Rose-Colored Glasses

by Megan Fatheree

  Quinn blinked a few times, recognizing her tough girl routine. “Huh?”

  “Let me wrestle him,” she repeated herself. “I can beat him.”

  Quinn stared at her for a moment, hoping she would be able to. He then turned to the guy and pointed a finger in his face. “Do anything more than place your hand in hers and I will end you,” he whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

  The man nodded. The look on his face was almost comical. Quinn was sure the man hadn't expected him to threaten him quite so violently.

  Quinn smiled and stood up. “Well, alright then.” He held the chair for Rosie while she sat down.

  With a look of sheer determination on her face, Rosie gripped the other man’s right hand and took a deep breath. She lifted her eyes to the man's.

  Quinn rolled his eyes, realizing they were both waiting for a signal. Why did she have to play fair?

  “Okay, go,” he said in frustration.

  The two contenders began to push against each other’s hands. Rosie’s hand began to lean toward one side.

  Quinn didn’t think anyone else saw it, but Rosie twisted her hand just a bit and pushed against the other man’s forefinger. His muscles contracted in pain, and the man let up just a little. Rosie pinned his arm to the table.

  Rosie released the man's hand and just smirked. No comment, no reaction, just a smirk.

  Quinn smiled to himself. That girl had just won them a truck. She was simply fantastic. He couldn’t have asked for an easier subject to protect. She practically protected herself.

  Be that as it may, he quickly reminded himself, he couldn't leave her stranded. He would make sure she got home safely.

  The defeated man sighed, but gave up his keys. He smiled at Rosie and shook his head. “Be careful of that little spitfire,” he warned Quinn.

  Quinn shrugged. He was already careful with her. He picked up his jacket and bag. He then handed Rosie her bag and slung his arm over her shoulder protectively. No way was he going to let anything else happen to her. Maybe eating at a bar had been a bad idea. Either way, they were leaving now, which was more than alright with Quinn.

  Quinn looked at the keys in his hand as they exited and shrugged as he pressed the automatic unlock button. A truck honked at them from a few rows over. He trotted over and quickly opened the door, sticking the keys into the ignition. This would work nicely. The truck was a dark blue double-cab Chevy. It was a newer model and even featured heated seats. He smiled. Man, he was great at picking his marks.

  Rosie tiredly climbed into the front seat and set her bag on her lap. Her eyes were practically closed already.

  Quinn lightly touched her arm as he shut his door. “Why don’t you climb in the back and sleep for awhile? It’s a long way back to Illinois.”

  She nodded dumbly and slid into the backseat, laying her head on her bag and tucking her arms around her. Like a scared child or a wounded animal. Her eyes held that same haunted look.

  Quinn started the truck and pulled out of the parking space, punching directions into the GPS as he did. This was going to be a long night.

  Rosie closed her eyes and tried to let the sway of the truck lull her to sleep. It wasn’t working. She had rigged the arm-wrestling match. She had made it seem fair, but it hadn't been. She had known all along the pressure point she would have to push to win. She had cheated. Emily would be so ashamed of her.

  Rosie didn’t know why she valued Emily’s opinion above anyone else’s. She and Emily weren’t that much alike and they didn’t always share the same morals. Emily was a strong Christian, and Rosie couldn’t comprehend it. Emily had never lived with a boyfriend, Rosie had. Rosie had tried comparing herself to Emily so many times, but it always made her feel inadequate.

  Still, she strove to live up to Emily’s standards. It was just that sometimes she didn’t have the heart. She supposed she was a good person, despite her unusual childhood, but she just couldn’t live up to all of Emily’s standards on her own. She doubted anyone could, let alone someone like Rosie.

  She glanced toward the front of the vehicle and had to smile. Quinn was so nice, and he still looked so familiar. She couldn’t place his face, but she was sure she had seen him before. She just couldn’t remember. That was extraordinarily unusual for her.

  She closed her eyes and saw Martin’s face. She could hear the gunshot in the distance and then only the pounding of her heart and her running feet. Martin, the man she had been sure she was in love with, was gone. She would never see him again.

  Somehow, that didn’t quite sink in. She couldn’t fathom never being able to see his smiling face again. She would miss his laugh and the way he looked at her when she amused him. She could replay it all in her head, but she would never see it in front of her again.

  She could see the papers he had made her look at. If she wanted to, she could read the whole thing. But just at this moment, she didn’t want to. She seriously doubted if she would ever want to.

  Rosie needed Emily. Emily had always been able to comfort her. She had such a way about her. When she was with Emily, she never needed to be frightened or sad. Right now, she needed that comfort. She had a feeling that this nightmare was far from over.

  Quinn smiled as he passed the sign declaring the Illinois state border. Just a few more hours and he would be home. He didn’t see anyone following them, which was a good sign. It meant he had successfully ditched the guy from the train. He gave a smile of satisfaction.

  Rosie was still fast asleep. It hadn't taken her more than ten minutes to conk out after getting in the car. Quinn wished he could sleep. He glanced back at her and was overcome with the thought that right now, she had the same innocent look that Lydia had always had when she slept.

  He put his eyes back on the road and blinked back tears. Lydia had been his fiancé only two years ago. They were supposed to be happy together, maybe have a few kids. Instead, she was six feet under. As a criminal, he had made a lot of enemies, and those enemies had hired an assassin. That assassin, now dead from one of the FBI’s bullets, had chosen to go after everything Quinn loved rather than Quinn himself. Lydia had been a casualty. He had truly loved her, and he didn’t think he would ever get over her.

  He closed his eyes briefly and sent up a silent prayer. Rubbing the tears from his eyes, he checked the clock. It was already almost six in the morning and the sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon. He prayed they made it home safely and that he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.

  Rosie woke up only when Quinn shook her awake. She glanced around and squinted against the bright streetlights. She vaguely recognized the street, and she didn’t understand how she could have slept this long.

  “Hey, what street do you live on?” he asked.

  Rosie sat up and pulled the rubber band out of her hair. Her head was starting to ache due to the hair tightly pulled into its ponytail. After a quick yawn, she mumbled the address in his general direction. She rolled her neck to stretch out the kinks and noted for the first time the jacket that was laid around her shoulders. It was Quinn’s.

  “Did I look cold or something?” Rosie winced immediately at her words. She always sounded so irritated when she was sleepy. It was a bad habit that she intended to kick.

  Quinn shrugged. “A little. Did I offend you by doing that?”

  Rosie shook her head. “No. Just wondering.”

  They remained in silence until Quinn pulled into a short driveway beside a yellow one-story dwelling. “This is you,” he said. He took his hands off the wheel and stretched his shoulders.

  “Will I be seeing you around?” Rosie asked as she slid out of the backseat. Something told her she would, but she didn't know if it was intuition or just wishful thinking. She didn't know why it would be wishful thinking, except that being in his presence was comforting to a small extent.

  Quinn shrugged. “I’m going to say maybe. It depends.”

  “I suppose,” Rosie said with a smile, “that if we see each
other again by chance we can swap numbers or something. I think two chance meetings is too many to ignore.”

  He smiled back at her, his eyes looking tired. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  Rosie took a moment to study his face, not wanting to forget the man who had saved her on the train. “Okay,” she said. Slinging her bag onto her shoulder, she entered her house and shut the door firmly behind her.

  She immediately dropped the bag and rushed to the window to watch him drive down the street.

  With a sigh, she pulled her feet to the kitchen. She was rested, but she wasn't fully awake, and she was hungry.

  Deciding that she needed comfort, Rosie grabbed a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from the freezer and pulled a spoon out of the drawer. She dug in and sauntered to the living room.

  She couldn’t believe that she had kept this place. When she had moved to Canada, she had told Martin she would sell her house, but he refused to let her. He told her that he wasn’t going to live in Canada forever, and he wanted somewhere stable to live once they got back. She had kept the house.

  As it turned out, that hadn't been a bad decision. Even if Martin hadn't known that he would be shot, he had been good enough to have the foresight that Rosie had neglected to pay attention to.

  Suddenly feeling tired again, Rosie put the ice cream away and laid down on the couch.

  FOUR

  When Rosie awoke, she noted the time on the clock. Noon. She hadn’t meant to sleep so long.

  Slowly, she slipped into a blue t-shirt and some jeans and brushed out her exceptionally tangled hair. When she was finally happy with the way the curls were laying, she pulled her ice cream back out of the freezer, grabbed her cell phone, and went back to the living room to flop onto her couch. She shoveled ice cream with one hand and dialed a number with the other.

  Emily picked up on the first ring. “Rosie? Hi!”

  Rosie smiled. “Hey, Emily. Um…I have…I need a friend. I need to tell someone what happened. Can you come over?”

  “Of course,” Emily assured her. “I’ll be there. When do you want me?”

  “Can you come now?” she asked. The truth was, Rosie didn't want to be alone any longer than she had to be. Thinking about what had happened in Canada made her nerves stand on end.

  “Yeah. I’m on my way out the door. What’s going on? I thought you weren’t coming back for another three weeks.” Emily was probing, Rosie could tell.

  “I’ll just tell you when you get here, okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in about five to ten minutes.” Emily hung up.

  Rosie curled her legs up to her chest and pushed some hair behind her ear. She had to keep her mind off of Martin or she was going to cry. She was probably going to cry anyway. She couldn’t believe she was about to confess everything that had just happened in the last twenty-four hours to Emily.

  This was crazy; it was ludicrous. It couldn't actually be happening. It was a dream in a dream or something. Definitely not reality.

  Rosie studied the picture of her mother and father that she kept on her coffee table. It had been taken before her birth, when the couple were newlyweds, still working in Ireland. They had immigrated to America shortly before Rosie's birth.

  Rosie wished her life was like that. All smiles and green grass. But it wasn't. It hadn't been for a long, long time now.

  Suddenly, Rosie fully realized what time of day it was. She was probably pulling Emily away from work, but at the moment she just didn’t care. She needed to talk to someone or she was going to burst. She would apologize later.

  True to her word, Emily arrived at the door in seven minutes.

  Rosie flung the door wide and threw her arms around Emily’s neck. The tears came easily and she let them fall, glad to have such a good friend. Emily moved into the house and shut the door, then wrapped her arms around Rosie and simply held her until she had cried her fill.

  Rosie, who was a bit shorter than Emily, came down from her toes and wiped her eyes dry. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Emily sank onto the couch and patted the cushion beside her invitingly.

  Rosie sat and finished drying her eyes. She hadn't meant to throw herself at Emily like that. Something inside of her had snapped, that was all.

  “What in the world is going on?” Emily wanted to know.

  Rosie took a deep breath. It would be better to come right out and say it. No stalling, no delaying. “I came back early because Martin is dead.”

  “What happened? Did he have an illness or something?” Emily was clearly befuddled.

  Rosie shook her head. “No. Someone shot him. He made me leave before they got there, but I heard the shot. There were men following me, too. On the train.”

  “How did you get back home?”

  Rosie breathed a laugh. “If I believed in God like you did, I would say an angel. As it so happens, it was a guy with a good heart.”

  “What was his name?” Emily asked with a smile. Rosie recognized that smile. It was the one Emily always got before she put some mischievous plan into play.

  Rosie had to smile as well. “Quinn. I don’t know his last name.”

  Emily gave her a weird look and then continued the conversation. “How did he get you home?”

  “We drove from Michigan.”

  Rosie barely heard what Emily said, because she was so focused on the weird look. Why had Emily looked at her like that? Did she know who Quinn was? That was impossible, wasn't it? This was all so disconcerting. Rosie needed answers, but she had no idea when she would find them.

  Quinn rubbed his tired eyes as he walked slowly into Mr. Lorrander’s office. He didn’t wait for an invite, he just sat down. Who cared what the boss thought. Quinn hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

  “Did she arrive home safely?” Lorrander asked.

  Quinn nodded. “Yeah. She’s home. Why didn’t you tell me she lived in the same town as me?”

  Mr. Lorrander shrugged. “It didn’t seem pertinent at the time. You have completed your mission. Be proud of yourself.”

  “You know there’s a high possibility that I will run into her again, right? You jeopardized my safety and my cover.” Quinn knew he was pushing it, and he almost wished Lorrander would just fire him. It wasn't as if Quinn couldn't get a normal job somewhere. Lorrander had just gotten to him first.

  Mr. Lorrander leaned forward. “Mr. Wesley, it is perfectly fine to have friends outside of your work. She never has to know that you work for us. As I understand it, you gave her your real name. So, no cover is blown.” He leaned back. “Keep your mouth shut about us and you’ll be fine. After all, isn’t that what intelligence is all about?”

  Quinn stifled a yawn. He was so tired of all this business. He just wanted to go home and sleep for the next two days. However, anger at his employer was quickly settling in.

  “My real name is my cover,” he pointed out. “That was your idea. Since I have a criminal history, it makes me more credible. That is an exact quote.”

  “Yes, I recall,” Mr. Lorrander said with a nod. “However, your contacts will expect you to live a normal life. Go and do that. You obviously need rest.” He waved his hand in a motion that meant the entire conversation was over.

  With a huff, Quinn stood and marched out of the room. This was far from over. If he had anything to do with it, this conversation would be brought back up next time Mr. Lorrander called him in.

  He climbed back into his new truck and drove out of the highly secured parking lot. He really did need some rest. For once, Mr. Lorrander had been right about something. Surprise, surprise.

  He reached his house in only twenty minutes and secured the garage door. His plan was to collapse on his bed and sleep for the next two days. What actually happened was very different.

  Though he had fully intended to go to bed, Quinn laid down and pulled out his laptop. He wrote a long, long document about the past twenty-four hours and saved it. Then, he logged on
to Google and searched for Rosie Callahan, Illinois. Several “free” background check services popped up, telling him about her squeaky clean criminal record. He bypassed those and finally found what he was looking for. There was a Rosie Callahan that taught 6th grade pre-algebra at one of the local elementary schools. Her teacher’s ID matched the girl he had seen and he breathed a sigh of relief. As long as he stayed away from school, he should be fairly okay.

  It was then, and only then, that he relaxed and finally fell asleep.

  He awoke to the sound of his phone. One glance at the clock told him it was almost six in the morning. He groaned and rolled over, intending to shut off the abominable noise. The caller ID wasn’t a number he recognized, so he let it go to voicemail. If it was important, they would leave a message.

  He was awake now, and he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so he set his phone down on the bedside table and took a shower. The instant he sauntered back into his room, his phone began to ring again. Towel-drying his curly hair, Quinn noted that the number was the same and rolled his eyes. He pressed the green talk button and put the phone to his ear.

  “Mr. Lorrander has requested that you keep an eye on this Rosie girl,” said Margot. She sounded very exasperated.

  “What?” asked Quinn lethargically.

  “I tried to talk him out of it, I really tried,” she insisted. “He says you don’t have to take the mission if you don’t want to, but he highly suggests it.”

  Quinn glared at his reflection in the mirror. “Tell him thanks, but no thanks. Assign another tail.” He hung up the phone, paying no mind to Margot's feelings on the matter.

  If Mr. Lorrander thought that he could push Quinn around, he had another think coming. Quinn was not someone to be messed with. Ever. He considered throwing his phone against a wall, but then thought better of it. Replacing his phone would be more trouble than it was worth.

  He tossed on a t-shirt and some jeans and made his way to the kitchen. His kitchen was his pride and joy. It had granite countertops, two confectioners’ ovens, and both a deep fryer and a gas stove built into the countertop.