Hatched

Chapter Twenty-Five

July 1st, 2021

1915 hours

Robyn sighed and tapped her foot irritably. Where was Quinn?

The fabric of her dress was stifling, and because of the low cut of the dress she'd been forced to go braless, the result of which was a very uncomfortable irritation on her naked breasts. This unfortunately caused her to shrug and adjust the garment quite frequently in a vain effort to scratch.

She scowled from her location on the perimeter of the dance floor. From there she could see the raised stage platform and, just behind it, the greying heads of several men and women. Quinn had positioned her here specifically to observe the men and women that were considered the pioneers of Biofuel research. She had to admit this was the ideal spot, but the persistent agitation from her garment made it near impossible to keep track of anything.

"Gordon to Bourke." Her radio hissed almost inaudibly.

"Robyn here." She responded, gazing around nonchalantly as to not draw attention to herself.

"See anything yet?"

"No." She whispered, taking note of her surroundings.

"Keep a wary eye."

"Sure, but what am I waiting for?"

"I'm not certain. Just track every move Ellis makes."

"Aren't you paid to do that?" She frowned, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

"Not in so many terms, but yes, I'm on stake out, just like you."

"I'm not an agent, Gordon."

"Could have fooled me." Came laughter on the other end of the line.

"I'm glad someone believes in me." She admitted, feeling slightly uplifted.

"Keep a weary eye, and radio any activity you think is suspicious."

"Which would be?"

"You'll know when you see it. Gordon, over and out."

The wave cut off and she sighed. She didn't have a clue what she was looking for. Robyn stood resolutely by the refreshment table and glanced over the selection. Spying a platter of mini quiches, she raised an astonished brow. The selection was impressive and encompassed cuisine from a variety of countries. It literally spanned the globe, palate wise. Now that she thought about it, there were quite a few diplomats from other nations in attendance. It only served that there would be a varied buffet provided.

Her stomach let out a loud growl and she picked up a plate. Might as well enjoy the feast, she thought, loading the tray with meat pies, shrimp kabobs, and cheese and cracker samplers.

She ate her way slowly through the lovely spread, eyes casting about watchfully. To pass the time she observed the guests, excited eyes taking in the ladies' beautiful dresses, the handsome gentlemen in their impeccable suits. The lights danced tantalizingly off of the chandeliers, their soft light casting off the crystal facets, covering the dance floor in twinkling splendor. The band was decent, but the songs were too similar, and far too penchant toward the eighties for her taste. Nearly everyone there was twenty years her junior, which accounted for the preference in music. She felt awkward and very out of place: nearly everyone was either dancing with a partner or conversing in groups.

She was the only one standing alone: it reminded her of sad school dances, where she always ended up rejected. Robyn's mind suddenly teleported back in time, to scenes of being a lonely bystander, dateless dances plaguing her mind. Alone, in a cream dress, gazing forlornly at the happy couples as they embraced, wishing she was one of the sexy girls hanging onto a football player's arm...the flashback faded into one even worse. Standing in a dress she didn't remember the color of, because the man supporting her on his arm stole her attention completely. He motioned her to the stage, where they were to dance, the happiest dance of her life. Leaving the club house, gazing deeply into his eyes, eager to spend eternity. Tires squealing...heat and fire...an empty house, cold bed, and endless dinners for one...