Miami was hot, Quin decided. The window by his seat in the taxi had been rolled down for some time now, but it seemed like the only purpose that served was to blow hot air in his face. The people were loud, the sun was too bright, the buildings were too crammed together, and there were an obnoxious amount of hotels. Perhaps he was just moody though; being stuck in Florida alone, in a suit, with hair just long enough to get plastered to your skin was a terrible experience. It was even worse when you were there investigating kidnappings instead of vacationing, and even on vacation Quin wasn't sure he would ever willingly go to Florida. Maybe he was just a miserable person.<br/><br/>"What did you say you were doing at the police department?" the driver asked, surreptitiously watching Quin from his rear view mirror.<br/><br/>Quin smiled politely at him as he fanned himself with a file he'd been reading on the way from the airport. "I didn't," he pointed out, and then continued his idle stare at the scenery passing by his window. He knew he must have looked out of place. People in Miami, Florida knew better than to wear fitted suits in their typical summer heat, but the Quantico didn't really give their agents much choice. This was business, and the Bureau liked to keep all field conduct professional. Which was easy for those who never left headquarters - Quantico temperatures were brilliant all year long. This was just unfortunate.<br/><br/>After what seemed like an eternity of palm trees, drunken vacationers and perpetual heat exhaustion, the taxi pulled into the circle drive of the Miami-Dade Police Department. Quin paid his dues, gathered his two bags and said no more to the taxi driver before making his way to the glass double-doors of the station. It felt endlessly better in the station than it did outside; once he'd opened the doors he was assaulted by a perfectly brisk wash of air from the AC. If he could have just laid down on the floor and basked in the glory of central air, he would have.<br/><br/>"Can I help you, sir?" called out a uniform from the front desk. She walked toward the side door of the desk but made no move to come out to greet him.<br/><br/>Quin straightened just slightly, reaching in to his back pocket to pull out his badge. "Hi, I'm Quinton Reid with the FBI, from the CAA. I'm here about the kidnappings." He paused, rocked back on his heels as the woman behind the desk gave him a once over, squinting her eyes at his badge. He wasn't necessarily the most intimidating presence, he knew. Nothing like the stereotypical agent that you saw in movies. But he couldn't help being the least bit offended when she clearly saw his firearm and read his badge not once but<span style="font-style: italic">twice.</span>"We were called to ask for the Bureau's assistance..." His voice trailed off hopefully, gesturing idly with his hand for her to have some sort of epiphany that yes, he was actually expected. A look of realization passed over her features and she seemed to have that epiphany that he was hoping for. He smiled, pleased with himself. "Is there someone I could talk to about the case? Maybe your Deputy Chief or someone?"<br/><br/>Or, honestly, literally anyone else but this woman.