Page 19 of France Face-Off
“So, you speak fluent Russian, German and English?”
“Yes, and I learned a little Italian and French while I was in the Russian school. I’m not as fluent in either, but I can get by.”
“I’m impressed,” he said. “And it makes sense to be an interpreter with your skill set.”
“It does make it easy to find work,” she said. “What about you? Have you always been a male escort?”
He snorted. “No, but it seems to be the only kind of work I can get now.”
“What did you do before?” she asked.
“I worked in security,” he said. Which was as close to the truth as he could say without blowing his cover. And he had worked in security. The security of his nation.
“Security? Hmm,” she said. “You look to me like somebody who might have been in the military.”
Her words struck too close to home. “How so?”
Her head tilted to one side as she studied him. “It’s in the way you carry yourself with a certain amount of pride. And you appear fit.”
“You don’t get too many male escort jobs if you don’t remain fit,” he pointed out.
“True,” she said, “but it’s really your bearing that sets you apart from others and makes me think that you’ve had military service in your background. Am I right?”
With her point-blank question, he stumbled. “My father was in the military. He taught us how to stand tall and be proud of our armed forces and of our country. What did your father teach you?” he asked to deflect her attention from him.
She laughed softly. “He taught me to observe people and situations and to always be aware of my surroundings.”
“That’s a good thing for a woman to learn,” Striker said.
“Actually, it’s a good thing for anyone to learn. He also taught me how to learn from others and blend in wherever we lived. It makes it easier for me to assimilate into new surroundings.”
“Where are your parents now?” he asked.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. Then her voice sounded softly in the darkness. “They are deceased.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said. “How long has it been since they passed?”
“Two years.”
He shook his head, frowning. “That’s not long ago. You must still be hurting.”
“I miss them,” she whispered. Then she squared her shoulders. “But life goes on. And you? Do you still have your parents?”
Striker nodded. “They’re alive and living in Texas. Although it’s been over a year since I’ve seen them.”
“What’s keeping you from visiting?” she asked.
He wanted to say pride. Instead, he said, “I’ve been busy trying to make a living.”
“Don’t wait too long,” she warned. “None of us knows how long we have on this earth. You have to appreciate those you love while you can. I know I did. And every day that goes by, I wish I still had my parents.”
“I do miss fishing with my father,” Striker said. “I miss the peace and quiet, and then the excitement of catching a fish. We always ate what we caught or released them back into the water. He’s a quiet man, but in his silence, he teaches by example, showing me how to do things more than telling me, from baiting a hook to how to treat a woman. He loves my mother and would do anything to make her happy.”
“My father loved my mother, too, and my mother adored him,” Alex spoke softly in the darkness.
“How did they die, if you don’t mind my asking?” Striker said.
“They were murdered in our home.”
