You Were Made for Me Read online

  ~*~

  WE’D VISITED THE Borden Inn the same day we’d flown up to Fall River to apply for our marriage license, because, as it turned out, that had to be done in person. The Borden Inn was a pretty B&B that had a nice restaurant where the ten of us could be seated. We’d taken the opportunity to sample their food and had enjoyed it, so we’d reserved their dining room for our wedding day.

  Quinn had studied the menu and glanced at me. We’d been together long enough that I knew what he was asking without him saying a word.

  “Your choice, babe. It’s mostly your family, and you know what they’ll like.”

  He’d smiled and requested a variety of entrees be available—beef, poultry, game, fish, and vegetarian—and the wines to go with them. I pulled out my credit card—mine and not Joseph Wells—and had the front desk agent charge the deposit to it.

  ~*~

  “SO YOU’RE GOING TO your island for your honeymoon?” Novotny asked as we entered the dining room. A round table large enough to seat the ten of us comfortably had a prominent position in the room. The table was covered with a very white tablecloth, and at the center was a square vase filled with pink flowers. Portia would probably know what they were—I had no clue. That wasn’t my area of expertise.

  “Island?” Steve’s jaw dropped, and Lilly’s eyes grew huge. “You own an island?”

  “Yeah. It’s off the coast of Costa Rica.”

  “An island?” My uncle and his wife exchanged glances.

  “It’s no big deal. It’s only about seventy-five acres.”

  “It’s a beautiful island,” Quinn murmured.

  “You’ve seen it?”

  He smiled at Lilly. “We’ve spent a week there after Christmas for the past two years. It would have been nice to spend our honeymoon there.”

  “You’re not?” Of course Portia was surprised. Quinn had spoken enthusiastically about the time we’d spent on the island I’d named Sheer Delight, and we were planning on inviting her and Novotny to join us after the New Year.

  “No. There’s a tropical wave that’s cropped up.” No one had anticipated it—it didn’t even rate a name—and while it wasn’t powerful enough to be rated a tropical storm or even a tropical depression, thanks to the full moon, abnormally high tides, and a stalled system, it was still doing plenty of damage. “We’re going to Manhattan instead.”

  “You’re going to let a little wind and rain stop you?” Novotny snarked.

  “Me? No. But I won’t put Quinn in danger.”

  Portia touched my arm. “Thank you, Mark.”

  “He’s important to me too.” I drew out a chair for her, beating Quinn, his uncles, and Novotny to the punch and giving them a smug grin.

  This time she cupped my cheek. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” she said again and sat down.

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t help the gruffness in my voice. I was gratified this strong woman had accepted me in her son’s life.

  Steve pulled out a chair for his wife, and once Lilly sat, we took our seats.

  Waiters brought out platters of appetizers. Quinn had chosen baked Brie, Roma tomato bruschetta, Asian beef rolls, and crab cake bites with fruit salsa. The waiters filled water glasses, suggested wines, and took our orders.

  “Bring me an unopened bottle of club soda,” I murmured to the waiter at my elbow.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No wine, Mark?” Uncle Steve asked.

  “You knew my mother.”

  He looked away and picked up the plate holding the baked Brie.

  “I have to say I’m surprised you didn’t have the ceremony in a venue that could accommodate more of the family.” Lilly snapped out her napkin, placed it on her lap, and accepted a slice of the Brie from Steve. She smiled, but there was something in it that indicated she expected me to be pissed off by her words.

  I didn’t know what Steve had told her about me or what she thought she knew about me from our brief interaction at my old lady’s funeral, but she was going to be in for a surprise. Her words had no effect on me at all.

  “Having the ceremony in the middle of the week made it difficult for friends and family to come,” I said as I reached for a basket of rolls and offered it to Portia.

  “Then why do it?”

  “Quinn chose this date. I’ll give him whatever he wants.” After Portia had taken a roll, I offered the basket to Quinn. “You did get the invitation to the reception we’re having at Raphael’s on October 10, didn’t you? Although it’s actually more of a dinner.” I knew Lilly was protective of Steve, but why the fuck was she giving me a hard time?

  She looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to attend.”

  I shrugged. “That’s okay. Pass the beef rolls, please, Rivenhall?” I helped myself to a couple, passed the platter to Quinn, and glanced at Lilly.

  Her brows had snapped together, and it looked like she wasn’t pleased I didn’t care whether they attended or not.

  Quinn either hadn’t noticed or was too much of a gentleman to mention it. He said, “You represented his birth family when we exchanged vows, and that’s what means the most to Mark.”

  It was? I gave him a look, but he returned it with a soft smile, reached for my left hand, and rubbed my ring with his thumb.

  He wasn’t finished with her, though. “However, the family he created over the years will be joining us at the reception.”

  “I don’t understand.” Lilly seemed put out.

  “Theo, Paul, Spike—the young men he’s known since he arrived in Washington. Spike’s an actor. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Quinn really laid it on thick.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” Steve said. “Kit—our youngest—saw the movie that came out this past summer and couldn’t stop talking about how refreshing it was to see a gay character who played it straight. Um… so to speak.”

  “I wish he hadn’t gone to see it.” Lilly’s lips were in a tight line. “It’s going to encourage him.”

  “Encourage him in what way?” Portia asked.

  “The last thing we want for our son is for him to think that lifestyle is acceptable.”

  “You do realize that you’ve just attended a same-sex wedding?” Portia’s smile was faint, but only a fool would challenge her at this point.

  “Of course I do. And if you have no problem with it, that’s fine, but I don’t approve of it for my own son.” And it looked like Lilly was a fool.

  “I think we’d better change the subject, Mrs. Vincent,” Sebring said. “You and your husband and my sister and her partner are the only people at this table who are straight.”

  Beside me, Portia sighed. “I do wish Anthony hadn’t chosen this occasion to out himself and Bryan.”

  Quinn leaned forward so he could speak to her around me. “You were aware, Mother?”

  “Of course I was. I wasn’t born yesterday, I’ll have you know.”

  Meanwhile, Lilly had turned scarlet. “I apologize. Perhaps Steve and I ought to leave.”

  “There’s no need.” I smiled at her, not really caring that she flinched. Every family had its share of nutjobs, although I wouldn’t say that in front of Portia.

  “So where will you stay in Manhattan?” Rivenhall asked in an attempt to ease the situation.

  “There’s this hotel in the Murray Hill District, Bonheur,” Quinn told him. “It’s quite historic. I understand it dates back to the middle of the nineteenth century.”

  “Will you buy something for Theo’s baby while you’re there, Mark?” Portia asked.

  I wanted to groan. I had no idea what to buy for a baby. “What are you getting him?” Because of course she would. Theo had helped with the renovation of Mann Manor, getting his architect to design the changes he and Quinn had decided upon.

  “I have my eye on a nice layette set. It consists of a sweater, tiny pants, booties and hat, and a sleeper and receiving blanket. And it’s in pale blue and white. Theo happen
ed to mention his husband’s family runs to boys.”

  Lilly’s jaw dropped. “He’s gay too?”

  “Yeah,” I said flatly.

  She closed her mouth and didn’t say anything more.

  Quinn looked wistful, and I wanted to kick myself in the ass. He’d told me he’d given up on the idea of having a biological child, due to that goddamned factor X. I wouldn’t be much of a father, but Quinn would be amazing. I’d have to talk to Max and see if he had any thoughts on the matter. He was good with research, and maybe he’d be able to come up with something that would filter out that factor.

  “I thought we’d stop at FAO Schwarz and find something age appropriate.” The toy store on Fifth Avenue had a wide variety of toys for kids ranging in age from newborns on up.

  “That sounds like a plan.” Quinn looked up as the waiters came in with the salad course, and conversation turned to other things. We couldn’t talk about work, not with civilians at the table, and politics was never a good idea, so we fell back on books and movies and mundane, everyday things.

  Chapter 9: October 1-5, 2004

  SPENDING TIME WITH QUINN was always a pleasure, but our honeymoon week had an added fillip.

  Later in the day he married me, we flew down to JFK and took the AirTrain to Jamaica Station. From there we took the Long Island Railroad into Penn Station, then caught a cab to our hotel on Park Avenue.

  The Bonheur was a nice hotel, small but luxurious. The first floor contained a bar, restaurant, and reading room, while meeting rooms were on the second floor. Guest rooms were located on the third to seventh floors, with suites on the seventh floor, and the top floor had the gym and a junior Olympic size pool.

  Once we arrived at our suite, we unpacked. Quinn had previously contacted various theaters. He’d ordered tickets for us to pick up at the box office. We were going to see Wicked, Chicago, The Producers, and Phantom of the Opera, even though we’d already seen Phantom in DC a couple of years before.

  Although we weren’t going out on the town right away.

  We spent the first three days in bed and enjoying room service. On the fourth day, we went out, took a carriage ride through Central Park, then walked to FAO Schwarz and browsed the floors.

  “What do you think of this?” Quinn asked. He’d come across a dream soother, a gadget that played a variety of either classical melodies or ocean sounds, and streamed images of clouds and oceans, birds and animals. According to the helpful sales clerk, it also featured the ability to gradually soften the sounds and images as the baby drifted off to sleep. “I like it.”

  “This looks like a good choice. Okay, that’s done.” I took it to a cashier, only to realize Quinn wasn’t with me. “Hold on to this,” I told the young man. “I’ll be right back.”

  It was a big store, and I had no intention of searching each floor, so I took out my cell phone and hit one on speed dial.

  “Are you lost, Mark?”

  “No, but I think you are.”

  He laughed. “I’m in the book department.”

  “Stay put. I’m coming.”

  He laughed harder, and I realized I’d left myself open for that one.

  “I’m on my way.” I made my way to an area with shelves of colorful books and toys related to them—tugboats and fire engines, scruffy little sailor dogs, cats in hats, and blue elephants—and found him in one of the aisles. “Quinn?”

  He turned to face me, his arms filled with Dr. Seuss books. “I always loved these books.” He dipped his chin, indicating Horton Hatches the Egg, which topped the pile. “This was one of my favorites. I remember Father reading it to me when I was quite small. Would you mind if I got these for the baby?”

  “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Thank you.” Who’d have thought the Ice Man would ever look at me with that expression in his eyes?

  I cleared my throat gruffly. “Don’t mention it.”

  We returned to the cashier, paid for the items, then waited while everything was gift-wrapped.

  “Where to now, babe?” I asked as I picked up the bag with the presents. I had myself together again.

  He slanted me a look. “I think we should return to the hotel.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And after we pack away the presents in our suitcases, we can get ready for our evening out.”

  “Isn’t it a little early?” We planned to have an early dinner at the Four Seasons, then go to see Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic.

  The corner of his mouth crooked up in a grin, and he gave me a sultry glance. Anyone who’d ever seen the Ice Man would never have recognized Quinn.

  “No.” I responded to my own question and grinned back at him. “I guess it isn’t too early.”

  ~*~

  DINNER WAS GOOD. It couldn’t compare with the hours we’d spent rolling around on the king-sized bed in our suite, but it was tasty. Quinn had the asparagus soup, while I had the Manhattan conch chowder. For our entrée, we ordered the specialty for two, rack of lamb, which came with roast heirloom potatoes. We finished off the meal with a chocolate soufflé and coffee with a shot of Frangelico hazelnut liqueur.

  I groaned and rubbed my stomach. “I think you’ll have to roll me down the sidewalk.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?” Quinn signaled our waiter for the check. He’d pick it up this time, while I’d get the tip. He signed the slip and put it and the cash I’d given him into the leather folder.

  I touched my napkin to my lips, then placed it on the table, pushed my chair back, and rose.

  We were making our way through the tables toward the front of the restaurant to retrieve our overcoats when someone called, “Quinton? Is that you?”

  Quinn turned, an easy smile on his face, and approached the table where two men sat. From the corner of his mouth Quinn murmured, “Barrett Harrison, wealthy financier. Mother socialized with his parents.”

  “And you know him through her. Got it.” I had no intention of telling Quinn I was familiar with the man who’d waved him over. Not just yet, anyway.

  “Barrett. How are you?”

  “Fine, fine. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has. This is my husband, Mark.”

  “Husband?” Harrison tilted his head, and if I didn’t trust Quinn to handle this clown, I’d have clocked him right then. “You always were avant-garde, Quinton.”

  “On the contrary,” he said in his cool Ice Man voice. “I always knew what I wanted.”

  “Indeed.”

  Quinn waited expectantly for Harrison to introduce his companion, a very striking young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes, and it took a few minutes before he finally did. “This is Daniel, my… protégé.” His reluctance was obvious. From his dossier, I knew it was because he was a private person. It would have been easier if he was closeted, but we worked with what we had. And the WBIS had Daniel Morrow, who must have made quite an impression on Harrison, if that gold hoop in his right ear was anything to go by.

  “Protégé?” I knew who he was, since Daniel Morrow worked out of the WBIS’s Honeymoon Department, which dealt with operations that required sexual manipulation. However, for this assignment, he’d been lent to Interior Affairs. Morrow’s eyes flared briefly when he recognized me, but then his expression became bland.

  “Barrett is aiding me in my career. I’m an artist.” He stood up and extended his hand. “How do you do?”

  I shook his hand, angling my body so that only Morrow saw my raised eyebrow. In response, he hunched his shoulder slightly, and I dipped my chin in acknowledgement.

  “Won’t you join us for a drink?” Harrison asked, unaware of the silent exchange.

  “It’s kind of you to ask us, but we’re on our way to the theater.”

  “Ah. In that case, I won’t keep you. Perhaps another time. It was nice seeing you, Quinton.”

  “Same here.” They shook hands, and Quinn and I left.

  Outside the restaurant, I whistled up a cab and
told the driver to take us to the Majestic.

  Once there, Quinn touched my sleeve. “Want to tell me about that, Mark?”

  “About what?”

  He gave me a look. “You obviously knew the young man.”

  “Yeah. We were asked to keep an eye on Harrison because he’s been meeting with some Russians with ties to the Kremlin.”

  “He is a financial adviser.”

  “And that could make for a good cover. I sent Morrow to get close to him and find out what the skinny is. So far, he hasn’t been able to find a firm connection, but it’s early days yet.”

  “Hmm. I’ll be disappointed to learn Harrison is involved.”

  “I’ll let you know what we learn.”

  “Thank you. Now, suppose we find our seats.” He gripped my arm, and we climbed the stairs to the balcony.

  ~*~

  JUST LIKE THE LAST time we’d seen the Phantom, I was annoyed when, during the Masquerade scene, no one realized the man in the mask was too fucking short to be the real Phantom.

  “But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “I’m glad.” He stepped to the curb, about to hail a cab. “Do you want a nightcap?” We’d had wine with dinner and a Manhattan to honor Portia during the intermission at the Phantom. Usually I restricted my alcoholic intake, but fuck it, I was on my honeymoon. I could let myself have another drink.

  I looked him up and down. “I think I’d rather—” I stopped and looked around. “Dammit.”

  Quinn went still. “What is it?”

  “I’ve got that feeling again.”

  “That we’re being watched? Even if Taylor is here, what does it matter? I’m not with the CIA any longer.” And although he hadn’t been for more than a year, he was still the quintessential operative. Without being obvious about it, his gaze quartered the area. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Neither do I.” Damned crowded city streets. I ran a hand through my hair. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We can have a nightcap there.”

  “All right.” Quinn flagged a cab, and one pulled up immediately. After we got in, he gave the driver the address, and we continued chatting about the Phantom during the fifteen minute drive.