by Tinnean
The intercom buzzed. “I have Mr. Gershom on one, sir.”
“Thank you.” I picked up the receiver and jammed my index finger hitting the button. “You were supposed to send me a tape, Gershom.”
“Do you realize how many feet of tape I have to go through to find what you’re looking for?”
“I didn’t ask you to go through it. I want every tape from seven this morning until eleven a.m.”
“Fine. I’ll send someone up with the footage.”
I remembered what The Boss had told me, grudgingly said, “Thanks,” and hung up.
Stupid bastard, dragging his feet just to piss me off.
Before I turned on my computer, I stuck a paperclip into the “beauty mark” of the CD drive, ejecting the CD. I was never that pissed I forgot to do something as simple as that.
Gershom was really treading on thin ice. Not only had he sent up this morning’s tapes, but he’d sent every one from the beginning of the week, and they were all mixed together.
I sneered at his thought that he could screw with me and sorted through them. When I found the tape dated 3/20/03 and labeled Floor One, I slid it into the TV/VCR combo, turned on the television, and watched with the remote in my hand, fast forwarding through inconsequential scenes.
And then Miss Jones came in through the sliding doors of the employees’ entrance. She must have learned from last year; according to the time stamp, she was only half an hour late.
As she waited for the elevator, she removed her coat and folded it over her arm. She wore a skirt that was snug around her hips and thighs, and when the elevator arrived, she swayed into it.
I ejected the tape and inserted the one labeled Floor Four. I fast forwarded to the time she’d arrived at work, and a minute or so later the camera on four picked up the action. Miss Jones exited, swayed down the corridor, and entered Morris’s office.
I ran that tape to the end, then ejected it and inserted another one, and then another, but that was it. We had the invisible woman working for us, because there was no sign of her leaving Morris’s office about twenty-five minutes later.
I went back to the tape that monitored the employees’ entrance. Ned Waters left for the day. Gabe Granger came sauntering in. For the next half hour the corridor was empty, except for the occasional security guard patrolling it.
Finally my wait was rewarded—a woman wearing a familiar skirt suit left, her face shielded by a hat. The outfit was reminiscent of something Ingrid Bergman had worn in Casablanca. The last time I’d seen that costume was last year, when Ms. DiNois had worn it at my request. I’d had Macintyre, the WBIS photographer, take the photo so I could replace the one in Quinn’s town house of the blonde with a vapid smile.
That outfit wasn’t for casual use. Someone had made sure Miss Jones got it so she could leave the WBIS undetected. Anyone else checking this tape would have assumed she was someone on assignment, because other than Granger, the only department that had access to the photographer’s costumes was PR.
I stacked all the tapes and set them aside. Gershom didn’t need to know I was finished with them.
There was a tap on my door, and Ms. Parker let herself in. “Still no messages, sir.” Everyone seemed to be giving me a wide berth. Word of what had happened with Morris must have gone around the WBIS. “Would it be all right if I took an early lunch?”
She was hungry after all those crackers she’d eaten? And then I remembered Granger turning up earlier. “Sure.”
She smiled and left, her skirt flirting around her knees. Was she putting on weight? Maybe Granger liked his women with a little meat on their bones.
I returned to my desk, opened a blank file, and began entering and cross referencing the pertinent information about Miss Jones and Dr. Godard.
Chapter 5
It was just after noon, and I was thinking about heading down to the cafeteria for lunch when my cell phone rang, the first notes of the Neil Diamond version of “Until It’s Time for You to Go.” I didn’t need to glance at the screen to know who was calling, and it had me grinning. A bright spot in the middle of this fuck-all day.
“Vincent.” Since I was at work I couldn’t greet Quinn the way I wanted to, but he’d be aware of that. And actually, I should tell him I’d call him back and go out to the parking lot to do just that, but fuck it. I wasn’t in the mood to be a team player today.
“Hi, you. It’s raining.”
“You called to give me the weather report?”
“In point of fact,” Quinn said, “I thought this was perfect weather to make a fire and spend a few hours in front of it.”
My cock twitched, and I couldn’t help the suggestiveness in my tone. “Doing…?”
“Exactly.” It looked like spring was getting to us all. “Oh, and just to let you know? I’m at Aspen Reach.”
“Are you?” I’d given him the keys and the lock sequences after we’d kind of, sort of exchanged… promises, and once again he’d made good use of them both.
“Mmm.”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.” Usually it didn’t take that long for me to make the drive home, but with the rain and the fact people forgot how to drive in it, it was going to take a while.
“Just drive carefully, okay? I’ll be waiting for you. Naked.”
“Dammit, I still have to walk out of here!”
He chuckled and hung up, and I logged out of my computer.
The wind and rain had made this March day raw enough I’d worn my overcoat that morning. As I left my office, I draped my coat so it would hide the erection Quinn’s words had given me.
“I’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon, Ms. Parker.” She’d returned from lunch about fifteen minutes earlier, and she was glowing. Granger must have made her happy. “If anything should come up….” I remembered Matheson was out. “Well, it’s a quiet enough day. Call Winchester.”
“Yes, sir.” Her lips were folded in a line, but I could see she was biting back a smile. I couldn’t help smiling myself. She resumed tapping away at her keyboard, and I went home to get laid.
***
I opened the locks of the door in the correct sequence. No sooner was I in my condo and the door closed and secured behind me than I shed my overcoat, toed off my shoes, and began stripping off my clothes, leaving them in a trail behind me as I headed for my bedroom, until all I had on were my trousers.
And if Quinn had been yanking my chain… if he wasn’t naked as he’d promised… damn, I was going to be disappointed.
I wasn’t. He was lying on the white faux fur rug—it had to be faux, since we got semen on it at least once a week and it needed to be washable—staring into the flames that danced in the fireplace.
“Hey, babe.” I dropped trou and didn’t give him the opportunity to rise, just knelt beside him, cupped his face in my hands, and raised it for a kiss.
“Mark!” he murmured against my lips. “We need to—”
“Fuck? You better believe it. I’ve had the shittiest morning, and I need you to take that taste from my mouth.”
“It will be my pleasure.” He held up a tube of Wet but wouldn’t let me take it.
“Quinn?”
“Since it’s been one of those days for you, I think perhaps you need to let me take control.”
“You do, huh?”
“If you don’t object?”
“Why would I do a stupid thing like that? How do you want me? Front? Back?”
“On your back, please.” He was always so polite. “I want to see your eyes as I slide into you.”
I shivered. God, he knew exactly what to say to set me on fire.
“Okay.” My voice was hoarse in my own ears. It had turned out Quinn enjoyed bottoming, but whenever he asked the same from me, he got it with no objection.
I settled myself on my back, braced my feet on the floor and let my knees fall open.
“I love your package,” he murmured as he warmed some lube on his fingers. His eyes wer
e on my cock and balls, and he leaned forward and closed his lips over the head. While he sucked gently at the tip, probing the slit with his tongue, he ran his slicked finger past my balls and circled my hole a few times before sliding it in, and he began to loosen me.
Jesus, he drove me crazy!
“I…” I swallowed. I’d never enjoyed being touched in that manner by anyone other than Quinn. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
“Really? You think of me when you’re at work?”
“Are you fucking—” I yelped as he found my prostate and gave it a good rub.
“Not yet, Mark, but soon.” He rose up and kissed me, tasting a little of me, a little of the Life Savers he enjoyed. I’d gotten the habit from him, and I’d sucked on a Wint-O-Green on the drive home. He slid another finger in to join the first, and I could feel a drop of precome beading at the tip of my cock.
“Better make that real soon.”
“All right.” He took a condom from where he must have placed it on the hearth, tore open the foil wrapper, and rolled it on. “Slick me up, babe.”
I poured some Wet into my palm and ran it over Quinn’s cock. He hissed and closed his eyes.
“Quinn?”
“It’s been such a while….”
“No it hasn’t. We did it just….” Oh, he meant since he’d had me. I banged my head back against the hardwood floor. Fortunately, the rug cushioned it. “Dammit, Quinn, you should have said something sooner.”
“I’m saying something now. Will you shut up so we can get on with it?”
“Sorry. Proceed.”
“Proceeding.” His cock nudged my hole, and then he sank in, and we both sighed. “Nice?”
“Fucking A.”
He stopped moving, leaned his forehead against mine, and laughed, his breath warm in my face.
“Jesus, Quinn! Move!”
He braced his hands beside my shoulders, looked into my eyes, and began a gentle rocking motion I knew was going to last for a long time. “Yes?”
“Yeah!”
“Outstanding,” I murmured in his ear as he shivered into his climax. I’d come a minute or so before, and now I stroked the muscles of his back down to the dimple at the base of his spine.
“Glad you think so.” He nuzzled the spot beneath my ear, and then eased out of me.
“When do you have to get back to Spook Central?” I asked as he tied off the condom and dropped it into the wastebasket.
“Tomorrow.” He returned and knelt beside me. “When do you have to return to Spy Central?”
“Tomorrow.” I pulled his head down and licked his lips. “Open.”
I could feel his smile, and then he parted his lips and touched the tip of his tongue to mine before I took possession of his mouth.
We had eighteen hours together.
***
“Mark!” Quinn jerked awake from the light doze he’d fallen into.
“Right here, baby.” I rubbed my cheek against his hair and tightened my hold on him. “Have you been having trouble sleeping again?”
Early the previous autumn, he’d had a problem with exhaustion, thanks to Edward Holmes, DCI of Threat Analysis at the CIA. Quinn had been unable to sleep, and when he did drop off, he was plagued with nightmares. Part of the problem was his cell phone. Someone—Holmes—had seen it was screwed with, and every time Quinn flipped it open, he’d get these subliminal messages that resulted in the nightmares. The other part was the useless assignments he was given. He’d traveled to the Far East, and like his father, he didn’t deal well with transoceanic flights. It was a vicious cycle: fatigue that led to disturbed slumber that resulted in more fatigue.
I dealt with the phone problem, of course, solving it by buying Quinn a smartphone and then syncing it with mine, so he had all the bells and whistles Romero in R&D had come up with for WBIS cell phone users.
Holmes, though…. Someone who fucked with my lover like that needed to be dead. I could have canceled him without anyone knowing I was behind it, but in this instance The Boss told me to leave Holmes alone, because no matter how Holmes bit the big one, and even though it couldn’t be pinned on me, the WBIS would take the blame.
But I didn’t want Holmes to think he’d gotten away scot-free.
Theo Bascopolis, the onetime rent boy, had helped out, although he’d had no clue. He had a videotape of Delilah Carson, Pretty Boy, and Spike, romping on her bed with a john who wore a red wig and pink lingerie. The john turned out to be none other than Quinn’s sometime director, Edward Holmes.
I sent a copy of that tape to Quinn’s uncles, who’d also been in the business, and they took care of Holmes—and God, I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that confrontation. As it was, Holmes announced he needed to retire due to health reasons.
The son of a bitch just wouldn’t disappear into the cracks, though. He began giving a series of lectures at colleges all around the country.
I was a big believer in that vengeance-as-a-dish-best-served-cold thing.
Maybe I’d attend one of those lectures myself.
***
“Quinn?” He’d been quiet for a while, and that had me concerned. “Did you hear me? I asked….”
“I heard. And no, I’ve been sleeping well.” He tipped his head back and smiled into my eyes. “Although I do sleep better with you.”
I’d thought more than once about asking him to move in with me. My condo was spacious enough for the two of us, and I was pretty positive that baby grand of his would fit fine in my living room.
But… the CIA would demand his resignation if they found out he was living with a man, and if they learned it was me of all people, the explosion of coronary arteries would be heard all over the free world. Even Mr. Wallace, who had a soft spot for Portia Mann, wouldn’t be pleased if he learned her son had moved in with me.
Fortunately, Quinn had no idea what I was thinking. I never wanted him to consider for a second I’d make him choose between the career he loved and me.
“Why don’t I see what you have in your fridge? I’m starved,” he said.
“So am I. Not that I’m complaining.”
“Oh?”
“Face it, babe. You’re worth going short on groceries for.”
He blushed and reached for his shorts. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“Don’t mention it.” I patted his ass and wondered how long I could distract him from putting on his shorts. “I have to keep up my strength, you know, if I want to make sure my lover stays happy.”
“You make me very happy.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Now I’ll go see what you have so I can feed you.”
“I don’t think there’s much.” Earlier in the week, I’d gone to Trader Joe’s for a few “quick meals,” but there weren’t any left.
“I’ll come up with something.”
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I knew there was a loaf of bread in the freezer, and I had a jar of peanut butter in the pantry, although all I had was some orange marmalade in the refrigerator.
“Why don’t you join me?” Quinn stepped into his shorts. Two minutes. I’d have to work on it.
“I thought you’d never ask.” I walked into the closet and got shorts and an undershirt from the organizer, because unlike Quinn, the clothes I’d worn were scattered throughout my condo. I’d just pulled on my shorts when my cell phone rang.
This time the ringtone was “I’m Going to Go Back There Someday,” from The Muppet Movie. It was Theo; that song had struck me as a logical choice for him. Why was he calling me in the middle of the week? Especially since Matheson was home with him?
Quinn picked up my trousers and handed them to me.
“Why don’t you get that, Mark? You can meet me in the kitchen when you’re done.” Quinn strolled out of the room, and I licked my lips. The man did have an amazing ass.
I fished my phone out of a pocket and touched the screen. “What’s up, Theo?”
“Wills won’t
be in tomorrow,” he said without any ceremony.
“He won’t?”
“No. I don’t want him driving when he’s this exhausted.”
“Aren’t you the concerned mother hen.”
“Damn straight I’m concerned, Vince.” He sounded irritated, which was unusual for him. “He spent all night driving down here—”
“Driving down where?”
“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered. “I forget you wouldn’t know. I’m in Savannah.”
“Want to tell me what you’re doing there?”
“It’s a long story….”
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” I propped up some pillows on the bed, lay back on them, and tucked the phone between my shoulder and my ear.
“Did you just get laid?” Theo demanded.
Shit, I should have realized a former rent boy would be able to…. And then I began to laugh. “As a matter of fact, I did.” I stacked my hands behind my head and crossed my ankles.
“A little afternoon delight? I’m so happy for you, Vince! Surprised, but happy!”
“Yeah, well, there are more things to life than the job. And if you tell Matheson I said that….”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry about it. Your secret is safe with me.”
“So what are the two of you doing in Savannah? I assume Matheson is with you?”
“Yes. He came after me.”
“Came after you? Oh, this is gonna be good. Start talking.”
“Well, after you called the other day to tell me Wills was coming home….”
I let him ramble about the flowers he’d received and the note with it—I’m sorry. Forgive me. I was a fool.
“I ask you, Vince, wouldn’t something like that convince you something really wrong was going on?”
Not likely, because I knew Quinn well enough to know he’d never do anything like that to me. And if I ever got a card like that with flowers—not that Quinn would send me flowers, but….
Anyway, I’d ask him what the fuck was going on instead of taking off.
I shook my head and listened to Theo go off on one tangent after another and then backtrack when I asked him to clarify what he was saying.
