Things Happen That Way

by Tinnean

“I’ll call then and see when the best time to visit him will be.”

  “Good idea, Quinn.” Gregor yawned. “Sorry. I’m beat.”

  “It’s been a long day.” Mother stroked his cheek, and I almost expected him to purr. “Do you want me to drive?”

  “No, that’s okay, adorable.”

  I bit my lip. They were so cute together, although I’d never say such a thing to them. “In that case, I’ll meet you at home.” I was pleased to see them so relaxed with each other.

  “All right, sweetheart. Drive carefully, please.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek, and then I watched as Gregor opened the door for her and helped her into the car.

  It wasn’t necessary, but it was sweet.

  “Listen to your mother, okay, Quinn? Drive carefully.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not every day that your best friend is shot.”

  I patted his shoulder. “Thank you. I promise I’ll be very careful.”

  “We’ll see you soon?”

  “Yes. Mark doesn’t need my help.”

  Fortunately, Gregor didn’t respond to that. He got in the Town Car, buckled up, and turned on the ignition. With final waves from both him and Mother, he put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

  I turned and made my way back through the rows of cars to my Jaguar. Once inside, the odor of DB’s uneaten dinner filled my nostrils, and I bit back a wave of nausea. I must have been running on autopilot when I drove to the hospital; I didn’t even remember putting the Rib Shack bag in the car.

  I put the key in the ignition and turned on the heater. The night really wasn’t that cold, but I was freezing. I rested my head against the steering wheel.

  Mark was out doing God alone knew what, although I was willing to bet it wouldn’t fare well for someone at the WBIS.

  DB was lying in a hospital room. His mother seemed to hate me, and I had no idea why. His ladies were walking away from him because they loved him, but apparently not enough to admit they were in a polyamorous relationship.

  With a sigh, I sat back and reached for the seat belt. Perhaps I’d play the grand piano in the formal sitting room at the front of the house while I waited for Mark to return. The sound wouldn’t travel to the third floor, where Mother was staying with Gregor in order to provide privacy to all of us.

  I put the Jag in gear and began the drive back to Great Falls.

  Mother lived in a quiet neighborhood. Since I’d arrived at the house, I’d periodically take up a position at the window of the front sitting room. In that time, only two cars had passed by.

  The sun would rise soon, and I stood watching a while longer as the sky started to lighten and the street lights dimmed and went out.

  I returned to the piano and resumed playing, keeping the chords soft.

  “He’s not home yet, Quinn?”

  I looked around to see Gregor standing in the doorway, looking tousled and happy. He wore black linen pajama pants under a black robe, the top of which gaped enough to show the thatch of wiry dark hair that covered his chest.

  “Not yet. I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

  “No. Portia couldn’t sleep. She’ll be down shortly.” He blushed.

  “I’m aware of the facts of life, Gregor. I won’t think about it as long as you don’t think about what Mark and I do.”

  “Oh God.”

  I couldn’t help laughing, and I rose, crossed the room to him and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m going to feed Miss Priss here.” The kitten wound in and out of his legs, and I chuckled when she peeked out the front of his robe. He stooped to pick her up and rubbed his chin over the top of her head. They both closed their eyes in evident delight. I’d never seen him interact with an animal—other than the occasional horse—before, and it was cute. “Then I’ll put on a pot of coffee and get breakfast started.”

  “That sounds good. I could use a cup.”

  “After last night, I think we all could. Wave bye-bye to your brother,” he told the kitten. He held up her paw and helped her to wave. She began to purr, not seeming to mind.

  “I think you’ve made a conquest.” I had to struggle not to laugh.

  “You know, I never had a pet. Before we came to this country, we had to move around too much, and then once we came here, Alyona said we couldn’t have one because we didn’t have our own home.”

  “But I’m sure Mother and Father wouldn’t have objected.”

  “No, but with a new baby in the house, it just didn’t seem feasible.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It may have taken a while, but I’ve got everything I ever wanted.” He patted my shoulder and left, and I went back to the window.

  I didn’t expect Mark home anytime soon, but it wasn’t too long after when a dark-colored sedan eased to the curb in front of my Jag. The driver popped out of the car and ran around to the passenger side, and I recognized Matheson, Mark’s agent. He opened the door, took the crutch and leaned it against the car, then stood by as Mark got out.

  The crutch looked... odd.

  I hurried into the foyer, turned off the alarm, and threw the deadbolt and the lock. I opened the door in time to see them shake hands, but Matheson waited as Mark hobbled up to the shallow stoop.

  I went down the steps and gave Matheson a brief nod. He nodded in return, got back in the car, and drove off.

  “Quinn, what are you doing up?”

  “I just woke up.”

  “Bullshit. You’re wearing the same clothes you had on when I left you in the hospital.”

  “Did you honestly think I could sleep without knowing how you were?”

  “Mann—” He fingered the top three buttons of my shirt and frowned. “Didn’t I button these?”

  “Yes. I must have undone them without thinking about it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “They were buttoned at the hospital. Unless... after I left?”

  “No. Once I got home, my collar felt as if it was strangling me, so I undid the buttons then.”

  “Okay.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s get in the house before you catch cold.” He touched my cheek. “You need to shave.”

  “After breakfast.” I looped an arm around his waist and helped him up the steps and into the house, then closed and locked the door, and reset the alarm. “What the—What happened to your crutch?” I’d just gotten a good look at it.

  “What? Nothing.”

  “Mark.” I gripped his left shoulder and gave it a shake. “There are no stickers on this crutch.” In addition, it was aluminum.

  “Shit.”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “Quinn....”

  “Whatever you did, it doesn’t matter. Now, Gregor is making coffee. After breakfast, you can tell me how you acquired an aluminum crutch.”

  He turned away, and I took the opportunity to rest my fingers on his shoulders, being careful with the right one. He stiffened, and I couldn’t remember feeling him so tense.

  “I broke my other crutch.”

  “How?” I forgot I’d said he could wait until after breakfast to tell me.

  “It wasn’t pretty.”

  “I imaging not.” I wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned against his left shoulder. “It doesn’t matter,” I said again. “I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what you do.”

  He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips, but instead of kissing it, he licked the webbing between my fingers, and I shivered.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” I asked, breathless.

  “Yeah. Is it working?”

  “It was until you asked that. Tell me what happened.”

  He reached up and caught my left earlobe, tugging lightly. “I like how cool this feels. Would you ever think of getting an earring for me?”

  “Mark!”

  “Okay, we’ll discuss that another time.”

  He st
epped out of my embrace, and I regretted it. I relished the rare occasions when he relaxed enough to let me take care of him. He limped a few steps away, then turned and faced me, one hand in his pocket.

  “That phone call I received in the hospital from Max? He was calling to let me know a WBIS director had turned up at headquarters with a knife sticking out of his chest. It was just below his collarbone, and Max said it had punctured the subclavian artery, but because the director left the knife in place, it prevented him from bleeding out. Which would have saved us all a hell of a lot of grief, but there you go. This director wasn’t a smart man, but he knew enough not to pull the knife out in spite of the pain he must have been in.” He took his hand from his pocket and held it out. On his palm was a knife.

  I stared at it in stunned surprise, then raised my gaze to his. “That’s the knife Father gave me.”

  “Yeah.” He continued holding it out until I took it from him and opened it.

  There was no blood on it. “Mark?”

  “I made sure all the blood was cleaned off. Even luminol won’t find anything.”

  I turned the knife over in my hands. “Thank you. But... this doesn’t explain about the crutch.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, flinching a bit when the healing injury in his right arm must have pulled. “Gershom threw a fit when he realized Max had called me—”

  “Wait. Gershom is the one who shot DB?”

  “Was, but yeah. He always was a lousy shot, but you throwing the knife at him helped a lot. He wasn’t expecting either you or Cooper to be armed.”

  I gave a short bark of laughter. “Hardly armed.”

  “It did the trick, babe. He would have killed Cooper.” His voice became stone cold. “And then he would have killed you, just because you were there.”

  Of course. Collateral damage. All intelligence organizations were aware of the possibility of such, and each dealt with it in their own way. “Did he say why he wanted to shoot DB?” I became more uneasy every time Mark used the past tense.

  “Something about the C-fucking-I-fucking-A trying to put one over on the WBIS, and most especially the WBIS Director of Security.”

  “Oh God.” I covered my face with my palm. “I know what happened.”

  “How?”

  “DB told me about it—he thought he was being so cool and clever. He recognized Gershom, knew who he was.”

  “Do I want to know how a spook IT tech managed that?”

  “According to DB, a mole was involved.” I wasn’t surprised at how easily I’d switched my loyalties, not to the WBIS, but to Mark. “I can’t tell you who, since DB never revealed that information.”

  “Shit. Are you telling me Cooper was the one who got them in—Shit. So that’s why Gershom targeted him.”

  “You mean it wasn’t simply because DB was trailing Gershom?”

  “Yeah. Okay, keep going.”

  I blinked, gave some thought to what I’d been saying, then continued. “When Gershom went into the Six Nine, DB followed him so he could find out what was going on.”

  “Wait a minute. ‘What was going on’ with what?”

  I cleared my throat. “With... uh... you. According to DB, word was it was because of you that Wallace took off like a bat out of hell, taking Max along with him.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Mark. You’re the best. You have to expect people to be intrigued by you.”

  “Don’t try to soft-soap me.” He blew out an irritated breath. “All right. Go on.”

  “You know DB’s not a field officer. He wanted to experience a... a spy moment, I guess. He was positive Gershom had no idea who he was, but I was afraid DB was overconfident about that.”

  “Well, he was, but Gershom was just as overconfident. He’d never been in the field either but thought because he was Director of Security, he’d have no problem at all.” He snorted. “Stupid bastard dropped the gun, and it’s registered to the WBIS.”

  Goddammit! “Mark, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”

  “It’s okay, babe.” He slid an arm around me and pulled me up against him.

  “Your leg?”

  “Fuck my leg.”

  “I’d rather fuck you. Hey!” He’d pinched my ass.

  “I told you it was okay. I’ve got a contact in the police department.”

  “Is there anywhere where you don’t have a contact?”

  “Nope. Anyway, I already called him, and he’ll see one of my people gets into the Evidence Control Branch. The gun will be replaced with another Glock that’s untraceable.”

  I didn’t ask if it would be Matheson who would deal with that. “The spent shell?”

  “I doubt they’ll be able to find it. Some curious tourist probably will have picked it up as a souvenir.”

  “Of course.” I shook my head. “What happened with Gershom?” I’d overheard Mark tell Wallace on the phone that he had been responsible for Gershom, and I had a sinking feeling I knew what he’d meant.

  “He shot off his mouth one time too many, and I lost patience with him.”

  There was more to this; I knew it, so I waited to hear what else Mark had to say.

  He met my gaze. “I hit him in the head with the crutch, so hard I broke both of them.” He let me go and reached for the aluminum crutch.

  “Do you need help concealing the body?”

  “Quinn.” My name was a soft whisper on his lips. He took a step toward me, but I could see his leg was about to give out.

  “It’s all right.” I crossed the distance between us, even though it wasn’t very great, and walked into his arms. “Love means hiding the bodies when necessary.”

  “That’s already been taken care of. Gershom was a bachelor who was estranged from what family he had. A death certificate will be issued if anyone asks for one, stating cause of death as a cerebral accident.”

  “And the body?”

  “It’s been taken care of as well. That’s why I couldn’t get home sooner. Quinn,” he murmured again. He rested his head on my shoulder, and I stroked the long line of his back from the base of his neck to the curve of his ass. “What a fuck-all night.”

  “Do you want a drink?”

  He raised his head and met my gaze, and I could see that yes, more than anything he wanted a Jack Daniel’s or a Dewars, or a Johnny Walker Black or Red. I could also see he wasn’t going to accept one.

  “I could use a cup of coffee.”

  “Then we’ll get you one. Gregor is up and making breakfast.” I kissed the hinge of his jaw, but before I could let him go, he wrapped his left arm around my waist and held me close.

  “Quinn... forever, right?”

  “You never have to question that.” I stroked his hair, his cheek, his throat. “But definitely right.”

  “Okay. I could really use that cup of coffee.” And we went to the kitchen.

  Gregor looked around. “Oh great.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Novotny.”

  “Do you know the time?” I asked, and they both turned their gazes on me. “It’s a quarter of seven, too fucking early for this. Gregor, if the coffee is done, please pour us cups.”

  “I’d like one too. Good morning, everyone.” Mother strolled into the kitchen, wearing a robe that brought out the blue of her eyes. “That coffee smells wonderful.” She went to the cabinet that held the coffee cups and took down four of them.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Morning, Portia.”

  “Good morning, adorable.”

  Mark stared at Gregor, who flushed but pretended he didn’t notice.

  “Don’t step on Miss Priss,” he warned Mark. She had finished her own breakfast and was stropping herself against Mark’s crutch.

  “Who?”

  “The kitten.”

  “You named Portia’s kitten Miss Priss?”

  “Me? I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Novotny, if you tell me this was Portia’s idea, I’m takin
g the kitten back.”

  Gregor muttered something, and Mother burst into laughter. “No, Mark. She named herself.”

  “Pull my other leg,” Mark growled, and Gregor snorted.

  “Well, animals do tend to do that.”

  “Sit down,” Gregor said. “I’ll pour the coffee and then dish up breakfast.”

  I pulled out a chair for Mother, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I was very fortunate when it came to the parent lottery,” I murmured.

  “Thank you, Quinton.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Excuse me for a minute.” Mark grinned when I jerked my head up and studied him intently. “Just going to see a man about a horse, babe.” He looked down at the kitten. “Watch out, cat.” And he limped out of the room.

  “Is he all right, sweetheart?”

  “As far as I know, Mother.” I went to the sink and washed my hands, then retrieved the coffee cups and placed them on the table in the corner. “I’ve had a chance to talk to him about what went on earlier this morning.”

  “He actually told you what went on?”

  “Do you doubt it, Gregor?”

  “Yeah. I mean, come on. He’s WBIS.”

  “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “I just hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m never disappointed in Mark.”

  Gregor scowled as he took out a couple of potholders, opened the oven, and removed a baking pan with egg yolks nestled on fluffy whites. He plated the eggs with bacon and triangles of whole wheat toast, then brought them to the table.

  “How come Vincent has a different crutch?”

  “You noticed that, did you?”

  Gregor’s scowl deepened. “So what happened? Or did Vincent tell you to keep quiet about it?”

  “Mark said nothing of the kind. The Director of Security recognized DB as a CIA officer who had followed him.”

  “Oh, Jesus! Sorry, Portia.”

  “That’s quite all right, Gregor.” Mother leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her palm. “I imagine it’s safe to assume Director Gershom shot at DB as a way to signal to the CIA that he was aware of what was going on?”

  “It sounds like it.” I wasn’t surprised Mother knew the director’s name.

  “Son of a bitch. What’s gonna happen to the bastard?” Gregor demanded. “And what does that have to do with Vincent’s crutch?”