Special Agent | ✓

Forty-Five

"How do I know this isn't old footage?"

The man said something in Czech that Quinn realized was a curse.

"Call the number," replied the man. He crossed his arms above his chest, the jacket stretching harder around his torso. Quinn's eyes noted the bulge right on the side of his hip.

A poorly disguised gun, Quinn thought, before she pressed the number logged as the most recent call.

Before the receiver could speak, Quinn made her order:

"I want proof of life. Put Katya on the phone."

"Quinn O'Reilly, I presume."

The voice was distinctly English, though not one she could place.

"From what I know, you're more than aware of how this goes down." A sigh crackled through the phone, "Here's your proof of life."

The man called an order, and the sound of a mean slap echoed through the phone before a distinctly female voice cried out in response. Quinn squeezed her eyes closed, felt guilt hammer in her heart.

"I — I'm not Kat, I swear —" The voice cried, stuttering, " — you have the wrong person —"

The sound of another hit reached Quinn's ear. She felt the following cry of pain ricochet through her soul, increasing her resolve. The anger that had lain dormant since Kent's betrayal was dangerously close to blooming, now, no longer able to be suppressed.

"Good enough for you?" The voice on the phone said, again.

Quinn swallowed hard.

"For now," Quinn replied.

You're a fighter, Quinn. Now fight.

She shoved any guilt or doubts away, pointedly imagining herself shutting them into a box before locking it.

"Follow my guy into the building. I'm looking forward to meet you, face to face."

Quinn heard a smile through the voice on the other end.

"You don't think I'm stupid enough to agree to go further into a location of your choosing?"

A moment of silence reigned, Quinn's eyes pointedly resting on the figure of the stranger a few steps away. The weight of the handgun at her side anchored her, just a little, giving her a sense of security.

"They said you were smart, logical. Calculative, I think was the word. I can see why."

"Let's not play any games," Quinn hissed, felt the anger teased at the thought of this complete stranger threatening her, then toying with her.

"Fine by me, Quinn O'Reilly," The voice said, smugly, " — what are you suggesting?"

"We'll do it right here. The courtyard."

Quinn kept her voice hard, unyielding. The voice didn't reply for a few moments, the silence stretching.

"Close the doors, first." The voice demanded, equally hard and authoritative.

Quinn turned around to the wooden double-doors she'd first spotted at the end of the passageway. They were the only way into the courtyard that she could see, and closing them made a sense of claustrophobia cling to her. The sense told her it would be a very big mistake.

Forcing herself past those doubts, she closed the one door which had been left open.

"Closed," Quinn said, into the receiver, "Now, feel free to crawl out of your hole."