(Okay, this got a little longer than some of my others, but I figured you wouldn't mind too much...)
Peter stares despondently at the Interpol warrants littering the table. Half the countries in Europe and three in South America—what the hell is Neal doing? And who the hell are all these women who keep popping up in the warrants? Peter's never even heard of Annie Kroy.
A drink slides across the table, and Peter looks up to see a dark-haired man standing there with a wry smile and a glass of whiskey twice as full as the glass by Peter.
"Sorry," the man says. "We had to borrow him for a bit. She'll have him back to you in one piece, I promise. Mostly."
"She?" Peter repeats.
"Sophie."
"Sophie?" There's no mention of a Sophie in any of the—wait. "Sophie Devereaux? You can't be serious. She's got warrants in every country in Europe."
The man snorts and raises his glass. "That's never stopped her before."
"And who the hell are you?" Peter asks.
The man cracks a smile and gives Peter a salute on his way out the door. "Just another thief."
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Peter stares despondently at the Interpol warrants littering the table. Half the countries in Europe and three in South America—what the hell is Neal doing? And who the hell are all these women who keep popping up in the warrants? Peter's never even heard of Annie Kroy.
A drink slides across the table, and Peter looks up to see a dark-haired man standing there with a wry smile and a glass of whiskey twice as full as the glass by Peter.
"Sorry," the man says. "We had to borrow him for a bit. She'll have him back to you in one piece, I promise. Mostly."
"She?" Peter repeats.
"Sophie."
"Sophie?" There's no mention of a Sophie in any of the—wait. "Sophie Devereaux? You can't be serious. She's got warrants in every country in Europe."
The man snorts and raises his glass. "That's never stopped her before."
"And who the hell are you?" Peter asks.
The man cracks a smile and gives Peter a salute on his way out the door. "Just another thief."