Not My Spook! Page 3

  I shook my head at how ridiculous that was. Of course Mark wouldn’t do something like that. He’d tell me to my face if he didn’t intend to spend another night under my roof.

  I went to my own room to shower and dress for the day.

  VII

  THE DOOR had been replaced, and while it was temporary, it was very secure. However, never let it be said that the CIA didn’t have a way of opening locked doors that rivaled the WBIS. I let myself into Mark’s apartment and looked around.

  It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, but it was still bad, the living room having taken the brunt of the explosion.

  The coffee table was in pieces, the books that had been stacked on it scattered across the floor, ruined.

  The couch was scorched and soaked, unsalvageable.

  The television screen was shattered.

  The bookcase that held his small library was on its side, the paperbacks knocked from their shelves, a soggy mass.

  The case that held the sword hung at an odd angle, the glass a spider web of cracks.

  As for Sam, there was nothing left of the ceramic dog but fragments.

  Mark’s bedroom was undamaged other than a poster from the movie Hondo that had been knocked from the wall. I hadn’t even noticed it the other night. Except for Vincent over me and in me, I hadn’t noticed anything the other night, and now I took the opportunity to look around.

  His computer, a compact model with no brand name on it, sat on a small corner desk. I supposed I could take advantage of the opportunity and hack into it, but for some reason that felt dishonorable.

  I turned my attention to the single nightstand and dresser. There were no photos of family or friends on either of them, although on the dresser there was a clay ashtray, the kind a child might make in elementary school. It was lopsided, glazed an eye-gouging orange, and contained a handful of change. But from what child could he have gotten it?

  I tipped out the handful of change it contained and turned it over. Oh. Feliz Natal, Tio Ze was scratched into the bottom. Under it were the letters E.T.A., Mark V., and the year, ’70.

  Touched and confused—if Mark had made this as a child, why hadn’t he given it to its intended recipient?—I set it back down on the dresser, replaced the coins, and finally turned to look at the bed, which I’d been trying to disregard.

  It was made with military precision, taut enough to bounce a quarter off of. To look at it, no one would have thought that only two nights ago two men had been writhing on it, sweating and swearing, each trying to absorb the other into his pores.

  I knew it hadn’t been only me. I hadn’t been merely another conquest to the WBIS agent, a notch on his bedpost.

  Of course there weren’t any deep feelings between the two of us. I was Quinton Mann, the Ice Man. And he was… Mark Vincent.

  I shook myself out of my thoughts. This was not getting anything done, and I needed to put in an appearance at State.

  The odor of smoke lingered. Mark’s closet was against the wall that butted the living room, and when I opened the door, the odor became almost overpowering. No wonder he’d been forced to fall back on that nondescript suit.

  I looked down at the neat shoe trees that held a single pair of dress patent leathers, numerous shoes for work, and only a couple for casual wear. A pair of worn sneakers was tumbled in a corner.

  I’d come prepared. I put them all into a medium-sized suitcase.

  Next I reached for the Fumagalli tuxedo and frowned. It was decent enough, but it was obviously off the rack. I really would need to take Mark shopping.

  I finished packing his clothes into a trio of oversized suitcases, piled all four of them onto a trolley, and wheeled them out of his apartment, making sure the door closed behind me and the crime scene tape was back in place, then took them down in the elevator and out to where my car was parked at the curb.

  It was a good thing the Lexus had a very large trunk. Two of the suitcases just fit in it. The third rested on the backseat, and the smallest one sat beside me in the front.

  I got in and drove to Liang’s, the dry cleaners in Alexandria that I used.

  “Good morning, Mr. Mann.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Liang. I’ve got a rush job for you.”

  She raised an eyebrow and opened the first of the suitcases. Her nose wrinkled. “Ah. Smoke.”

  “Yes. Please do what you can.”

  “For you, Mr. Mann? You get the best.” Fortunately she didn’t question the fact that the clothes weren’t mine. “When you want?”

  “As soon as possible. I’ll be at this number for most of the day.” I handed her a business card with the phone number of my office at State. “Contact me if there’s nothing you can do with them.”

  “I can fix.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her and wrote out a ticket, which she handed to me. “Late this afternoon. Six, maybe.” She got busy taking the shirts and underwear from the suitcase. “I give you call, let you know for certain.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Liang. I’ll see you later.”

  VIII

  AS BETTE had said, my desk was stacked high with files. What she hadn’t told me was that they all dealt with cases that involved, in one way or another, the WBIS.

  I would have expected this at Langley, but not here.

  I removed my jacket, rolled up my shirt sleeves, and got to work.

  IX

  I HADN’T intended to go through all the files, but what I’d read disturbed me. While I was willing to concede that I didn’t have much liking for the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, these files made the agents who worked for the WBIS appear to be incompetent fools who for the past six months had bungled every job they’d been assigned.

  Although interestingly enough, not one case was Mark’s. As a matter of fact, his name wasn’t mentioned in a single file.

  My official report could wait until Monday, when I was back at Langley, and I’d cc a copy to Undersecretary Sinclair, who was my superior at State.

  Now it was almost six, and I needed to get to Liang’s. I felt bad that I’d be missing dinner with Mark and felt I had to make it up to him. I’d stop at the Chinese takeout place that was next to the cleaners and order General Tso’s Chicken, one of Mark’s favorite dishes, according to the file I had on him, and egg rolls, as well as an order of shrimp toast, which was a favorite of mine.

  X

  THERE was no ordinary-looking sedan parked at the curb when I got home, and I was somewhat disappointed, although that would have meant he’d broken into my house again.

  Why hadn’t I thought to give him a key? There was a spare one hanging behind the door in my wine cellar. I’d give it to him when I saw him, either before I left for the ball or in the morning.

  I let the Lexus roll into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and began the unloading, starting with the backseat. Fortunately, aside from the McVeys, who lived almost directly across the street and who were out of town just now, I didn’t have any neighbors who would comment on the number of suitcases I brought into my house.

  As soon as I had everything inside, I set Mark’s dinner on the counter, took a labeled container from the freezer—Mother had taught me never to rely on the quality of food served at these functions—and put it in the microwave. Whenever I dined in Great Falls, she’d send me home with leftovers, courtesy of Gregor. This was lamb guláš, from his sister’s recipe. Knedliky, dumplings made with fine grade semolina in place of potato flour, would have gone well with this, but there hadn’t been any left to bring home.

  It took two trips to get the suitcases to the second floor, but once I had them there, it didn’t take long to get Mark’s clothing put away.

  I liked his suits and shirts hanging in the closet of my guest room, and I mused about that as I took a shower before dressing for the reception and ball. Although I’d had any number of relationships, none had progressed to the point where I’d asked the woman I was seeing to move in with me, a major
factor in my breakup with Susan. She’d felt our relationship should have progressed to the point where we were living together, and I hadn’t felt comfortable enough with her to do that.

  Not that I was in any sort of relationship with Mark Vincent. He was simply staying with me for a few days until the damage done to his apartment could be repaired.

  A quick glance at my clock radio told me if I didn’t get moving I was going to be pressed for time. I hurried down to the kitchen and ate.

  I would have preferred to remain at home, spending the evening with Mark, dining on General Tso’s Chicken.

  And perhaps on each other? The thought amused me.

  Once I was finished, I called Mother to let her know I’d be there to pick her up in about half an hour.

  “There’s no rush, sweetheart. I’m doing this solely as a favor for Allison.”

  Allison Woodward Palmer Reynard Nelson Scott Dashwood had been a longtime friend of Mother’s, dating back to their days as Tau Zeta Epsilon sisters at Wellesley. She’d been Mother’s matron of honor and was also my godmother.

  “I thought she’s usually in Palm Springs this time of year?”

  Mother sighed. “She is, but Chance, that new husband of hers, needed to be in town. He’s so much younger…. Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

  “No.” I wondered if Mother ever regretted not marrying again but didn’t ask. Who knew better than I that Sebrings loved deeply but only once?

  “At any rate, she said something about Chance being involved with the catering service and pleaded with me to go.”

  “Oh. Well, this is going to be an interesting evening.” I was glad I had something decent in my stomach. It wouldn’t matter how awful the food was.

  “I’m afraid so.” She sighed again.

  “Mother, are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m just… I’m fine.”

  “I’ll see you shortly.”

  “Drive carefully, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, Mother.” I hung up, but I was concerned. Something was troubling her. I’d see if I could get her to talk about it on the drive to the Anthony Wayne Convention Center, where the reception and ball were being held.

  Mark still hadn’t arrived home.

  The Chinese food was cool enough by this time to refrigerate. I put it on the middle shelf, and since I had no idea when he would get home, I left him a note.

  Dinner’s in the fridge. Save the shrimp toast for me. I wasn’t going to invite him to go poking through my wine cellar. Beer and water also in the fridge. Help yourself.—Q.

  Chuckling softly—I hadn’t been able to resist leaving my initial—I gathered up my overcoat, invitation, and car keys, then reset the alarm and left.

  XI

  MOTHER looked beautiful. She was wearing a gown of silk the color of smoke that somehow made her eyes even bluer, and her hair was up in an elegant twist.

  “Gregor is out for the evening,” she told me.

  I helped her on with the lynx coat Father had given her when they’d gone to Paris for their honeymoon, and then made sure her alarm was set.

  She took my arm, and we walked down the steps and along the walk to my car. After I’d opened the door for her and made sure she was settled, I jogged around to the driver’s side and got in.

  “All right, Mother.” I turned on the ignition but just let the car idle as I studied her profile. “What’s wrong?”

  “A bouquet of flowers was sent to me today.”

  I bit back a curse. “Wexler?” In spite of the fact that he was married, Senator Richard Wexler had been making a concerted play for my mother.

  “Yes. I had Gregor take them to the women’s shelter. The arrangement was ostentatious and thoroughly inappropriate, but the flowers were pretty, and I felt someone should get some pleasure out of them.” She smoothed a hand over the fur. “I’d like nothing better than to shoot him.”

  “Well, I sincerely hope you won’t.” I’d never heard that tone in my mother’s voice, and it reminded me that she’d had a life before I’d been born. “Not unless you give me some notice so I can have a secluded grave ready.”

  She laughed. “Thank you, Quinton.” She leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. “Your father would be so proud of the man you’ve become!”

  “Thank you.” I could feel myself blushing. My father was the best man I’d ever known. I cleared my throat. “What’s the possibility that the senator will be here tonight?”

  “I’m afraid the odds aren’t in my favor. I hate to put this on you, sweetheart, but if you see me tug my left ear, would you mind coming to my rescue?”

  “You’re not putting anything on me. I’ll be your white knight.”

  “Thank you. Now, let’s talk of something else. You’re looking very well. As a matter of fact, even better than when you’d been seeing Susan. I think that was a wise move on your part, breaking up with her.”

  “Oh… er… thank you, Mother.” I didn’t offer her the polite lie that Susan had insisted on, that Susan had been the one to call a halt to our seeing one another; Mother was too astute to accept that. What concerned me was that both she and DB had noticed a change within days of me going to bed with a certain WBIS agent. I put the car in gear and began the drive to the embassy, searching for another topic. “Mark Vincent was promoted to deputy director.” I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel. What had possessed me to bring up my—Mark’s name?

  “Really? I imagine he’s not too pleased with that, especially if it means he’ll no longer be in the field.”

  “How do you know that, Mother?”

  “I did a little research into the WBIS. And you needn’t worry. I was careful.” She patted my knee and then changed the subject. “Your uncle’s been thinking of getting a horse for Ludovic.”

  I couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “But Ludo doesn’t ride!”

  “Can’t ride is more like it. The poor man looked absolutely terrified when he was forced to accompany me to Hyde Park when I was staying with my godmother in London.”

  “Forced by whom?”

  “MI5. Of course that was before I met your father.”

  Yes, Mother’d had quite a fascinating life before I’d come along. For that matter, so had all the members of my family, on both sides.

  “Frankly, I think Uncle Jeff would be better off getting Ludo a Lamborghini.”

  “Well, Ludovic does love his Aston Martin. And you know your uncle.”

  The remainder of the ride was spent in discussing the various breeds he was considering for his lover.

  XII

  THE reception was much like all the receptions to which I’d gone from the time I’d been in my teens and Mother had deemed me mature enough not only to accompany her, but to endure the sometime boredom.

  The food was mediocre at best, so I’d simply have a bite here and there, enough to absorb the occasional glass of scotch I’d consume.

  Mother shook her head. “I don’t know whether I should inform Allison about this debacle or if silence on the matter would be the kindest thing. I’ve never seen her so… so besotted.”

  I was glad I wasn’t in the position of either having to tell someone their significant other was incompetent at his job, or of being besotted with… anyone.

  “Portia!” A woman who worked on one of Mother’s charities came bustling up. “This food is such a disappointment! I know you were considering using this caterer for the affair we’re planning for the homeless shelter, but really….” She paused for a breath, then gave me a sultry glance. “Hello, Quinton.”

  “Mrs. Davis. You’re looking lovely.”

  “Dear boy!” She fluffed her hair and batted her eyelashes.

  “It sounds as if the orchestra has finished tuning up, so if you’ll excuse me, ladies? Mrs. Davis, I hope you’ll save me a dance?” Although I wasn’t here in an official capacity, a good many of the people attending knew I worked at State; I’d have to do my d
uty. “Mother, may I have the first fox-trot?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.”

  “Such a dear boy!” I heard Mrs. Davis murmur as I headed toward the ballroom.

  XIII

  I DANCED with ambassadors’ wives and daughters, and in at least two cases, mistresses. The mistresses especially attempted to lure me into a dalliance, and I couldn’t help questioning the reasoning behind that. In the course of my work with the Company, there had been women who’d tried to draw me into their beds solely because I was the Ice Man, but here, as far as anyone knew, I was simply Quinton Mann, assistant to Undersecretary Sinclair at State.

  “Would you care for a drink, Mother?” I escorted her from the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a merengue.

  “Yes, please. I need something to fortify myself after—oh, good grief! He’s heading this way again!” While she was too much a lady to cause a scene, it was easy to see Mother was fast losing patience.

  “He,” of course, was Wexler. In spite of our hopes, he’d already been here when we’d arrived, and Mother and I had both been less than thrilled to see him.

  “I believe a strategic withdrawal might be in order, Mother.”

  “Yes, although if I continue going to the ladies’ lounge, people are going to assume I have a problem.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll cover your back.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll meet you at the bar,” she called over her shoulder, and I walked toward the senator to intercept him.

  “Good evening, Senator Wexler.”

  “Oh, er… Mann. I thought I saw your mother just now. I was hoping to ask her to waltz with me.”

  “They’re playing a merengue—”

  “I don’t mind keeping her company until they play a waltz.”