Rose-Colored Glasses

by Megan Fatheree

  They were going to play like that, huh? Quinn tried not to smile, but he also knew he was much more clever than this policeman ever thought about being. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t identify myself.” He pulled out a badge and showed it to the man. “I’m agent Weston, from the United States Government. I came to exhume the crime scene. I was contacted by the Toronto police?”

  The man checked the ID, then nodded and lifted the crime scene tape. “Don’t forget to wear gloves,” he commanded.

  Quinn pulled a pair of plastic gloves from his pocket and slid them on. He skipped over all the papers and the bullet hole in the wall. His job was to look for something that didn’t belong there, not everything that did. After a few minutes, he gave up on the kitchen and returned to the living room.

  The fire had gone out, due to the movement of everyone in and out of the room, but he could see traces of burnt paper. That was odd. This man was supposed to be censoring documents, not burning them. Still, that wasn’t exactly helpful. He needed a lead. A solid lead.

  Also giving up on the living room, he walked until he reached the bedroom. Still, nothing unusual. The bed was made perfectly. Every light was off. Everything was in its place.

  He shook his head and walked into the bathroom. There was nothing strange in the sink or cabinet, but the shower held another story altogether. Four bottles of soap sat in a row. One of them held a “for women” sign.

  He raced back into the bedroom and looked around intently. Everything was spic and span, except one corner of the blankets on the bed.

  Quinn knelt and lifted the corner of the bed. Sure enough, the man’s laptop computer was crushed in between the mattress and bedspring. He had obviously been trying to hide something on it. Thinking quickly, Quinn turned it on and looked at the history. He had purchased a train ticket from Toronto to an unknown destination. The ticket was open-ended.

  Quinn shook his head again and looked at what station it was from and what time it departed. He had to catch that train. His gaze landed on the information he wanted. It left at four o’clock that afternoon.

  Once he had his information, he returned the laptop to its hiding place and rushed back to the living room.

  “I’ve seen what I need to see,” he told the man who had greeted him. “From here on out, you’ll be dealing with my subordinate, detective Henry Winslow. You can find him here.” He handed the man a hotel card, tipped his head, and left. He grabbed his bag from the hall as he sauntered out.

  Quinn smiled at his own cleverness. Not even his boss would have thought to come up with a scheme so perfectly simple.

  Henry Winslow was the man actually assigned to the case.

  As Quinn reached the street, he dialed his boss’s number.

  “You have a development?” Lorrander didn't bother with the usual formalities and small talk.

  Quinn adjusted his sunglasses and looked around in the bright sunlight. No one on the street seemed out of place. At least not at that moment. “Of course I do. You don’t put your best operative on something like this and not expect results.”

  “Mr. Wesley, if you would kindly tell me what you have discovered.”

  “There’s a girl,” Quinn revealed. It was the only logical explanation, and something Lorrander probably should have thought about before now.

  Lorrander was silent for what felt like an eternity, probably berating himself for overlooking the obvious. “How do you know?”

  “There was a bottle of women’s shampoo in the guy’s shower.” Quinn said incredulously. He hated it when Lorrander questioned his information. The man should know by now that Quinn was rarely wrong.

  “Maybe the man thought it worked better than men’s.”

  “There’s also a train ticket booked for this afternoon. Trust me, this guy wasn’t going to try to leave Canada under the name Amy Smithton.”

  “Very good, Mr. Wesley,” Mr. Lorrander commended him. “Find her.” He hung up the phone.

  Quinn stuffed the phone in his pocket and sped up his pace. It helped ease the agitation, and also invited a sense of urgency. He needed to get to the station before the train left. And that train left in twenty minutes.

  As luck would have it, he arrived just as the train was boarding. Knowing that he wasn’t likely to find her still in the terminal, Quinn boarded the train and prayed they would allow him to pay for his passage while aboard.

  He looked around at all the women in the coach he boarded and found none that seemed to be frightened. Nor did any of them seem to be running. Quinn switched coaches, praying that time wouldn’t run out too quickly.

  At the far back of the coach, a young woman slid a hat off her curly brown hair and took a deep breath. Quinn could see tears shimmering on her cheeks and her hands were shaking. He took a seat and trained his eyes inconspicuously on her. Surveillance had always been one of his many talents. And, in his life of crime, it had been one he had called upon frequently.

  He dialed his boss, who answered with only a “what?”

  “I found her.” Quinn kept his voice low and tried not to make eye contact with anyone around him.

  “Stay with her, Mr. Wesley. We don’t know what role she played in all this, and we don’t want to lose her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn put his phone away and moved further into the coach, until he was about halfway in. He found the perfect vantage point and slid into that seat. He knew the rules. He wouldn’t make contact unless it was absolutely necessary. Right now, it wasn’t.

  Rosie finally boarded the train and took her seat. She knew she looked nervous, but she couldn’t stop crying. Or shaking, for that matter. She pulled the hat off her head and fingered her ticket inside her bag. She didn’t exactly feel comfortable using the fake passport, but that was what Martin had intended for her to do. Maybe the border patrol wouldn’t even ask for her passport. Then she wouldn’t have to lie.

  Deep down, Rosie knew that was a false hope.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced around the car. Everything looked normal. No one was staring at her, that she could tell, and everyone seemed safe.

  That was when she saw him. Tall, with dark hair, and more muscular than a movie star. He nodded at her and smiled before turning to look out the window. Somehow, it seemed like he knew her, but she had never seen him before. She looked back down, feeling almost panicked. What if he worked for them? Whoever they were.

  She glanced at him again.

  He glanced up at her and then back down.

  She wasn’t stupid. He was watching her. Somehow he looked vaguely familiar, but she knew for a fact that she had never met him before. Maybe she had met a relative. Was that possible? She searched her brain for a similar face, but couldn’t quite place it.

  Once more, she looked over at him. He wasn’t scary. There was something soothing, almost, about him. His face held a kind of gentleness and his posture remained relaxed. His very presence made her feel safe. Or so it seemed.

  “Ticket, please,” she heard the conductor say as he started through the coach. She pulled hers out of her bag and held it tightly.

  Behind the conductor, she noticed a man enter and sit in a back seat. He scared her. His shaved head and scruffy facial hair gave him a menacing look. Not to mention his overgrown eyebrows.

  “Ticket, sir,” she heard the conductor say.

  She spun her head to see him standing beside the man who had been looking at her. For the first time she noticed his curly hair and gorgeous smile. He wasn't bad-looking.

  “I’m afraid I misplaced my ticket,” the man said in a perfect American accent. “But, I can give you some money to buy a new one.”

  “No ticket, no ride,” the conductor insisted.

  She looked down at her bag and weighed her options. Whoever that man was, he was a perfect stranger. He could be a horrible person. Or he could be telling the truth. Maybe he had lost his ticket, or was lost himself. Rosie knew she couldn't let him get kicked off the trai
n.

  Finally, she pulled out the ticket Martin had given her for himself and ran a trembling finger over it. Martin wasn’t going to need it. He would have wanted her to use it for a good cause.

  “Sir,” she said it a bit too loudly, but the conductor turned to her. “Sir, I’m sorry. I forgot to give him his ticket.” She handed it out into the aisle, and the conductor took it.

  He examined it thoroughly before he turned back to the American man. “Alright, but you’re going to have to move. Right over there by the lady. That’s where the seat is.” He moved on.

  The curly-haired man nodded and grabbed a brown tote. He slid into the seat next to the aisle and smiled at her. “Thanks,” he offered breathlessly.

  Rosie nodded. His presence was the only thing on that entire train making her feel safe. She suddenly realized how large he was. At somewhere around six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and, like she had already noticed, a ton of arm muscles.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Amy,” she finally answered. “Amy Smithton.”

  He nodded. “I caught the name Smithton on the ticket you gave up for me. Is he your husband?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She didn’t bother to elaborate. She didn’t trust him that much.

  Quinn couldn’t believe that she would give up a ticket for him. Unless, of course, he was right and Martin had been the one the ticket was issued for. She looked completely and utterly petrified. Her already big eyes were opened wide and she held her lips tightly together as though she was nervous. Whatever part she had played in this, Quinn was pretty sure that she had been an innocent bystander.

  “Where are you traveling to?” he asked her.

  She unglued her eyes from the end of the car and turned to him briefly. “The U.S. I’m an American citizen.” She turned back and rolled her lips together.

  He smiled. She really was nervous. Her subconscious habits were beginning to show through. Which meant she was also probably very frightened.

  “I am, too.” he assured her. It was the truth, but there was so much more to it than that. Most of it she would never know. Could never know.

  He followed her line of sight to the end of the car and spotted the guy she was looking at. He really did seem menacing, and Quinn could see why she was concerned. To be honest, that man concerned him too.

  Keeping an eye on the man, but trying to distract the girl – he was pretty sure her name wasn’t really Amy – he touched her arm.

  She shied away like he had electrocuted her.

  Quinn gave up that approach and moved on to something else. He was a man of many talents, and distraction was an easy thing. “Do you like pictures?” Quinn asked.

  She furrowed her brow and gave a slight smile. “Sure.”

  He pulled a piece of blank paper from his tote and then reached in for a pencil. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time. That was good. The more she focused on what he was doing, the less she would remember the man on the other end of the train.

  Half the time he was drawing, Quinn kept his gaze steadily on the man at the far end of the train. In the next five minutes, he had conclusively deduced that the man was packing. And he wasn’t very good at hiding it. From the looks of it, the man had a shoulder holster containing at least one gun, possibly two. That would be a problem if he was there to get rid of the girl.

  Finally, Quinn inspected his drawing and showed it to the girl.

  She smiled, a lovely sight. “Tweety Bird, huh?”

  Quinn shrugged and smiled back at her. “I loved Saturday morning cartoons.”

  “I did, too,” she confessed. “Still do.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, me too. It’s my guilty pleasure.” He motioned to the picture. “You want it?”

  She sat back a little, but didn’t answer.

  “If you tell me your real name, it’s yours,” he tried.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “I told you, my name’s Amy.”

  He shook his head with a smile. It was going to be a long train ride, and he intended to get some information out of it. “You hesitated. People don’t forget their names. Unless they’re making them up.”

  She leaned all the way back in her seat. “You won’t tell?”

  Quinn shook his head. “No way, no how.”

  She hesitated again, looking pained, then leaned forward and toward his ear. “Rosie. My name’s Rosie Callahan.”

  Quinn smiled at her, signed his name to the picture, and handed it over. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosie Callahan,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “Quinn,” he answered without hesitation. He knew that if he hesitated, she would throw his line back to him. Normal people didn’t forget their own names.

  They talked for the next four hours, mostly about things that didn’t matter to anyone. Small talk that was mindless, but kept her occupied on things other than their mysterious friend.

  Quinn’s phone rang as it was nearing dark.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Mr. Wesley, you have neglected to contact us. Why?” It was Mr. Lorrander.

  “Um, no, now’s not really a good time. I’m on a train.” He looked at Rosie to see if she caught on. She didn’t. She was just staring out the window to the rolling landscape.

  “Ah, I see. Had to make contact, did we?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright. Come in to the office as soon as you make it back, would you? We need to talk.” He hung up.

  Quinn put the phone back in his pocket and leaned his head back. He hoped his eyes looked closed as he continued to keep his eyes on the man sitting in the back of the train. He didn't like the way the man's eyes had started to dart about the train.

  “Quinn?” asked Rosie quietly.

  He rolled his head to look at her. She just barely turned her head to look at him.

  “Thanks for not telling anyone my real name. I can’t explain why, but it means a lot.”

  He nodded. He knew exactly how she felt. Keeping secrets wasn’t all that fun when it involved dead people. Or evil people. Or running. He sufficed it to say that adult secrets were much worse than childhood secrets.

  “You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

  She continued to stare out the window, but leaned her head back against his arm. He allowed it, knowing that she probably needed human interaction right now. That was one of the only things keeping her out of shock. He couldn't afford for her to go into shock. At least not until he got her safely away from that man.

  As much as Quinn wanted to sleep, he didn’t. His eyes never strayed from the man at the back of the train. He was trained for surveillance, and doggone it, he was going to survey.

  Around ten o’clock, the man stood and began to make his way toward Quinn’s end of the train. Quinn deftly slid his hand to the bottom of his tote, where he knew Margot had hidden a pocketknife. He slid it out and into his pocket, where it belonged. If this guy was going to try to mess with Rosie Callahan, he was going to have to put up a fight. Thankfully, the man passed without incident. Quinn released the knife to sink back into the depths of his pocket.

  There were only a few more hours before they would be back within the United State's borders.

  Checking to make sure that Rosie was completely asleep, Quinn pulled out his cell phone and dialed his boss.

  “Yes, Mr. Wesley,” Mr. Lorrander answered.

  “I want off this assignment, sir,” he said quietly, careful not to wake her.

  “Why, Mr. Wesley?”

  “You know why, sir. I don’t do cases where I have to get close to a girl. We talked about this, it’s an issue of my personal faith.”

  “Get her safely home and we’ll talk about it. In the meantime, keep your distance.”

  “Yeah, because that’s easy now that she trusts me,” he said sarcastically. “Send someone else.”

  “Like you said, Mr. Wesley,” said Mr. Lorrander calmly,
“she trusts you. We have surveillance. You have morals. Between the two, you will be fine.” He hung up the phone.

  Quinn wanted to strangle the man. Lorrander knew that Quinn didn’t take missions involving getting “close” to a girl for two reasons. One, he didn’t want to break her heart. And two, he refused to put himself into compromising situations for the sake of intelligence. He also had a strong relationship with Jesus and didn’t want to compromise his witness to those around him.

  Quinn glanced down at the girl asleep beside him. She was so small, so trusting. Somehow, he had to hand her off to another agent. Not that he didn’t enjoy her company, but the five-foot-two-inch brunette with the twenty-eight inch waist had to go. She was far too distracting.

  He noted the mysterious man coming back to his seat. He seemed to be getting anxious. His quiet surveillance was slipping and he was glancing toward Rosie more and more. Quinn knew that he would have to get her off this train. And fast.

  THREE

  Rosie woke up sometime around eight thirty in the evening. The conductor was just calling out the name Windsor. She smiled. Just a little longer and she would be back in the U.S. of A. She started at the sight of the man beside her, and then realized who he was. That was Quinn, and he made her feel safe. He was also picking up his bag.

  “Where are you going?” It wasn’t in Rosie's nature to trust people so quickly, but he made it so easy. His smile seemed to invite her to open up to him, and his posture screamed protection.

  “This is the border stop,” he said with a smile. “I have to get off, cross the border and switch trains. I guess I won’t see you around.”

  She grabbed her bag and stuffed the fake passport down to the bottom. “I guess I’m getting off here, too.”

  He turned his smile to her. It seemed like a genuine smile, but she couldn’t help shaking the feeling that she had seen it before. She quickly thought through everyone she knew or had met. She still couldn’t place it.

  “Do you need a friend to travel with?” He hiked his bag up onto his shoulder.