by Tinnean
“I always wanted a sister,” Mother murmured as they walked out of the room. Gregor followed them.
“This is going to be too good to miss!” Kim enthused. “I think I’ll head to the cafeteria too.” She gave us a wink and almost skipped out of the room.
DB turned to me. “We’re cousins, bro.”
“Yes, we are.” I stooped and hugged him.
“Jesus, Quinn, does bigamy run in the family?” he whispered. He blinked and stared at my cheek. “My God, Mom really smacked you hard!”
“She did, and no, it doesn’t run in the family. You found two women who mean the world to you, and the rest of the world can go hang.”
“I did, didn’t I? For a while it felt as if my heart was being ripped out.”
One of these days, I’d have to tell him how it was with those with Sebring blood. Hopefully, it wouldn’t prove to be a curse for him. “Grandfather... Did you ever meet him?”
“Sure. He usually came for our birthdays.”
I remembered all the times Grandfather had been called away to the West Coast, ostensibly on business, and clenched my hands into fists. Three people locked in unhappy relationships.
“But after Grandma passed away, we didn’t see him as much.”
“When was that?”
He answered without hesitating. “April 7, 1985. It was Easter. We buried her three days later. Grandpa was there.”
“Hmm.” I’d visited Shadow Brook for a couple of weeks in the early summer, and Grandfather had been even more restrained than he usually was.
“What, Quinn?”
“Didn’t it bother you that you rarely saw him?”
“Nah. Grandma explained he was an important man, a busy man.” He gave a wry grin. “She just never told us what he was busy with.”
Somehow I doubted she knew. She might have been Grandfather’s one, but all he’d probably told her was that he was a wealthy man’s son who dabbled in government and left it at that.
“Here, babe.” Mark handed me a washcloth filled with ice cubes, and I straightened and held it against my cheek, grateful for the soothing sensation. “Sorry, Cooper, I fished the ice from your water pitcher. You’d better have it refilled.”
DB stared at him. “I can’t believe I’m in the same room with Mark Vincent. Quinn… What’s the Company going to say about this?”
“I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. I have no intention of telling them at this point, but if or when it becomes necessary, I’ll have no qualms in giving them an ultimatum.”
“You’d quit?”
“I’d resign.” I glanced at Mark and grinned at him. “Mark will support me in the manner to which I’m accustomed.”
“He would?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “I’ve already told him I’d hire him as my personal assistant.”
“And then he’d chase me around his desk.”
“No, no, no!” DB closed his eyes and held his hands out as if to ward off the image. “I don’t need that picture in my mind!”
“Are you going to spill the beans, Cooper?”
“Asshole.” DB glared at him. “No. Quinn’s not only my friend, he’s family. Just… just don’t get him killed, okay?”
“If you’ll notice, Mark is the one who’s been shot.”
DB ignored me. “Because if you do, I swear to God I’ll see you in the ground.”
Oh, hell. The shit was really going to hit the fan now. “DB—”
“No, it’s okay, babe.” Mark curled an arm around my waist and tugged me against him. “I take care of what’s mine, Cooper. If anyone tries to hurt Quinn, I’ll put them through a world of hurt.”
There was a tap on the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Cooper. I’ve got your afternoon snack.” An aide crossed the room and set a small container on his tray table.
DB groaned. “Don’t tell me. Tapioca.”
“Oh, no, sir.”
DB narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get my hopes up.”
The aide grinned. “Vanilla pudding.”
“I told you not to get my hopes up!”
“I like vanilla pudding.” Mark reached for the container. “I’ll eat it.”
DB grabbed it and held it close.
“I’ve got another pudding as well as lemon ice, if you’d like them.”
“Hey, how come I wasn’t offered the lemon ice?” DB groused.
A nurse bustled into the room. “I’ll have to ask you gentlemen to leave for a few minutes. Mr. Cooper is about to get a roommate.”
“We’ll see you in a bit, DB.”
Mark and I left the room as the nurse tugged the curtain between the beds.
Chapter 22
Tuesday dawned gray and chilly with the promise of rain. I’d decided to take another day off. I had laundry I needed to take to the cleaners, and messages on my answering machine I had to listen to, as well as mail—Gregor had contacted the post office to let them know I was back, and my cleaning service had brought it in. I imagined there was a stack I had to sort through.
As for Mark—the evening before, he’d stated his intention of going in to work. In addition, he’d insisted Matheson could pick him up. It had taken a while, but finally I’d gotten him to agree that I would drive him. I had every hope that whatever needed clearing up at the WBIS would be dealt with expeditiously, and that Mark could spend the remaining five weeks Wallace had ordered him to take going easy on his injured leg.
But I wasn’t very confident about it.
“If you decide to come home sooner, call me,” I told him as I took his jacket from the closet in the entryway and held it for him.
“You don’t need to come pick me up.” Mark worked his right arm into the sleeve, grimacing a bit, then shrugged it up over his shoulder. “Matheson can drive me home.”
“Mark, don’t you trust me?” I reached for my overcoat and put it on, pleased that the pocketknife was once again in my pocket.
“You know I do.”
“Then there’s no reason for me not to come pick you up—either at the end of the day or earlier if you’d rather.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, if we’ve got that settled...” I opened the door, but before I could step outside, he pulled me back into his arms.
“Hold on a second, babe.” He leaned his head against mine.
“Is something wrong? Your leg? Work?”
“No. It’s... Look, Quinn. I appreciate your mother’s kindness, but I really want to go home.”
“I know. Give it a bit longer?” I threaded my fingers through his hair. It was soft and thick, a bit longer than he usually wore it, but then he hadn’t had time to go for a haircut.
“Okay.” He sighed, his breath warm against my palm, and I couldn’t help shivering. “Cold, babe?” He used the crutch to shut the door.
“No…” I wished the bedrooms of my town house were on the lower level. The couch in the living room didn’t open into a bed, and it wasn’t wide enough or long enough to sleep the two of us comfortably. An elevator would have been useful, and while one of the town houses I’d toured before I’d made my final selection had one, I hadn’t thought it was necessary. “Mark, we need to move in together.”
“You’d want to live with me?”
I wacked the back of his head. “What part of ‘I love you’ didn’t make that clear?”
“But the CIA?” He rubbed the spot where I’d hit him, although it hadn’t been hard.
“Let me worry about the Company.”
He stared down into my face, a furrow between his eyes, then nodded. “I’ll agree, but only if you promise to tell me if those bastards give you a hard time.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He blew out a breath. “When do I move in? Or would you prefer to live in my condo? I… uh… I’ve been giving this some thought, and I can turn the pantry into a wine cellar. Also, there’s room for the baby grand at the far end of the living room.”
&n
bsp; I was touched. He had been giving this thought. I rested my cheek on his shoulder. “Whichever works best, but… if we sell both our homes, we could buy a place that’s ours.”
“Yeah? I think I’d like that. And the housing market is pretty good right now.”
“It is, and since there’s no rush, we can shop around until we find a house that ticks off everything on our wish lists.”
“You’ve got a wish list?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
He muttered something about his condo having everything he needed. “What... uh... what’s on your list?”
“A study; a library. Perhaps a loft area. A couple of guest bedrooms.” I didn’t have to give it much thought. I’d seen old photos of the home where Father had grown up until he’d been sent away to boarding school—for some reason, a step-sibling had inherited the rambling two-story house.
“Okay.”
“Rooms for the children.” It was my turn to hold my breath, waiting for his response.
“Wait, what? Quinn, are you nuts? You saw what happened when I took care of a kitten—how I had to leave it at the drop of a hat.”
“Yes, but you made sure she was taken care of before you left.”
“A kid’s not the same thing.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
He gritted his teeth. “You have assignments out of the country as well, so odds are both of us would be away. So who’d take care of the kid? Kids?”
“Mother would love having them stay with her. Gregor is an excellent surrogate dad, as are all my uncles.” I’d always been reluctant for a child of mine to be raised by a nanny, but perhaps one of Gregor’s cousins? If it might sway Mark, I was willing to look into it. “You know, the scent of baby powder is in the air.”
“What?”
“Your neighbors are expecting.”
“What? Which ones?”
“The ones you call DINKs.”
“Jesus. They never struck me as parent material.” He shook his head.
Just as we’d never struck him that way? But at least he hadn’t declared he was moving out immediately in order to get away from the rug rats. “Will you... will you give it some consideration?”
“I dunno, Quinn.” He opened the front door.
“All right, Mark. It was just a thought.” I sighed. I didn’t want to pressure him and have a similar situation to what DB had faced. A sudden thought occurred to me. “If you don’t have any objection, once we decide where we’re going to live, we could rent one of our homes to DB and his ladies. Their places are too small for three people.”
“Yeah, I guess I could go along with that.” Mark seemed relieved at the change of subject. Abruptly he frowned.
“What is it?”
“I have to de-ghost my condo.”
“You haven’t found out yet who killed Delilah Carson?”
He scowled. “I’ve been busy, in case it’s escaped your notice.”
I kissed his jaw. “Yes, you have. Well, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“We do.” He looked out the door.
“We’re not heating the whole neighborhood,” Gregor singsonged from down the hall.
Mark grinned. “Just not now.”
We stepped out of the house, and I closed the door behind us.
As we walked to the car, I kept my pace slow to accommodate Mark, but chatted of inconsequential things to distract him from that fact. He’d promised he wasn’t in any pain; I’d helped him change the bandage the night before, and the wounds looked good, so I hoped today’s activities wouldn’t put a strain on them.
I opened the passenger door for him and took his crutch. He paused, half into the Jag.
“What is it? Are you hurting?”
He turned his head. His nose was wrinkled. “What the fuck did you have in this car?”
“Excuse me?” I leaned forward and took a sniff. “Oh. That was DB’s dinner.” I slid the crutch into the backseat, and Mark shook his head and settled himself in the car. I shut the door and went around to the driver’s side.
After I turned on the ignition, we exchanged glances, then almost in synchronization, we both pressed the buttons that slid down the windows.
Mark gave directions while I drove, and half an hour later, I pulled up to the employee entrance at the rear of the building that housed the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security.
“If you decide to come home sooner, call me.”
“You’ll come pick me up?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, babe.” He leaned across the console and kissed me.
I left the Jag running, and just as I got out, I was hailed by an aggressive male voice.
“Can I help you?” The young man stalking toward us was a redhead about my height.
“It’s okay, Winchester.” Mark had opened the passenger door and swung his legs around.
“Mr. Vincent?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you, sir? I heard you’d been shot. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Get his crutch from the backseat,” I told him and held his gaze as he studied me for a tense moment.
“Stand down, Winchester. He’s with me.”
“Yes, sir.” Winchester reached for the crutch and stood aside as Mark hoisted himself out of the car.
“Thanks for taking care of Spike.”
“My pleasure, sir.” Winchester grinned and handed him the crutch, seeming more relaxed. “I have to tell you, hanging with Spike and Paul was a very broadening experience.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“They took me to this little boutique on Melrose Avenue in West Hollywood...” Winchester’s words petered out, and he cleared his throat. “I left John Cisco guarding them. Are... are you sure he’s safe?” He gestured toward me with a jut of his chin.
Mark glanced at me. “He’s safe.” He touched my arm. “Unless you hear from me, Matheson will drive me home.”
“All right. I’ll see you later.”
“You bet.”
I stepped aside and watched as Mark and Winchester entered the building, then got back into the Jag and drove to Alexandria.
There were almost two dozen messages on my answering machine, the majority of them requests for charitable donations. I deleted them after ascertaining that was all they were—I donated to Mother’s charities.
The last message though—“Uh... Mann, it’s... uh... it’s Jon. Jon Drum. I... I have to talk to you, but... but I’ve been given an important assignment in... uh... in Europe.”
The date stamp was three days prior, a few hours after DB was taken to the hospital, which felt a little too coincidental for my taste. I’d call Abby to verify Drum’s mission. Had Drum discovered that his part in revealing DB’s actions in planting moles in the WBIS had gotten DB shot? Or had he taken it into his head to try to retrieve his half brother once more?
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take,” he was saying. “Maybe... maybe a few months. I’ll... uh... I’ll see you when I get back.”
Oh, you can bet on that, my friend.
My finger hovered over the delete button, but then I decided it might be a good idea to hold on to the message. Perhaps I was getting as paranoid as my lover, but as Mark was fond of saying, that doesn’t mean the bastards aren’t out to get you.
I hung up my overcoat, picked up my mail, and rifled through it. One of the envelopes was from Lawson, Lawson, Bauer, Wells, and Hennessey, and I furrowed my brow. Why would the law firm my entire family had used since the Flood be contacting me?
I left the rest of the mail on the console table by the front door and slid my thumbnail under the flap. Once I had it opened, I removed the cream stationery and began reading, becoming more and more stunned the farther down the page I got.
I picked up the house phone and dialed the number at the top of the page.
“Lawson, Lawson, Bauer, Wells, and Hennessey. How may I direct your call?”
>
“This is Quinton Mann. Is Mr. Wells available?”
“I’ll transfer you to his legal assistant.”
“Thank you.” I expected to have to wait, so I tucked the phone between my shoulder and my ear and began looking through the rest of the mail, setting aside bills to be paid and junk mail to be shredded.
“Mr. Mann? This is Cerise Chantelle. I’m Mr. Wells’s legal assistant.”
Well, that was fast. “Good morning, Ms. Chantelle.”
“Good morning, sir. Mr. Wells has been waiting to hear from you. He’d like to see you as soon as possible. When would be a good time for me to schedule a meeting?”
“I have some free time this afternoon.”
“This afternoon will be fine. About one thirty? We’ll have lunch for you.”
“That’s kind of you. And one thirty works for me.”
“Excellent! We’ll see you then. Do you need directions?”
“No, the address is in the letterhead. I’ll put it in my GPS.”
“That’s a great idea. Was there anything else I could help you with?”
“No.”
“In that case, we’ll see you this afternoon. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” I hung up and stared down at the letter
How odd the way things turned out. I’d just been thinking about the house where Father had lived as a young boy, and now it seemed the house was mine, left to me by a cousin I’d never met and didn’t even know I’d had.
How would Father have felt about me living there with Mark and… possibly, hopefully, one day our children?
I smiled, folded the letter, and returned it to its envelope. I’d wait until I learned the details of this inheritance before I called Mark and Mother.
Chapter 23
Mark and I played phone tag for the rest of the day. He was either in meetings or otherwise unavailable when I called, or I was in my lawyer’s office discussing my cousin’s will when he called.
He finally reached me as I was walking out of the elevator and through the building’s lobby. “Sorry, babe.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah….” The manner in which he drew out the word gave me the impression that perhaps everything wasn’t okay. “I’ll talk to you about it when I get home. What did you have to tell me?”
