Mr. Griffin had been acting out of character all evening, so when the call came that there was a team in need of assistance, I asked him if he'd care to join me. I didn't expect him to be so enthusiastic about leaving, but I'd hoped to get the opportunity to suss out his problems while we were away from the others.
"Where are we headed, Mr. B?" he asks as we situate ourselves in Mr. Morgan's BMW. I sigh as I relax back into the seat, sparing a moment to lament at the loss of my own vehicle, so similar to this one. I really need to take the time to get myself another one.
"We have a team that requested two-man backup. The details haven't been provided, however I was told that any and all equipment will be there for us before our arrival." Mr. Griffin nods and sits back into a brooding silence. It's a bit unorthodox for us to be going in so blind, but not unheard of.
I let Mr. Griffin have his quiet for now, knowing that I can confront him after the work is done. Best to not inflame his temper before we go into the assignment.
We arrive at our destination, and it's a ramshackle building with a security door for an entrance. The door opens after Mr. Griffin knocks a random pattern, and an attractive girl about my age opens it. She's wearing a bright blue wig, with makeup and clothing that match, and she grabs Mr. Griffin by the wrist and leads him down the hallway without a word.
I feel the stirrings of unease in my stomach as I follow them, but can't quite pinpoint what it is that has me on edge. We enter a nearly empty room, and she motions for us to take a seat on the worn out sofa against the far wall. She has yet to speak, and I feel that I need to confirm that she is part of the team that we're here to assist.
"Paperclip," I say.
She raises an electric blue eyebrow at me and laughs. "Stiletto," she responds with a shake of her wig.
As I have yet to sit, I extend my hand to her and she takes it with just the tips of her fingers and lets go quickly.
"I'm Owen Blackboune, and this is my teammate Nathan Griffin."
She smiles and takes the seat beside Mr. Griffin. "Oh, I know who you are."
This time, it's my turn to raise an eyebrow at her, and she laughs in a husky voice. "Your family is legendary, Owen. The young dog team that took out the serial killer of Charleston is all anyone can talk about these days." She turns to Mr. Griffin and runs a manicured finger along the collar of his shirt. "I didn't realize how handsome you all were though," she practically purrs.
I hadn't realized that people were talking about us, and I furrow my brow out of concern. It's hard to stay anonymous when you're garnering attention. The blue-haired woman trails her fingers through Mr. Griffin's hair and I feel a spark of agitation when he doesn't stop her.
That spark grows when I realize that he's placed his hand around her waist.
"Excuse me," I interrupt their flirtation. "You still haven't introduced yourself, Miss, or told us why we're here."
I fold my arms across my chest and set my icy stare on my teammate. He glares at me and keeps his hand where it is.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn as a gentleman in his twenties joins us in the room. "Forgive my sister," he says with a crooked smile. "She has a habit of forgetting her manners around company." He offers me his hand, and I take it, noting that his palms are heavily calloused. "I am Francis, and my sister is Olivia."
I hear the slightest hint of an accent, but I can't place it. French Canadian, perhaps?
I repeat our introductions, and have to actively remind myself to keep my temper in check when I see Olivia snuggle into Mr. Griffin's side.
