Chapter 31
I was not the kind of mother who tied her son to her apron strings. Quinton was thirty-seven years old and a deputy director of the CIA. Therefore, when I didn’t hear from him in the following days, I wasn’t unduly concerned. There had been other times when he’d been called away and was out of touch for weeks, if not months.
It was Memorial Day. Since I had nothing of importance scheduled for the day, I’d slept in, and I was just now having my second cup of coffee.
Gregor leaned back against the sink with his own cup and seemed contented. “What are we going to do today?”
“I believe I’ll do some work in the backyard.”
“I’ll help you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” It was a pleasure having him around.
“And I think for dinner I’ll grill us a couple of nice thi
