“Mark, I want to be there.”
“I work alone, baby.”
“I want to be there.” His mouth had a stubborn set to it.
“Listen, Mann—”
“No, you listen, Vincent. She’s. My. Mother. She was in my car. That should have been me in that hospital bed.”
And it would have.
If Wexler hadn’t become so obvious in his pursuit of Portia Mann that his wife couldn’t help but be aware of it, if Mrs. Wexler hadn’t had the tires of Mrs. Mann’s Town Car slashed, if Quinn hadn’t given his mother his car because he knew I’d driven my own and would give him a lift home….
So many ifs.
“Okay, Quinn. But I give the orders. And if you don’t follow them to the letter—To. The. Letter—I won’t have any qualms about decking you and handling it on my own. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Good. Now take your sword and Rivenhall’s prese
