by Tinnean
“You both need to be sure.”
“You never told me how someone in your company got hold of it, Vince.” The hand he scrubbed over his face was still shaking. “I mean, it’s hardly a threat to national security.”
I picked up the cup and took a sip of the coffee. “There’s nothing like coffee from freshly ground beans.”
“Vince….”
The cat wound itself back and forth between my legs—I wondered if it smelled Pita on my trousers—and I leaned down and rubbed its ears. “Hello, cat.”
“This is Tiramisu. We call her Miss Su. Wills gave her to me for Christmas.”
Another female. I sat down, and she jumped onto my lap and started purring. I’d never had a pet—my old lady didn’t want any in the house, not a dog or a fish or a bird. And when I’d gone out on my own… well, as I’d told Quinn when I’d introduced him to Sam, it wasn’t fair to an animal if I didn’t know when I’d be home, or even if I would.
Matheson returned with the video, his mouth in a tight line. “It’s the tape.” He put it down on the table with a snap. “What’s going on, sir?”
I told them what I could without compromising the situation—they didn’t need to know I’d canceled the man behind this. Matheson accepted the terse explanation because he was WBIS; Theo accepted it because as a former rent boy, he knew better than to press for answers.
“I want it gone. Please, Wills. I don’t want any reminders of that time!”
“We’ll get rid of it however you say, babe.” Matheson went to him, wrapped his arms around him, and, unmindful of my presence, kissed him. Theo was the taller of the two, but just then it didn’t seem that way. Matheson murmured something in Theo’s ear, holding on to him and stroking his hair.
Once Matheson agreed to dispose of the tape, Theo regained control of himself and relaxed enough to sit down and nibble on his cookie.
It didn’t last long, though.
“Let me get you another cup of coffee.” He started to rise.
“No, I’m good.”
Before he could sit down, Matheson smiled at him. “I’ll have another cup, babe. If it’s not too much trouble?”
“Nothing’s too much trouble for you.” Theo leaned over and brushed a kiss over his cheek. “He’s marrying me, Vince. Isn’t that the greatest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nifty,” I agreed. He left the room, almost bouncing. “Did you really need another cup of coffee?”
“No.” Matheson turned and regarded me somberly. “Is this the only tape, sir?”
I met his gaze, pleased with how well this senior special agent was shaping up. “No. I destroyed the one Davies gave me on Friday.”
“So this is a copy.” He looked tired.
“Honeycutt told me it’s the original.”
“You saw him?”
“That’s where I got this from.” I tapped the tape.
“If there were two, there could be more.” Matheson’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I’ll try to reassure Theo, but he knows how easy it is to duplicate these fucking things. Sorry, sir.”
“Forget about it.”
“I just wish I could get my hands on Honeycutt.”
“Forget about him too.”
“Forget about who?” Theo put the cup down in front of Matheson, then draped himself over his fiancé’s back and nuzzled the side of his throat.
This would be a good time to leave. I got to my feet and nodded toward the two notepads on the table. “I see you're making out your guest list.”
“You're on it.”
“Good. Mind if I bring a guest?”
“Bring whoever you want. You're not gonna tell me how you found out about Connor, are you?”
I grinned at him and turned to my agent. “I'll see you in the morning, Matheson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And plan on working next weekend. I can't keep giving you time off.” I glanced at the tape.
“I know what to do with this, Mr. Vincent.”
“Good.” He was shaping up to be a decent agent. I checked the time. Pita might be getting antsy. “I’d better go. Thanks for the coffee and the cookie.”
Theo straightened and gave me a pained look. “Baklava!”
“Right. Good night.”
“’Night, Vince.”
“Good night, sir.”
“Mrrow.”
I stooped and ran a knuckle with its Band-Aid under the cat’s chin. “Good night to you too, cat.”
As I walked down the two flights of stairs, I wondered how Quinn would feel about getting a pet. I wasn’t sure about a dog—even if I didn’t generally leave the country much anymore, I was still out of the condo all day. But cats... they were pretty self-sufficient.
I’d surprise him with Pita’s presence on the weekend and see what he thought. If he liked her enough, we could go to one of Portia’s no-kill shelters and see about picking one out. Or maybe two, to keep each other company.
Yeah, that was an idea, and I grinned, thinking of how I’d impress Quinn by putting together a cat condo without skinning my knuckles.
Chapter 12
I was getting ready for bed when my cell phone played “Until It’s Time for You to Go.” Why was Quinn calling me…? I tensed, remembering his meeting with Portia this morning.
“Hi—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why would you think anything was?” He sounded surprised, and I relaxed.
“I wasn’t expecting a call from you tonight.”
“Well, I wanted to let you know what Mother had to tell me this morning.”
I became tense again. “Okay, let me have it.” Had Novotny convinced Portia I was a bad influence on Quinn? “But just so you know, it doesn’t matter!”
“I’m very glad to hear that. I was afraid it might.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” I snapped. “You’re mine, and you’re staying mine!”
He was silent for a second, and my muscles tied themselves into knots. Finally he said, “Of course that means a great deal to me, but I fail to see what that has to do with Mother and Gregor.”
“Huh?”
He began to chuckle. “Mark, I think we’re talking at cross purposes. Mother wanted to inform me that she and Gregor are… involved.”
“Huh?” How the fuck had that slipped past me? I’d always thought Novotny was protective of her—I remembered how just before Thanksgiving he’d jumped down my throat when he thought I was insinuating something about the two of them, which I hadn’t been, but that was Novotny—but the thought of them together…. “You’re shitting me!”
“No, I’m not, and I want you to promise not to give her a hard time over it.”
“Y’know, I’m really hurt that you’d think I’d do something like that!” She’d been without anyone since Nigel Mann had been killed in a plane crash, twenty-five years ago, and she deserved to be happy, but… Novotny?
“In that case, I apologize.”
“When did this happen?”
“According to Mother, the day after Christmas.”
And now the end of March was heading toward us like a freight train. “Do your uncles know?”
“They do by now. Tony had to know first, since he’s the oldest, so she was going to wait until it was two on this coast.” And of course Tony would tell Bryan, the youngest brother, who shared that mansion with him. “And once she filled him in on what was happening, she planned to call Jefferson.”
Jesus, I was glad I was an only child. Family politics were a bitch.
“How come she never said anything?”
“She wanted to have this to herself for a while. You know her meeting with Father was arranged by my grandfather and Uncle Tony. They put a lot of pressure on Mother, first to go out with Father, and then to keep the relationship asexual.”
I choked.
“Yes, I know. Children aren’t inclined to realize what their parents do, but even as a child I was aware of
the deep love they had for each other. After we lost him… Mother’s been so alone. Mark, I don’t begrudge her this measure of happiness in the least.”
“Well, I want her to be happy too.” In spite of the fact that Novotny was... Novotny, Portia had good taste, and if she cared about him….
“Thank you, Mark.”
“Since we’re talking about your mother, can you tell me if she’s allergic to cats?”
“Where did that come from?”
“Just wondering.”
“Mark.”
“Okay, I was thinking of giving her a kitten for Mother’s Day.”
“Hmm. There are plenty of barn cats at Shadow Brook, and she’s always been fine with them.”
“So… uh… do you think it’s a good idea?”
“Do you know, I think it is!”
“Cool. Now getting back to Portia and Novotny… Are they registered anywhere? Maybe I ought to buy Novotny a breakaway thong. Or one of those G-strings with a pouch....”
“Mark, they’re not getting married! And please keep in mind... this is my mother’s companion we’re talking about! Order him some cookware from Calphalon. That will be fine.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Really?” I should have known by his tone of voice that something was up. “Speaking of underwear…” His tone deepened, became husky. “What are you wearing, Mark?”
I looked down at my shorts, which were suddenly tented. “Give me two seconds, and it’ll be nothing!” I put my phone on speaker—I’d need both hands for this—and got naked.
Afterward, I sank boneless onto my bed. Once I caught my breath, I stretched until my joints popped.
“I wish we’d done this in person,” Quinn murmured, sounding as satisfied as I felt.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. After dinner on Friday, we will.”
“I look forward to it. I….”
I waited, but whatever he was going to say was obscured by a yawn.
“Sorry, babe. I’d better go.”
“Okay. ’Night, Quinn.”
“Good night, Mark.”
***
It was going to be an interesting day. It would have been a better day if I’d woken up with Quinn beside me—as I changed Pita’s water, opened a can of food for her, and poured myself a bowl of the fiber cereal I was having for breakfast, I pictured what it would be like to always have him in my home, always have him waking beside me... maybe me blowing him, maybe him blowing me…. But we couldn’t always get what we wanted, especially with Quinn working for the C-fucking-I-fucking-A.
Not that I’d slept alone. Instead of using the cat bed I’d bought her, Pita—apparently recovered from whatever had disturbed her the day before—had jumped up onto my bed and insisted on sharing it with me, cradled against my stomach.
“Just don’t expect this when Quinn is over,” I muttered.
She uttered a soft meow and closed her eyes. Her purr vibrated against me, and we both fell asleep.
Now, I finished the cereal, hoping eventually I’d develop a taste for it, and rinsed the bowl. The only reason why I ate the god-awful stuff was because Quinn had asked me to. And when he’d said, “I want you around for a long time, babe…” Well, how could I refuse him?
I put the bowl in the dishwasher, dressed for work, and made sure the doors to all the rooms were closed. “I’m trusting you, Pita...” She’d still have access to the kitchen and living room. “... so be on your best behavior.”
She rubbed her head against my shin, then hopped up onto the window seat, wrapped her tail around her paws, and gazed out at the water hazard.
Traffic was light for a Monday. After a stop at McDonald’s, I drove on to headquarters, entered the building, and jogged down to the basement to R&D.
“Yo, Vince!” Romero’s eyes widened. “You come bearin’ Egg McMuffins!”
“I do.” I handed him the bag but kept one of the supersized coffees for myself.
He pawed through the bag, took out a paper-wrapped breakfast sandwich, and stared at it almost reverently. He practically inhaled the first McMuffin.
“Mmm!” He closed his eyes, savoring the last bite. “Thank you.” He found a napkin and wiped his mouth. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a situation.” I explained what it was as he began working on the second McMuffin.
“So we’ve got a name that’s probably an alias an’ a face that’s not the original. Oh, an’ maybe she lives on the east coast of Florida. Have I got it all?”
“Did I say maybe? But yeah, that’s pretty much everything.”
He washed down the last of the McMuffin with a swallow of coffee, and scowled at me. “Why’re you askin’ me to do this?”
I leaned back against his workstation. “D’you know what The Boss’s favorite word is? Delegate. Got it?”
“Yep. It’s a long shot though.”
“I thought so myself, but if anyone can come up with something that will track this bitch down, it’s you.”
His chest puffed out at that.
“Okay.” I finished my coffee and tossed the empty cup into a trash can. “Let me know when you find anything.”
“When? You got confidence in me.”
“Yeah, I do.” I checked my watch. “I’ve gotta get to work.”
“Thanks for breakfast. We’ll keep that between us.”
“You bet. Aida still wants you to lose weight?” According to his wife, he needed to drop about twenty pounds.
“Do I look like I need to? I tell ya, Vince. I’m wastin’ away!” He didn’t look it, and he must have seen the disbelief on my face. He patted his abdomen. “This is all muscle!”
“If you say so.”
“Hey!” He sounded affronted, and I made sure he didn’t see my grin.
“I’m not Aida. I don’t sleep with you.”
“No offense, but… Ugh!”
I could have said the same, but different strokes. “I’ll let you get to it.”
“Okay. Have a good day.”
“You too.” I walked out, thinking of the files I’d e-mailed The Boss. It remained to be seen how good this day was going to be.
I entered the outer office and came to a dead halt. It was still too early for my secretary to be at her desk, but someone had been. A stack of files, ten or fifteen high, sat on the surface, dwarfing her computer. They hadn’t been here on Saturday. When the fuck had they arrived?
A post-it on the one on top read As per The Boss’s instructions in Bixby’s scrawl.
Shit. I needed more coffee, and since Ms. Parker wasn’t in yet, it looked like I’d have to make it.
I unlocked my office door, switched on the light, and hung up my overcoat.
Davies wouldn’t be in until nine, and I didn’t doubt that he’d wait an hour or so before summoning me. He’d probably jerked off all weekend, thinking he had me behind the eight ball.
Well, just because he kept banker’s hours didn’t mean everyone else in the WBIS did.
I went back to the outer office and started a pot brewing, glaring at the files all the while.
I needed a lot more coffee to deal with this.
***
About six weeks earlier, The Boss had called me up to his office. “Mark,” he said, “you need more people in your department.”
“Oh?” At this point it was me, Matheson, and Winchester, who did all the mox nix stuff around Interior Affairs—pushing pencils, lugging stuff from one office to another, and the occasional surveillance.
Agents in this department had grown scarce when Sperling was the director, due to his incompetence—they either died or asked to be transferred, willing to join the janitorial staff if that was the only position available. Some of them had even chosen to go over to the CIA, which was downright unnerving, and Sperling should have cut his throat for disgracing the WBIS like that.
Meanwhile, The Boss was saying, “HR is having a notice placed in Spy vs. Spook that positions are available.”
That wasn’t good. A notice in the WBIS newsletter would be seen by everyone within the organization, and that meant any of them could apply. “Who makes the final decision?”
He gave me a relaxed smile. “You do, Mark.” He stood and held out his hand. “Good luck finding a few you can use.”
Just what I needed: more paperwork. Still, if that was what The Boss wanted.... I shook his hand and walked out of his office.
Interior Affairs dealt with problems within the forty-eight contiguous states, as well as Mexico and Canada. Matheson preferred it, because he had family in the States, but that could have been the reason why Josephson had jumped at the opportunity of a European assignment, no matter how mundane it proved to be. Only it turned out otherwise: that assignment had resulted in his kidnapping by Prinzip, the same rogue antiterrorist organization that had snatched Quinn. I’d gotten Quinn out of there, but it had been too late for Josephson.
It was known throughout the WBIS that I made sure my people came home alive, and if they didn’t, that they hadn’t died on a bullshit operation and were avenged.
Still, maybe there wouldn’t be too many agents interested.
Famous last words.
Until today there had been nothing, and I’d hoped there would remain nothing, but now.... Why didn’t they want the glamour that was Foreign Affairs?
I growled, took the stack from my secretary’s desk, and transferred them to the floor beside my own desk. A huge, fucking stack.
I went to get a cup of coffee, and returned, placing it to the side of my keyboard.
Well, no time like the present. I picked up the first file and began reading through it.
Oh, for the love of.... This one’s scores on the range were pathetic. I tossed it aside and reached for the next one.
Oh, now this one… It intrigued me. Grey Rayne.
So that was his name.
With everything that had gone on, I hadn’t had much time to practice footwork or blade work, so just after the New Year I’d gone up to the gym. M. Bélanger was fencing with someone I didn’t recognize. I was familiar with everyone who fenced in the WBIS, so even though his foil mask concealed this little guy’s face—I was six foot three, and as far as I was concerned, anyone under five ten was little—I knew I didn’t know him. He was good, though, actually beating back the fencing master.