by Tinnean
Mark’s retaliation, however, swift, brutal, and savage beyond belief, had caused a massive stir. That was when attention began to be paid to him.
“He was your partner.”
“Yeah.” He pushed aside his cup, looked into the carton, and stabbed at another chunk of chicken.
“He was also your lover.”
“No, you’re my lover. Ed and I—we were more like partners with benefits.”
“Is that the way he saw it?”
“I don’t know. We never talked about it.” And yet after Chen’s death, Mark had sworn never to have another partner. “Hey, open wide.” Chopsticks holding a piece of chicken appeared under my nose, nudging my lips and distracting me.
“Excuse me?”
He took advantage of my parted lips and slid the chicken into my mouth. “Always so polite.” His eyes glittered. “Except when we’re making love.” Under the table, his foot rubbed against my calf. “Good?” he asked as I chewed.
I had to remind myself not to gasp and choke on the chicken.
I swallowed and licked my lips. “Very good.”
“Not too spicy?”
“No.” I used a paper napkin to blot my lips, hiding my smile as he repeated my own words back to me. “And you like that about me?” I should have been ashamed to be fishing for compliments like this, but I simply watched him, waiting to hear what he might have to say.
“Your reaction to me in bed? You could say that. Are you finished?”
Were we going to leave everything just lying on the table and go straight to bed? Not wanting to appear easy, I poked around in the carton. “Yes. There aren’t any more shrimp left.” And I’d finished the shrimp toast earlier.
“Okay.” He snapped on all the lids and put the leftovers away. “We’ll have dessert now. No, not those.”
But I had already reached for the fortune cookies, and I opened one. You will stumble into the happiness of your life. How would Mark react to that? I cleared my throat. “It says, ‘Well begun is half done.’”
“Yeah? I guess that’s good to know.”
“Your turn.” I tossed him a cookie.
He caught it, tore open the wrapper, and broke it in half. “Oh, uh… now this is interesting.” Warm color rose in his cheeks.
“What does it say?” And why would it cause him to blush?
“Uh… ‘Perseverance wins the race.’ Of course it would have been a good thing if they’d spelled ‘perseverance’ right.”
“How did they spell it? Let me see.”
“Nah, not important. It’s all bullshit, anyway.” He crumpled up the fortune and stuffed it into his pocket, then stood, went to the refrigerator, and opened the freezer door at the top. “Never mind the fortune cookies. I think you might enjoy this more.”
“This” was a pint container of crunchy pecan and maple syrup ice cream.
“Thank you.” I didn’t bother asking how he’d managed to get it into the cabin without me seeing.
“It’s no big deal. I happen to like it too.”
“Of course. Well, thank you anyway.”
He waved my thanks aside. “We can use the soup spoons.”
“In that case, we’d better wash them off. We’ve no dishes,” I reminded him as I ran the spoons under the faucet, using the hem of my shirt to dry them off.
Mark looked blank for a second. “Shit.”
“It’s all right.” I removed the lid and dipped the spoon into the ice cream, then pushed the container toward him.
“Looks like I’ve succeeded in corrupting you.”
“If eating out of a container is the worst you can get me to do—”
He paused with his spoon above the container. As much as he might like to think otherwise, I could generally read his expressions. This one, however, was one I hadn’t seen on him before.
Before I could pin it down, he ducked his head and dug into the ice cream.
“Tomorrow night, okay, baby? Wexler makes it a habit of spending every day in his office, and Saturdays are no different. He doesn’t leave until after dark.”
“Well, he has nothing to go home to.”
“No.” Mark grinned, a hard expression that exhibited little mirth. “This is what we’re going to do. You’ll drop me off in the parking lot behind his office. That’s where his car is kept. Then you’ll drive to coordinates I’ll give you.” He gave me a sharp look. “Your PDA does have a GPS in it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Mark,” I said patiently. “Eat your ice cream. It’s going to melt.” He did as I ordered, and I knew I’d better relish it, because he wouldn’t often be this accommodating. “In spite of the fact that it’s CIA-made, it does come equipped with a number of conveniences. I think you might be surprised.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. Let me have it.” He placed the plastic spoon on the lid of the ice cream container. “I’ll program the coordinates into it now.”
I went to where my jacket was hanging from its hook, reached into the pocket, and pulled my PDA out. “Here you are. I trust you’ll find it to your satisfaction?”
He took it from me, letting his fingers linger on mine.
I wanted to suggest, “Of course, we could let it wait until tomorrow,” but I’d been unprofessional enough for one day.
“Pretty toy.”
“Really, Mark.”
“When we get home, I’ll reprogram this for you. What you’ve got is outdated.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t tell him it was the latest available to the CIA.
“Just don’t let any spooks get a hold of it.” He found the application and entered a series of numbers. “That should do it.”
“And what do I do with these coordinates?” There were three sets of them, and I studied them for a moment.
“After you’ve dropped me off in the parking lot, you’ll drive to this spot.” He tapped my PDA. “It’s secluded and pretty densely wooded. You’ll find an ambulance parked there; the keys will be under the driver’s side wheel well. Leave the Impala in that spot. As I said, it’s secluded, and no one should see it. Drive the ambulance to the second set of coordinates. That’ll bring you to the two-lane road Wexler always takes on his way home. He’s a man of habit. Really not smart. Kill the engine and wait at the straightaway at the west end of that road.”
I studied the little map, then nodded. “So Wexler is going to need an ambulance?”
“Yeah. We could leave him out there, but he’d die without treatment. We don’t want that, do we?”
“No. And the third set of coordinates?”
“To the hospital. You’ll drive. I’m going to be busy in the back.”
“All right. Mark, what about Wexler’s chauffeur?” I had no quarrel with the man, who’d chauffeured first for Senator Dufresne, and then for Dufresne’s daughter after she’d married Wexler. “I don’t want any collateral damage.”
“No. It would complicate matters.”
“I’m glad we agree on that.”
He leaned toward me and raised his hand, as if to run his fingertips over my cheek. “Do we—” He dropped his hand, shook his head, and smoothly changed what he’d been about to say. “Abe McGinley will be paying a visit to Mrs. Wexler. He’s always had a soft spot for her, and he goes to the sanitarium to spend time with her every Saturday. When Wexler is ready to go home, he calls. This time, Abe’s going to get a call saying Wexler’s not going directly home, and Abe can take the rest of the weekend off.”
“And you can imitate Wexler’s voice?”
“No.”
“There’s something you’re unable to do?”
“It’s not necess—Oh, you’re teasing me.” He scowled at me, baffled. “Y’know, if anyone else said that to me….”
I reached across the table and rested my hand on his. “You need to lighten up a little, Mark.”
He turned his hand over, and we were palm to palm. “I—”
If I was hoping for an acknowledgement, some sort of declaration,
I was destined for disappointment.
I told myself it was a good thing I wasn’t hoping for something like that.
“There’s a little device in my cell phone that will disguise my voice.”
“Courtesy of Romero?”
“How do you know about Romero?”
I pretended to curl a moustache. “I haf my vays.”
“You, or the CIA?”
“You don’t have to worry, Mark. Just me.”
“Ass.”
“How are you going to route Wexler’s call to your phone?”
“He’ll use the landline in his office. I took care of it.”
“When—”
“When I missed your birthday.” He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“You mean you have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“You’re going to be there with me, aren’t you? Well, then, it’s we.”
“Mark, I promise you: I won’t slow you down.”
“I know you won’t.” He gripped my wrist. “I know! I’ll go over the rest of it with you in more detail then, okay?”
“Whatever you say.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He spooned up some ice cream from the spot where I’d taken it, touched his spoon to mine, and slid it between his lips.
My mouth became dry, and I was suddenly, achingly hard. Again. How was it that he of all men—of all people—could so easily do this to me? “I’ve had enough.”
“Okay. Let’s get this place cleaned up.” He pushed his chair back and rose, snapping the lid on the ice cream and putting it back in the freezer. “I’ve got serious plans for you.”
“You always do have marvelous plans, blue eyes.”
He growled and took out his contacts, and crowded me toward the bathroom.
“But the cleaning up, Mark!” I wanted to laugh, but my throat was tight with excitement.
“Fuck it. It can wait until tomorrow!”
XXVIII
I WATCHED as Mark removed the bits and pieces of flesh-colored latex from the cookie sheet he’d had in the oven. While they cooled, he put in dental appliances that altered the shape of his mouth.
“Wexler’s on a tight budget,” he commented as he added facial appliances.
I was aware of that. The IRS had frozen most of his accounts.
“He’s getting money from somewhere—”
“Would you be impressed if I told you I knew who was responsible for that?”
“Don’t make me smile.” He was pressing a salt-and-pepper moustache above his upper lip. “I’d expect nothing less from you. And don’t come near me! We want to stay on schedule, and you’re distracting me.”
“Am I?”
He stopped what he was doing to stare at me. Instead of saying anything aloud, however, he muttered something under his breath and turned away to tape his ears back.
“Anyway, he’s insisting McGinley use his own car when he isn’t driving him.”
“Ah. Hence the reason we’ll find Wexler’s vehicle in that parking lot.”
“‘Hence.’” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Yeah. Did you know he’s taken up smoking?”
“No, I hadn’t heard.”
“Not a healthy habit.” He reached for a wig the same salt-and-pepper as the moustache and fitted it over his own hair, then inserted contacts that somehow made his eyes a tired brown. And just like that, he appeared to be about twenty years older. He stopped what he was doing and glanced at me. “What are you waiting for?”
“Do I need false teeth?”
“No, your teeth are perfect. Oh, you mean for Chuck?”
I raised an eyebrow at his use of the name I used only on occasion. The last time had been when I’d tracked him down to the bed and breakfast on Cape Cod.
“No, he’s a pretty healthy guy. Besides, you shouldn’t be smiling at anyone.”
“No, I imagine not. It’s a serious business, after all. I’ve… uh… I’ve never done this before.” I poked at one of the pieces of latex.
“What, never? What do you spooks do to disguise yourselves?”
“That was never part of my job.”
“I guess that’s what I get for letting a CIA officer tag along.” He pinched my ass, his grin letting me know he was teasing. “Sit down.” He nodded toward a chair at the kitchen table.
“Should I get changed first?” I made myself as comfortable as I could.
“Nah.” He took more appliances from the cookie sheet and began dabbing them with some sort of glue.
I eyed them cautiously. “Are they going to rip off my skin when it comes time to remove them?”
He began applying them one by one. “Trust me, Quinn.” He used them to build up my cheekbones, chin, and brow ridges. A straw-colored wig and eyebrows, and contacts that would make my eyes blue.
“No moles? No Jimmy Durante nose?”
“No. Nothing to draw attention to you.” He smoothed down the last of the appliances and handed me a mirror. “Okay, we’re done.”
I stared into it. “I look like a… a thug!”
“No you don’t, but even if you did, I’d think you were cute anyway.”
It was easy to see his thoughts were elsewhere, though. He went to the closet and took out the EMT uniforms. I had no trouble telling which one was mine. Not only did it have the name “Chuck” on the tag over the heart, but it was smaller.
I put it on and smoothed my hands over my “hair,” deciding I might look less like a thug by giving it a more well-groomed appearance.
Mark laughed and tousled it. “You look better this way.”
“Mark….”
He tipped up my chin and kissed me. “Humor me, okay?” The moustache tickled my upper lip.
I found I liked the sensation. Perhaps I’d try to persuade him to grow one for real. But meanwhile….
“Why do I let you get away with treating me like your arm candy?”
“What? I don’t—”
I gave him my best wide-eyed stare.
“Why, you tease!” He grabbed the material over my biceps and pulled me up against him. With his lips a breath away from mine, he whispered, “We don’t have time for this!” A swift, hard kiss, and he put me away from him.
“Now who’s the tease?”
Mark flashed a brief grin and got down to business. He folded his uniform into one of the large plastic bags from the hardware store. “I’ll be able to use the shoes as both the chauffeur and the EMT.” He stripped off his jeans and flannel shirt, then dressed in the suit and settled the flat-billed cap at a jaunty angle on his head.
“Are you sure you can pass for Wexler’s chauffeur?”
In response, he removed a photo from his inner pocket. “What do you think?”
It was uncanny. If I hadn’t seen the transformation, I’d have been hesitant to believe it. “I think you’ll pass as Wexler’s chauffeur.”
“Now that we have that settled….”
“Mark.” I gripped his arm. “I wasn’t doubting you. I have immense faith in you.”
“I know.” He covered my hand with his and rubbed his fingers over my fingertips. He wasn’t upset that I’d apparently had no faith in him.
As I’d told him, I did. I just didn’t want anything to happen to him.
He gave my hand a final squeeze, then slid his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat and shrugged it up over his shoulders. “Okay, Chuck.” He tossed me a pair of latex gloves.
“What about you?”
He held up a pair of black leather driving gloves. “Let’s go.”
XXIX
MARK insisted I drive, in order to become comfortable with the Impala. He gave me the directions, and so I didn’t need the GPS to get to Wexler’s office. A number of cars were in the parking lot when we pulled into it, although none were near the black sedan that sat in a reserved spot.
I was just coming to a stop a couple of rows away when Mark’s cell phone rang. He looked a
t the readout, grinned and flipped it open, and then touched something on it.
“Yes, Senator? Yes, sir. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” He hung up and turned his head. “He didn’t even say ‘thank you!’” he said mournfully.
“Did you expect him to?”
“It was the least he could do. McGinley’s been a loyal employee.”
This was true, but, “He’s been loyal first and foremost to Elizabeth Wexler.”
“Yeah, and Wexler isn’t the kind of man who’d appreciate that.” Mark dialed a number, and after a couple of rings began speaking. “McGinley, I won’t be needing you tonight. No. No, I don’t need you to drive me home. I am capable of—You should apologize. Just see you’re on time when you pick me up on Monday. What? Oh, yes. Tell my wife I said hello. Good evening.”
“Cold, Mark.”
“Yes, and completely in character. Okay, time to get this show on the road.” He got out of the car, then leaned down. “Make sure you’re beyond the curve, okay?”
“What—”
In spite of the appliances, his face was cold, closed off, and he waited stubbornly for my promise.
“All right. I will.”
“Good. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.”
“Be careful, Mark.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“I know. But please, humor me?” I could be just as stubborn waiting for his promise.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Thanks.”
“Now go, before people start wondering why you’re lingering here.”
“You could tell them your car broke down and I was just giving you a lift.”
“I could, couldn’t I? It wouldn’t explain why we’re chit-chatting here, though.”
No. And I couldn’t tell him I’d suddenly gotten a very bad feeling about this. He shut the door and patted the roof.
I shifted the car from neutral to drive, eased out into the side street and from there onto the main thoroughfare.
Forty-five minutes. An hour, at most.
XXX
THE ambulance was where it was supposed to be. The GPS got me there with no trouble. I concealed the car nearby, transferred the bag with the EMT uniform Mark would wear into the ambulance, and got in.