Things Happen That Way Read online

  “Want me to kill him?”

  “No, Mark, but thank you for the offer.” I couldn’t keep the amusement from my voice.

  “Well, just let Portia know I’m available if she wants him erased.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass on your message.”

  “So who’s Abberley in love with?”

  “What makes you think he’s in love with someone else?”

  “Quinn, there has to be someone else. Jesus, if I didn’t have you, I’d be in love with Portia!”

  “Well, I’m glad you have me.”

  “Yeah, so am I. So the woman he’s in love with? Or is it a man?”

  “No, she’s a very lovely young Iranian woman, and she’s his housekeeper. She has been for the past seven years.”

  “How young is young?”

  “She’s about twenty-five, I believe. And Abberley is at least three times her age.”

  “Well, your uncle married a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. Either the marriage will last, or it won’t. So what’s got you bent out of shape?”

  “I’m not—” Well, yes, truthfully, I was. “I’ll be home in Alexandria, but you’ll be in Los Angeles.” When had Mark become such a necessity in my life?

  “That’s no big deal.” He continued before I had a chance to wonder if I should feel hurt. “You’ve got the time off, don’t you? Fly on out to LA. We can be Spike’s bodyguards, and afterward I’ll take you to Disneyland and hold your hand in the Haunted Mansion.”

  “Would you really?”

  “You bet your ass.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Hey, gotta keep my guy safe, don’t I?”

  “Thank you, Mark.”

  “Okay, then. Call me as soon as—” He interrupted himself. “Quinn, I’ve got another call. Can you hold on?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thanks, babe. I’ll be right back.”

  I took the phone into the bathroom, set it to speaker, then placed it on the vanity, washed my hands and face, brushed my teeth, and flossed.

  Finally, I heard, “Quinn, you still there?”

  “I am, Mark. Problems?” A glance at my watch told me he’d kept me on hold for ten minutes.

  “I’m sorry. And yeah, there’s a serious problem. The Division and Scarlet Chamber have hooked up.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “If de Becque has thrown himself in league with the Scarlet Chamber—” The Frenchman and Mark had not only been friends for quite some time, but friends with benefits. It would destroy Mark to realize someone he trusted had gone to the dark side.

  “Nah. He left with all the operatives who had a brain, but Lynx pitched a shit fit and is out to get Pete and everyone who threw in with him. I’ve got to go to Paris and deal with it.”

  “You’re not in the field any longer. This isn’t your problem.”

  “It is. A friend is calling in a favor.”

  “De Becque?”

  “No. It’s Femme.”

  “Ah.” I had to confess I was relieved. While Mark had had a brief affair with the Division’s Chief of Interrogation, I knew he preferred men. If it had been De Becque, however... if he had asked Mark to go to Paris and Mark had agreed, I wouldn’t have been happy. I would have hidden it of course—I was the Ice Man, after all—but I would have been tempted to eliminate de Becque.

  “Uh… are you jealous, Quinn? I mean, I’m dropping everything to fly to France for her.”

  “Just as you dropped everything for Val. I know you, Mark. As little as you’d like other people to realize it, you’re a good man, an honorable man.” And I had to change the subject before he realized if there was anyone of whom I could be jealous, it would be de Becque, not Femme. “Now, I imagine you need to get a good deal accomplished before your flight—”

  “Yeah, that flight. It’s too bad the Concorde isn’t flying out of Dulles today,” he muttered, and of course he’d be aware of that.

  “Let me call Uncle Bryan. He knows someone who flies charters. She’ll do it for him.”

  “Can she get me to Paris?”

  “You’re not objecting?”

  “Hey, your uncle owes me for having all the fun last evening.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. Mark did like to be in control. “She can’t make Concorde time, but she’s fast.”

  “Thanks, babe. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll get to it then—”

  “Quinn, wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay in London. Well, stay in Europe. It shouldn’t take long to get this done. There’s a little bar in Paris near the Place Pigalle, Le Petit Homme. Meet me there?”

  “Of course, Mark. Place Pigalle, Le Petit Homme,” I repeated. “When?”

  “Shit. I’ve got no clue how long it will take me to wrap this shit up.”

  “Never mind. I’ll be there, and I’ll see you when I see you.”

  “Thanks, Quinn. I… uh….”

  “I know. Forever.”

  “Well, yeah, but….”

  “We’ll talk about it in Paris. Now get going so your lover won’t have to wait forever to see you again. And do me a favor please? Don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Okay, Quinn. Bye.”

  “I’ll see you, Mark.” I hung up, then called my uncle. The phone rang five times, six times, but before I could become concerned, he picked up.

  “Whoever this is,” he snarled, “you’d better have a damn good reason for calling at this hour!”

  “Uncle Bryan?” I glanced at my wristwatch. Oh, hell. It wasn’t even 4:00 a.m. Los Angeles time. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Quinn, is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I just got off the phone with Mark, and—I’m sorry,” I said again. “I woke you up. I forgot all about the time difference.”

  “As long as you and your mother are fine, we don’t mind. And you didn’t wake us. Your uncle and I were just rehashing the events of this evening.”

  “Yes? Mark says you had all the fun.”

  “He was a trifle miffed.” Bryan sounded not only amused but inordinately pleased with himself. “It was nice to show him how a spook could handle things.”

  I cloaked my laugh in a cough. “I’m sure. The next time I’m out in LA, I’ll want to hear all about it. Meanwhile, I need another favor.”

  “Of course. What can I do for you? Or is it Mark who actually needs the favor.”

  “It’s Mark. He has to get to Paris as soon as possible. The Concorde isn’t flying today—”

  “And even if it was, he’d never get back to Dulles to make the connection.”

  “Exactly. I remember you had a contact who was an excellent pilot.”

  “Yes, Chili Valdez.”

  “Would she be able to fly Mark to Paris?”

  “Of course. What’s so interesting in Paris?”

  “The Division has joined forces with the Scarlet Chamber, and an insurrection is brewing.”

  “Dammit. I was sure Vincent had dealt with the idiots who ran that organization.”

  “It doesn’t matter who’s running it. A friend has called in a favor, and Mark has to be there.”

  “All right. It won’t be cheap.”

  “If it comes to that, I’ll pay the piper.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “And ask Ms. Valdez to contact me once she lands in Paris.”

  “What are you planning, Quinn?”

  “Why would I be planning anything?”

  “Jesus, you’re just like your mother, answering a question with a question.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. But since I’m here in London, it wouldn’t take me long to get to Paris. Mark and I can spend a few days together.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’d want to talk to Chili.”

  “It doesn’t, does it?” I laughed. “Okay, I intend to be available if Mark needs me.”

  “Your mother—”r />
  “She’s a grown woman, Uncle Bryan, and she’s getting annoyed having her menfolk tag along after her.”

  “I suppose she can stay with Abberley,” he offered grudgingly.

  “He’ll probably be tied up with his fiancée, if he isn’t on his honeymoon.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He’s decided Mother isn’t his one, but his housekeeper is.”

  “That doesn’t say much for his taste.”

  “Perhaps not, but Ayesha is quite a lovely young woman, and I think he’ll be very happy with her. At any rate, Mother can come to Paris with me.”

  “All right. I’ll call Chili, and then I’ll call Vincent to fill him in on the details. And then I’m going to bed.” He’d raised his voice slightly, and I wondered about that, but I didn’t bring it up.

  “Thanks, Uncle Bryan. Good night.”

  “’Night, Quinn. Oh, and Tony says good night too.” He gave a soft huff of laughter and hung up, and I did the same, shaking my head.

  I was pleased my uncles were getting along so well, but sometimes they were very confusing.

  I placed my phone on the dresser and did some rapid calculations. Knowing Mark, he’d have the pilot push her jet to the max, but while getting from DC to Paris could be a seven or eight hour flight, with the time difference, I could count on an additional six hours. Mark could arrive in Paris any time after midnight.

  I went into the sitting area, where Mother was reading in the original Russian the copy of War and Peace she’d brought with her. She looked up and smiled. “Ready for lunch, sweetheart?”

  “Slight change of plans,” I told her.

  Her eyebrow arched, and she marked her place in the book, closed it, folded her hands, and waited.

  “Mark has a job to do in Paris.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Valentine?”

  “No. Val is safe.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. What happened?”

  I told her, and when I mentioned Giles Stapleton’s name, her lips tightened. “Do you know his family also?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, I do. If he was telling the truth, and if Valentine’s sister actually is engaged to him, then I pity the poor girl.”

  “It remains to be seen if the marriage will take place. According to Mark, Stapleton is heading for prison.”

  “His father will pay to see that doesn’t happen. Walter Stapleton has plans to run for governor. The last thing he wants is for his children to cause another scandal.”

  “Another?”

  “Annabella Stapleton, Giles’s youngest sister, has been in and out of rehab since she was thirteen, and Chloe, the oldest sister, has had more affairs, both while she was married and after she was divorced, than your uncle Bryan’s stepdaughter. Having Giles involved in a kidnapping plot would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  I shook my head. “If they succeed in getting Giles out of serving prison time, they won’t be doing Giles a favor.”

  Mother sighed. “They’ve done none of their children a favor.”

  I wasn’t going to correct her belief, not that her belief was erroneous. If Giles Stapleton didn’t go to prison for what he’d done to Val, then Mark would deal with him himself. It was what he would have done if my uncles hadn’t stepped in.

  “Since Mark’s visit to Paris has nothing to do with Valentine’s abduction, can you tell me why he’s going there?”

  “Are you familiar with the Scarlet Chamber?”

  “I’m aware the Archbishop and the Abbot were both erased.” Her use of that term reminded me she wasn’t a woman with whom to trifle.

  “Yes. Unfortunately that hasn’t done anything to stop the Scarlet Chamber’s activities. There’s a new coordinator, and it seems the Division has formed a relationship with her.”

  “A woman? I find that interesting. I was under the impression Robert Lynx was something of a misogynist.”

  “He is.” I remembered my meeting last spring with the man who ran the Division, when someone in his organization—Pierre de Becque, as it turned out—had the CIA’s database hacked in an attempt to get information about me. Lynx had tried to be conciliatory, but since I’d learned a certain WBIS agent had recently done the same thing, I’d been neither appeased nor inclined to look the other way. “Women work out of the Division, but the majority of them are Valentine operatives. In addition, Lynx is a martinet who insists his way of doing things is the only way.”

  Mother sat back and crossed her legs. “I don’t see any way that this can be a good thing.”

  “It’s not. The Division has become splintered. A friend of Mark’s has asked for his help.”

  “Ah. Will you be going to Paris as well, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, but I won’t be involved in whatever the confrontation is,” I assured her. “Mark simply wants me to meet him afterward.”

  She nodded. “In that case, it seems we’ll be making a jaunt to Paris.”

  “We?”

  “Of course. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the House of Dior. That should be a viable-enough excuse for my traveling with you.” She was absolutely right. “Now, I’ll call the front desk and have Mr. Henderson come up to pack for us. Suppose you make the travel arrangements?”

  “I’ll get right on it, Mother.”

  Chapter 12

  It was just after seven when we arrived at the Hôtel des Souvenirs on the Avenue George V. I’d booked a suite at the hotel where Mother and Father had taken me from the time I was five. At least once a year we would travel to Europe and spend a few weeks touring the Continent.

  I’d also made reservations for a dinner cruise on the Seine and a show afterward at the Crazy Horse, so once we were checked in, we changed and made our way to the pier where the boat was docked.

  The dinner was as excellent as promised. Mother had the lightly cooked housemade duck foie gras in a mulled wine jelly with star anise for starters, while I ordered the salmon gravlax fillet with a seaweed salad and peppery lemon pearls. Mother decided on a champagne of a mature vintage, which would complement the foie gras and the salmon. For the main course, we both enjoyed pink roasted filet mignon of Welsh lamb with pan-fried green vegetables, washed down with a very good Cabernet Sauvignon.

  The illuminated skyline of Paris was breathtaking, and I decided I’d bring Mark on a cruise as soon as whatever he was working on was done.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Mother said as we entered our suite. She stifled a yawn. “This was a lovely evening.”

  “It was, wasn’t it? I’m glad you enjoyed it. Is there anything I can get you?” The mini bar held splits of champagne, as well as cognac.

  “It’s been a long day, and I think—”

  Just then, my cell phone rang It wasn’t Mark on the line; the ringtone was generic. However, I’d been expecting that call from Uncle Bryan’s pilot-friend for the past couple of hours. “Excuse me, please, I’d better take this.”

  “That’s quite all right, Quinton. I’ll just say good night.” She kissed my cheek and crossed the sitting room to her bedroom.

  I hoped the day hadn’t been too long for her.

  I took out my cell phone. The screen revealed a California area code, and I touched the answer icon. “Mann.”

  “It’s Valdez. I’m sorry to be calling so late, Mr. Mann.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You had a safe flight?”

  “Yes. We arrived just outside Paris around midnight.”

  I worried my lower lip. It was almost two a.m. now. “Was there a problem?”

  “No. Why do you... Oh, the time.” She coughed lightly. “Mr. Vincent changed the flight plan an hour or so out of Charles de Gaulle Airport, when we were just off the coast of Ireland.” She told me where she’d landed, but it was an airport I was unfamiliar with. “A big guy driving a black van picked him up. I... uh... followed them.”

  “You what? That could have gotten you killed!”

  “No. Mr. Vi
ncent wasn’t driving, and whoever was just wanted to get where he was going.”

  “And you know where that is?”

  “Yes.” The coordinates she sent to my phone were all too familiar: they were to the warehouse where I’d been held captive by the madman who’d run Prinzip. “And I have to tell you, this place looks like an anthill that was stirred up.”

  “All right. Get out of there.”

  “Already on my way back to the Angie. My jet,” she clarified.

  “I appreciate you contacting me. You’re returning to the States?”

  “At first light, unless you need me to stay available?”

  “No, but thank you for the offer. And thanks for flying M-Vincent here.”

  “I’ve been well paid. Good night, Mr. Mann. And please thank Mr. Vincent for flying Air Valdez.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “I will. Have a safe flight home, Ms. Valdez. Good night.” I disconnected the call.

  “What is it, Quinton?” Mother stood in the doorway to her room, watching me soberly. She was still dressed in the evening gown she’d worn to dinner.

  “Mother.” I didn’t stop to wonder how much she might have overheard. “I’m sorry, I have to go out. Mark....” I felt cold as memories of being chained by my ankle in that dank place swamped me. Mark might not need my help, but then again, he just might. I hurried into my room, stripped off my suit, and pulled on casual black trousers and a dark brown shirt. I fastened my subcompact clutch piece to my ankle, then slid my arms back into a suit jacket, since I didn’t have anything more suitable for what I was about to do.

  I went back into the sitting room. “Mother, I don’t know what time I’ll get back—” I came to an abrupt halt.

  “I’ve called for a cab,” she said as she hung up the suite’s phone. Once again she wore black yoga clothes, this time with a pair of soft black shoes with flat soles.

  An uneasy feeling skittered up my spine. I didn’t think she was going to practice yoga at this time of night.

  “I’m going with you.” She held up a hand, forestalling whatever I might have said. “You know I can defend myself if necessary.”