by Tinnean
I glanced toward Mother, who smiled. “You know you’re always welcome, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
“And I had the stair lift reinstalled,” Gregor announced.
“Ah, Novotny, I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“Keep it up, Fuzzy, and I’ll disconnect it so you can’t get up to your bedroom. That means you’ll have to sleep on the loveseat in the small parlor.”
Before they could get any deeper into an argument, my cell phone rang, and I knew from the tone—a song about a Nash Rambler outpacing a Cadillac—that it was DB.
“Excuse me, please. And Gregor, don’t pick on Mark. He’s injured.”
“Yeah, he’s got a boo boo.”
“Well, I do,” Mark said, his tone lofty, and I gasped and struggled to keep from snorting with laughter. “Don’t you have to take a phone call, Quinn?”
“Y-yes, Mark.”
“Gregor, would you mind making us some tea?” Mother asked. “I’ll get Mark settled in the small parlor.”
“Yes, Portia.”
Mark limped after Mother, taking care not to exert pressure on his right arm—Max had taken the stitches out before our departure, but the last thing he needed was to have the wound reopen—and I went in the opposite direction.
I touched Send as I walked into my father’s study and closed the door. “Good afternoon, DB.”
“Quinn! Thank God! I was afraid this would go to voicemail. Gregor said you’d be home today, but I wasn’t sure... And I didn’t know when you’d come in to Langley.”
“I plan to be back on Monday.”
“Then it’s a good thing I called now.”
“What is it?”
“You were right about Davies. The old bastard had a nasty trick up his sleeve.”
“I’m sure it broke certain hearts to learn I had a point.”
“Go ahead and gloat.”
“I’m hurt, DB. A Mann doesn’t gloat.”
“Well, you have every right to. Jesus, it’s been a nightmare!”
“All right, why don’t you tell me about it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do! That douche weasel Jenner decided he knew more about my job than I did and stuck his nose where it had no right to be.”
Douche weasel? That was a new one. “This doesn’t sound good. What happened?”
“Can you say ‘virus’?”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Jenner called me back to his office about an hour after that meeting broke up. All he wanted was for us to get into Davies’s computer, he didn’t care what it took, and the sooner, the better. I told him my people were working on it, and we should have the code ready in less than twenty-four hours. It would have been perfect, Quinn. We’d be in and out before anyone at the WBIS even knew they were being hacked. And it would remain in place indefinitely, sending us valuable information.”
“What happened?” I asked again.
“Jenner had that idiot assistant of his try the piece of shit plan he’d come up with.” I’d rarely heard DB sound so aggravated. “They think the WBIS hires incompetent sociopaths. And of course Taylor had no clue what he was doing or even what he should be looking for once he got into the mainframe. He walked us all straight into a world of hurt.”
I ran a hand over my face. “How bad?” I’d expected trouble from the WBIS, but not from my own organization.
“We were down for thirty-six hours, and I’m still trying to work all the bugs out of our own mainframe. The WBIS tech who dreamed up that trap is probably laughing his ass off. If I ever get my hands on Vincent—”
“Excuse me? How did he get involved?”
“He’s always involved!”
“Are you aware he’s been in Paris the past week?”
“Fuck it. Are you sure?”
“Yes. In addition, he was shot.”
“Yeah, I know.” He knew?
“How? Your mole?”
“Nah. She’s long gone.”
“Then how?”
“Wallace took off like a bat out of hell and dragged the WBIS’s chief sawbones along with him. I want to tell you, there was joy in Mudville that day when word got out that Vincent had a couple of bullet holes in him. I didn’t even have to pump the son of a bitch who spilled the beans. Although nothing was said about Paris.” He sounded aggrieved.
“How did you manage to get the information?”
“He was in this place on Mass. Avenue.”
“Oh?” I had an uneasy feeling. There were a number of clubs on Massachusetts Avenue. It didn’t necessarily have to be….
“Yeah, the Club 69. You probably haven’t heard of it. Mostly it’s a hangout for the younger WBIS personnel. I happened to be passing by when I spotted Gershom going in. He’s the Director of Security.”
“I’m aware.”
“Uh... yeah. It didn’t make sense, since mostly younger agents go there. Like I mentioned. So I… uh… followed him.”
“How did you even know who Gershom was?”
“My mole—before she did a disappearing act—made sure I had photos of every agent and director in the WBIS.”
“Jesus, David Brendan, do you realize the danger in which you could have placed yourself?”
“I was fine, Quinn—Gershom doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall—but I appreciate your concern.”
Perhaps Gershom didn’t, but one of the other agents could have recognized him. DB’s face wasn’t plastered all over the news media, and for the most part he worked within the offices at Langley, but there was always the possibility our likenesses were in a database at the WBIS, just like, as it now seemed, theirs were in the CIA’s.
Meanwhile, not knowing my worries, DB continued as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I sidled up close enough so I could hear what they were saying.”
“They didn’t notice you?”
“Nah, they were too involved with their conversation. Gershom was complaining to a man who was probably his age. Adams? Yeah, James Adams. Anyway, Gershom ordered a Johnny Walker Red, and while he waited for the bartender to pour, he pissed and moaned to Adams about how Wallace took off to see what Vincent was up to, but did he leave the security of the WBIS in Gershom’s hands, which it logically should have been, since he was Director of Security? No, he put that one-legged bastard Stanley—who deals with foreign affairs, thank you very much—in charge.”
“It sounds to me like someone has his nose out of joint.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. Gershom said the only good aspect of the day was learning Vincent had been shot.” He sighed. “Turns out I played my part too well and wound up drinking too much, and that was the only information I was able to get.”
“That wasn’t wise, DB.”
“What, drinking? I know, but I’m not a field operative, and I thought I could get away with it for once.”
“What did your ladies have to say about your lubricated condition?”
“They didn’t know.”
“They didn’t—DB, it’s not a good idea to keep secrets from your partner. Partners.”
“It wasn’t that I kept it a secret. I just didn’t have the chance to tell them.”
Oh, no. “Did you break up with them?”
“Yes. No… I don’t know. Remember I said how they wanted space? It’s gone beyond that. They don’t take my calls or answer my messages. They only talk to me at the Company when it’s work-related. Jesus, Quinn. The best relationship of my life, and I really ruined it.”
“I’m so sorry.” I didn’t see how the fault lay with him, if he wanted children and they didn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell him it was better he found out sooner rather than later. He was in pain, and the last thing he needed was useless platitudes.
“So am I.”
“Suppose I meet you for dinner at the Rib Shack? I’ve got a shoulder you can cry on, and if you don’t want to cry, I’ve got an ear to listen to your woes.”
“Thanks, Quinn. I
really—” Over the line I heard his voice hitch, and he cleared his throat. “I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what friends are for. What evening would be good for you?”
“You tell me. After being away for almost a week and a half, I imagine you’ll need to get caught up on bills and laundry.”
“Yes.” And I needed to pick up Mark’s car from the long term lot at Dulles and drop it off at Aspen Reach. “Suppose I give you a call….”
“Sure.” But he sounded so down I changed my mind.
“How about tomorrow night?” It was a Saturday. “I’ll call later and make reservations.”
“They don’t take reservations. I’ll do that call ahead thing.”
“All right, DB.”
“Thanks, Quinn,” he said again. “You’re a real pal.”
“Brothers, right?”
“Right. And you know what, brother? I’m tired of feeling miserable. Tell me something that will cheer me up.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still on London time,” I said, grateful it was only an hour off Paris time. “I can’t come up with a thing.”
“Shit, I should have asked. Did you have a good time in London?”
“It was... interesting.”
“That’s good.” Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice how lackluster my response was. “Oh well. I’ll just have to cheer myself up. I suppose it’s too much to hope Vincent’s dead?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“Vincent is very much alive.”
“Wait, how do you know this?”
“Really, DB?” I made my tone amused. “It’s my job to keep abreast of the whereabouts of other agents.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. So, how are you and your lady doing?”
“About that, DB—” I was tired of hiding my sexuality from my friend. Maybe it was time to tell him the truth.
“Don’t tell me you’re having women problems too!”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly? You haven’t broken up, have you?”
“No.”
“Quinn… What’s going on?”
“Suppose I tell you tomorrow over dinner?”
“Suppose you tell me now?”
“I don’t think so, DB.” I couldn’t see telling him something like this over the phone. I decided to change the subject. “What did Davies have to say about the results of the hack attempt?” I was a little surprised DB hadn’t mentioned more about the Director of Public Relations. I could picture Davies sneering and declaring he knew he couldn’t rely on the CIA to honor their agreement.
“That’s just it. No one’s seen him since he left Langley the Monday before last. We’ve tried email, voicemail, and snail mail, and he doesn’t respond to any of them. And from the condition of his apartment, he left town for an extended stay... somewhere.”
“How does the Company know what his apartment looks like?”
“Would you believe a little bird told us?”
“No.”
“Okay, okay, one of the men jimmied the lock. The place was pristine, but hangers were without clothes, there was no garbage in the trashcan, and the fridge was empty.”
“Hmm. It does sound as if he left quickly.” I’d have to talk to Mark about this. I didn’t know if he’d tell me what really happened to the Director of Public Relations, but I’d ask. “How is the OIG dealing with this?”
“Kirkpatrick isn’t happy, but I’m willing to bet the bastard is laughing up his sleeve that he doesn’t have idiots like Jenner and his assistant working for him.”
No, but he had Drum.
“Look, Quinn, I’d better let you get used to US time again. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I definitely want to hear what’s going on with your lady.”
“Yes, David.”
“At seven?”
“Seven works for me. Shall I meet you there, or do you want me to pick you up?”
“Pick me up. I think I want to get good and drunk.”
Oh, DB. “All right. Your place at seven. Good-bye, DB.”
“Bye, Quinn.”
I ended the call, put my phone into my pocket, and tugged thoughtfully at my lower lip. I didn’t believe for a minute that Davies had decided to take a vacation when he was on the verge of betraying the company for which he’d worked for decades. If Mark was involved, I’d have to make sure no one ever found out.
I exited Father’s study and walked to the small parlor at the rear of the house.
Gregor came out, pushing the tea cart. “I made some cucumber sandwiches to tide you over until dinner—I thought I’d make shrimp scampi—”
“Sounds good.”
“And I brought an extra cup for you too. Let me know when you’re ready to leave for Dulles.”
“Thank you, Gregor.”
He snorted and walked away, and I entered the small parlor to find Mark a bright scarlet.
I poured myself a cup of tea and added a splash of cream, then placed some sandwiches on a plate and sat beside Mark. A bit of the butter, tarragon, and chervil spread oozed out of the sandwich, and I caught it on my finger and licked it off, something I never would have done normally, but surrounded by family... I found it didn’t matter in the least. “What have I missed?”
“I was simply telling Mark I assisted Femme in flushing out the wound on the back of his thigh,” Mother said.
“You’re excellent in first aid.” I sipped my tea and glanced over the rim at Mark. He was avoiding Mother’s gaze and seemed more uncomfortable than his wound warranted. “Mother, I need to speak to Mark privately. Would you mind giving us a moment?”
“Of course not, sweetheart. I don’t know what I said to embarrass you, Mark, but I apologize.”
“Uh… no… it’s okay. It’s nothing. Uh….”
Mother set down her cup and saucer, rose and kissed Mark’s cheek, and left the room. Mark stared after her, his palm against his cheek.
“All right, Mark. What’s disturbing you?”
He leaned toward me and muttered, “She saw me without my shorts!”
I choked on my tea, and he pounded my back until I could catch my breath. Finally, I said, “Mark, you had your shorts on until Max removed them.”
“I did?” He blew out a relieved breath.
“You shouldn’t let it bother you.” I patted the knee of his uninjured leg. “Mother’s also seen my naked backside.”
“Yeah, but when you were a baby!”
“That’s true.” I grinned at him.
“Quinn, you didn’t send your mother out of the room because I was being an idiot, did you?”
“No. Mark, I have to ask you something.”
“You….” His jaw dropped. After a moment he closed it, and I watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple bobbed a number of times. “I can’t marry you.”
“Well of course you can’t.” I had no intention of allowing his curt response to hurt me. After all, he’d admitted he loved me. In addition, I found it interesting that of all things, his mind went first to marriage. “It’s not legal.” Although there was a case in Massachusetts that might well challenge that.
“It is in the Netherlands,” he groused.
That was right; it had become legal there in April of 2001.
“Well, damn,” I said mildly. “If I’d remembered, we could have had Wallace fly us there first.”
He narrowed his gaze and frowned. “Are you yanking my chain?”
“No, I’m quite serious. If you want to get married now, I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Quinn….”
“Having said that, if you’d rather wait until it’s legal here in the States—which I have no doubt it will be within the next few years—then I’m all for that also.”
“You really want to marry me?”
“Yes. You can think about it if you like, but just so you know, I’m not accepting anything other than a ‘yes’ from you.”
I expected
a snarky comment. What I got was a kiss that made me inappropriately hard, given that I was in my mother’s home.
“So if you weren’t going to ask me to marry you, what did you want to know?” Mark asked after we’d both caught our breath.
“That was DB on the phone.” I petted his chest, teasing his right nipple, then gave him the gist of our conversation, leaving out mention of DB’s ladies. When I reached the point about a virus being unleashed on the computers at Langley, he laughed. I’d anticipated that, considering Mark had no love for the CIA, but his amusement seemed a trifle overboard. “What do you know about that?”
“Really, Quinn, doesn’t it stand to reason the WBIS will safeguard its intelligence?”
“Yes, but you find this too amusing.”
“What can I tell you? I’ve got a strange sense of humor.”
“Hmm. Well, there’s something else I have to ask.”
“Go ahead, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”
“No one’s seen Davies since he walked out of Langley.” I turned my head to meet his gaze. “Mark, did you have anything to do with his disappearance?”
He seemed to hesitate.
“You know it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Yeah.”
“Mark.” It was like pulling teeth.
“I’m not trying to give you a hard time, babe. It’s not my secret to spill. If it were, you know I’d tell you in a heartbeat.”
“You would?”
“You know it.”
“All right. As long as you’re aware I’m available to help conceal the bodies.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“You know it.” I repeated his own words back at him, and then grunted when he pulled me against him, his embrace so tight my ribs protested. “Oh!”
His lips were dry on mine, and I drew back enough to enable me to moisten first my lips, and then his. I cupped the back of his head with my palm and sealed our mouths together.
If Mark hadn’t been wounded, I’d have straddled his lap, freed our cocks, and rocked us both to completion, but as it was, I hummed in pleasure and settled for kisses that tasted of Earl Grey and cucumbers and Gregor’s spread.
