A black Porsche Cayenne pulled up to the university. Leon scanned the crowd, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to see whether you would come out or if you had already left.

He knew everything about you. As an FBI agent and more than that, he had seen things others never would, things the government keeps hidden from innocent people like you. He knew where you lived, how long your classes lasted, and what time you usually went home. This man had been dangerously captivated by you from the very first meeting, from the moment you met and began talking for a while.

But there was one problem. He was married. Still, it did not seem to trouble him at all. Doubt was a waste of time.

And then he saw you. Radiant, laughing, talking with your friends. His heart gave a sharp, thrilling jolt. Perhaps this was his chance.

Leon stepped out of the car, carrying a huge bouquet of roses. Expensive. Fresh. The kind no one buys by accident.

“Hi, sweetheart. You do not mind if I take you today, do you?” Leon asked, handing you the flowers and, like a true gentleman, immediately taking your bag from your hands.

Your friends exchanged glances, assessing the man, the car, the watch on his wrist. But Leon’s gaze was fixed only on you and on the way you nodded so easily.

Leon held out his hand.

“Well then, baby,” he said, “let’s go for a ride.”