The rain streamed sideways down the glass of the late night bus as it lurched along the brightly lit road. The engine hummed a low, hypnotic rattle through the empty floorboards.
Megan sat near the back, relaxed into the vinyl seat with one leg crossed over her knee. At first she was completely engrossed in her phone, then Megan placed it in her coat pocket, she was totally unaware, or pretending not to notice, the pair of eyes fixed on her from two rows back.
He sat motionless in the dark, shadowed by the flickering fluorescent overhead light. He didn’t care about her face, his eyes were locked straight on her feet.
She was wearing her signature fabric flat shoes, sleek, supple, and completely flat, built for running, if she ever needed to. The midnight-black fabric was scuffed just enough at the toe to show they saw real use, fascinated with the matte-black fabric next to her soft fleshy ankles that gleamed faintly under the streetlights passing outside. To anyone else, they were just sensible, stylish footwear for a dark night.
To him, they were the ultimate prize.
He knew what was stitched into the lining of the left sole. A micro-encrypted drive containing names, drop sites, and enough blackmail to sink half the city before dawn.
The bus jolted over a pothole, and Megan shifted, tapping the heel of her flat shoe rhythmically against the metal floor grate. The soft, deliberate tap-tap echoed through the empty bus, a taunt or maybe a warning.
As the automated chime announced the next stop, he slowly unbuttoned his coat and stood up, keeping his eyes firmly on those black fabric shoes as he stepped into the aisle.
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