Chapter 3
When Quinn sees Lily again—he's picking her up at her hotel—his heart starts to race, like he's sprinting up hills during a 10-mile run. Or prepping to execute an assignment. Literally. But this... this is so much better. Gone is the dirt, the dust, the mud. Now it's just effortless beauty—dark, wavy hair, jeans, a simple top, those warm brown eyes, and that smile.
She seems genuinely happy to see him. And that makes his heart beat even faster, because—let's face it—he barely knows her. If he's being honest, he's surprised at himself for proactively seeking out a date with a complete stranger. Even if she is beautiful, funny, smart… and, god, just stop it, Quinn. She could be an SRV plant, and you haven't even done a background check. It has to happen tomorrow. You'll check her out—unless, of course, tonight goes horribly wrong, and there's no second date. Seriously, stop getting ahead of yourself.
He pushes those thoughts down. He could've died in an explosion today. But here he is, standing in front of this woman, taking her out to dinner. This isn't who he is, not by a long shot. But here he is, just the same.
"Hi," she says, flashing him that smile. "You clean up nicely."
He grins, thinking back to her earlier compliment. He knows he's attractive to women, at least until they get to know him. Which, usually, they don't.
"So do you," he says. "Shall we?"
She laughs, a little nervous. "We shall."
They head out together, the hotel's bellman holding the door open for them as they step out onto the street.
"Do you like Indian food?" he asks as they walk toward the busy main street.
"Yeah, sounds great."
"There's a spot not too far. About half a mile. You up for a walk?"
"I'm always up for a walk, if you can promise me a drink when we get there."
Quinn laughs. "Recovered from earlier already?"
"That was an emergency," she laughs too. "This—this is the real deal."
His stomach flutters like he's fifteen and going on his first date. Pathetic.
He swallows. "So, uh, what's your flight situation?"
"Unclear," she replies. "I'm supposed to meet with the Berlin police tomorrow. They've put out a call to the public for witnesses. Not that I know anything useful... but if I can help, I will. Maybe I can remember something."
He glances at her sideways. She's either a Good Samaritan... or a damn good liar.
"I talked to my boss a while ago," she continues. "He's pretty shaken up by the whole thing."
"He is," Quinn repeats—incredulously.
"My business trips are usually a lot less eventful," she shrugs.
He chuckles. "I bet."
"Anyway, he told me to stay as long as I need to take care of... whatever here. They're expediting a replacement laptop to the hotel—hopefully tomorrow."
"How generous," Quinn says dryly.
"I know, right? Honestly, though, I feel kind of anxious without it. It's basically my lifeline."
He raises an eyebrow. "You were almost killed today, and you're worried about missing a few days of... what, defending YouGo over an IP violation?"
"Ouch," she laughs. "It's not as important as your work, but I love it."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"I know." She pauses. "Are you involved in figuring out who did this?"
He hesitates before answering. "Yes," he finally says. It's no use beating around the bush. She knows who he works for, and besides, it's not like he's undercover anymore. God, what a disaster that was. Undercover work never suited him.
"Do you have any leads?" she asks.
"We have some ideas," he replies vaguely, hoping to deflect.
"Your... partner? Colleague? He said something about 'your guys'."
"Lily, we can't talk about this." His tone is sharp. "I can't, anyway."
Her eyes widen. "I'm sorry. I didn't—of course, you can't."
"Shit. No—I'm sorry. It's been a stressful day. Obviously." He lets out a breath.
The light changes, and he nudges her forward with a gentle touch on her back.
"Right, I know," she says quietly.
"Yeah," he mutters.
They walk in silence for a moment. Then, almost as if on instinct, he asks, "Do you want me to come with you to the police station tomorrow?"
"What, are you my lawyer?" she teases.
"No. Just... someone who's familiar with... these things."
They fall silent again, their footsteps the only sound between them. Then, softly, she asks, "What are you, really?"
He looks at her. "You don't want to know."
She doesn't respond, and for a moment, it feels like the walls are going up between them. Is that how things always end? Boy meets girl. Girl is amazing, smart, funny, kind. Boy shuts her down. Boy ends up alone again.
But then she surprises him. "For the record," she says quietly, "I think you're amazing. That's what I think you are."
He shifts uncomfortably, not knowing how to respond. "You don't know me."
"I know enough."
Her words hang in the air. He looks away for a second, trying to pull himself together. Then, finally, the restaurant comes into view. He's relieved for the distraction.
"This is it," he says, pointing. "Okay?"
He's already second-guessing himself. Too casual? Too romantic? Too much expectation? What if she doesn't like it? Before he can spiral, she interrupts his thoughts.
"Looks great to me," she says, pulling the door open.
He smiles, thankful for her confidence. He follows her inside.
When they're seated, wine in hand, and he's staring at her—wondering why she makes his heart race and whether this whole date is a horrible idea—she pulls him from his thoughts with a quiet observation.
"You don't talk much, do you?"
He smiles back at her, a little self-deprecating. "It's a hazard of the job, I guess. Probably would make me difficult to date."
Shit. He just said that out loud.
She laughs. "Or easy. I could babble on and on, and you could just sit there, silently wishing I'd shut up."
He chuckles. "I like listening to you."
"You don't know me," she teases.
"I know enough," he says, repeating her earlier words.
They stare at each other for a moment. Neither of them knows where to go next.
What the hell am I doing? Seriously, what am I doing? Is he actually trying to start something with a woman he doesn't know and who doesn't know him at all? This is insane. How would that even work? "Honey, I'm home! Oh, by the way, that gunshot wound—don't worry, it's nothing." But, yeah, here he is. He's trying to start something with her. And it feels... uncontrollable.
"Back to the States?" she asks, pulling him from his thoughts.
"I—uh, soon," he says, struggling to focus. "I've been away a while now. Three years, actually."
"In Germany?"
"No. Syria, mostly."
"Syria," she repeats slowly, as if processing the weight of his words.
"Yeah. And before that, Pakistan."
"It's a wonder you're alive."
He smiles, though it's tight, the memory of it all still too fresh.
"But you are going back?"
"Back to Syria? Not if I can help it."
"Home?" she presses.
"Oh. Yeah," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I've got a job offer, a promotion, I guess. It would... take me back to DC, if I take it."
"Congratulations. Let me guess—can't tell me what it is?"
He laughs, though it's tight. "Probably need to marry you first."
"Is that a proposal?" she teases, laughing.
He laughs, too, though he's not entirely sure why it's funny.
Their wine arrives. They drink. They talk more. He opens up a little, hesitantly. She shares details about her cheesy taste in music, the books she's read—her love of British history. He tells her he's from Baltimore, skipping out on the usual story—Hill School, Harvard. He just can't bring himself to lie to her.
The whole thing is dangerous. He's having feelings. Feelings that are both inconvenient and real. They're here, and so is she.
Lily Taylor.