The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 299 Tifa's Bodyguard

Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Eric followed the flow of people into the terminal, subconsciously observing his surroundings and the airport layout.

This was his first time in France.

The interior of the terminal building is a combination of slightly dated concrete structures and modern fiberglass frames, nothing particularly unusual.

After all, he still had the image of his homeland's airport in his mind, so the airport outside was really nothing special to him.

So Eric's internal assessment was: "Just so-so."

However, there are indeed some subtle differences between France and the United States, such as the style of trash cans, the newspapers and cigarette brands displayed at kiosks, and so on.

But what really bothered Eric was that the air had instantly changed. It no longer smelled of the dry sea breeze and sunshine of Los Angeles, but rather like the bitter, burnt smell of overcooked coffee, mixed with an overly sweet buttery scent and various perfumes.

All these flavors mingled together, causing Eric to instinctively hold his breath.

“This perfume is way too strong,” Eric remarked, glancing at the French man passing by.

"He definitely has body odor!"

Eric grumbled a bit, then didn't linger at the airport, following the signs towards the exit.

Along the way, Eric began to form a rough map in his mind of the main passages, entrances and exits, the location of surveillance cameras, as well as possible emergency evacuation routes, the structure of the ceiling, and the distribution of pillars.

Eric also noticed a characteristic of Paris, France: hugs and kisses at the arrival gates seemed more common and more enthusiastic than in the United States.

"No wonder it's called the city of romance."

Eric shook his head and walked out of the airport. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Eric took it out, and the screen lit up. It was a message from Tifa.

[Honey, you should have landed by now, right? I'll send you the hotel address (Maurice Hotel). The meeting is expected to end in about an hour and a half. If all goes well, love you.]
"Perfect timing." Eric glanced at the content, a slight smile unconsciously curving his lips as he tapped his fingers on the screen.

"I've landed and am on my way to pick up my car. See you later."

The message was sent successfully. Eric then entered the hotel address sent by Tifa into the navigation and found a nearby car rental company.

The car rental process went smoothly, and he booked a fairly high-end Audi A6 Avant.

This car isn't as flamboyant as an American muscle car, nor as ostentatious as a supercar; it's somewhat understated, much like himself in some ways.

Eric skillfully connected his phone to the car's system, and the navigation route to the Morris Hotel was clearly projected onto the display screen. The engine started, its sound deep and smooth, and the sound insulation was excellent, effectively blocking out the outside noise.

Driving his German-style car, Eric smoothly drove out of the parking lot, merged onto the A1 highway leading to the city, and headed straight for the hotel.

-

Paris.

The Versailles Hall on the second floor of a five-star hotel.

A criminal psychology seminar led by Interpol is underway.

Under the glow of crystal chandeliers, law enforcement elites and academic authorities from dozens of countries around the world gathered together, but their eyes were all fixed on the speaker on the stage, listening to his speech.

“We need to redefine the concept of victim.” Tifa stood at the podium, with a projection screen behind her displaying complex psychological analysis charts.

She wore a black suit skirt, the simple cut highlighting her elegant figure. Her long brown hair was neatly pulled back, making her look quite striking with her delicate features.

It's safe to say that Tifa was the most eye-catching person at the event.

"In a recent transnational trafficking case, we found that more than 60% of the victims initially voluntarily followed the criminals."

This means that if we only look for victims who have been coerced into violence, we will miss the vast majority of cases.

Tifa switched slides to showcase a series of case studies.

Whispers began to circulate among the audience, and several police officers from various European countries frowned.

“These criminals all possess a special skill in building trust,” Tifa continued, her gaze sweeping across the room.

"They would pose as lost tourists at tourist attractions, pretend to be alumni in university towns, and even pretend to be airline ground staff or fellow tourists at airports."

All of these identities are carefully designed to trigger our subconscious trust mechanisms.

Tifa paused for a moment: "What we are facing is not traditional violent crime, but a more professional form of psychological manipulation."

The victims weren't taken away at gunpoint, but rather lured step by step into a trap amidst smiles, help, and seemingly benevolent lies.

-

The bell finally rang, ending the meeting and breaking the sustained focused atmosphere in the room.

As Tifa walked out of the conference hall with the flow of people, she also felt a little tired. Outputting professional content at a high intensity and maintaining a high level of concentration had taken a lot of mental strain.

Moreover, given her qualifications and age, she must give it her all.

Seeing that it was finally time to rest, Tifa glanced at the crowd and consciously walked to a quiet corner. She took out her phone from her handbag, and a message popped up on the screen.

[Landed and on my way to pick up the car. See you later.]
It was a very simple sentence, without any fancy words, yet it was like a gentle breeze that dispelled the slight weariness that lingered between her brows.

Tifa could imagine Eric typing those words, and her eyes involuntarily curved slightly. A sense of peace and warmth quietly spread through her heart, causing the corners of her beautifully shaped lips to unconsciously turn up slightly, outlining a very beautiful smile.

This change was noticed by Alain Dupont, who was about to approach him to speak.

She was completely different from the profiler who had calmly analyzed criminal psychology on the podium just now, leaving even DuPont, who was used to seeing all kinds of beautiful women in Paris, stunned.

DuPont took a deep breath, quickly composed himself, and walked over.

"Dr. Allison?"

Tifa turned her head to look, her smile quickly fading and replaced by a cold, professional demeanor.

The speed of this change of expression was astonishing, leaving DuPont momentarily stunned; that fleeting glimpse of that gentle smile seemed to have been nothing more than an illusion.

"Inspector Dupont, what's the matter?" Tifa's tone was calm, revealing no emotion. She knew the French man in front of her was an inspector from the French Judicial Police.

What's going on? DuPont steadied himself and tried to make his voice sound normal.

“Your remarks were very inspiring.” DuPont handed over his business card, his French-accented English tinged with appreciation.

"We are investigating a series of cases involving abnormal behavior patterns. Would you be so kind as to have dinner with us tonight and hear your professional opinion?"

Just as Tifa was about to politely decline, a familiar voice, with a languid tone, sounded beside her:
"Looks like I've arrived at the right time?"

Hearing that familiar voice, Tifa's eyes lit up and her smile returned as she turned to look.

Eric had appeared beside her without her noticing, his dark gray casual suit casually draped over his arm, and the top button of his white shirt undone. He seemed out of place amidst the formal attire of the room, yet he exuded an undeniable presence.

"And who is this?" Inspector DuPont sized up the muscular, handsome man with a distinctive air about him, his expression slightly stiffening.

The man who suddenly barged in has such a striking overall model that he complements Tifa perfectly, making him very eye-catching.

He also noticed Tifa's preferential treatment.

“Eric Stevens, Dr. Allison’s boyfriend and bodyguard.” Eric naturally reached out and took the documents from Tifa’s hand, then casually pulled her closer, smiling at the French man who was half a head shorter than him. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your professional exchange?”

DuPont was extremely embarrassed and ashamed. His expression became increasingly stiff. He was intimidated by Eric's imposing aura and suddenly didn't know how to respond.

After all, he had just invited someone's girlfriend to dinner.

The other party even used the word "bodyguard," which was a very blatant taunt. Who could withstand that? Only he himself could understand the embarrassment.

Tifa leaned towards Eric, sensing her man's mischievous intentions. With a smile in her eyes, she gave DuPont an apologetic one:
"Regarding your case, shall we continue with the group discussion tomorrow? My boyfriend just arrived in Paris, and we already have plans for tonight."

This can be considered a kind gesture from Tifa to save face; as for further discussion of the case, there will definitely be no more. DuPont quickly composed himself to maintain his composure.
"Of course, I won't disturb you two."

He nodded decisively in farewell, turned and left, but his departing figure carried a subtle sense of loss.

After the figure disappeared into the distance, Tiffany nudged Eric with her elbow, a sly smile curving her eyes: "Mr. Stevens, aren't you getting a little too into your bodyguard/boyfriend role? You even wore a casual suit?"

Eric tightened his grip on her waist, his calm smile unchanged, as he scanned the men in the hall who were still watching Tifa, whether openly or secretly, and finished his assessment in an instant.

The models here are utterly invincible; in every aspect—temperament, appearance, age, physique—he has no equal. Eric smiled and said seriously:
"I was just fulfilling my core responsibilities, Dr. Allison. Initial assessments indicated that the potential threat level at this venue was much higher than I had anticipated, and preventative intervention was necessary."

Most importantly, I can't let you embarrass yourself in this situation, right?

"Hmm, very handsome!" Tifa couldn't help but chuckle as Eric half-embraced her and led her off the field.

"So, Mr. Stevens, what's the next step in your preventative intervention plan?"

“Evacuate the scene and return to the safe house,” Eric said.

"I have checked the hotel room; it is safe, has a good view, and..."

Eric paused, then continued, "I suspect that a profiler who has just delivered a brilliant presentation would be better off with a real cup of coffee than this dishwater."

“That sounds like an impeccable solution.” Tifa turned to look at him, her eyes gleaming.
"But are you sure you just want coffee?"

"That depends on whether the coffee in the hotel room suits my taste."

The two exchanged a smile, tacitly ignoring the stares behind them, and left the bustling venue side by side before entering the elevator.

In the elevator, Eric naturally pressed the button for their hotel's floor.

The elevator ascended smoothly, the numbers ticking silently, and Eric's hand remained naturally on Tifa's waist.

Tifa leaned her weight slightly against him, closed her eyes, and let out a soft sigh, revealing a state of complete relaxation from which exhaustion naturally surfaced.

Eric glanced at Tifa, but just kept quiet.

The two enjoyed this brief and peaceful moment together until a soft ding sounded, and the elevator arrived at their floor.

Eric escorted Tifa out of the elevator and into the room. He casually placed Tifa's heavy documents on a chair by the window and then headed straight for a small kitchen counter in the corner of the room.

There were capsule coffee machines and some simple equipment there.

Tifa had already kicked off the high heels that had kept her standing and walking all day. She stepped barefoot onto the soft carpet, sighed comfortably, and watched Eric skillfully fiddling with the coffee machine, picking up a capsule to examine it.

"Are you really going to make me coffee?" Tifa leaned against the counter, her tone slightly incredulous and teasing.

"Darling, are you planning to leave me with my eyes open admiring the Parisian night view until dawn?"

Eric's hands didn't stop moving as he inserted the capsule into the machine, pressed a button, and the rich aroma of coffee began to spread.

“It’s not for you.” Eric turned his head and glanced at Tifa.

"It's for me; I need to adjust to the time difference."

As he spoke, Eric picked up the small saucepan next to him and began to heat the milk.

"As for you, you should have some hot milk, or else..." Eric pointed to the bottled water in the glass pitcher next to him.

"Warm water, your choice. Caffeine? Forget about it. Let's just drink this and get some rest."

Tifa looked at Eric, who was being manipulated, and understood why the man was doing it. Her heart softened, and she couldn't help but step forward and gently wrap her arms around Eric's waist from behind, pressing her cheek against his broad and warm back.

“Okay, whatever you say, darling.” Tifa’s voice muffled against the fabric of Eric’s shirt.

"I want hot milk."

“OK!” Eric smiled as he felt the warmth on his back.

"It will be over soon."

----------

At this moment, in a detached villa in the suburbs of Boston.

Kimmy's excited screams almost lifted the roof off: "Mom! Dad signed it! He agreed! I'm going to call Amanda!"

Like a happy little bird finally released from its cage, she waved the consent form signed by Bill and skipped barefoot from the door to the living room.

Leno glanced at Bill standing in the doorway and shrugged, "Wouldn't it have been better to have signed it in the first place?"

Bill calmly replied, "Wouldn't it be better if you talked to me first?"

Leno was speechless for a moment.

Bill ignored her and just waited for Kimmy to pack her luggage before personally taking her to the airport.

As for Leno, let her drive alongside them.

-

"Dad! Eric is in Paris too?" Kimmy, sitting in the passenger seat, looked at Bill with sparkling eyes, her excitement still evident.

“Hmm.” Bill glanced at Kimmy.

"Don't forget what I said, the cell phone I prepared for you contains..."

Before she could finish speaking, Kimmy interrupted her: "It contains the local police number, Mom, Dad, and Eric. If you encounter an emergency in Paris, contact Eric directly."

Then I'll call you, and I'll call you every night before I go to sleep.

Jinmi said earnestly, "Dad! I remember everything you said. Don't worry, I'll be careful."

Bill breathed a sigh of relief seeing his daughter so focused, a rare sight indeed; the surprise attack had worked very well.

Although those examples frightened Jinmi, they also helped her understand where the dangers lay and how to avoid potential risks.

“Honey, I don’t mean to restrict your freedom. It’s just that Paris is a completely new environment for you, with a lot of unknowns. I hope you have fun, but only if you’re safe.”

“I know, Dad, thank you for letting me go.” Kimmy was a little touched.

"I will be careful, I promise."

(End of this chapter)