I bearly made it out alive!

And yes ... I do know how to spell.

I had a near (too-near) encounter with a bear at camp.  It is a thrilling story that I want to share with you, but first I have to clarify a little about where my head was at.

This all goes back to a path that God placed me on twenty months ago.  For those of you who follow me regularly you know I am referring to when God asked me to write stories.  If you are new, check out this post for more information.

Ninety percent of the time God gives me the complete story He wants me to write.  However, twice now God has only given me the person.  A real person.

Come with me on a journey back in time to Southridge Bible Camp in northern Saskatchewan.  It is July 17th, 2011.  I am invited to the camp to be the Speaker to the grade 4, 5 and 6 campers.  There are no campers present yet, they will arrive in a couple hours.  Right now I am sitting in the dining hall with about

Chapter fifteen, page two

It felt like forever.  Time ticked away but hardly a heartbeat joined it.  We sat there immobilized in our fears.  Then Quinn wiped his face and leaned back onto the carpet staring up to the ceiling.

Softly whispered words came from his motionless frame.   “Why are you here?”

“Me?”  I quietly asked.

“Yes.  Why are you here Cathie?  Why are you feeding me information about my future, but it is all too late?"  He voice rose in decibels climaxing with his last two hurtful words.

Quinn didn’t wait for my answer before he swiftly pulled out his cell phone.  I watched as he dialled and then held the phone to his ear.  He spoke in French requesting to be directed to the third floor.  I knew he was calling the hospital to check on Anna.

After the conversation was over, he put away his phone and quickly stood to his feet.  I could not read his face.  Other than his anger tightened jaw and his red eyes there was nothing new there.

“What did they say?” I asked cautiously.

chapter fifteen, page one

We drove like a Nascar through the darkening streets to Quinn’s Bakery.  Slowly he passed in front of the building and we saw the wood boarding the windows and doorway.  There was police tape stretched across.  Quinn drove around the block and parked in the back area.  He instructed me to stay put.

 After a few steps he was out of my line of sight.  So I prayed.  Please let the envelope be there, Lord.  Please let us find something to get Quinn get out of this mess.  Please.  I believe You are in control.  Show us.

When Quinn returned to the car less than ten minutes later, his black jacket was no longer on his back, but draped over his right arm which he cradled against himself.

It wasn’t until he was inside the car with the interior light shining on him that I noticed the blood. 

“What happened?”

“I broke a window to get in.”

“And?”

Chapter fourteen, page three

Once Jane realized her blunder of confessing to seeing Quinn’s contract with Dean, her face coloured brightly.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  “Sorry.  I know that its confidential information and I could lose my job for talking about it.”  She rambled on about proper business etiquette and oaths of confidentiality until Quinn and I pounced on her.

“Jane!”

“What did you do with my file?”  Quinn urged her as he held her by the shoulder.

She began back pedalling with a ferocious spirit.  “I didn’t do anything to your file.  I only did what I was told to do.  I didn’t even read it Quinn.  I swear.”

Stepping in with a gentler manner than Quinn, I probed for more information.  “Please Jane, Quinn is in some trouble and Dean is involved.  We had no idea you were working for him.  That is not why we came tonight.  Can you give us a hint of what you were doing with the file?”

“Who are you again?”  Jane’s eyes yielded to distrust and suspicion. 

Chapter fourteen, page two

As we drove to Jane and Andrew’s party our conversation turned serious.  Thankfully it was a much safer topic than Mitch.  We discussed the possibilities of what Dean wanted from Quinn now that Dean had his money.  Although Quinn did not tell me much about his dealings with Dean, he mentioned they had a business contract involving his bakery property.  

After twenty minutes of conversation and twenty-four hours of chaotic mishaps, we could not add all the pieces together.  There was no clarity or explanation to latch on to.  There must still be a missing piece to our puzzle.  Perhaps Jane can provide it.

When we arrived at the apartment building, a whole new wave of anxious feelings filled me.  These were Quinn’s friends.  And who exactly am I?  How will he introduce my presence?

“Are you alright?”  He asked as he reached for my hand exiting the elevator.

“Uhuh.”

Quinn saw right through my phony answer, I think.  

chapter ten, page three

Our first stop inside the shopping centre was the food court.  It had been several hours since we sat at the little cafe across from my hotel for lunch.  

It boggled my mind to think of everything that had transpired since then.  Quinn had taken me to meet his sister, who was wonderful.  However she revealed a most disturbing revelation that rattled my world.  Only to be outdone by Quinn’s home burning to the ground leaving him homeless and lost in every sense of the word.  Now, of all things, we are shopping.

Our time together felt effortless.  Quinn’s demeanour was once again lively and fun-natured.  Somehow amidst all this turmoil he managed to shed his anger and face life with a smile again.  It was of course his devilishly handsome smile.  Every time he laughed or teased me my heart sang.

Our snack was precisely that – a small taste of French culture, he said.  He did not want to spoil my appetite, all the while raving about Jane’s feast that awaited us.  

Quinn was as giddy as a school boy as he introduced me to two of his favourite treats.  ‘Croque-monsieur’ was a couple pieces of grilled French bread with ham and cheese melted inside and ‘pain au chocolat’ was a croissant with a wedge of chocolate inside.  We bought one of each and shared them.  Naturally, he added, his recipe was better than the food court version.

Once our tummies were satisfied, Quinn excitedly dragged me into a men’s clothing store on the second floor to find him an outfit for the party.  He greeted the woman at the counter and immediately turned to me.  “Which one should I get?”

It was hard to hide my shock.  “You want me to pick?”  I stumbled for words as my eyes took in all the fashion surrounding us.  “I don’t know what you like.”

“Cherie, I am a man.  I’ll like whatever you like.”  Then he turned to the lady approaching us and spoke in French.  She turned away and went straight to work.  Her arms were soon weighted down with many articles of clothing as she ‘shopped’ for Quinn.

In a haughty French accent she passed by us announcing, “come”.

Following her to the changing room area, Quinn excitement grew. He followed her right into the cubicle.  They exchanged a few words and she left hardly acknowledging my existence.  I plopped myself onto a large orange triangle.  It was like an ottoman resting against a wall, but it was big enough for two.

 

The first time he popped out from behind his change room door he was decked out in a stylish black buttoned shirt with grey pants and a grey vested cardigan over top.  With a flick of his hair away from his face he looked like a fashion model.  It made my breath catch in my throat.  He looked gorgeous.

“Do you like this look?”  He asked as he turned a few different directions in front of me.

Gasp!  I didn’t need to see any more angles of him.  He looked stunning.  “Oh, it’s nice.  Do you like it?” 

Swallowing the large lump wedged in my throat actually hurt.  How dare I feel this way?  I am a widow.

“Nice, huh?”  Then he swung around and headed back into the change room. 

I breathed a sigh of relief giving my heart rate time to slow.

He chattered on while he changed about his belief that all women loved to shop and how I was shattering that image.  Instead of my interest in his words, they were merely a means to an end.  A distraction.  Maybe I should excuse myself and let him shop with the aid of the woman at the counter.  I leaned over on my ottoman to get a glimpse of her.  She was standing at her station filing her nails.

Just then the change room door opened and I turned to see the next product.  His breathtaking, almost regal pose sent my heart into overdrive.  I may be a widow but I am not dead – obviously!

Breathe Cathie!  The words screamed in my ears as I took in the next view of Quinn-like perfection.  He had a pair of dark coloured and form fitting slacks on with a white buttoned down shirt open loose at the bottom.  There was a slender black silk tie hanging loosely from his open collar.  Then a black leather jacket hung from his finger as he draped it behind his shoulder.  He really was posing like a model.

I blinked several times giving pause for my throat to produce words.  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“What?”  His innocent look passed over me with little effect as he did his spin around.  “I only want to know what you thing.  Is this one better than the first one?”

“They're both good.  Just pick whichever one you like best.”  I added in exasperation.

He closed the distance between us and squatted at the base of my ottoman.  Our eyes were level with one another and my heart did the most fearsome pitter-patter imaginable.  “Are you alright, Cherie?”

Breathe!  “I am fine.  I am sorry if I was curt.”

“Well, you were.  If I look dreadful I would appreciate you telling me now before I step out in public.  Honestly, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Dreadful?  My frantic, racing heart could only wish.  “Quinn,” I extended my hand to his stubbly cheek.  “You look anything but dreadful.”

His eyes danced for a moment as he interpreted my words.  He leaned a little closer to me.  “Do you like it then, my Dear?”

“Yes.”  My voice could barely muster a whisper as I struggled with the rising emotions in me.

For a moment he didn’t budge.  He remained there, a breath’s distance from me looking like my knight in shining armour.  Then he stood with that mischievous smile he sports so often.  Without a word he headed back into the change room.  I was certain my heart could not take any more outfits like the last two.

As I sat in my place practising my breathing, Quinn’s head popped over the top of the change room door.

“Cherie, would you be a peach and grab me a pair of trousers and a shirt to match just for regular wear?”

“Trousers?”

“Yes, please.” 

I stood reluctantly and headed towards the lady at the counter.  Perhaps she could show me the ‘trouser’ rack.

Well, the look she gave me when I asked her where I would find the trousers told me I was completely brainless.  She surveyed her hand out across the whole room.   “What kind of trousers?”

She might as well have added the ‘duh’ sound after her question.  I thanked her and then started to peruse the clothing racks all by myself.  Okay Lord, if you can direct me on how to keep Quinn alive, perhaps you can direct me to the right kind of ‘trousers’.

Then Quinn wandered out of the changing area with a few items draped over his arm.  He handed them to the lady at the counter who offered him a warm and enticing smile.  He didn’t even seem to notice though as he made a beeline right to me.

“Did you find anything you like?”

“I will be completely honest with you.  I don’t really know what trousers are.  I mean, I think of them as pants my grandfather would wear.  Is that what you really want?”

Quinn stifled a giggle and reached over my shoulder to a pile of clothing behind me.  He pulled back his arm with a pair of jeans in his hand.  “Would you Grandfather wear these trousers?”

He smiled and then turned back to the lady at the counter not even waiting on my response.

“Do you carry socks and pants as well?”

The lady shook her head.

Quinn shrugged his shoulders and then approached her counter pulling his wallet from his back pocket.  All the while I was thinking he was holding the pants but that must refer to something else I was ignorant of.

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Chapter ten, page two

The drive returning to my hotel was riddled with awkward silence.  His grand gesture to me had not been received well.  I really did want to be needed by him, and wanted by him.  Only his methods brought me anxiety instead of comfort.  His emotions were high and his actions were strong.  I longed for that gentle man who trusted me in the bakery, protected me in front of Dean and desired to know me in the hotel. 

After Quinn parked his car we continued to sit in silence for a moment.  Finally he looked up at me and I saw a hint of his personality seeping back into his golden eyes.  “I promised you a snack and a rest.”  He said with a wink.

“Quinn, I think you need a lawyer.”

“I quite agree.”

“Do you know any?”

“Not personally, but my best friend’s wife was a law secretary.  Perhaps she knows someone I could trust.”

“Uh, Quinn?  Are you thinking of Jane?”

“Yes, how did you – never mind, why do I ask anymore?”

“Tonight is the dinner party, remember?  Are you thinking of going there?”

He thought for awhile.  “Yes I am.  Dean will not show if he is still handling his unfortunate show down with the police this morning.  I think we should both go.”  He looked over to me with a glint in his eye.  “How would you like to join me for a fancy but possibly boring evening of wine, fabulous food and a few wacky but very decent friends?”

“That sounds like an offer a girl can’t refuse.”  I returned his smile and for a moment the afternoon escapade faded into a distant memory.  “You aren’t going to go dressed like that, are you?”

Quinn glanced down at his faded blue jeans and henley top.  “I wonder if we could include shopping as part of your tourist experience in Paris?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Quinn started up the motor of the car and pulled away from the curb.  Everything felt right back on track.  As much as it could for the most bizarre vacation I had ever taken.

Quinn teased that he would choose the ‘most tourist-y mall’ he could find.  When I questioned him as to why he simply stated, “Then you don’t have to speak much French.”

“I am perfectly capable of speaking French.”

“Well, I know you can speak it, but ‘perfectly’ might be a stretch.  Your French sounds a little weak, Cherie.”

“Weak?”  I shouldn’t be offended because he was right.  “I am out of practice, I guess.”   It would be futile to try to explain to Quinn that I used to love listening to Mitch speak French with his mother.  It was so comforting to me.  Then there were times when he would whisper words of love into my ear. The melodious, rhythmic cadence of his accented words made me feel safe and loved.  It is only since silence replaced those words in my home that they feel like a grater on my skin. 

Until Quinn.  His deep, yet soft English accent perfectly producing the French language has brought a whole new sense of comfort.  His voice rings low into my heart.  When he speaks French his words filter hope into my dry spirit and I start to feel alive again.  Maybe that is why he feels so familiar to me.  

Along with that comes a whole new purpose to my life.

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Chapter eight, page three

Quinn steered his vehicle into a parking lot on his left and I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going anymore.

The parking lot was large and very few open stalls.  Across the street towered a large building with old style character.  The sign out front was carved out of stone and etched the hotel name in fancy script.  A long cobblestone driveway graced the front of the beautifully crafted building.

“Um, Quinn?  We left one hotel just to visit another?”

“Non, Cherie.  We are only using this parking lot.  We still need to walk a little ways to our destination.  Are you alright with that?”  He parked the car in an open space and turned to face me.  “The parking is poor in this part of town.  This is the best place to leave the car. Ready?”

“Sure.  Although I don’t know where we are going.”

“I know.  Isn’t this fun?”  Quinn whipped around and out his car door.  So I followed his example.

As we started to walk, he reached for my hand.  “D’accord?”

“Yes.”  Sensing the warmth and tenderness of his hand enveloping mine felt perfect.

“Tell me something, Cherie.”

I nodded.

“Why does God always tell you what you should do next?”

“He doesn’t normally do that.”

“But He did.”  Quinn said.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Why did He do that then?”

I shrugged, offering my best guess.  “Because He can.”

“But He doesn’t usually?”

“No.”

"So how do you usually know what you should do next?"

"Sometimes you have to just try several different options.  Most of the time you will feel peace about one way and not another."

"But you have to fumble about with it?"

I half laughed.  "It does feel like that sometimes."

“And you still call him a loving God?”

Suddenly I felt crowded.  Casually, I managed to talk myself into a corner.  The walls of my doctrine started closing in around me.  How do I begin to answer his doubts?  “Yes, He is loving.  He guides us through things in many different ways but usually He is not as obvious as He has been lately.”

“So let me see if I get this.  God has a plan for you but He wants you to grope around for it?  But every once in awhile he shakes things up by throwing in a few visions?”

“No.  Not exactly.  God can speak to our hearts and direct us through our conscience.  But mostly believers use the Bible to judge what step is next.”

Even saying that felt weak.  I know what I believe about God; He is always there and He will never leave me or forsake me.  Yet, there are so many times in my life when I feel like I do have to guess what God wants from me.  Many people I know say they wish God would just speak out loud to them or leave a big flashing sign for them.  Or even send a vision of which step is next.  Either way this is one of the mysteries of God.  Why doesn’t He do those things?

“The best answer I can come up with, Quinn is that He wants our devotion.  He wants us to want to follow Him.  So instead of leading us through direct methods, He prefers that we seek Him personally.  It is like a friendship.  You don't sit down with someone you want to befriend and write out all their likes and dislikes.  Instead you discover truths about each other by spending time together and talking from your hearts.”  I watched Quinn for a moment as we walked hand in hand down the sidewalk.  He seemed unmoved.

“It is the concept of free-will.”  I continued.  “If everything was laid out for us we would be like robots moving along a pre-determined plan.  God doesn’t love robots.  He loves people.  So He has given us all the chance to choose to follow Him.  Does that make sense?”

“As clear as muddy water."

"Well, I don't know.  Then what would make it clearer?"

"Could you explain it with an example?”

“Do you mean an example of how He directs me?”

“Yes.  Tell me of one of the hardest things you’ve had to sort out lately and tell me how He helped you.”

I am certain the sidewalk tilted and the buildings warped at that moment.  Everything shifted in my head giving the sensation I was falling.  All I could think of was the deep dark pit I had spent months and years in after Mitch’s death.

Surely that experience would qualify for an example of the hardest thing I've had to sort out lately.  Only, it wouldn't suffice in explaining feeling God's help and guidance.  After Mitch's death I felt lost.  I still do really.  Time often stood still while I tried to figure out which foot to move.  Then once I had the foot patterns worked out it seemed a mystery which direction to head.

Naturally, I am not a fighter, so I decided it was easier to just stay home.  I could usually manage to find my way around my own floor plan no matter what condition I was in.  Besides, if there were days when I couldn't  - nobody saw me.

I remember, long after Mitch's passing, kind-hearted people would tell me I should feel blessed that God has given me a trial that He can use.  ‘Just think of how you can help others now’, they’d say. They tried to help me see a way to use the pain.  Only I didn't really want to help others deal with their grief.  I had enough of my own to handle.

In fact, how can I be qualified to help Quinn see that God leads us through our trials and our pains when I have felt lost inside a torrent of sorrow for three years?  If God did lead me through it, I was blinded to His hand.

My silence after his question must have made Quinn feel uncomfortable.  “I am sorry Cathie, if I have upset you.  You do not need to tell me anything.”  He squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay.  I just wish I had a better answer for you.  All I know is what I believe to be true about God.  He loves me and He has a plan for my life.  It is not His plan to hurt me or cause me pain.  However life is painful.  Life is just naturally filled with yucky things.”  I stopped walking momentarily and turned Quinn to see his expression.  “I would have pain in my life even if I didn’t have God.”

Slowly his head nodded.  “I see what you mean.  It is always nicer to have someone to help you shoulder your burdens though, isn’t it?”

Then Quinn steered me off the sidewalk up a few steps to a building with endless windows.  We entered the front doors briskly and straight through the lobby.  When we reached the elevator, Quinn turned to me.

“I want you to meet Anna.”

I had an inkling that was where we were headed when we entered the building.  There were folks walking in every different direction.  Some dressed in scrubs and lab coats, while others looked like patients.

The elevator door opened before I could answer him.  Once inside I asked, “are you sure she won’t mind?”

“Anna?  Not a chance.  She loves people.”  He turned to select the third floor button.  “Besides I have a strange feeling that she is going to adore you.”  He squeezed my hand.  The sensation ran the length of my arm right into my heart.

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Chapter eight, page two

We stood staring at each other in the elevator.  Obviously in my haste to close the doors on Quinn I had neglected to push the floor button.  So there we stayed, watching intently the tension melt away between us.

Then in a flash, Quinn extended his hand to me as if in a handshake.  Shielding the disappointment I felt over his choice of reconciliation I joined my hand with his.  Only he didn’t shake it.  He tipped my hand over and kissed it.  Then in a whirl, he turned me on my feet in a sway of rhythmic movement and somehow my hand ended up draped over his opposite arm again.  It was so fluid and precise I had no idea it happened until it was done.  He clicked the ‘ouvrir’ button and escorted me out of the elevator.  I was floating on a cloud.  It felt like I was walking off the stage in a Humphrey Bogart movie.

 “And your sister said you cannot dance.”  He said with a wink.

“I can’t.”  I added softly.

“So, Cherie, may I take you somewhere special this afternoon?”

“I- uh ...”

Quinn paused and faced me.  “Unless your quick departure to the elevator was a in fact an attempt to return to your room and not just a decoy to avoid facing me.” 

I am sure I blushed red again.  “Hmm, busted.  Sorry Quinn.  I would love to go somewhere special with you.”

He smiled big and bright.

As we drove through the streets of Paris, I couldn’t help soaking all the sights in.

“It sure is beautiful here.”  I said to the window that my nose was nearly pressed to.

“So what attractions and sights have you seen already?”  Quinn asked.

I thought for a moment.  “I’ve seen the airport, the hotel, a pub and a broken down bakery.”  I offered my best sympathetic smile.

“That’s it?”  Quinn reached over and touched my hand on my lap.  “Well, I intend to add to your list then.  I may even improve upon it.”

As his hand gently caressed mine I felt the desire to fill in some of his hurting places.  To offer him a balm that could heal his pain.  Although I did not know what it was, aside from Anna’s condition, he certainly alluded to a hidden reservoir of pain when he spoke of his Father.  It is not uncommon for people whose earthly father failed them to find it extremely difficult to love a heavenly Father.

“You know Quinn, we cannot know what God has willed and planned for our lives.  Or the lives of the people we love most.  But, ...”.

I paused.  How could I offer hope?  I wanted to more than anything else, but I lacked my own.  God had been silent in my life for years since Mitch’s passing.  I tried questioning Him.  I tried worshipping Him.  I even tried ignoring Him.  There was no response.  I don't believe God was ever really gone – just silent. 

“But, what?”  Quinn asked.

“But ... someone used to tell me something over and over again when I felt hopeless or confused about what God wanted to do in my life.  He would say,” I took a deep breath before reciting Mitch’s words.  “Nothing is impossible with God.”

We were stopped at a red light at the moment and I could feel Quinn’s prolonged gaze.  His eyes penetrated through my wall.  For the first time since I’d known him I wanted to hide from his eyes.  He could see through me and there were places inside me that I wasn’t ready to share with him.

His fingers glided effortlessly over my left hand.  He caressed my fingers one by one from knuckle to nail. When he reached my ring finger I could feel the unspoken question emerging beneath his touch.  Why is this finger bare?  Surely there is a man that loves this woman?

Now I know I am not a spinster yet.  However I am not a young vibrant woman facing a future that is bright either.  I am trapped somewhere between those two entities.  I’ve had my moment in the spotlight and I often wonder what happens now to a thirty-two year old widow that is childless?

Finally the scrutiny of his touch became unbearable and I pulled my hand away.

The light turned green and the car lurched forward.  Quinn spoke softly above the hum of the motor.  “Those are powerful words.  They must have come from someone you cared about.”

I could jump from the moving car I suppose.  I would likely be hurt but I would invariably survive.  But would I survive the pain of saying the words out loud?  My husband is dead.  No, I am not ready yet.

It is not a secret.  In fact I longed that Quinn knew already because then we could talk about it.  There is just something so gruelling about saying those four words out loud.  So I nodded my head instead.  Thankfully Quinn left the conversation there, hanging in the precipice between his seat and mine.

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Chapter eight, page one

I heard Quinn’s slow approach to my side before he spoke. 

“Cherie, I am sorry I said that.  I am trying to see things from your perspective but it is hard sometimes.”

I asked, “Do you remember what you said to me in my hotel room last night?”

Quinn swivelled me around to be face to face with him.  “I said a few things.  Was it before or after I kissed you?”  His eyes twinkled with mischief.

I felt my cheeks warm from his reminder.  Then quickly I averted my eyes from his intensity.  “Right before.  You said you do not remember me by looking but you feel like you’ve known me.”

“I remember saying that.  It is the truth.  Yet, I cannot explain how or why.  Unless you consider an explanation such as reincarnation.”  He grabbed me around the waist pulling me to him for a hug, whispering in my ear.  “Perhaps we were star-crossed lovers in an earlier life.”

“Put me down, please.”  I said as I shoved against him.

“Sorry.”  He released me instantly.

I began to cross the street towards my hotel.

“Cathie?”  Quinn said before he took a step across the street as well.

“I don’t believe in reincarnation.” I said.

He quickened his step to keep in time with mine.  “What do you believe in then?”

I waited till I reached the curb before turning towards him.  “I believe with all my heart in a God who is all powerful and all knowing.  He not only has our todays and tomorrows figured out, He has an infinite number of creative ways to get our attention.  Including miracles.”

Quinn straightened up and a look I could not name covered his face.  It wasn’t exactly a smile.  It was more a curiosity marbled with disbelief.  “That’s actually sounds intriguing when you say it that way.”

“Well, He is.  You should try getting to know Him a little.”

Quinn shook his head with an anguished grin.  “So, why would God want to do a miracle for me?”

“Because He loves you.”

His hands shot up in surrender.  “Whoa.  That is precisely where your argument loses all its merit.”

“What does that mean?”

“You want me to believe that an all-powerful Deity cares about me and the pathetic little things in my puny life.”  He seemed to ignore my head nods.  “Those two qualities are mutually exclusive Cathie.”

“That’s not true, Quinn.  He really is both things at the same time.  He is a God who cares about even the number of hairs upon your head.”

Quinn instinctively ran his fingers through his hair.  His head shook from side to side.  It took a moment before he conjured up his response.  “You know what I think?  I think that’s a woman’s hope.”

“A what?”

“Women hope and long for relationships even where none exist.  Men, on the other hand choose to follow the logistics of something.”

All the feminism within me went onto high alert.  Even though my head instinctively cocked to one side, I tried to hide my shock and disgust over his comment.  “Really?”

Quinn nodded in agreement without hesitation.

So I walked away.

Quinn caught up to me as I entered the hotel doors.  “Look, Cathie.  What I mean is that it might be easier for you to believe that God would want to help me.  Maybe because of your own feelings for me, you are hoping it to be true.”

To slow every ounce of fury from bursting forth I took a deep breath.  However, the breath did little to deter my next response.  

“So, let me ask you this then.  Are my feelings for you real or are they just a symptom of being the weaker sex?”  That was enough for me.  I didn’t even need to hear his response to that.  I turned and power walked to the elevator.  Thankfully it was ready for me.  Once inside I frantically hit the ‘fermer’ button. 

He managed to sneak his hand in between the closing elevator doors before I could escape.  “Cherie, you are not playing fair.”  He stepped into the elevator and let the doors close behind him.  He stood in front of me studying my face.  “Can we start that over, please?”

“I don’t want to.  Let’s just drop it, okay.”

“Then let me close off this abomination of a conversation with this.  If God really cares about the things in my life and about me, then I can think of a much better way to spend a miracle than paying off Dean.”

It took me a moment to register his meaning, but the lights came on and I felt his frustration with God.  He wants a miracle to save Anna’s life – not his.

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Chapter seven, page two

Sitting at this little round table with Stacie’s probing questions and Quinn watching my every move I couldn’t help feeling nostalgic.  What if this was the beginning of a future with Quinn?

The waiter arrived at our table with menus.  Stacie whipped hers open in a flash.  “You’re paying right?”

“Stacie!  How rude.” 

Quinn patted my hand gently.  “It’s alright.”  Then he turned to face Stacie as she perused her options.  “I would be delighted to treat you to this lunch.”

“Good.  I only think it's fair.  After all, if I am going to be shot at because of you, then I’d like to be compensated.”

I wanted to be crawl under the table, but Quinn only smiled deeper at her.  “That is a great life’s mantra, I’d say.  I think I’ll adopt it too.”

After a slight giggle from Stacie she continued on with her interrogation.  “So, you’re a baker?”

“No.  I am a business man.  My sister is a bakery chef.”

“Right, the sister who is ill?”

I kicked Stacie under the table but it deterred her none.

“How ill is she?” 

“Why don’t you ask your sister some of these questions?”  Quinn said with a hint of cynicism.

It caught me off guard.  “I-I don’t know much.  I...”

Stacie leaned over the table towards Quinn.  “Look we both know she knows things but she doesn’t know things.  I mean, she doesn’t know things but she thinks she knows things.  You know what I mean.”

Quinn watched her closely.  His elbow sat perched on the table and his chin in his hand.  He rubbed at his cheeks as if he was really trying to make sense of her babbling.

“I think I know what you mean.”  He finally added.  “What should we do about that?”

Stacie straightened in her seat, crossing her arms across her chest.  “For starters, you need to come clean with us.”

“I do, do I?”

“Well, yes.  The way I see it, you’ve put my sister’s life in great jeopardy.  And I don’t know if you realize that starry look in her eyes or not, but I think she likes you.”

 I cleared my throat.  “Excuse me, I am sitting right here.  Don’t talk about me.  Talk to me, please.”

Quinn and Stacie remained unnerved by my interruption.  They never took their eyes off of each other.

“You think she likes me?”  Quinn said animatedly.

The showdown had begun and I was powerless to stop it.  Stacie leaned back towards the table again, resting her chin on her folded hands.  The two of them sat intently squared off.

“Born?”

“London.”

“Raised there?”

“No.  At the age of three my father moved us to the Bedfordshire area.  Remained there until I left home at sixteen.”

“That sounds young to leave home?”

“I’d have left years before if it wasn’t for Anna.”  Quinn let out a disappointed breath.  “She’s five years younger.”

“Parents?”

“My mum died when I was twelve.”

“Dad alive?”

“Don’t know.”

Stacie gave him a startled look.

“Don’t care, either.  Are we done yet?  I would like to order.”

“Me too.”  I said hoping to relieve the tension.

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Chapter six, page three

At one point, the guns paused from their rapid release of bullets.  Within that moment of silence we heard footsteps above us in the bakery.

“We should have gone out the back door when we had the chance.”  Quinn muttered aloud.

“Trust me Quinn.”  I said.  “This is the right place to hide.”

“I have no weapon down here.  If they find the trap door we are sitting ducks.”

“God will keep us safe.”  I said.

“God?”  Quinn’s sarcasm sent a tingle of concern running up my spine.

Obviously Stacie felt a similar reaction, as her head popped up from my lap.  “Yeah, what do you have against God?”

“Nothing.  Forget I said it.  I would just rather put my trust in the police.”

“Police!”  As soon as his words reached my ears another picture popped into my head.  It was a French police car with two Officers in it.  They were in a car accident with ... no, it can’t be.  They were in an accident with a hiked up red truck.

“What about the police?”  Quinn asked.

“They are on their way.”  I said.

“You called them?”  Stacie asked before Quinn could.

“No, they are coming for ... donuts, I think.”

Quinn chuckled.  “That would be Gregor and Jeneau.  They usually come in once or twice a week.  They come for the chocolate croissants, though, not the donuts.”  Quinn winked at me adding his wonderfully calming smile.

“Are you sure they will get here in time?”  Stacie asked.

“I see them getting into a collision with the red truck at the corner where we stood earlier, Stac.”

“An accident?”

“Yup!”

Within a matter of minutes we heard the footsteps leave and the red truck rev away.  Following that was the unmistakeable sound of squealing tires.

“That should keep Dean and the guys busy for a little while.  Ladies?”  Quinn motioned for us to follow him up the ladder and out into the bakery kitchen.

When we stepped out of the cupboard, we were overwhelmed with the sight of broken glass and shattered dishes everywhere we looked.  It was obvious the men had come all the way into the kitchen and had pulled things off of shelves and dumped out flour and sugar containers everywhere.  The air was thick with a white haze.  It was like a bag of flour blew up.

It didn’t take long for one of the Officers to enter the beat up Bakery.  Stacie and I stood by the back door while Quinn talked to him.  Quinn addressed him as Juneau.

Stacie was amazingly quiet watching Quinn and the Officer go through the bakery discussing the property damage and any possible missing items.  Her shoulders were slumped low and she had a dark, fearful expression on her face.

I had always seen my little sister as stronger than me.  She was more adventurous and seemed able to tackle anything thrown her way.  For years I had wished I could handle Mitch’s death the way I thought she would have, if she was me.  I never imagined anything would stop her.  Not that I didn’t think she wouldn’t mourn the loss of her husband.  No, it was more as if I imagined her able to get on with her life sooner.  She wouldn’t be hiding out in her little house three years after.

Now as I watch her cowering by the back door I am shocked.  I don’t knock her for it.  It is the opposite actually.  I respect her more because of it.  She seems more realistic to me now and I won’t hold her on that high pedestal anymore.

Quinn approached us and spoke to Stacie first.  Just as soon as he began to question how she was holding up, a picture came across my mind’s eye.  It looked like a small metal safe in a wall somewhere.  Inside the safe was a blue 5x9 envelope.  I couldn’t read the name on the front before Quinn nudged me.

“And you, Ma Cherie are you alright?”

I nodded.

“Good, then let’s get out of this mess and I shall take you both to lunch.”

“Finally, someone is talking my language.”  Stacie said as she flickered to life.  “What are we going to eat?”

Quinn winked at me secretly.  “I know this great place that chops all their meat up so tiny it is unrecognizable.  You just never know what you might be eating.  You’ll love it.”

It took a moment for Stacie to join our laughter.  But soon we were all feeling better as we loaded into Quinn’s black and shiny Passat parked behind the Bakery.

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Chapter six, page two

Stacie and I took a seat at one of the quaint little tables in the bakery before I noticed the valances along the top of the wide picture window.  They had red and white checkers.  I turned to speak with Quinn but he was talking in French to another man.  I overheard him sending the man home for the rest of the day.  How impressive that Quinn took my word so freely – even to risk losing money for his business.

After the man left out the back door, Quinn came back to close the blinds on the large window.

“So, what happens now, Cherie?”

“I’m not sure when he is coming.  All I know is that it is light outside in the image in my mind.”

Stacie’s hands came down hard on the circle table between us.  “There go my afternoon plans.  You haven’t forgotten I have to work at three, right?  I hope the doom hits sometime before then.”  Stacie added with her sarcastic flair.

Suddenly the loud rev of a truck roared down the street.  It screeched to a stop in front of the shop.  Quinn motioned to us to follow him into the kitchen.  He headed towards the back door, grabbing his keys on the way.

“No!”  I said.  “The cellar.  Do you have one?”

“How did you know about that?”  Quinn said just as the gun shots rang out and the glass windows shattered.

 

Stacie screamed and grabbed onto me.  We both ducked low by a countertop in fear of the noise and chaos.  Quinn quickly opened a cupboard door on the island in the middle of the kitchen.  Quickly, he tossed several large metal bowls out.

In the floor of the cupboard there was a trap door.  He swung the heavy wood door open and then nudged at Stacie’s arm. 

“No way!”

“Go Stacie, we will be safe down there.”  I said amidst the barrage of gunfire.

“From what?  Not from him!”  Stacie pointed to Quinn. 

“You would rather be shot then take your chances with Quinn?”  I said.  Then in a huff I pressed passed her and started to climb into the cupboard.  It was roomier than I thought and it was easy to climb down the wooden stairs. 

  

“Cathie, when you reach the last step, the rope to trigger the light is on your left.”  Quinn said.  “Reach out your hand and you should feel the string.”  It was hard to concentrate on his words with my fear rising from the noise.

I groped in the dark for a split second until my wrist felt the dangling string.  I pulled and the room came to life.

“Stacie, please come down.  There is lots of room.”  I said as I looked around me.  There were wooden shelves surrounding the entire perimeter, even under the stairs I had just descended.  Nothing seemed out of its place.  It reminded me of my pantry.  Neat and tidy to a fault.

“I assure you that I won’t kill you down there.”  Quinn said half mocking.  “It will make a mess and likely draw too many vermin.”

I stifled my giggle and waited for Stacie’s response.  It didn’t take long till I saw her navy striped flats coming down the ladder.

The sound of the gunfire was still filling my ears, but after Quinn was halfway down the steps, he pulled the wooden trap door closed above his head.  It drowned out a lot of the gunfire and shattering sounds above.  However the loud thud of the door shutting brought Stacie to tears.  As she cried I held her tight but my eyes were locked on Quinn’s standing a few steps away.

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Chapter five page three

Stacie’s frantic voice rang in my ears.  “I have been calling and calling.  Where did you go last night?  You better not still be with that man.  Where are you?  I am coming to you right now.”

“Stacie, I am fine.  Please relax a little.”

“Relax?  How can I relax when you were threatened by gun point in a bar, with a strange man and then you disappear?”

“Well, I am fine now.  I am still at the same hotel, but I am not registered under my own name.”

“You’re not registered ... what?”

“Just come to the hotel.  Stop at the front desk and tell them your name and they will direct you to me.  Now, what are you wearing?”

“Wearing?  Are you insane?”

“No.  I need to tell the front desk who you are and I thought it would help if I described what you were wearing.”

“Cathie, this is so far past normal.  You know that right?  I have to register my outfit with your hotel before they will tell me which room you are in?”

“Stacie, listen carefully to me.  And please do not freak out.”  I took a deep breath knowing this might be a mistake.  “Those men with guns came back last night and broke into my hotel room.  They didn’t hurt me.  They just gave me a message for Quinn.”

“You were in the room when they broke in?”

“Well, yes, sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?”

“I was in the shower.”  Opps.  I shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh my goodness Cathie!  Are you alright?  Where was Quinn?”

Think before you speak now!  “How about you tell me what you are wearing?  Then I can let the hotel staff direct you to my suite.  We can talk more then.  Okay?”

“Your suite?”

“Stacie!”

“Oh yes.  Sorry I am wearing a chartreuse blouse with a Cerulean skort.”

“A what?  Never mind, I will tell them yellow and blue.”

“Yellow and blue does not even come close!”

“See you soon Stac.”  I hung up the phone and retreated to the bathroom to clean up.  I couldn’t help wondering what has happened to me.  I was the one who taught her all the true names of colours.  Now it seemed so irrelevant and time wasting. 

After washing my face I went in search of an outfit for the day.  That’s when I realized I had neglected another tell-tale Cathie quirk.  My clothes were still folded in my suitcase.  That must be a first for me.  Usually I rescue my clothes from the tight-cramped space of my suitcase before I even check out the room. 

  

Pulling out a creased cotton blouse and a pair of denim capris I noticed how off kilter my whole existence was here in France.  Almost like I had done more than cross an Ocean, I had crossed into a different dimension of reality.  The things that would have messed me up and spoiled my mood were now inconsequential.  

Even my dream of Mitch, though it was disturbing at the time, held no entangling magic over me.  I felt free.  I felt safe.  I felt certain I would hear from Quinn tonight.

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chapter five page two

The knock at the suite door woke me from my sleep.  

There was a brief moment where I did not know where I was.  As I scanned the room, taking in all the rich, dark fabric flowing from the ceiling to the floor, I remembered.  It was like a bad dream as it flooded back to my mind.

However not the bad dream I had last night.  I dreamt of Mitch.  Nothing about that was out of the ordinary, but something was different this time.  Mitch didn’t look the same. 

Usually when I dream of him, he is dressed in his black jeans and his button down dress shirt.  The sleeves are rolled up a third of the way revealing a hint of the dark hair that covers his forearms.  His leather watch I gave him our first Christmas together rests perfectly on his left wrist.  Over his right shoulder is his computer satchel.  He is dressed the same as the last day I saw him.  He was heading out the door that morning to meet with a group of investors for a building he was proposing.  

Instead of wishing him luck I pointed out that he should put on a tie or a sport coat.  He kissed my forehead, ignoring my criticism and said 'je t'aime mon amour'.  Just the same as he did every morning. 

However, last night he was dressed in something more colourful.  I think it was yellow.  It was hard to see exactly what it was because he was fuzzy.  There was no definite outline of him.  He was just a blur.  I chased him all night trying to see him more clearly and hear his words again.  But when he spoke it was garbled and muffled somehow.  It frightened me to think I might forget the sound of his voice.  Or even forget the look in his blue eyes as he leaned towards me to kiss my forehead.  What if I never see that again?

Then the knock came again reminding what woke me.  I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the robe lying across the back of a winged-back chair.  When I reached the door I fiddled with my long hair throwing it quickly into a knot at the back of my head.

I opened the door and there in front of me was a silver cart covered with a white linen cover.  Officer Clemens came into view.  “Bonjour, Mademosielle.  Comment ca va?”

“Fine, um, bien.  Merci, et vous?”

“Bien, merci.”

I wheeled the cart inside and closed the door.  The curiosity was tugging at me.  I whipped off the linen cover to reveal a metal covered tray with steam markings on the top.  A single red rose lying across the top with a perfectly hand scripted note.

Instantly I fetched the note and the rose and went towards the triangle of couches in the room.  The rose rested just below my nose as I read the handwritten note. 

Good Morning My Darling (Ma Cherie).

Enjoy your day.  I will call you at your 

hotel tonight.  Don’t forget to call your 

     sister – as she   will not be able to reach            

you through the front desk.   J'adore.

       Quinn

For a moment the fairy tale became real again.  He sent me a rose, a note and breakfast.  What a sweet gesture.  I rose to my feet to check on what the meal was that smelled so wonderful, when the thought accosted me.  Stacie!

I ran for the phone.  Quinn was right.  She would have tried to call me through the hotel’s front desk, but I am no longer registered here under my own name.  In fact I do not even know who I am registered under.  All I know is that my sister will be having a cow.

The phone was answered on the second ring.  “Allo.”

It was Neale.  “Bonjour Neale.  This is Cathie.  How are you?”

“Cathie!   Where are you?  Stacie is frantic trying to locate you.  She has gone to the police already.”

Neale’s accent could not hide the worry in his voice.  “I am fine.  Can you reach her?”

“Yes, she has my cell phone with her.  I will call her.”

“Actually Neale, could you give me the number?  I will just call her myself.  She will want to hear my voice.  Besides it might calm her down better.”

“You are right about that, however I would not hold my breath on the calming down part.”  He chuckled.

I scribbled his cell number down on a pad of paper by the phone.  “Merci beaucoup Neale.  Au revoir.”

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Chapter five page one

I was completely overcome with the view in the room.  Straight across from where we entered was like a large production stage with a long flowing curtain.  I assumed behind it was a wall of windows, covered from ceiling to floor with plush burgundy fabrics.  As the ambassador pulled each of them aside it revealed I was right.  As well as an amazing view of the Paris city line below us.  It was breathtaking.  I walked right up and stared over the view unable to grasp the reality of the moment.  We must be at the top floor.  That would mean this is the ... penthouse.

As the thought planted in my mind I looked from side to side of me.  The room seemed to go on forever.  To my right was a large sitting area with three couches.  Count them – one, two three.  At home in Canada, I have one couch and an interesting, lumpy love seat that no one wants to sit in for very long.  But here, in France, I have three couches in my hotel room!  This must be a dream.

Behind the sitting area was a large painting of the Eiffel tower lit up at night.  It was eye-catching and mesmerizing in its beauty.  To the right of that was an open doorway and then a mirrored bar.  It had two high bar stools up against a marbled counter filled with a magnificent display of glassware.  

Lining the mirrored walls behind the bar was a shelf of antique coloured glass bottles in many different shapes and sizes.  The burgundy colour of the window fabrics was continued throughout with the bar stools coverings and the hand towels on the bar.

When I turned to my left I saw another open doorway and a hallway leading away from the room we stood in.  There was a closet along the hallway and many more painted art works.  I turned to Quinn, who stood at the doorway with the Ambassador, seemingly unmoved by the grandeur of where we were.

I had to remind myself that this man lives in the most amazing City in perhaps the World.  He isn’t from some hick little town like me.   I need to assume that this isn’t out of the norm for him. 

When he finished with the hotel staff he closed the double doors and turned towards me.  His hands slid silently into his pockets and he looked me over very carefully.  I was frozen in my spot under his scrutiny.  Speechless.

Slowly he sauntered closer to me.  “We have a conversation to complete.”  His voice rumbled with a low sultry sound.  It made my head spin.

“Really?  What would that be about?”

“You.  And me.”  By now he was standing toe-to-toe with me.  His eyes glistened with flecks of gold that made my heart dance.  “Now tell me, when and where did we meet?”

“I-I, um, am not sure exactly.”  It was hard to decipher which made me panic more – his closeness or his probing questions.

“You’re not sure, Cherie?”

I shook my head back and forth.

Quinn placed his finger under my chin lifting my face to a better angle.  “I do not remember you when I look at you.  But, I feel like I know you when I get close to you.”  He paused long enough to bend down and kiss my lips ever so gently.  “It makes me wish I did know you Cherie.”

My lips tingled from his.  The feeling rippled through my whole body.  It nearly made me go weak until he let me go and walked away from me towards the door.

“You’ll be safe here tonight.”  His all business voice shocked me back into reality.  “The Ambassador assured me there would be a security guard arriving soon.”  He opened the door and looked out.  “Come, Cherie.”  He said as he waved me towards him.

I couldn’t move.  Now more than before, I was lost and confused.  Nothing made sense.

“Cathie?”  Quinn stepped out of view behind the closed side of the double doors and then returned a second later followed by a uniformed guard.  He spoke French to the man who kept nodding his head in response.  “This is Officer Clemens.  He will be posted outside your door all night.”

The man offered his hand to me but I was still stuck in my place.  I nodded to him but refused to move anything else.  I think Quinn noticed my hesitation because he walked towards me.  “Cathie, if you need anything he will help you.  He understands English.  He can call me ...”.

That was the moment I woke up.  Quinn said ‘he’.  The man we both just met can call Quinn but he never mentioned anything about me calling him.  Suddenly my reverie ended.  My legs moved as my heart closed off.

“Merci, Monsieur Clemens.  Je m’appelle Cathie.”

Both men looked surprised at my French but I didn’t care.  After a gentlemanly handshake the Officer returned to his post and Quinn closed the door behind him.  “What’s wrong Cherie?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that.”  Not really the truth, but a good decoy I hope.  “Nothing is wrong.  I am just feeling tired and jet-lagged.”

Quinn walked towards me and I backed up a step.  Understanding registered in his eyes.  He stopped approaching me.  “I need you to see this from my perspective.  I did not know you before tonight.  And since I met you, I-“.

I interrupted him again.  “You don’t have to explain.  I understand that you aren’t invested in this.”

“This?  What is ‘this’ exactly?”  He rubbed his eyes as if he was tired or frustrated.  Probably the latter.  “You didn’t let me finish my sentence.  Since I met you a few hours ago, your life has been threatened more than once.  I can’t stand that.”  He stepped closer slowly.  “I don’t live like this, Cher-uh, Cathie.  I am not some James Bond character in a movie.  I might not be able to protect you from Dean.”

“Maybe you don’t need to protect me.  Maybe, just maybe, I am here to protect you.”  I wanted to cry.  It would be so easy to let the tears flow hoping they would wash away the ache that was building.  But I can’t.  I won’t.

“You are like an Angel from heaven, aren’t you?”  Quinn said with a sexy smirk on his lips.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Non.  You are correct.  It is very serious and you are too involved.  Which, is why I must go.  Those guns were real and I don’t want you in any more danger.”

“Look, I agree – we should probably not get involved.  However those guns were for you.  Not me.  This room should be for your protection, not mine.”

“Don’t think for a second that Dean would not hurt you.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know that?  Oh yes, I forgot.  You see visions.”  His mocking voice echoed in the room.  It bounced off the emptiness I was feeling.  How ludicrous this must all seem to him.  How much lenience would I offer to a crazy person spouting the future that suddenly entered my life?  None.  Quinn has been far more understanding and receptive than I would be if the tables were turned.

I offered my hand to him in a gesture of normalcy and decorum.  “Yes, well I haven’t seen anything new, so... it has been nice getting to know you Quinn.  Thank you for your help this evening.”

Quinn didn’t look like he bought my act, but he approached me with his hand extended to meet mine.  He gently took my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he turned it over slightly and then raised it to his awaiting lips.  “En chante Cherie.  The pleasure has been all of mine.  I do hope I will have the honour of meeting up with you again under much better circumstances.”

He held my hand suspended at his mouth for a long second before his eyes met with mine.  “Please do not misunderstand my motivations.”  Then he released my hand and headed for the door.  Without any forewarning or hesitation he slipped out and let the double door close quietly behind him.

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Chapter four, page three

The bathroom door clicked shut before I allowed myself to breathe fully.  Then like a gate was opened the tears fell from my eyes.  The fear I should have felt in their presence finally arrived and I nearly lost all the strength in my legs.  Quinn’s arms slowly turned me into his chest and he held me, giving me all the strength I needed.

“Where did ...”.  Quinn started to speak but I shushed him.

I motioned for him to wait one minute.  I stepped out of the shower and wrapped up in a terry cloth robe from behind the door.  With caution I opened the bathroom door and stepped out for a quick look.  There was no sign of Dean or his men and the now battered hotel room door was closed again.

When I turned around Quinn was right behind me, looking rather gorgeous dripping wet.

“Cherie, uh ... I mean, Cathie, thank you.”  He pulled me to him again for another hug.

It was there in his arms that everything made sense.  I knew I had been here before.  I knew his touch and his mannerisms.  There was nothing unfamiliar about him to me.  How can that be?

Urgently I pushed away from his hold.  “Even Dean knew me.  Why don’t you know me?”

Quinn’s eyes moved with concern.  His hands dropped from my waist and he stepped back.  “I was going to mention that same thing.  Why does Dean know you?”

“I don’t care why he knows me I just can’t understand you.”

Quinn threw his arms up in the air.  “Understand me?”  The sudden anger in his voice filled my mind.  This isn't where I saw this conversation heading.

He turned around and headed for the bathroom.  When he returned he had a towel that he rubbed fiercely over his dirty-blonde hair.  He stepped towards me.  “This conversation is not over, but I have more important matters to attend to.  Go change into dry clothes.”

His voice was not angry, but it was not kind either.  I questioned my actions to see where I had upset him.  Dean’s suggestive manner did give the impression that we knew each other before.  And it didn’t really imply we were meeting for coffee dates.  However, I have no recollection of Dean in that way.  I only saw him in the pictures that filled my mind.  It was Quinn that was more than a picture.  He was very real to me in every sense.  It just doesn’t add up.

I found my suitcase by the door and grabbed a fresh set of clothes.  As I fixed myself up in the bathroom I couldn't hold at bay the fear that I had angered Quinn.  Yet, if he is telling the truth that he doesn’t know me, I shouldn't be surprised if he would want to get off this circus ride.  It didn’t feel real.  It was like the action movies Mitch would watch.  There were always too many guns and fights and not enough relationship in them for me.  That’s it ... I’m in my own bad version of a Hollywood Flick.

Suddenly I heard Quinn’s thick English accent roll off fluent French to someone.  It is enough to confuse even the clearest of minds.  I peeked out the bathroom door to see him standing across the room with his back to me dripping on the carpet while he talked on the room phone.  I could catch parts of his conversation, but there were several differences in the nuances of his French that I am accustomed to in Canada.

He spoke forcefully to the person on the other end of the line, but maintained a very calm and professional manner.  He was requesting a new room I think.  Pour sa sécurité.  For my safety.

Before long the room was swarming with hotel staff.  They checked out the broken door frame from being thrust open by Dean’s men.  Finally a very distinguished looking fellow approached Quinn, offering his hand to him.

“Bonjour, je suis Hans Fritzer.  I’m the hotel ambassador.  I would like to offer you a new room, compliments of the hotel.  Would you please follow me?  The bellman will bring your luggage.”

Quinn turned to me and offered his arm to me.  It was very debonair.  Of course I accepted without any hesitation.

Quinn chatted in French with the man all the way through the hallways and the elevator ride which seemed to last forever.  I paid little attention to them as I was so taken by the proximity to Quinn’s side.  His sleeve clung to his arm from the wetness but it didn't bother me.  He laid his hand atop of mine and gently stroked my fingers draping from his arm.  It consumed my concentration.

When the elevator finally reached the end of its travels we stepped out into a large atrium decorated with magnificent artwork and fine porcelain vases.  The opulence took my breath away.  

Quinn guided me along following the Ambassador towards a large Oak framed set of doors.  There was a uniformed man standing beside the doors who opened them inwards as soon as we reached him.  I overheard the Ambassador tell Quinn something about a security guard arriving within the hour.  Quinn squeezed my fingers and pressed my arm against his side.

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Chapter four, page two

Just then the bathroom door was thrust open with a large bang.  I spun around and pulled the shower curtain open enough to reveal my wet head and bare shoulders.

“Get out of here!”  I screamed as if I had no idea there would be men with guns standing in my hotel bathroom.

The pony-tail man stood aiming his gun at me.  He lowered it slightly as he took in what he probably assumed was a naked woman in a shower.  His eyebrows bobbed with his imagination.  “Someone wants to see you.”  He sputtered out in broken English.

The next voice that spoke did not come from our Pony-tail toting mobster.  It was a deeper voice; one that rang with elegance and sophistication.  “You are looking lovely as always, Cathie.” 

The pony-tail man stepped aside to allow Dean to enter the crowded bathroom.  Although in my mind I had seen Dean and I knew it was him, his appearance still caught me off guard.

He was a solid man with wide shoulders which seemed to be tightly packed inside a white silk shirt.  His dark eyes matched his almost black hair.  It was cut short but you could still see the tell tale signs of unruly curls.

“You have graced us with a visit again, Darling.”  His voice held many suggestive cues as he watched me with his penetrating eyes.

I felt naked.  I felt sick.  There must have been a sign as Quinn’s hand came and rested on my hip.  I was thankful he was there.

“I hadn’t included you on my itinerary.” 

Dean smiled a mischievous smirk.  “Well, we don’t always get what we want, now do we dear?”  Then he stepped closer.  “Unless you are me.  And what I want is your boyfriend.”  There was no joking in his voice or his eyes now.

I pretended to think for a second.  “Hmm, I’m afraid you will have to be more specific than that.”

“You know exactly who I am talking about.  The charming and devilishly handsome young man you entered the hotel lobby with tonight.  Besides, who else could I mean?  How many other men do you have stashed around here, my Dear?”

"Well, for starters I don’t have any men stashed around here.”  Oh, I hope that isn’t counted as a lie.  It is indirectly false.  After all, ‘stashed’ sounds more like hoarding something into a small tight hiding spot.  Quinn is almost in plain view.  Almost?

“Let’s not be coy, Darling.  You know what happens when I don’t get my way.  I want you to give your boyfriend a message from me.”  Dean began to speak out the message when I rudely cut him off.

“Sorry Dean.  I am not your personal secretary or his.”

Dean stepped right up to the shower curtain and every muscle in me tightened on high alert.  I felt Quinn’s hands squeeze tight around my waist as well.  It felt like he’d be prepared to remove me from my post if Dean reached out for the curtain.

“Cathie, Cathie.  You were always too bold for your own good.  Do not cross me Darling.  I prefer to keep our relationship fun and adventurous.  It would spoil my day if I had to teach you a lesson in manners.”  His eyes bore into mine with a deep passion.  However it wasn’t the kind a passion a woman would ever dream about.  It was a dark and twisted passion that revolved entirely around power and conquering.  At that moment, I hoped that I never had a past with this man as he did imply.

“Dean.  Say your message and then get out.  Though, I will not promise you that Quinn will get it.”

He didn’t move or speak.  He watched me with intensity.  Then his head bobbed very discreetly to the right.  Instantly Pony-tail man stepped into action walking towards me with his gun poised.  He came right to the side of Dean watching me over the barrel of his long hand gun.

I had never seen a real gun close up before.  You'd think it would fill me with fear.  I should have tossed the curtain back to reveal what they wanted to see in order to save my life.  But I didn’t.  I felt safe.  I felt secure.  Strangely I felt I knew exactly what I was doing.  I wasn’t going to die.  It was just an idle threat.

So I spoke with authority.  “Speak your message and then get out of my bathroom now.  And take your thugs with you.”

Dean and I stared at each other for a moment and then he released his henchmen with a slight nod of his head again and they all left the room.  At the doorway, Dean paused and turned to see me again.  His eyes softened slightly.  “Please tell Quinn to come find me.  Preferably before I find him.  On a nicer note, I hope I will see you again during your stay in our wonderful City.  Perhaps after this mess with Quinn is cleaned up, you will allow me to take you to dinner?”

Where he gets the audacity to ask me for a date, I do not know.   “Not likely”, was the nicest response I could think of.

He took one last seductive glance before turning to leave.  “Too bad, Darling.”

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