Special Agent | ✓

Five

FIVE

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Special Agent Gavin Locke hadn't known what to expect when he received his summons for an emergency meeting. He'd skimmed the brief summon, eyebrows furrowing when he noted the familiar name of the stiff analyst who frequented most of the regular briefings. Then his brows furrowed further, noting that Special Agent Kent's emergency beacon had gone off.

"What the hell," Gavin had mumbled darkly, re-reading the missive on his way from the airport. Those words stuck with him as he'd entered the conference room, only to find himself steps away from an active battle zone.

Quinn O'Reilly — the mousy, socially inept analyst who buzzed with irritation whenever he prodded at her intelligence, yet she never reciprocated. He'd almost believed her to be mute, until he'd been proven wrong by Cameron as she'd went off on a tangent regarding Quinn's supposed skills. In Gavin's mind, however, Quinn O'Reilly was one of many analysts who cowered behind their desks and ran numbers from daybreak until sunset. She hadn't done much to prove him wrong thus far, until he'd stepped into the bloody emergency meeting.

When he'd first entered, he hadn't been struck by the sight of quiet, resigned analyst. No, O'Reilly had shoved her chair away, firing a scalding verbal offensive at Chief Havas. He could only listen in stunned, muted silence as she finished her tirade, before sinking back down in her chair. When Gavin at last moved forward, Scott shot him an intrigued glance. It was, however, the almost disgusted look on the analyst's face as she noted his arrival which caught him off-guard.

And the uncanny, hand-shaped bruises on her shoulders.

Gavin shoved aside his strange reaction, and repeated his earlier sentiment:

"What the hell is going on?"

The conference room had gone silent. Never in his life as an agent had Gavin seen any meeting with all of the Chiefs present go by quietly, yet he was now witness to such an event. Only the Director moved, inclining her head toward Gavin. He remained two steps behind her chair, a trademark scowl on his face .

"Take a seat, Special Agent Locke," said Kimmel. Her eyes remained firmly on the analyst. Chief Tibble, seated beside O'Reilly, placed a supportive hand on the analyst's elbow. Gavin could still see the remnants of the stiff, scared analyst — she was most likely shaking, anxious beyond compare. Yet O'Reilly held his stare, nearly tilting her chin at him.

Gavin moved around the table, occupying the seat beside Davidson. They exchanged a glance, yet spoke no words. Silence reigned around the conference room. Director Kimmel appeared to be deep in thought, still studying the analyst seated beside Chief Tibble.

Tibble's eyes flickered to O'Reilly's, and she offered a slight smile, teeming with subtle pride.

Interesting.

Chief Tibble gently squeezed Quinn's elbow, then let go. The analyst glanced at her boss, a grateful expression sweeping across her face before she wiped it off, replacing it with indifference once more. Gavin's eyes shifted to the Director's, who still seemed to be mulling over the situation.

"Director — if you don't mind me asking, how do we proceed?" Chief Vahid had been the one to break the silence, seated directly beside the analyst and Chief Tibble. Vahid's eyes shifted warily between the Director and Havas.

Chief Havas, the main target of Quinn's offensive, remained quiet and docile beside Sanders. Sanders, the poor soul, looked as if he was about to simultaneously strange himself and his co-chief. Gavin had no clue as to what Havas had said for the analyst to rip into him as she had, though he supposed Davidson would be keen to offer the detailed version of it later.