Landing in Paris

Prologue

When the seriously lovely Sheila Barúk and I flew out of that hot little African country in that dual-engine, wing-flapping puddle jumper, I was happier than I’d been in a year. So sue me. I was seated next to a woman who is the one great love of my life and whom I thought I’d lost forever. If it wasn’t for the physical sensation of holding her slender, graceful hand in mine, I would have been certain I had died and gone to my own special version of Heaven.

TJ Blackwell had kept me hopping for the past 11 months, so when Sheila whipped out her cell phone and called him just before the plane lifted-off, I was amazed. In my current state of bliss and with my latest assignment behind me by about a half-hour, I’d forgotten she could do that.

But then, Sheila’s a Blackwell Ops contact—a person who provides weapons and whatever other help she can to the operatives who fly into her area of responsibility. And TJ encourages his worldwide network of contacts to call him whenever they like. Always about business, of course.

On the other hand, he never allows his actual operatives to contact him directly by any means. But he cites security concerns, and I definitely understand those. Still, there were times when it would’ve been really nice to be able to call him up.

Anyway, amazed as I was that Sheila called him, I was even more amazed at his response. But here. See for yourself. I think I’ll never forget it:

When she got him on the phone, Sheila said, “TJ! It’s Sheila.”

She listened for a moment.

“I’m fine, sir. Listen, take JP Sloan off the books for the next ten days or so. Can you do that? He’s finished here, and he’s going to Paris with me.” Then she issued her patented giggle.

Well, it probably isn’t really patented, but it should be. It’s a truly endearing secret weapon she has. Despite their age or status, when Sheila giggles, men melt.

She listened for a moment, then said, “Yep. I kidnapped him.”

She listened again, then nodded. “Yes sir, I’m gonna introduce him to my mom.”

TJ said the next part loudly enough that I heard a little of it: “Well, in that case—”

She listened to the rest, then squeezed my hand. “What? Oh yes sir! We can definitely be back by then! Thank you!” She giggled again, then closed the call, turned off her phone, and held it up so the flight attendant, who was rapidly approaching to tell her to turn off her phone, could see.

The flight attendant smiled, turned around, and started back toward the front of the plane. She strained a bit. We were still climbing to altitude.

From Sheila’s reaction—she was literally glowing—I didn’t have to ask what TJ had said. But always cynical, I asked anyway. “So what’d he say? We gotta be back even sooner, right?” I shook my head. “The guy’s been running my ass ragged.”

She grabbed my hand, grinned, and squealed, bouncing a little in her seat. “Nope! He asked if we can be back by the first of the month! Isn’t that cool?”

I laughed. “So cool.” Then I frowned. “Today’s only the 3rd, right?”

She smiled even bigger. “Right!”

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it. “Perfect. Thanks, baby.” I grinned. “I kind’a like all that ‘we’ stuff you said too.”

Anyway, I’ve never seen that beautiful creature so excited. That’s my Sheila. Maybe, at long last, my luck’s changing for the good.

1

After the puddle-jumper flight just to get us out of the country, we caught a connecting flight to another country on the other side of the continent. At least that one was an actual passenger jet, though it was still a smaller one by comparison to the really big ones with all the amenities. But neither of us were complaining.

The layover there, if you want to call it that, was just a little over an hour. So we basically went directly from Arrivals three gates over. Then we sat there for maybe twenty minutes before we boarded the second plane. That one took us over big water, and after only a three-hour layover, the next plane—one of those aforementioned jumbo jets—took us the rest of the way to Paris Orly.

During our final approach, I finally thought to ask Sheila whether she had called her mother. That’s another big part of the story. We—or at least Sheila—would be staying with her mother in her home in a small town near Paris. I had no idea whether I’d be allowed to stay there too.

But if I wasn’t allowed, I figured maybe I’d beg, borrow, or buy a blanket and camp out on her mother’s doorstep. Or maybe beneath the window of whatever room Sheila would be sleeping in. I’d almost lost her once. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sheila frowned slightly when she looked at me. “Oh, I didn’t tell you?”

I only shook my head. No, she hadn’t told me.

But on that last frantic day, we didn’t have a lot of time. After we spent most of the previous night talking and getting things straight between us again, I talked with the president over breakfast, then called her.

She’d driven her car to pick me up outside the presidential palace. From there, we drove to the airport to be sure she made it onto the flight. She checked three bags of essentials and carried my bag as her carry-on.

After I kissed her goodbye in the airport, I took the car and drove straight to the site of the hit. That all worked out better than I expected. I popped both the targets, then dropped the gun and walked out. I got into the car, raced back to the airport, abandoned it in the parking lot, and managed to catch the same flight with only a few minutes to spare.

So it was hectic. So I hadn’t thought to ask, and she hadn’t thought to tell me. I hoped for the last time. We have a history muddled with missed communications.

Excited again almost to the point of bouncing, she said, “Yes, I called her. And she’s happy for us, JP.” She squeezed my hand. “You’ll definitely be staying in the house, if that’s what you were wondering about.”

The woman’s perception is uncanny.

“And you’ll be staying in my bed if I have anything to say about it. Which I will.” She giggled.

I grinned like a leering lecher and exaggerated wiping my forehead with my hand. “Whew. Thanks.”

And for a moment I tried to remember whether Sheila knew my actual name is John Quick. She keeps calling me JP. JP Sloan is my alias. I use it for travel and booking flights and hotels and rental cars. Stuff like that.

I’m pretty sure I told her, but I decided I’d wait and ask her later. Like maybe tomorrow morning in our bed while her head was still nestled in my left shoulder. Or maybe I wouldn’t mention it at all. For now I had more important things on my mind than the sound people make when they want to get my attention.

As the flight attendant was making her announcement about seat backs and tray tables and while I was still smiling, I said, “So how long’re we gonna stay, do you think?”

She grinned coquettishly. “That depends, doesn’t it JP?”

“On what?”

Her gaze still locked on mine and that beaming grin still in place, she shrugged. “We’re sort’a engaged, I guess, but you never actually asked the question.” She quickly put up one hand. “And you don’t have to. I mean, it can wait. But if you ask while we’re here, it’ll take a little time to plan things. And my mom will want to be there.” She shrugged one shoulder and canted her head. “You know.”

That’s another thing she has that ought to be patented. I mean, I’ve seen other women do that, but I never melted as a result.

This particular time though, I melted from the inside out. “Excuse me for a moment,” I said, and stood up. It wasn’t easy with the seat back of the guy in the seat ahead of me still cocked back about halfway. But I managed it. Then I looked over seat back straight down at him and said, “Hey, bud. The flight attendant said to straight up your seat.”

He was skinny and pale and blond and dressed in a three piece suit. I was dressed like I almost always am in a black leather jacket, a black t-shirt, and jeans. And black hair and a black beard and a ‘Hey, how about you comply’ look on my face.

He opened his eyes and saw only my mug. His eyes went wider and rounder and he said, “Ooh, sorry sir.” The seat back popped forward.

I muttered, “Thanks.” Then I turned my back to the aisle.

As I lowered myself to one knee, Sheila smiled and frowned and canted her head all at the same time. “What’re you doing?”

I said, “Wait for it,” and took my pretty Sheila’s hand. I shook it lightly, then shrugged. “So you wanna get married while we’re in Paris, or what?”

She jerked her hand away, clapped it against her other hand, then burst out laughing, then came out of her seat, grabbed the upper arms of my jacket and pulled me to my feet. “Of course I want to get married while we’re in Paris!”

Everyone on the plane started laughing and pointing and applauding.

After Sheila and I hugged and kissed, we both sat down. I leaned a little toward her. Quietly, I said, “So you know my real name’s John Quick, right?”

She grinned. “Yeah, I know, JP.”

2

As Sheila and I came down the stairs, I was carrying my bag in my left hand and Sheila’s left arm was looped through my right. Sheila spotted her mother from near the bottom of the stairs. She pointed. “There she is! C’mon!”

The woman was tiny. Maybe 5’2” on a tall day and a little full-bodied. Her hair, a mixture of black and grey, was mostly pulled back into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a blue long-sleeved dress printed with tiny white flowers. It had a white collar and cuffs, and it hung to mid-calf. Below that were yellowish-brown stockings and comfortable looking black leather shoes with low, flat heels.

Sheila slipped her arm out of mine, caught my right hand, and dragged me down the remaining few steps and through the milling crowd of people.

They parted like the Red Sea.

Sheila finally released my hand and raised her arms to embrace her mother.

Only Mom ducked under her daughter’s arms and headed for me. She stopped directly in front of me, looked up and said, “Ooh, you are a handsome man, JP! And tall! Come down here so I can have a look at you.”

I chuckled. “Hi Mrs. Barúk. I’m—”

“I know who you are, boy. My Sheila tol’ me all about’chu.”

“Yes ma’am.” As I bent forward at the waist, my bag still dangling from my left hand, I glanced past her at Sheila. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was all grins.

Mrs. Barúk looked me in the eyes for roughly a split second, then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on both cheeks. “Welcome home, boy.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I—”

Her brow furrowed. “You brought bags?”

“Oh, no ma’am.” I hefted my duffel. “Just this. But Sheila brought—”

She put up one stiff index finger. “Don’ tattle. Women always need more than men. It’s why we have you. To carry things for us.”

I laughed.

Sheila said, “Mom? Did you bring a car?”

With a poker face, Mrs. Barúk looked at her. “No. I walked.” Then spread her arms wide and busted out laughing. “Welcome home, my girl.”

After they hugged for a long moment, Sheila said, “Maman, JP asked me to marry him!”

Mrs. Barúk wheeled on me. “Are you crazy?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “This one will wear you out!”

I couldn’t help but grin. My first instinct was to say, “I hope so,” but I kept that in check.

“But you asked her without asking her dear, departed papa first for her hand?”

I frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

She wagged a hand at me. “I am only joking! But you should marry me instead. I am a nice, stable woman.” Then she busted out laughing again. “Of course, that is when the horses are not in the stable.” Then she turned back to Sheila, put the back of one hand alongside her mouth, and stage whispered, “I think he will do. He is very good, oui?”

Sheila blushed red and took her mother’s hand “Come on, Maman. Let’s get the bags and get out of here.”

With Sheila in the lead and her mother keeping pace, it was all I could do to keep up with them.

That was the airport.

*

The house was a one-story cottage in old stucco and with a red Spanish tile roof. Well-established flower beds splashed various bright colors around the south, east, and west walls. It was located in Chartres, a town of about 28,000 people. It was actually a little over 30 miles from Paris, but only 20 miles from Orly.

Other than at the morning and evening meals—Mrs. Barúk insisted we all gather around the table in the dining room for those—I saw little of Sheila during the day. She and her mother and some of the neighborhood women were on the go constantly, making arrangements for the wedding. The atmosphere was both frantic and relaxing.

Within minutes of our arrival at her house, Mrs. Barúk led Sheila and I to a bedroom, opened the door, then gestured. “This will be your bedroom while you are here.”

I stupidly said, “I’m sorry, mine or Sheila’s.”

The woman wagged a hand at me. “Such silly questions you ask!” She reached for my left hand, reached for Sheila’s right, and put Sheila’s in mine. Then she looked at us both. “Be kind to each other, and make as much love between you as you can. Let love replace the air between you. You never know when one or the other of you will not come home one day.” Then she turned and walked off down the hall. I’m pretty sure she would be the mother-in-law of the year.

Sheila glanced up at me and giggled. “So what do you think?” She took my other hand and started backing into the room, a mischievous look on her face. “C’mere a minute, baby.”

I grinned, then leaned down and pecked her on the lips. “I think we’ll wait until tonight.”

As I turned away, she said, “Chicken.” She giggled. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”

I stopped, turned around, and wiggled my eyebrows. “Tonight, I’ll show you the side you like.”

She laughed. “Promises, promises.”

*

A few nights later, we were sitting on the front porch enjoying the warm night air and looking up at the stars. Neither of us had said anything for several minutes.

I squeezed her hand lightly. “These people are normal, aren’t they? I mean, they aren’t like me.”

Quietly, she said, “They aren’t like us.” She paused. “You don’t like them?”

“On the contrary, I like them very much. Especially your mom. She gave me you. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“When you were born. You have to know you were born to be with me. And then when we arrived. She seemed—” I paused.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Happy to see me? Maybe happy I was the guy who got off the plane with you? I’ve never felt that before.”

She grinned. “Oof, how can you stand it?”

“No, I mean—it almost makes me want to talk to TJ. See whether maybe he’ll let me out of the company."

"He won’t.”

“No, probably not.” I sighed.

“And you wouldn’t like it either.”

“I wouldn’t?”

She shook her head, and a moment later she jiggled my hand. “You’re on vacation, JP. And you’re in a place you’ve never been before.” She paused. “That’s a lot different than living it 24-7. And it—it just wouldn’t be the same. You wouldn’t be the same.”

“But wouldn’t it be better? For us, I mean?”

Again she shook her head. “I fell in love with you, JP. I had my choice of all the normals. It was never a match. Even my—even my former bike mechanic. You know, he likes bikes and he was kind of interesting. But I knew something was missing, and I knew what it was. I never should have married him.”

I frowned. “Why?”

Again, she jiggled my hand. “Because he wasn’t you.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Then she said, “Please don’t stop being you.”

“I won’t. “ I thought back about what my old college psychology instructor told me all those years ago. “I don’t think I really have a choice anyway.”

3

When our big day arrived, about ten minutes before the ceremony was due to begin, I stepped out through the front doors and ducked around the side. I wanted to enjoy a quick smoke. Settle my nerves a little. Not that I was having any second thoughts—I wasn’t—but I was scared half out of my mind I’d screw something up.

Nothing had gone right for me for a very long time. Years. Ever since I got out of the Corps, really. I just didn’t fit in, and that usually bubbled to the surface at the most critical times. And if a wedding is anything, it’s a critical time.

But as I walked around the corner, my bride was waiting in the shade of an elm tree. “Sheila? Are you okay, baby?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smile. “I’m fine. You needing a smoke?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to. I don’t want you to go in there smelling of the—”

“We have to talk, JP.”

Oh crap. I felt like my heart dropped right through my gut. “What?”

It must have shown on my face.

She put up one hand. “No, baby! It’s nothing bad!” She paused. “Well, sort of. I mean, I want to marry you, but—”

“But?”

“Oh, now stop it. I already told you it’s nothing bad. There’s just something I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot. And I wanted to talk with you about it before—you know.” She paused. “I didn’t want to spring it on you after.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, shoot.”

“You’re an operative, right?”

“Right. And you’re a contact.”

“Right. But I don’t want to be a contact anymore.”

I shrugged. “Okay. You don’t have to deal with all that crap. You can be a mommy. And I’ll be home a lot. I mean, even when TJ was running me ragged I was off more than I was on. You know, a week or ten days off and then only a day or three on an assignment, and then off again. And I’m sure he’ll—”

“JP, I want to fly to Golden again. I want to reapply as an operative.”

“What? That’s crazy, baby. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But why?”

“Remember what Maman said our first day here?”

I grinned. “Which time?”

“I’m serious. Remember? She said, ‘Be kind to each other, and make as much love between you as you can. Let love replace the air between you. You never know when one or the other of you will not come home one day’.”

“Oh sure. I remember that. It was one of the sweetest—”

“Baby, when she said ‘make as much love as you can,’ she wasn’t just talking about sex. She was talking about spending every moment together because ‘you never know when one or the other of you will not come home one day’.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I don’t want to kiss you goodbye and watch you walk out the door and not be sure you’re coming home. If I’m with you, I can help make sure you come home. And you can help make sure—”

“You come home. I get it.”

“But when we first met, I thought you said you didn’t want to—”

“That was before I met you. JP—John—I’ve never felt so safe and protected and loved as I do when I’m with you.” She took a deep breath. “And I’ve decided I’m going to narrow that air between us as often as I can. In every way. I—I just wanted to tell you in case maybe you don’t want to go through with the wedding.”

I looked at her. She had never looked so beautiful before. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. After we get home, I’m going to go to Golden and—”

“Not that. You’re kidding about me maybe not wanting to marry you. You have to be. I’ve never been so in love with you as I am right at this moment. If I was ever going to have a partner anywhere—in the bedroom, watching TV, or in the field on a mission—I wouldn’t want anyone but you.”

I extended my left hand. “C’mon, partner. Let’s go get married. I’m not a normal, but I’m pretty sure that’s where all that replacing the air between us with us is supposed to start, right?”

She took my hand. “I love you so very much John JP Sloan Quick.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

*

We were married that day, and pretty much every moment since, we’ve been inseparable.

And isn’t that really what it’s all about?

*******