Special Agent | ✓

Six

SIX

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Quinn could hardly believe it. Fucking Locke would be going with her to Paris. Not the cool, calm and collected Sarraf, not the relaxed, logical Davison. No, Agency hothead, moron extraordinaire — Special Agent Gavin Locke.

Chief Tibble had pulled her aside for a few moments after the meeting concluded. Quinn had stared briefly at Chief Havas, a small victory bursting inside of her at his stricken face as the Director beckoned her to his office.

"I thought I was going to bloody die when you stood up, but you did damn well. Irene's more inclined to give us the benefit of the doubt, if you ask me." Adina herded them closer to one of the windows, away from the smaller groups dotting the room, " — I said you were their best bet, didn't I?"

Quinn nodded, briefly glancing out of the window. The sun had climbed up, illuminating the London skyline. The top floor of the HQ enabled a view over the surrounding buildings — over the dips and lows of slate rooftops, past the glint of windows and the wrought steel of balconies. Despite the fact that her life felt as if it had been spun around a centrifuge, the surrounding neighborhood stood still. The brick buildings remained sturdy, the commuters were still rushing to work. A pair of errant birds blinked past the rooftops.

"After Kimmel's given co-Chief bastard a well-deserved dressing-down — not in the physical sense, I don't think the Director's gotten any in years — she's probably sequestering herself with some of the Chiefs. I'm betting Chief Masters, probably Sanders. They're going to have a mission outline on your desk within the hour. You're going to have to face Locke, too — avoid the glares this time, if you please."

Quinn resisted a scowl. "When are we leaving? A day? A week? Are we even leaving?" Adina shrugged casually, eyes returning to rest on Quinn's face.

"I'd say it depends on Special Agent Lorber. If she responds, maybe there's no reason for you to go at all. Don't twist yourself in binds attempting to figure it out — this is an hour-by-hour case. We don't know what to expect, so don't force yourself to attempt it."

Quinn toyed with the situation in her mind, "If Special Agent Lorber hasn't responded to an emergency missive in the past seven hours, it's a safe bet that she's gone offline for the mission."

Adina nodded, "Or she could just log on and find it waiting for her any moment now. The part I said earlier, about us analysts being logical people — it can be negative, too. Some things aren't always black and white, Quinn." Her mouth thinned, " — I realized that much too late in my life. I'm hoping to avoid that mistake with you."

Quinn shifted, eyeing the tense jawline of Gavin Locke from across the room. He'd looked disgusted at the prospect of bringing her along for the mission, and seemed to have descended into an angry rant to his colleague, Special Agent Davidson.

If anything, your arrogant, swaggering agent ego will be what weighs down the efficacy of this mission.

For Cam's sake, though, Quinn would power through. If anything, Quinn was indebted to the Special Agent. She was a friend, a confidante — Kent had given her the treasured post as her primary partner, and efficiently handed her a key to a new part of life. She'd put up with Locke's moronic tendencies as long as it meant they could figure out what had happened to Cam. Quinn absolutely refused to believe Cam was dead — she was much too skilled an agent for that.

Even if they found Cam dead, Quinn would do her bloody best to bring her to justice. That much she owed her friend.

Adina noted Quinn's pointed look Gavin's way, and rested a hand on her shoulder.