Special Agent | ✓

Thirty-One

THIRTY-ONE

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The phone call would reach Quinn about an hour after the conclusion of the meeting at The Agency. The mood in the Knightsbridge HQ had been somber, to say the least, though it was mostly noticeable in the Intelligence department. Colleagues, lesser chiefs, paper people — news spread quickly of the kill order placed on Analyst Quinn O'Reilly's head.

Most people had found it shocking. Last they'd heard, The Agency had shipped her off into the field in order to retrieve her MIA primary partner, Special Agent Cameron Kent. Now, it seemed people had caught sight of that very same Cameron Kent strutting through the halls of the Agency's HQ. Some hadn't believed it, while some openly argued that they'd mistaken the Special Agent for someone else.

When they'd seen Special Agent Locke, trademark scowl in place, walking down the hallway beside Kent, they'd held their tongues.

Meanwhile, the ever-diligent Chief of Intelligence had taken a day off. Adina Tibble had, for the first time in forever, taken a personal day from work at The Agency. She wasn't ill, nor was she injured.

No, Adina mused, nursing a glass of whiskey at her home, I'm disgusted.

She was also a coward, having spent almost half the day procrastinating the very reason she'd felt sick enough to take a leave of absence. Her eyes slipped to the smartphone laying facedown on the table beside her, before they shot back to the arbitrary TV show playing on her flat screen.

She'd need to call Quinn. She would have to call Quinn, and tell her that her 'sister' had shoved a firm knife into her back, and torn her professional reputation to shreds. Adina had taken a lot of risky decisions in her time, always weighing the pros and cons well enough for her to be viewed as one of the most logical people The Agency had ever employed.

But there was no logic to this. Tibble believed that this would shatter Quinn completely. And all she could do to help pick up the pieces was work the case from the Knightsbridge HQ, and hope Quinn might give her some other assignment to do in order to help her from London.

Not that she'll ever do that, Adina thought, eyes tracking the screen as she sipped at her drink, that bloody woman will try to make sure she's the only one suffering in this mess.

As the show on the TV cut to commercial, Adina's eyes dipped to the smartphone again.

It was time.

*

The call came later than Quinn had thought it would. She'd been waiting anxiously, heart clawing in her throat, attempting to burrow down into one of Kat's five-million page Russian novels. Unfortunately for Quinn, she wasn't quite well-versed enough in the language to grasp all of the book's contents, and so she was left with her own mind reeling.

"Finally," Quinn muttered, lunging for the phone as it buzzed on the sofa beside her, " — give me some answers."

The interface clearly read Chief Tibble. Quinn pressed 'accept call', perching the phone on her shoulder as she angled herself into a cushion. She'd acquired a new phone, giving the number to Adina in order to stay under the radar while maintaining contact.

"Chief Tibble? The news?"

Cold sweat pearled across the back of Quinn's neck. Kat had gone to one of her many dance recitals, leaving Quinn alone with nothing to do but brood and worry.

The silence lasted on the other end for another second, before Adina replied.

"The kill order passed."