Agent Rogue

Chapter 5

The uncomfortable silence that lingered for a short while was soon drowned out by a few comments from Barnes. Evidently his confidence had grown since my little fall at the muddy slopes, and once the awkward air was taken away with the gusts of wind and heavy downpour, he thought himself free to voice any random thought that popped into his head without a filter. After an hour of traipsing through the woods, soaked to the bone, we spotted a light nearby.

A quaint lodge sat wedged in a clearing, hugged by the surrounding pines and illuminating the area in yellow. I squinted my eyes in the darkness to read the sign: Pine Inn.

An inn. Surrounded by pines. Called the Pine Inn. Creative.

It was preferable to trekking in the rain all night. If I could not contact Alistair for miles, it would be dangerous to carry on in the dark. I was shivering, as was Barnes, and my shoulder stung as the wet fabric of my shirt stuck to the open wound.

Without permission I was not inclined to give, Barnes hit my arm playfully, pointing to the Pine Inn sign.
"What do you think people are doing in there?" I prepared for the vulgar joke. "They're pining!"
That... was not was I was anticipating.
"What?" Barnes frowned. "Don't you get it? Pine-Inn. They're all sat pinin' by the fire."
Igot it. My humour didn't.

I sighed to pull myself back from the edge. It worked. Slightly.

The worn, wooden steps moaned as I approached the door. Water collected in the dips at the centre of each step, the texture becoming so slippery I feared falling again.

Just as I reached for the door handle, I froze, eyes catching the glint of Barnes's handcuffs.

I couldn't excuse dragging a handcuffed man into an inn in the dead of night. My badge that could have authorised the action burned in the crash with... everything else, and I had no signal to contact Alistair for a back-up action.

"Hands," I ordered, refusing to look in his eyes.
He held them out without question, brows knitting together.
"I can't have people eyeing you up when we walk in there," I explained quietly. I unlocked the cuffs with the tiny key in my pocket. They dropped and I caught them, shoving them in my pockets with a jingle

"You run," I hissed, "and I shoot you on sight. Remember that."
Barnes looked from his freed wrists to my frowning eyes, the look shooting me in the chest.
"Yes ma'am."

I looked away swiftly.

Matching the steps, the door opened with a creak. We were met with a rush of hot air from a large open fire and the idle chatter of a nearby group. The scent of burning logs waved through the lobby, dragging with it sweet hot chocolate and warm cinnamon, diminishing the earthy stench of rotten wood we had just escaped from.

After telling Barnes to stand by the door, I approached the front desk, smiling kindly to the middle-aged receptionist. She was busy writing something in her diary, oblivious to my presence in front of her. I craned my neck to view the office behind her – there was no-one else in sight to check us in.

I waited for a minute. Then I got bored of the French-tipped nails clicking against the plastic pen.

I coughed. The receptionist looked up at me through her emerald, square-rimmed glasses. She chewed her gum loudly and rested her pen on the desk, then going on to straighten every other item of stationary: the pencil, the diary, even the rubber. She sighed in exasperation but let herself smile.
"Can I help you?" she asked. A French accent brushed her tone but she was entirely fluent. I thanked the lord for that; I could hold a basic conversation in the language but, according to Gabby, my accent was atrocious. I'd been humiliated enough that day; I didn't need to expose anyone to the disgrace that was my attempt at a French accent.
"Yes." I straightened myself up. "I'd like a double room."
"You could at least say please," she grumbled, flicking through her diary.
I bit back a curse. I would not be lectured on manners by someone who couldn't even maintain a professional front. She didn't haveto sigh and ignore me.
"I could," I finally said, holding a glare at the receptionist.