Forever

Chapter 2

Be It Ever so Humble

It was early October, and although autumn had officially arrived a couple of weeks before, the air was still warm. There was no joy in my corner of Mudville, however: that ball was looming on the horizon.

I thought about it as little as possible.

Added to that, Quinn had called to ask if I’d meet him for a drink. As if I’d say no to him. But normally we’d meet for dinner on Friday at Raphael’s, not a Wednesday. “Meet me at Ziggy Redman’s at about seven,” I told him. I intended to look into the sudden change of plans.

“Ziggy Redman’s? I’m not familiar with it.”

Which was why I chose it. Ziggy’s used to be a topless joint, but it had been closed down one time too many for various violations. Now, instead of the tables the girls used to dance on, it boasted a jukebox that played blues, rock, and bluegrass, a TV usually tuned to ESPN, and a pool table in the rear—why the f**k were pool tables always in the rear?—and while it catered mostly to a blue collar clientele, office workers would sometimes stop by for a drink after work. We wouldn’t look out of place. The big plus was that no one in the intelligence community went there; it would be safe enough for Quinn.

I gave him directions, and then said, “I’ll see you at seven,” and hung up.

With a few hours to kill before I left the WBIS, I hacked into the CIA’s computer system.

I wasn’t happy with what I learned.

* * * *

If I didn’t want Quinn to know what I’d done, I’d have to do something to burn off my aggravation. You’d think after all this time, the C-f*****g-I-f*****g-A would know better, but no, they were sending Quinn to the Far East on a mission more suitable for someone who’d never set foot out of Langley.

I parked about a mile from Ziggy’s and began walking.

A couple of blocks from Ziggy’s, I passed a junk shop. The sign in the window said “gently used,” but junk was junk. However, it was the cavalry saber in the window that caught my eye, and I backtracked and studied it more carefully. It was British and had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. I checked my watch. I had some time to spare. I entered the shop.

“The sword in the window,” I said to the youngish man behind the counter. “How much?”

“I like your face, so for you…seven hundred fifty dollars.”

“That’s a little steep.”

“The soldier who owned this fought under Wellington during the Peninsula Campaign.”

“And you know this how?”

“It comes with a letter proving its provenance,” he announced with pride.

I shrugged. “Still, that’s a lot of money for a sword in this condition. Look at the nicks all over the blade. And the tip looks like it’s been snapped off.”

“I tell you this is authentic 1796.”

“Right.” I gave him a bored look and turned to leave.

“No, wait! Let me show you the letter.” He dashed into the back. I expected him to return with the letter in a baggie, but it was actually framed. “Here! See?”

The letter was badly creased, and whoever had placed it in the four by six frame had had to unfold it with extreme care. I scanned it with casual indifference, but as soon as I saw the name mentioned in the second and third paragraphs and the signature at the bottom of the page, I knew I’d be willing to give this man the price he asked for. Even if the sword was counterfeit, the odds the letter was were relatively nil.

Still…. “Four hundred.”

“Ah, man, you’re killing me. I’m already giving you a break on this. I…my associate paid a grand for it.”

I raised an eyebrow, and he started to sweat.

“All right, five hundred—”

He didn’t give me a chance to finish. “Done!”

“All right. I can’t take the saber with me right now, but I will take the letter. I’ll give you half as a deposit and pick up the saber tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes.”

I gave him the Joseph Wells credit card. With the transaction completed, I slipped the framed letter carefully into an inner pocket of my suit jacket—the WBIS had a little old lady located on the fifth floor who did alterations for us, and she added those pockets for me—and shook hands with him. I went on my way, in a much better mood.

Ziggy’s wasn’t more than five minutes away, but I had to hurry now or I’d be late.

* * * *

I pushed open the door, stepped to the side, and observed the occupants in the dim light. For a Wednesday evening, it was pretty crowded. The atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke. DC was supposed to be a smoke-free town, and yeah, rules were meant to be bent or broken, but didn’t these guys pay any attention to the Surgeon General?

The jukebox was silent and the pool table abandoned. Everyone was concentrating on the television, which was airing the second game of the American League playoffs, up in New York.

No one paid any attention me. It was the top of the eighth, and Garret Anderson had just hit a home run, leading to cheers from Angels’ fans and groans from those who were backing the Yankees. I didn’t care either way—as a Massachusetts boy I was a diehard member of Red Sox Nation.

I walked to the bar. The bartender was watching the game, but he was also keeping an eye on his patrons. He came over to where I was standing.

“What can I get you, Mac?” he asked.

“What do you have on tap?”

“Sam Adams, Michelob, Killian’s Irish Red, Bud Light.”

“Give me a Mick. And do you have Coke or Pepsi?”

“Coke.”

“Give me one of those too.”

“Got it. You want to run a tab?”

“No. I’ll pay as I go.” I didn’t expect to be in here that long. I reached for my wallet as he filled two frosted mugs. The foam spilled over, he topped them off, and then he put them on the bar in front of me. I gave him a five and three singles. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks.”

I started toward an empty booth in a corner as the door opened, and I looked over my shoulder. A trio of young men swaggered in. They were wearing jeans, biker boots, and T-shirts that were so snug it was easy to see the definition of their abs.

“Where’re the dancers?” the first one yelled. “We wanna see tits.”

“You ain’t gonna see ‘em here, Mac.” The bartender stood there, relaxed. This must have happened more than once.

“They told us Ziggy’s is a titty bar!”

“Not anymore. It’s a sports bar now.”

“Well, shit.” Bigmouth looked at his friends, and they shrugged.

“We’re here anyway. Let’s have a beer, Al.”

“Okay, and then we’ll go looking for a titty bar.”

“Let me see your ID.”

“We’re over twenty-one!”

“Sure you are. I’m still gonna card you.”

They dug in their pockets for their driver’s licenses, and I lost interest in them.

I went to the booth and took the seat that let me keep an eye on everyone in the place, and most especially the door.

It opened, and I raised the Coke to hide my smile. The man who entered moved to the side and studied the occupants of Ziggy’s.

He was five foot ten. His brown hair was a little unruly just then—had he been running his fingers through it?—and his eyes, although I couldn’t see them from this distance, would be a hazel that could change to green when he wore the right shirt or tie. Or when I turned him on.

Quinton Mann, my lover.

I’d had plenty of s*x partners, mostly male but some female, and I’d never considered them lovers, but there was Mann, that CIA spook, worming his way into my life, becoming my lover, and it f*****g surprised me.

His gaze was cool and professional as he took in the patrons. I could see his eyebrow rise at the jerk at the bar who was still bitching about wanting to see t**s.

Quinn spotted me, and the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. He crossed the floor and slid into the bench seat opposite me.

I pushed his beer toward him.

“Thanks.” He tapped his mug against mine.

I smiled and brought my mug to my mouth to take a swallow.

“So, how come you wanted to see me today?” No way was I letting him know I was aware he was going to the Far East.

“Can’t I just want to see you?”

“Listen, if you want to fool around, just tell me. I know some good games.”

“Oh, yeah?” Quinn slid down onto his spine. His foot nudged mine under the table, then ran up the side of my leg.

Shit. He was usually more reserved than that. There seemed to be a hint of desperation about his action.

“Why don’t you finish your beer, and I’ll take you home and show you?”

“I can’t stay late. I need to get home and pack. I’m flying out of National in the morning.”

“So we won’t be having dinner Friday.”

“No. I…I wanted to see you.”

My c**k twitched, and I dropped my voice. “Is that a euphemism for getting laid?”

“Well, of course.” His mood had lightened, and he was laughing at me now. Not that I cared. When he looked like that, I wanted to bend him over the nearest flat surface and f**k his brains out. “Mark, don’t make me question your—”

I interrupted before he could impugn my intelligence. “How long can you stay?” Sure I knew, but I wouldn’t let him know that.

“I’ll have to leave by midnight.”

I looked at my watch. “Then let’s get going. Do you want to grab a bite?”

“You?” It had to be one of the best days of my life when we crossed paths in the Wyman Brothers Warehouse.

Quinn drained the last of his beer, leaving a foam mustache. He saw me watching his mouth, and his eyes grew hot. He ran his tongue over his upper lip and grinned when my breathing ratcheted up. Damn spook.

“Come on, hot shot.”

We brought our empty mugs to the bar and started to walk out.

“Fags.”

The bar went silent except for a commercial on the television.

I came to a dead stop and turned around. It was the bigmouth. I took a step toward him.

Quinn put his hand on my arm. “You don’t want to start something.”

“I don’t?”

“Yeah, you don’t, c**k jockey. Listen to your girlfriend.”

Quinn’s hand tightened on my arm.

“Al, leave them alone. They weren’t doing anything.” One of the young men he’d come in with tried to smooth things over. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, giving Al a poke. “He’s had too much to drink.”

“Don’t you f*****g apologize for anything I do. These two are queer as green beer, and they don’t belong in a bar like this. Even the little guy knows it. He’s trying to get out without getting hurt.”

Quinn, little? I choked back a laugh.

“Let me handle this,” he whispered; then he raised his voice. “You misunderstood.” He smiled, and I watched in admiration. He might be CIA, but damn, he was good. “I’m trying to protect you. This man is a cleaner.”

“Yeah, so he’s a janitor. So what?”

I thought of my persona as Dwayne J. Lester, and this time the laugh escaped.

“Jesus, Al, that’s a professional killer. Don’t you watch those movies?”

Quinn opened his jacket, revealing the gun under his arm, took out the leather case that held his ID, flipped it open and then closed it so fast Al Homophobe wasn’t able to make out anything more than that it was official, and put it back into the inner pocket. He closed his suit jacket and arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want him to start something?”

“No. Uh…no.”

“Ah, come on, boss. I haven’t killed anyone in two days.”

“So it’s going to be three days. You know the big man doesn’t want to explain another body.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of his rules.” I looked the jerk up and down and then opened my jacket as if to scratch my ribs, revealing the gun I carried. I grinned as the color drained from his face, and he backed up a step.

“Let’s go, killer.” Quinn walked out without looking back. He didn’t have to. I was there.

“Nice work, Quinn.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, I didn’t want to have to explain all the blood that you’d have spilled.”

“You think I’d have shot him? I’m cut to the quick.”

“Oh? You had no intention of taking him apart?”

“No. Well, as long as he didn’t call me a pickle chugger.”

Quinn came to a dead stop. “What…where do you pick up these terms?”

“A misspent childhood, babe. C’mon. I’ve got plans for you.”

* * * *

Quinn’s car was parked off-street a block away.

“This isn’t your Lexus.”

“No. It’s in the shop again. This is a loaner. Where’s your car parked?”

I told him and waited for him to ask what it was doing there. He didn’t; he just said, “Get in,” and drove me to it. “I’ll follow you to your place.”

Traffic had eased off a bit, so it wasn’t too long before I parked my Dodge at the curb in front of the house where I lived. Quinn found a spot a couple of doors down and walked back to join me.

I knew the house was empty. The ladies who occupied the first two floors were away for a couple of weeks, Matheson was out of town on an assignment, and the rent boy he lived with was visiting family in Tarpon Springs.

As soon as the street door closed behind us, I swung him around, shoved him against the door, and braced my arms on either side of his head. Quinn’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips were parted, and the tip of his tongue came out to moisten his upper lip. I leaned into him.

Quinn was hard. So was I. He slid a leg between mine and raised it, and I rocked back and forth on it.

“You like that, do you?” He wound his fingers in my hair, tipped my head to the side, and ran his teeth over the tendon in my neck.

“f**k, baby. Don’t mark me.” But I angled my head, offering him more of my neck. I liked the feel of his teeth against it.

He licked the spot, then loosened my tie and began unbuttoning my shirt. “One day I want to take you away for a week.”

“Oh, yeah?” I…liked that idea. I’d never gone on vacation with anyone, and I was distracted by thoughts of what that might be like with Quinn. And because I wasn’t paying attention, I suddenly found myself up against the door.

“Oh, yeah.” He nipped my throat. “I’ll mark you every single day, but where no one else could see it. Only I would know you were mine.”

“Think you’re so alpha?”

He kissed the hinge of my jaw, then drew back and ran the fingertips of his right hand along the curve of my ear. “I’m willing to take turns.”

“I thought that was my line. C’mon. I want you in bed before it’s time for you to leave.” I grabbed his hand.

“Good idea.” He tightened his fingers around mine, and we began pounding up the stairs.

Anyone around to watch would have been amused by our scramble. Hell, I’d have been amused if I wasn’t so desperate to get into him.

We were no sooner in my apartment with the door locked behind us than Quinn shucked his suit jacket, unzipped his fly and shoved his trousers and shorts down his legs, and bent over the back of my couch.

I did the same, rolled on a condom, and prepared him, taking my time. We’d been lovers long enough that he didn’t need much, but it was something we both enjoyed. I stroked a finger across his hole and dipped in, pulled out, dipped in deeper.

“Vincent!”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Jesus, you’re driving me crazy. f**k me, already.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“Bastard.”

“But I’m your bastard.”

“Mark.”

I lubed the condom, lined the head of my c**k with his hole, and began a slow, steady push.

I’d f****d others, but it had never been anything like this. The sounds he made….

Having my c**k in Quinton Mann’s ass was the most unbelievable feeling. Hot, snug, the rippling of his inner muscles caressing my c**k—I wondered, for the first time, what having him without a condom between us would feel like. The heat wouldn’t be muted by the latex of the condom, I’d feel his prostate, and when we came, I’d coat his insides with thick ropes of semen.

I wanted him naked. Very carefully, I pulled out of him. A glance at the wall clock told me we had time.

“Mark, what…” He straightened and looked at me, his eyes glazed with lust.

“Bed. Now.”

We stripped off our clothes. Well, I stripped off my clothes. Quinn leaned against the couch, wrestling with his tie. It was getting him frustrated, so I got him undressed, down the short hallway, and onto my bed. And I wanted him so much the condom stayed in place the entire time.

This time I had Quinn on his back, his arms above his head, our fingers entwined. I buried my c**k in him, and I was surrounded by his heat. I held myself still, getting so much pleasure out of being inside my lover.

“Move, dammit.” His legs were sprawled wide, cradling mine, and he braced his feet and rocked up, taking me deeper into him. “Please.”

I manacled his wrists with one hand and used the other to toy with his n*****s, his sensitive n*****s, then dipped my head to lick and nip them.

Quinn writhed and bucked under me, driven wild with passion. I began to move. He wrapped his legs around my hips and arched into my thrusts. And again, those sounds….

Beads of sweat caught on his eyebrows, clung to his cheekbones. I leaned down and licked them off.

“Mark.” His eyes glittered.

“I’m here, babe.”

He shuddered and gasped, and I chased the sound into his mouth with my tongue. He sucked on it voraciously. He tightened his legs around me, and come splashed onto my torso, warm, wet streaks of it.

“Mark.”

“Not…not yet.”

“Yes.” His inner muscles clamped down on me, and I groaned and came. Quinn held me and stroked the long muscles of my back, and finally I caught my breath.

“Hey. Don’t fall asleep.” He pinched my hip. “I have to leave.”

“f**k. Okay.” I eased out of him and removed the condom. “Do you have time for a shower?”

“No. If I get in the shower, you’d come in after me. Not that I have any objections, but then we’d have to take a nap, I’d wind up oversleeping, and I’d miss my flight.”

I could have told him that was what alarm clocks were for, but I didn’t want to come across as an inconsiderate kind of lover, so I went along with him. “Okay, I’ll get a washcloth and clean you up.”

Quinn was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when I got back. He hummed as I wiped the cooling semen off his body.

“Will you be okay to drive? I can drive you to Alexandria and then call a cab to get home.”

“I’m fine. I have to get dressed.”

I left the washcloth on the nightstand, took a pair of shorts from a drawer and pulled them on before following him out of the bedroom.

“Can I get you something before you leave?” I picked up my clothes, handing him socks and shorts that had gotten mixed with mine.

“You’ve given me what I want.” Quinn kissed me and went back to dressing. When he finished, he slid his arms first into his shoulder holster and then into his suit jacket and walked to the door. I unlocked it for him, but he stood there. “I was thinking…. I’ve got some time off coming to me. After the embassy ball, how would you feel about getting away for a week?”

“You’re serious?”

“Mark, I’m always serious.”

Like he was always cold-natured? But I didn’t challenge him. He wanted to go away with me.

“What do you think?”

“Were we going anywhere in particular?”

His eyes lit up, the green they got sometimes. Had he thought I’d say “no”?

“How does Key West sound to you? They have an easy attitude toward same-s*x couples. No one would bother us.”

No one would bother us anyway. I grinned. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll make the—Dammit. I’ll be away.”

“I can make reservations. I know how to use a phone, you know.”

He teased my ear. “I never doubted that. Taylor House is good. Mother and I used to go there during winter recess. Mention my name.”

“Okay. Listen. Be careful, okay?” Where the f**k had that come from? “Uh…I don’t want to have to come after your ass again.”

“Of course. Worrywart.” He kissed me. “But just so you know, my ass and I appreciate your concern. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Call me when you get home.”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Tonight. When you get home tonight.” He was more tired than I’d seen him since the days after that Prinzip bullshit.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Humor me, okay?” I pulled him back for a last kiss, and then watched as he went toward the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, he called, and after telling him to have a safe trip, I went to bed.

* * * *

It had been a busy week—The Boss had signed me up with a local golf pro, and after spending time with her, I tended to head straight for the gym and a session with M. Bélanger, the fencing master.

But now it was Friday again. If Quinn were in town we’d be going to Raphael’s, but for the past week he’d been in the Far East on a job. And according to the information I’d found, he wasn’t scheduled to return for another three days. Which was bullshit, but that was the CIA for you.

I’d just returned to my office from harassing Gershom, who ran Security like a lady with a paper ass, and I was in the middle of entering some data into my computer when my cell phone rang.

“Vincent.”

“Hi. It’s me.” Quinn. And from the clarity of the call, he was back in town.

“Hello, me.” I shouldn’t take this call here, but f**k it. My c**k was more interested than it had been in seven days. I shifted in my chair.

“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? I’ve got so much paperwork to catch up on.” He sounded tired, but I wasn’t about to tell him how to do his job.

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks. And speaking of reservations….”

“I called Taylor House. We’re booked for a week from Sunday. I also booked a flight out of National down to Key West.”

“You do good work, Vincent.”

“You’re not just finding that out, are you?”

He laughed.

“Okay, I’ll see you about eight tonight?”

“About eight, then. Bye, babe.”

“Bye.” I ran my palm over the front of my trousers. “He’s home.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, we’re gonna get laid tonight.”

Raphael’s had this new thing where you could make your reservations online, which was convenient since they didn’t open until five thirty, so I went to their website and did that before getting back to work.

* * * *

Shortly before noon, my office phone rang. “Vincent.”

“My office.” It was The Boss.

“I’m on my way, sir.”

Over a lunch of greens—Mr. Wallace had been instructed by his doctor that he needed more raw, leafy vegetables in his diet—we discussed Senator Franklin, who was working for us, and Senator Wexler, who was working against us.

Finally, Mr. Wallace said, “The ball at the Bahsrani Embassy is a week from tomorrow. Senator Wexler is guaranteed to be there.”

“I’ll do my best to see he doesn’t have a good time.”

“I knew I could depend on you, Mark.” He poked at his salad and then sighed and pushed it aside. “Now why don’t you go get yourself something more substantial to eat?”

“Thank you, sir.” I’d been starved, so I hadn’t had a problem finishing my salad. Come to think of it, I was still hungry. I tossed the Styrofoam bowl into the trash and went down to the cafeteria for a roast beef sandwich.

It was about one thirty when I returned to my office.

My secretary handed me a stack of phone messages.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Parker.”

“You’re so welcome.” She looked happy. The spook she’d been dating at the request of the WBIS had been transferred to Turkmenistan, and now she was at liberty to date whoever she chose.

I scowled at the Post-Its in my hand. “Hold my calls until I get this lot cleared up.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hung my suit jacket off the back of my chair and got started. It took less time than I’d anticipated. A certain tone in my voice must have convinced everyone who had wanted a callback that it wasn’t really as necessary as they’d first thought.

I was about to get back to work when my cell phone rang again.

“Vincent.”

“Mr. Vincent, this is Jacques, from Putting on the Ritz. The adjustments to your tuxedo have been completed.”

“That was fast.” I needed a new tux for the Bahsrani Embassy ball. The exclusive men’s shop was renowned for getting its patrons their tuxedoes in record time. Of course, they charged for it.

“But of course!” He sounded affronted that I could doubt my tux would be ready on time. “I am calling to set up an appointment for you to make sure it fits perfectly”—I had no doubt it would—”and pick it up.”

I checked my PDA. This evening was marked with a notation that simply read, dinner. I was surprised to see Saturday and Sunday X’d out, and I frowned at it. I’d be spending those days with Quinn, but I didn’t remember doing that—I must have been on automatic. Well, at least I hadn’t done something nauseating like drawing hearts in them. I’d meet Quinn at Raphael’s, we would go back to his town house in Alexandria, and as soon as he had some rest, we’d f**k the whole weekend, to make up for the last seven days.

“I have some free time Monday evening.”

“How would seven p.m. suit?”

“That should be fine.”

“We will see you then, sir.”

I made a note in my PDA, said goodbye, and hung up. Work was always waiting, and so I got back to it.

* * * *

I was about to save the last of the data I had entered when my cell phone rang again. I wasn’t usually so popular.

A glance at the screen told me it was Portia Mann. s**t. I couldn’t take this call at work.

“May I call you back?”

There was a moment of silence. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

I disconnected, saved the data and logged out, and reached for my jacket.

“Ms. Parker,” I said as I closed my office door, “I have to step out for a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

I jogged down to first floor, crossed the lobby, and exited the building. My car was a couple of aisles away, and I went to it and made myself comfortable. Odds were no one would be out here this time of day. And if they were…Well, no one was nosy enough to question me.

I took out my phone and dialed Mrs. Mann’s number. “It’s Vincent, Mrs. Mann. I’m sorry I had to—”

“That’s quite all right, Mark. I understand, I assure you.” She knew I’d been involved with her son for some time, and she didn’t seem to have a problem with it, in spite of the fact that not only were we two men, but he was CIA and I was WBIS.

“How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. And you?” She was too much of a lady to bring up the fact that the last time she had seen me was when we’d gone horseback riding, and I’d wound up so sore I could barely sit. She’d given Quinn Epsom salts, and he’d poured them into a hot bath for me. That had gone a long way toward easing my aches.

“Never better, ma’am.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.” She laughed softly, and I couldn’t prevent myself from grinning. Portia Mann was a classy lady, one who I didn’t mind observing the conventions with.

“I’m assuming Quinn gave you my number.”

“I have my own ways of learning things, Mark.”

Of course. Portia Mann had once deciphered Russian codes for the Venona Project.

“Should I be alarmed?”

“Not as long as you don’t hurt my son.”

Mann was the only person I’d ever met who came close to being my equal. I wouldn’t toss a…friendship like that away.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Mann?”

“I apologize for contacting you during working hours.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.”

“You’re kind to say that.”

“Uh….” I didn’t want to say she must have confused with someone else. “What can I do for—Sorry, I already asked you that.”

“Yes. Quinton told me you’re in the market for a new home.”

“That’s right.” I’d been thinking of a condominium this time. My last apartment had been blown up, and the management had given me thirty days to vacate. The rent boys who owned the building I’d previously lived in had told me my former apartment was available, and so I’d salvaged what I could and moved back, a strictly temporary arrangement.

Matheson, the agent I was training to replace me in the field, was living in the apartment below. He’d seen Quinn come home with me that Sunday a couple of weeks ago, and while he’d assured me he’d keep his mouth shut, I knew it could become dangerous.

I didn’t want another apartment, and as for buying a house, there was too much work involved: the lawn would need mowing, the shrubs pruning, the roof maintained, and if we should get snow, the walks and driveway would have to be shoveled. It would be easier to buy a condo and let the homeowners association worry about the general upkeep.

I’d seen a s**t load of condos, and I was starting to get impatient. I didn’t need the same wide-open floor plan as I’d had when I’d been in the field, but I did want my bedroom away from the other rooms. So far I hadn’t found anything to my liking. Either the rooms were so small even a family of midgets would be overcrowded or the commute to DC was a b***h.

The going rate for the condos I’d looked at was almost half a mil. I could have afforded that easily by shifting some funds from my offshore f**k You account, but why pay for it in cash when with a mortgage I could write off the interest on my income tax?

Of course I paid income tax. Not even the WBIS f****d with the IRS.

“It has just come to my knowledge,” Mrs. Mann murmured, “that a condominium is available in Aspen Reach.”

“Aspen Reach?” I could never understand why builders would give their communities such cutesy names.

“Yes, it’s in Alexandria.”

That sounded promising. After all, why spend a large portion of the weekend driving to and from Quinn’s home when I could be spending it in his bed?

“It’s a small, gated community.”

“Just gates? Or a guard as well?”

“Just gates.” That didn’t sound promising. If security guards knew what they were doing, they made it difficult for any unwanted visitors to get in. “The residents can access the gate with a remote.”

That sounded even less promising. Anyone with the smarts could wire a remote and let themselves in. Even someone from the CIA could do it.

“There are security cameras at the entrance. What was that, Mark?”

I coughed. “Nothing, ma’am.” I had muttered the idea of those security cameras made me feel all warm and safe.

“Yes.” There was laughter in that one word. I had a feeling she didn’t believe me. “There are seven three-story buildings. It also has a number of amenities—a jogging path, an Olympic-size pool, lighted tennis courts, its own private golf course, a clubhouse with its own theater and restaurant. From what I’ve been told, it’s quite lovely, Mark.”

“Been told by who? Whom?” I didn’t need a home that was lovely; I needed one that was functional. And secure.

“Francesca Dashwood. She’s the Realtor. She’s also the…” The pause was almost minute. “…sister-in-law of a friend of mine. Allison and I were in the same society at Wellesley, Tau Zeta Epsilon.”

Society. Right. That was kind of like a sorority, but not. “And you trust this Dashwood woman enough that I won’t be taken to the cleaners?”

“No. I don’t know her, Mark. Allison told me that Ms. Dashwood is offering the condominium. She asked if I’d send some business her way. I’d like to help Allison if I can. The price isn’t unreasonable.”

Mrs. Mann was a good woman; nevertheless, I’d do a little investigating. That minute pause.

“How much is it?”

She named a figure, and she was right—for that type of community in Virginia, it wasn’t at all unreasonable. In fact….

“Y’know, Mrs. Mann, there’s usually a reason if something sounds too good to be true.”

“One might say so. Apparently something the prospective buyers learned has made them unwilling to go ahead with the purchase.”

“Do we know why?”

“I’m sure Ms. Dashwood will be more than willing to tell us.” There was cool certainty in her voice.

“‘Us’?”

“I’d like to see this condo myself. I haven’t been house-hunting since Quinton was looking for his town house. And I must confess, this has me intrigued.”

“Don’t tell me. It just so happens that you’re here in the Capital.”

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I needed a final fitting for the gown I’ll be wearing to the Bahsrani Embassy ball, and I’m at Madame Rosa’s, my dressmaker.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t going to argue with her. “What can you tell me about the condo?”

“It’s a third-floor corner unit, approximately three thousand square feet.”

“Nice size.”

“Yes. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths. The master bath has a Jacuzzi and a separate shower. Living room, formal dining room, and an office/den. The kitchen has an island that’s perfect for a prep area as well as a breakfast bar. There’s a fireplace in the living room. Actually, it’s two-sided. The other side is in the master suite.” She paused a beat, then hit me with what was the clincher for me. “It’s about a ten-minute drive to Quinton’s town house.”

“And during rush hour?”

“The same.”

“I have to admit you’ve got me interested.”

“I thought you might be.”

“Does it come with a garage, or just a parking space?”

“Oh, there are garages. The parking spaces are for guests. If you’re free, Ms. Dashwood has said she’ll meet us outside the gates of Aspen Reach in three-quarters of an hour. Gregor is here as well, and he can drive us if you’d like.”

“I’d rather drive, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Mann. Does he have to come with us?”

“Not at all.” She was laughing. “But he’s my ride home.”

“I can drive you to Great Falls.”

“Mark, it’s Friday.”

“That’s right.” What was she getting at?

“You have dinner with Quinton on Friday.”

I scowled at the phone, unsure whether I should knock Quinn on his ass for telling his mother about that or jump his bones for being okay enough with us that he told his mother about that.

“That’s not a problem.” I’d call him and reschedule.

“Oh?” For a single word, it packed one hell of a chill.

“Mrs. Mann, Quinn would have my—He wouldn’t be happy if I drove you back to DC and then made you drive all the way back home.”

“It’s only a half-hour drive.”

“Yeah, but you know, we’re talking rush hour by the time we get done looking at this place. It’ll be easier if I drive you home.”

“I’m not a wilting violet, I’ll have you know.”

“No, ma’am. But if it comes to a choice between Quinn being pissed at me or you being pissed at me, I’ll have to go with you,” I said apologetically.

“I see. Very well. If you’d rather spend your time with me…I’ll give you directions to my dressmaker.”

I let her, even though I knew it would only take a minute for me to pull them up on the computer. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes, ma’am.”

“Very good, Mark. By the way?”

“Yes?”

“Please stop calling me ‘ma’am’.”

I laughed, and we hung up.

Okay, I had about ten minutes before I left to meet Mrs. Mann. I’d call Raphael’s—someone would be there now—and cancel the reservations, then set a program running that would search out intel on the condo in Aspen Reach. When the search was completed, the information would be downloaded to my PDA.

First things first, though. I called Quinn.

His voice mail picked up, and I left a brief message. “I can’t make it tonight. Sorry.”

He’d know it was me.

Next I spoke to the host at Raphael’s and rescheduled for the following week, and finally I called my secretary. It felt a little odd calling from the parking lot, but it would be even odder to go back to my office, only to turn around and leave.

“Ms. Parker, I’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll reschedule anything that comes up, for next week.”

“Thanks. Have a nice weekend.”

“I will. And I hope you do too, sir.”

Actually, I was going to have a fantastic weekend.

* * * *

The wrought iron gates that were supposed to keep outsiders out of Aspen Reach were set in stone walls that were eight feet high. I still would have felt happier if there had been a guard at those gates.

After the Realtor got us past them, we followed her to the clubhouse and parked beside her convertible. She waited for us to approach her car, and then slid out of the front seat.

“Hello!” she cooed. She adjusted her shoulder bag, which was large enough to hold all the paraphernalia of her business, gave Mrs. Mann a dismissive smile, and extended her hand to me. “I’m Francesca Dashwood. You must be Mark Vincent. Let me give you my card. It has my home phone number on it as well as my work and cell numbers.”

I took the card from her, gave it a quick once-over, and then tucked it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket before giving her a more thorough appraisal.

She was a tall, buxom brunette with eyes such an unbelievable blue that I knew they were contacts. The trouser suit she wore emphasized her t**s and long legs. Of course, the stiletto-heeled sandals on her long, thin feet helped. Gold-streaked brown hair spilled down her back in waves, and she tossed her head, flipping a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. A large ruby wrapped in gold filigree dangled from the exposed ear.

Mrs. Mann gave her a considering glance and made a soft, almost inaudible sound. In another woman, I would have called it a snort, but she was too elegant for anything like that.

“I’m Portia Mann, Allison’s friend.” Her cell phone rang, and I recognized the tone as “It Had to Be You”. Interesting. “Pardon me.” She took it from her purse and studied the screen. Her mouth tightened. She turned off the ringer and put it back, and nodded, all trace of irritation wiped from her face. “You may proceed, Ms. Dashwood.”

“Yes. Right this way.”

She gave us a tour of the community’s many amenities—the banquet room with its adjacent gourmet kitchen, card room, billiard room, and the miniature theater for viewing movies.

“And of course the theatricals the community is known for. Their last production was very well received. The Pirates of Penzance, I believe. You’d make an excellent Pirate King!” She fluttered her lashes at me. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the exercise room.” On the way, she pointed out the sauna and locker rooms for both sexes. “And here we have the exercise room.”

Weights, treadmills, stair-climbers, stationary bicycles, things I wouldn’t have expected to see outside Gold’s Gym.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” she murmured. One wall was completely glass, giving a view of the pool. “If you’ll come this way?” She led us down a spacious hallway. “As you can see, this room is for aerobics.”

What I could see were the community fees going sky high.

“Suppose you show us the condominium?”

“Certainly. That building is the gem of this community. Although it’s the same size as all the other buildings, there are only three units on each floor. I’ll point out the garage that goes with the unit, and then I’ll take you to see the condo. If you’ll get into my car?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll drive, or we can follow you.”

Most people would have missed the disgruntled twist to her lips.

“Of course.” Her smile was gracious. “Not a problem at all. If you’ll follow me?”

In a matter of minutes, we were driving past the area where garages for each building were. They’d been designed to look like old-fashioned carriage houses.

“This isn’t too convenient,” I said to Mrs. Mann.

“Keep that in mind, Mark.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

All the streets were named after aspens. Aspen Court, Aspen Circle, Aspen Drive, Aspen Way, Aspen Please-just-shoot-me-now.

We turned into Aspen Way and pulled up to the curb. When I got out, Francesca Dashwood was right there. She looped her arm through mine, once again flirting her lashes.

“You really didn’t need to have someone with you, you know. I don’t bite…much.”

“What a shame I’m taken.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to play the kept man.

“Oh?”

“Hon—” I coughed as if to cover up my slip. “Mrs. Mann is a very good…friend. She always insists on coming along.” I freed my arm and went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and handed Mrs. Mann out. I offered my arm to her.

“Thank you, Mark.”

I could almost see the wheels turning as the other woman tried to figure out Mrs. Mann’s relationship to me.

Mrs. Mann was about to release my arm, and I put my hand over hers to keep it in place. “I was just telling Ms. Dashwood what good friends we are, and how of course you’d come house-hunting with me.”

She didn’t miss a beat, picked up on what I was doing right away. “That’s true, precious.” She patted the hand that covered hers. “I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake. Goodness knows you cost me enough…” She gave a bland smile. Damn, I wished I could have known her when she’d been younger. She must have been a pistol. And though my preferences ran to men, I’d have tried my damnedest to take her away from Nigel Mann. “That is to say, you did want that monstrosity in…where was it?”

“There were so many, and you didn’t like any of them.” I thrust my lip out and did my best to sound sulky. “Not even the one with the mirror on the ceiling in the bedroom.”

Unseen by the Realtor, Mrs. Mann pinched me.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing like that here in Aspen Reach. However, this condo is fully furnished, and you have the option of buying it that way for only an additional seventy-five thousand dollars.” Ms. Dashwood led us into the lobby of the building.

“Mark has his own furniture.”

A brief pause. “That’s fine, then. However, if you should change your mind…. Ah, here’s the elevator.”

“I don’t use elevators.” Mrs. Mann looked around. “Where is the stairway?”

“Oh, surely a woman your age….”

Mrs. Mann simply raised an eyebrow, and the Realtor shut up and backed up.

“Ms. Dashwood?”

“Of course. Right this way.” She gave a saccharine smile and led us to the stairs. “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you on three. My sandals….” She walked back to the elevator.

“Y’know,” I muttered, “if there was a God, that elevator would get stuck between floors. For the whole weekend.” I held open the door to the stairwell, and Mrs. Mann entered, stifling her laughter with an elegant hand.

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like her attitude.”

“She’s very attractive, not to mention very well endowed. Many men would be more than willing to overlook her attitude.”

“She’s not my type.” I wasn’t going to remind her I was involved with her son, and that made anyone who wasn’t him not my type. She observed me thoughtfully; was she trying to make me nervous? I decided to go on the offensive. “Mrs. Mann, are you sure you want to take the stairs?”

“Do you doubt that I can?”

“No, ma’am.” But Quinn wasn’t here, and that left me to worry about her. She was in her sixties, after all. I’d keep an eye on her, and the second she even looked like she was faltering, I’d toss her over my shoulder—well, no, she was too elegant for that. I’d scoop her up in my arms. Yeah, that would work. And I’d carry her the rest of the way.

When we reached the third floor, her breathing was only slightly accelerated.

“You will not tell Quinton. Is that understood?”

“Tell him what, ma’am?” But if she was really having a problem, I’d tell Quinn in a shot. I liked her very much, but as I’d told her, if it was a toss-up as to who I’d piss off, it would have to be her.

Not realizing what I was thinking, she patted my arm, and we stepped out of the stairwell. The Realtor was standing by the elevator. The minute she saw us approaching, she stopped tapping her toe and smiled. Mrs. Mann hugged my arm to her, and we sauntered down the corridor. The condo was at the far end.

That was good. I didn’t like the idea of an elevator being too close to where I lived.

Ms. Dashwood unlocked the door and stepped aside to let us enter. My “sugar momma” walked in, looking over the entryway thoughtfully.

“After you, Ms. Dashwood.” I gestured for her to enter before me.

“Call me Francesca.” She adjusted her shoulder bag.

“Oh, I couldn’t….” But I let it sound as if with a little coaxing I very well could.

“Please?”

I surrendered gracefully. “Francesca.”

“There, you see? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now if you’ll…”

“Oh, no. Ladies before gentlemen. Francesca.” I let my voice caress her name. “Please. Honey…Mrs. Mann likes me to be polite.”

She gave me a considering look from under her lashes, then fluttered them and followed Mrs. Mann, a provocative swing to her hips.

I shut the door and threw the deadbolt from force of habit.

“Oh! You’re so close to me.”

I smiled at her, and she leaned back against me. Ah, s**t, my acting was too good.

Fortunately, Mrs. Mann came to the rescue. Not that I needed rescuing, but I was playing a role here.

“This closet is quite small.” Mrs. Mann’s tone of voice let it be known that no closet in her home would dare to be that small.

The closet was tucked away in a small alcove to the immediate left as we walked in. It wouldn’t need to be very big in order to hold a couple of overcoats and umbrellas, and maybe that fake dog that Quinn had said was a Shih Tzu, but I kept my mouth shut.

“You’ll find plenty of storage in this condominium. Now,” Francesca went on briskly, “the powder room is to the right, off the entry way. I like it.”

I raised an eyebrow at the pale pink tiles and the wallpaper covered with tiny flowers the same color. “Kind of girly, don’t you think?”

“I’m a girl, if you hadn’t noticed.” She did that lash-fluttering thing again. Jesus, she was going to start a windstorm.

“I do like the pedestal sink.” I didn’t say it was because it reminded me of that hotel in Paris where I’d first taken Pete de Becque, when I’d thought the Division cold op was a hustler.

“You can make any changes you desire. Consider it a canvas, if you will, and you color it with the palette of your own personality. Now,” she began showing us through the unit. “To our left through that archway is the formal dining room, which we’ll visit later. Here’s the kitchen, and beyond that, also to the left, is the master suite. As you can see, this particular condominium has a split floor plan. The master suite is separated from the guest wing by…” She waved her hand, indicating a very large, very pink living room. There was a fireplace against the inner wall. “This is a gas fireplace. It’s very nice, isn’t it? The mantel and surround are Carrara marble.”

French doors were folded back to let in the afternoon sunshine. Drapes with more pink flowers framed a deep bay window, and a cushion covered by the same material was on the window seat.

The room was cluttered with furniture, fussy chairs, a glass coffee table, the type of couch that used to be called a passion pit because an orgy could easily be hosted on it. Bric-a-brac was on every flat surface: nymphs and shepherdesses, flimsily-dressed women.

“And you say the owner is willing to part with these? I’m surprised. They’re Lladró,” Mrs. Mann said. Yeah, she’d be familiar with them.

I shrugged. Like I knew Lladró from those figurines of big-eyed kids praying.

Francesca gave Mrs. Mann a professional smile but didn’t respond to that. “And you can go onto the terrace through these French doors. The terrace has a lovely view of the golf course.”

I was watching Mrs. Mann. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “It’s not a very—” I paused as if searching for the word and then settled on, “—interesting view,” I murmured grudgingly.

“Do you golf, Mark? I assure you this is an excellent course, and the pro is quite exceptional. I’m sure just a session or two would be all that you’d need. “

I gave her a sour look. “I don’t much care to look out onto a water hazard.” Between the golf resort The Boss had sent me to out in Phoenix a few months ago and the local range, I had more than my fill of golf. Right now I was shooting about par, but I liked it only marginally less than getting up on a horse.

“Oh, that’s just a little…. Now this window has a very charming window seat.” She strolled over to it and bent, drawing the material of her slacks tight over her ass. She smiled at me over her shoulder, batting her lashes once more. “Voilà! It opens to provide storage.”

“That’s a nice feature, I’ll grant you,” Mrs. Mann agreed. I could see how grudging that agreement was, but it went right over the Dashwood woman’s head.

“I knew as a woman you’d appreciate that, Mrs. Mann. Now let me show you the guest suite.”

I could see that phrase jacking up the price.

“It’s just down this hallway. It contains the second bedroom, which has a sitting area and a full bathroom of its own, although not as luxurious as the master bath. This way, please.”

We trooped down the hallway. On the right side was a set of pocket doors. “What’s this room?”

“Oh, that’s the den.” She threw open the doors with a flourish, and I was greeted with more pink. The walls, the carpet, the furniture—a desk, a couple of chairs, a cabinet that opened to reveal a sewing machine and supplies.

Still, it was a good-sized room, and it would be nice to have a dedicated study.

Before I could betray my interest to the Realtor, Mrs. Mann gave me a look. Did she realize I was picturing my big desk in here?

She said, “I’d like to see the guest room. I believe you said it was a suite?”

“Oh, yes.” Francesca ushered us across the hall and into the room. “Isn’t this the most delicious bedroom?”

“It’s very…pink.” I felt like I was having a Pepto-Bismol overdose. Who would have thought there could be so many different shades of pink?

“As I said,” Francesca murmured, giving a condescending smile, “you can change whatever you like.”

Mrs. Mann walked into the room and stopped dead. “Oh, my. This carpeting is thick, isn’t it?”

I followed her, sinking into the plush depths, and realized what she meant.

Francesca’s voice lost some of its enthusiasm. “A little paint, new carpeting…I believe I heard something about there being hardwood floors under this.”

“That would be…. Mark, I think you’d like hardwood floors.” Mrs. Mann crossed to a pair of doors. “Ah. A nice-sized closet.”

I didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t likely I’d have guests, and when Quinn came over, he’d spend the night in my room.

Mrs. Mann went to the window. “Draped voile shades. I must say, I like that touch.” She drew them aside, letting in more of the late afternoon sun. “Although the view is only tolerable.” She turned away. “Is this the sitting area?”

“Yes.”

Even more pink. Why wasn’t I surprised? It contained an overstuffed easy chair and ottoman, an artificial fireplace, a floor lamp, and a small table with Elle, Glamour, and Cosmopolitan fanned out over the surface. The most current issue was at least ten months old.

“It’s a nice use of space,” Mrs. Mann was saying. “I assume the fireplace is included?”

“I think the…owners might be persuaded to include it. Now, the guest bathroom is right through here. Shall we?”

The door to the bathroom was beside the closet. It opened to reveal a single vanity with marble top and chrome fixtures, the john, and a tub and shower with a glassed-in enclosure.

“It’s a little small, don’t you think, Mark?”

I shrugged. I wouldn’t be using it. She frowned at me, and I realized she was setting up a bargaining chip.

“You’re right, hon. Mrs. Mann. What, no bidet?”

“That’s in the master bath.” Francesca was at my shoulder, and I turned and raised my eyebrow. She gave an arch smile and nodded to a door. “See. There’s a linen closet in here also.”

Be still my heart.

“Well, I imagine it can hold the sheets and towels for the bedroom and bath.” Mrs. Mann seemed dubious. “Although a comforter or duvet…”

“As I’ve said, there’s plenty of storage. You needn’t worry about that. Now, if you’ll just follow me—” She stepped back through the bedroom and into the hallway.

Jesus, this woman did like to use the word “now.”

“What’s this door?”

“Oh, it leads to the roof.”

“Do all the units on this floor have access?” Mrs. Mann was observing her carefully.

Francesca nodded. “Let’s just—”

I tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. “Do you have the key for this? I’d like to see the roof.” The lock seemed sturdy, but if I’d been alone, I’d have had it unlocked in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t given the key to that door. The condominium association is having some work done on the roof, and no one is permitted up there just now. You understand, I’m sure—the liability factor. They’ll turn the key over to you after you’ve bought the unit. Let me show you the rest of the condo.” All of a sudden she seemed antsy to get us away from there.

Well, if I decided to buy this place, I’d change all the locks anyway. And it was for damn sure I’d check out the roof before I agreed to anything. If I decided to buy.

“If you’ll follow me, please?”

We followed her back through the living room.

“Here’s the kitchen.”

“Large.” Mrs. Mann was willing to give it that, but grudgingly.

“There’s plenty of storage. As I said.” Francesca’s smile this time seemed a little strained.

I crouched to open a cabinet, making sure she didn’t see the expression on my face. I wished I’d had Portia Mann with me the other times I’d gone house-hunting. I’d never had so much fun.

“The cabinets are natural maple, crafted in Canada, and the hardware is brushed nickel. The stainless steel appliances are new; they’ve all been replaced within the last month or so.” In an effort to lure buyers? “The countertops are granite, and the flooring is Riverstone tile. As you can see, the island has a cook-top. And don’t you think the pass-through is a convenience no upscale home should be without?”

“It is a nice touch, as is the breakfast nook. And there’s a window? Odd. I would have thought this wall didn’t have the exposure.” Mrs. Mann pulled back a set of sheer curtains.

“It’s a mural.” Francesca’s words were short.

“Cows? A cow pasture? No, I know.” I raised a hand to cut off her words. “I can change it. What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s the walk-in pantry. It contains a mini fridge and a dishwasher. And here we have the laundry, with the washer, which is front-loading, and the dryer. This cabinet here is for delicates to hang dry.”

“Oh.” Delicates? I had to stifle a laugh at the image of Quinn in pretty pink unmentionables.

“There’s also a built-in ironing board.”

“Okay, that’s good. I guess.”

“Pay no attention to Mark. He’s used to having me send his laundry out.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Remember that.” She gave Francesca a cool stare. “And I don’t share.”

“Uh.…Yes. Of course. Well, let’s move on, shall we?” She gestured to the broad, arched doorway. I bit down hard on my inner cheek to keep from laughing—wait until I told Quinn about this—and we followed her through it.

“Ah. The formal dining room.” Mrs. Mann’s expression was bland.

Francesca hurried on. “This table is set for an intimate dinner party, but it can open up to seat twelve comfortably.” She gestured toward the other chairs that were placed around the room. “And the area rug is quite unusual, don’t you think?”

“It’s not pink.” I exchanged glances with Mrs. Mann. I’d never seen such an ugly rug. She turned away, hiding a smile.

“The buffet and hutch, the china cabinet.”

Did I look like the kind of man who had a china cabinet?

“And here beneath the pass-through, we have the sideboard.”

“It’s convenient, Mark, for all it’s a trifle small.”

Small? But I played along with her. “Maybe we ought to—”

“You haven’t seen the master suite yet.” She was starting to sound desperate. “I’ve saved the best for last! It’s right this way!”

Back through the kitchen, and this time to the left, and in spite of myself, I let out a low whistle. The master bedroom alone had to be about seven hundred square feet. My apartment right now—the whole f*****g thing—was maybe a little under that.

Theo Bascopolis, the former rent boy who lived downstairs from my present apartment, had insisted on going furniture shopping with me. That had been after my apartment in Forest Heights had been blown up. It had taken a while, and he had no idea how close I’d come to shooting him, but we’d finally found furniture we could both agree on. I hadn’t been certain if the bedroom set I’d bought would fit in a new bedroom—it didn’t in my present apartment, and I’d had to put pieces in storage—but it would actually be lonely in this room.

Oddly enough, there was no wall-to-wall carpeting. The wood floor looked a little dull, but I had no doubt it could be buffed to a high gloss and made to look really classy.

Another set of French doors, these covered with plantation shutters—pink, and I flinched—opened onto the terrace. I opened them up and stepped out to have a look around.

“The balcony runs the entire length of this unit. It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” Francesca gushed. “That’s the summer kitchen at the far end. It also has a mini fridge and a dishwasher, and not only a cooktop, but a barbecue as well! Gas, of course! As you can see, this entire area is roofed in! Inclement weather won’t stop you from enjoying an evening on the terrace with friends!” Her enthusiasm was beginning to sound false.

I made a noncommittal sound and she rushed on.

“There,” she said as she waved her hand, “you can see the area for outdoor dining, and here by the master, we have a splendid conversation area, with a firepit which has a number of chaises grouped around it. The coffee table and small tables are convenient for holding drinks and snacks.”

“I’d need to buy outdoor furniture.”

“Oh, you could always purchase this set. It goes so well with this space, don’t you think?”

“You’d get a commission on that, wouldn’t you?” I gave her a look, which she returned with a tight smile.

“There’s a sound system that will allow you to play either preprogrammed music or listen to your favorite radio station!”

Jesus, she was really pushing it now.

I turned to look at the view. To the right was the golf course, but to the left….

“Oh, that’s the preserve view, the lawn growing down to the trees for which this complex was named, the aspen. Isn’t it gorgeous? One has the feeling of living in untrammeled beauty!”

I frowned. I was a city boy, and it didn’t matter much to me if I didn’t see grass and trees outside the park, but that wasn’t to say other people wouldn’t enjoy it. In spite of the way I’d been picking this condo to shreds, it could be a decent home. Why hadn’t any of the prospective buyers bought it?

I stepped back into the master. At the far end of the bedroom was a single pocket door. I slid it back to find a long hallway, and there was carpeting here. To the left was a walk-in closet that was large enough to house a small third-world country. I could picture Quinn’s suits hanging in it beside mine. There were built-in shelves and a slide-out shoe rack that would hold at least a couple of dozen pairs of shoes.

To the right was a small gym. Sure, why not? If the weather was bad, you could avoid going out and getting wet.

At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and that was everything Mrs. Mann had told me and more: a double vanity topped with pink—what else?—marble; vessel sinks, also pink marble, and gold-plated fixtures; a shower with multiple heads; and a Jacuzzi that was large enough to hold two men in sybaritic comfort, even if one of them was six foot three.

Behind a smoky glass-block wall was the john. And the bidet.

“The towel bars are also warming bars!”

“Sweet.”

Mrs. Mann gave a silent sigh, and I smiled, an apologetic twist of my lips.

“So. Would you like to make an offer, Mark?”

“I’d like to discuss this with him for a moment, if you don’t mind, Francesca?” Mrs. Mann’s expression was cool. God, I would have loved to have seen her in action.

I could see Francesca didn’t care for Mrs. Mann’s use of her first name, but she gave a gracious nod. “I’ll wait in the foyer.” She stalked out stiffly, probably certain the afternoon had been a bust and that she wasn’t going to make the sale.

“This condo has been on the market for a while, Mark.”

“Has it? I’ve done my homework; if a place has been for sale for more than thirty days, I can offer something like 15 percent less than what they’re asking. And the way you were picking at everything, I think I should be able to get it for way less than what they’re asking.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you really want it?”

A place this big, and this close to Quinn? “Yeah.” But there was still something that was bothering me. “Look, can you distract her for about ten minutes? I want to see what’s up on the roof.”

“I thought you might. I’ll suggest I want to examine the dining room again.”

“Thanks. You’re a honey.”

“I. Beg. Your. Pardon?”

But I could see she wasn’t offended.

We walked back into the empty bedroom, and I came to an abrupt standstill.

“Mark?”

“Mrs. Mann, the other bedroom had carpeting, and the bed was made, almost like a…a showplace. Dressed to sell, if you follow me?”

“Yes, I see what you mean. There’s no carpeting in this room, but there is in the hall leading to the bathroom; there’s nothing on the bed beyond a rather nondescript duvet—no sheets, no pillows or shams.”

Something in a corner caught my eye, and I crouched down to examine it. “The previous owner must have been seriously unhappy with the carpeting.” Cotton candy pink didn’t do anything for me, but I wouldn’t have ripped it out so carelessly that tufts were left where the floor joined with the wall.

I went to the bed and pulled back the duvet, then raised the mattress up enough so that I could see under it. I let it down gently.

“Mark?”

I smoothed the duvet back in place and ran my palm over the headboard. “There’s nothing there, but I wonder…if I spritz this headboard with luminol, will it turn blue?”

“You’re suggesting someone might have been killed here?”

“All this time on the market, and all those prospective buyers backing out, not to mention the way the carpet was yanked out? Yeah. And now I really want to see what’s up on the roof.” I toed off my shoes and picked them up.

“Give me a second. I’ll keep her distracted.” She walked out of the bedroom. “Oh, Francesca? Would you mind if we looked at the dining room again? I believe I have a Cézanne that will fit perfectly on the wall…” Her voice faded, and I waited a beat, then ran to the other end of the condo.

I took a slim leather case from the inner pocket of my suit jacket, selected a slender pick, and got the door to the roof open. I made my way cautiously up the stairs. Fortunately, none of them creaked.

The door at the top was also locked, and I made a note to be certain the condo association turned over two keys to me. I picked the second lock and opened the door. There was a possibility I could be seen if I stepped out onto the roof, and I decided I’d be better off studying the flat expanse from this viewpoint.

The air was turning cool, and there was a slight breeze. The breeze caused the remains of yellow crime scene tape to snap.

Interesting. And no doubt the reason why this particular condominium was having a hard time being sold. Investigating it had definitely been called for. I took my PDA from another pocket and powered it up. Within minutes, I had the information that my computer had downloaded to it.

On January 4 of this year, Delilah Carson, a very high-priced call girl, had been killed, viciously and thoroughly. The cops blamed her druggy boyfriend, who had taken a header off the roof. Groundskeepers had found him, his brains splattered on the concrete below.

I tucked the PDA back into my pocket and went back down, locking the doors behind me, and put the pick away and my shoes back on. Then I strolled down the hallway, whistling through my teeth.

“Mark? Precious, we’re in the dining room.”

They were sitting at the table, papers spread out. I leaned down and brushed my lips over her cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

“Have you decided to make an offer?” Francesca was looking tense.

“Yeah.” I told her how much, and she turned pale.

“They’ll never accept that.”

“You mean the executors of Delilah Carson’s estate? We’ll never know unless you present it to them. If they drag their feet…. Well, I don’t think they will, because as soon as prospective buyers have learned that the previous owner was eviscerated in her bedroom, they’ve backed out on the deal.” I scrawled my name at the bottom of each page. “Here’s my business card. Call me. Hon…Mrs. Mann? Shall we be going?”

“Of course, Mark.” She took my arm, and we each gave Francesca a smile goodbye.

* * * *

“‘Honey’?”

“Excuse me?” I flipped on the blinker, looked over my shoulder, and then accelerated and merged with the flow of traffic on I-495. As soon as I could, I got into the middle lane and set the cruise control for a speed that corresponded with the cars around me. It happened to be five miles over the speed limit.

“Mark, you called me ‘honey’!” She was laughing softly.

“Well….” I gave a slight grin myself. “I thought it was the kind of pet name a guy would call the woman who was keeping him. I hope you didn’t mind pretending to be my sugar momma.”

“Not at all. I haven’t had such fun….” She laughed again.

“If this falls through, I hope you’ll go house-hunting with me again.”

“It had better not fall through. Much as I like Allison, I won’t deal with that woman again.”

“Mrs. Mann, what was it about La Dashwood that drew your attention when we met her outside the clubhouse?”

“I should have realized you’d notice that. Her earrings, Mark. Those rubies were given to Allison by Clarkson Palmer, her first husband. Quite garish, but quite expensive. He asked for them back when the marriage collapsed, but after twenty-five years, she refused to return them. She told me she’d earned them, that after all the aggravation he put her through with one midlife crisis after another, she’d be damned if she’d let him give those rubies to his…child bride.”

I had a feeling those weren’t the words Mrs. Mann’s friend had used to describe the young woman who had snared her husband.

“Could they be fakes?”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose it’s possible, but they looked real to me.”

“So why would she give them to her present husband’s sister?”

“I don’t know, Mark. But I intend to find out.”

“If I can be of any help—” My cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” I took my eyes from the road long enough to check the readout. I recognized the number from the business card I’d been handed earlier. “Hello, Francesca. What news?”

“You don’t believe in the pleasantries, do you?”

Not with her. “I was under the impression this was a business call.”

“It is. They’ve accepted your offer.” She sounded less than pleased. 4 percent of what her clients were going to get wasn’t a patch on the 4 percent she’d have collected if I’d agreed to the original price that had been quoted to Mrs. Mann.

“I’m glad to hear that. When and where do they want to get together to finalize this?”

She named the day and time the following week, and the location, which was in Alexandria. “You should have ownership then. Congratulations on becoming a new homeowner.”

“Thanks. It’s been…” There was a click in my ear as she disconnected. “…a pleasure.” I laughed softly, pressed end, and dropped my phone onto the seat beside me. “I don’t think she’s too happy with me.”

“I can see how heartbroken that makes you.”

“Yeah. Congratulate me, Mrs. Mann. It’s mine.”

“Congratulations, Mark. I’m so pleased for you. When do you close?”

I told her. “But it will need a lot of work.”

“To make it less pink?” She chuckled. It was a warm sound.

“Yes. I get a toothache just looking at the walls and carpeting. I don’t think I can count on moving in until the middle of November at the earliest.”

“Tell me what you plan to do with it.”

“The walls need repainting. I know someone who’ll get a kick out of looking through paint chips. The carpeting will have to go. If the rest of the floors are hard wood, I’ll have them refinished.”

“If they’re not?”

“I’ll have them put in. And maybe an area rug in front of the fireplace.” I smiled to myself. That rug would be for the times when I wouldn’t be able to wait to get that sexy spook into my bedroom and on my bed.

“That sounds like a nice idea.” Quinn’s mother fortunately had no notion of where my mind had gone. “What else?”

I began ticking off the pieces of furniture I had, and the ones I’d had to put in storage.

Time passed quickly, and even with traffic, it wasn’t more than half an hour later when I pulled up in front of her Tudor-style house. It was still Daylight Saving Time, but it was starting to get dark earlier, and the house was lit up. A male figure stood by the front door.

“Didn’t Novotny trust me to get you home in one piece?”

“That isn’t Gregor, Mark.” She unbuckled her seatbelt.

“It isn’t?” I looked closer. I was surprised to see Quinn. Wasn’t he supposed to be at State?

“Turn off the engine. You’re staying for dinner.”

“I am?” But I was talking to thin air. She’d already let herself out of the car and was walking toward her son, who crossed the lawn with lithe strides to meet her. He bent to kiss her cheek.

I switched off the ignition and got out of the car.

“You left your lights on, Mark.”

I swore under my breath, leaned in and shut them off, then slammed the door shut.

“You’re looking tired, sweetheart.” His mother rested her palm on his cheek.

“I’m very glad it’s Friday, Mother. It’s been a long week.” He covered her hand with his own, then turned his head to place a kiss on her palm. “I was at State today. You know how that can be. On top of that, my car needed to go in for its eighteen-thousand-mile tune-up. It’s a good thing your message let me know that Gregor was in town. I called him and got a lift.”

“Mrs. Mann!” Novotny stood at the top of the steps, his hands on his hips. He was backlit by the light above the door, and I couldn’t see his expression, but his tone of voice told me he’d been ready to call out the Marines. Did he think she’d been in danger of some sort? She’d been with me, dammit.

“I’m coming, Gregor.” She squeezed her son’s hand and turned to go toward the house.

I sauntered up to Quinn. “Mann. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Mother’s message also let me know she was going to look at a condominium with you. What did you think of Aspen Reach?”

I fell into step with him, and we walked toward his mother’s house. “The community is okay.”

“Only okay?”

I grinned at him, but he didn’t grin back.

“What about the condo?”

“Barring any unforeseen difficulties—and I don’t think there will be any, they’re desperate to unload it—it’s mine.”

Mrs. Mann paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Goodness knows Francesca worked hard enough to sell it. And that wasn’t all she was selling.”

“Francesca?”

“Yeah. And you should have—” I was a couple of steps past him before I realized he wasn’t beside me. I turned to face him. “Quinn?”

“Should I be jealous?” He brushed back the hair that was always falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed past me and strode up the steps.

“She isn’t my type, Mann.” I followed him into the house and shut and locked the door. “Unless she’s hiding them behind blue contacts, she doesn’t have hazel eyes.”

“And you mean to say that if she did, you’d find her…interesting?” he sniped.

“Quinn, what…” Everything had been going well. Didn’t he…like me anymore?

“Well, if you want to f**k her, don’t let me stop you, Vincent.” He shrugged and started to turn away from me, and I grabbed his arm.

“Are you kidding? You think I’d do something like that to you?”

“Why not? You’re…” Abruptly I realized that Portia Mann was right, he looked dead beat.

A quick glance around showed me we were alone in the hallway, and I shut him up with my mouth. I expected him to struggle or at least to stiffen in my embrace, but instead he gave a sigh and relaxed into me.

“Mann, what the f**k?”

“I just needed to know…I’m sorry. It’s been a b***h of a day, ending an all-time b***h of a week.”

“You’re gonna”—scare me—”piss and moan one time too often, and then—”

“You’re going to leave me?”

“No. CIA i***t. I’m gonna knock you on your ass.”

“You’ve already knocked me on my ass.”

“I have?”

“Didn’t you know?” He kissed me. “I’m disappointed in you,” he murmured against my lips.

“Damned spook. Come on. Novotny will think I’m molesting you.”

“Speaking of which—”

“Molesting you?”

“Smartass.” His hand curved over my butt and squeezed. “No. Gregor. He drove me here. I don’t have my car, and I’m going to need a ride home.”

“No problem. I’ll drive you back to your town house.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

You bet your ass you can, baby. “Want to stop and check out my place on the way back?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, and that brought home more than anything how tired he was. “Oh, your condo?”

My condo. I liked the sound of that. “Yeah.”

“Mother said something about it being in a gated community.”

I showed him the remote that operated the gate into Aspen Reach, then replaced it in my pocket. I’d lifted it from the Dashwood witch’s shoulder bag when she’d been busy showing his mother and me into the condo, but he didn’t need to know that.

“But you don’t have the keys yet.” He lowered his voice. “Right. What am I talking about? You were able to get into my town house. That condo should be a cinch.”

It was nice to have my abilities appreciated. I grinned but didn’t say anything.

“When you look like that…God, I want to kiss you again.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Quinton!” Mrs. Mann called from the dining room. “Mark! Dinner is getting cold.”

“Jesus, we were making out in my mother’s front entry! We’re coming, Mother.” He cut his eyes toward mine as I opened my mouth to say something heavy with innuendo. “No snide remarks, Vincent.” He stroked the curve of my ear, then dropped his hand to my shoulder and urged me toward the first floor john so we could wash our hands.

“I left a message on your voice mail.”

“I was at a meeting. Mother’s message also mentioned that since you insisted on driving her home from Aspen Reach, she was going to insist you stay for dinner, and if I wanted to keep our usual Friday arrangement, I should hop to it and call Gregor.”

“Very clever woman.”

“Yes, she is.” His pride in her was obvious.

And maybe another time I’d tell him about her portrayal of a sugar momma.

We went into the dining room and waited for Mrs. Mann to be seated before sitting down ourselves. Novotny had already placed dinner on the table. He took a seat opposite me and curled his lip.

“Shrimp scampi. I hope you don’t mind a little garlic, Vincent.”

“Nope.” Had he done that on purpose, so my lover would be reluctant to kiss me? “Keeps the vampires away.”

“Pass the scampi, please, Mark.” Quinn smiled at me. He would be having it too.

I sent Novotny an insouciant smile, and he scowled.

* * * *

We finished dinner, and after giving me a hard look, Novotny had gone into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. Once that was done, he’d take his cup of coffee and retreat to his lair upstairs somewhere.

We sat in the small parlor at the back of the house, listening to a Cole Porter CD and finishing our coffee.

“I had the opportunity to meet him once, you know,” Mrs. Mann murmured. “He was very charming.”

“You’ve known some very interesting people, if you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am.”

“Yes, I was quite fortunate.” She started to say something else and then looked at her son. He was sitting beside me, his legs stretched out and his head resting on the back of the loveseat. “Sweetheart, you look so tired.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother. I just need a solid night’s sleep.”

“In that case, I think you’ve had enough coffee, Quinn.” I took his cup and stood up. “Mrs. Mann, can I bring your cup to the kitchen?”

“Thank you, Mark.”

“Pushy so-and-so,” Quinn muttered as I walked out of the room, and I grinned. He couldn’t call me worse in front of his mother. I returned in time to hear him say, “I left word at both State and Langley that short of a national emergency, I wasn’t to be called this weekend.” He yawned. “Sorry.”

“Perhaps we should call off our Sunday ride.” His mother sent a glance my way, and I gave a minute nod.

“I’m not an invalid, Mother.” He was starting to sound petulant, a sure sign he was more exhausted than he wanted to let on.

“C’mon, tough guy. I’ll drive you home.” My home. I was going to keep him in my apartment, and I’d turn off his cell phone so that even in the event of a national emergency he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Mrs. Mann walked us to the front door and out to the steps. She kissed her son’s cheek, and to my surprise, she kissed mine as well.

“Drive carefully, Mark.”

“Yes, ma’am. Always do.”

She stood at the door, watching until we gave a final wave and drove off.

* * * *

“Life Saver, Mark?”

“Huh?” I was humming under my breath. I’d decided to drive straight to my apartment in DC, skipping the visit to Aspen Reach. “Oh, yeah, sure.” The garlic. I held out my palm, felt the mint drop into it, and popped it into my mouth. Pep-O-Mint, as I’d suspected.

A quick glance showed him doing the same just before he tipped his head back against the headrest, and closed his eyes.

Dammit, I really wasn’t used to seeing him this tired, and I didn’t like it.

I stamped down heavily on the gas pedal and got him home, stripped, and into bed.

“I’m sorry, babe.” Quinn yawned so hugely my jaws ached in sympathy. His minty breath washed over my face.

Take that, Novotny. There’s nothing you can cook that Life Savers doesn’t make a mint to neutralize.

“It’s okay.” I drew the covers around him. “What’s the point in showing you where I’ll f**k your brains out if you aren’t awake enough to appreciate it? Go to sleep.”

He mumbled something, and then a soft snore whispered past his lips.

Quinn was a few years younger than me. The dossier I kept on him had nothing about his inability to bounce back from an assignment.

I should have gotten to the bastard who ran Prinzip before Quinn and killed him harder. If he hadn’t had Quinn kidnapped….

I stripped, shut the light, and got into bed with Quinn. He rolled over into my arms, murmured a few words, and sighed, a warm gust of air over my collarbone.

“Yeah, this is nice,” I whispered in his ear. “ ‘Night, Quinn.”