A kiss. Passionate. Wet. Arousing. She is beautiful. And he's no idea why she loves him.
But such things shouldn't be wondered about in the middle of a gunfight. She'll mention that later, he's sure.
Magazines empty from twin .40 cals. How they got here is unimportant; he's certain it's her fault. She's too daring.
But then, that's part of her attraction. She'll mention that later, too, he's sure.
The park is dimly lit, thanks to a new moon and her propensity to shoot out lights. Always in sunglasses, she claims it's so she can see better in the dark. This might be true, but he knows she's a fashionista. Accessorizing in every situation. There's no question why her pistol has a pearl grips. It looks good. And the white-gold tips on her tritium sights match her earrings.
Hunting criminals should not be this much fun. Or erotic.
Years of training allow him to watch her through peripheral vision while his aim follows overdressed thugs. Though dark, their flapping ties somehow make their silhouettes easier to identify. He loves the generation of hoodlums who were raised on The Godfather. He loves that they don't wear clip-on ties - some sort of dress code. He's lost count of how many of these idiots he's choked to death with their own clothing. Of course, he used to wear his hair long until he learned his lesson. He's lucky she was there to save his life.
The thought occurs to him that she still has long hair. Firing in rapid succession, he takes a moment to admire her flowing locks in the gun light. She'll scold him for wasting ammo later.
Moving to an overwatch position, he lets her do her thing. A few of the thugs rush her, intent on grappling her. She's trained in several fight forms - boxing and Tae Kwon Do, primarily - but she's not stupid enough to rely on them. Strength is an equalizer in close quarters and she knows it. Still, she lets one get close enough to grab his tie - her lover laughs from the shadows - and then twirls him like some strange type of shield as she carefully places bullets in the skulls of the remaining men. When tie-boy is the only one left, a well-placed heel crushes windpipe and another bullet ends a body's ability to respire.
"You just going to watch?" she calls out.
The maximum effective range of a .40 caliber H&K is published at 50 meters. The running man he shoots is easily at 75.
She turns and watches the man fall to the ground. "Touché," she remarks with a smile.
Burning the passports they entered Georgia with, she checks their new ones - Israeli - and laments, "Tbilisi was kinda growing on me."
"It's just a job, babe," he replies, but he knows what she means. Both are still young - neither over 35 - but both are beginning to quietly wonder what it would be like to settle down. She was quite content without having children, but is realizing the cliché of biological clocks is more than just. He was quite content without being married, but has realized that he's found one worth announcing to the world.
"There's an offer in Ulan Bator..."
"Or we can go home for a while."
She thinks about it for a few moments, then nods.
"Home?" he asks.
"Will you come with me?"
It's an alarming question and against their agreement. Theirs is an interesting relationship and neither actually knows the true identity of the other. Theirs is an interesting occupation and safety is the ultimate concern.
He thinks about it for a few moments, then shakes his head.
Part of her is relieved. She feels foolish for even asking, but it's an eventuality that she hopes for. "Meet me in Cairo, then? Three weeks?"
A smile. A nod. "What are we doing in Cairo?"
*Continued in Camera