Special Agent | ✓

Twenty (I)

TWENTY

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Sufficient clothes were provided by some sort of mysterious Agency contact, who dropped off a neatly wrapped package at the hotel. After Locke had thoroughly inspected it, not entirely convinced it was not another type of bomb aimed at them, they were allowed to actually open it. Two more packages lay inside, addressed to the 'Mr & Mrs'.

Quinn frowned at the titles, snatching hers quickly. Meanwhile, Scott grinned in the background.

"Meet in the lobby an hour before start?" Quinn asked, eyes lifting to meet Gavin's. He gave a curt nod, then picked up his box before turning around, striding away from both Quinn and Scott.

Meanwhile, Quinn carted her own box back to my room. The lavish surroundings still shocked her — the glimmer of marble in the bathroom, the shining glass panes offering opulent views of surrounding canals ... Quinn would never quite get used to it, especially since it had never been a part of my life previous to this mission.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she focused on unwrapping the box in question. It was a matte black, tied with a satin ribbon. It unfolded easily, the fabric soft as it slipped through her grip. Quinn opened the box itself rather unceremoniously, but stopped short of simply tugging out the fabric within. Instead, she reached in with my hand, almost trembling before catching the feel of soft fabric.

Quinn knew instantly it was not the kind of dresses she'd ever buy on her budget, that was for sure. Either way, it didn't really matter.

You get to play pretend for one evening! Enjoy it.

With that in mind, Quinn pulled the dress out of the bag, placing it on the soft duvet. It was a shimmering black — upon closer inspection, she saw there were tiny crystals embedded in the satin fabric. As she pulled all of it out of the bag, Quinn noted various straps criss-crossing parts of the fabric.

Don't tell me it's open-back. Bloody hell.

Frowning, she held the dress in front of me.

"An open back, crystal-embellished silk-satin evening gown," Quinn muttered, "Bloody hell. What have you sent me, Adina?"

In that instance, she very much longed to be back in her office, or rather her apartment, tapping away at a familiar keyboard, drinking her own positively nuclear coffee-concoctions, rather than here ... in Venice, chasing ghosts.

But you're not here to chase ghosts. You're here to find Cameron.

Quinn steeled herself, running that thought over and over in her mind until it fastened itself in the very front of it. She knew she owed it to Cam — owed it to her to see this through, even if it took her waltzing her way through some sort of gala evening to squeeze information out of some plushy hedge-fund type magnate. Once more, Quinn was very far from her area of comfortability. She had to give it to the agents — slipping in and out of identities, personalities, required more skill and finesse than she'd initially believed.

Than you first gave them credit for.

Risking a quick glance at the clock, Quinn forced herself to hurry. She had to work some magic to pass for an actual guest at the gala tonight, and for that Quinn needed time. With that in mind, she started slipping off her shoes, eyes on the dress.

Let's turn into Mrs. Castiglione.

*

They met in the lobby an hour before the gala's intended start. It had taken some time for Quinn to figure out the straps of the dress, but finally she'd wrestled it on, along with the heels they'd sent her in the very same box.