In Love with an FBI Agent

Part I - Sawyer

          I remember once being told that being an FBI agent meant having no heart or conscience, and I guess part of that is true. But one thing everyone forgets is that an FBI agent is still ᴎɒmuH.

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     "Well Mr. Derrikson," Mr. Rye said, he was the man who had convinced me to apply for the FBI position in the first place. I didn't really understand, because in years past Mr. Rye had always hated me, but at this particular moment the sides of his mouth curled into a plastered smile, "I'm happy to announce that you did phenomenal on the written part of the interview." I let out a big sigh of relief, as I wan't very good in school or on written things in general.
Mr. Rye let out a huff of air before continuing, "Well now Mr. Derrikson, now you must pass the physical and mental part of the interview." I have this in the bag, I'm pretty strong, at least I think so. I had been training for months and I wasn't going to let some petty physical or mental test ruin my chances.
A few minutes later, everyone was led in groups of 4 into a dark room. Everything was normal until a spotlight shone on the front of the room showing five men holding "Suspect #1-5" signs. Well, if this all the physical test was it was going to be a piece of cake. I've found suspects more times than I can count, and I would say I'm pretty good at it.
At first everything was fine, we all got one question per suspect and were asked to write on a piece of paper who we thought it was and to put it in a box. What we didn't know was that one of the suspects was set to crack under pressure and attack us. Right as I slipped my paper into the box one of the "suspects" began to bang on the glass separating us.

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While most people would spring into action and successfully retain the suspect, leading to his arrest, I well, I froze.
Eventually one of the people in my group was successfully able to detain the suspect, and earned the respect of everyone around him. I left the room completely embarrassed.
A few weeks later I was in my living room when I heard a knock at the door. As most people usually do, I answered it. In front of me stood Mr. Rye, holding a folder.
"Congratulations boy." He held it out to me, I of course took it and slammed the door in his face. I opened the folder and inside was a note.

Dear Mr. Derrikson,

Congratulations! Because of your excellence on the written part of the interview , we have decided to put you in the FBI. However, since you did poorly on the physical part, we will have you start on an easy part of the job, then will see your progress. Inside is your target, who you will be watching for the next few weeks.
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You've got to be kidding me. I trained for weeks, no, months. And the best I could get was 'phone duty?' I had to take a deep breath to calm down. I got in to the FBI, I should be happy.
     I flipped farther into the folder until I stumbled upon the file of the girl I was watching. It was a 21 year old girl named Victoria Ansley. She was pretty boring, in her senior year of college, and I was writhing in agony at how boring the next month was going to be.

...that was until I pulled out her picture.