Smokescreen, page 18
“Our intel suggests that the components have already been shipped. We need to know how and where, and we need to find out who is behind this before we go after him.”
Quinn looked at him skeptically. “Does customs even know to look for this stuff?”
“Not specifically, but since 9/11, customs uses x-ray screening a lot more than it used to. Small items aren’t any easier to get through than larger items now.” Graham hesitated a moment as though considering how much information to divulge. Then he let out a sigh and added, “Also, some of this equipment may have originated from some sources that have electronic markers that would be easy to detect.”
“What kind of markers?”
“Riesenour used to work for a contractor who provided electronic equipment for the French government. The photos we have indicate that some of the high-end computer components may have been used.”
Vanessa looked at him with new understanding. “And those computer components are marked electronically to ensure they can’t slip out of their country undetected.”
Quinn looked from Vanessa to Graham. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re tagged electronically because they are extremely valuable and . . .”
“And potentially dangerous,” Quinn finished for her.
The office door opened, and one of the women who had been with Taylor walked in. “Taylor Palmetta just identified Cress. She may have been the last person to see him alive.”
“What?”
She nodded. “Not only that, she said that she remembered him having lunch with an Italian man, around forty years old. She also said that one of her paintings that was stolen in New Jersey was the same painting she was creating the day she saw Cress.”
“Are you sure?” Quinn asked.
Vanessa looked at him. “Do you think she might have accidentally painted Riesenour?”
Quinn shook his head. “That wouldn’t make sense. She always has people sign waivers before she paints them.”
“On a street scene, she couldn’t get waivers from everyone.”
“She said that she does,” Quinn told her. “Besides, what about the second painting?”
“It could have been stolen just to throw us off,” Graham suggested.
“Pull up the picture of the missing paintings,” Quinn told Graham. “See if there’s anything that this Riesenour guy had to worry about.”
Graham sifted through a stack of papers on his desk and picked up a page-sized printout of Taylor’s stolen paintings. “You’re right. Her paintings don’t show anyone’s face. She has them all blurred.”
“Then why was it stolen?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“Do you know where Riesenour is now?” Quinn asked. “Maybe it’s time we bring him in for questioning.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Graham told him. “Even if we manage to locate him, he isn’t going to come to the United States willingly.”
Quinn’s eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t exactly planning on asking his permission.”
“Questioning Riesenour might be the best chance we have to head off this attack,” Vanessa said. “That needs to be one of our top priorities.”
“I’ll talk to the chief of station in Paris and see if he can shake some information loose. In the meantime, we need to find out if Riesenour has figured out how to get this equipment past customs,” Graham said.
Vanessa nodded and looked at Quinn. “And obviously your main priority is to keep Taylor safe.”
28
Dawn was just breaking when Taylor walked into the Lamberts’ kitchen on Saturday morning. She still wasn’t sure exactly why she and Quinn had been called back to the CIA the day before, but she was certain that Quinn and Vanessa knew a whole lot more than they were telling her. And being left in the dark was driving her crazy.
The tension she had sensed at CIA headquarters had followed them back to Quinn’s childhood home. Tristan and Riley had already arrived from Virginia Beach, but instead of the casual welcome Taylor would have expected, Tristan had immediately pulled Quinn aside for a private conversation. Even Riley seemed to know more than she was telling.
All evening the tension had hung in the air. Gone was the light-hearted ribbing she was accustomed to when she was around Tristan and Riley.
Taylor half expected to see either Quinn or Tristan in the kitchen when she walked in, but to her surprise, it was dark and empty. She continued through the kitchen and walked to the back door where she could see the beginnings of the sunrise. She considered a minute, wondering if she dared go out onto the deck by herself. She peeked outside, looking around to see if anyone could be hiding in the shadows, but there was nothing but the fenced yard and the trees beyond it.
“You’re just being paranoid,” Taylor whispered to herself, hoping that her words were true. Certainly she would be safe in Quinn’s backyard. Still trying to convince herself of that fact, she went back upstairs to retrieve her bag and a hoodie from her room.
Five minutes later she was settled on the deck, completely engrossed in the view of the sun rising over the woods behind the Lamberts’ townhouse, her sketchbook on her lap and one of her new graphite sticks in her hand. When the back door slid open an hour later, she barely even noticed.
“What are you doing out here?” Quinn asked, successfully startling her back to reality.
Taylor dropped the pad onto her lap and lifted a hand to her now rapidly beating heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Are you trying to give me one?” Quinn countered, clearly annoyed. “Taylor, you can’t just walk outside by yourself like this. I’ve been looking for you for the past ten minutes.”
A little ripple of fear worked through her, and Taylor tried to fight it. “I guess you should have looked here first.”
Quinn shook his head. “If you had your cell phone with you, I would have known where to look.”
Taylor’s eyes met his. She wanted him to insist that she was safe here, even though she could see in his expression that he wasn’t sure. “If no one knows that I’m here, I should be perfectly safe in your backyard.”
The muscle in Quinn’s jaw jumped, and he stared down at her with a combination of irritation and concern. “I have no idea who knows what about your current location, but I do know that I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”
“Exactly when did you become my protector?” Taylor demanded, her fear and frustration seeping into her words. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but it’s getting really old turning into everyone’s charity case.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t patronize me.” Taylor let out a frustrated sigh. “Everyone’s so worried about my safety, but none of you will tell me anything about why this is all happening.”
Quinn started to open his mouth, but she held her hand up. “And don’t tell me you don’t know anything.”
“I know that you need to trust me and that you shouldn’t go anywhere alone.”
“I kind of figured that already.” Taylor bit back on the threatening well of emotions. “Any idea when that part of my life might change?”
Quinn shook his head, and his tone softened. “Why don’t you come inside and have some breakfast?”
“No thanks,” Taylor said, her annoyance overriding logic as well as the demands of her stomach. She shifted in her chair so that once again she was staring out at the sunrise. She thought that Quinn would go back inside and leave her alone, but instead, he lowered himself into the chair beside her.
“What did they tell you when we went back to CIA headquarters yesterday?”
Taylor’s shoulders lifted, and she turned again to look at him. “Nothing. They just put a bunch of pictures in front of me and asked if I recognized any of the people in them.”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“A bald guy that I saw in Paris.” Taylor’s eyes met his. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. He saw the frustration light in Taylor’s eyes, and he held up a hand and said, “Really, I don’t know, but he was working for the CIA.”
“Was?”
Quinn’s jaw tensed. “What else did you tell them?”
“He was around most of the day when I was working on one of the paintings that was stolen. At one point, he even came over and looked at it,” Taylor told him. “Then he met with some guy at the café, and that’s the last I remember seeing him.”
“Did you recognize the other guy in any of the pictures they showed you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t in one of them,” Taylor said. “The only thing I really remember about him is that he dressed really well. Most of the people I saw on the street that day weren’t wearing Armani suits. I guess that’s why he stood out a bit in my mind.”
“Can you draw a picture of what he looked like?”
“Quinn, I’m not sure I can remember what he looked like.”
“Just try,” Quinn pressed. “Try to sketch what you saw that day when the bald guy was eating lunch. Put in any of the details you can remember.”
“Okay,” Taylor sighed. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” Quinn shifted closer to her as she flipped to a blank page in her sketchbook. “Start with the bald guy.”
Taylor began sketching, first the table at the café where the two men had sat together and then the CIA agent. When she tried to create the second figure, she wasn’t able to do much beyond the general shape and size of him and the clothes he wore. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t remember much more than that. It was more than a month ago.”
“That’s okay.” Quinn leaned forward. “Forget about him for a minute and tell me what else you saw. Fill in the rest of the scene.”
“All right.” Taylor’s hand started moving again, another table, a waiter, water dripping from the awning.
“That’s good. What about cars? Were there any parked in front of the café?”
“It’s a no parking zone.” Taylor shook her head. “Except for a few minutes there was some kind of utility van.” She sketched in the outline of the van, narrow by American standards, with two men sitting in the front seats. “That’s generally what it looked like, and it had some kind of logo on the side.”
“Is this where it was parked?”
“Actually, it was more in front of where the two men were sitting.”
“Were you there when the van left?”
Taylor nodded.
“Were the two men still there?”
She thought for a minute and then shook her head. “No, now that you mention it, I don’t think they were. And I don’t remember seeing them leave, but then again, I wasn’t really watching them that closely either.”
“The van wasn’t in your painting, was it?”
Again she shook her head. “No, I was nearly done with the painting by then. I didn’t put any vehicles in it except for a few blurring past on the road.”
“I need to go call Vanessa. Are you sure you won’t come back inside?”
“Let me finish this one sketch, and then I’ll come in, okay?”
“Okay, but don’t be long,” Quinn insisted. “It makes me nervous when you’re out here alone.”
“You aren’t planning on keeping me locked up inside all day, are you?”
“Not necessarily.” Quinn shrugged a shoulder.
“Good, because I was hoping you’d take me into DC. I’d love to do some work around the monuments.” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “I really need to spend some time outside, or I think I might go crazy.”
“I have a better idea,” he told her. “How about a picnic lunch across the river from DC? The view is great, and we won’t have to deal with the crowds.”
“There are places up here where we won’t have crowds?”
“Sure, if you know where to look,” Quinn told her. “Hurry up and finish your sketch. We can go out early if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
* * *
Quinn was just hanging up with Vanessa when Tristan knocked on his bedroom door and pushed it open.
“Is everything all right?” Tristan asked.
“I was just updating Vanessa.” Quinn leaned back against the windowsill, thinking how small this room seemed now and wondering how he and Tristan had managed to share it successfully during their teenage years. “Taylor saw a white utility van in front of that café in Paris. I think it was the vehicle used by Cress’s killer to get him away from there.”
“Taylor saw him leave?”
“No, but she doesn’t remember them being there after the van left,” Quinn told him. “I think Vanessa was right. Taylor saw things that were important, but she doesn’t know what they were.”
“That still doesn’t explain why anyone would go after her or her paintings.”
“I know.” Quinn rubbed at his forehead.
“Quinn, I know you’re worried,” Tristan told him. “We all are.”
“I just don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s like Emily all over again.”
“You don’t have to do this. We can keep Taylor with us or set up a safe house for her somewhere.”
Quinn shook his head. “You know I can’t walk away.”
Tristan’s stare intensified. “You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”
Quinn’s eyes shot up to Tristan’s. He should have known Tristan would recognize his feelings even though he hadn’t yet been able to voice the words to Taylor—had barely been able to acknowledge them himself. Quinn took on an impatient and pleading tone. “Can we not do this right now? We have to neutralize Riesenour before he finds Taylor.”
“We will,” Tristan said with certainty. “But in the meantime, you and Taylor need to talk.”
“We talk all the time.”
“About Emily?”
“There’s nothing to say about Emily,” Quinn insisted, even though he knew his words weren’t true. Since that day at the train station, he had been wondering how to bring up Emily again, how he could explain to Taylor that Emily’s death had left a hole in his heart that had only recently begun to heal. He couldn’t even be sure when the healing process had started, but he was starting to think that it had coincided with Taylor’s arrival in Virginia.
“There’s a lot to say,” Tristan countered. “And you know it.”
Before Quinn could say anything else, Tristan walked out of the room. A second later Quinn heard him greet Taylor in the hallway.
Quinn pushed away from the window and crossed to the door just as Taylor reached it. Her hair was down, curling madly over her shoulders, and her cheeks were rosy from being outside in the cool morning air.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah. I just need to grab a couple of things downstairs.” Quinn reached for her hand before she could move back out in the hall. Then without a word, he leaned forward and kissed her softly.
He tried to push aside his fears and let himself live in the moment, but all he could think of was what would happen if this was the last time he ever got this opportunity. What would he do if tomorrow he woke up and Taylor was no longer here? The doubts lingered, but as he pulled her closer, snaking his free hand around her waist, he was faced with the simple reality. Taylor was alive, and he knew he had to do everything in his power to keep her that way.
29
“This is perfect.” Taylor approached a wooden bench overlooking the Potomac River. Underneath the clear blue sky, she could see the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials with the Washington Memorial spearing up into the sky behind them. From the quiet of Roosevelt Island, she could pretend that the busy weekend traffic didn’t exist on the nearby George Washington Parkway.
She had already stopped twice to sketch scenes along the way, starting with the footbridge leading from Rosslyn onto the island. When she had tried to stop a third time, Quinn had gently nudged her along, promising that she could stop again on the way home. Now she could see why he wanted her to keep going. This view could keep her busy for weeks if she had the right supplies.
Her sketchbook already in her hand, she lowered herself onto the bench and retrieved a hunk of charcoal from her bag.
“Is this quiet enough for you?” Quinn lowered the backpack he held onto the bench and sat beside her.
Taylor nodded, her hand already pressing charcoal to paper. “I’m surprised it isn’t more crowded.”
“It will be as the day goes on. Besides, most people park on the other side of the island.” Quinn began rifling through his backpack and fished out two water bottles. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Taylor set her charcoal down long enough to take it from him, but she put it down on the bench unopened and went back to sketching.
“I never realized how focused you get when you’re drawing.” Quinn opened his water bottle and took a drink.
“Mmm hmm,” Taylor responded, barely registering his words. The reflection of the Jefferson Memorial in the water and sunlight streaking across the white columns of the Lincoln were fascinating. Her fingers could barely keep up with what she wanted to do.
She finished one sketch and flipped the page, completely forgetting that Quinn was even beside her. Time ceased to have meaning as she considered the images she wanted to paint. Coming back to this spot with her supplies would be the ideal situation, but she hoped she could recreate the feeling using her sketches. She wrote a few notes in the margin of one, referring to the colors and techniques she would use.
More than two hours passed before she finally set down the charcoal and flexed her hand to work out the cramps developing there.
“You’re amazing,” Quinn said, finally breaking through her concentration.
Taylor looked over at him, suddenly feeling guilty that she had been completely ignoring him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you to bring a book or something,” she apologized. “I tend to get tunnel vision when I’m working.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth lifted into the beginnings of a smile. “I noticed.” He reached over and tapped a finger on her sketchbook. “But I think watching you is more interesting that reading a book.”
