by Tinnean
“Look where you’re going, young man!” And he stalked off, his stride so stiff it looked as if he had a baseball bat up his ass.
I decided to see what I could learn about this “Jameson,” but when I reached the alcove, there was no sign of him. I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment before signaling a passing waiter.
It was Howard, who was part of my department. He’d gone undercover as a waiter back in the spring at the reception and ball State had thrown for the ambassador of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and it looked like he was pulling undercover duty again.
He held out the tray containing what looked like wontons, except the crust was very flakey.
“These are very good, sir.” He pointed out the various types. “Crabmeat, lobster, shrimp.”
“Thanks.” I took one, brought it to my mouth, and then spoke in a low voice. “Did you see the man who came this way? Six feet, dark complexion, flowered cummerbund?”
He made a show of handing me a napkin and dropped his voice as well. “He went through that door.” It was concealed by shadows. “Shall I go after him?”
“Yeah. He was chummy with Senator Wexler. See if you can learn anything about him.” I raised my voice slightly. “You’re right, these are good.” I took another one.
He smiled and went off to continue his rounds. Within a matter of minutes, he had vanished.
“Vincent!”
I turned around, a grin pinned on my face. “Major Drum.” No one else could make my name sound like a curse.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”
“I could say the same. How’s your ass?”
It seemed to take an effort for him not to reach for the butt cheek that had been tattooed. He glared at me.
“Jon!” It was Lieutenant Colonel Francis. “Don’t start!”
“Friiitttzzz!”
“And don’t whine! I hate when you do that!” He had the nerve to look hurt, and she shook her head. “Come on, I see Fred and Marsha over there with the general and Colonel Redding!”
What was this, an OIG reunion?
She gave me a curt nod. “Vincent.”
“Lieutenant Colonel. Drum.”
With a final glare, Drum stalked away, muttering under his breath.
“Mark, have you been annoying the major?” Quinn’s breath was a whisper in my ear, and I wanted to wallow in the sensation.
I didn’t, however. I grinned at him, knowing that grin was different from the one I’d given Drum. “I was just standing here, minding my own business. Can I help it if he doesn’t like me?”
Quinn frowned at me, but his eyes were laughing. “Leave the man alone. Did you notice Holmes is here?”
Shit. How had I missed him?
“He asked Mother to dance with him and then spent the entire time trying to convince her what he’d done last spring was in the Company’s best interest.”
“Only the Company? I’d have thought sure he’d say his sitting on his hands was for the country’s best.”
Quinn shrugged and then frowned. “Oh, Jesus, Wexler is trying to corner my mother again.” He strode across the room—the man did striding very well—got to her before the senator, and led her onto the dance floor.
Wexler’s expression darkened, and for a second I thought he was going to go after Quinn and his mother. He spotted me and must have decided a drink was a better idea. He turned on his heel, went to the bar, and gestured to a bartender.
He studiously avoided looking in my direction—I would have wanted to be aware if someone who didn’t have much use for me was in the same room, but that was me—and he didn’t notice when I joined him. He was taking the Manhattan he had ordered.
“I’ll have a club soda,” I told the bartender. “Start a new bottle, please.”
Wexler jumped, spilling some of the drink onto his sleeve. “Dammit!”
“I’m so sorry, Senator.” I took a paper napkin from the stack on the bar and wiped at the spill. If it had been my intent, I could have doctored his drink right then without his ever being aware. “Let me help you with that.”
“No, no. That’s fine. I didn’t see you there. Er… accidents will happen.”
“I thought gin was your poison, Senator.”
“This drink is for a lady.”
“Ah. The lovely Mrs. Wexler.”
He turned red and choked.
“You did mean your wife, didn’t you, Senator?”
“Yes. Of course that’s who I meant. Who else would I be getting it for?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I let it drop for the time being. The bartender brought my club soda. A wedge of lime was on the rim of the glass. “Thank you.” I squeezed the lime into the soda, stirred it with a swizzle stick, and took a sip. “Are you enjoying yourself, Senator?”
“Yes. It’s amazing what oil money can procure.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Oh, er… there’s my wife. I must get her this before the ice melts.”
“Sure, Senator. Don’t let me keep you.”
He hurried to his wife’s side. She looked surprised when he handed her the drink, gratified, and then her face darkened in irritation.
The man was a fool. Elizabeth Wexler wasn’t the one who drank Manhattans.
XVI
SENATOR WEXLER was too intent on getting Mrs. Mann alone to realize that his efforts were being thwarted not only by her son, but by his aide as well.
Peter Lapin had been brought in from the senator’s home state to replace his previous aide, who’d had an unfortunate reaction to his asthma medication and dropped dead on a Washington street. So sad.
Lapin didn’t look old enough to be the senator’s trusted aide.
He was old enough.
He kept turning up at odd times during the ball, mostly alone, appearing at the senator’s shoulder, his eyes darting around, whispering in the senator’s ear, but occasionally with Mrs. Wexler, so she and her husband could share a dance.
Wexler’s mouth would get this pinched look, and afterward he’d leave her with Lapin, and that didn’t seem to bother her too much.
Was he so blind that he didn’t realize his wife was giving every impression of being attracted to his aide?
According to what I’d learned about Lapin, that attraction was mutual, which was strange. Prior to his arrival here in DC, his tastes seemed to run toward blondes who verged on being jailbait. Maybe that was why Mrs. Wexler had had so much work done, and why she’d bleached her hair.
If it had started out as a way to get her husband’s attention, it had gone beyond that.
As for Lapin, he seemed to be in love with her, or enough in love that he was willing to risk having an affair in spite of the fact that his boss was her husband.
And at least Lapin knew what she drank.
“Excuse me, sir.” It was Howard. This time the tray he was carrying held champagne flutes. “Would you care for some champagne?”
I took one and waited. I knew he wouldn’t have approached me so blatantly unless he’d learned something.
“His name is Eric Jameson, and he’s personal private executive administrative assistant to DCI Holmes. And how’s that for a mouthful?”
“Interesting.” I knew Quinn had a personal assistant at Langley, but a personal private executive administrative assistant sounded a little more than any man needed, even if he was an officious DCI of Threat Analysis.
“Something even more interesting….”
“Yeah?”
“He used to work for Senator Wexler back in his home state.”
“Good work, Howard. How’d you learn this so quickly?”
His mouth quirked in a grin. “Granger.”
“He’s here?” Even though we’d run into each other at the CIA affair this past New Year’s Eve, I’d never had the opportunity to watch him in action.
“Jameson tried to chat him… her up.” Howard cut his eyes toward a statuesque woman who was chatting with the Bahsrani amba
ssador. She had a cap of blonde curls this time, and a pearl lamé gown that clung to her slim hips and molded over breasts that would make a pleasant handful if a man had large hands. Around her throat was a velvet choker with a cameo in the center, concealing her Adam’s apple. “No one does ennui quite like Granger. When Jameson realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he tried to impress Granger by spilling his guts.”
One up to Granger.
“E-mail me everything you’ve found, and cc a copy of it to The Boss.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Holmes is here.”
“I’m aware.” Who’d he think I was, Sperling, who had to have shoved into his face what anyone with half an eye could see?
His face fell. “Shit. Of course you are. Sorry for stating the obvious.”
“Keep an eye on him. I don’t like the fact that Holmes seems taken with Wexler’s aide.” Yeah, if Holmes was chummy with Wexler, he’d know the senator’s aide, but the times they had their heads together were just too frequent for my liking.
“Yes, sir.” Howard cleared his throat. A man dressed in a tux but with a turban on his head was glowering at him. “I was sure you’d enjoy this champagne, sir.”
“You’re right. It’s a very good vintage. Thank you for suggesting I try it.”
Howard ducked his head and moved on, and I crossed to the man in the turban, the ambassador’s major domo. “Your help are very capable. They deserve a bonus.”
His smile became effusive, and he bowed deeply. “As you say.”
“The food is very good too.” I spotted Senator Wexler approaching Mrs. Mann again. Quinn was beside her, but why should he get to have all the fun? “Excuse me.”
I reached her while the senator was still a few feet away. I grinned at him, and he came to a halt.
“The music is about to start again. May I have this dance, Mrs. Mann?”
“Thank you, Mark.” She was too much a lady to let her irritation with the senator’s antics show.
I handed Quinn my champagne flute, and he frowned at it and then at me.
“I only had a sip. Why don’t you let the good senator know your mother has a dance partner?”
His frown morphed into a grin, and I was blindsided by the image of Quinn in my arms. I didn’t dance with men, but I wondered what it would be like, us dancing to something, maybe by Dinah Washington—Quinn had her CDs. While she sang about the difference a day made, he would have his arms around my shoulders, his head tucked against my cheek, and his hair would be like silk against my chin.
As pleasant as that image was, I needed to stay alert. I led Mrs. Mann onto the dance floor, and we moved across it to the strains of “It Had to Be You.” She was featherlight in my arms and seemed to anticipate my every move. Dancing with her was a nice experience.
I gazed around at the couples dancing in and out of our vicinity and those standing at the periphery of the dance floor.
“This was our song, you know,” she said, and I looked down at her, my eyebrow rising. “Nigel’s and mine.”
People really had songs they considered theirs? I cleared my throat. “Is that why you have it for your ringtone?”
“Yes, although….” For a second, a frown furrowed her brow, but then it smoothed away, replaced by a smile, soft and remembering. “It was being played that first night we met. My brother told us to call it a night and get some dinner. I don’t think he realized what that would lead to. Afterward, we went dancing, and Nigel had the trio play this song.”
That old romantic! “It’s a pretty song.”
“Yes, it is.” She sighed, but it wasn’t an unhappy sound. “In the time we had together, we were very happy.”
“And you’ve remained faithful to him, even after all this time. That’s pretty rare these days.”
“Sebrings love once, Mark. Hopefully it’s the right person, and we have a lifetime together.”
Was she thinking of her brother’s failed marriage to a woman who placed the memory of her deceased husband and the kids he’d given her above him?
How must it feel to love someone who didn’t love you in return?
I shrugged it off. That was pretty much make-believe anyway.
I tried to remember what it had been like when it was my father, my mother, and me, but he’d left when I was very young, and my memories of that time with him were vague. Had my parents ever cared for each other like that?
“And if it isn’t?”
“We go on. We survive.”
“My old lady couldn’t remain faithful for more than a day, if that long.”
“Are you saying you believe the ability to be faithful is in the genes?”
“Nature versus nurture? I don’t know.” Why had I brought up this subject?
“Quinton is as much a Sebring as he is a Mann. If you hurt him he’d grieve.” She regarded me steadily. “I, on the other hand, would go after you and shoot you down like a dog.”
“Yes, ma’am.” That was the kind of woman she was, although I hadn’t realized it at first. I’d thought all women were like my old lady.
I could accept that, although I thought she wasn’t giving her son enough credit. Quinn wouldn’t take shit like that from anyone, even me. Hadn’t he come after me when I’d decided it was time for us to break up?
I tightened my hold on her waist, preparing to steer her into a turn, and she followed my lead gracefully.
“Didn’t I ask you not to call me that?”
“Yes, ma’… Mrs. Mann.” Did she realize how much I enjoyed teasing her like that? The expression in her eyes had me thinking she did.
There was a tap on my shoulder. It was Quinn.
“Cutting in. And I want to dance with my mother, Mark, not with you!”
“I’m devastated.” I enjoyed teasing him too. “Mrs. Mann, it was my pleasure.”
“I enjoyed it myself, Mark.” She smiled at me, and I had the oddest impulse to kiss her hand.
I didn’t, of course. I stepped away, and Quinn took his mother in his arms. They danced off, their movements so synchronized they could have been Fred and Ginger. It was pure pleasure to watch them.
I turned away from the dance floor, and who should I spy with my little eye but two of my least favorite people: Senator Wexler and DCI Holmes, their heads together.
Now, why was that? I wondered. I’d just wander over and see what I could find out.
XVII
“I’M OUT of here,” I told Quinn as we had one last drink. Wexler and Holmes had parted ways before I could get close enough to hear what they were saying, with Holmes actually leaving the ball. So I concentrated on making sure Wexler had a miserable time.
He smiled at me. “If I stay any longer, I’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
“Yes, I’m ready to call it a night too.” Mrs. Mann joined us, smothering a dainty yawn with the hand on which she still wore Nigel Mann’s rings.
I spotted Senator Wexler making his way to the men’s room. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mark….”
“I just have to….” I wouldn’t say “take a leak” in front of a classy lady like Portia Mann. “… see a man about a horse. I won’t be long.” I gave Quinn an innocent smile. I didn’t really have to use the facilities, but it would be one more way to let the senator know I was still around and watching him.
Wexler was standing at a urinal, his dick in his hand. He looked over his shoulder when he heard the door open, and—distracted when he saw it was me—pissed all over his shoes.
“Son of a bitch….”
“Good night, Senator.” I gave him a sunny smile and left the men’s room, while Wexler sputtered and the attendant tried to mop off his shoes.
In the embassy’s foyer, Quinn and his mother stood chatting, and I watched for a second. They made such an elegant pair.
Novotny stormed in, and pissed was not the word for what he was. “All that oil money, and you’d think these clowns would keep
their parking lots in better shape!”
“What’s wrong, Gregor?”
“We’ve got two flats, Mrs. Mann.” His brows beetled, and he pointedly ignored me. Hey, I hadn’t said anything.
But I grinned, enjoying his demonstration of ire.
“I’ve already called AAA, but they’re tied up for hours. And it’s starting to rain.” He shook the umbrella in his hand.
“Here, Gregor.” Quinn gave him his car keys and the chit for the valet attendant. “Take my car.” He glanced at me. “I’ll find my own way home.”
“I’ve got my car, Quinn, and I’m going your way. I can give you a lift.”
“I was hoping you’d offer.” His voice was soft.
“I thought you might.” I licked my lips, thinking of what else I could offer him. I completely forgot his mother was standing next to us until she spoke.
“Have a nice evening, sweetheart, Mark. Gregor?”
Novotny glared at me as if to let me know no matter what Quinn or his mother thought of me, he still didn’t trust me. I winked at him.
He growled something in Czech and blushed when Mrs. Mann chuckled. That was only one of the many languages she understood and spoke. He curled his lip at me, offered her his arm, and they left.
“Come on,” I said to Quinn, and he fell into step beside me. “We have to walk a bit to my car, and we’d better hurry or we’re going to get soaked.”
“So. Alexandria is on your way?”
“Sure. We have to stop at my place first so I can change out of this Iron Maiden….” I undid the bowtie, which had been digging into my chin all evening. It never came out as well as when Quinn tied it for me.
“And I’ll be waiting out in the car?”
“What?”
Quinn laughed.
“Cute.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Just for that, you can wait out in the car.” I waited a beat. “Of course, if you’d rather come up….”
“And see you?” He quoted the Mae West line, a happy grin on his face. “I think you might be able to talk me into that.” He squeezed my arm and then let it go. “Where’s your car, by the way? In Maryland?”
“Ha ha.” I wasn’t parked that far away. “Here it is.” I took out my keys and thumbed the remote. There was a chirrup, and the lights flashed and the locks disengaged.
