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Quinn was supposed to be on vacation.
He’d ignored the minor drug deals, and the escort, because they were consenting adults performing a transaction that had nothing to do with him.
He couldn’t ignore the ex-KGB skulking around the decks.
(And damn Eliot Spencer for making him want to be a good guy, because there was a girl he’d been mildly flirting with at the beginning of the cruise, but his focus on what the Russians wanted meant bye bye beautiful.)
Quinn actually didn’t mind that much. He’d been spoiling for a good fight since his last job had a severe lack of fisticuffs.
He doesn’t have a team on site, so he makes do with the software Hardison installed on his phone the last time he was at the brewpub, and gets a whole lot of names that don’t mean anything.
He follows them to the mixer on deck B, pretending to drink something green masquerading as alcohol and watching the brunette the Russians seem to be focusing on.
She’s with a mixed group of men and women, drinking something clear and sparkling. Quinn takes a picture while pretending to text. There’s something about the man to her immediate right that clicks in his brain.
“I’ve fought him before,” he says under his breath. “Vienna? Prague. 2009.”
Quinn leans against a wall, pretending to listen to a conversation he doesn’t care about. He remembers the job all too well. It was a retrieval that was ultimately successful, but not without a few stitches and a price on his head.
“Petyr. That was the name he gave,” Quinn smiles, and follows as Petyr and his lady friend leave the room and head back to the cabins.
He dials a number and hopes the time difference isn’t too bad.
“Quinn?”
The voice isn’t too thick, so Hardison must have been awake. Petyr is dropping his lady friend off at her cabin, so Quinn takes a seat on the deck nearby so he can see her door.
“Need a couple of favors.”
“Aren’t you on vacation?”
“I was until I saw ex-KGB and an old acquaintance.”
“Okay.”
Quinn watches as one of the aforementioned Russians stations themselves discreetly near the same cabin he is watching.
They don’t have a way in, and they need a way to get to her.
“Can you scan some pictures on my phone and match them to the passenger list? I want to know who the woman is. And if the KGB is after her because of something she did, or because she’s hanging with my old acquaintance. I’d look myself, but I’m making sure they don’t try to kidnap her in the middle of the night.”
“Sure, give me a second to connect, and —Peggy?”
“What was that?”
Hardison laughs. “She’s not a criminal. Trust me. Make sure she lives and we can consider the favor paid in full.”
“I don’t—“
“Just tell her Alice is a friend.”
“Okay but—“
There’s a dial tone, and Quinn wonders why he hasn’t torn all his hair out yet. Then he remembers Eliot breaking his rib, and isn’t sure he wants a repeat performance.
He puts the phone in his pocket, and walks straight to the goon who presumes he is hidden.
“Hey, got the time?”
The good looks down at his watch, and Quinn rams his fist into the guy’s nose, taking him down in under four hits.
“Nice warm up, thanks,” Quinn says, and knocks on the door.
***
Peggy rolls her eyes. She knows Peter isn’t a great guy, but he’s fun, and hey, she’s on vacation so what’s a nice flirtation?
The knocking on the door after she’s gone to bed, now that is another story.
“I said—“
She blinks. There’s a dimpled smile and a well cut suit in front of her.
“Hi, I hate to be a bother, but I’m a friend of Alice’s, and well, you may be in danger.”
Peggy shakes her head.
“Wait? Alice? Alice White?”
“The one and only. I just got off the phone with her boyfriend, the computer geek? He told me to tell you hi.”
Peggy blinks again, and she sees the prone body on the deck behind the man.
“Okay,” she says. “What kind of danger?”
The man smiles again, and his brown eyes crinkle just so, and if her heart wasn’t already beating so hard from adrenaline—Alice is a spy, which means spy trouble—Peggy would be a bit aflutter from the Southern charm and the slightly disheveled hair.
“Your friend from the mixer, he still calling himself Peter?”
She nods once.
“Some former associates of his think your relationship is deeper than it is, and were following you. I was following them, so…”
“Okay,” Peggy says, “what now?”
There’s a distant shout in what sounds like Russian, and the man takes her hand.
“Now we run.”
Peggy doesn’t protest as the man pulls her out of the room and towards the service halls.
“Go left,” she says, “It’s the kitchen. I’m a chef, and we’re already friendly.”
The man smiles again, and Peggy doesn’t care if he’s a spy, she’s totally getting his number after this.
They run through the back kitchen, the man apologizing and Peggy smiling and shrugging as the overnight crew breaks down and prepares for breakfast. She grabs a pan, just in case.
They enter a connecting hallway, and there’s three men already there. Peggy looks back and another two are blocking the way they just came.
“Only five? Insulting. How are you with that pan?”
Peggy smiles. “I knocked out a terrorist with one once. And I make pretty damn good omelettes.”
“Well then,” he says, “I like eating omelettes. You might want to cover your ears for this, though.”
He winks at her, and she covers her ears as he pulls out a gun, and shoots the two men behind her in the knees. He puts the gun back in its holster and is on the other three men before her hands can come down.
One of the men on the ground is reaching for something.
“I don’t think so!” Peggy knocks his hand with the pan, then his head for good measure.
“You have a gun?” She looks at the other goon.
He nods once, and holds it out, butt first to her.
“Good thinking,” she says.
She turns and…
“Oh.”
The spy, Peggy wished she had a name to call him, has already knocked out one man, and is fighting the other two. His hair is flying around, and he manages to break a wrist, but not without the second attacker hitting his head pretty hard.
“Oh no you don’t,” Peggy strides in, swinging the pan. “I. am. supposed. to. be. on. VACATION!”
The man falls to the ground, pulling her rescuer with him.
“Are you okay? Can you tell me your name?”
“Quinn. Quinn Descroix.”
Quinn-the spy- is looking at her like she’s descended from heaven, and it’s sort of odd, but Peggy figures it’s probably the hit he took, and okay, he’s kind of hot, so a little adoration isn’t bad at all.
“Well, Mr. Descroix, let’s get you up and out of here before the authorities get here and decide to arrest us both.”
“Good plan.”
He leans against her as they go down the hall, and out onto the deck.
“Oh shit, I gave you my real name,” he says.
“Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. After all, I am friends with Alice.”
“Alice doesn’t even know my real name.”
Peggy smiles, and sits Quinn down on a deck chair. “I think you might have a concussion. I can’t call the ship doctor, do you want me to call Alice?”
Quinn nods. “Wait. Before you do, and she tells you what a bad man I am and I never see you again, I would have really liked to have omelettes.”
Peggy shakes her head. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll get some omelettes.”
(She didn’t care what Parker said about Quinn. It was three days into a two week cruise, and she was on vacation.)