Trevor led Amira to the top of the steps in the back of the lobby, where the upper pavilion overlooked the enormous space. Trevor took a seat in a plush chair and motioned for Amira to do the same.
Trevor Emerson had a lean physique, a short beard, hair swept backwards and parted on the left side, a little longer than a banker or some other executive might wear it, and deep blue eyes that revealed an awareness and heightened level of intelligence. He was in his mid-forties, but he looked several years younger than his appearance.
Amira studied the man for a moment, who sat quietly watching her, and blurted out, “You don’t work for the FBI, do you?”
Trevor smiled. “What makes you say that?”
“My father is a DC homicide detective. He told me that most of the FBI agents are clean-cut, by-the-book types in dark suits. You, with that beard, your hair, your entire demeanor, you don’t strike me as that kind of guy. You’re something else, aren’t you?”
Trevor’s brow dipped for a barely perceptible moment. “I have to be honest. I’m trying to figure out what to make of you.”
It was Amira’s turn to raise her eyebrows, slightly offended, a tinge of anger filling her. “After what happened here tonight, that shouldn’t be too hard.” There was a steel to her voice that hadn’t been there before, and she welcomed it.
Trevor suddenly leaned forward in the chair, his deep blue eyes fixing on her pale ones with intensity. “Let me ask you something – how do you feel about what you did? At twenty-years-old, you took a life, committed the ultimate act of depriving another human being the remainder of their existence. It’s something you’ll carry with you for the rest of your days.” He paused to allow the gravity of the words to sink in. “Your skills exceed probably everyone your age and most of the people already in my line of work. I assume your father trained you, but it’s more than that. My guess is that you’re one of the driven, people who are called to excel at everything they do. I’ve seen it before, but I have to admit, usually it’s cultivated, developed over time. But you, you somehow activated it on your own, and it saved your life tonight, at the expense of others. So I ask you again – how do you feel?”
Amira had been pondering that very question since her adrenaline had subsided. How am I supposed to feel? I killed another person. She thought society dictated that she felt some kind of guilt over it, over what the Catholic Church considered a mortal sin. But she didn’t feel guilty, not even the tiniest bit. In fact, she was proud of what she’d done. She’d protected and defended herself and Susan, and she’d beaten four men with bad intentions who likely would’ve killed her. No guilt in that. And then the word struck her, and she knew it was the right one.
“Triumphant. I feel triumphant. I did what I had to do, and I don’t feel badly about it. Some might argue I should, but I don’t. If I hadn’t acted, Susan would’ve been kidnapped, and God knows what these men would’ve done to her and her parents. And once I confronted them, I knew they’d kill me. So I did what I had to do, and I’ll never second-guess myself. Ever.” The finality in her voice was filled with power and confidence.
She’s a warrior, and she’s just now realizing it, Trevor thought in awe at the beautiful, fierce, young woman before him. “What you feel, it’s similar to what soldiers feel after combat, after they’ve vanquished an enemy trying to kill them. It’s normal. It’s what they trained for, and the fact that you somehow know it, without being in the military or law enforcement, that makes you special.”
Amira nodded, accepting his praise quietly and with self-realization that what he spoke was true.
“And to answer your initial question, no. I’m not with the FBI,” and he smiled, warmly grinning. “I’m with that other agency that people don’t like to talk about.”
“The one where they always say that stupid joke: ‘I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you?’”
Trevor laughed. “Yes, but I can tell you, and we only kill people – like you did tonight – when it’s necessary.” The smile faded at the declaration of truth. It was a hard business he practiced, where transactions were often made in blood payments. “So here’s the deal: you’re a junior, and you have your senior year left after you make it through this one. I have no doubt you’re an outstanding dancer, probably one of the prized students here. But what you just went through, I believe it changed you, and I think you know it. And if I’m right, I want to offer you a different way of life than the one you have planned. I don’t want you to answer me now. I think it will become evident to you in the coming months. It’s a hard life, and you’ll have to make sacrifices. It can be dangerous, depending on which way you want that path to go, but in the end, there’s nothing more rewarding than serving your country and protecting those who can’t protect themselves, just like you did here tonight.”
The raw truth sent chills up and down her spine. He’s right, and you both know it.
Trevor stood and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. His name and a cell phone number were the only things printed on it. “You enjoy the rest of your junior
