan of anguish. Fearing an ambush, he backed into a corner and held his position quietly. Not moving. Not breathing. There was no use getting caught three feet from victory.

From where he stood he could see the front door clearly. A target he had to achieve.

Then the moan came again, this time followed by a curse.

"Dammit!" he sighed.

"What are the chances?" he wondered to himself. The moan sounded like a woman, but the curse sounded like Gia. He wondered how she’d take it if he just left her here? Considering her attitude, probably not too well. Then again, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But once she discovered he’d ditched her in a time of need... there’d by hell to pay.

Even three feet from his goal he determined he would save his director no matter how many times she’d gotten in his way in the past. He ascribed to the philosophy you got what you gave. And if he left her here to rot, he just mind find himself trapped somewhere else without an escape route. It was a spy karma sort of thing.

Before he could even formulate how to extract her from the room, the front door swung open widely crashing into the wall with the brute force of a bull. A tall man with a hellish frown on his face filled the entrance like a hulk dressed all in black. It was none other than Julian Black head of the Black Council.

"What an unexpected surprise," Ethan whispered to himself. "People with a vendetta against me are falling out of the sky left and right."

Ethan for some unknown reason couldn’t stay in the safety of his hiding place. He found it necessary to confront Julian where he stood. It must have been his male ego.

"Ah, Julian Black," Ethan said trying to sound condescending. "I wondered when you might show up."

"Am I that predictable, Mr. Fairchild?" Julian’s eyes glittered with evil.

"No, but considering the rumor of your hatred of me... I assumed you might want me dead a tad more than your Russian protégée.

"Quite perceptive," he said almost congratulatory. "Although, Octavia isn’t my protegee. She’s completely

solo on this one but you are right. I do want you dead."

"Join the club," Ethan said. "You aren’t the only one."

"Well, then, let me disband the club – permanently."

With that quiet but subtle statement, Julian revealed a gun he had hidden beneath his long black duster.

The gun was not too big but deadly enough against a man who had no fire power to speak of. A shower of bullets ricocheted across the far wall as Ethan performed a dive roll to a better hiding place. His shoulder exploded in pain.

Damn. He’d forgotten about the injury. He took a deep ragged breath trying to quell the agony.

During his tumbling pass he’d up righted a heavy mahogany table to serve as a shield. At least if he couldn’t shoot back he’d find a way not to be shot.

"You know, Julian," Ethan shouted from his crouched position. "As a spy, I do kill people from time to time."

Ethan’s train of thought was cut short by a man dressed in monochromatic gray. The stranger, obviously a minion of Black’s, came at him with the zest of a dog in heat. Ethan implemented a round house kick knocking the man back. The minion stumbled backward and collapsed on a small end table which broke under his weight. The glass top shattered in a million pieces flying across the room like shrapnel.

"I do kill people," he continued, as if the minion hadn’t attacked him. "But you give me too much credit,

Julian." Both men circled each other like boxers in a ring.

Julian’s dark eyes broiled as he grabbed the cuff of Ethan’s jacket drawing him closer.

"You killed my wife, you animal. Remember, I was there."

Not an ounce of sympathy betrayed Ethan’s features.

"Then you’re mistaken. As I recall she was killed by a bullet. In that particular instance had my gun, not me. So how could I have killed anyone?"

"You’re awfully cocky for a man about to die."

"One of my many charms."

*******

Back on Smith Island

"Kevin? Kevin?" Emma Rappaport, the Fairchild’s family maid and surrogate mother firmly shook Kevin’s shoulder drawing him from sleep. "Wake up, sleepyhead."

He wiped sleepily at his tear stained face hoping Emma hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want to tell her that both Ethan and Faith were gone too. Losing Franklin had been a big enough blow to her.

"Come on now. You don’t want to leave Philip the Fair waiting."

Emma loved to call Philip Lancaster, Philip the Fair. It seemed a fitting name. Philip the Fair was an evil ruler who destroyed everything he touched in the twelfth century including, some say, the warrior monks called the Knights

Templar. She was a major history buff plus had an unusual obsession with the Templars. The internet connection at the Smith Island castle must have skid marks, Kevin had told her once, as much as she surfed for historical facts on the web. The woman was a born researcher.

Kevin quirked an eye up toward Emma in a sort of lazy wink. One eye opened, one eye closed.

"Philip who?"

"Lancaster, hon. You know, Mister Big Britches? Seems he has an assignment for you." Emma scooped a mass of short blonde hair behind one ear and attacked the coffee table in front of him like a psychopath with a feather duster.

Kevin picked up the extension scratching his head wondering when he’d ever get a decent night's sleep. "Yeah, what?!" he said rather grouchily.

"Well, aren’t we in a pleasant mood this evening?" Philip always did have a knack for understatement.

"What do you want, Lancaster? I’m not exactly in the mood for this right now." Kevin picked up the beer from the coffee table and took a swig.

"I’m placing you on a new mission. Whatever you were doing can wait. This is more important."

"So what is it this time? Search and destroy in Angola? Find a missing person in Rotterdam? Kill someone? What?"

Kevin wasn’t in the mood for this right now. He only had one goal at the present. Wait for Michela Forsythe to regain her memory and discover exactly what she’d learned while in the monastery bed chamber.

"Word came down from the Knights Foundation this morning. We’re taking out Octavia Kassoff."

"What? Ethan’s girlfriend? I am wasting my time icing some Foundation glitch. Do it yourself. I have a brother to find." Kevin almost hung up the extension but he heard a commotion on Philip’s end and decided to hang on for a few seconds longer.

*****

While Ethan battled with Black’s minions, Julian Black himself seemed otherwise engaged. He had received a phone call only minutes after Fairchild’s tumbling pass across the room. Now while Ethan fought off the minions, who by the way were not that menacing, a look of genuine concern spread across Julian’s face. It was an emotion Ethan didn’t know the man possessed. He guessed everyone was human at some point in their lives.

Ethan kept one eye on the infamous underworld figure and the other on the men he was fighting. What was Black up to, he wondered, as he grabbed a minion by the arm, twisted around and executed an elbow strike to his skull. As that man crumpled to the floor, another minion eagerly replaced him. This was getting annoying considering Ethan would much rather be listening to Black’s conversation than fighting off his goons. One more fell to the ground and the previous one returned for more abuse. Didn’t these guys ever learn? What did Black feed them, kamikaze pills? Didn’t they know working for Black put them on death’s wish list?

He pivoted and roundhouse kicked one to the stomach. The man flew backward crashing into another and the two tumbled to the ground like a pair of dominos. While they were down and unconscious, Ethan relieved them both of their weapons. It felt good to have firepower back, even if it was from Julian Black’s personal arsenal. Right now he’d take what he could get.

While his back was turned, Julian had disappeared. Ethan guessed through the front door considering the back entrance would bring the man past him. He held his gun high and raced through the entrance. All that greeted him was an empty street in a quiet neighborhood.

Black was long gone.

"Damn!" Ethan muttered. But he couldn’t help but wonder why Black had run off so quickly. They were at a face off. It was what Julian had probably dreamt about for years. Why give up getting retribution when you were so close to victory?

Flying down the street, Ethan snagged an empty convertible. Cherry red with a rag top. Sweet. He hoped the owner wouldn’t mind him borrowing it. Then again, why would the owner keep his keys in the ignition if he weren't asking for it to be stolen? The minor theft didn’t bother him. He had other things to worry about. Like, what was Julian Black up to now? And what did it have to do with his father’s death?

*****

Gia Doyle watched as the red car rocketed down the street. Her scream could be heard for miles. Ethan Fairchild had left her stranded in the mansion with Octavia Kassoff. Oh, she vowed, he’d definitely pay for this!

*****

Black Council London Headquarters

"The implant was place a little over a year ago in Dresden."

Jacques paused and stopped in front of the projector, blocking the picture he’d just put on the screen and glared at the blonde who was sprawling in a black leather art deco chair.

"Am I boring you, Paris? I would think saving your ass would result in a little more gratitude.""

Paris shrugged and twirled her long hair around her little finger with a certain air of disdain. She smiled sweetly as Jacques stopped pacing and glared at her.

"Stop with the babbling and give me a gun, lover. All I need to know is where he is and the job will be done."

"A gun isn’t what we need for this job." Jacques laughed in his strange, cold way. "We need some of your other attributes."

The last word was drawn out, full of meaning. Paris knew exactly what Jacques meant. Katrina Bradley had left her with an impressive body that could drive both men and women crazy.

"You would like some of those attributes too, wouldn’t you darling?"

Jacques turned back to the presentation he was giving, ignoring Paris’ comment. She laughed to herself. One thing she loved was getting under Jacques skin. He was right, they did do too good of a job with her. She felt almost human.

"His name is Ethan Fairchild."

A picture flashed on the screen, a handsome face with a day’s worth of stubble. His eyes were serious; mouth set in a grim line. Paris narrowed her eyes and stared at the man she was being sent to bring back in. Lovely, she thought to her self, her tongue wetting her lips, just lovely.

"We think the implant may be malfunctioning. For some reason, it's not responding to our activation signal. This makes Fairchild dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"Very."

Paris turned around at the sound of a honeyed voice from the back of the room. She smiled as she realized to whom the voice belonged.

"Nightingale."

She was elegant; her dark gold hair pulled back with soft curls around a face, her slender figure dressed in a black pantsuit that Paris knew hid at least a gun, if not some other surprises. She crossed the room, her movements graceful. What was most striking about her were her eyesas deep and deadly as an angry ocean that will not relinquish her victims. Everything about Nightingale screamed of danger mixed with undeniable allure. Most people held a certain fear of her, but Paris just wanted to drink her in.

"Hello Paris, darling." Nightingale practically purred. Leaning down, the older woman kissed both of Paris’ cheeks, and then caressed her shoulder with a firm touch, telling her who was in control. Jacques glared at both of them and continued his presentation.

"Fairchild is a highly trained Legacy agent with a high success rate. It took a lot to get him in Dresden, and it’s going to be hard to reel him in now. Fairchild has one weakness"

A picture of a woman flashed on the screen. She was emerging from a disco; her face set with a cold expression, oblivious to the fact that her picture was being taken. Holding her hand was Ethan Fairchild.

"Blondes. What a weakness." Nightingale said, smiling. "This is Octavia Kassoff. She’s another Legacy agent, but one with questionable loyalties. Fairchild has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Kassoff, but very passionate, from what our surveillance has shown us."

The picture changed again. This time it was a bed in a hotel room. Octavia and Ethan were featured again, both naked, a look of ecstasy on her face. Paris felt her face get hot.

"He’s in Greece right now"

"Actually, Julian plans to let him escape." Nightingale interrupted. The name of the mysterious Mr. Black made Paris’ sit up and pay a little more attention.

"Why let him go if Black already has him?" Paris asked as two pairs of eyes trained on her. It seemed people didn’t usually question the man in black’s intentions. After a moment of silence, Nightingale spoke up.

"Fairchild doesn’t know he’s an implant recipient. We must keep it this way for operation Chameleon to work."

"You’re not here to ask questions, Paris." Jacques said as he reached over and switched off the projector.

Paris settled back down in her chair and sneered at Jacques.

"That’s enough briefing for now. We should make contact sometime tomorrow. I’ll call you when we need you, Paris."

"Call me anytime, lover." Paris said seductively as she stretched and stood up from her chair. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and the tight black leather outfit showed off her aforementioned attributes quite well. Brushing by Jacques, she lifted her hand, lightly brushed his cheek and smiled. Ethan Fairchild wouldn’t know what hit him.

****

"So what did Black say about Fairchild?"

Jacques was standing at the wet bar in the corner, mixing a drink. From the tone in his voice, Nightingale knew she had thrown Jacques off-balance with her announcement that Julian had decided to let Fairchild slip away.

"Not much." Nightingale took the gin and tonic out of Jacques outstretched hand. He still knew her favorite drink, and he still made the best one she’d ever head. "You know Julian. He’s doesn’t exactly chat me up, mainly barks commands."

"And..."

"He had to get Fairchild away from Kassoff...end of story. Now we have to get Paris into position."

"Ahhh, Paris..." Jacques smiled. "She’s going to get us in trouble, Nightingale...she’s too cocky."

Nightingale took another sip of her drink.

"I think she’s just perfect, of course."

Jacques rolled his eyes and turned back to the wet bar, picking up a bottle of scotch.

"Of course you do, Nightingale. After all, the Paris Identity is modeled after you. She's the daughter you lost so long ago…."

He knew exactly where to hurt her.

"Screw you, Jacques."

"Any time."

He smiled one of his meant to-be-charming-smiles, but it was lost on Nightingale. After years of working together, Jacques had become less charming and more of a necessary evil.

"Get out, DuPre."

Gone was the polite tone of conversation. Jacques had crossed the line and he knew it. He also knew Nightingale well enough to know when to get out. Picking up his drink, he headed towards the door.

"Call me when Black makes contact." He called over his shoulder, leaving Nightingale standing in the middle of the room. As she watched his retreating back, she turned and hurled her gin and tonic will full force against the wall. The glass broke as it hit the wall, shards littering the ground as the liquid ran down the wall.

Damn him for knowing exactly how to hurt her. He knew there was one wound she had that he could open with just a few words.

"Geileis."

Nightingale sunk into the black leather chair that Paris had vacated, her forehead resting in her hands. It had been thirty-two years, but it still felt like yesterday. Once in a while Nightingale wondered if things might have been different...if Geileis hadn’t been killed, if her husband hadn’t been murdered...if she hadn’t had to live with the anger....

"Nightingale."

Nightingale jumped at the sound of Jacques voice. He was standing over the chair she was sitting in. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard him return.

"I told you to leave." She hissed, hiding her pain under a shield of anger.

Jacques crouched next to the chair, putting his hand on his arm in a rare display of affection. There had been a time when his touch had held comfort, but now she just pushed his hand away.

"It’s time. Black has made contact...Fairchild is in London."

Nightingale took a deep breath and pushed her pain back where it had come from. Standing up, she brushed her pants and felt for the familiar weight of her gun. She had a job to do and no one could do it was well as Nightingale.

"What are you waiting for?" She asked mockingly. "Call Paris, Jacques. It’s show time."

******

Ethan noticed her watching him. Usually, he didn’t pay much attention to women in public, but this one was hard to ignore. She was gorgeous and had a presence about her, a blatant sexuality obvious in the way she stood, moved.

But there was something in her gaze, something familiar.

Their eye contact lasted longer than usual but Ethan’s curiosity kept him staring. A slight smile hinted at the corners of her lips. He took the smile as an invitation and crossed the busy piazza to the outdoor coffee shop where she had taken a seat in the shadow of a large yellow umbrella.

There was something menacing about her as well. And that, being different from what he found desirable in most women, prodded him to accept her thoughtful, yet uncertain invitation.

"Hello"

Her voice held a slight accent, almost bland, stretching out the single word making the greeting sound like a complete sentence.

"Hello yourself." Ethan smiled, and the Cheshire cat grin he offered lit up his entire face. It was one of the few endearing traits he found appealing about himself. She acknowledged his advance, gazing thoughtfully up into his dark, yet intense eyes and greeted him with a similar smile. "May I join you?"

If Ethan was anything, he was a gentleman at heart.

"If you’d like." Again, the words were drawn out in a throaty drawl he was finding more engaging by the minute.

"Thank you. I think I would like." He took a seat opposite her and the yellow umbrella shaded them not only from the sun but from the prying eyes of others as well.

A waitress, probably in her late teens, came up to their table. She had one of those pixie haircuts that were trendy these days. But it wasn’t her hair that made her stand out as a beauty. It was her eyes. They glinted at the couple in two aquamarine pools taking them both into their shimmering depths. She enquired about an order and the blonde ordered a latte.

"And you sir?" she asked in her most polite voice.

Ethan offered her a broad smile that crinkled up the sides of his eyes. "Nothing for me. I’m not much of a coffee drinker"

She nodded, cast him a shy grin, and quickly hurried away toward the entrance of the small establishment.

The blonde laughed. It was one of those low, husky laughs that conjured images of rumpled bed sheets and electric nights of ecstasy. Ethan tried to banish the idea but found the more he talked with the lovely women, the more he gazed into her beautiful face, the more the idea of toe curling, no-strings-attached sex appealed to him.

"You know, she thinks you were coming on to her?"

"It was an innocent flirtation, nothing more."

Ethan smiled at the blonde who told him her name was Paris. Like the city.

The waitress hustled back nearly out of breath and placed a large white mug on their table. "You sure I can’t get you anything, sir?" Her tone was suggestive but Ethan wasn’t interested in someone as young as she.

He shook his head and she trotted away, downtrodden and unhappy.

Paris drew her eyes from the retreating waitress and again gazed thoughtfully at Ethan, who was beginning to like all the attention.

"So, what do you do for a living?" she asked suddenly.

Ethan contemplated on how to exactly answer that question without blowing his cover, and refraining from a blatant lie at the same time. It was nearly impossible without being too general.

"I work, like everyone else."

"Any certain profession where you do this so called... work?" Paris’ eyes crinkled and they beamed a blue that rivaled the shade of the waitress’.

Ethan’s spider sense was tingling. She was asking normal everyday questions. So why did he get the impression she was pumping him for information?

"I work in justice." He felt that was a vague enough answer.

"Ah, the government?" She said it like a question, but he let the sentence hang in the air. No need to give away anything important.

"You like being the mystery man, I take it?" Paris leaned back in her chair like she was far from impressed by his theatrics.

"It works for me," he said. "How about you? Same questions."

"I lead a very boring life. Travel here and there. Do jobs, you know... work." A joyously evil glint came into the blonde woman’s eyes. She was toying with him.

Ethan couldn’t help but laugh. "I guess I deserved that generic answer."

*****

"So, who is she?" The leggy blonde asked as they walked along the sidewalk admiring the various window displays.

"She?" Ethan eyed Paris curiously.

"The woman who did this to you," she said, clarifying.

"I don’t think I understand what you mean."

They stopped walking somewhere between a jewelry store and a fortuneteller’s shop.

"You have that, I don’t know, been-done-wrong look about you. From the vibes I’m getting, you broke it off, not her.

She did something you can’t forgive."

"And you can see that just by looking at me?" Ethan’s face took on an ashen tone. He turned away and stared at the neon pink outline of a hand in the fortuneteller’s window. It blinked angrily at him. "That’s quite a talent you have there. You should market it."

Color returned to his face when he realized that this woman couldn’t possibly know anything about him. He attempted a weak smile to make up for the quip.

"I have to admit. I have a little wild gypsy in me, but that wasn’t what tipped me off about you."

In a split second the mood changed from hostile to something not quite so wrathful. It felt good to be feeling any sort of emotion again.

"It’s your eyes. I can almost picture the pain you must have gone through." Her face contorted into a mask of concern.

"How did you get through it?"

Ethan’s jaw locked. He didn’t like being reminded about Michaela and her betrayal.

"There it is again," she said suddenly. "That look." Paris came closer toward him invading the comfortable distance he kept from people. She gently touched his temple. Ethan tried not to close his eyes but he couldn’t help himself. This woman seemed to be casting her own sort of gypsy spell on him.

Ethan’s eyes slowly opened, rimmed with desire. As he glanced down at her, he realized how very close they were now. Only inches apart. This was the closest he’d been to a woman in some time. His heart pounded with an unfamiliar beat. He could physically feel the electricity crackling between them. It was drawing them together like opposite ends of a magnet.

As if without a will of his own, his head descended down. He captured her lips with his own. Desire flamed like lighter fluid on a campfire, an intense burst of emotion. So many pent up feelings were being released in this kiss. Yet none were for this woman.

An image of Michaela invaded his thoughts like an unwanted evil specter. He broke free from the embrace, and stumbled backward reeling from the intensity of the experience.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice quivering with emotion. "I shouldn’t have done that."

"I’m not.," she said truthfully. "I wanted it as much as you did. Couldn’t you feel it?"

Ethan nodded but said, "I guess I’m not ready yet. The wounds are too fresh." He straightened his shirt and tucked the tails back into his pants.

"No, I’m the one who should be sorry," her accent stronger now. She brought a hand up to his face and he momentarily flinched as she wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of his mouth. The desire flared up anew and he captured her hand kissing the hollow of her palm. "How about we go back to the café and finish our talk?"

They never made it as far as the café. Ethan’s hotel room was closer.