Special Agent | ✓

Fifty-Seven

a/n: last one. then the epilogue. exciting times ahead. 

also: thinking of entering this story into the wattys 2020. should i? 

Fifty-Seven

—————

Quinn arrived at the Knightsbridge HQ in time to get into the sleek, black car waiting outside. Davidson sat in the seat beside her, his pummeled face appearing grotesque in the half-dim lighting of the interior.

They said nothing to each other. There was nothing to say, really. The driver glanced back at them, noted Quinn's nod, before they shot away from the HQ.

The drive took twenty minutes. The neighborhoods went from the higher, sleek buildings of the city centre to the wider, bigger houses belonging to families living further away from the bustle of the big city.

Lawns increased in size, large trees dominating the fronts of houses which were several floors high, windows and fine exterior detailing gleaming in the lights from the streetlamps lining the clean pavements.

They rolled to a final stop outside a dark brick building. The driver didn't say a word as both Davidson and Quinn got out. Davidson rounded the edge of the car, his swollen eyes watching on her.

"Let's get this over with," Quinn said quietly. The car drove off, the noise from the engine gradually disappearing as they were left alone on the curb in front of the nice house. There was a stone path leading directly to the front door.

Davidson grasped her by the elbow much like Gavin had only half an hour before, but there was nothing kind about his grip. Limping alongside Quinn, he gritted his teeth as he dragged the two of them to the dark house.

Scott crouched down beside the front door, tipping aside a pot of flowers before reaching for a gleaming key hidden beneath. He hissed as his injuries strained, but Quinn made no move to help him despite his obvious struggle. Finally, he grasped the key, and stood up to unlock the door.

Quinn let it fall shut behind them, noting the completely empty interior of the house. It was dark, eerie — a few glimmers of light entered through the windows at the other end of the house, though the shutters were half-drawn.

There was a wall-mounted clock here, too, which appeared to show the correct time. Only a few minutes remained until ten o'clock.

"We'll have to prove it," Scott said, averting his eyes from Quinn, "I'm assuming you won't let me — "

"Make it look believable?" Quinn shot back, shaking her head, "I'll do it myself."

Scott stared at her as she stepped further into the large, empty room at the center of the house. The gleam of tiles appeared in her peripheral, and so Quinn steered into the kitchen. Much like she'd thought, there were no utensils in the drawers, not even a knife.

However, she needed to make it seem as if there was, hence her audibly rummaging through the cupboards in search of a knife. Satisfied she'd appeared to have searched for long enough, Quinn glanced over her shoulder to make sure Scott hadn't followed, then withdrew the slim knife she'd pocketed from Adina's kitchen.

Tugging up the sleeve of her jacket, Quinn winced as she pressed it into her arm. Blood bloomed, enough of it for her to swipe it off her arm and spread it along her hairline. She stopped to look at her artwork in the gleaming metal of the fridge, half-satisfied with it.

She slipped the knife back into a thick pocket, exiting the kitchen moments later. Scott looked up, nodded lightly. They didn't say much else, though Quinn moved over to let Scott force her to her knees, even though every part of her protested.