Her lips were cracked, as if she had gone for too long without water. She probably had, given what he had learned about An Seisar's mode of operations. And her face was pale, possibly from blood loss.
Quinn quickly checked for a pulse. He found one, but it was thready. “Nate, we need that ambulance,” he called over his shoulder.
“On it,” Nate confirmed as he pulled his phone out of a secure pocket in his pants.
Eddie came and stood just behind Quinn. “There's no one else here.”
The radio earpiece in Quinn's ear screeched and he ducked his head sideways, trying to get away from the sound that was attached to him.
“Sorry,” Johnson's voice sounded in Quinn's ear. “Look, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of running a satellite heat scan on the boat house you're in. There's a low-grade heat signature coming from a cabinet on the wall to your right. Thought you might want to check it out.”
Quinn used two fingers to point toward the cabinet that Johnson had specified.
Marshall was the first one to march toward it and throw open the doors. For a moment, time stopped.
The cabinet doors slammed against the wall. A beeping began.
“Out!” Marshall commanded.
The FBI agents were quick to scurry for the door.
Quinn gently lifted Rosie from the ground, not caring that blood from the floor stuck to his arm and threatened to never let go. As fast as he dared, he made his way back toward the street.
Marshall waited for him at the front door, motioning him quickly forward. Quinn sprinted past him and heard Marshall's footsteps close behind him.
The next thing Quinn knew, he was on the ground. His ears were ringing. Badly.
Quinn turned to look at the building and saw nothing but flames. He turned to his brother, who lay on the pavement only about ten feet in front of him. “We're going to need the fire department, as well.”
Nate rolled onto his back and gave a thumbs-up.
Jasmine was the first one to move, and then only enough to make it to Marshall's side.
Marshall groaned.
“Marshall Torrey!” scolded Jasmine. “How do you do these things?”
Quinn turned in their general direction and noticed the rather large piece of shrapnel protruding from Marshall's leg. He shook his head.
“Are you guys okay?” Johnson yelled to them as he ran up the road.
“We're great!” Quinn lied. He knew that none of them were great. They had all nearly been blown to pieces. If it weren't for Johnson, they probably would have been dead at that very moment.
In the distance, sirens sounded. Quinn focused and heard the whirring of an ambulance, then another. He breathed a sigh of relief. The cavalry was coming, and just in the nick of time, too.
By the time the ambulances had made it to the proximity of the explosion, all the agents had pulled themselves from the ground and checked for any shrapnel wounds. The ones they found were miraculously minimal. All except for Marshall's leg injury.
Several emergency medical technicians swarmed on them, gravitating toward Marshall and Rosie. It was only natural, as they were the most badly damaged.
Quinn didn't leave Rosie's side as the technicians checked her vital signs and hoisted her onto a stretcher. They wheeled it toward the ambulance.
“I'm coming with you,” Quinn insisted.
One of the EMTs looked at him for a moment, seeming to weigh the decision. “Fine,” he finally agreed.
Quinn was no more than two steps behind them as they loaded Rosie into the ambulance and shut the door. The air conditioning felt amazing against Quinn's hot skin, but he didn't focus on it. He was still too worried about Rosie.
Despite the oxygen and IV that the technicians gave Rosie, her pallor remained pale. Quinn looked on with a touch of anxiety as her limp form jostled slightly with the movement of the car. Even though he knew she was alive, she seemed so lifeless. The Rosie he knew was full of life. It couldn't end like this.
Rosie's eyelids fluttered and then opened. She looked at the technician, then turned her head to Quinn. Her eyes opened wide, as though she was about to panic. Her hand shot up to claw at the oxygen mask.
The technician gently helped her remove it.
“Quinn,” Rosie started, sounding parched and tearful, “what...happened?”
Quinn swallowed and then reached to hold her hand. “They tried to blow us up. Good thing I got there when I did, huh?”
Rosie nodded as the technician put the mask back on her face. She squeezed Quinn's hand tightly as she fell back into unconsciousness.
Quinn looked to the technician. “Is she going to be alright?”
The man nodded as he checked the IV and picked up a syringe.
The ambulance seemed to be slowing down.
Quinn released Rosie's hand and braced himself. Why were they slowing down? Had they made it to the hospital already?
And then he knew.
The ambulance jerked to a full stop, and the man across from him thrust the syringe toward Quinn's arm. Quinn ducked to the side, avoiding the impact, and knocking the oxygen mask off of Rosie's face as he grabbed for anything to keep him steady.
Quinn weighed his options in a mere second. He couldn't get his gun off his shoulder in the confined space, so he would have to do his best in hand-to-hand combat. And he had to get the fight away from Rosie.
The syringe came at him again, and this time Quinn thrust himself bodily against the back doors of the ambulance. He gripped one of the handles, thrust the door open, and dropped onto the ground. Gravel crunched under his feet.
Quinn did a quick assessment of his surroundings. They were at some sort of construction site, clearly deserted for the day. The equipment stood silent and there were no vehicles in sight. The fact that a block of cement would be a perfect place to hide a body made it a great place for an assassination.
Quinn took a defensive stance as the man from the ambulance came at him again. “Another member of An Seisear?” He already knew the answer, he just wanted to be sure.
The man nodded. “Sure am. Didn't you do no research on us?”
Quinn shrugged. He had done plenty, it was just hard to find pictures of them. “Where are your buddies?”
The man nodded in Quinn's general direction, and Quinn turned his head slightly. Two more men approached at different angles.
Quinn groaned and pulled his gun off his back.
The man from the ambulance laughed. “You can't just shoot us like you did Philip McCleary.”
Quinn kept his gun up and ready to fire. Finally, they had told him what this whole mess was about. Not about International Relations. Not even really about Rosie. It was all about revenge. “Not to be technical or anything, but as I recall it that IRA agent shot first. I wasn't trying to get into a gun fight.”
“Doesn't make it any better,” said another one of the Irishmen. “You still killed him, and you'll still pay.”
Ambulance man lunged at Quinn, who speedily fired a few rounds into that man's kneecaps. The man dropped to the ground, clutching at his bleeding knees and moaning.
Another of the An Seisear members came at Quinn, with a knife.
Quinn used the butt of his assault rifle to disarm the man with the knife and knock him unconscious.
Only one left. Quinn sucked in a deep breath as a sharp blade slid across his bare upper arm. Blood oozed down his bicep and toward his fingertips.
Quinn glared at the man momentarily before kicking him in the stomach. The man stumbled backward. A single uppercut sent the man to the ground, unconscious.
An arm wrapped tightly around Quinn's neck, cutting off his air supply. It was then that Quinn realized his enormous error. The driver was the fifth free man from An Seisear. He should have known. In his haste, he hadn't prepared for that possibility.
With one smooth motion, Quinn flipped the man forward, over his head and to the ground in the direction of the ambulance's back door.
His assault rifle clattered on the hard rock and dirt a good five feet in front of the man.
Quinn backed away from the ambulance, moving as quickly as he could while watching the man on the ground.
The man sprang up as quickly as he had gone down, and was on top of Quinn in a flash, his knee pressing into Quinn's chest.
Quinn tried desperately to wriggle his way out from underneath the large Irishman. The man pulled out a knife and aimed for Quinn's throat. With some maneuvering, Quinn managed to deflect it. It sliced across his cheek instead, drawing more blood and stinging worse than a hundred bee stings.
Black spots appeared before Quinn's eyes, proof that he was almost out of oxygen.
A shot rang out through the air, and the man on top of Quinn loosened his grip, then fell to the side.
Quinn propped himself up on his elbows and looked in the direction he thought the shot had come from. It was hard to make out what was happening through the blurry spots in his vision, but what had happened was clear enough.
The back of the ambulance was open, and Rosie stood, trembling and tottering, on the ground in front of it. Quinn's assault rifle was in her hands.
Quinn frantically shimmied out from under the weight of the bulky Irishman and jogged to where Rosie stood. He arrived just as she lost her balance and began to fall. He caught her easily with one arm. With the other hand, he pried the rifle from her grasp and slung it over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked her.
Rosie nodded listlessly. Whatever drug they had given her was obviously messing with her ability to function. She looked like she was about to pass out again. The wound on her arm from the IV was oozing blood.
Quinn kept his arm tightly around her waist, ready to take her full weight if and when she fell unconscious. “Good shot.”
Rosie looked up at him and gave a smile, then went limp.
Quinn had to use both arms to steady her weight, despite how small she was. He easily lifted her up into his arms, prepared to drive the ambulance to the hospital himself.
Sirens sounded nearby, and the gate to the fenced-in construction area flew open. The tactical van, closely followed by Johnson's vehicle and a real ambulance, careened into the open space.
Nate and Sam were jumping out of the van almost before it had stopped.
Nate pointed an accusing finger at Quinn. “You had better be okay, because if you're not, forget about the wrath of Jewel, I'll kill you myself.”
Quinn looked at the four men on the ground. One dead, two unconscious, and one groaning in pain and holding his knee.
“I had to fight them all. Single-handedly. You're lucky I'm alive.” Quinn shot his brother a look that was both quizzical and unbelieving of Nate's behavior. “How did you know we were here?”
Johnson climbed out of his car and held up his secure mobile phone. A red dot blinked on the screen.
Nate shrugged. “We found the real EMTs stashed in a car trunk, so Johnson decided to track Rosie. Once the ambulance stopped, we knew what was up. Looks like you didn't need us after all.”
Quinn slowly carried Rosie toward the waiting cars and ambulance. “Are you kidding? I'm bleeding from two different knife wounds, both of which probably need stitches. And I'm not sure what they did to Rose, but she can't even stand.”
Jasmine poked her head out of the passenger side van window. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Quinn. Those guys look like they need an ambulance more than you do.”
Quinn made it to the back of the real ambulance and allowed the EMTs to take Rosie from his arms. They started an intravenous drip and double-checked her vitals.
One of them turned to Quinn and studied his arm and cheek. “We can stitch those up real quick, but I'd suggest you come to the hospital with us, just to be safe.”
Quinn nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance, glad it was secure. Glad the trouble was all over and they could move on with their lives. “You couldn't have ditched me here if you wanted to. Where she goes, I go.”
SIXTEEN
Rosie straightened Quinn's bow tie and smiled up at him. She gently touched the stitched-up gash on his cheek. It wasn't as bruised as it had been when it was fresh, but it didn't look pretty, either.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked.
Quinn shrugged. “Not as much now.”
Rosie nodded shyly and took a step back. The last three days had been hard for both of them. The FBI had “officially” arrested the remaining members of An Seisear, but the CIA had quickly swooped in and claimed jurisdiction. There was nothing any of them could do about it.
Rosie's injuries had been minimal, but the psychological damage would remain for a long time to come. She didn't know if she would ever recover from the discovery of her father's demise. She hadn't even begun to tell Quinn about the nightmares that haunted her nightly. Trust was something she would have to work hard to find.
“So,” Quinn said quietly, but firmly, “Why don't you tell me what you've been trying to hide for so long?”
Rosie sighed. She supposed she owed it to him. He had saved her life. Twice. “I have HSAM.”
Quinn cocked his head and gave his famous half-smile. “And what is that?”
“Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. I remember everything, even when I don't want to. They knew about you because Martin showed me some documents. One time, that's all it took, and I can read them whenever I want.”
“So you won't be forgetting any CIA secrets anytime soon, huh?” Quinn wrinkled his nose at her, then winced when it pulled at his stitches.
Rosie shook her head. “Nope. But that's okay. I think there will be a lot of new things to remember. Very soon.” She turned and walked away, leaving the conversation at that. Quinn could take from that what he wanted.
The music started, and the sanctuary doors opened. Rosie smiled. This was it. Jewel's big day.
The procession of the bridesmaids and groomsmen didn't matter nearly as much as what came after.
The sanctuary doors shut briefly, then reopened to reveal Jewel in the most spectacular white dress that Rosie had ever seen. Lace embraced the bodice and filtered into the organza skirt. Beading embellished the flowers in the lace pattern and made the dress sparkle. Jewel's face was covered by a single layer of her tulle veil.
Rosie turned her gaze to the groom. Nate radiated happiness. He couldn't have hid his goofy grin if he had tried. His eyes twinkled like she had never seen them twinkle before. She saw Quinn give him a pat on the shoulder and a thumbs-up.
She shook her head slightly. That was about right. Even after being fully reformed, she doubted Quinn could help being a ladies' man. He had an eye for beauty. And he had chosen her.
Rosie smiled then, not because of the beautiful wedding, but because instead of the rejection she had received all her life, she had found two men willing to accept her. Willing to love her as she was. Jesus and Quinn.
Jewel and Nate had chosen to take the traditional wedding vows, but unlike other couples that Rosie had seen, they seemed to mean what they said.
“In sickness and in health.”
“For as long as we both will live.”
Rosie hoped one day to be able to say those words to someone special. Someone a lot like Quinn. But, she reminded herself, she would have to give it time.
Someone had once told her that time healed all wounds. She doubted if that was really true, but she hoped that maybe, with time, her physical and emotional wounds would be less noticeable. Maybe one day they would even scar over and just become a memory she never relived.
“I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride,” announced the pastor.
Nate took Jewel's face in his hands and kissed her lips gently.
The audience cheered, but no one cheered louder than Sam and Emily. They were quite demonstrative. Jewel's brothers weren't far behind in the noise level. Peter, his hand nearly healed now, even let out a whistle.
There wer
e pictures after the ceremony, but Rosie honestly felt like it was just a blur of instructions and flash bulbs. She was whisked away with the girls, while Quinn was whisked away by his brother.
Rosie barely had a chance to breathe, let alone speak with Quinn.
Almost an hour later, the entire bridal party made it to the reception. The grand ballroom at Jewel's chosen location had been decked out in lights and flowers. A disco ball hung neatly over the dance floor, something of a sign of both Jewel and Nate's fun side.
Rosie looked around for Quinn, but didn't see him. Even though she was sorely disappointed, Rosie determined to enjoy herself for the rest of the evening. Quinn had probably been called away on important business.
More than one kind gentleman requested a dance with Rosie, and soon she was beginning to get dizzy. She hoped her leg hadn't split its stitches. They had held well so far, but too much time on her feet meant more of a chance they had broken.
Rosie half-limped, half-hobbled toward the refreshment table. She desperately needed a drink of water. Five steps away, she lost her balance and tipped backwards.
A hand was suddenly on her arm, righting her and holding firmly until she had her equilibrium back. She looked up at the tall man behind her.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked with concern.
Rosie nodded and turned around. “Just a lot of dancing. I don't think I'm quite fully hydrated again.”
Quinn gave her a compassionate smile. “For the rest of the evening, I'm your guard dog. No more dancing. We don't want you to split those stitches in your thigh.”
Rosie put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, remaining as serious as she dared. “What about you? Don't you want to dance?”
“Want to, yes.” Quinn turned her toward a nearby table and settled her into a chair. “Going to, no. I figure you and I will have plenty of time to dance later. Right now we should focus on healing.” He handed her a bottle of water and sank into a chair of his own.
Rosie turned her attention to the bride and groom. Nate was spinning Jewel across the dance floor, both laughing the entire way. She smiled and momentarily wished it was her. One day, it would be, she reminded herself.
Rose-Colored Glasses Page 17
