Special Agent | ✓

Nineteen

Gavin reached for the paper, swiftly flipping through the document as he scanned the picture of the guy whose account they'd tracked down. Scott's eyes tracked the same picture, eyebrows raising.

"Looks more like a mercenary than a banker," came Davidson's remark. Gavin flipped to the next page, browsed his info.

"It's probably not his real address, but we're in luck as this guy's somewhat of a go-to in the sophisticated circles around Italy." Quinn reached for the paper again, flipping to the last page. Somewhere far off, a church bell started tolling.

"Somewhat of a go-to?" Echoed Davidson, voice inquisitive.

"Yeah, Casti — uh, the banker told me that he's apparently hosting some form of fancy gala eve tomorrow night. He received an invitation as a thank-you a while back, and happened to remember it."

Reaching into her bag again, Quinn withdrew glossy papers. A light smile spread across her face again, expression smug.

"I'm guessing that's the invitation, then." Scott smiled, eyes lifting to Quinn, "Damn, O'Reilly, you're effective. You aren't planning on edging into the Agent field, are you?"

Quinn laughed, leaned back as she shoved the items back in her bag, "No, I could never. This whole 'get-your-victim-to-give-you-info' thing is something I'm not very good at."

"Victim?" Echoed Locke, eyes narrowing at O'Reilly, "Thought it was just a friendly banker."

Fucking O'Reilly's hiding something about this entire encounter, and thinks we're dumb enough to miss it? Bloody analyst.

"Uh, yeah, he was. Very cooperative, all that."

"Yet he handed you invitations to an apparently exclusive gala evening." Locke's eyes met Quinn's, hard as steel, "Interesting."

"I think Quinn's the type to be very persuasive when she sets her mind to it, don't you think Locke?" Scott trailed his fingers across the invitations, eyebrows furrowing, "You didn't happen across a third invitation, did you, O'Reilly?"

Quinn shook her head, reaching for the invitations, "No, he only had two. One for him and his wife."

"Want to go, Locke?" Scott's face shone, and Locke's scowl disappeared over the rim of a coffee cup.

"I thought I'd go," started Quinn. Locke's eyes shot to hers, found her expression unyielding, "I'm the primary analyst here, and I've got the info. It makes sense."

"You're not going alone," declared Gavin, eyeing Quinn warily. The scowl remained, ever present, "Bloody hell, if you believe that —"

Quinn held up a hand, eyes narrowing, "I am well aware it would be unwise to go on my own, but decided to let the two of you quarrel over who'd want to accompany me. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do, but first —" Quinn's eyes lifted, found a server across the restaurant who'd busied himself with speaking to a colleague, " — I want some coffee."

Quinn rose, moved away from the table.

Deciding who went out of Locke and Davidson took approximately two seconds after O'Reilly left. Scott managed to look up and meet Gavin's hard look as they faced each other. Gavin lifted a brow lightly, arms crossing above his chest as he aimed a frosty look Scott's way.

Davidson lifted his palms, shaking his head. No words were exchanged, but it had been decided nonetheless. In the background, the noise from the plaza and the surrounding restaurants and cafés quietened beneath the rising sound from an on-street orchestra.