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TRENT
Isit in my car in the parking lot, my fingers anxiously drumming against the steering wheel. My encounter with her replays through my mind as I watch her round the corner of the English building and make her way to the parking lot. She’s friendly and open, which is the opposite of what one would expect a potential bomber to be. Nothing in her purse seemed incriminating after I bumped into her, so I’m just as puzzled now as I was when I was observing her earlier.
I’d picked up on a couple of discrepancies during our conversation. She thinks I don’t know anything about her, trying to downplay how popular she really is despite all her social media followers. She tried making it seem as if she was just a rich girl spoiled by her father, but she wouldn’t be on my radar to begin with if that were the case. I’m sure she was cautious with the information she gave me since she doesn’t know me, but it only makes me wonder what else she’s hiding. And the potentially hidden information has forced me to take the next step of my plan.
When the brake lights on her Jeep appear, I start my car and put it in gear. I follow her out of the parking lot and onto the open road, making sure to stay behind a few cars so she doesn’trealize she’s being followed. The city passes by in a blur of cars and traffic lights while I mimic her along the road. Left turns, right turns, a couple of roundabouts. Just when I think she’s onto me, she finally takes a left into a residential neighborhood.
Every house on the street screams wealth with all of the perfectly landscaped hedges, deep green, healthy lawns, and expensive cars sitting in the driveway. They’re so perfect, in fact, that it feels more like driving through a movie set of perfect houses instead of a street of homes that people actually live in. Sprinklers go off in the distance, the sound filling the inside of my car as I creep back a few yards to avoid being seen now that she and I are the only two cars moving on the street. She slows down and pulls into the driveway of a house at the end of the street, which ironically is the biggest one.
I stop my car a few houses down from hers and wait until she gets out of hers, grabbing her purse and backpack. I raise an eyebrow as I observe her. She closes the door to her Jeep and leans against it as her shoulders sag, almost as if she’s trying to prepare herself to go inside. It only makes me curious about her and her father's dynamic, especially since she ignored his calls while we were at the coffee shop earlier.
Once she’s inside, I drive past her house and circle back around, parking my car in front of a vacant house with a For Sale sign. I retrieve my binoculars from my bag in the passenger seat and lift them toward the house. She and a man who I assume is her father stand in front of a bay window. His body language appears relaxed and open, but hers is the opposite. A frown settles on my lips as I take in her tense posture and stiff shoulders. Even though her father smiles occasionally as he speaks, she never returns it. She almost appears…scared.
I lower my binoculars and grab her file once again. I can’t recall having much information on her father, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s either a part of this somehow or if whatever’sgoing on in her home is influencing her to want to commit terrorist acts. I flip through the pages, not surprised to see little to no information on her father aside from basic age, sex, occupation data, and his relation to the target. Morgan’s photo pulls my attention. Even while I’d tried to play it cool, I couldn’t get over how much more beautiful she was in person.
The thought of her reminds me of what I’m here to do, prompting me to lift my binoculars and point them at her house just in time to see her quickly rush away from her father. I move my binoculars over different windows until she finally reappears in one upstairs. She tosses her bag onto her bed before falling face down onto it. Her entire demeanor has changed ever since she got out of her car. The woman I’m looking at now wasn’t the bubbly, happy-go-lucky woman I’d just had coffee with.
Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I pull my eyes away from the binoculars long enough to find her contact and send her a message.
Trent: Met a couple of other people on campus and have already come to the conclusion that no one is as gorgeous and cool as you. Guess you set the bar pretty high.
I nearly cringe at how corny it probably is, but I’m sure it’ll bring a smile to her face. I focus back on her window, a grin settling on my lips as I watch her sit up with a grin on her face while she looks down at her phone. She bites her lip for a moment before her grin returns, my phone vibrating on my lap soon after.
Morgan: If that’s your way of flirting, you need a lot of work :p
Morgan: But you’re not too bad either
At least I made a good enough impression,I think to myself. A light chuckle leaves my lips as I respond to her.
Trent: Not too bad? Maybe you’re not so cool after all. At least the other girls called me handsome.
I chuckle when I watch her playfully roll her eyes before texting back.
Morgan: And now you’re fishing for compliments. You’re really bad at this. Luckily, you’re cute ;)
I tap my finger on the outside of my phone as I ponder how to respond. Nothing about her screams terrorist, and I’ve yet to pick up on any kind of sign that she’s planning anything dangerous. I know she won’t give that kind of information up anytime soon, so I need to stay on the path I’ve started down for now.
Trent: I’ll take being cute
I pause for a split second and look into her window again to find her still staring at her phone as if she’s waiting on bated breath for a response from me. An unfamiliar feeling swirls in my chest before I force myself to put the binoculars down to continue my text message.
Trent: I’ll take being cute. But seriously, I actually liked hanging out with you today. It makes this city feel a little less lonely now.
Tingles march up and down my skin as I take in the soft smile that lights up her beautiful face. I glance down at the black-and-white photos of her, ones that show her as paranoid, suspicious, and devious. It’s such a stark contrast to the soft, innocent woman sitting on the side of her bed texting me right now. The more I interact with her, the more none of this makes sense. This woman literally exudes innocence and happiness; how can she be responsible for a potential bombing?
Morgan: I liked hanging out with you too. We should do it again soon…maybe grab food or something?
Trent: Sounds like you’re asking me out, Miss Morgan.
Morgan: What would you say if I said I am?
I pick up the binoculars again and look up at her. She’s now sitting with a straight posture as she holds her phone close to her face, nibbling on her bottom lip. It’s actually cute to see her anxiously awaiting my reply, bringing a grin to my face.
Trent: I’d never pass up the opportunity to buy a pretty girl dinner.
Though I can’t hear her, I watch her laugh and lightly shake her head. Something about watching her smile and laugh fills me with the urge to always keep her in that state. She’s so beautiful when she’s amused or happy that it almost makes me ask her out to dinner tonight. But I need to pace myself as wellas remain focused. This woman is still a potential hit target, no matter how beautiful and fun she is.
Morgan: You’re cute :p anyway, I need to take a shower so I’ll talk to you a little later…you know, if you’re not too busy being mobbed by other girls on campus ;)
