by Dylan Madrid
Maybe I should just go home.
As he closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of Luca’s breath, Quintin feared what he already knew was true.
Whether he wanted to or not, he was falling in love with Luca Russo.
*
Quintin woke just a couple of hours later. His body ached. His mouth was dry. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew the hour was early. The sun was up, but just barely.
He glanced over at the naked figure sleeping beside him. Luca had the kind of face photographers dreamed about shooting. He had long, dark eyelashes, a perfectly chiseled jawline, lips that were full and silently pleaded to be kissed. He was the epitome of classic beauty.
Who is this furry-chested, dark-haired man? And what in the hell is he doing with someone like me?
Questions started to form in Quintin’s mind, awakening his imagination and bringing back to life the concerns that had gnawed at him since his and Luca’s lives had first accidentally merged.
Finally, he gave into his curiosity and slipped out of bed. He slid on his white T-shirt and boxers and made his way into the kitchen.
There’s gotta be some answers around here somewhere. Something—anything that will give me sort of clue as to who this beautiful man really is. Is he just a spy? Or is he really an assassin? Is he working for Interpol? The CIA? Is he married with five children? An undercover opera singer? Who is he?
Quintin tiptoed around the house, searching in kitchen drawers, under sofa cushions, between the pages of Belgian magazines. Still not satisfied, he broadened his search to cupboards, the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, the coat closet near the front door.
And that’s when he saw it: Luca’s black leather jacket on a wooden hanger. Quintin dove into the pockets, rummaging. His fingers wrapped around the soft square edges of a wallet. He pulled it out, flipped it open, and began to inspect the contents.
An international driver’s license. Credit cards. Cash. Nothing else.
The voice he heard coming from directly behind caused Quintin to jump. “Looking for something?” she asked.
I didn’t even hear the front door open. How did she get in here?
He recognized her voice at once, her sexy Italian accent. He knew it from the recent phone calls they’d shared, from their secret meeting in Trafalgar Square.
Quintin lifted his eyes, and something on the single shelf of the coat closet caught his eye, shimmering like cold metal. A gun.
“If you’re thinking about shooting me, think again,” she cautioned. “I’m trained to kill people. You’re not.”
Point taken. Besides, why would I kill you or anyone else? It’s not like you’re here to murder me. That must be Luca’s gun. How many times has it been fired? How many times has he pulled the trigger? Which side of the law is he on?
Quintin shoved the wallet back into the leather jacket and turned around to confront the intruder.
Arianna. Looking as gorgeous as ever. Does she wake up every morning looking like that?
She was wearing a white-and-yellow sundress, cut in a very retro, very 1950s style. Her thick, curly, dark hair was held back out of her face with a matching headband. She carried something in each hand: expensive-looking white sunglasses and a beach bag made of straw with embroidered pink flamingos on it.
Is she here for a vacation? Has there been a mix-up?
“Why would I shoot you?” he asked.
“Why are you going through Luca’s things?” she demanded, ignoring his question.
“Because I’m looking for answers, Arianna. I know nothing about Luca.”
She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look. He couldn’t tell if it was sympathy or frustration, or a combination of both. “What is it that you want to know?”
“The obvious question,” he said. “Is Luca really a spy? I mean, is that all he is?”
She didn’t blink. “Yes.”
He looked at her beach bag, wondering if there was a gun inside it. “Are you?”
She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Are you allowed to tell me this?”
“No,” she said. “But my brother says he’s falling in love with you, so the more you know about us…”
He’s falling in love with me? How is that possible? Wait…did she just refer to him as her brother?
Another piece to the ever-growing puzzle snapped into place.
Of course they’re related.
“Your brother?” he repeated.
“You’ve met my family,” she said. “We all work…together. We always have. I can’t tell you who we work for, but we protect people. We get rid of people who do wrong.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Somehow I’ve managed to be unofficially welcomed into a family steeped in espionage.
“Your entire family?” he said. “They’re all spies?”
“That word is very old-fashioned. It is only for the cinema. We are special agents,” Arianna explained. “Even our grandmother…Louisa. She was the first. It is because of her that I joined. And Luca, too.”
“And you’re all working together to bring Regina Bremington down? Because she paid a lot of money to have him assassinated?”
“Not exactly, Quintin. It is very complicated,” she said. “If you accept the assignment and help us, Luca will tell you what you need to know.”
“You already know, don’t you? That he asked me to get a confession from Regina? She wants to offer me a job. To help her with some new political campaign she’s putting together.”
“I know everything,” she said. “Of this you must be certain.”
“Then do you know what my decision is?” he asked.
She looked him in the eye. “You will do anything for love,” she said. Her cell phone buzzed. She lifted it to her ear. She had a brief conversation in Italian before ending the quick call.
At once, Quintin heard a new strain of panic in her voice. “We must go now,” she said.
“Go where? Why? What’s happening?”
“Luca!” she shouted.
He appeared in the bedroom doorway within a split second, still half-asleep but immediately on alert, despite wearing nothing but his underwear. In his hand was a gun, aimed and ready to fire.
When he realized who was standing in the open doorway of the cottage, Luca lowered his arm, bringing the gun down to the side of his thigh.
Quintin listened intently as brother and sister spoke to one another in Italian. At first he tried to comprehend what they were saying, but it was no use. However, he could tell from the urgency in their words that something was wrong.
“Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” he asked.
Arianna was now moving through the cottage, collecting certain items—mostly things made of paper like receipts, photographs, and paper bags that looked as if they were remnants from a shopping trip at a local market. Quintin watched as she threw these things into the fireplace. She reached to the mantel for a box of matches. She struck one and tossed it inside, and a small flame was ignited.
“We need to leave, Quintin. Gather your things as quickly as possible,” Luca instructed.
Quintin followed Luca into the bedroom where they’d shared their first night together.
“Are we in danger?” he asked.
Luca nodded. He started to get dressed, throwing on a tank top and shorts. He reached for his black military-style combat boots at the foot of the bed. “Yes,” he said. “Grayson Miller has discovered where we are.”
“The man who murdered the ambassador?”
“Yes.”
“Why is he coming here?”
“Because we are next on his list.”
Quintin knew better than to ask any more questions. Time was clearly of the essence, and according to the mood in the cottage, they had little to spare.
He pulled on his discarded khakis, shoved his arms into his button-up oxford, and stepped into his black loafers.
/> Next, he grabbed the handle on the suitcase he had yet to unpack and wheeled it out of the bedroom. In the bathroom he grabbed his toothbrush and slid it into his front pocket. He checked the back pocket of his pants to make sure his wallet and passport were there.
All’s good. Now where in the hell are we going?
Arianna was standing at the sliding glass door, looking out to the North Sea. “Mother’s waiting,” she told Luca. “The boat is here.”
“Let’s go,” Luca said to them both.
Arianna pulled open the sliding glass door. They rushed out to the deck and hurried down the wooden staircase. They were greeted by the chilly early-morning air. Once on the shore, Quintin struggled to move through the sand with his cumbersome suitcase and heavy shoes. He tried his best to keep up with Luca and Arianna, who were moving much faster than he was.
At the water’s edge, the woman Quintin had met during yesterday’s ferry ride was waiting in a deck boat. There was a man on board with her, whom Quintin assumed was the boat’s driver.
Of course she’s their mother. Look at the resemblance.
Quintin suddenly stopped in his tracks.
My computer bag. Damn it.
“I have to go back,” he said to Arianna and Luca. They were already climbing aboard and joining their mother.
“You can’t,” Arianna said.
“There is no time,” Luca echoed.
“I left my laptop behind. There’s information on it. He can use it to find me,” he said.
“He can’t leave it,” their mother said, making an executive decision. “It’s too risky.” She looked at Quintin and said, “Go.”
Quintin nodded, accepting her order.
“If I’m not back in thirty seconds, leave without me,” he said. He handed his suitcase to Luca. “I’m sure you’ll know where to find me.”
Quintin turned back toward the cottage and half stumbled, half ran across the sand. He raced up the deck stairs, taking two at a time. He reached the top and realized someone new had arrived.
He stopped, frozen by a flash of fear he hoped didn’t register on his face.
Be calm. Don’t panic.
“You’re a hard man to track down, Quintin Pearson,” Reed Ashton said. As usual, he was in a suit. And also as usual, he looked very handsome in it.
“What are you doing here?” Quintin asked, struggling to catch his breath.
“I might ask you the same question,” he replied. “Belgium, of all places? Why not Paris or Rome? Vienna, even.”
“I’m here on holiday,” Quintin explained with a casual shrug. “I rented this place to get away. I needed some time to clear my head.”
“Alone?” Reed asked, raising an eyebrow.
Quintin shot him a look. “That’s none of your business.”
Reed took a step forward. “Here’s the situation. I’m not allowed to leave without you. Official orders from Regina herself. I’m not letting you out of my sight again because you managed to give me the slip at the magazine office yesterday. So, are you coming along willingly or do I have to drag you out of Belgium and back to London? It’s your choice.”
Quintin smiled, hoping the gesture would soften the moment and ease the growing frustration he heard in Reed’s voice. “I don’t know why you had to come all the way here,” he said. “I feel bad you had to travel this far. I was planning on talking to Regina as soon as I got back home.”
“Oh?” said Reed. He moved even closer. He was wearing cologne and his breath smelled like minty mouthwash. His tie was crooked. Quintin was tempted to reach out and fix it, but he resisted the impulse.
“Yes,” Quintin said. “If the job offer still stands, I would like to accept it.”
“She’ll be very pleased to hear that,” Reed said. “Let’s get back to London, shall we?”
Quintin nodded in agreement. “I just have to get my bag,” he said. “It’s inside the cottage.”
Reed stepped aside. “After you, then,” he said.
Quintin paused for a few seconds, distracted by his scrambled thoughts.
And then he heard something and knew he had no other choice but to go back to London with Reed.
From the shore below came the sound of the boat’s motor. The gentle roar of it dimmed as the deck boat moved farther and farther away, eventually disappearing into the sunlit horizon.
The Interview
“You’re good at what you do, Reed Ashton,” Quintin said.
The two men were sitting across from each other at a wooden café table, not far from the almost-deserted snack bar on a ferry bound for Dover. Passengers were few and far between. They were almost alone, except for the frosted-haired woman behind the counter, who looked like a zombie waiting for a customer to revive her.
“Are you trying to get back on my good side?” Reed asked.
They were both drinking watered-down cappuccinos, which Reed had insisted on paying for just minutes after the boat pulled away from Calais. With white cups in hand, they’d grabbed seats and stared at each for other for a moment too long until Quintin decided to start a conversation. He figured it would make the time go by quicker if they talked.
Anything to take my mind off being separated from Luca. Again.
“It’s the truth,” said Quintin. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Reed admitted.
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Quintin agreed. “But mission accomplished.”
Reed leaned forward in his wooden chair. The table was low, so the tip of his dark-blue tie nearly made its way into his coffee. He flipped the tie back over his shoulder and reached for his cup. “I had to bribe a few ferry passengers and some taxi drivers,” he said. “It wasn’t about my expert sleuthing skills. It was money. Plain and simple.”
“And here I’ve been admiring you.”
Reed grinned. “Keep doing that,” he said. “I like it.”
Quintin was amused. “You like to be admired?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Quintin brought the cappuccino up to his mouth. He inhaled first before taking a sip. The sweet, milky scent was calming. He swallowed and licked his lips. “Not everybody is accustomed to it…or expects it,” he said. “Do you?”
“It’s not something I aim for,” Reed replied, “but when it happens, it’s nice. I guess it really depends on who the admirer is.”
“I bet you have many admirers,” said Quintin.
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I don’t have any, actually.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because what you do is very sexy…the whole DSS thing…I’m sure you have people falling at your feet.”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s actually a lot of work. I don’t get a lot of downtime.”
Quintin leaned back in his chair and took a long look at Reed. “So…who are you?” he asked.
Reed looked confused. “Excuse me?”
“Who is Reed Ashton? I’m sure you’re not just some guy who works for the government.”
He smiled again. “Am I being interviewed?” he asked.
I’ll give him that one.
“Since I’m a journalist, that’s a fair question.”
“And the answer?”
Quintin decided to be honest. “Yes. I’m…intrigued by you. Therefore, I might be interviewing you…inadvertently. It’s a habit of mine. I can’t help it. Besides, I think you’re the first person under the age of sixty I’ve interviewed in months.”
“Wow,” said Reed. “No one’s ever called me intriguing before.”
“And no one’s showed up unannounced in my life before. I mean, when you think about it, you followed me across three countries. Not many people would do that. I’m nobody important. I don’t understand any of this.”
“It’s my job,” Reed offered. “Not that I didn’t want to see you again…maybe it gave me a good excuse.”
“Well, your job is much mo
re exciting than mine.”
“What is it that you want to know about me?” he asked.
Quintin got straight to the point. “What is it that you do exactly?”
“I’m the head of security for the Bremington family. You know this already.”
“But how did you get the job?”
“I applied for it,” he said. “Just like any other job. The federal government assigned me to protect the ambassador.”
“Since he was assassinated, are you going to get fired?” Quintin asked.
Reed shook his head. “No. I’ve asked to be reassigned.”
“Wait. You’re leaving? Why?”
“For various reasons,” he said. “The obvious one being I failed miserably at protecting Ambassador Bremington.”
Quintin sat up in his chair, alert. “You’re not telling me something,” he said. He held Reed’s gaze from across the table. “Yes, you should’ve prevented the ambassador from being killed. But there’s something more going on with you. And it’s not as simple as you hate living in London.”
“I love London, actually.”
Quintin pointed an accusing finger in Reed’s direction. “You’re lying.”
Reed actually looked hurt. “Why do you say that?”
“No one loves living in London.”
“Maybe I’m one of the few. I’m sure you have your reasons for living in London.”
“Why are you leaving, Reed?” Quintin pressed. “What’s the real reason behind the request to be reassigned?”
He looked away, breaking their eye contact. “Because Regina Bremington and I don’t see eye to eye.”
Does this woman get along with anyone? She must be a monster.
Quintin decided to test the waters. “Because she has political aspirations of her own?” he asked.
“No, because she asked me to sleep with her and I said no.”
Quintin continued to tread lightly. “You did?”
“You seem surprised. You should see the expression on your face.”
“Most men would never say no to her.”
“Well, I did.”
Quintin tried to ask the next question as casually as possible. “Because you’re married?”
