“Why?” Quinn asked sternly, against his better judgment.
“Neither Guthries nor myself feels that she is the victim in all of this. You have to admit, the facts aren't in her favor.”
Quinn wanted to scream at Lorrander, to tell him that the facts were completely in her favor, but he knew it would be futile. Once Mr. Lorrander made up his mind, it was useless to try to change it. Even if he could change it, Quinn wasn't sure Mr. Lorrander was the one who truly thought that, anyway. His money was set solely on two parties. Party one: Guthries. He was almost sure of it. And if anything else had influenced Lorrander's decision, it was probably the Irish government. After all, they didn't want an international incident.
“Sir, if I may be so bold,” Quinn continued, “I honestly think she's in real trouble. Something in my gut says so, and my gut has never been wrong before. You know that. At least allow me to take a team and check out her GPS coordinates when she turns them on.”
Lorrander shook his head. “The Central Intelligence Agency can no longer be responsible for the care of Rosie Callahan. What you do on your own time is none of my concern.”
Quinn took the liberty of reading through the lines. Lorrander was obviously operating under orders that he didn't like any more than Quinn did. One of the higher-ups must have told him to back off. Even if Lorrander really did think that Rosie wasn't innocent, he hated when people ordered him around. It all worked in Quinn's favor in the end.
“Please, sir,” Quinn was beginning to despair.
Lorrander held up a hand. “Do not use the code name Rose Petals to log onto our secure site and look at the GPS information under the password candy corn. Do not use any government issued weapons you have hidden to take down An Seisear. And do not, under any circumstances, reveal your status as an operative to your federally employed friends and family and use them as your team to do so.”
Quinn held back a smile and took a step forward, extending his hand. “Thank you, sir, I...”
“Don't say anything,” Lorrander instructed. “Just get out.”
Quinn gave a curt nod and exited the room. He grabbed his aviators as he passed by Margot's desk.
“Quinn,” Margot called after him.
He turned and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Margot smiled. “Good luck.”
Quinn shot her his best signature half-smile and slid his aviator sunglasses onto his nose. “I don't need luck,” he shot back.
As far as anyone working in the building was concerned, Quinn hadn't been kicked off a mission or dismissed from the boss' office. No one watched him as he gleefully made his way out of the front doors. No one asked any questions. It was as if none of it had ever happened.
Quinn opened the secure CIA server on his smart phone as soon as he got into his car. Using the code name and password that Lorrander had supplied, he logged in to Rosie's GPS coordinates. A red dot appeared on the screen. Blinking.
Blinking.
Blinking.
Quinn's smile turned into a frown. What if something had happened? What if she was hurt? What had made her decide to turn on the GPS? Was she in even more danger now than she had been before?
He shook his head and put the phone down until he was past the front gates. Then, and only then, did he dial a number and wait for the answer.
One ring.
Two.
Four.
“Kent.”
Quinn took a deep breath and plunged in. “Sam, this is Quinn. Nate's brother?”
There was a short pause. “Yeah. I know you. How'd you get this number?”
Quinn smiled, remembering the good old days when he had been able to get a number simply by asking a receptionist one question. That question had never been “can I get this number?”. But, he reminded himself, he was different now.
Quinn snapped his attention back to his conversation. “I have my ways. Listen, I need a huge favor. Don't ask questions. I'll explain it all later. Get any agents you trust implicitly and get them and yourself over to Nate's house. I'll be there in thirty minutes.” Quinn didn't leave time for objections, instead he simply hung up. He didn't have time to answer trivial things. Rosie's life was hanging in the balance.
Rosie didn't like the whispered meetings the Irishmen had been having since her declaration nearly an hour earlier. Furtive glances had been cast her way numerous times, and it didn't give her a good feeling.
Rosie touched her fingertips to one of her earrings, hoping they hadn't malfunctioned. If someone really was watching for the GPS signal, shouldn't they have come by now? What if they had forgotten about her?
No, Rosie scolded herself. Quinn wouldn't forget about her. Even if everyone else left her and he was the only one who cared a lick about what happened to her, Quinn wouldn't forget her.
And that was the thought that made Rosie realize: she was putting her trust in Quinn like Emily put her trust in God.
Suddenly, everything made so much more sense. When Emily talked about God, she was talking about the one person who would never leave her, no matter how dark things seemed. She wasn't just talking about some guy in the sky who ordered other people's lives around. Emily had a relationship with God and with Jesus, and she trusted them with her life. Just like Rosie was trusting Quinn with hers.
Rosie realized, in that moment, that she had been getting it wrong all along. God wasn't a hindrance to her life, to the things she wanted to do, but rather a friend that could help her through anything. Even this.
Rosie lifted her eyes heavenward and said the simplest, most sincere prayer she could think of. “I get it now. I need You. I trust You.”
The Irishmen broke up their circle and approached Rosie. She didn't like the look on any of their faces. Harry's especially. He looked almost...sad.
“We weren't wanting to hurt you,” Sean said, reiterating the statement he had made many times. “But it's looking like we don't have a choice.” He nodded to Harry and Jack, who proceeded to launch themselves toward Rosie and hold her arms still.
Rosie struggled to the best of her ability, but her slight five-foot-two frame was no match against their taller, more muscular builds. As soon as Sean held up a syringe, she resorted to kicking.
“Ryan!” Sean yelled after Rosie's foot connected with his stomach for the second time. “Ryan, get o'er here and hold her still.”
Ryan looked on from his place against the far wall, seemingly reluctant to get involved in what was about to happen.
“Ryan!” Sean screamed at him. “Stop being a softy! You messed it up enough with her da, trying to put out the fire. Do what you're told now.”
Ryan propelled himself forward, but threw Rosie an apologetic glance. Carefully, and with more skill than Rosie would have given him credit for, he caught her legs as they kicked at him and held firm.
Rosie's eyes followed Sean as he knelt by one of her immobilized arms. He gripped her elbow and slowly inserted the syringe into her most prominent vein. Once the liquid had been properly dispersed into her blood stream, Sean removed the needle and pressed a tissue to the entry point.
Rosie's vision blurred and she suddenly felt achy. Her limbs felt heavy and then began to go numb. She looked up at Sean, positive that the expression on her face was absolutely pitiful.
“Apologies, Roisin,” Jack said as he maneuvered toward the exit.
Sean tossed the syringe onto the floor a few feet away. “The drug will wear off in a few hours. We weren't wanting it to hurt too bad when we do what we have to.”
Rosie wondered what that meant, but didn't have the strength or courage to ask. She found out in short order, anyway.
Sean lifted her from her chair and laid her gently on the wooden floor, being overly cautious as he set her head down. He treated her limp form almost as if she was an infant.
Harry unsheathed a knife and knelt on the floor beside her. He used one hand to steady one of her calves and hovered the knife just above it.
Rosie's eyes wi
dened. She felt a prick, and then nothing. She looked down at her leg and saw the red stain beginning to pool on her jeans. She couldn't even scream.
Harry still held the bloodied knife aloft.
Sean put a hand on her cheek and stroked his thumb across it. “Shh, now, girl. Go to sleep. You'll be fine.”
Rosie couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. The drug took over and drained her of all her senses. Her eyes closed.
Quinn sat in his car outside his brother's house and prayed for guidance. He didn't know how to approach this, he only knew he needed their help. Somehow, he had to convince them to go along with his idiotic plan. Rosie was counting on them. This had to work.
With determination that he didn't feel, Quinn marched up to Nate's front door. He rang the doorbell. He didn't even have to wait.
Nate flung the door open and stood, staring at Quinn intently.
Quinn quickly decided he didn't have time for a stare-down, so he caved first. “I have something to tell you.” It came out as more of a question than a statement, but Quinn was okay with that. He wasn't overly sure he wanted to tell them. He just knew he had to.
Nate stepped aside and swung his arm toward the inside of the house, ushering Quinn inside.
Quinn made his way to the living room and stopped in the doorway. He hadn't expected the team that was assembled. Sam Kent, Frederico Probo, and Eddie Hutton all sat on the couch, and in two of the three matching chairs in the room sat Jasmine Danforth and Marshall Torrey.
An entire team of FBI agents, about to be pulled into a CIA operation that they knew nothing about. Quinn hoped they were up for it. He couldn't afford for them not to be. They had to be on the top of their game.
Nate brushed past Quinn and flopped onto the remaining unoccupied chair. He motioned toward Quinn. “Start talking.”
Quinn took a deep breath before he began. So many lies that lead to so many other lies. He was buried in them. There was no other option but to tell them everything. Starting at the beginning.
Quinn cleared his throat. “According to Nate, I've been acting weird lately. Trust me, there's a good reason. You'll all remember the numerous times since my release from prison that I dropped off the grid. Sometimes for months at a time. The truth is...I've been recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency.”
None of the FBI agents in the room seemed surprised. Sam and Nate looked like they expected it. Not the reaction Quinn had anticipated, but it made the next explanation so much easier to divulge.
“Alright. You also know that Rosie Callahan has dropped off the map...”
“Does she work for the agency, too?” Eddie asked sarcastically.
Quinn winced. He should have seen that coming. As much as it stung, he probably deserved it. “Not exactly. She...uh...she's been abducted. By a super-secret Irish spy ring.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Well, that escalated quickly.”
“What do you need us for?” Sam inquired. He folded his arms, cutting himself off from any emotion.
Quinn made his way to the couch and sank onto the arm-rest. “That's the tricky part. My boss has been ordered to stand down, which means we don't have CIA backing on this. I need a team to help me pull off a sting. I know her location, but there's no way I'm going in alone. Not with the caliber of training that's condensed in that building.”
“When you say Irish super-spy,” began Jasmine, “you mean...?”
“They're so undercover that they don't exist. They've been wiped from every database in the known world, and from what I've been able to uncover they're responsible for at least three dozen assassinations and off-the-books interrogations over the past twenty-three years.” Quinn had to admit, those credentials sounded frightening, even to him.
Marshall shifted in his chair and rolled his shoulders back. “So, what's our game plan?”
Quinn breathed a prayer of thanks. He should have known he could count on these agents to do everything in their power to help the helpless. He shouldn't have expected less.
His plan was officially in action.
FIFTEEN
Quinn hurriedly checked the buckles on his bullet-proof vest, on loan from the FBI. Everything seemed to be working correctly. He hoped everything else went as smoothly.
Nate handed Quinn a tactical team assault rifle and raised an eyebrow. “I know you don't like to use guns, but I figure you know how, since you work for the CIA.”
Quinn smiled and accepted it. “Of course I do. Thanks for not freaking out about all this.”
“Oh, I'm freaking out,” Nate said with a nod of affirmation, “I'm just getting really good at hiding my shock. Don't get hurt. My wedding is in three days and if you get hurt, Jewel will kill me for messing it up.”
Quinn had to laugh, which felt good after so long in serious mode. “I'll do my best, but I'm more worried about you. Don't get banged up. Jewel would kill us both.” It was true. Jewel could get scary when she was mad.
“Got it,” confirmed Nate. “No promises.”
Quinn checked the ammunition in his rifle and made his way from the house to the tactical van that Jasmine had purloined. He hadn't asked how she had gotten the FBI to go along with it, he had just been blissfully happy when she showed up with the van.
He climbed in and leaned toward the front seat, where Jasmine already sat in the passenger seat. Marshal had insisted on driving. He had given some reason about Jasmine's tendency to overreact. Quinn didn't buy that, given that Jasmine was a trained and talented hostage negotiator.
Quinn tapped Jasmine on the shoulder.
Jasmine turned halfway around. Just far enough to see Quinn. “Yeah, what's up?”
Quinn gave her a slip of paper. “The address. As far as I can tell, Rosie or her GPS hasn't moved in the last hour or so.”
Jasmine nodded and gave a reassuring smile. “Thanks. Quinn?”
“Yeah?” Quinn stayed still, dreading the mission he was about to embark on, but willing to go through with it if it meant Rosie's well-being.
“We'll get her out safely.” Jasmine nodded at him, as if her optimism could rub off on those around her.
“Thanks.” Quinn settled into his seat, ready for the ride.
The address that Rosie seemed to be at had come as a surprise. A boathouse on the Lake Michigan waterfront. Never in a million years would he have guessed that was where An Seisear had holed up. But, he had to admit, it was a genius hiding spot. Simply because no one would have guessed, in a million years, that they were hiding there.
After all the men had loaded into the back of the van, Marshal made quick work of getting them as close to the address as he dared. He parked the van a block away, around a corner so no one saw them coming.
“You sure we have EMT backup on this?” Quinn shot the question at no one in particular.
“We're good,” Freddie answered. “I pulled out my FBI credentials and laid out the bare details. We have a couple ambulances on call, just in case.”
“Good.” Quinn hefted his assault rifle into his arms. “Let's do this.”
Quinn and Nate were the first two to jump out of the van. The instant their feet hit the ground, Quinn knew something was off.
“Got enough equipment there?” Johnson's voice echoed from somewhere on Quinn's right.
Quinn and Nate both turned to the man with his arm in a sling and raised their rifles.
Johnson threw his free hand in the air. “Hey, hold on! I'm on your side. There was no way I was going to miss this.”
“How did you know about this place?” Quinn spat, not lowering his gun.
Johnson rolled his eyes. “I set up the account for the GPS tracking. It's not that hard to get into.”
“Lorrander told you to stay away.” Quinn still wasn't so sure that Johnson was on their side.
“I'm on sick leave, Agent Wesley. Lorrander doesn't have a clue where I am. Look, whoever these guys are, they killed my partner and shot me in the shoulder. I don't take kindly to that. At leas
t let me sit in the Tac van.” He motioned toward the van that Quinn and Nate had just exited.
Quinn couldn't very well turn Johnson away, and he was sure the other man knew that. He lowered his weapon. “Candy corn?”
Johnson shrugged and started for the van. “It's her favorite candy. I swear she ate it by the bucketful in Hawaii.”
Quinn smiled. Of course it was. He had never bothered to ask what kind of candy she liked, but that sounded like something she would say. He made a mental note to buy her a bucket of candy corn as soon as they got her out of there.
Nate tapped Quinn on the shoulder as Johnson hoisted himself into the van. “Who's he?”
“He was on Rosie's security detail in Hawaii,” Quinn explained.
Nate pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “You're telling me all I have to do to get a vacation in Hawaii is get myself in so much trouble that the CIA puts me up there?”
Quinn chuckled and lifted the rifle to his shoulder once more. “I'm not discussing this right now. Let's get going.”
The team of seven stealthily made their way to the boathouse and took up positions outside the door. No movement was visible.
Sam used motions to tell the others that he was going to kick in the door, then stood poised. He counted down from three.
Wham!
The wooden door careened into the room and settled on the floor.
They cleared the room, finding no one. The next door was just as easy to kick in, but what Quinn saw behind that door made his stomach turn.
Rosie was laid out on the floor, hair falling across her face. A dark red stain started on the thigh of her jeans and left a trail to a pool on the floor.
Quinn allowed the others to sweep the room while he ran forward and fell to one knee in front of Rosie's limp form. He slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Aw, Rose, why do you do this to me?” He gently pushed the hair out of her face.
Rose-Colored Glasses Page 16
