Forever

Coming Home Quinton Mann and I were having a late dinner at Raphael’s. The posh Italian restaurant had sort of become our place, and we dined there at least twice a month, in the shadowed alcove that had also sort of become ours. That was where we’d sat back in February, when Quinn had bought me dinner for my birthday. This time he ordered Raphael’s version of bouillabaisse with a side dish of linguine, and he talked me into eggplant parmigiana. “I don’t eat purple vegetables, Quinn.” “Eggplant is good for you. Besides, you don’t have enough roughage in your diet.” He brought his napkin to his mouth. “Excuse me? How do you know how much roughage I eat?” “I have my ways.” Above the napkin, his eyes were green with laughter. He was teasing me. “Bastard.” It was said without heat; I liked that he teased me. My c**k twitched. “Mark. I’m cut to the quick!” “Sure you are. And I’m just brokenhearted about it.” “Well, so you should be.” He refilled his wine glass and raised the bottle. “Mark?” “Not tonight.” He looked thoughtful, but he didn’t hassle me. Unlike Ed, my i***t partner. I’d told him once I went easy on the sauce, and I nearly had to knock him on his ass when he kept insisting. And then, of course, he went down to South America and got dead. The waiter approached and whisked away the empty antipasto platters. “Are you done with your salads, signori?” At our nods, he took them as well. “Your dinners will be out shortly.” Quinn reached for a breadstick and opened his mouth to say something when a warm, female voice interrupted. “Hello, Quinn. I didn’t expect to see you here.” It was Lieutenant Colonel Francis, the Marine who worked at the Office of the Inspector General. She did a good job, and if she’d been a man I’d have tried to get her to leave the military and come work for the WBIS. “Abigail. I might say the same thing.” Abigail? I arched an eyebrow at my lover, and he looked puzzled. Ah. So in spite of her looks and intelligence I didn’t need to consider her a possible rival. “Mann.” Major Jonathan Drum II didn’t appear too pleased to see him. Did he have something against the man having a decent dinner? “Hello, Drum. You both know Mark Vincent, don’t you?” Quinn was so polite. Drum turned his glare on me. “What’s he doing here?” I looked down at the table, at the breadsticks, the wine glasses, the cutlery, then back up at him. “Having dinner? That is what one does in a restaurant, Major.” Under the table, Quinn nudged my ankle with his foot, indicating he didn’t want me to start anything. Drum, on the other hand, seemed to be itching for a fight. “I’m going to get you, Vincent.” “And my little dog too?” Drum ignored that, although both Quinn and the lieutenant colonel bit back laughter. “I’m going to nail your ass to the wall!” “Beg pardon?” “It was your fault, what happened to me in Paris.” “I thought you didn’t remember what happened in Paris.” This time Quinn kicked my ankle, and I gave him an injured look. “You were behind it. I don’t know how, but it was all your fault. You’re a sociopath.” I was no longer amused, and my chair scraped back as I prepared to rise and beat the s**t out of him. Drum had been calling me a sociopath for years, and it was getting old. Just because I did my job well— “Abigail, I think you’d better get your dinner companion out of here. I don’t know how long I can keep Vincent under control.” Quinn had his hand on my arm, as if he really was preventing me from lunging at the major, tearing off his head, and using it for a bocce ball. “Jesus, Mann, how can you even bear to be in the same room with Vincent, never mind at the same table?” “I hardly think that’s any of your business, Major.” “If word gets out—” “But it’s not going to, is it, Drum?” I wasn’t going to let him threaten my lover. He stared at me. His eyes grew wide and his face took on a sickly shade of green. “What…? You….” Yeah, believe it, Drum. I’ll shoot you where you stand. The maître d’ came scurrying to our table. “Is there a problem, signori? Lovely signorina, what may I do to assist you?” “Nothing. I apologize for the disturbance, signore. Let’s go, Jon. I told you I’d rather have Thai tonight.” “Friiitttzzz!” He seemed to have recovered himself, because the whine was back in his voice. Lieutenant Colonel Francis gave an almost unnoticeable wince at the sound. “I hate when he calls me that,” she muttered. I couldn’t blame her—I hated that nickname for Francis myself, but fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about it—but maybe she wasn’t WBIS material if she was willing to put up with him. “You know you won’t be comfortable in the same restaurant as Vincent, and I’m not going to be comfortable if you spend the entire time we’re having dinner glaring at him. I’m sorry, Quinton.” She studied me for a moment. “I wonder what your two agencies are up to. Let’s go, Jon.” She looped her arm through his, and he barely contained a flinch. Had the lieutenant colonel let him feel her claws? Quinn watched as she practically dragged Drum out of the place: he shook his head, but before he could say anything, our dinners were brought out and placed before us. “Would you like some grated cheese, signori?” “Ah, let’s live dangerously. Knock yourself out,” I told the waiter, and he sprinkled cheese over my dinner like snow. Quinn laughed. “All right, why not? I’ll have some on my pasta.” He signaled when he was satisfied with the amount. “Buon appetito.” The waiter left us. I picked up my fork. “Y’know, Quinn, I wish I knew what Major Drum has against me. I’m really a nice guy.” “You are, Mark.” He appeared to be categorizing the shellfish in his stew. ”Did you notice he mentioned your ass? He does seem to have a fixation with it. Quite frankly, I think there’s a latent lust for you under all that hostility.” I started choking on my eggplant parmigiana. “Oh, Jesus, I’m going to have nightmares over that for months.” “Well, if you do have nightmares, I’ll just have to wake you up.” He frowned for a second. I wondered if there was something in his meal that didn’t please him, and I started looking for our waiter. But then Quinn fished a mussel out of the bowl before him and loosened the flesh from its shell with one of those tiny forks. He tipped his head back and let the contents of the shell slide into his mouth. He swallowed thoughtfully before touching his napkin to his lips. “What would be a good way to wake you up, babe?” As if he didn’t know. I growled at him and forked up a bit of eggplant. “Are you free next weekend?” His foot went back to rubbing—no, not rubbing, caressing—my ankle. “I’ve got tickets for The Phantom on Saturday evening; I can give them to Mother if I have to, but I’d rather not. I promised you.” “Yeah, I remember.” When he’d taken me to this restaurant for my birthday, almost seven months before. “I’ll check my schedule.” But I intended to make sure I was free. * * * * I spent most weekends with Quinn when I wasn’t working, and most times we wound up in his town house in Alexandria. Almost as much of my wardrobe was in his closet as there was in my own in my apartment in DC. But this time I brought a garment bag with me. It contained a three-piece black suit, a white dress shirt, and a black silk tie. They were all new. The little tailor at Putting on the Ritz nearly had an orgasm when he realized I was going to buy a made-to-measure suit. “I like the way you look in that suit, Mark.” “Thanks, Quinn. You’re looking pretty edible yourself.” His suit could have been the twin of mine, although his shirt was pale green and his tie a darker shade of green. Color was high on his cheekbones as he approached me. He stood toe to toe with me, and he pulled my head down to lean his forehead against mine. His breath was hot on my mouth. “I want to strip that suit off you and f**k you over the couch.” My c**k began to swell. Usually I was the one who f****d him. I reached for him, and my fingers flexed on his hip. “But…?” He sighed. “It would make us late.” “We could be fashionably late.” For a moment he wavered but then said, “Don’t tempt me.” “Spoilsport. Okay, fine, Quinn. We’ll just consider the entire evening as foreplay, then. But when we get home….” I sauntered out of the door ahead of him, leaving my promise hanging. * * * * I’d planned to torment him throughout the entire play, but our seats were in the orchestra, it was a sold-out performance, and f**k if I didn’t get caught up in the action on stage. I poked him with my elbow. “That isn’t the Phantom,” I whispered, indicating the red-costumed, skeleton-faced figure coming down the stairs at the masquerade. “Watch the way he walks. That guy is shorter too. Jesus, those people are stupid.” “No one’s ever seen him. Not and lived.” “I’ll bet the Wardrobe Mistress has. How would she get all those letters she keeps whipping out of her pocket?” I tapped my fingers restlessly on the arm of my seat. Quinn placed his hand over them. “Mark, you’re supposed to suspend disbelief.” “Yeah, well, they are stupid.” “Yeah, well”—he squeezed my hand—“suspend.” * * * * “Did you enjoy it, Mark?” We’d stopped for an after-theater drink and now were on the road back to Quinn’s town house. “Yeah, it was pretty good.” I had to feel sorry for the Phantom. Poor bastard. He was ready to give that woman his heart, and what did she do? She went sailing through the Labyrinth with that “insolent boy,” Raoul. So, okay, he had a thing about killing people who crossed him. That didn’t make him a bad person. What the Phantom should have done when he had Raoul swinging in that noose was yank his pants down and f**k the idea out of him that he was the one for Christine. Then he should have f****d her, and then he should have thrown them both out of his Opera house. “Only pretty good? Wasn’t that you standing beside me, giving the cast a standing ovation?” “Well…they did a good job and deserved it.” I reached across the seat and ran my fingers over his thigh. The muscle jumped beneath my hand, and I grinned. “Thanks for getting the tickets, Quinn.” “You’re welcome, Mark.” He pulled the Lexus into his drive and let me out. The one-car garage was too narrow for both of us to comfortably exit the vehicle. I waited by the end of the walk, keeping a casual eye on the neighborhood—one could never tell, and it didn’t hurt to play it safe—and Quinn thumbed the remote and the garage door slid shut. I had the key he had given me, but unless I was alone, I always waited for him to open the door. It was his home, after all. Once inside, he reset the alarm. I went up to the second floor, prowling through the bedrooms, making sure everything was secure, while Quinn did the same on the first floor. We’d both been in the business too long to get careless. I hung up my suit jacket and was just unbuttoning my vest when I heard Quinn coming up the stairs. “Mark?” “In here, babe.” Sexual heat went through me like a flash fire. Quinn stood in the doorway, one hand negligently on the doorframe, the other on his hip. I let my eyes wander over him, and my mouth went dry. His vest hung open over his flat stomach, his tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his feet were bare. His obvious arousal marred the smooth line of his trousers. “You’re not planning on sleeping in here, are you?” “Only if you’re joining me.” “My bed is more comfortable.” He pushed off from the door and sauntered toward me. “I’ve noticed. Why is that?” “The better to lure you into it. “Ah. You’re luring me, are you?” “Of course. What better way to have my way with you?” “Devious to the core. I like that about you, Quinn.” “I thought you would.” He wrapped my tie around his fist and gave a slight tug. “Come on, tough guy.” I didn’t tell him he was wrinkling my tie. I didn’t care. I followed him down the hall and into his bedroom, leaving clothes like a trail of breadcrumb as I went, until all I wore was that tie. The overhead light was off, but lamps scattered around the room cast a warm, sensual glow. The lightweight summer bedspread had been folded back to the foot of the bed. On the nightstands on either side of the bed were tubes of Wet and a handful of condoms. Quinn really hadn’t been taking a chance when he’d sucked me off on my birthday. I’d been so wrapped up in my job that I hadn’t gone to bed with anyone, male or female, in at least six months. The WBIS, a conscientious employer, saw its employees were tested periodically, and I was clean. Which Quinn had known, having managed to get hold of my records. After that incident in the men’s room of Raphael’s, and in an effort to persuade myself that I wasn’t obsessing over that CIA spook, I’d f****d Pierre de Becque, the Division cold op who was my friend, but even then, I’d used a condom, and not simply because it made sense. I never let anyone get close to me. Until Mann. The little voice in the back of my mind had finally shut up with the snarky comments. Maybe it was simply overjoyed that I’d found myself in an actual, honest-to-God relationship, and with Quinton Mann, of all people. Whatever it was, I intended to enjoy the blessed silence. More importantly, I intended to enjoy Quinn. He used the tie to bring me close, then lifted it over my head, curled his hand around my neck, and brought my mouth down to his. The kiss hinted of need. He flicked his tongue out and probed the seam of my lips, and I groaned, but he didn’t take advantage of my open mouth to ravage it. Instead, he drew back. “Lie down.” His voice was hoarse, but his eyes were steady on mine. He tossed his tie aside to join mine somewhere on the floor, removed his shirt, removed his trousers and shorts. The corner of his mouth curved in a grin. “I’m waiting, Mark. On your back.” “Right.” He waited until I had arranged myself on the bed, then lay down on top of me, lining up our c***s. “I’m going to f**k you tonight.” “You won’t get an argument about it from me.” I paused for a beat. “Are you going to spend all night just talking about it?” Quinn laughed. “Oh, no.” He twined his fingers with mine and extended my arms above my head, lazily humping his hips so his c**k teased mine. He nipped at the side of my throat, distracting me so that when he released my hands, I just kept them where he’d placed them. By the time I realized my wrists were no longer manacled, Quinn had gone on to explore other horizons. He ran the fingernails of one hand over my ribs to my n*****s while the other palmed my flank, and he traced my collarbone with his tongue. I worked a hand between us and found one of his n*****s. Always extremely sensitive, it was already an erect nub, and when I stroked my fingertips across it, he gasped and shuddered and twisted my n****e with enough force that I arched up into him, smearing precome along his c**k and against his belly. “Dammit, Vincent, you know what that does to me!” “Then don’t dawdle, Mann. I’ve been waiting all night for this.” I angled my head up from the pillow and looked into his eyes. His pupils had dilated, and they were dark with passion. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he panted. “I wanted to get you in the men’s room and do you in the stall.” “In the theater, Quinn? All those bluebloods would have been shocked.” I loved that I could make him so out of control. “In the theater, in that place where we stopped for a drink, f**k, even in the back seat of my car.” “Jesus, Quinn. Stop toying with me, and f**k me.” He reached across to the nightstand, got the tube of Wet, and slid back off my body until he was kneeling between my legs. I spread them wider and planted my feet on the mattress, opening myself to him. I watched as he opened the tube of lubricant, as he squirted some onto his fingers, as he parted my ass cheeks. My c**k was hard against my abdomen, oozing drops of precome. I bit my lip and tried to prevent myself from shaking so hard. When he finally touched my hole, dipping a finger into it, I was unable to contain the cry that was torn from my throat. I dropped my head back against the pillow and arched up, taking his entire finger into me. “Mark….” “More, Quinn. Dammit, more.” He had two fingers inside me, stretching me, curling to rub across my prostate, making me shake even more. Quinn must have put on a condom—hell, I saw him toss away the empty packet—but I was so far gone he could have taken me bareback and I wouldn’t have even thought to protest. He slid his c**k into me, and I was filled by him. He braced his arms on either side of my torso, and I was surrounded by him. “Mark.” I opened my eyes and, snared by the intensity of his gaze, found I could neither shut them nor look away. I surged up and wrapped my arms around him, pulled him down, and took his mouth in a kiss that was hot and wet and hungry. He moved his hips in a steady rhythm, and I locked my ankles behind his back as he thrust into me again and again, driving me to the brink of orgasm. Quinn tore his mouth off mine, gasping for breath, but he hardly gave himself a minute to catch it before he fastened his lips against the spot where shoulder and neck joined, and began to suck hard. “Quinn. Please.” I knew that would leave a visible bruise, but I arched my neck to give him better access. “Yes.” He wrapped his fingers around my c**k, pressed his thumb firmly on the slit, and I shivered and clamped down internal muscles and began to shoot come between us. Quinn brought his mouth back to mine, and he swallowed my moans, then gave them back to me as his movements became more erratic. I tightened my embrace, and he stilled, gasped my name, and came. His breath against my throat was warm and damp, and gradually slowed as we both came down off our s****l high. I thought he had eased into sleep, but when his c**k slid out of me, he rolled to the side, removed the condom, and tossed it in the direction of the wastebasket on his side of the bed. “Need to…get a washcloth…and…clean us up.” But he really was on the verge of sleep. I stroked his c**k, gathering the remains of the fluid that coated its sides, and rubbed it into the semen on my belly. In the morning I’d probably be itchy, but I’d have our mingled scents on my body. Better yet…I pulled Quinn into my arms until we were plastered together from chest to groin. In the morning we’d both smell of us. * * * * The telephone rang, and the warm, pliant body that was writhing under my hands stilled. I pulled my mouth off his c**k. “f**k it, Quinn. Let the machine pick it up.” “Ca-can’t, Mark. Mother said she’d be calling.” He tried to roll toward the nightstand, but my finger was still up his ass, rubbing against his prostate. “Mark.” He groaned, gave a full body shudder, and clenched around my finger. I took pity on him and eased my finger out of his body. “What you do to me.” Yeah. I was insufferably smug about that. He leaned toward me and cupped my cheek in his palm. The phone shrilled again—he needed a better ringtone. I’d have to see about programming something suitable into his phone. He smiled into my eyes, then stretched a long arm and retrieved the receiver. “Mann.” I snickered at his automatic response, even when he knew it was his mother on the other end of the line. He pulled a face, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t heard me. “Sorry, Mother. I was a little distracted. How’s everything?” He listened for a minute or so, and finally I nudged him, reminding him I couldn’t hear her side of the conversation. He covered the receiver and whispered, “Fine.” He had lost his erection, which didn’t surprise me. Portia Mann was a classy lady, and sporting a hard-on when she was around would be crass to say the least. Her son was not crass. I nuzzled his c**k out of the way and licked his balls. He tasted good. He smelled good too, of sleep and s*x and…trust. He shifted, winding his fingers in my hair and giving a warning tug. Behave, he mouthed when I looked up at him, then returned to his conversation. Hmm. Behave, or taste Quinn. I knew what choice I was going to make. I went back to licking his balls. “Yes, Mother.” He grabbed the pillow that I’d been sleeping on, whacked me over the head with it, and then placed it over his groin. I laughed silently. I loved watching Mrs. Mann wind him around her little finger. “Oh…er…Mother, I’m not sure.”…“Yes, of course. All right.” I stopped laughing when he handed me the phone. “Jesus,” I hissed, trying to avoid taking it. “Are you out of your f*****g mind? I can’t—” “She knows you’re here,” he hissed back at me. “Now take the goddamned phone!” “Fuck.” I swung around until I sat on the edge of the bed, putting some distance between my lover and myself—after all, I was about to speak with his mother—and cleared my throat. “Mrs. Mann?” “I apologize for calling so early, Mark.” Her voice was warm but brisk. No one should be that awake so early on a Sunday. Not if they weren’t in bed with a man who was so hot his presence set the sheets to smoking. “However I wanted to be sure you were joining us for lunch after our ride.” Quinn had been at me and been at me until I’d reluctantly agreed to get on a horse, but there had been no suggestion of having lunch with his mother. Had he intended to toss that at me once I was at the mercy of the nag he’d mount me on, and in front of Mrs. Mann? His innocent expression told me “yes.” “Damned spook.” He had the audacity to look injured, and I bared my teeth at him to let him know I wasn’t buying it. He laughed. “Uh…Mrs. Mann, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’ll take my own car, and Quinn can drive you home.” “You don’t have your car, Mark,” he murmured. I covered the mouthpiece. “You can damn well drop me off at my place so I will have my car,” I growled at him. “Not going to happen, babe.” He stacked his hands behind his head and whistled something I didn’t have the patience to recognize just then. Maybe I could persuade his mother. “There really isn’t any need for you to have me over for lunch—” “Mark, are you insulting my hospitality?” If it had been my old lady on the other end of the phone, I’d have said yes and hung up. “No, ma’am! Of course not! I—” “Good.” Was she laughing at me? “I’ll see you both at eleven. Give Quinton a kiss for me. Goodbye.” There was a click in my ear. “You set me up.” I hung up the phone, then leaned over grudgingly and brushed my lips against his cheek. “What…?” “From your mother.” I deliberately turned my back; I was annoyed with him, dammit, and had no intention of letting him think that I’d kissed him of my own free will. “Now, Mark—” “Don’t ‘now, Mark’ me. I told you I didn’t have riding boots, and you said you had a pair in my size.” “Yes, and wasn’t that fortuitous?” “‘Fortuitous’ my ass. You went out and bought them especially, didn’t you?” He didn’t answer, not that I expected him to. “And now your mother’s invited me to lunch.” “Even you have to eat, Mark.” That was beneath my notice. “You know Novotny hates my guts.” Gregor Novotny had been part of the family from the time he was eighteen. Yeah, I’d researched him. His sister came to work for the Manns, and he came along with her. A Feeb who’d had to retire when he was wounded on the job, now he was not only Mrs. Mann’s chief cook and bottle washer, but her bodyguard as well. And he resented like hell the fact that I was in Quinn’s life. “He’ll probably slip something into my food.” “Something that would leave you at my mercy? Damn, I wish I’d thought of that.” He reached for the phone. “What are you doing?” “I’m calling Gregor.” I gritted my teeth. “I’ve changed my mind, Mann. Just for that, I’m not going to blow you.” “Fine by me.” What the f**k? Before I could say something really stupid, like, “Are you telling me you don’t want to make love with me anymore?”‘ he dragged me backward onto the bed, and I found myself flat on my back. Quinn was in top-notch physical condition; he was a superb fencer and an Olympic-class horseman. It was just that when I had him under me, when he was moaning and begging, it was hard to remember. He worked his way down my body until he was settled between my legs, gave my c**k a leisurely lick, and grinned at me through that lock of hair that was always falling over his eyes. “Remember your birthday, Mark?” How could I forget it? It was the first time those lips of his that were grinning so cockily had been wrapped around my c**k. “I’ll blow you.” * * * * Quinn threw his mother up into her saddle and then swung up onto his horse. Poetry in motion, and if we’d been alone, I’d have dragged him into the stable, found an empty stall, and f****d his brains out. “Just don’t kick Blue,” Quinn was saying, and I shook myself out of the pleasurable reverie of him bent over a hay bale. “Sure.” How difficult could following such simple instructions be? I mounted the horse the groom was holding for me. But Blue reacted every time my heels brushed against his sides and continually broke into a trot that had me bouncing in the saddle, rattling my teeth. I’d warned that f*****g flea-bitten, sway-backed, hay-burning refugee from a glue factory that I had a gun and had no problem using it if he made me look bad in front of my lover. Obviously, he hadn’t taken my warning seriously. I studied Quinn’s posture in the saddle and copied it. I’d shoot the nag later. Quinn and his mother became involved in a conversation about family, and I listened. “I understand Uncle Tony’s back from the Coast, Mother.” “Yes. He’s staying at the manor with Uncle Jeff and Ludovic. It’s odd. Tony and your Uncle Bryan were never that close when they were younger.” I’d known Quinn was the equivalent of royalty in the intelligence community; the Sebrings, his mother’s family, had been in the business since at least the French and Indian War, and on his father’s side there had been a Mann ferreting out information during the Spanish-American War. My father hadn’t hung around long enough for me to start kindergarten, and the closest my mother came to being a Mata Hari was picking up men in a bar. I lost track of time, which was stupid on my part, but I was fascinated by their family dynamics. By the time we returned to the stable, I realized my error. My body was making me aware of every mile we’d ridden over. My ass was sore, my balls felt like they were on fire, the insides of my knees were chafed, and the muscles in my thighs complained with every step the horse took. After I dismounted and handed the reins to the groom who was waiting for us to return from our ride, I managed to walk to the car without limping and sit through the meal at Mrs. Mann’s home without giving the least hint of how uncomfortable I was. It took an extreme act of will, but I did it. By the time we were ready to leave, all I wanted was some serious drugs. “Excuse me; I’ll just use the bathroom before we go.” Quinn and his mother smiled at me, and I escaped to the downstairs john. I locked the door and opened the medicine cabinet. “Thank God!” I groaned. Extra-strength ibuprofen. The regular dosage was one. I took two. I used the john, washed my hands, and took another two tablets, just to be on the safe side. Novotny glowered at me as I walked out of the bathroom. “What, did you think I’d pinch the commode?” “I wouldn’t put it past you, Vincent.” I held out my arms and turned in a slow circle, a condescending grin hiding my discomfort. “As you can see, it isn’t concealed about my person.” He curled his lip, turned on his heel, and stalked away. I went in the other direction, to the front foyer. “Thank you, Mother.” Quinn accepted a small brown bag from her. “All set, Mark?” “Yes. Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Mann.” “You’re very welcome.” She walked us out to the car. “I hope we can do this again.” Not in a million years. I smiled at her. “Goodbye, Mother.” Quinn kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, sweetheart.” She went up the steps and waited. Quinn opened the door of his Lexus for me, and I was concentrating so hard on appearing normal that I didn’t even realize this was not something he would normally do until after he had done it. I lowered myself cautiously to the front seat, winced, and buckled up. When were those f*****g painkillers going to kick in? “I’m driving you straight home.” He walked around to his side of the car and got in. “You’re sore, Mark.” “No, I’m fine.” “You’re sore.” He put the key in the ignition, not looking at me. “Wave to my mother.” “Huh?” But he leaned forward and waved, so I did also. Mrs. Mann smiled and waved back, watching as Quinn drove down the length of her driveway. When I looked back, she was still standing there. “She’ll stay there until she no longer sees me.” “She used to do that for your father.” “Yes.” He didn’t ask how I’d known that. We drove for some time in silence. I shifted from one ass cheek to the other, trying to get comfortable with no luck. A glance at my watch told me it had been fifteen minutes since I’d taken the ibuprofen. s**t. Another five minutes at least before it began to work. “Mark, I want to explain something to you, and then I want you to explain something to me.” The only time I saw him this serious was when business was involved. He didn’t wait for a response from me. “You’re experienced in many things.” “Excuse me?” “You’re a forensic artist…“ Well, I liked to think so, but why was he bringing that up now? “…you fence…“ Yeah, we’d dueled to a draw. The man was good, I’d give him that. Not as good as me, but…. “…you’ve played the saxophone…“ That had been years ago, before the WBIS, before I’d even enlisted, and it wasn’t in any of my records. How the f**k had he learned about that? “You going somewhere with this, Mann?” “I just assumed you could ride, as well. Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me you hadn’t been on a horse before?” “Beats the hell out of me,” I growled. No way was I going to tell him it was because I liked him thinking there was nothing I couldn’t do. “Would you have changed your mind about me joining you?” “No. But I’d have given you another mount. Blue really is good-tempered, but his gait can be a bit jarring for a beginner.” A bit? “Next time I’ll see if the stable has Kathy Thorn available.” “You’re so sure there’s going to be a next time?” Where did these people get the names for their horses? I watched as he glanced sideways at me, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “I have no doubt that after a remarkably short amount of time, you’ll become a very capable horseman.” “Don’t try and get on my good side now, Mann. I’m still pissed at you.” He chuckled. “Y’know, most people don’t laugh when I tell them I’m pissed,” I groused. “No, I imagine not. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry I pressured you into going riding, Mark.” His apology was so sincere that I had no choice but to forgive him. No one ever apologized to me. But I wasn’t going to let him know he’d gotten to me. “Oh, what? Like I couldn’t have just said no?” “You could have said ‘no’. Why didn’t you?” “Do you think you’re so irresistible, Mann?” “I don’t. But I think you do.” They were similar to the words I’d said to him after that debacle with Prinzip. I looked out the window and pretended I hadn’t heard that. Back in May, Quinn had been kidnapped by a lunatic who wanted to recreate the antiterrorist organization he’d started back in the seventies but lost control of. Richard, the nutjob, decided by “recruiting” experienced operatives—from the CIA, the Mossad, MI6, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, others from France, Italy, Germany—he’d get the project off the ground faster. The CIA would have left Quinn to die in that f*****g warehouse in Paris. Well, not f*****g likely. I’d gone in and rescued his ass. “Ah, look. We’re home.” Quinn’s words brought me back to the present. He was insufferably cheerful. “I’m home. You still have to drive back to Alexandria.” “I know, but not until I make sure you’re all right.” He found a parking space half a block from my place, and we got out and walked back. Well, he walked. I limped. That damned ibuprofen had barely taken the edge off my aches. I should have doubled up on the amount I’d taken. Tripled it. He was carrying the brown bag, and I wondered briefly what was in it. Leftovers from lunch, maybe? It had been really good, and I wouldn’t mind snacking on shrimp Creole. I let us into the building, and we began to climb the stairs up to my apartment on the attic floor. “Mr. Vincent, are you all right?” That just took the f*****g cake. I paused on the third floor landing to glower at my agent. Matheson stood there with a plastic garbage bag in each hand. When I’d introduced him to the rent boys who owned this building earlier in the spring, the last thing I’d expected was for him to develop a relationship with one of them and wind up moving in with him. “I’m peachy keen, Matheson.” “Yes, sir, of course. My mistake.” He took in Quinn’s presence beside me, and his expression became blank. I knew he had to have recognized him from that night in the morgue when we’d found him and another CIA officer trying to determine if that was my body on the slab. “Excuse me.” He stepped around us and continued down the stairs. Quinn met my eyes. He didn’t ask if this was going to be a problem, and I didn’t tell him that if it was, it was my problem. “Come on. You need a hot bath.” “Yeah. That sounds good.” We continued up to the attic floor and down the corridor. I unlocked the series of deadbolts that secured my front door and let us into my apartment. “Get undressed. I’ll start the tub.” He’d been in my apartment often enough to know where everything was. “I’ve got something that will ease the soreness out of your muscles. Mother gave it to me before we left. Epsom salts.” “f**k. How’d she know I’d be so sore?” I took the bag he handed me and examined the contents while he removed his riding jacket and hung it over a chair, but I became more interested in watching as he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. “Mothers are like that, Mark.” I shrugged. Couldn’t prove it by me. Quinn took back the bag, ran his lips over the side of my neck, and went into the bathroom. In a matter of seconds, I heard the water running. I stripped off my shirt and let it lie where I dropped it, and undid my fly, but when I attempted to toe off my shoes, I realized it wasn’t going to be that easy. I was still wearing the boots Quinn had given me. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked as I limped into the bathroom. “Remind me to shoot myself the next time I let you talk me into going horseback riding.” I lowered the lid on the john and sat down gingerly. “Mark, you handled Blue really well.” “Yeah, and that’s supposed to make me feel good? You’re not limping.” “Do you know how long I’ve been riding?” “Since you were three.” Although that wasn’t to say he hadn’t been on a horse before then; his mother or one of his uncles, or even his grandfather, crusty old bastard that he’d been, had had him up in the saddle in front of them almost from the day he’d been born. Quinn paused in the act of pouring the Epsom salts into the water. “Oh, was that a rhetorical question?” “I know that wasn’t in my dossier, but somehow I’m not surprised you had no trouble coming up with that tidbit.” I also had no trouble learning the name of his first pony. Maybe one day I’d get him to tell me why he’d named it Darling. Quinn finished shaking the granules into the tub, crumpled the bag, and tossed it into the wastebasket. He ran his fingers along the curve of my ear. “Sit back. I’ll give you a hand with those boots.” He straddled my leg and took the heel in both hands. “Okay, push.” The material of his jodhpurs stretched taut over the curve of his ass, and I swallowed, letting go of my irritation, and reached out to caress the firm muscles. “You’re supposed to place your other foot on my ass and push.” He grinned at me over his shoulder. “That would be an abuse of a fine ass.” But I leaned back and did as he told me, and he freed my left foot and then my right, and pulled off my socks as well. “Now strip and get in the tub. We can order in—” “Not necessary. I’ve got some frozen dinners in the freezer.” I stood and pushed my jeans and shorts down, trying to conceal my discomfort. “All right. Lean on me, would you?” He waited until I did, then got my clothes off me. “I’ll put a couple in the oven. When you’re done, we’ll eat, I’ll give you a massage—I had a feeling this might come in handy—” He took a tube of something from his pocket and waggled it before me. “And then I’ll have to leave.” “You’re not staying over, Quinn?” He paused at the door. “I didn’t think to pack my overnighter, and I’m sure you’re aware that Rayner is out on medical leave and Holmes has called an early meeting for tomorrow. I’ll need to be on the road by six in order to get to Langley in time for it.” That was only a twenty-five minute drive. Why the f**k was he leaving so early? However, if he didn’t want to tell me, he didn’t have to. I’d find out on my own. “Right. Damn,” I said as if I had no intention of finding out what Holmes was up to. He’d never cared much for Quinn, but after that bullshit with Prinzip, Holmes had gotten a real bug up his ass about him. Well, if Quinn wanted to leave early, he could. He was a big boy. And besides, The Boss had scheduled an 8:00 a.m. meeting, something to do with Interior Affairs. It had been about six months since that s**t Sperling had broken into my apartment and gotten himself blown up. As Deputy Director of Interior Affairs, I’d become his acting replacement, but it was just a matter of time before The Boss moved one of the senior directors into Sperling’s spot. I wasn’t thrilled about having one of those assholes running my department, but I didn’t think it would take long for me to get the point across to whoever it was that if they stayed in their office and stayed out of my way, we’d all be happy. I stepped into the tub and eased down into the steaming water with a groan as the heat began to relax my muscles. “You could have stayed if you left a change of clothes here, y’know.” “You never gave me any indication that you wanted me to do that.” He walked out of the bathroom. I stared at the empty doorway. I never had, had I? When I’d moved back into this apartment, I’d left some of my things at his town house. Why hadn’t I asked him to do the same? I closed my eyes and gave it some serious thought. * * * * I was on my stomach, as boneless as a mass of Jell-O. Quinn, who’d never undressed, was seated on the backs of my thighs, flexing his palms on my ass. The liniment he’d used had a pine scent, and my bedroom smelled like a Christmas tree. “I think that should do it, babe.” He dropped a kiss on the back on my neck and got off me. “Thanks, Quinn. You’ve got magic fingers, you know that?” I opened an eye and watched as he wiped his palms on a tissue, then rolled down his sleeves and fastened the cuffs. “f**k. I have to get up and lock the door behind you.” “That’s the price one pays for paranoia.” He opened a drawer, took out a pair of shorts, and handed them to me. “That’s the price one pays to stay alive.” I eased them on and stood up, relieved to find most of the soreness gone. “I was kidding, Mark.” “Right. I knew that.” I grinned to show I was kidding him back, but his eyes told me I hadn’t convinced him. I followed him out of the bedroom. “Give me a call when you know what your schedule is like.” He draped his riding jacket over his arm, waited for me to unfasten all the locks, and then reached for the doorknob. “Quinn.” I tipped up his chin and kissed him. His mouth softened under mine, and he cupped the base of my skull, pulling my head down to deepen the kiss. We were both breathing heavily when we finally came up for air. “I’ll free up the weekend if I can.” “Good.” “Mann.” He raised an eyebrow. “Drive carefully.” “I always do.” He smiled and walked out. I closed the door and snapped the locks in sequence. * * * * I ran into Matheson as I was on my way up to Mr. Wallace’s office. I was stiff because I’d ridden a horse for the first time: I had no doubt he was stiff because he was the one who had been ridden the night before. “Matheson.” I crooked my finger, and he followed me into the stairwell. “Mr. Vincent.” “Do I need to talk to you about last night?” “No, sir.” He licked his lips. “May I say something, Mr. Vincent? You’ve been working for the WBIS longer than any active agent. I’m not about to second-guess your actions.” “Good.” I turned and started up the stairs. He was shaping up to be a good special agent, and I really didn’t want to kill him. Still, it might be a good idea to make more of an effort to find another place. That apartment was only supposed to be temporary anyway. And when I moved into my new home, I’d tell Quinn it was time for him to keep some of his things there, so he’d still be able to spend the night with me, even if he had an early meeting the next morning. I exited the stairwell, not even breathing hard—Epsom salts really worked wonders—and walked down the corridor that housed the administrative offices of the WBIS. The harpy who guarded The Boss’s sanctum peered at me over her glasses, then nodded toward a tray that held a number of coffee mugs and some Danish. “The others should be arriving shortly.” “Thank you.” This was going to be one long f*****g meeting. I picked up a mug and a blueberry Danish, tapped lightly on the door, and entered. “Mr. Vincent.” “Mr. Wallace.” “I’m glad you’re early. I want to fill you in on a small problem before the others get here.” He spoke rapidly and succinctly, and my fingers clenched. I stared down at the pastry—now a fruit-filled mess in my hand. The Boss’s lips twitched, more a sour expression of agreement with my reaction than of actual pleasure. I put my coffee down, dropped what was left of the Danish into the wastebasket, and used a napkin to clean my palm. “I’ll—” “Delegate. Yes?” “Of course. I was about to say I’ll put Matheson on it.” “Excellent. I’m pleased with him, Mr. Vincent. He’s developing into a quite competent replacement for you.” The intercom on his desk buzzed, and he depressed one of the buttons. “Yes?” “Browne and Mr. Stanley are here.” Of course she’d accord Stanley, as the Director of Foreign Affairs, that courtesy. “Send them in, please.” The door opened, and the two men entered. Browne had been returned to Stanley’s department after he’d finally been cleared for anything more active than desk duty. We were both relieved. “All right, gentlemen, if you’ll take a seat—” The intercom buzzed again. “Romero is here.” The chunky Italian came sauntering in. In one hand was a Styrofoam cup with a plastic lid and in the other was an Egg McMuffin. It was obvious that he’d somehow managed to get them both super-sized. Mr. Wallace smiled. “Let’s get started.” * * * * The long f*****g meeting finally came to an end. Romero had drawn some figures on a piece of paper he’d pulled from a pocket of the cargo pants he wore, occasionally scratching his jaw with the pencil’s eraser. “Yeah, this’ll do it. I’ll get started on it right away. Catch ya later.” And he was out the door. Stanley’s grin was positively evil. Losing a leg had done nothing to lessen his ability to appreciate mayhem. “I’ll get my team right on it.” He nodded at Mr. Wallace and headed for the door. “Browne, I want you to run this by that pet sawbones of yours.” “Uh…Mr. Stanley, it might be better if you have someone else talk to Max. I’m not his favorite person at the moment.” “Oh, for the love of…Haven’t you taken him to bed yet, Browne?” The door closed on Browne’s answer, and The Boss shook his head. “Browne is a good agent, but he seems unable to keep a handle on his love life. Much like the rest of mankind, I’d wager.” I murmured something noncommittal. I didn’t have that problem. I took my lover to bed on a regular basis, whether at my place or his, and made damned sure I kept him happy. Of course I wasn’t about to tell that to the man who ran the WBIS. I prepared to leave. “Just one second, Mark.” I got a bad feeling in my gut, but I kept my expression smooth. “Sir?” He handed me an ivory envelope. I slid my forefinger under the flap and flipped it open. Inside was a vellum card the same color. You are cordially invited…. Fuck. “Another embassy do?” “Yes.” “So, who’s going this time?” As if I didn’t have my suspicions. “You, of course. You’ll need to keep an eye on Senator Wexler and that rabbity aide of his.” “Peter Lapin? Yes, sir.” There was no chance of persuading him to send someone else. I could tell by the set of his jaw. “Do you have any objections if I throw a scare into the good senator?” “I wouldn’t object if you could scare the bastard into a heart attack. And you did not hear me say that.” “Say what, sir?” “Yes. Now, as to this ball. You’re going to need a new tuxedo.” I cleared my throat. “I rented one the last time, sir. I can rent one again.” “You wouldn’t want them to think you don’t own a tuxedo, would you?” Like I gave a f**k what the embassy crowd thought. However, “I’ll be representing the WBIS.” “Precisely. Well, you have three weeks until the ball. I’d suggest you see about selecting a new one and getting any alterations done as soon as possible.” “Yes, sir. Anything else?” “I think that will be all.” I turned and started to walk out. “Oh, Mark.” “Sir?” “You might want to take this with you.” He held out the invitation. I took it from him and left. * * * * I took some time during lunch to go to Putting on the Ritz, the formal shop that carried de la Renta tuxedoes and guaranteed to have them ready when they said they’d be ready. The little man who’d done the alterations the last time I’d been there almost danced a jig because I was buying this time. When I returned to my office, I started working on a backlog of paperwork. I intended to take Saturday, the whole day, off. And if anything unexpected came up, I’d just delegate. To Matheson. It was late by the time I logged off my computer and shut it down for the night. My cell phone rang as I was leaving the building. I knew it was Quinn from the ringtone, but in case anyone was eavesdropping—long-range listening devices being a thing—I kept my tone neutral. “Vincent.” “Hi, babe. How are you feeling?” “Good.” Well, pretty good. “The Epsom salts helped?” “Yeah.” I was a little tired…. “You’ll be over then?” “You bet.” I couldn’t picture myself ever that tired. “Good. I made you that Italian pasta you like.” “Penne a la vodka?” “Yes. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes?” “How about twenty minutes? Traffic isn’t too bad.” “Drive carefully.” “I always do.” I echoed his words of the night before. He laughed softly. “Bye, babe.” “Bye.” As I got into my car, I mused about him calling me ‘babe’. He’d been doing that quite a bit lately. I liked it. I glanced down at the newspaper I’d picked up on my way back from Putting on the Ritz. Maybe Quinn and I could check out the real estate section after dinner. I switched on the radio, and Johnny Mathis’s voice swelled from the speakers; I realized the song he was singing was the song Quinn had been whistling the morning before. I put the car in gear and headed for Alexandria. Yeah, I was coming home.