Special Agent | ✓

Nineteen

NINETEEN

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"Kind of rude of the little analyst to tell us a time and place while not showing up herself, don't you think?"

Grinning at his companion, Scott leaned back in the worn chair of the café and folded one arm behind his head.

"One would imagine she'd be the first one back, to be fair —"

"Shut up, Davidson." Gavin's words were sharp, "You were the one who handed over your last location to her."

"So what? She asked for it. I'm betting you she's completely fine."

Gavin's eyes tracked the crowds across the plaza, eyes skipping by families and tourists alike who swarmed the cobbled marketplace. Scott was busy stirring his drink with a straw, while antagonizing his grumpy companion.

"If you're so worried, try her phone again. Not that it worked the other times," added Scott, eyes tracking the bobbing ice of his drink while Gavin glared at him.

"Chief Tibble will string me up Big Ben by the balls if even a piece of hair on that bloody analyst's head is out of place, you hear me? I'm sure she'll be delighted to string you up next to me, too."

Gavin's sharp words made Scott look up from his drink, sipping thoughtfully.

"Good thing it's under construction then. And that she's unharmed, of course."

"What are you —"

Gavin's sweeping glances stopped as Quinn's figure stepped out of the shadows from one of the streets leading onto the square, steps headed right toward the café at which they were seated. A second, appraising look grazed her features, found her to appear unharmed.

It took a minute for her to reach the café, stepping under the checkered awning with a light smile.

"Sorry I was late. I've good news though." Quinn sank down on the third chair, digging through her bag. The sound of rustling paper rose reached her companions' ears, " — this last location was a hit."

"A hit?" Gavin raised a brow, glanced at Scott, "You found some information?"

"But there was no one there, right? Completely safe?" Scott leaned forward again, eyes trained on Quinn, " — you didn't get yourself into any situations?"

Sensing an uncomfortable tension, Quinn shifted in her chair.

Perhaps I should not tell them about Mr. Castiglione. On the other hand, if they ask about the information ...

The doubts Quinn was having seemed to unsettle both Scott and Gavin, as their eyes narrowed.

"Well?" Scott asked, because he needed to know if he'd unknowingly put the analyst in danger — an image of him strung up in Big Ben was still circulating through his mind — and for whatever reason Gavin seemed to become unhinged at the idea of O'Reilly being hurt.

"I mean, it was just a banker."

Who you had to threaten in order for him to cooperate, while having a hand on your gun.

Gavin's face scrunched into a scowl, features wholly unbelieving. Scott looked at Locke, looking increasingly worried.

"Whatever you're thinking, shove it aside — nothing happened. What did happen, though, was that I managed to dig this out."

She withdrew a stack of folded papers from her bag, pushing them across the table.

"Just read it. I asked him to run the account numbers, find the owner and all that — " Quinn waved the thought off with a gesture, " — and he dug out the listed name and address of the guy in question."