Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2009 13:44:05 -0400
From: Tinnean <tinneantoo@embarqmail.com>
Subject: Mann of My Dreams 20: Be It Ever So Humble

Notes: Mark's POV. His F.Y. account is patterned after Humphrey Bogart's.
If Jack Warner ever tried to prod him into making a movie he didn't want
to, Bogie would have enough money set aside so he could tell him, 'Fuck
you.' *g* Thanks to Tim Mead and Jim for their help on this, and as always,
to Gail.

Be It Ever so Humble
By Tinnean

I knew I was being followed. I never would have gotten to my position of
senior special agent in the WBIS without being aware of something like
that.

My hands were in my trouser pockets as I sauntered along. This normally
would have been risky, but I was in DC. I also knew who was following me.

If I hadn't, he wouldn't have lived long enough to take two steps after me.

I could hear the footsteps behind me. Sloppy? No, that wasn't like him. He
wanted me to know he was following me.

There was a little bar just down the street, and I headed for it, whistling
through my teeth.

Ziggy Redman's used to be a topless joint, but it had been closed down one
time too many. Now, instead of the tables the girls used to dance on, it
boasted a jukebox that played blues, rock, and bluegrass, a TV usually
tuned to ESPN, and a pool table in the rear, and while it catered mostly to
a blue collar clientele, office workers would sometimes stop by for a drink
after work. I wouldn't look out of place.

I pushed open the door, stepped to the side, and observed the occupants in
the dim light. For a Thursday evening, it was pretty crowded. The
atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke. DC was supposed to be a
smoke-free town, and yeah, rules were meant to be bent or broken, but
didn't these guys pay any attention to the Surgeon General?

The jukebox was silent and the pool table abandoned. Everyone was
concentrating on the television, which was airing the last game of the
American League playoffs.

No one noticed me. The runner on second tried to steal third. He was tagged
out, ending the inning, and there were concerted groans.

I walked to the bar. The bartender was watching the game, but he was also
keeping an eye on his patrons. He came to where I was standing.

"What can I get you, Mac?" he asked.

"What do you have on tap?"

"Sam Adams, Michelob, Killian's Irish Red, Bud Light."

"Two Sam Adams."

"Got it. You want to run a tab?"

"No. I'll pay as I go." I didn't expect to be in here that long. I reached
for my wallet as he filled two mugs. The foam spilled over, he topped them
off, then put them on the bar in front of me. I gave him a 5 and three
singles. "Keep the change."

"Thanks."

I started toward an empty booth in a corner as the door opened. I looked
over my shoulder, expecting to see the man who had been following
me. Instead, a trio of young men swaggered in. They were wearing jeans,
biker boots, and tee shirts that looked as if they'd been sprayed on.

"Where're the dancers?" the first one yelled. "We wanna see tits!"

"You ain't gonna see 'em here, Mac." The bartender stood there,
relaxed. This must have happened more than once.

"They told us Ziggy's is a titty bar!"

"Not any more. It's a sports bar now."

"Well, shit." Bigmouth looked at his friends, and they shrugged.

"We're here anyway. Let's have a beer, Joe."

"Okay, and then we'll go looking for a titty bar."

"Let me see your ID."

"We're over 21!"

"Sure you are. I'm still gonna card you."

They dug in their pockets for their driver's licenses, and I lost interest
in them.

I went to the booth and took the seat that let me keep an eye on everyone
in the place, and most especially the door.

It opened, and I raised the beer to hide my smile. The man who entered
moved to the side and studied the occupants of Ziggy's.

He was five foot ten. His brown hair was a little unruly just then - had he
been running his fingers through it? - and his eyes, although I couldn't
see them from this distance, would be a hazel that could change to green
when he wore the right shirt or tie.

Quinton Mann, my lover.

I'd had plenty of partners, male and female, and I'd never considered them
lovers, but there was Mann, that CIA spook, worming his way into my life,
becoming my lover, and it fucking surprised me.

His gaze was cool and professional as he took in the patrons. I could see
his eyebrow raise at the jerk at the bar who was still bitching about
wanting to see tits.

Quinn spotted me, and the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. He
crossed the floor and slid into the bench seat opposite me.

I pushed a beer toward him.

"Thanks." He tapped his mug against mine. "You knew it was me."

I smiled and brought it to my mouth to take a swallow.

"Damn it. No one's done that before, you know." His smile was rueful. "When
did you spot me?"

"When I got interested in that antique shop."

He paused with the mug halfway to his mouth. "That was almost as soon as I
started shadowing you. I thought you were looking at the selection of
swords."

I was. I'd noticed a cavalry sabre that had to be at least a hundred and
fifty years old, and I would have gone in to examine it if I hadn't seen
Mann's reflection in the window. When I realized it was Quinn following me,
I decided to indulge him. I'd stayed just within his line of sight, and
when I got tired of the game, I'd walked into Ziggy Redman's.

"So why were you playing Philip Marlowe, Quinn? Aside from trying to get
one up on me?"

"I wasn't... Okay, maybe I was, a little."

"That would have been something to brag about back at Langley."

"Ass. What's between us is between us. I just wanted to... Look, it was
stupid, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"Now who's an ass? Listen, if you want to fool around, just tell me. I know
some good games."

"Oh, yeah?" Quinn slid down onto his spine, his foot nudged mine under the
table, then ran up the side of my leg.

"Why don't you finish your beer, and I'll take you home and show you?"

"I can't stay late. I need to get home and pack. I'm flying out of Dulles
in the morning."

"So we won't be having dinner tomorrow? You could have left a message,
y'know. You didn't have to follow me like that."

"I wanted to see you."

My cock twitched, and I dropped my voice. "Is that a euphemism for getting
laid?"

"Well, of course." He was laughing at me. Jesus, when he looked like that I
wanted to bend him over the nearest flat surface and fuck his brains
out. "Mark, don't make me question your... "

I interrupted before he could impugn my intelligence. "How long can you
stay?"

"I'll have to leave by midnight."

I looked at my watch. "Then let's get going."

Quinn drained the last of his beer, leaving a foam mustache. He saw me
watching his mouth, and his eyes grew hot. He ran his tongue over his upper
lip and grinned when my breathing ratcheted up. Damn spook.

"Come on, hot shot."

We brought our empty mugs to the bar and started to walk out.

"Fags."

The bar went silent except for a commercial on the television.

I came to a dead stop and turned around. It was the bigmouth. I took a step
toward him.

Quinn put his hand on my arm. "You don't want to start something."

"I don't?"

"Yeah, you don't, Ru Paul. Listen to your *girlfriend*."

Last time I looked, I wasn't black, and I wasn't a drag queen. Quinn's grip
on my arm tightened.

"Joe, leave them alone. They weren't doing anything." One of the young men
he'd come in with tried to smooth things over. "I'm sorry," he apologized,
giving Joe a poke. "He's had too much to drink."

"Don't you fucking apologize for anything I do! These two are queer as
green beer, and they don't belong in a bar like this. Even the little guy
knows it! He's trying to get out without getting hurt."

Quinn, *little*? I choked back a laugh.

"Let me handle this," he whispered, then raised his voice. "You
misunderstood." He smiled, and I watched in admiration. He might have been
CIA, but damn, he was good. "I'm trying to protect you. This man is a
cleaner."

"Yeah, so he's a janitor. So what?"

I thought of my persona as Dwayne J. Lester, and this time the laugh
escaped.

"Jesus, Joe, that's a professional killer! Don't you watch those movies?"

Quinn opened his jacket, revealing the gun under his arm, took out the
leather case that held his ID, flipped it open and closed so fast Joe
Homophobe wasn't able to make out anything more than that it was official,
and put it back into the inner pocket. He closed his suit jacket and arched
an eyebrow. "Do you really want him to start something?"

"No. Uh... no."

I looked him up and down, and opened my jacket as if to scratch my ribs,
and I revealed the gun I carried. I grinned as the color drained from his
face, and he backed up a step.

"Let's go, killer." Quinn walked out without looking back. He didn't have
to. I was there.

****

I whistled up a cab that took us to where Quinn's car was parked, and he
drove to my place. I knew it was empty. The ladies who occupied the first
two floors were away for a couple of weeks, Matheson, the agent I was
training, was out of town on an assignment, and the rentboy he lived with
was visiting family in Tarpon Springs.

As soon as the street door was closed behind us, I swung him around, shoved
him against the door, and braced my arms on either side of his
head. Quinn's eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips were parted, and the tip of
his tongue came out and touched his upper lip. I leaned into him.

Quinn was hard. So was I. He slid a leg between mine and raised it, and I
rocked back and forth on it.

"You like that, do you?" He wound his fingers in my hair, tipped my head to
the side and ran his teeth over the tendon in my neck.

"Fuck, baby. Don't mark me." But I angled my head, offering him more of my
neck. I liked the feel of his teeth running along it.

He licked the spot, then loosened my tie and began unbuttoning my
shirt. "One day I want to take you away for a week."

"Oh, yeah?" I... liked that idea. I wasn't paying attention, and I suddenly
found myself up against the door.

"Oh, yeah." He nipped my throat. "I'll mark you every single day, but where
no one could see it. Only I would know you were mine."

"Think you're so alpha?"

He kissed the hinge of my jaw, then drew back and ran the fingertips of his
right hand along the curve of my ear. "I'm willing to take turns."

"I thought that was my line. C'mon. I want you in bed before it's time for
you to leave."

"Good idea."

****

I'd fucked other men, but it had never been anything like this.

We'd no sooner got into my apartment, and I'd locked the door, than Quinn
had shucked his suit jacket, unzipped his fly and shoved his trousers and
shorts down his legs, and bent over the back of my couch.

I did the same, rolled on a condom, and prepared him, taking my time. We'd
been lovers long enough that he didn't need much, but it was something we
both enjoyed. I stroked a finger across his hole and dipped in, pulled out,
dipped in deeper.

"Vincent!"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Jesus, you're driving me crazy! Fuck me, already!"

"All you had to do was ask."

"Bastard."

I lubed the condom, lined the head of my cock with his hole, and began a
slow, steady push.

The sounds Quinn made...

Having my cock in Quinton Mann's ass was the most unbelievable
feeling. Hot, snug, the rippling of his inner muscles caressing my cock - I
wondered, for the first time, what having him without a condom between us
would feel like. The heat wouldn't be muted by the latex of the condom, I'd
feel his prostate, and when we came, I'd coat his insides with thick ropes
of semen.

I wanted him naked. Very carefully I pulled out of him. A glance at the
wall clock told me we had time.

"Mark, what... " He straightened and looked at me, his eyes glazed with
lust.

"Bed, now."

We stripped off our clothes. Well, I stripped off my clothes. Quinn leaned
against the couch, wrestling with his tie. It was getting him frustrated,
so I got him undressed, down the short hallway, and onto my bed. And I
wanted him so much the condom stayed in place the entire time.

This time I had Quinn on his back, his arms above his head, our fingers
entwined. My cock was buried in him, surrounded by his heat, and I held
myself still, getting so much pleasure out of being inside my lover.

"Move, dammit!" His legs were sprawled wide, cradling mine, and he braced
his feet and rocked up, taking me deeper into him. "Please!"

I manacled his wrists with one hand and used the other to toy with his
nipples, his sensitive nipples, then dipped my head to lick and nip them.

Quinn writhed and bucked under me, driven wild with passion. I began to
move. He wrapped his legs around my hips and arched into my thrusts. And
again those sounds...  Beads of sweat caught on his eyebrows, clung to his
cheekbones. I leaned down and licked them off.

"Mark." His eyes were glittering.

"I'm here, babe."

He shuddered and gasped, and I chased the sound into his mouth with my
tongue. He sucked on it voraciously. His legs tightened around me, and come
splashed onto my torso, warm, wet streaks of it.

"Not- not yet."

"Yes!" His inner muscles clamped down on me, and I groaned and came. Quinn
held me and stroked the long muscles of my back, and finally I caught my
breath.

"Hey. Don't fall asleep." He pinched my hip. "I have to leave."

"Fuck. Okay." I eased out of him and removed the condom. "Do you have time
for a shower?"

"No. If I get in the shower, you'll come in after me. Not that I have any
objections, but I'll wind up oversleeping and then missing my flight."

I would have told him that was what alarm clocks were for, but I didn't
want to come across as an inconsiderate kind of lover, so I just went along
with him. "Okay, I'll get a washcloth and clean you up."

Quinn was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when I got back. He hummed
as I wiped the cooling semen off his body.

"Will you be okay to drive? I can drive you to Alexandria, then call a cab
to get home."

"I'm fine. I have to get dressed."

I left the washcloth on the night table, took a pair of shorts from a
drawer and pulled them on, and followed him out of the bedroom.

"Can I get you something before you leave?" I picked up my clothes, handing
him socks and shorts that had gotten mixed with mine.

"You've given me what I want." Quinn kissed me and went back to
dressing. When he finished, he slid his arms into his suit jacket and
walked to the door. I unlocked it for him, but he stood there. "I was
thinking... I've got some time off coming to me. After the embassy ball,
how would you feel about getting away for a week?"

"You're serious?"

"Mark, I'm always serious."

Like he was always cold? But I didn't challenge him. He wanted to go away
with me.

"What do you think?"

"Were we going anywhere in particular?"

His eyes lit up, the green they got sometimes. Had he thought I'd say 'no'?

"How does Key West sound to you? They have an easy attitude toward same-sex
couples. No one would bother us."

No one would bother us anyway. I grinned. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. I'll make the- Dammit. I'll be away."

"I can make reservations. I know how to use a phone, you know."

He teased my ear. "I never doubted that. Taylor House is good. Mother and I
used to go there during winter recess. Mention my name."

"Okay. Listen. Be careful, okay?" Where the fuck had that come from?
"Uh... I don't want to have to come after you again."

"Of course. Worry wart." He kissed me. "I'll call you when I get back."

"Call me when you get home."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Tonight. When you get home tonight." He was more tired than I was used to
seeing him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Humor me, okay?" I pulled him back for a last kiss, then watched
as he went toward the stairs.

Twenty minutes later he called, and after telling him to have a safe trip,
I went to bed.

****

I was in the middle of entering some data into my computer when my cell
phone rang.

"Vincent."

"Hi. It's me." Quinn. For the last week he'd been in the Far East on a
job. Of course I'd found out. From the clarity of the call, he was back in
town.

"Hello, me." My cock was more interested than it had been in seven days. I
shifted in my chair.

"I'm just calling to make sure we're on for dinner tonight."

"It's Friday, isn't it? I'll see you at Raphael's at eight. Want me to make
the reservations?"

"If you wouldn't mind? I've got a ton of paperwork to catch up on." He
sounded tired, but I wasn't about to tell him how to do his job.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks. And speaking of reservations... "

"I called Taylor House. We're booked for a week from Sunday. I also booked
a flight out of National down to Key West."

"You do good work, Vincent."

"You're not just finding that out, are you?"

He laughed.

"Okay, I'll see you about 8 tonight?"

"About 8, then. Bye, babe."

"Bye." I ran my palm over the front of my trousers. "He's home!" I cleared
my throat. "I mean, we're gonna get laid tonight!" I called Raphael's, made
the reservations, and got back to work.

****

Shortly before noon my office phone rang. "Vincent."

"My office." It was The Boss.

"I'm on my way, sir."

Over a lunch of greens - Mr. Wallace had been instructed by his doctor that
he needed more raw, leafy vegetables in his diet - we discussed Senator
Franklin, who was working for us, and Senator Wexler, who was working
against us.

Finally, Mr. Wallace said, "The ball at the Bahsrani Embassy is a week from
tomorrow. Senator Wexler is guaranteed to be there."

"I'll do my best to see he doesn't have a good time."

"I knew I could depend on you, Mark." He poked at his salad, then sighed
and pushed it aside. "Now why don't you go get yourself something more
substantial to eat?"

"Thank you, sir." I tossed the remains of my salad into the trash and went
down to the cafeteria for a roast beef sandwich.

It was about 1:30 when I returned to my office.

My secretary handed me a stack of phone messages.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Parker."

"You're so welcome." She looked happy. The spook she'd been dating at the
request of the WBIS had been transferred to Turkmenistan, and now she was
at liberty to date whoever she chose.

I scowled at the post-its in my hand. "Hold my calls until I get this lot
cleared up."

"Yes, sir."

It took less time than I'd anticipated. A certain tone in my voice must
have convinced everyone who had wanted a call back that it wasn't really as
necessary as they'd first thought.

I was about to get back to work when my cell phone rang again.

"Vincent."

"Mister Vincent, this is Jacques, from Putting On the Ritz. The adjustments
to your tuxedo have been completed."

"That was fast." I needed a new tux for the Bahsrani Embassy ball. The
exclusive men's shop was renowned for getting its patrons their tuxedoes in
record time. Of course, they charged for it.

"But of course!" He sounded affronted that I could doubt my tux would be
ready on time. "I am calling to set up an appointment for you to make sure
it fits perfectly," I had no doubt it would, "and pick it up."

I checked my PDA. This evening was marked with a notation that simply read,
dinner. I was surprised to see Saturday and Sunday x'd out, and I frowned
at it. I'd be spending those days with Quinn, but I didn't remember doing
that - I must have been on automatic. Well, at least I hadn't done
something nauseating like drawing hearts in them. I'd meet Quinn at
Raphael's, we would go back to his townhouse in Alexandria, and as soon as
he had some rest, we'd fuck the whole weekend, to make up for the last
seven days.

"I have some free time Monday evening."

"How would 7 suit?"

"That should be fine."

"We will see you then, sir."

I made a note in my PDA, said goodbye, and hung up. Then I got back to
work.

****

I was about to save the last of the data I had entered when my cell phone
rang again. I wasn't usually so popular.

"Vincent."

"Mark, it's Portia Mann." She knew I'd been involved with her son for some
time, and she didn't seem to have a problem with it, in spite of the fact
that not only were we two men, but he was CIA and I was WBIS.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mann. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?" She was too much of a lady to bring up the
fact that the last time she had seen me was when we'd gone horseback
riding, and I 'd wound up so sore I could barely sit. She'd given Quinn
Epsom salts, and he'd poured them into a hot bath for me. That had gone a
long way to easing my aches.

"Never better, ma'am."

"I'm very glad to hear that." She laughed softly, and I couldn't prevent
myself from grinning. Portia Mann was a classy lady, one who I didn't mind
observing the conventions with.

"I'm assuming Quinn gave you my number."

"I have my own ways of learning things, Mark."

Of course. Portia Mann had once broken Russian codes for Project Venona.

"Should I be alarmed?"

"Not as long as you don't hurt my son."

Mann was the only person I'd ever met who came close to being my equal. I
wouldn't toss a... friendship like that away.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Mann?"

"Quinton told me you're in the market for a new home."

"That's right." I'd been thinking of a condominium this time. My last
apartment had been blown up, and the management had given me thirty days to
vacate. The rentboys who owned the building I'd previously lived in had
told me my former apartment was available, and so I'd salvaged what I could
and moved back, a strictly temporary arrangement.

The WBIS agent I was training to replace me in the field was living in the
apartment below. He'd seen Quinn come home with me that Sunday a couple of
weeks ago, and while he'd assured me he'd keep his mouth shut, I knew it
could become dangerous.

I didn't want another apartment, and as for buying a house, there was too
much work entailed: the lawn would need mowing, the shrubs pruning, the
roof maintained, and if we should get snow, the walks and driveway would
need to be shoveled. It would be easier to buy a condo and let them worry
about the general upkeep.

I'd seen a shit load of condos, and I was starting to get impatient. I
didn't need the same wide open floor plan as I had when I'd been in the
field, but I did want my bedroom away from the other rooms. So far I hadn't
found anything to my liking. Either the rooms were so small that even a
family of midgets would be claustrophobic or the commute to DC was a bitch.

The going rate for the condos I'd looked at was almost half a mil. I could
have afforded that easily, shifting some funds from my offshore
F. Y. account, but why pay for it in cash when with a mortgage I could
write off the interest on my income tax?

Of course I paid income tax. Not even the WBIS would fuck with the IRS.

"It has come to my knowledge," Mrs. Mann murmured, "that a condominium is
available in Aspen Reach."

"Aspen Reach?" I could never understand why builders would give their
communities such cutesy names.

"Yes, it's in Alexandria."

That sounded promising. After all, why spend a large portion of the weekend
driving to and from where Quinn lived when I could be spending it in his
bed?

"It's a small, gated community."

"Just gates or a guard as well?"

"Just gates." That didn't sound promising. If security guards knew what
they were doing, they made it difficult for any unwanted visitors to get
in. "The residents can access the gate with a remote."

That sounded even less promising. Anyone with the smarts could wire a
remote and let themselves in. Even someone from the CIA could do it.

"There are security cameras at the entrance. What was that, Mark?"

I coughed. "Nothing, ma'am." I had muttered that the idea of those security
cameras made me feel all warm and safe.

"Yes." There was laughter in that one word. I had a feeling she didn't
believe me. "There are seven three-story buildings. It also has a number of
amenities - a jogging path, an Olympic-size pool, lighted tennis courts, a
club house with its own theater and restaurant. From what I've been told,
it's quite lovely, Mark."

"Been told by who? Whom?" I didn't need a home that was lovely, I needed
one that was functional. And secure.

"Francesca Dashwood. She's the realtor. She's also the... " The pause was
almost minute.  "... sister-in-law of a friend of mine. Allison and I were
in the same society at Wellesley, Tau Zeta Epsilon."

Society. Right. That was kind of like a sorority, but not. "And you trust
this Dashwood woman enough that I won't be taken to the cleaners?"

"No. I don't know her, Mark. Allison told me that Ms. Dashwood is offering
the condominium. She asked if I'd send some business her way. I'd like to
help Allison if I can. The price isn't unreasonable."

Mrs. Mann was a good woman; nevertheless, I'd do a little
investigating. That minute pause.

"How much is it?"

She named a figure, and she was right, for that type of community in
Virginia, it wasn't at all unreasonable. In fact...

"Y'know, Mrs. Mann, there's usually a reason if something sounds too good
to be true."

"One might say so. Apparently something the prospective buyers learned has
made them unwilling to go ahead with the deal."

"Do we know why?"

"I'm sure Ms. Dashwood will be more than willing to tell us." There was
cool certainty in her voice.

"'Us'?"

"I'd like to see this condo myself. I haven't been house hunting since
Quinton was looking for his townhouse. And I must confess, this has me
intrigued."

"Don't tell me. It just so happens that you're here in the Capital."

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I needed a final fitting for the gown
I'll be wearing to the Bahsrani embassy ball, and I'm at Madame Rosa's, my
dressmaker."

"OK." I wasn't going to argue with her. "What can you tell me about the
condo?"

"It's a third floor corner unit, approximately twenty-five hundred square
feet."

"Nice size."

"Yes. Two bedrooms, two and a half baths. The master bath has a Jacuzzi and
a separate shower. Living room, formal dining room, and an office/den. The
kitchen has an island that's perfect for a prep area as well as a breakfast
bar. There's a fireplace in the living room. Actually, it's two-sided. The
other side is in the master suite." She paused a beat, then hit me with
what was the clincher for me. "It's about a ten minute drive to Quinton's
townhouse."

"I have to admit you've got me interested."

"I thought you might be."

"Does it come with a garage, or just a parking space?"

"Oh, there are garages. The parking spaces are for guests. If you're free,
Ms. Dashwood has said she'll meet us outside the gates of Aspen Reach in
three quarters of an hour. Gregor is here as well, and he can drive us if
you'd like."

"I'd rather drive if you don't mind, Mrs. Mann. Does he have to come with
us?"

"Not at all." She was laughing. "But he's my ride home."

"I can drive you to Great Falls."

"Mark, it's Friday."

"That's right." What was she getting at?

"You have dinner with Quinton on Friday."

I scowled at the phone, unsure whether I should knock Quinn on his ass for
telling his mother about that or jump his bones for being okay enough with
us that he told his mother about that.

"That's not a problem." I'd call him and reschedule.

"Oh?" For a single word, it packed one hell of a chill.

"Mrs. Mann, Quinn would have my... he wouldn't be happy if I drove you back
to DC and then made you drive all the way back home."

"It's only a half hour drive."

"Yeah, but you know, we're talking rush hour by the time we get done
looking at this place. It'll be easier if I drive you home."

"I'm not a wilting violet, I'll have you know."

"No, ma'am. But if it comes to a choice between Quinn being pissed at me or
you being pissed at me, I'll have to go with you," I said apologetically.

"I see. Very well. If you'd rather spend your time with me... I'll give you
directions to my dressmaker."

I let her, even though I knew it would only take a minute for me to pull
them up on the computer. "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes, ma'am."

"Very good, Mark. By the way?"

"Yes?"

"Please stop calling me ma'am."

I laughed, and we hung up.

Okay, I had about ten minutes before I left to meet Mrs. Mann. I'd call
Raphael's and cancel the reservations, then set a program running that
would search out intel on the condo in Aspen Reach. When the search was
completed, the information would be downloaded to my PDA.

First things first, though. I called Quinn.

His voice mail picked up, and I left a brief message. "I can't make it
tonight. Sorry."

He'd know it was me.

****

The wrought iron gates that kept outsiders out of Aspen Reach were set in
stone walls that were eight feet high. I still would have felt happier if
there had been a guard at those gates.

After the realtor got us past them, we followed her to the club house and
parked beside her convertible. She waited for us to approach her car, then
slid out of the front seat.

"Hello!" she cooed. She adjusted her shoulder bag, which was large enough
to hold all the paraphernalia of her business, gave Mrs. Mann a dismissive
smile, and extended her hand to me. "I'm Francesca Dashwood. You must be
Mark Vincent."

She was a tall, buxom brunette with eyes such an unbelievable blue that I
knew they were contacts. The trouser suit she wore emphasized her tits and
long legs. Of course the stiletto-heeled sandals on her long, thin feet
helped. Streaked brown hair spilled down her back in waves, and she tossed
her head, flipping a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. A large ruby
wrapped in gold filigree dangled from the exposed ear.

Mrs. Mann gave her a considering glance and made a soft, almost inaudible
sound. In another woman, I would have called it a snort, but she was too
elegant for anything like that.

"I'm Portia Mann, Allison's friend." Her cell phone rang, and I recognized
the tone as It Had to Be You. Interesting. "Pardon me." She took it from
her purse and studied the readout. Her mouth tightened. She turned off the
ringer and put it back, and nodded, all trace of irritation wiped from her
face. "You may proceed, Ms. Dashwood."

"Yes. Right this way."

She gave us a tour of the community's many amenities, the banquet room with
its adjacent gourmet kitchen, card room, billiard room, and the miniature
theater for viewing movies.

"And of course the theatricals the community is known for. Their last
production was very well received. The Pirates of Penzance, I believe. Now
if you'll follow me, I'll take you to the exercise room." On the way she
pointed out the sauna and locker rooms for both sexes. "And here we have
the exercise room!"

Weights, treadmills, stair-climbers, stationary bicycles, things I wouldn't
have expected to see outside Gold's Gym.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" she murmured. One wall was completely glass,
giving a view of the pool. "If you'll come this way?" She led us down a
spacious hallway. "As you can see, this room is for aerobics."

What I could see were the community fees going sky high.

"Suppose you show us the condominium?"

"Certainly. That building is the gem of this community; there are only
three units on each floor. I'll point out the garage that goes with the
unit, and then I'll take you to see the condo. If you'll get into my car?"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll drive, or we can follow you."

Most people would have missed the disgruntled twist to her lips.

"Of course." Her smile was gracious. "Not a problem at all. If you'll
follow me?"

In a matter of minutes we were driving past the area where garages for each
building were. They'd been designed to look like old-fashioned carriage
houses.

"This isn't too convenient," I said to Mrs. Mann.

"Keep that in mind, Mark."

"Yes, ma'am."

All the streets were named after Aspens. Aspen Court, Aspen Circle, Aspen
Drive, Aspen Way, Aspen Just-please-shoot-me-now.

We turned into Aspen Way and pulled up to the curb. When I got out,
Francesca Dashwood was right there. She looped her arm through mine,
flirting her lashes.

"You really didn't need to have someone with you, you know. I don't
bite... much."

I freed my arm and went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and
handed Mrs. Mann out. I offered my arm to Mrs. Mann.

"Thank you, Mark."

I could almost see the wheels turning as the other woman tried to figure
out Mrs. Mann's relationship to me, and I couldn't resist the temptation to
play the kept man.

Mrs. Mann was about to release my arm, and I put my hand over hers to keep
it in place. "Oh, Hon ..." I coughed as if to cover up my slip. "Mrs. Mann
is a very good... friend. She always insists on coming along."

"Yes, precious." She didn't miss a beat, picked up what I was doing right
away. She patted the hand that covered hers. "I wouldn't want you to make a
mistake. Goodness knows you cost me enough... " She coughed herself, as if
she had made a slip. Damn, I wished I could have known her when she'd been
younger. She must have been a pistol. And I'd have tried my damnedest to
take her away from Nigel Mann. "That is to say, you did want that
monstrosity in... where was it?"

"There were so many, and you didn't like any of them." I thrust my lip out
and did my best to sound sulky. "Not even the one with the mirror on the
ceiling in the bedroom."

Unseen by the realtor, Mrs. Mann pinched me.

"I'm afraid there's nothing like that here in Aspen Reach. However, this
condo is fully furnished, and you have the option of buying it that way,
for only an additional $75,000." Ms. Dashwood led us into the lobby of the
building.

"Mark has his own furniture."

A brief pause. "That's fine, then. However, if you should change your
mind... Ah, here's the elevator."

"I don't use elevators." Mrs. Mann looked around. "Where is the stairway?"

"Oh, surely a woman your age... "

Mrs. Mann simply raised an eyebrow, and the realtor shut up and backed up.

"Ms. Dashwood?"

"Of course. Right this way." She gave a saccharine smile and led us to the
stairs. "If you don't mind, I'll meet you on three." She walked back to the
elevator.

"Y'know, " I muttered, "if there was a god, that elevator would get stuck
between floors. For the whole weekend." I held open the door to the
stairwell, and Mrs. Mann entered, stifling her laughter with an elegant
hand.

"You don't like her?"

"I don't like her attitude."

"She's very attractive, not to mention very well endowed. Many men would be
more than willing to overlook her attitude."

"She's not my type." I wasn't going to remind her I was involved with her
son, and that made anyone who wasn't him not my type. She observed me
thoughtfully; was she trying to make me nervous? I decided to go on the
offence. "Mrs. Mann, are you sure you want to take the stairs?"

"Are you doubting I can?"

"No, ma'am." But Quinn wasn't here, and that left me to worry about
her. She was in her sixties, after all. I'd keep an eye on her, and the
second she even looked like she was faltering, I was tossing her over my
shoulder and carrying her the rest of the way.

When we reached the third floor, her breathing was slightly heavy.

"You will not tell Quinton. Is that understood?"

"Tell him what, ma'am?" But if she was really having a problem, I'd tell
Quinn in a shot. I liked her very much, but as I'd told her, if it was a
toss up as to who I'd piss off, it would have to be her.

Not realizing what I was thinking, she patted my arm, and we stepped out of
the stairwell. The realtor was standing by the elevator. The minute she saw
us approaching, she stopped tapping her toe and smiled. Mrs. Mann hugged my
arm to her, and we walked down the corridor. The condo was at the far end.

That was good. I didn't like the idea of an elevator being too close to
where I lived.

Ms. Dashwood unlocked the door and stepped aside to let us enter. My 'sugar
momma' walked in, looking over the entryway thoughtfully.

"After you, Ms. Dashwood." I gestured for her to enter before me.

"Call me Francesca." She adjusted her shoulder bag.

"Oh, I couldn't... "

"Please."

I surrendered gracefully. "Francesca."

"There, you see? That wasn't so hard, was it? Now if you'll... "

"Oh, no. Ladies before gentlemen. Francesca." I let my voice caress her
name. "Please. Honey... Mrs. Mann likes me to be polite."

She gave me a considering look from under her lashes, then fluttered them
and followed Mrs. Mann, a provocative swing to her hips.

I shut the door and threw the deadbolt from force of habit.

"This closet is quite small." Mrs. Mann's tone of voice let it be known
that no closet in her home would dare to be that small.

The closet was tucked away in a small alcove to the immediate left as we
walked in. It wouldn't need to be very big in order to hold a couple of
overcoats and umbrellas, but I kept my mouth shut.

"You'll find plenty of storage in this condominium. Now," Francesca went on
briskly, "the powder room to the right, off the entry way."

I raised an eyebrow at the pale pink tiles and the wallpaper covered with
tiny flowers the same color. "Kind of girly, don't you think?" I did like
the pedestal sink, though. It reminded me of that hotel in Paris where I'd
first taken Pierre de Becque, when I'd thought the Division cold op was a
hustler.

"You can make any changes you desire. Consider it a canvas, if you will,
and you color it with the pallet of your own personality." She began
showing us through the unit. "To our left is the kitchen and formal dining
room, and beyond that, the master suite. Now, as you can see, this
particular condominium has a split floor plan. The master suite is
separated from the guest suite by... " She waved her hand, indicating a
very large, very pink living room. There was a fireplace against the inner
wall. "This is a gas fireplace. It's very nice, isn't it? The mantle and
surround are Carrara marble."

Drapes with more pink flowers framed a deep bay window and French doors. A
cushion covered by the same material was on the window seat.

The room was cluttered with furniture, fussy chairs, a glass coffee table,
the type of couch that used to be called a passion pit because an orgy
could easily be hosted on it. Bric a brac was on every flat surface: nymphs
and shepherdesses, flimsily-dressed women.

"And you say the owner is willing to part with these? I'm
surprised. They're Lladro." Mrs. Mann would be familiar with them.

I shrugged. Like I knew Lladro from those figurines of big-eyed kids
praying.

Francesca gave Mrs. Mann a professional smile but didn't respond to
that. "And you can go onto the terrace through these French doors."

I was watching Mrs. Mann. She gave a tiny shake of her head. "It's not a
very good view," I murmured grudgingly.

"Don't you golf, Mark?"

"No, and I don't much care to look out onto a water hazard."

"Oh, that's just a little... Now this window has a very charming window
seat!" She strolled over to it and bent, drawing the material of her slacks
tight over her ass. She smiled at me over her shoulder, batting her
lashes. "Voila! It opens to provide storage!"

"That's a nice feature, I'll grant you."

"I knew that as a woman you'd appreciate that, Mrs. Mann. Now let me show
you the guest wing."

I could see that phrase jacking up the price.

"It's just down this corridor. It contains the second bedroom, which has a
full bathroom of its own, although not as luxurious as the master bath, and
a sitting area. This way, please."

We trooped down the hallway. On the right side was a set of pocket
doors. "What's this room?"

"Oh, that's the den." She threw open the doors with a flourish, and I was
greeted with more pink. The walls, the carpet, the furniture - a desk, a
couple of chairs, a cabinet that opened to reveal a sewing machine and
supplies.

Still, it was a good-sized room, and it would be nice to have a dedicated
study.

Before I could betray my interest to the realtor, Mrs. Mann gave me a
look. Did she realize I was picturing my big desk in here?

She said, "I'd like to see the guestroom. I believe you said it was a
suite?"

"Oh, yes!" She ushered us across the hall and into the room. "Isn't this
the most delicious bedroom?"

"It's very... pink." I felt like I was having a Pepto Bismol overdose. Who
would have thought there could be so many different shades of pink?

"As I said," Francesca gave a condescending smile, "you can change whatever
you like."

Mrs. Mann walked into the room and stopped dead. "Oh, my. This carpeting is
thick, isn't it?"

I followed her, sinking into the plush depths, and realized what she meant.

Francesca's voice lost some of its enthusiasm. "A little paint, new
carpeting... I believe I heard something about there being hardwood floors
under this."

"That would be... Mark, I think you'd like hardwood floors." Mrs. Mann
crossed to a pair of doors. "Ah. A nice-sized closet."

I didn't particularly care. It wasn't likely I'd have guests, and when
Quinn came over, he'd spend the night in my room.

Mrs. Mann went to the window. "Draped voile shades. I must say, I like that
touch." She drew them aside, letting in the late October sun. "Although the
view is only tolerable." She turned away. "Is this the sitting area?"

"Yes."

Even more pink. Why wasn't I surprised? It contained an overstuffed easy
chair and ottoman, an artificial fireplace, a floor lamp, and a small table
with Elle, Glamour, and Cosmopolitan fanned out over the surface. The most
current issue was at least ten months old.

"It's a nice use of space," Mrs. Mann was saying. "I assume the fireplace
is included?"

"I think the... owners might be persuaded to include it. Now, the guest
bathroom is right through here. Shall we?"

The door to the bathroom was beside the closet. It opened to reveal the
single vanity with marble top and chrome fixtures, the john, and a tub and
shower with a glassed-in enclosure.

"It's a little small, don't you think, Mark?"

I shrugged. I wouldn't be using it. She frowned at me, and I realized she
was setting up a bargaining chip.

"You're right, Hon. Mrs. Mann. What, no bidet?"

"That's in the master bath." Francesca was at my shoulder, and I turned and
raised my eyebrow. She gave an arch smile and nodded to a door. "See!
There's a linen closet in here also."

Be still my heart.

"Well, I imagine it can hold the sheets and towels for the bedroom and
bath." Mrs. Mann seemed dubious. "Although a comforter or duvet..."

"As I've said, there's plenty of storage. You needn't worry about
that. Now, if you'll just follow me- " She stepped back through the bedroom
and into the hallway.

"What's this door?"

"Oh, it leads to the roof."

"Do all the units on this floor have access?" Mrs. Mann was observing her
carefully.

Francesca nodded. "Let's just- "

I tried the doorknob, but it wouldn't open. "Do you have the key for this?
I'd like to see the roof." The lock seemed sturdy, but if I'd been alone,
I'd have had it unlocked in a matter of seconds.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't given the key to that door. The condominium
association is having some work done on the roof, and no one is permitted
up there just now. You understand, I'm sure - the liability factor.
They'll turn the key over to you after you've bought it. Let me show you
the rest of the condo." All of a sudden she seemed antsy to get us away
from there.

Well, if I decided to buy this place, I'd change all the locks anyway. And
it was for damn sure I'd check out the roof before I agreed to anything. If
I decided to buy.

"If you'll follow me, please?"

We followed her back through the living room.

"Here's the kitchen!"

"Large." Mrs. Mann was willing to give it that, but grudgingly.

"There's plenty of storage. As I said." Francesca's smile this time seemed
a little strained.

 I stooped over to open a cabinet, making sure she didn't see the
expression on my face. I wished I'd had Portia Mann with me the other times
I'd gone house hunting. I'd never had so much fun.

"The cabinets are natural maple, crafted in Canada, and the hardware is
brushed nickel. The stainless steel appliances are new, they've all been
replaced within the last month or so." In an effort to lure buyers? "The
countertops are granite, the flooring is River Stone tile. As you can see,
the island has a cook-top. And don't you think the pass-through is a
convenience no upscale home should be without?"

"It is a nice touch, as is the breakfast nook. And there's a window? Odd. I
would have thought this wall didn't have the exposure." Mrs. Mann pulled
back a set of sheer curtains.

"It's a mural." Francesca's words were short.

"Cows? A cow pasture? No, I know," I raised a hand to cut off her words, "I
can change it. What's this?"

"Oh, that's the walk-in pantry. It contains a mini fridge and a
dishwasher. And here you see the laundry, with the washer, which is
front-loading, and the dryer, which has a cabinet for delicates to hang
dry."

"Oh." *Delicates*? I had to stifle a laugh at the image of Quinn in pretty
pink unmentionables.

"There's also a built-in ironing board!"

"Okay, that's good. I guess."

"Pay no attention to Mark. He's used to sending his laundry out."

"Uh... Yes. Of course. Well, let's move on, shall we?" She gestured to a
broad, arched doorway and we followed her through it.

"Ah. The formal dining room." Mrs. Mann's expression was bland.

Francesca hurried on. "This table is set for an intimate dinner party, but
it can open up to seat twelve comfortably." She gestured toward the other
chairs that were placed around the room. "And the area rug is quite
unusual, don't you think?"

"It's not pink." I exchanged glances with Mrs. Mann. I'd never seen such an
ugly rug. She turned away, hiding a smile.

"The buffet and hutch, the china cabinet."

Did I look like the kind of man who had a china cabinet?

"And here beneath the pass-through we have the sideboard!"

"It's convenient, Mark, for all it's a trifle small."

*Small*? But I played along with her. "Maybe we ought to... "

"You haven't seen the master suite yet! I've saved the best for last! It's
right this way!" She was starting to sound desperate.

Back through the kitchen, and this time to the left, and in spite of
myself, I let out a low whistle. The master bedroom had to be about seven
hundred square feet.

Theo, the former rentboy who lived downstairs from my present apartment,
had insisted on going furniture shopping with me. That had been after my
apartment had been blown up. It had taken a while, and he had no idea how
close I'd come to shooting him, but we'd finally found furniture we could
both agree on. I hadn't been certain if the bedroom set I'd bought would
fit in a new bedroom - it didn't in my present apartment, and I'd had to
put pieces in storage - but it would actually be lonely in this room.

Oddly enough, there was no wall-to-wall carpeting. The wood floor looked a
little dull, but I had no doubt it could be buffed to a high gloss and made
to look really classy.

Another set of French doors, these covered with plantation shutters - pink,
and I flinched - opened onto the terrace. I opened them up and stepped out
to have a look around.

"It's quite lovely, isn't it?" Francesca gushed. "That's the summer kitchen
at the far end. It also has a mini fridge and a dishwasher, and not only a
cook top, but a barbecue as well! Gas of course! As you can see, this
entire area is roofed in! Inclement weather won't stop you from enjoying an
evening on the terrace with friends!"

I made a noncommittal sound and she rushed on.

"There," she waved her hand, "you can see the area for outdoor dining, and
here by the master, we have a splendid conversation area, with a fire pit
with a number of chaises grouped around it. The coffee table and small
tables are convenient for holding drinks and snacks."

"I'd need to buy outdoor furniture."

"Oh, you could always purchase this set. It goes so well with this space,
don't you think?"

"You'd get a commission on that, wouldn't you?" I gave her a look, which
she returned with a tight smile.

"There's a sound system that will allow you to play either preprogrammed
music or listen to your favorite radio station!"

Jesus, she was really pushing it now.

I turned to look at the view. To the right was the golf course, but to the
left...

"Oh, that's the preserve view, the lawn growing down to the trees for which
this complex was named, the aspen. Isn't it gorgeous? One has the feeling
of living in untrammeled beauty!"

I frowned. I was a city boy, and it didn't matter much to me if I didn't
see grass and trees outside the park, but that wasn't to say other people
wouldn't enjoy it. In spite of the way I'd been picking this condo to
shreds, it could be a decent home. Why hadn't any of the prospective buyers
bought it?

I stepped back into the master. At the far end of the bedroom was a single
pocket door. I slid it back to find a long hallway, and there was carpeting
here. To the left was a walk-in closet that was large enough to house a
small third world country. I could picture Quinn's suits hanging in it
beside mine. There were built-in shelves and a slide-out shoe rack that
would hold at least a couple of dozen pairs of shoes.

To the right was a small gym. Sure, why not? If the weather was bad, you
could avoid going out and getting wet.

At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and that was everything
Mrs. Mann had told me and more - a double vanity topped with pink - what
else? - marble, vessel sinks, also pink marble, and gold-plated fixtures, a
shower with multiple heads, and a Jacuzzi that was large enough to hold two
men in sybaritic comfort, even if one of them was 6'3".

Behind a smoky glass-block wall was the john. And the bidet.

"The towel bars are also warming bars!"

"Sweet."

Mrs. Mann gave a silent sigh, and I smiled, an apologetic twist of my lips.

"So. Would you like to make an offer, Mark?"

"I'd like to discuss this with him for a moment, if you don't mind,
Francesca?"

I could see she didn't care for Mrs. Mann's using her first name, but she
gave a gracious nod. "I'll wait in the foyer." She stalked out stiffly,
probably certain the afternoon had been a bust and that she wasn't going to
make the sale.

"This condo has been on the market for a while, Mark."

"Has it? I've done my homework; if a place has been for sale for more than
thirty days, I can offer something like fifteen percent less than what
they're asking. And the way you were picking at everything, I think I
should be able to get it for even less than what they're asking."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Do you really want it?"

A place this big, and this close to Quinn? "Yeah." But there was still
something that was bothering me. "Look, can you distract her for about ten
minutes? I want to see what's up on the roof."

"I thought you might. I'll suggest I want to examine the dining room
again."

"Thanks. You're a honey."

"I. Beg. Your. Pardon?"

But I could see she wasn't offended.

We walked back into the empty bedroom, and I came to an abrupt standstill.

"Mark?"

"Mrs. Mann, the other bedroom had carpeting, and the bed was made, almost
like a... a showplace. Dressed to sell, if you follow me?"

"Yes, I see what you mean. There's no carpeting in this room, but there is
in the hall leading to the bathroom; there's nothing on the bed beyond a
rather nondescript duvet - no sheets, no pillows or shams."

Something in a corner caught my eye, and I crouched down to examine
it. "The previous owner must have been seriously unhappy with the
carpeting." Cotton candy pink didn't do anything for me, but I wouldn't
have ripped it out so carelessly that tufts were left where the floor
joined with the wall.

I went to the bed and pulled back the duvet, then raised the mattress up
enough so that I could see under it. I let it down gently.

"Mark?"

I smoothed the duvet back in place and ran my palm over the
headboard. "There's nothing there, but I wonder. If I spritz this headboard
with luminol, will it turn blue?"

"You think someone might have been killed here?"

"All this time on the market, and all those prospective buyers backing out,
not to mention the way the carpet was yanked out? Yeah. And now I really
want to see what's up on the roof." I toed off my shoes and picked them up.

"Give me a second. I'll keep her distracted." She walked out of the
bedroom. "Oh, Francesca? Would you mind if we looked at the dining room
again? I have a Cezanne that will fit perfectly on the wall... " Her voice
faded, and I waited a beat, then ran to the other end of the condo.

I took a slim leather case from the inner pocket of my suit jacket,
selected a slender pick, and got the door to the roof open. I made my way
cautiously up the stairs. Fortunately, none of them creaked.

The door at the top was also locked, and I made a note to be certain the
condo association turned over two keys to me. I picked the second lock and
opened the door. There was a possibility I could be seen if I stepped out
onto the roof, and I decided I'd be better off studying the flat expanse
from this point.

The air was turning cool, and there was a slight breeze. The breeze caused
the remains of yellow crime scene tape to snap.

Interesting. And no doubt the reason why this particular condominium was
having a hard time being sold. Investigating it had definitely been called
for. I took my PDA from another pocket and powered it up. Within minutes I
had the information that my computer had downloaded to it.

Sometime this past January, Delilah Carson, a very high-priced call girl,
had been killed, viciously and thoroughly. The cops blamed her boyfriend,
Danny Coe, who had taken a header off the roof. Groundskeepers had found
him, his brains splattered on the concrete below.

I went back down, locking the doors behind me, put the pick away and my
shoes back on, and strolled down the hallway, whistling through my teeth.

"Mark. Precious, we're in the dining room."

They were sitting at the table, papers spread out. I leaned down and
brushed my lips over her cheek. "Thanks, Honey."

"Have you decided to make an offer?" Francesca was looking tense.

"Yeah." I told her how much, and she turned pale.

"They'll never accept that!"

"You mean the executors of Delilah Carson's estate? We'll never know unless
you present it to them. If they drag their feet... Well, I don't think they
will, because as soon as prospective buyers learned that the previous owner
was eviscerated in her bedroom, they backed out on the deal." I scrawled my
name at the bottom of each page. "Here's my business card. Call
me. Hon... Mrs. Mann? Shall we be going?"

"Of course, Mark." She took my arm, and we each gave Francesca a smile
goodbye.

****

"'Honey'?"

"Excuse me?" I put on the blinker, looked over my shoulder, and accelerated
and merged into the flow of traffic on Interstate 495. As soon as I could,
I got into the middle lane and set the cruise control for a speed that
corresponded with the cars around me. It happened to be five miles over the
speed limit.

"Mark, you called me 'Honey'!" She was laughing softly.

"Well," I gave a slight grin myself, "I thought it was the kind of pet name
a guy would call the woman who was keeping him. I hope you didn't mind
pretending to be my sugar momma."

"Not at all. I haven't had such fun... " She laughed again.

"If this falls through, I hope you'll go house hunting with me again."

"It had better not fall through. Much as I like Allison, I won't deal with
that woman again."

"Mrs. Mann, what was it about La Dashwood that drew your attention when we
met her outside the club house?"

"I should have realized you'd catch that. Her earrings, Mark. Those rubies
were given to Allison by her first husband. Quite garish. He asked for them
back when the marriage collapsed, but after twenty-five years, she refused
to return them. She told me she'd earned them, that after all the
aggravation he put her through with one midlife crisis after another, she'd
be damned if she'd let him give those rubies to his... child bride."

I had a feeling those weren't the words Mrs. Mann's friend had used to
describe the young woman who had snared her husband.

"Could they be fakes?"

"Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. I suppose it's possible, but they looked
real to me."

"So why would she give them to her present husband's sister?"

"I don't know, Mark. But I intend to find out."

"If I can be of any help... " My cell phone rang. "Excuse me." I took my
eyes from the road long enough to check the read out. The number was
unfamiliar, but the name under it wasn't. "Hello, Francesca. What news?"

"You don't believe in the pleasantries, do you?"

Not with her. "I was under the impression this was a business call."

"It is. They've accepted your offer." She sounded less than pleased. Four
per cent of what her clients were going to get wasn't a patch on the four
per cent she'd have collected if I'd agreed to the original price that had
been quoted to Mrs. Mann.

"I'm glad to hear that. When and where do they want to get together to
finalize this?"

She named the day and time, the following week, and the location, which was
in Alexandria. "You should have ownership then. Congratulations on becoming
a new homeowner."

"Thanks. It's been... " There was a click in my ear as she
disconnected. "... a pleasure." I laughed softly, pressed end, and dropped
my phone onto the seat beside me. "I don't think she's too happy with me."

"I can see how heartbroken that makes you."

"Yeah. Congratulate me, Mrs. Mann. It's mine."

"Congratulations, Mark. I'm so pleased for you. When do you close?"

I told her. "But it will need a lot of work."

"To make it less pink?" She chuckled. It was a warm sound.

"Yes. I get a toothache just looking at the walls and carpeting. I don't
think I can count on moving in until the middle of November at the
earliest."

"Tell me what you plan to do with it."

"The walls need repainting. I know someone who'll get a kick out of looking
through paint chips. The carpeting will have to go. If the rest of the
floors are hard wood, I'll have them buffed."

"If they're not?"

"I'll have them put in. And maybe an area rug in front of the fireplace." I
smiled to myself. That rug would be for the times when I wouldn't be able
to wait to get that sexy spook into my bedroom and on my bed.

"That sounds like a nice idea." Quinn's mother fortunately had no notion of
where my mind had gone. "What else?"

I began ticking off the pieces of furniture I had, and the ones I'd had to
put in storage.

Time passed quickly, and even with traffic it wasn't more than half an hour
later when I pulled up in front of her Tudor-style house. It was still
Daylight Savings Time, but it was starting to get dark earlier, and the
house was lit up. A male figure stood by the front door.

"Didn't Novotny trust me to get you home in one piece?"

"That isn't Gregor, Mark." She unbuckled her seatbelt.

"It isn't?" I looked closer. I was surprised to see Quinn. Wasn't he
supposed to be at State?

"Turn off the engine. You're staying for dinner."

"I am?" But I was talking to thin air. She'd already let herself out of the
car and was walking toward her son, who crossed the lawn with lithe strides
to meet her. He bent to kiss her cheek.

I switched off the ignition and got out of the car.

"You left your lights on, Mark."

I swore under my breath, leaned in and shut them off, then slammed the door
shut.

"You're looking tired, sweetheart." His mother's palm rested on his cheek.

"I'm very glad it's Friday, Mother. It's been a long week." He covered her
hand with his own, then turned his head to place a kiss on her palm. "I was
at State today. You know how that can be. On top of that, my car needed to
go in for its 18,000 mile tune-up. It's a good thing your message let me
know that Gregor was in town. I called him and got a lift."

"Mrs. Mann!" Novotny stood at the top of the steps, his hands on his
hips. He was backlit by the light above the door, and I couldn't see his
expression, but his tone of voice told me he'd been ready to call out the
Marines. Did he think she'd been in danger of being kidnapped?

"I'm coming, Gregor." She squeezed her son's hand and turned to go into the
house.

I sauntered up to Quinn. "Mann. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Mother's message also let me know she was going to look at a condominium
with you. What did you think of Aspen Reach?"

I fell into step with him, and we walked toward his mother's house. "The
community is okay."

"Only okay?" I grinned at him, but he didn't grin back. "What about the
condo?"

"Barring any unforeseen difficulties - and I don't think there will be any,
they're getting desperate to unload it - it's mine."

Mrs. Mann paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Goodness knows Francesca
worked hard enough to sell it. And that wasn't all she was selling!"

"*Francesca*?"

I was a couple of steps past him when I realized he wasn't beside me. I
turned to face him. "Quinn?"

"Should I be jealous?" He brushed back the hair that was always falling
over his forehead and into his eyes. He didn't wait for an answer, just
pushed past me and strode up the steps.

"She isn't my type, Mann." I followed him into the house and shut and
locked the door. "Unless she's hiding them behind blue contacts, she
doesn't have hazel eyes."

"And you mean to say that if she did, you'd find her... interesting?" he
sniped.

"Quinn, what..." Everything had been going well. Didn't he... like me any
more?

"Well, if you want to fuck her, don't let me stop you, Vincent." He
shrugged and started to turn away from me, and I grabbed his arm.

"Are you kidding? You think I'd do something like that to you?"

"Why not? You're..." Abruptly I realized that Portia Mann was right, he
looked dead beat.

A quick glance around showed me we were alone, and I shut him up with my
mouth. I expected him to struggle or at least to stiffen in my embrace, but
instead he gave a sigh and relaxed into me.

"Mann, what the fuck is up?"

"I just needed to know... I'm sorry. It's been a bitch of a day, ending an
all-time bitch of a week."

"You're gonna," scare me, "piss and moan one time too often, and then... "

"You're going to leave me?"

"No. CIA idiot. I'm gonna knock you on your ass."

"You've already knocked me on my ass."

"I have?"

"Didn't you know?" He kissed me. "I'm disappointed in you," he murmured
against my lips.

"Damned spook. Come on. Novotny will think I'm molesting you."

"Speaking of which... "

"Molesting you?"

"Smart ass." His hand curved over my butt and squeezed. "No. Gregor. He
drove me here. I don't have my car, and I'm going to need a ride home."

"No problem. I'll drive you back to your townhouse."

"I knew I could count on you."

"Want to stop and check out my place on the way back?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, and that brought home more than anything
how tired he was. "Oh, your condo?"

My condo. I liked the sound of that. "Yeah."

"Mother said something about it being in a gated community."

I showed him the remote that operated the gate into Aspen Reach, then
replaced it in my pocket. I'd picked the realtor's shoulder bag when she'd
been busy showing his mother and me into the condo, but he didn't need to
know that.

"But you don't have the keys yet." He lowered his voice. "Right. What am I
talking about? You were able to get into my townhouse. That condo should be
a cinch."

It was nice to have my abilities appreciated. I grinned but didn't say
anything.

"When you look like that... god, I want to kiss you again!"

"I thought you were tired."

"Quinton!" Mrs. Mann called from the dining room. "Mark! Dinner is getting
cold!"

"Jesus, we were making out in my mother's front entry! We're coming,
Mother." He cut his eyes toward mine as I opened my mouth to say something
heavy with innuendo. "No snide remarks, Vincent." He stroked the curve of
my ear, dropped his hand to my shoulder, and urged me toward the first
floor john so we could wash our hands.

"I left a message on your voice mail."

"I was at a meeting. Mother's message also mentioned that since you
insisted on driving her home from Aspen Reach, she was going to insist you
stay for dinner, and if I wanted to keep our usual Friday arrangement, I
should hop to it and call Gregor."

"Very clever woman."

"Yes, she is." His pride in her was obvious.

We went into the dining room and waited for Mrs. Mann to be seated before
sitting down ourselves. Novotny had already placed dinner on the table. He
took a seat opposite me and curled his lip.

"Shrimp scampi. I hope you don't mind garlic, Vincent."

"Nope." Had he done that on purpose, so my lover would be reluctant to kiss
me? "Keeps the vampires away."

"Pass the scampi, please, Mark." Quinn smiled at me. He would be having it
too.

I sent Novotny an insouciant smile, and he scowled.

****

Dinner was finished. After giving me a hard look, Novotny had gone into the
kitchen to load the dishwasher, then had taken his cup of coffee and
retreated to his suite upstairs somewhere.

We sat in the small parlor at the back of the house, listening to a Cole
Porter CD and finishing our coffee.

"I had the opportunity to meet him once, you know. He was very charming."

"You've known some very interesting people, if you don't mind my saying so,
ma'am."

"Yes, I was quite fortunate." She started to say something else, then
looked at her son. He was sitting beside me, his legs stretched out and his
head resting on the back of the loveseat. "Sweetheart, you look so tired."

"I'll be fine, Mother. I just need a solid night's sleep."

"In that case I think you've had enough coffee, Quinn." I took his cup and
stood up. "Mrs. Mann, can I bring your cup to the kitchen?"

"Thank you, Mark."

"Pushy so-and-so," Quinn muttered as I walked out of the room, and I
grinned. He couldn't call me worse in front of his mother. I returned in
time to hear him say, "I left word at both State and Langley that short of
a national emergency I wasn't to be called this weekend." He
yawned. "Sorry."

"Perhaps we should call off our Sunday ride." His mother sent a glance my
way, and I gave a minute nod.

"I'm not an invalid, Mother." He was starting to sound petulant, a sure
sign he was more exhausted then he wanted to let on.

"C'mon, tough guy. I'll drive you home." My home. I was going to keep him
in my apartment, and I'd turn off his cell phone so that even in the event
of a national emergency he wouldn't be disturbed.

Mrs. Mann walked us to the front door and out to the steps. She kissed her
son's cheek, and to my surprise, she kissed mine as well.

"Drive carefully, Mark."

"Yes, ma'am. Always do."

She stood at the door, watching until we gave a final wave and drove off.

****

"Lifesaver, Mark?"

"Huh?" I was humming under my breath. I'd decided to drive straight to my
apartment in DC, skipping the visit to Aspen Reach. "Oh, yeah, sure." The
garlic. I held out my palm, felt the mint drop into it, and popped it into
my mouth. Cryst-O-Mint, as I'd suspected.

A quick glance showed him doing the same, and then he tipped his head back
against the headrest, his eyes closed.

Dammit, I really wasn't used to seeing him this tired, and I didn't like
it.

I stamped down heavily on the gas pedal and got him home, stripped, and
into bed.

"I'm sorry, babe." Quinn yawned so hugely my jaws ached in sympathy.

"It's okay." I drew the covers around him. "What's the point in showing you
where I'll fuck your brains out if you aren't awake enough to appreciate
it? Go to sleep."

He mumbled something, and then a soft snore whispered past his lips.

Quinn was a few years younger than I. The dossier I kept on him had nothing
about his inability to bounce back from an assignment.

I should have got to the bastard who ran Prinzip before Quinn and killed
him harder. If he hadn't had Quinn kidnapped...

I stripped, shut the light, and got into bed with Quinn. He rolled over
into my arms, mumbled a few words, and sighed, a warm gust of air over my
collarbone.

"Yeah, this is nice," I whispered in his ear. "'Night, Quinn."


~End~