Things Happen That Way Page 29

  Monday was... there were no words to describe it. It started with a call to Rayner, which I made in Father’s study.

  “Quinn. How nice to hear from you. How is London?”

  “Excuse me?” I’d left London days ago, and so much had happened in the meantime, it took a minute to make sense of his words. “Bram, I’m back in the States. Happy anniversary, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Holly and I had a wonderful weekend. I have to say I’m surprised you’ve already returned. That was a quick trip.”

  He didn’t know the half of it, but I wasn’t about to correct him.

  “We’ve got a problem. Cooper’s in the hospital.”

  “Syd? I just saw her.”

  “No, DB. He was shot by a WBIS director Saturday night.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Yes. I knew this Davis thing was going to be trouble.”

  “More than you know. Davis hasn’t been in touch, and we haven’t been able to contact him. His apartment has the cold, sterile feel of one that’s... not been abandoned—it’s been left in good order, but the dishwasher is empty, all the trash has been removed, and there’s nothing in the refrigerator. It’s as if he just walked away from it. And to top it off, the floppy discs he left with Jenner had some interesting information on them, but we have no way of verifying it. When that idiot, Taylor, attempted to hack into the WBIS system—”

  “DB told me what happened.”

  “Well, you were right. Jenner’s been put on report. He’ll never sit behind the desk of Counterintelligence Threat Analysis again. And as for Taylor… he was tossed out so hard he left skid marks. You have every reason to say you told us so.”

  “I won’t, Bram.” I blew out a silent breath of relief. “I’m just sorry it turned out that way.”

  “Yes.” He sighed heavily. “You said a WBIS agent shot Cooper. Do you know which one? We can’t allow something like this. Cooper’s director will need to send one of our wet boys after him.”

  “No, it was a WBIS director.”

  “Fuck it. Wallace isn’t going to react well to our canceling him.”

  “Gershom has been taken care of already, so there’s no need to worry about him.”

  “Quinn, you didn’t shoot the son of a bitch? I know how close you and Cooper are.”

  “DB is the brother I never had. But no, I had nothing to do with what happened to Gershom. And it won’t come back to us.”

  “Thank God. What’s Cooper’s condition?”

  “His prognosis is good—the bullet only grazed his spleen—but he’ll need some time to recover.”

  “Of course. I’ll let his director know what’s going on.”

  “Thanks, Bram. Look, I have to go. I want to get up to the hospital to see him.”

  “To which one has he been admitted?”

  “GW.”

  “I’ll have my assistant send him a fruit basket from our department. Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Quinn.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be back to work in a couple of days.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take the rest of the time you have coming?”

  “No, not now.” I’d need it soon enough to fly out to Las Vegas for DB’s weddings.

  “All right then. I’ll see you soon. Good-bye.”

  “Bye, Bram.” I ended the call and stooped to fondle the kitten’s ears—she’d wandered in while I was on the phone. “How does breakfast sound to you, Miss Priss?” She purred and rubbed up against the leg of my pajama pants, and I took that for a yes. The two of us went into the kitchen. Mark, Mother, and Gregor were already seated at the table. I helped myself to a cup of coffee.

  “Your plate’s in the warming drawer,” Gregor said.

  I opened the drawer, took out a plate with a couple of mini frittatas, and joined the family.

  “How’d the call go?” Mark stirred his coffee, although he took it black and there was nothing added to it. He was wearing the robe Mother had purchased for him in Paris, deep brown silk brocade. It made his eyes look like dark chocolate, and it took my breath away. “Quinn?”

  “Hmm? Oh, Bram’s relieved we don’t have to go after Gershom. Thank you.”

  “Always glad to help. Besides, the bastard—sorry, Portia—had been treading on thin ice for the past few months.”

  Knowing how deadly Mark could be, why did these directors insist on trying his patience?

  I sliced into the frittata. It was filled with prosciutto, two different cheeses, and artichoke hearts, and tasted like a little slice of heaven. “This is wonderful, Gregor.”

  “Uh... Vincent made it.”

  “Really, Mark?”

  “I thought since Novotny had some leftover prosciutto, I’d give it a shot.” So that was where he had gone. When I’d awakened, I’d been alone in bed. “You like it?”

  “I do.”

  “I told Mark he did an excellent job,” Mother said.

  I was amused to see the color rise in his cheeks. He wouldn’t have made the attempt unless he was certain it would be perfect. I freed my foot from its slipper, stretched my leg under the table, and rubbed my toes against his calf.

  His gaze grew hot, and I licked my lips, anticipating another evening like the previous one, when he’d lain sprawled on the bed and I’d ridden him until we’d come apart in each other’s arms.

  “What plans for today, sweetheart?”

  “Excuse me, Mother?” I could feel my own cheeks redden, and I withdrew my foot and felt for my slipper, but it wasn’t where it should have been. I could hardly go searching for it, so I let it go for the time being. “Oh, I’m going to see DB.” I helped myself to some of the fresh fruit Gregor had cut up and placed in a bowl in the center of the table.

  Just then Miss Priss launched herself onto Mark’s lap. She arched her back and whipped her tail back and forth across Mark’s face and mouth while she kneaded his thighs.

  “Thanks, cat. Just what I needed—a mouthful of fur.” He picked some of the loose hairs out of his mouth, but he didn’t push her off. He broke off a piece of the frittata and offered it to her.

  “Is she hurting your leg?”

  “Nah.”

  I hoped he was telling me the truth. “Well, push her off if she is.”

  “Think I can’t deal with a pint-sized prima donna?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “The sooner your leg heals, the sooner you’ll get back to work.”

  “Uh…”

  “Why don’t you ride with us, Quinton?” Mother had mentioned the evening before that she and Gregor were going to see DB today. “There’s plenty of room in the Town Car.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Mark, will you join us?”

  “Thanks, babe, but I’ve got stuff I need to take care of.”

  I sighed. “How do you plan on getting to the WBIS?”

  “I didn’t say anything about work.” The kitten had made herself comfortable on his lap, and he continued to feed her bits of his breakfast.

  “Oh, please. As if when you say ‘stuff’ you could mean anything else. Is Matheson going to pick you up?”

  “Yeah.” He had the nerve to grin at me.

  “I thought Wallace said you weren’t to come in until further notice.”

  “Yeah, but then the other night happened.”

  I sighed again. He was Mark Vincent and would do what he planned to do, and becoming impatient with him was useless. “You’ll go easy on your leg?”

  “Always. How long are you going to be at the hospital?”

  “I’d planned to stay most of the afternoon, but it really depends on DB’s mother. I don’t know why she doesn’t like me—we’ve never met—but she doesn’t, and I don’t want to make things difficult for him.”

  “However, if Mrs. Cooper gives you a hard time, she’ll deal with me.” Mother picked up her napkin and blotted her lips.

  “I’m coming.”

  “Excuse me, Mark?”

  “If there’s goi
ng to be a throw down between Cooper’s old lady and you, Portia, then I want to be there.”

  “Y’know, I don’t usually agree with Vincent—” Gregor started to say.

  “Usually?” Mark sat there with a slight grin on his face, and I felt my chest swell. This man was as much a part of my family as Mother or Gregor or my uncles.

  “Okay, I never agree with Vincent, but this time, he has a point.” Gregor rubbed his hands together.

  “Really,” Mother said, “I’m pleased to be a source of entertainment for the two of you.”

  “Face it, adorable. You’re a pleasure to watch at work.”

  “Speaking of which, what about work, Mark?” I asked. Mother had her savate class, so since we wouldn’t leave for a few hours, I planned to kiss him senseless once we went up to get dressed for the day.

  “Man doesn’t live by work alone,” he said, his tone pious.

  We all laughed, and I rubbed my toes against his calf again. His gaze met mine, and this time he was the one who licked his upper lip.

  Oh yes, I was definitely going to kiss him senseless.

  “Off, cat. You’re gonna get a bellyache.”

  The epitome of dignity, Miss Priss hopped off his lap and stalked out of the room, her plume of a tail held high in the air.

  Gregor groaned. “You’re a bad influence on her, Vincent.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Who else could have taught her to flip us off with her tail?”

  “I have been sadly maligned.”

  “That’s all right, Mark.” Mother reached across the table and patted his hand. “Your heart is in the right place.”

  “See, Novotny? Portia loves me.”

  Mother wasn’t the only one.

  Mother and Gregor changed and left for her class.

  Mark called Matheson and told him the day’s plans had been altered, that Matheson should come pick him up the next day. Then Mark and I spent a pleasurable couple of hours rumpling his bed.

  Afterward, he lay on his back, his chest rising and falling with each breath while I rested my head on his left shoulder.

  “We should put together something for lunch,” I murmured before I licked the nearest patch of skin, relishing the salty taste. I worked it until I knew I’d left a purple love bite. I dropped a kiss on it.

  “When will Portia and Novotny be home?”

  I raised my wrist to check my watch. “Probably in three quarters of an hour.”

  He groaned. “I’d been hoping we could do this again.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Lean your head this way.”

  He didn’t ask why, just did so.

  “Now kiss me.”

  He did, and I rubbed my cock shamelessly against him, I’d climaxed too recently to get another erection, so I just enjoyed the feel of the hairs on his thigh as they dragged over my cockhead.

  When we finally broke apart, I was out of breath. “We... we could al-always order takeout, I suppose.”

  “There’s a little deli I found that’s about a mile from Aspen Reach. They have the best roast beef, and a local bakery supplies them with fresh bread and rolls every day. And they deliver.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  He eased his arm out from around my shoulders and reached for his cell phone on the night table. “And I just so happen to have their number logged in my phone.”

  “Of course you do.” I rolled off the bed and ran my hand through my hair. “We can shower and get dressed while they make up the order.”

  “Yep.” He dialed the number, told them what we wanted, and gave them the address. After he hung up, he put the phone back on the night table, rose, and tugged me along after him.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be favoring your leg?” I asked as I helped him protect the bandage on his thigh. He’d dispensed with the one on his arm a few days prior.

  “What can I tell you? I’m a quick healer.”

  Thank God.

  By the time Mother and Gregor returned, we had everything in readiness in the dining room, and if they noticed our hair was still damp, they didn’t say anything.

  We had an enjoyable lunch, especially since this time Miss Priss put the moves on Gregor, and he was the one who fed her bites of roast beef from his sandwich.

  It was a little after one when we arrived at DB’s hospital room. Mark should have brought up the rear, following Mother and Gregor. I’d asked him to hang back, since I wasn’t sure of the reception he’d receive, but he’d curled his lip at me and entered the room first.

  “Hello. Are you here to see Mr. Barnes? He went home earlier. Thank God.” DB looked a little confused, which worried me. He’d seen pictures of Mark. Perhaps the crutch threw him off?

  “DB, this is—”

  “Oh, my God! It’s you-know-who!”

  Mark rolled his eyes.

  “Who’s you-know-who?” Kim asked. “Hi, Quinton!” she bounced up out of her chair to greet me.

  “Hello, Kim.” Before I could introduce her to everyone, I felt a hand close over my jacket sleeve and give a sharp yank.

  “Quinton Mann?”

  “Yes.” I started to turn, only to be slapped so hard I rocked back. The sound of the slap was shockingly loud in the room.

  “It’s your fault my son is in this hospital bed!” Mrs. Cooper—it had to be Mrs. Cooper—wasn’t an exceptionally tall woman, but she packed a wallop. My cheek throbbed. I knew the odds were slim that she’d fractured my cheekbone, but it felt that way.

  Mark snarled and started forward.

  “Mark, not the crutch!” It would be bent in two if he swung it with as much power as I knew he could wield.

  He scowled, but returned the tip of the crutch to the floor. He took a step toward Mrs. Cooper. “Quinn’s a gentleman—he won’t strike back. But me? I’m what you might call a rogue, and I have no problem slugging you.”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see DB about to toss aside his blanket and get out of bed. “DB, stay put!” I barked. He was in no condition to take on anyone, much less an irritated Mark Vincent.

  “Mark.” Mother went to him and rested her hand on his left arm. “Don’t.”

  Mark actually stood down.

  “Very smart, sister!” Mrs. Cooper sneered at Mother. “Or didn’t you know that bastard you called your father had another family?”

  “I knew. I saw you at Father’s funeral. I just didn’t know your last name. So you’re DB’s mother.” Mother gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then slapped her so hard she yelped and collapsed back into Kim’s chair.

  Mother was another woman who wasn’t very tall. One might almost consider her petite. But she wasn’t a woman to be challenged.

  Mark caught the hand Mother had struck Mrs. Cooper with and turned it over. Even from where I stood, I could see how reddened it was. Mark grinned and placed a kiss on it.

  “If I wasn’t involved with your son, I’d ask you to marry me.”

  “No, you won’t.” Gregor shouldered him out of the way. “I had to wait thirty-eight years for her, and no one is taking her away from me now.” He took Mother’s hand and ran gentle fingertips over her palm.

  “Jesus, Novotny—” Mark shook his head. He glanced at me, and the line of his lips tightened. “You’re gonna need a compress for that cheek.” He hobbled to the dresser where a stack of towels and washcloths were placed, next to the balloons I’d brought DB, the flowers from Mother and Gregor, the red roses from Lyn and Syd, and the remains of the fruit basket from Operational Targeting. His own department had sent a gift basket of Godiva chocolates.

  “You… you…!” DB’s mother cradled her cheek. She couldn’t seem to get the words out.

  Mother turned to DB. “I apologize, David,” she said, “but no one strikes Quinton.”

  He winced. “Please don’t call me David. No apology is necessary, Portia. Mom… what the actual fuck?”

  “Quinton Mann is yo
ur cousin, and he nearly got you killed! And I’ll thank you to watch your language in front of your sister!”

  “Mom, I’m twenty-five. I’ve heard worse than that. Now what’s this about Grandpa having another family? Was he a… a bigamist? Did he have two wives?” Kim seemed fascinated by the thought, but DB shifted uneasily in his bed. Of course, since he planned to marry two women himself.

  I went to him and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  “Quinn, we’re... we’re really related?”

  “It looks like we really are.” I remembered seeing the daughters and sons of my grandfather’s other family at his funeral. We hadn’t known who they were, and as the eldest, Uncle Tony had gone to talk to them. Afterward, he’d informed us of Grandfather’s Ziegfeld Girl and the children she’d given him, and the decision was made to take a wait and see attitude. If they attempted to contact this branch of the family, we would welcome them, but otherwise, we’d leave well enough alone.

  “But... but Grandpa’s last name was Weston.”

  I thought for a few seconds. “Back in England, the Weston family were close neighbors with that branch of the Sebrings.” Mark had given me a British Light Cavalry saber for Christmas which had belonged to Captain Charles Sebring, the last surviving male in the British line. With it was a letter from Daniel Weston, who’d survived the Battle of Badajoz where Charles Sebring hadn’t. “Grandfather must have been aware of that and decided to use that name.”

  “I refuse to remain in this room,” Mrs. Cooper stated flatly. I glanced over my shoulder to see her rise to her feet, her spine stiff. Her eyes widened when neither her son nor her daughter objected to her leaving. She harrumphed and dropped back into the chair.

  “Staying, Mom?” Kim grinned.

  “This is an outrageous situation.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to join me for a cup of coffee,” Mother suggested. “I am curious about my half siblings, and I’m sure you must be also.”

  “That won’t make up for you hitting me.”

  “If it comes to that, it won’t make up for you striking my son. We are family, though.”

  “Oh, all right.” Mrs. Cooper stood and joined Mother.