Special Agent | ✓

Twenty-Four

TWENTY-FOUR

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Mother of matter, being an escapee hunted by special agents sucked in ways Quinn had never previously been forced to describe. Within minutes of landing at Ca' Savio, Quinn had scoured the harbor for a way to get to the closest ... whatever that'd take her to Prague.

She'd managed to clean herself up in one of the bathrooms, scrubbing away the dirt and blood coating her body, before she'd exited the bathrooms in hunt for transport. Somehow, Quinn had managed to hitchhike with a lovely couple, who'd proudly introduced themselves as Lukas and Sten in thick, Nordic accents. As Quinn was dressed in the ripped tatters of a fine gala dress, Lukas was kind enough to lend her a worn jacket, explaining that he was due to throw it away anyhow.

"Besides," he said, "This way I'll get to buy a new one."

"I like the way you think," said Quinn, smiling before she thanked him profusely, shrugging her shivering arms into the warm sleeves of the black, felt jacket. It helped her to snap out of the cold, shivering state she'd found herself in, helped jog along the gears switching in her head.

They had kept up some small talk, but skirted the issue of just why Quinn had ended up the way she had, in the backseat of their shiny Volvo.

How would I even answer that question? Yes, so, I work for a transgovernmental agency, called The Agency, specializing in, uh, missions whose completion depends on a specialized set of skills. Oh, and yes, we were betrayed by our own agent, who now want to kill me because I might expose him.

Quinn hadn't yet started thinking of what the ramifications of recent developments were. It might be true that Davidson worked alone, but he likely had some kind of partner, who helped him coordinate his various traitorous schemes.

Dirtbag. Sleazebag. Asshat.

That line of reasoning continued until Quinn thanked Lukas and Sten a million times more as they dropped her off at a closeby city center.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" asked Lukas, eyes roaming over her figure. As if only just noticing she was barefoot, his eyes widened, "You don't look fine."

"I'll be fine. Just had a terrible party experience in Venice, you know." Quinn attached some type of airy noise to her voice, as if that would make her any less of a terrible actress when it came to playing a role, " — as soon as I get home, I'll be completely fine. You sure you don't want the jacket back?"

"No, no. As I said, I'll get to buy a new one." Lukas smiled again, and she bid them farewell and safe travels as they drove away in the dark night, headlights flashing before they rounded a corner. They'd dropped her off in Portogruaro, which was point A from which Quinn would need to find a quick, efficient way of getting to point B — Prague.

One of the few places where I have people I can trust.

A flash of Gavin's face crossed her mind, before Quinn swiftly tossed it aside. It didn't matter now, what Special Agent Locke was up to. What he was doing wouldn't make Quinn less hunted, less exposed. As far as Quinn could suspect, they were probably working to have a kill order gunning for her head.

Because thinking of a kill order on her head didn't exactly lift her spirits, Quinn forced herself to keep moving forward. She wanted to withdraw money, but would not be able to do it from her usual account.

Which is exactly why I have a throwaway.

One she could access if she went to a bank, but then they'd require ID ... a thing she was sorely lacking. As well as her wallet, and laptop, and any other things she would much prefer to have when it came to situations such as these.