THE ESCORT

SEVENTEEN | THE BIA

Moments later, Elodie was being driven from her home in Aqualine Bay into the center of Bayview.

There was nothing suspicious in the back of the black, non-descript sedan—no papers nor tablets, nothing to explain what was happening, and Luke made no move to speak from his place in the driver seat.

Mayne she was too trusting and way in over her head, Elodie didn't know, couldn't even decide.

In all her twenty-five years on earth, nothing like this had happened to her.

Okay, maybe she'd been visited by officers on the night of her parents death, and Mace's accident, but it was nothing like this.

Being whisked away from her home at night without a warrant and the promise of returning her back home safely.

Worried she'd somehow fouled something up, getting involved in Boss's and Angelo's sick twisted game, she bit her nails and gazed out the window, watching the cyclists and dog walkers, and party-goers, the people heading home from work or picking dinners, as the late night began winding down.

When they finally pulled up to a non-descript building at Bayside on the Long Embankment and walked into reception, nobody met them on the way, so Luke led them to the lift where they rode the car to a office on the sixth floor.

"Please stay here," Luke said, directing her to the empty bank of steel chairs. "I'll be right back."

Then, he disappeared behind an unmarked door after making eye contact one more time.

The floor they were admitted on had constant activity in the corridor. The lifts disgorged important looking people, who hurried toward a large conference room— which boasted of large opaque glass walls— in a tense huddle of assistants and analysts.

At one point, she was offered a steaming cup of coffee, which she took with a grateful tilt of her head.

Sipping her coffee, Elodie watched government ministers she'd seen on TV at one point, judges, and people who were unfamiliar but equally important stride past.

Elodie was just beginning to realize that this wasn't the SBPD station. In fact, it looked like some undercover ring filled with people she'd never dreamed of seeing in her life.

Just as she was thinking of making a break for it, a man approached her.

The man wore round wired glasses, had floppy hair and a pinched face, and was so thin and insubstantial in his wrinkled suit and tie, and wore such a harried expression, that he looked like he was being escorted to the male toilets for a round of dunks in the bowl.

"Ms. Evans, I'm Ryan Brooks, one of the lead intelligence officers of the Beaureau Of Intelligence Agency—BIA for short." He held out his hand, palm open.

Elodie got to her feet, slipping her hand into his. "Elodie Evans."

"Please follow me," he instructed as he lead them to down the corridor towards the conference room she'd seen people entering all day. "All we need you to do is answer a few questions."

"I don't know what this is about," Elodie said, trying to keep up with his long strides. "And where's Luke?"

"Ms. Evans, Luke has fufiled his obligations, and I'll be taking it up from here," he told her. "Now, all you need to do is answer as succinctly as you can."

Elodie wrapped her fingers tighter around her plastic cup of half-drunk coffee. "Do I need a lawyer?"

He raised a brow at her over his shoulders. "That won't be necessary, Ms. Evans. All we need you to do is answer a few questions and you'll be back home in no time."