Friday is now Mitch Rapp Fan Fiction Day. Picking up with a short overlap from last week:
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.”
The waiter collected their plates, asked about their beverages, and replied he’d bring their check when Rapp asked for it. He returned quickly with two carefully wrapped dessert boxes.
“Compliments of Paolo. He said he knew you wouldn’t stay for dessert.” He set the bill next to Rapp who picked it up, glanced at it and handed him a hundred-dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” he said as he stood. “And please express our thanks for these and the perfect lunch.”
Once inside the car with their desserts in her lap, Christine said, “I won’t keep you long at the office, Rapp. I just need to speak with you for a couple of minutes.”
He glanced at her noticing the subtle worry on her face. “Okay.”
After arriving in the private parking area, he turned to her. “You seem worried about something. Want to tell me why?”
“I do. I’ve been given something to give to you. Many years ago. It’s a letter from my father addressed to you. He instructed me not to read it but to give it to you if I ever had the opportunity. I’ve kept it with me wherever I’ve been and gone. It was one of the last things he gave me on that fateful 21st birthday.” She dropped her head and took a deep breath. Sitting back upright and looking straight ahead, she said, “He gave me one also. About you. My instructions were to read it if and only when I ever felt truly threatened. I haven’t read it yet.” She looked at him and met his serious gaze.
He undid his seatbelt and said, “Well, let’s get to it then.” He got out, did his usual inspection as he walked around to let her out. Before she got out, she left his dessert on the console.
Once inside her office, Rapp took his seat, relaxed. He watched her set her dessert on the desk and quickly attend to the phone. Keeping her purse, she came around her desk to sit across from him, unzipped a compartment of the large leather bag and pulled out two long envelopes, handing both of them to him.
Picking up on her nervousness, he listened as she said, “I apologize for the wear and tear. I did my best to keep them somewhat pristine. I know Dad wrote them in his own script, and I was afraid the ink might bleed or something might interfere with his message.” She stopped.
“One of these is yours.”
“I know, but I want you to read it. In case there’s anything in there you’d rather I didn’t know.” She looked down at her hands, having not felt this nervous since she couldn’t remember when.
“What do you think is in it?”
She looked directly at him, knowing he could see her discomfort. “I suspect he was truly concerned that at some point his family would be in danger due to his –”
“I get it. Definitely a concern. So you assume he wanted you to contact me somehow if you suspected your life might be threatened?”
She nodded, thinking she might not be able to utter another word without either saying something stupid or resorting to ugly crying, both of which she considered embarrassingly unprofessional. The loss of her dad still resurrected that intense grief, something she'd never displayed so openly with anyone else, keeping it well-hidden until now.
He stood. She stood, clutching her purse, then quickly set it on the chair, trying to hold his gaze and find her voice.
"I'll call you," he said.
"Thank you." It came out just above a whisper.
He turned and left her office, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Lord, thank you for words that create stories, images, metaphors, symbolism. Truly grateful for the pictures in the mind that bring characters to life. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 