by Tinnean
A hole suddenly appeared between his eyes, and he fell like a stoned crow.
“Stupid boy,” Anacapri spat as she turned a .22 cal. Ruger on me. She fired again, and my leg folded under me. It felt as if a red-hot poker had been laid against it. I sat heavily, and gave a brief glance at the blood pouring from my thigh.
“Son of a bitch,” I snarled again. I sensed the presence of two people behind me, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted.
I grabbed for the handgun, but my right hand was useless. You are not going to die before you tell Quinn you love him, I ordered myself.
Two simultaneous shots were fired, one on either side of my head.
Great. Wasn’t this a kick in the teeth? An arm that was temporarily useless—I’d been shot before and recognized what was going on—a leg I was probably going to lose, just like Stanley had lost his, and to top it off, I’d be deaf as well.
I’d known this wasn’t a good idea.
Feminine hands pressed down on my thigh, and I lost consciousness.
***
Someone was holding my left hand. “Quinn?”
“Of course.”
I peeled open an eyelid. “It’s you?”
“Did you doubt it?” The grip on my hand tightened. “I thought I told you not to get hurt.”
“No, you said not to get dead.” I turned my head. Quinn was really there, sitting beside the bed I was in. He brought my hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss over it. “When did you get here?”
“I was at the Division.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“Hardly, Mark. What do you remember?”
“Carlyle was a plant. He was working for the Division all along.”
“And?”
“That bitch Anacapri was getting set to blow my head off.”
“And?”
“And there were two gunshots in stereophonic sound. Hey, I can hear!”
“Had there been any doubt?”
“Before I blacked out, all I heard was ringing in my ears. The gunshots were close to my head.”
“I apologize, Mark. I should have.... I was so determined Anacapri wouldn’t put another bullet in you.”
“Where’d you shoot her?”
“In the hand, forcing her to drop her gun. Femme fired the other shot. She... she blew off most of Anacapri’s face.”
“Did she say anything about revenge being a dish best served cold?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. Femme is a very deadly woman.”
“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” I grinned, thinking of the time she and I had spent together years ago, hunting Scarlet Chamber agents.
“Do you... do you love her?”
My grin faded. “She’s one of two women I’d put my life on the line for.”
“Who’s the other woman?” Was he jealous?
“Portia, Quinn.”
“Ah.” I could hear the relief in that one word.
“So how’d you get here?”
“That little something in my phone you connected to yours?”
Right. Last fall, when that asshole Holmes had screwed with Quinn’s cell phone and I’d made him buy a new one. I’d added all his contacts to my phone, but I’d uploaded a little program Romero had installed on my phone into his. I hadn’t said anything about that to him, but I didn’t bother wondering how he’d figured it out. He was a very smart man.
I shifted slightly in bed. “I know this is stupid, but where am I?”
“Not stupid.” He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “You’re in a little clinic in the Division.”
“That’s gonna piss off the powers that be.”
“Not at all. There’s no longer a Division.”
I felt cold, not for the antiterrorist organization, but for my friends. “Pete? Femme?”
“They’re fine. Your friend de Becque is taking the survivors and starting his own organization.”
“I wonder if I can talk him into joining the WBIS.”
“Becoming the Paris branch?” The corner of his mouth curled in a grin. “Calling it the Paris Bureau of Intelligence and Security?”
“Hell, he can call it whatever the fuck he wants.” I scowled. “What about the Scarlet Chamber?”
“I wish I could say it was finished also, but I’m afraid not.”
“No? That Kiska is one smart cookie.” For the time being, I’d let Pete worry about her. “Reuben?”
“He’s... no, I won’t lie to you. He’s not doing well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. We weren’t fans of each other, but he made Pete happy. How’s Pete dealing?”
“He’s with him right now, and I think if you hadn’t blown Robert Lynx to shreds, de Becque would have taken great joy in taking him apart one piece at a time.”
I thought of what Giuliani had said. “We do what we have to do. Quinn... Thanks for being here.”
“Ass.” He squeezed my hand. “Where else would I be?”
“Uh... how long was I out?”
“Almost twenty-four hours. You needed a transfusion. Max had to operate on your leg.”
“Max? Max Futé?” I didn’t want to think about my leg. It hurt, but Stanley had told me about that too, and if it was phantom pain—if they’d had to take my leg—I didn’t want to face it just yet. Quinn was a good guy, but why would he settle for a crippled lover when he could have someone whole?
“Yes. He stitched up your arm as well. Trevor Wallace—he’s here too, by the way—”
“What? Who—how—” I groaned.
“Are you in pain, Mark? Do you want something?”
“No,” I groused. “I’m not in pain and I don’t want anything.” One or the other of us was supposed to be at the WBIS so it wouldn’t fall apart. “Why is he here?”
“He was concerned.”
“How did he know there was anything to be concerned about?”
“I called him. I felt he needed to know what was going on. Frankly, I didn’t expect him to put in an appearance.”
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. And... I had to admit it was flattering. “What about Max?”
“Wallace flew him over on the Concorde.”
“Max never wanted to return to France.”
“No, but he felt he owed you.”
“Jesus.” That fucking annoyed me. “How many times do I have to tell him he doesn’t owe me anything? He kept you alive, and that cancels all debts.”
“Does it, Mark?” Quinn stroked my hair.
“You know it does. And if you don’t know—well, you should. I....” I couldn’t tell him how I felt, not until I knew what had happened to my leg. “Give it to me straight, Quinn. Do I still have a right leg?”
“You do.”
I frowned at him suspiciously. “Is it attached to my body?”
“Yes.”
“What about my left leg?”
“It’s fine.” He patted my thigh, then helped me sit up so I could see for myself. Yeah, they were both there, sticking out of the bottom of a hospital gown.
“Is there a bathroom in this place? I have to piss.”
“You’ll need to lean on me.” It was his turn to frown at me. “All the times you took care of me—looked after me. Now it’s my turn to look after you.”
“Okay, babe. Thank you.”
“You’re not going to give me a hard time?”
“Do I look like I’m stupid?”
“No, you were never stupid. Except when you tried to break up with me.” He came around to the other side of the bed and got his shoulder under my left arm—my right was in a sling—so I could hobble into the bathroom. “Max said something about getting crutches for you.”
“Any idea how long I’ll need them?”
“You’ll have to discuss that with him.”
“Well, as long as I don’t need a walker.”
“I doubt that. Now hold still.” He positioned me in front of the john and held the hospital gown out of th
e way so I could pee.
“Now, there are some people who want to see you.” He made sure I was settled on the bed, and then went to the door. “Come in, please.”
His mother entered first.
“Portia. Thank you for stopping by.”
“Of course I would, Mark.” She came to me and took the hand Quinn had held earlier. “When you’re well enough to fly home, you’ll stay at Great Falls with me and Gregor.” She patted my hand, her expression bland.
“I appreciate the offer, but really, that isn’t necessary.”
“Mark.” She sighed. “You aren’t going to make me get stern with you, are you?”
I wasn’t a fool. “No, ma’am.”
“Excellent.”
“Just make sure Novotny doesn’t put anything in my food.”
“No.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’m very pleased you’re in my son’s life.”
“So am I.”
“Mark.” The Boss stood in the doorway.
“Sir?”
He came to my bedside and glanced at the other occupants of the room. “It’s a good thing you’re out of the field. Too many people know you. Portia, it’s good to see you after so long.” That was right, he’d had a soft spot for her back in the day. I wondered how Ms. DiBlasi felt about it.
“Trevor.”
“And this is your son.”
“Yes. I never travel alone, and he was so kind as to accompany me.”
“Portia, I know very well that your son is involved with my agent.”
She looked amused. Quinn simply looked cool—the Ice Man—and I kept my mouth shut.
“You should have joined the CIA, Trevor,” Portia said. “Your talents would have been appreciated.”
“Would that have given me a chance with you?”
“I’m afraid not. I’d already met Nigel.”
“Then the CIA couldn’t offer me anything to tempt me away from the WBIS.” The Boss patted my shoulder. “We’ll just keep that between us, Mark. As progressive as the WBIS is becoming, I don’t believe it’s ready to accept a CIA officer into the fold.”
“No, sir. Speaking of the WBIS, who’s watching the fold?”
“Stanley. I left Ms. DiBlasi with instructions for Gershom that if he does anything more than instruct his men to patrol the corridors of the WBIS, I’d personally see he joined Sperling in his plot in Prospect Hill.”
I almost hoped Gershom tested The Boss’s orders. That plot would be a little snug, but if ever three bastards deserved to spend eternity together, Robert Sperling, Anson Davies, and Donald Gershom did.
I decided to change the subject. “Was it a good idea to make Max come to France?”
“He’s safe enough with us. He’ll be by later to examine you. Right now, he’s looking after the injured operatives. Femme did an excellent job patching them up.”
“Well, thanks for talking him into it. I was afraid I’d wake up to find my leg sharing a shelf with Browne’s little finger.”
The Boss chuckled and patted my shoulder again. “And when you’re well enough to come home, I’ll have a jet waiting that will fly us all back to DC. That is, if you’re returning, Portia?”
“I am, Trevor. I stopped at Claridge’s so I could pack. The staff was very helpful.” She glanced from Quinn to me. “Trevor, I could use a cup of coffee. Do you suppose we could find one in this place?”
“Whatever you desire.”
Portia smiled at him, linked her arm through his, and urged him out of the room, talking about when they’d first met.
“Alone at last.” Quinn toed off his shoes. “Move over.”
I edged to the side of the bed, and he climbed on next to me and rested his head on my shoulder. Although my right arm was in a sling, I could still cradle his hip with my left hand.
“Quinn, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”
“You’re not using this as an excuse to break up with me.”
“Okay, babe.”
“You gave in too easily.” He angled up and looked down into my eyes. “What were you going to say?”
“I….” I cleared my throat. “I… uh… know it isn’t likely I’m your ‘one,’ but I love you.”
“Mark, did you hit your head when you lost consciousness? Why wouldn’t it be likely? I’ve been telling you for the past week I love you.”
“You have? No you haven’t. I’d remember something like that.”
“Obviously, you weren’t paying attention. I love you too, Mark. Forever, remember?”
Yeah. I made myself comfortable against him. I had Quinn in my arms and he loved me.
Life didn’t get much better than this.
Even with two bullet holes in me.
Recommendations
If you liked this book, you might be interested in how Mark and Quinn met.
Houseboat on the Nile
Mark Vincent is WBIS—Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security. Quinton Mann is staunchly CIA. Mark thinks the CIA is full of dilettantes who leave him and the rest of the WBIS to clean up their messes. Quinn thinks most WBIS agents are sociopathic loose cannons. So they don’t exactly get along.
Of course, just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean they can’t play mind games on each other. Or sleep together. But when an explosion at Mark’s apartment sends Quinn to the morgue to ID a body, he has to reevaluate his position on denial.
Pick it up from Dreamspinner Press
About the Author
Tinnean has been writing since the 3rd grade, where she was inspired to try her hand at epic poetry. Fortunately, that epic poem didn't survive the passage of time; however, her love of writing not only survived but thrived, and in high school she became a member of the magazine staff, where she contributed a number of stories.
It was with the advent of the family's second computer – the first intimidated everyone – that her writing took off, enhanced in part by fanfiction, but mostly by the wonder that is copy and paste.
While involved in fandom, she was nominated for both Rerun and Light My Fire Awards. Now she concentrates on her original characters and has been published by Nazca Plain, JMS Books, and Dreamspinner. Her novel, Two Lips, Indifferent Red received honorable mention in the 2013 Rainbow Awards.
A New Yorker at heart, she resides in SW Florida with her husband and two computers.
Ernest Hemingway's words reflect Tinnean's devotion to her craft: Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.
She can be contacted at:
Email: [email protected]
Live Journal: http://tinnean.livejournal.com/
Twitter: @tinneantoo
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tinnean
Amazon: Amazon Author Page:
Early Samples Can Be Found: http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/tinnssinns/Welcome1.html
A Note From The Author:
Thank you so much for picking up this story. If you enjoyed it, please take the time to review it at the site you picked it up or on the Awesome Report from MyAwesomeFans.com. It is one of the best ways to help an author get their name out.