Where the Heart Chooses Page 30

  Having taken the elevator, Ms. Dashwood was there ahead of us, waiting impatiently, although she smoothed her expression as soon as she saw us approaching. She pasted a smile on her face and unlocked the door of 320.

  As I’d told him, the condominium was a corner unit. What I’d been unaware of was how very feminine and very pink it was, but it was obvious Mark liked its bones.

  An added feature was access to the roof—this was a top floor unit—but for some reason that access was denied.

  “I’m sorry.” Ms. Dashwood’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The condominium association is having some work done on the roof, and no one is permitted there just now.”

  Mark wasn’t pleased.

  After showing us the rest of the unit, she left us in the master bedroom to discuss the purchase.

  Mark had other things on this mind, however. “The previous owner must have been seriously unhappy with the carpeting.” He crouched near a spot where wall and floor met. Unlike the other rooms that were carpeted in various shades of pink, this one had been removed, leaving tufts sticking out from under the molding.

  He went to the bed, raised the mattress up enough to see beneath it, and then let it down gently.

  “Mark?”

  He shook his head. “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.” Most people wouldn’t leap to that conclusion, but then most people weren’t Mark Vincent. It was fascinating to watch the WBIS agent at work. “And now I really want to see what’s up on the roof. Look, can you distract her for about ten minutes?”

  “Of course. I’ll suggest I want to examine the dining room again.”

  “Good idea. It’s at the other end of the condo.”

  “Admit it, Mark—you just want to see me in action.”

  He narrowed his eyes—did no one ever tease him?—but he was chuckling as I left the room.

  * * * *

  Ms. Dashwood was waiting in the foyer. “Where’s your…friend?”

  “He’s measuring things. You know how men can be.”

  “I thought I did,” she muttered, raking her gaze over me.

  “Would you mind if we looked at the dining room again? I have a Cézanne that will fit perfectly on the wall.”

  “A what?”

  “Cézanne. The French painter? You are familiar with his works, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. I…just didn’t expect you to give such an expensive painting to a…friend.”

  “Mark? Frankly, he’s cost me much more than the price of a Cézanne.”

  “He has?”

  I shrugged daintily. “You heard him mention the house we looked at with the mirror on the ceiling? He decided at the last minute he didn’t want it, and it cost me the deposit. Still, it could have been worse. There was the time he wrecked the Lexus I’d just given him for his birthday. “

  “What did you do?”

  “Oh, we walked back into the dealership and bought another one, which he liked better. It matched his eyes, you see.”

  “You’re very generous.”

  “Ah, but what he gives me in return is worth so much more than mere money.”

  She started to choke. Finally, she was able to ask, “Aren’t you worried he’ll find someone younger?”

  “Not at all. He’s very loyal.”

  “That still doesn’t mean he won’t decide one day that he’d like someone closer to his own age.”

  “Of course that’s a possibility. And if it should happen, we’ll part as friends.”

  “Will you give him a settlement?”

  “In addition to everything else I’ve given him? Certainly. The laborer is worthy of his hire. And Mark is very worthy.” I gave her a complacent smile.

  “How long have you been together?”

  She was making me tired, so I decided to see if I could shock her. “Ten years.”

  Her eyes were huge. “He’s been with you all that time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he ever cheated on you?”

  “No. He knew I’d feed him his testicles if he did something like that.”

  “And that’s why he’s loyal.”

  “No, he’s loyal because he’s in lo-fond of me.”

  She looked ill. “Uh…you said you wanted to look at the wall?” She led the way into the dining room.

  * * * *

  “Did you find anything illuminating on the roof?” I asked as we drove away from Aspen Reach. He’d put in an offer, and it was just a matter of waiting to hear back from the Realtor.

  “Yeah. Crime scene tape.” He concentrated on merging with the flow of traffic onto I-495. “There’s something else. Do you remember hearing about Delilah Carson’s murder? Beginning of the year, very high-priced call girl? Whoever killed her had been…thorough. Her boyfriend got the blame.”

  “But you said whoever.”

  “It’s all circumstantial. The boyfriend took a header off the roof, and the case was closed.”

  “And because of that no one wants her home.”

  “Except me. Whoever’s handling her estate might not be happy about my offer, but the association fees for this quarter are coming due and they’ve already had to pay the three previous quarters. Add to that having the bedroom cleaned up. Not a bad job, but—” He cleared his throat. “I was able to access the crime scene photos, and Jesus, it wasn’t pretty.”

  “The poor woman.”

  “Yeah. No one deserves to die like that.” His cell phone rang, and it proved to be Francesca Dashwood. After a brief conversation, he hung up and said, “Congratulate me, Mrs. Mann. It’s mine.”

  “Congratulations, Mark. I’m so pleased for you. When do you close?”

  He told me. “But it will need a lot of work.”

  “To make it less pink?”

  “Yes. I get a toothache just looking at the walls and carpeting. A friend of mine is big into decorating.”

  We spent the remainder of the drive discussing his plans for his new home.

  * * * *

  Mark pulled up to the curb. “I see Novotny’s waiting. God knows what he thinks will happen between here and your front door, but I’ll wait until you get in the house. Thank you—”

  “Turn off the engine, Mark. You’re staying for dinner,” I told him.

  “I am?”

  “You are.”

  “You realize Novotny’s gonna slip something into my food, don’t you?” He sounded disgruntled but he switched off the ignition.

  I laughed softly and patted his arm before letting myself out of the car. Actually, it was Quinton at the top of the steps. The backlighting left his face shadowed and made it difficult to distinguish between them, since both he and Gregor were of similar heights.

  Quinton came down the steps, and I walked toward him, my heart hurting. “You’re looking tired, sweetheart.”

  “I’m very glad it’s Friday, Mother.” He bent to kiss my cheek. “It’s been a long week. In addition to that, my car needed to go in for its eighteen-thousand-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!” Gregor appeared in the doorway, his stance indicating his annoyance.

  “I’m coming, Gregor. Quinton…” I cupped his cheek.

  “I’m all right, Mother.”

  “Are you?”

  “Well, I will be after I get a decent night’s sleep.”

  “How long was your flight?”

  “More than twenty-four hours.”

  I sighed. No wonder why he looked so exhausted. He wouldn’t have slept during the flight, and who knew how long before that he’d been awake.

  “Mann.” Mark sauntered up to us. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”


  Quinton turned to face Mark, brushing the hair out of his eyes. I left them to greet each other while I went into the house, Gregor right behind me.

  “Vincent coming here is all kinds of wrong, Portia. He’s no good for Quinn!”

  “Gregor.” I removed my coat and handed it to him, and as he hung it up, I asked, “Why did Edward Holmes send Quinton to Bangkok?”

  “Huh?” He jerked around. “What are you…? That son of a—” A tide of red rose from his throat to his hairline.

  “So you haven’t heard anything?”

  “No, but I’ll get in touch with my contacts.”

  “I wish you would. You spent the past few hours with Quinton. How was he?”

  “Not good. He went up his old bedroom, and I think he may have slept for about maybe fifteen minutes, but he came down looking even worse than when he went up.”

  “He never napped well.” I’d need to speak to Folana. “Would you do me a favor? Please cut Mark some slack this evening.”

  He ground his teeth. “All right. It’s going to kill me, but…”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hung up your gown. Madame Rosa did a great job.”

  “She usually does.”

  “Why don’t you freshen up? I’ll have dinner ready shortly.”

  “It smells delicious.”

  “I made shrimp scampi.” He grinned, and I could tell from his expression that he’d gone overboard with the garlic. Did he think it would stop Mark?

  I suddenly wondered, Would it stop him?

  * * * *

  After finishing dinner, Gregor served dessert in the small parlor, and then took a cup of coffee and retired to his suite of rooms. He was still irritated that Mark had greeted his smug, “I hope you don’t mind garlic,” with an equally smug, “Nope. Keeps the vampires away.”

  I put a Cole Porter CD into the player, turned down the lights, and we sat and listened to the lush rhythms and clever lyrics.

  “I had the opportunity to meet him once, you know,” I said. “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.” I gazed across at Quinton, who was sitting on his spine, 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.” Mark took his cup and rose. “Mrs. Mann, can I bring your cup to the kitchen?”

  “Thank you, Mark.”

  “Pushy so-and-so,” Quinton muttered. “Thinks he can run my life. We…uh…we had an argument before.” He looked embarrassed. “About that Dashwood woman.”

  “Why?”

  “I…it just sounded as if he were awfully interested in her.” They must have ironed the matter out, because when they’d entered the dining room, Quinton’s cheek seemed reddened from whisker burn, and Mark’s mouth looked swollen.

  “Oh, sweetheart, if only you’d been there! I thought at one point he’d pitch her over the terrace off the master bedroom.”

  He laughed, but exhaustion was in the sound.

  “I’m serious about you looking tired.”

  “That seems to be the general consensus. However, I left word at both State and Langley that short of a national emergency, I wasn’t to be called this weekend.” He yawned so broadly I was surprised his jaws didn’t crack. “Sorry.”

  “Perhaps we should call off our Sunday ride.” Even in the dim light of the parlor, I could see he was almost gray with fatigue.

  “I’m not an invalid, Mother.”

  “Of course not.” I exchanged glances with Mark, who’d just returned.

  “C’mon, tough guy.” He scowled, but I could hear the concern in his voice. “I’ll drive you home.”

  I walked with them to the front door, kissed Quinton’s cheek, and then drew Mark’s head down and whispered, “Please see he isn’t disturbed, even in the event of a national emergency.”

  “That was my intention.”

  “What was your intention, Mark?” Quinton yawned again.

  “Getting you home before you fall on your ass.”

  “Thank you, Mark.” I kissed his cheek, which surprised him. “Drive carefully.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Always do.”

  I watched until the taillights disappeared, and then closed the door and shut the outside light. A quick visit to the kitchen revealed that Mark had put the plates and coffee cups into the dishwasher.

  I returned to the small parlor, and looked up at the portrait. Nigel’s eyes seemed to be gazing into mine. “I think Quinton has chosen well this time, darling.”

  * * * *

  As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary for Quinton to see Dr. Helms.

  Although he let Gregor take the credit for it, Mark was the one who discovered what was behind Quinton’s sleepless nights—subliminal perception due to his cell phone having been tampered with. Which was so Mission: Impossible it would have been amusing if my son hadn’t been the target. I wanted to hurt someone.

  Because the only place where he hadn’t felt the need to keep his phone in his possession had been at Langley.

  The CIA had supposedly abandoned the program, but for some reason, Edward Holmes had it resurrected.

  The question was, why? And why gear it toward my son, who was an exemplary officer? In addition, he had nothing to do with Holmes’s department.

  I hadn’t heard back from Folana, and my brothers were still looking into a way to keep Holmes from sending Quinton on any more useless operations.

  However, I did receive a phone call from Mark. “Mrs. Mann, Quinn’s fine. He’s got a new phone…” He rattled off the number. “…and this time, he’ll keep it on him at all times.”

  I clenched my hands into fists. All that the Sebring family had given to our country and this was how we were repaid?

  “He wants this kept in the family,” Mark was saying. “But I’ve got my eye on Holmes, and if he even looks cross-eyed at my—at Quinn, he’s a dead man.”

  “Thank you, Mark.” I felt marginally better about it. “I believe I’ll keep an eye on Director Holmes myself.”

  “Okay, ma’am. Just don’t get hurt. Quinn wouldn’t be happy about it.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 39

  Another embassy ball, this one hosted by a tiny Middle Eastern country that hadn’t been on the map six months prior.

  I made the rounds of the room, chatting with friends and acquaintances. There was one woman I would have preferred to avoid, but Sebrings knew how to do their duty.

  “Elizabeth!” I greeted Senator Wexler’s wife. We were almost the same age, but she intended to battle the passage of time to a standstill. Her blonde hair, the product of a very expensive salon, was drawn away from her face, revealing the youthful tone of her skin, courtesy of her plastic surgeon. As for her gown, it would have been more suitable on a woman several decades her junior. “We missed you at the last meeting for the American Heart Association.”

  “Portia! I…er…I couldn’t make it. I was…Something else came up.” Her smile was artificial, and her eyes veered off mine.

  I raised an eyebrow, but her gaze was fixed on something beyond my shoulder.

  “Perhaps next time you could let one of us know?” If she were no longer interested in working with us, there were other political wives who were. “I heard you’ve become a grandmother again.” As well as Beatrice, who’d given birth this past spring, Jennifer, her third youngest, had had another little boy. Her daughters appeared to be as prolific as she herself. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Thank you also for the receiving blanket you sent. It was quite lovely.”

  “You’re welcome.” I’d found it in France. “Jennifer sent a very nice thank you note.”

  “Well, at least that finishing school taught he
r something!”

  “I understand Virginia…” Her oldest daughter. “…will be a grandmother herself soon.” A shotgun wedding had been involved. I had no objections to premarital sex—well, obviously—but what I did object to was not providing a seventeen-year-old access to any form of birth control other than abstinence and then giving her no alternative beyond marrying the boy who’d made her pregnant.

  Elizabeth’s mouth tightened. “Can you believe the absurdity of that? I’m much too young to be a…” the words seemed to stick in her throat. “…a great-grandmother!” She brought her hand to her throat, fiddling with the diamond slide that hung there. “I see someone I need to speak with. Please excuse me.”

  I watched thoughtfully as she made her way across the room. She joined a young man I hadn’t seen before, although her body language indicated she knew him.

  “Something bothering you, Mother?” Quinton arrived with the flute of champagne that I’d requested. He was looking so much better.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I recognize that look! You’ve got the bit between your teeth, the bull by the horns, and you’re going to worry it until you’re satisfied with the results.”

  “That’s certainly mixing your metaphors, Quinton.”

  He laughed. “Let me know if you need my help.”

  I smiled myself. He was in such good spirits. “Do you know that young man with Elizabeth Wexler?”

  “Who? Oh, that’s Peter Lapin. He’s the Senator’s newest aide.”

  “Ah.” I’d heard the previous one had passed away suddenly last spring from a severe asthma attack. Such a tragedy. “Quinton, is it my imagination, or does Elizabeth seem…fascinated with him?”

  “She’s certainly giving that impression.” He took a sip of his own champagne. “You have an amazing sense about things like that.”

  “You flatter me, sweetheart.”

  “Merely the truth, Mother.” He smiled. “That gown is lovely, by the way. It emphasizes the blue of your eyes.”