by Tinnean
I’d already checked out of the hotel where I’d been staying, so I caught a cab directly to the airport.
III
WHEN my connecting flight from London set down in BWI three hours late, I was even more exhausted than I’d been when I’d left Bangkok almost twenty-four hours before.
I deplaned, pulling my pilot’s case along after me, and went outside to wait for a shuttle that would take me to the lot where DB had texted me my car was parked. The sky had lightened considerably.
It was a fifty-five-minute drive to my home in Alexandria from BWI, whereas if I’d flown into National, as I would have if my assignment hadn’t been capriciously changed at the last minute, it would only have taken me about ten minutes.
Meanly enough, and because I was so tired, I blamed Edward Holmes, not only for causing me to spend a useless week in Bangkok, but for my drive home through the morning rush-hour traffic, which wasn’t going to be pleasant.
As I’d suspected, the drive wound up taking me more than two hours, and by the time I pulled into my drive, I could cheerfully have strung up Holmes by the short hairs. He’d never been my most favorite person in the world, and now even less so.
Since I had no intention of taking my car out again until the evening, I parked it in the garage. My priorities were to shower and catch up on all the sleep I’d missed, meet my lover for our usual Friday evening dinner at Raphael’s, then spend the weekend in bed with him….
The thought of the things Mark and I would do in bed, which normally would result in me with an embarrassing hard-on, left me unaffected, and I groaned. I was more exhausted than I’d realized.
I unlocked the door to my town house, stepped inside, and shut it behind me before setting the alarm. The cool air smelled of furniture polish, floor wax, and a potpourri of apples, cloves, and cinnamon. The cleaning company I employed had been by while I was away.
I leaned against the door and rubbed my eyes with my free hand, then straightened, my attention caught by the flashing light on my answering machine. I dropped my carry-on and stabbed the play button.
“Quinton, I know you’re out of the country.” I hadn’t told her, but I wasn’t surprised Mother was aware. She did have her own way of learning things. “If I haven’t heard from you by Saturday, I’ll assume you won’t be able to make our Sunday ride. However, that isn’t why I called. I wanted to let you know that if Mark is still looking for a place to live, I may have something. I’ll give him a call when I know more about it. Take care of yourself, sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mother,” I said softly to the machine. It pleased me that she was willing to lend a hand in finding Mark a new home. I wished I could be there to see his reaction when she called him.
I wished he felt comfortable enough with our relationship to let me stay at his apartment more frequently, but I could understand his reluctance since a WBIS agent lived in the apartment right below his. On the few occasions we had wound up there and run into Matheson, his agent, Mark was always on the alert, like a predator ready to defend what was his.
I blinked, a little surprised to find that I liked the idea of belonging to Mark, of him belonging to me.
I’d never done sex lightly, and because of my job, I’d had to be careful of being involved with a civilian. There had been long stretches where I’d gone without any physical intimacy, and frankly, hadn’t seemed to miss it—I was the Ice Man, after all—but I had wondered if perhaps I had a chemical imbalance.
All that changed when I realized Mark Vincent was so curious about me that he’d impersonated a friend from my Phillips Exeter days and persuaded my mother to give him an interview. My invitation to dinner on his birthday was supposed to have been nothing more than a clever way of letting him know I was onto him, but somehow it had gone beyond that, and I’d gone down on him in the men’s room of Raphael’s exclusive restaurant.
And now we were lovers.
The next message began to play, drawing me out of my reverie, and I smiled.
“Hi, baby. I know you’re not home yet, but….” Mark muttered something under his breath, and I went very still. Did he realize what he’d said? There was a beat of silence. I waited to see if he’d ask me to erase the message. Instead, “I’ll… uh… let me know when you get back. Raphael’s isn’t the same without you. Uh… G’bye,” he finished in a rush and hung up.
My smile broadened. He’d called just to hear my voice on my machine.
Another message started, and that smile faded into a frown.
“Mann, this is DCI Holmes. I know you’re away just now….” He sounded very pleased about that. It was true he’d never gotten along with my uncles, who’d had to work in close proximity with him, but since that debacle with Prinzip earlier this year, his attitude toward me had wavered between falsely jovial and patently resentful.
The Company’s inaction—his inaction—when I and other officers of the CIA had been kidnapped and held in a Paris warehouse was something that under another director would have been unacceptable.
Mark Vincent had been the one to come to our rescue, with some help from an associate of his from the Division.
The DCI’s voice had been droning on, and now I caught up with it. “… when you return from your trip on Friday….”
My trip, which had been less than useless, and I was certain he’d known that when he’d sent me on it.
“… you’ll be needed at State. You should be flattered. The undersecretary asked for you specifically. By the way, I’ll expect your report regarding this mission on my desk by Monday.” Obviously he hadn’t checked his e-mail. “Have a nice… er… weekend, Mann.” There was a click and then the hum of the dial tone.
“Bastard,” I snarled at my hapless answering machine.
The last message began to play. “Mr. Mann, this is the Lexus dealership. We’re calling to confirm your appointment on Friday at eleven for an oil change and tune-up. Please give us a call if you’re unable to keep your appointment.”
I sighed and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing, then retrieved my suitcase and carried it upstairs to my bedroom, where I laid out a clean suit and took a shower. I’d erase the messages another time, after I’d added Mark’s latest message to the tape I was compiling.
IV
THE shower helped, although not as much as I’d hoped.
I dragged myself out of the bathroom and eyed my bed with regret. I’d never been able to sleep on transoceanic flights, and I particularly loathed flights that crossed so many time zones that it felt as if I arrived before I’d actually left.
I was still dragging when I finished dressing. The thought of preparing breakfast left me even more tired.
Mark knew I made it a point never to miss the first meal of the day; he also knew I preferred to cook from scratch with fresh ingredients, but the last time he’d stayed for the weekend, he’d brought a brown grocery bag filled with frozen breakfasts with him.
“I’ve got better things in mind for you than spending the morning cooking, baby,” he’d told me, the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin.
I’d let him stock my freezer, then had caught his arm and pulled him after me up the stairs and into my bedroom.
“You’re a natural bottom, Quinn,” he’d murmured in my ear as he pushed my legs back and slid into me, the burn quickly morphing to pleasure. “Who’d have thought?”
“I guess you think that makes you special….” I’d groaned as he licked the line of my jaw. “… getting a Mann to lie down for you?”
“Babe, I think that makes you special.” And he’d framed my face with his palms and kissed me, ravaging my mouth as thoroughly as he ravaged my body.
Remembering the torrid lovemaking that had followed, my cock twitched, but I was still too tired for it to do more than that.
I scrubbed my face and poured myself a cup of coffee. While it sat on the counter, I took a box from the freezer.
Pancakes and saus
ages, courtesy of Aunt Jemima, went into the microwave.
And they weren’t too bad.
V
THE drive into the Capital was uneventful. I dropped the Lexus off at the dealership and took advantage of their courtesy service to get a ride to State.
When I arrived there, it was to find a strange woman at the desk in my outer office.
“Mr. Mann isn’t in just now.” Her stare was cool. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m Mann.”
She turned red. “Oh, Mr. Mann! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t expecting… didn’t recognize….” She coughed to cover her sudden fluster. “I didn’t think you’d be in.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Just yet!” she added hastily and offered a weak smile. “I’m Darlene Copeland.”
“Ms. Copeland. Where’s Ms. Johnson?” Bette was the woman who was assigned to work as my secretary whenever I was in State.
“Oh, er…. She… um…. I was just told I’d be filling in for her. For today.”
“I hope nothing is wrong.” Bette couldn’t hold a candle to Janet, my personal assistant at the Company, but she was a hard worker, and I liked her.
“I’m sure everything is—” She coughed again. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Mann?”
“If there’s any fresh.”
“I’ll brew a fresh pot.”
“That isn’t—”
“I don’t mind.”
“That will be fine, then; thank you. Regular, please.”
“Yes, sir.” There was relief in her expression. “No powdered creamer or artificial sweetener.” She rose and came from around her desk, the skirt she wore flirting around her knees, and she hurried out.
This was getting odd.
I went into my office and closed the door, deciding to use this opportunity to call Mark. I took out my cell phone and hit speed dial.
“Vincent.” Impatience in his voice, and I wondered who’d been pissing off my lover.
“Hi. It’s me.” I didn’t have to tell him who “me” was.
“Hello, me.” The impatience was replaced by a smile, and hearing it made me smile myself and feel less tired.
“I’m just calling to make sure we’re on for dinner tonight.”
“It’s Friday, isn’t it? I’ll see you at Raphael’s at eight. Want me to make the reservations?”
“If you wouldn’t mind?” We chatted for a bit more, and he informed me he’d booked us a suite at Taylor House in Key West for a week from Sunday. God, I could do with some time away from this rat race.
We said good-bye, and I shut my phone and put it down on my desk. After dinner, we’d probably drive back to my place, and then we’d….
Well, if I knew my lover, we’d spend most of the weekend in bed, aside from the time we spent with my mother.
That reminded me: I’d forgotten to tell him Mother was looking for a place for him, but I’d wait until tonight, when I could tell him face to face.
In the meantime, I needed to call Mother to confirm Sunday’s ride.
The answering machine at the house in Great Falls picked up. Gregor’s voice spoke. “Mann residence. Leave a message.”
Rather than leave a message, I decided to try the mobile phone in her car.
Mother picked up on the second ring. “Quinton! Are you home?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’m back in DC.”
“Working? DCI Holmes hasn’t given you some time off?”
“No. He left a message on my machine. Undersecretary Sinclair asked that I come in today.”
“Hmm.”
“On top of that, my car is in the shop for an oil change.”
“Again?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s time.”
“You sound tired, sweetheart.” There was concern in her voice. “How are you?”
“Tired.” Damn. I hadn’t wanted that to slip out.
“Did you want to cancel Sunday?”
“I’m not that tired,” I lied.
“Of course you’re not,” she agreed dryly.
I’d be better after a good night’s sleep. And here I was, uttering inane platitudes to myself. I stifled a groan.
I decided to change the subject. “Have you talked to our mutual friend about the condo?”
“Not yet. I wanted to gather as much information about it as I could. I’ll be in the Capital shortly—I have a fitting at Madame Rosa’s, that embassy ball, if you’ll recall—and I thought I’d give him a call and see if he’s free to view it today.”
“That’s a good idea. I’m having dinner with him tonight, and I’ll see about bringing him along on Sunday.” I completely forgot about wanting to see his reaction on learning my mother was bent on helping him find a new home.
“Don’t pressure him, sweetheart. If he’d prefer not to ride….”
“He’ll ride, Mother. If only to prove to the horse who’s the boss.” There was a tap on my door, and my temporary secretary let herself in. “I have to go now, Mother. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Yes. Take care of yourself, Quinton. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” I frowned at the woman standing before my desk. “Yes, Ms. Copeland?”
“Your coffee, sir. I also have a list of the meetings you need to attend.”
“Meetings?” I stared at the stack of paperwork. I’d been under the impression I’d been called in to deal with that.
“And the undersecretary wants you to join him in the dining room for lunch at his usual time.”
“All right. Damn.” I gestured toward the files. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to these.”
“Oh, I can have someone take care of them for you, sir.”
“Can you?” Then why had the undersecretary insisted I come in today? This was getting even odder. “That’s very efficient of you. Thank you. Now, who am I supposed to see first?”
VI
SHORTLY after one, I excused myself from a meeting that was as futile as my week in Bangkok had been and joined the undersecretary in his private dining room.
“It’s good to see you again, Quinton, although I must say you’re looking a little worse for wear.”
“It’s been a difficult week. You understand I can’t talk about it.”
“Of course not.” He sat, and I took the seat to his right. “Sample this fruit cup, why don’t you? Christopher is trying something new. It has a strawberry dressing.”
I tasted it. “Very good.”
“Christopher will be pleased to know you’re enjoying it. He always said you have the palate of an epicure.” He reached for a roll and began to butter it. “Tell me. How is your uncle?” Undersecretary Sinclair had been at State since the Johnson administration. He’d known my Uncle Tony and had readily agreed when he’d asked him to give me a cover position as his assistant.
“Uncle Tony is doing well, thank you.”
“I think we were all quite surprised when he followed Bryan into retirement.” He frowned.
Uncle Bryan should have been given the position now held by Edward Holmes. When he’d been passed over for it and had learned that it was Holmes’s intention to reduce him to a glorified pencil pusher, he’d decided there was nothing more for him at the Company, and he’d retired to the West Coast.
“They’ve found a mansion that’s reputed to have been the home of Ramon Navarro at one time. While Bryan is working on CIA—you’re aware he’s technical advisor of the series?”
He touched his napkin to his lips, not really concealing a smile. “Indeed I am. It’s the only reason why I watch it! And I was quite pleased when it was renewed for a second season.”
“It keeps him out of mischief.” And it was making Holmes insane, worrying that my uncle might leak trade secrets. As if a Sebring would ever do anything like that. “At any rate, Uncle Tony is keeping busy, overseeing the mansion’s restoration.”
“I imagine he’s cutting a swath through all the ladies in H
ollywood, young and old alike.”
I paused in taking a bite of my own roll. I wasn’t about to tell him that Uncle Tony had fallen in love with a woman who was a third his age, and who had a child from a previous relationship. Mother had flown out to California to meet her and the girl, and had returned home ambivalent.
“I’ve never seen your uncle so besotted,” she’d told me.
“Over this woman, or over the fact that she brings him a ready-made family?”
“Truthfully? I was unable to tell. Tony won’t hear a word against her, not that I was foolish enough to say anything.”
Sebrings might dally where they would, but once they fell in love, it was forever. Which was fortunate for Father, since he’d taken one look at Mother, fallen head over heels, and had proceeded to sweep her off her feet.
“And she?”
Mother had shrugged. “She rides. At least they have that in common.”
“Don’t be difficult, Mother. You know what I meant. What are her feelings toward Uncle Tony?”
“She seems to care a great deal for him. Whether that’s as a spouse, a father for her child, or a meal ticket, remains to be seen.”
“Do you want me to look into her background?”
“That won’t be necessary, sweetheart.” She’d given a tight smile. “I have a… friend keeping an eye on how things go.” She still kept in touch with people she’d known when she’d deciphered Russian codes during the Venona Project. “If this woman breaks my brother’s heart, she’ll have me to answer to.”
And they called women the weaker sex.
I turned my attention back to the conversation.
