Special Agent | ✓

Seventeen

SEVENTEEN

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They had the right place, after all. A kind footman offered to carry their bags, to which everyone but Quinn accepted, and the man in question then guided them to their rooms. Quinn lived alone in a single, while the guys shared a double.

"Bloody hell, unfair," drawled Scott as he handed over Quinn's key, "I wanted the room for myself."

"Stop crying, Davidson. Sarraf wouldn't like it." Locke shot him a look. Scott responded with a glower, to which Locke grinned. Quinn shook her head, before unlocking her own room and stepping inside.

It was a real good room. She hadn't really expressed it in the hallway, unwilling to rub salt in their wounds regarding the room-sharing situation, but she had to physically stop herself from performing some sort of victory dance at the fact that she had her own room in this obviously boutique hotel.

Score!

Dumping her bag on the bed, Quinn headed into the bathroom. She placed her toiletries bag on the counter, then turned the tap and ran cold water over her hands. The choking heat of a larger city stuck to her skin, which made Quinn wash both face and neck with cold water.

She dried her face with an incredibly soft towel, then met her own eyes in the mirror.

Bloody hell. Freshen up, girl.

And so Quinn decided she would. She pulled out her brush, ran it through frizzy hair, then swept it up in a ponytail. She dabbed sunscreen all over her face, all too aware of how sunburnt she'd always gotten as a child, when she'd never worn sunscreen. Heading for her suitcase, Quinn pulled out a light summer dress.

She was changed in under ten minutes. It took another five to pack a small bag to bring with her to whatever banks she was visiting, and three more to shrug on a pair of sandals and a light jean jacket.

Quinn stepped out of the room, turned around to switch the key in her lock.

It's game time.

She strode over to the guys' room, knocked twice before stepping back. Davidson was the one who faced her as the door swung open, chest bare and a lazy expression on his face.

"Hey, Quinn," His eyes raked her form, " — you're already good to go?"

"I thought I'd get a head start. My places are a little bit further from the center." Quinn offered an uncomfortable smile, heat crawling up her neck at the ripple in Davidson's muscles.

Why isn't there sunscreen for this, too?

At her words, though, Davidson frowned.

"I thought we'd all go at the same time. Are you sure you'll make it?"

Quinn opened her bag, showed the slim handle of a compact gun.

"Scott, I'll make it just fine. We'll all meet back here tonight."

A mutter rose from inside the room, and seconds later Scott's face was shoved aside as Gavin stepped up to the door. Scott returned only milliseconds later, cracking the door open a few more inches. Locke was luckily wearing a shirt, though Quinn's eyes unfortunately dipped and saw a towel slung around his waist. His hair was wet, plastered against a furrowed forehead.

"You wait five minutes, and we'll all go at once."

"But we'll save time if — "

"Five minutes," warned Gavin, "Don't make me cuff you to the bed."