by Tinnean
“All right.” I didn’t think he was being stupid, but if he wanted to return home, I couldn’t prevent him. “You said Paul’s shift usually ends about eleven?”
“He’ll probably be home around one tomorrow afternoon.”
“All right. I’ll stay with you.” I didn’t question the discrepancy in hours. I’d learned from Mother’s hospital stay that the nurses often remained past their shift.
I expected him to give me a hard time, but in spite of his brave words, he looked relieved. “Thank you.”
~*~
AFTER WE FINISHED, we loaded the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen. “Would you like to stay here a while longer? My uncles have an amazing video library.”
“I know. But…”
“Have you had enough of the movie business?”
He smiled wryly. “I didn’t want to upset Mr. Conroy, but working with Brad Cartwright is the pits. I used to be half in love with him when I was a kid.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“What?”
Val would be upset if I told him he was still a kid, so I didn’t remark on that. I did say, “That would upset Cartwright.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Val grinned. “Would you mind if we didn‘t go directly home?”
“Of course not. What would you like to do?”
“Could we go for a drive?”
“Of course.”
While Val went to the front door, I made sure the French doors to the backyard were locked, then left the lights on so my uncles wouldn’t come home to a darkened house. I put on my jacket, gathered up my keys, and headed toward the front foyer.
“All ready, Val—” I came to an abrupt halt. Val stood there, visibly shaking.
Standing in the doorway was a youngish man, and although his gaze flitted over me, he kept a gun pointed at Val’s head.
“Who is this?” I asked, although I was fairly certain I knew.
“Giles Stapleton.” Val’s voice was fairly steady.
Ah.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I knew you worked with Sebring. It simply made sense. No, stand still.”
Val had taken a step back.
“Why didn’t you go home? I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon.” Stapleton stalked forward and kicked the door shut behind him.
“How did you know where I lived?”
“Jesus, you’re such an idiot. Your parents told mine, and they told me. Now answer me. Why didn’t you go home after you finished filming?”
“M-Mr. Mann invited me here for dinner.” Val cast me an anxious look.
“A likely story. He wanted to fuck you, and you’re just too stupid to realize it.”
“No, he—”
Stapleton interrupted him. “Do you know how much it cost me to arrange to have that person you live with out of the house? And then you go and do this? I always knew you were a worthless slut,” he snarled at Val. “Well, you’re going to put out for me this time.”
“Valentine, what is this about?” I used the voice I remembered Grandfather Sebring directing toward his servants when he wasn’t happy with them.
“Shut up, old man,” Stapleton snapped.
Old man? The light in the foyer was dim, but it was hardly that dim. However… the fool hadn’t realized the opportunity he’d given me. I gasped and clutched at my chest.
“Quinn?” Val looked alarmed. I didn’t have the time to wink and let him know I had a plan.
“Quinn, is it? What happened to Mr. Mann? I knew you were—”
He was repeating himself, and Val didn’t need to hear that. I staggered, dropped to the floor, and groaned, and Val started to take a step toward me.
“Stay put, Valentine!” Stapleton ordered. His attention now was completely on Val. “Take your clothes off. I’m going to fuck you right in front of your sugar daddy.”
“I won’t let you touch me!”
The sound of Stapleton cocking his gun was loud in the silent house. “You won’t have any say in the matter. Now do as I say or I’ll shoot him.” He waved the gun in my direction.
“Don’t hurt me!” I curled in on myself. “I’m… I’m having a heart attack. Dial 9-1-1!”
A glance revealed Stapleton curling his lip at the pathetic appearance I presented, but he still had his gaze on Val. Mark would have had a good deal to say about the man’s carelessness.
I used the curve of my body to conceal my movements as I slipped off a shoe.
Stapleton used his left hand to unbutton his fly. “How could you, Valentine? The man is old enough to be your father!”
I hardly thought so, unless I fathered Val when I was nineteen, but I wasn’t about to correct Stapleton while he worked himself into a frenzy.
“How could you even consider going with someone like this—”
I hurled my shoe at Stapleton’s head, and it connected with a nice, solid thunk. Stapleton dropped to the floor.
“He’s not very smart, is he?” I rose to my feet and approached with caution.
“You’re… you’re okay!” Val seemed surprised.
“I am.” I kicked the gun away from Stapleton, then stripped off my tie and secured his hands behind his back while he was still dazed.
“Vince is going to be impressed.”
“No, he’s going to be annoyed.”
“That he wasn’t here?” Val giggled. “I think you’re right.”
“Let’s keep this between us for the time being, shall we?”
He nodded and rubbed his hands together briskly. “Okay, then. Who should I call to take out the trash? Mr. Sebring? Cisco?”
“You don’t think we should call 9-1-1?”
“Do we have to?”
Stapleton groaned and opened his eyes. He tried to rub the bump on his head with no success, and when he realized why, he thrust out his lower lip. “Why does this keep happening to me?” he whined.
“Maybe because you’re a dope,” Val told him.
A key rattled in the lock, and a moment later, the door swung open. For a second I expected to see Mark standing there, then shook my head when I realized how ridiculous that thought was.
“Whose car is that in the drive? Are you entertaining, Quinton?” As it turned out, it was my uncles who stood there. They took in the scene with a swift, encompassing glance—the gun against a wall, me standing there with one shoe off and one shoe on, and Giles Stapleton sprawled on the floor.
“You again, Stapleton?” Tony appeared the epitome of bored. “Weren’t you supposed to be held on bond?” He turned to me without waiting for a response. “Would you care to explain, Quinton?”
“I invited Val to have dinner with me here after he received a phone call earlier informing him Stapleton had been released on bail.”
“Who called you? No one was supposed to let you know.” Stapleton attempted to angle himself up on an elbow. “It was that fag brother of mine, wasn’t it?”
“We should have let Mark Vincent deal with you.” Bryan’s voice was soft, but there was a hint of iron in it.
Stapleton was hardly in the position to back away, so instead he glared up at him. “I’m going to sue you! By the time I get done with you, no one in your family will have a pot to piss in.”
“Where will you get the money to afford a lawyer?” I asked.
“My family. Valentine’s family.”
“Indeed.” Bryan stared down at Stapleton and smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “What, exactly, are you doing in our home, Stapleton?”
“He planned to hurt Valentine,” I said.
“He’s lying!”
“Do you honestly believe we’d take your word over our nephew’s, Stapleton?”
“What nephew?”
“Jesus, are you this stupid? Who do you think this is?” Bryan put his hand on my shoulder.
“I… uh… I… That isn’t important. I came looking for my brother-in-law.”
“What brother-in-
law?” Val looked horrified. “You aren’t married to my sister.”
“I will be shortly, you little twit. Our parents are all for it.”
“I wish Mark were here,” Bryan said, sounding tired. “The last time Stapleton spouted garbage like this, he put his foot on Stapleton’s head and threatened to crush it.”
“He did? He didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s all in a day’s work for him, I imagine.”
“Well, he’d not here, but I am. I have no objection to making Val’s sister a widow.”
“No, no! I misspoke.” Stapleton cleared his throat. “I meant to say my future brother-in-law.”
“Whatever.” Valentine scowled at him. “But you held a gun to my head.”
“Are you taking notes, Anthony?” Bryan asked.
Tony sighed. “Yes, little brother. I’ll get in touch with David Lawson first thing in the morning and have him deal with this worthless piece of excrement.”
The senior lawyer for the firm our family used tended to throw the fear of God into just about everyone he came into contact with, including politicians. I had no doubt once he was done, Stapleton would give Val a very wide berth indeed.
“What do we do with him in the meantime?” I asked. “I’m not looking forward to sharing the house with him.”
“There’s the shed out back where Bryan keeps the supplies for the pond.”
Stapleton gasped. “You can’t!”
“Of course we can,” Tony said. “This is our property. We can do anything we want on it.”
I hoisted Stapleton to his feet and sighed.
“Problem, Quinton?”
“I really liked that tie. Mark gave it to me as an unbirthday present.”
“Un—” Tony shook his head. “Mark has good taste, I’ll say that for him.”
“I’ll be sure to pass on your approval.” I hauled Stapleton along behind me. “Come along, Mr. Stapleton.”
“I don’t want to spend the night in a shed,” Stapleton wailed.
“I don’t believe we asked what you wanted.”
“Valentine, you can’t let him do this to me!”
Val went up to him and poked him in the chest. “I’m a guest in this house, and I have absolutely no say in what he does. But let me tell you this. If you come near me one more time, I swear to God I’ll… I’ll punch you so hard in the nose your parents will feel it.”
Stapleton flinched, and I tightened my grip on his arm and dragged him through the house to the French doors that led out to the backyard and the shed.
“I don’t know why this happens to me,” he blubbered. “I’m a good man. I was just trying to help my family.”
“In that case, you should have gotten a job.”
“A job? I’m a Stapleton! We haven’t had to work since 1935. Wait! You can’t leave me in here! Suppose there are… are mice?”
“There aren’t any. They aren’t permitted on the property. Now sit here and behave yourself.” I pushed him down into a spare lawn chair.
“How… how long do I have to stay here?”
“Until the police come to get you. Face it, Stapleton, you’re going to jail. Maybe not for as long as we’d like, but hopefully long enough for you to get your act together. And I hope you do this time, because if you harass Val once more, you’ll have to deal with Mark Vincent.”
He shuddered. “Not him.”
“Him. Don’t play with the toys, Stapleton.” I shut him in the shed and returned to the house.
Valentine threw himself into my arms. “Thank you, Quinn!”
I patted his shoulder. “You were very brave. Paul would have been proud of you.”
“Paul! Oh God! Do we have to tell him what happened?”
“Don’t you think he’ll find out anyway?”
“No?” His expression was hopeful, but then he sighed. “No, it would suck if he found out from anyone but me. I’ll tell him. Tomorrow, after he wakes up.”
“Good man. Do you still want to go for a drive?”
“Could we maybe get ice cream instead? I don’t think I want to go home just yet.”
I turned to my uncles, who were making lists but were still listening to the conversation. “Shall we bring some back for you?”
They exchanged glances; then Tony asked, “Are you going to Goody Goodies?”
“Of course.” I’d discovered the old-fashioned ice cream parlor the last time I’d taken Val for sundaes.
“In that case, yes. I’ll have the butterscotch banana split,” Tony said.
“And I’ll have the grilled banana split with hot fudge and rum caramel sauce.”
“Your arteries are going to clog,” Tony told him.
Bryan shrugged. “But what a lovely way to go.” He turned to us. “Now go. We have things under control here, and you’ve got us drooling.”
~*~
THE NEXT DAY, Stapleton was taken back to jail, all possibility of bond revoked, and both families were informed that if they attempted to interfere again, their assets would be assigned, and they’d be blacklisted from all their clubs and associations.
Threats like that mattered more to them than actually being imprisoned.
VIII
I hadn’t wanted to hound Mark about the operation the WBIS agents had undertaken to rescue the assets of the CIA operative who’d been outed, but on August 19, he called to bring me up to speed on the outcome.
“Browne was able to get four of them out. They’re battered but in decent shape otherwise. Browne got to them in time.”
I didn’t ask about the rest, because if Mark hadn’t told me all of them, then I knew the odds weren’t good they’d survived.
“Were there any casualties to his team?”
“No fatalities, although two were seriously wounded. They’re back at headquarters, and Max and Dr. Paget are treating them. Both doctors agree they should make a full recovery.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I blew out a relieved breath. “What will happen with the assets?”
“The Boss is giving them the option of remaining in the States and working for us or finding employment elsewhere.”
“With your assistance.”
“Yeah.”
I could picture his shrug, as if the WBIS would of course help these people out, and I frowned. The organization all the alphabet agencies considered as being populated by sociopaths had more compassion than those who sneered at them.
“At this point, we’re not sure which route they’ll take,” Mark continued.
“Thank you, Mark.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I was glad he hadn’t said, “Forget about it,” because it wasn’t likely that I would ever forget what he’d done for those people… for me.
“I’ll pass on the information to Mother and my uncles.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, all right?” He sounded a bit rushed.
“Is something else going on?”
“I got a weird message, supposedly from Pierre de Becque.”
“Supposedly?”
“Nothing about the message made any sense. It just wasn’t usual for Pete. I had Matheson look into it. He tracked down the email’s ISP, and it wasn’t the one Pete usually uses.”
“Are you going to Paris to check it out?”
“Yeah. I called Pete to let him know about that email, and he’ll probably have Babineaux double check Matheson’s findings, but even though this goes back to the Division…yeah, I think I am.”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’m the best, aren’t I?”
“Mark.”
“I won’t, babe.”
But I remembered what I’d said about things coming in threes, and I knew I was still going to worry.
~*~
THREE DAYS LATER—a very long three days—my cell phone rang, playing “At Last.”
“Mark.”
“Yeah, babe. I’m at Charles de Gaulle, and my flight’s scheduled to leav
e in a few minutes, so I can’t talk long.”
In spite of myself, I had to ask. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine. Pete’s seriously pissed, though.”
“The email wasn’t from him.”
“No.”
“It was Kiska’s work?”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “I should have known you’d figure it out. Yeah, for some reason, the bitch wanted me in Paris.”
“Any idea why?”
“No. And to top it off, she’s in the wind again.”
“You don’t sound as upset as I would have expected.”
“She’s really screwed up this time.”
“How so?”
“She’s made extra work for Pete.”
“Is he still grieving for Reuben?”
“Yeah, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him. His go-to expression is blank.”
“Hmm.”
“But what has her in deep shit is she pissed off Femme.”
“Did Femme tell you what that was about?” I’d met the Division’s chief interrogation operative shortly after Mark and I had had our initial encounter, although I’d known of her reputation. In the same league as Folana Fournaise, Femme was definitely a woman you crossed at your own risk.
“No. She said she and Homme would deal with it, so I left it at that. It’s the Division’s worry, in any event.”
“All right.” I had to admit, if only to myself, how relieved that left me. Mark worked in the States now, which meant he was less likely to get killed.
I could hear indistinct French over Mark’s phone, in all likelihood announcing his flight.
“Gotta go, babe.”
“Have a safe flight. I’ll talk to you later tonight, if you’re over your jet lag.”
“For phone sex? I’m never that jet-lagged.”
“Excellent. Bye, Mark.” And once again, just to tease him, I made kissing noises.
He burst into laughter, and I could picture him shaking his head. “Bye, Quinn.”
IX
WORK ON THE MOVIE had wrapped up earlier in the week. I told Mark I was staying a few days longer—I’d take the opportunity to do some research while I was in LA. What I actually planned was to investigate what had happened to La taverna del perro sucio and surprise my lover. I wanted to impress him.
