Not My Spook! Page 4

  “And as you can see, she’s not here. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No.” He frowned and looked around. “Ah. There’s my aide. I need to have a word with him.” He gave a curt nod and marched away.

  A pity dueling wasn’t in fashion. I’d participated in the ’88 Olympics, in the Pentathlon, and was a good fencer. For a moment I mused on crossing épées with him.

  I shook myself out of the pleasurable reverie of running him through and went to the bar to order drinks for Mother and myself.

  The bartender placed my scotch before me and began to gather the ingredients for her manhattan. I leaned back against the bar and gazed around the room.

  That was when I spotted Mark standing beside the entrance. I didn’t even stop to wonder what he was doing here. All I thought was He’s here! and then, You will not smile at him. You will not smile at him. You will not—

  As soon as his eyes met mine, I raised my drink to him in a silent toast. Yes. Very cool. Very controlled. Very Mann.

  But then I smiled.

  He walked across the room with the lithe grace of a big cat. “Mann.”

  “Vincent.” Of course we would need to address each other by our surnames. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

  “The manhattan you ordered, sir.” The bartender placed it at my elbow.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a tip.

  “I might say the same,” Mark growled. He was obviously irritated about something. Had his day been as trying as mine?

  “Would you like a drink, sir?”

  “Club soda with a twist of lime, and I want you to open a new bottle for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I’d heard that request before, for a new bottle to be opened, but the way Mark looked distracted me.

  “Nice-looking tux, Mark.”

  “You think?” He was surprised? Some men wore their clothes, and some were worn by them. It was easy to see into which category Mark Vincent fell. His long body carried off the simple elegance of this tux, an Oscar de la Renta, if I wasn’t mistaken. It suited him much better than the Fumagalli that was hanging in the closet of my guest bedroom.

  “Oh, definitely. The jacket emphasizes your shoulders quite nicely, and I like the satin stripe running up your leg. And that cummerbund also goes well with the plain shirtfront you’ve chosen.” I licked my lips, wondering how he would respond if I suggested we check the cloakroom for bugs, and then was shocked at myself for the idea.

  “No sh—” He cleared his throat. “Really?” He had too high an opinion of himself to fish for compliments. Did he seriously doubt it?

  Just then I spotted Mother approaching us, and I smiled at her. Mark must have seen my gaze fix beyond his shoulder for a few moments. For some reason his face darkened, and he turned to pin whoever had the temerity to join us with a frown of displeasure. What was the matter with him tonight?

  The frown froze on his face, and a tide of color crept up his cheeks as Mother raised an eyebrow.

  “Ah, Mother. This is Mark Vincent.” I couldn’t help feeling a sense of smug satisfaction at his reaction to my mother’s appearance, because it had suddenly occurred to me—he’d thought I was here with a date.

  He sent a look my way, then smoothed all trace of expression from his face. “Mrs. Mann. I’m honored to finally meet you.”

  “How kind of you to say so, Mr. Vincent, but I believe we have met before.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else, ma’am?”

  “Mr. Vincent, I am not senile yet.”

  I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and he scowled at me.

  “No, ma’am.” He was essentially backing down from her. The top of her head didn’t even come up to his chin, and her eyes were level with his nipple line….

  I swore at myself for being distracted by thoughts of the lightly furred chest that only a couple of nights before had been close enough for me to lick and nuzzle, and dragged my eyes away from it to fasten on his mouth, which hadn’t kissed mine as often as he’d promised.

  I blinked, startled by that thought, and forced my attention back to my mother and my—and Mark.

  “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were,” he was saying to her. “It’s just that in the normal course of events, I wouldn’t come into contact with a lady such as yourself. And I would certainly have remembered you.”

  “Give it up, Mark,” I murmured, reluctant to see him so discomfited. “Mother knows you interviewed her as Skip Patterson.” Once I had figured it out, I had told her. She needed to be aware.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mann.” Indubitably that was WBIS policy: when questioned, deny, deny, deny. “Mrs. Mann, it’s nice meeting you. For the first time. If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with.”

  I couldn’t help laughing softly; the slight stress on “first” was unmistakable. Mark sent a look my way that seemed to promise retribution, and my cock quivered.

  Good God, what was happening to me?

  He took his drink from the bartender, also left a tip, and stalked away.

  You’re not retreating, Mark. You’re merely making—I thought back to my earlier words to Mother and smiled wryly—a strategic withdrawal.

  “Quinton.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. You were saying?”

  “I wasn’t saying anything, but I am about to. Are you involved with Mark Vincent?”

  “Of course I’m not involved with him, Mother,” I lied barefaced. “He’s WBIS. I’m CIA.” I watched as Mark greeted a distinguished-looking couple. The woman smiled, said something, and then left them to join a group of women. “Is the man with whom he’s speaking Senator Franklin?”

  She raised her eyebrow again, but turned to observe the two men. “Hmm. I believe it is.”

  He sat on the appropriations committee.

  “His wife, Elise, is a charming woman.” Mother said nothing further, although I could tell there was a caveat. She wasn’t given to gossip, but what she didn’t know about what was going on in the Capital wasn’t worth knowing.

  However, she wouldn’t discuss it where there was a possibility of her being overheard.

  “I’ll call you in the morning?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes were on the two men. “Do you know what I find interesting, sweetheart? The fact that he would know Mark Vincent.”

  Interesting indeed.

  XIV

  FROM time to time throughout the evening I’d spot Mark: curling his lip at a canapé before disposing of it, chatting with various men and women, dancing….

  He was an excellent dancer, and he made all his partners look good.

  I watched as he tangoed with one young woman—she was entirely too young for him—and waltzed with another, gliding across the floor with elegance and style.

  What would it be like to waltz with Mark? I had never danced with a member of my own sex, not even with Armand in the giddy afterglow of our discovered passion for each other.

  Mark’s shoulder was at a height where I could comfortably rest my head upon it—

  I pushed that idea from my mind, smiled at Mrs. Franklin, whom I’d asked for this waltz, and placed my hand on her waist.

  XV

  I WALTZED and fox-trotted, tangoed and sambaed and waltzed yet again.

  “Thank you for the dance, Madame Ambassador.” I raised her plump, be-ringed hand to my lips and led her off the dance floor.

  “Thank you for indulging an old woman, Quinton.”

  “You, old? Never! Like fine wine, you just grow better.”

  “Naughty boy!” She patted my cheek. “You really should find a woman and settle down. I’ll look around. There are some lovely women in my country.”

  “I’m not surprised, since it is your country,” I flirted lightly.

  Something I’d always thought of as a kind of sixth sense had the hairs on the back of my neck stirring, and I glanced around, catching Mother�
�s somewhat desperate gaze.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” I bowed slightly and went to join her and the man who stood closer than I knew she preferred.

  Senator Wexler had finally succeeded in cornering her, and it was obvious to me that she was fast reaching the end of her tether. Each time she attempted to walk away, he followed her, and if it continued much longer, she would literally have her back to the wall.

  “Nigel Mann must have stolen you from the nursery! You’re much too young to have a son working for the government!” What he considered compliments were fatuous, effusive, and immoderate. Added to that, he was obtuse in the extreme—his wife was an acquaintance of Mother’s and belonged to a number of her charities.

  “Senator Wexler, you know my son, Quinton, I believe?” Mother’s relief was palpable as I joined them, angling myself so I stood between the two of them. “He’s assistant to Undersecretary Sinclair at State.”

  “Son.” Wexler was unhappy to have their tête-a-tête interrupted, and his smile was simply a baring of teeth. “I was just telling Portia here that she doesn’t look old enough to have a son working for the government.”

  “Yes. I overheard you.” Did he realize how repugnantly condescending he sounded, to both Mother and me? “She has kept herself well, hasn’t she?”

  Mother raised her hand to toy with her left ear, signaling that she’d had more than enough of the good senator for one evening.

  “Of course we need to make sure she doesn’t overdo. She really isn’t getting any younger.” I gave him a saccharin smile. “Mother, are you ready to leave? I’m afraid I need to make an early night of it.”

  “Certainly, sweetheart. You aren’t getting any younger, either. Just let me visit the ladies’ lounge.”

  “Once more?”

  She frowned at me, but her eyes were dancing with amusement.

  “Oh, surely—the ball—” the senator started to protest, but Mother was already walking gracefully across the room.

  Another man joined us, who I recognized as someone constantly in Wexler’s orbit. “Your drink, Senator.”

  The senator ignored him and glared at me, disgruntled. “If she insists on leaving, I’d be more than happy to see her home, young man.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Senator, but I’m sure Mother wouldn’t want you to go to all that trouble for her.”

  “Nonsense! It’s no trouble at all!” he insisted. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll just send for my car. Daren?”

  “Yes, of course, Senator. I’ll—” Abruptly, the younger man’s eyes widened. He shoved the glass into the senator’s hand and walked away, striving to appear casual. The senator was so busy trying to frown me down that he didn’t even notice.

  I wondered about it, though, but then shelved it for consideration at a later time when I realized someone had come up behind me.

  “Senator Wexler.” Mark, and why wasn’t I surprised? The man walked on little cat’s feet.

  “Oh. Er… Mr. Vincent.” And how did he know the WBIS agent?

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sir. I trust Mrs. Wexler is well?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “I don’t see her here tonight, Senator,” he murmured, studying the mass of people in the room.

  Wexler actually looked ill, which pleased me although I would never admit to that. “She wasn’t able to make an appearance tonight. She suffers from chronic migraines.”

  “But you just said she was fine. Tell me, Senator, have you stopped beating your wife?”

  “No! I mean—yes! That is to say—”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth! I have never raised a hand to—oh, there’s—I need to let Daren know we won’t need—my apologies to your mother, please, Mann. Vincent.” He hurried off.

  “That’s his aide.” Mark watched with interest as Wexler thrust his glass at the man who’d given it to him just a short while ago. Mark slanted a grin at me. “I can’t say much about the company you’re keeping, Quinn. The senator’s scum.”

  “I must agree with you, Mr. Vincent.” Mother had rejoined us in time to catch the final act of that farce and, obviously fascinated to watch Mark at work, had signaled me not to reveal her presence.

  Mark actually gave a start, which surprised me. Of course, Mother had been almost as silent as he in her approach, but surely…. I choked back a laugh.

  “You might have let me know she was there, Mann,” he growled at me, aggrieved.

  “Why?” Mother asked. “We were both enjoying the way you handled him. He’s quite an obnoxious little man.”

  “You’re right, Mother. And it isn’t a question of stature.”

  “I have to wonder about his constituents, who reelect him time after time.” Mark stared after Wexler.

  “Mark, that isn’t your problem!” I told him.

  “Of course not.” His expression was disinterested. “Whatever made you think it might be?”

  “Possibly that considering look you were giving the senator?” I had no liking for Wexler, but agents employed by government entities couldn’t go canceling people for whom they had a distaste.

  For some odd reason, Buonfiglio came to mind. It hadn’t distressed me inordinately when he’d been found dead due to an apparent cardiomyopathy. Although Buonfiglio had been CIA, he’d also been the one who’d shot me when I’d gone to the Wyman Bros. Warehouse to meet with the scientist who’d discovered a renewable energy source. The encounter had been a total wash—when shots were fired, the scientist disappeared, I’d wound up with a bullet in the fleshy part of my thigh, and the energy source proved to be less than useless.

  Of course that incident resulted in the first time I’d met Mark Vincent in the flesh….

  Mark shrugged. “No law against looking.”

  “No, but it was the way you were looking. It makes me wonder if you have a little list, and if the senator’s name is on it.”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t have him on your own little list?”

  I was not about to admit to any such thing, although Mark was closer to the truth than he….

  I suddenly realized he’d been staring at my mouth and whatever I’d been thinking flew out of my mind.

  I dragged my eyes off his face and made a production of looking at my wristwatch, but I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Mother, are you ready to leave?”

  Disappointment flashed across Mark’s face to vanish immediately, replaced by polite indifference. “Leaving already, Mann?”

  Mother had seen it as well. “Why don’t you and Mr. Vincent stay and enjoy the ball, Quinton? I called Gregor from the ladies’ lounge, and he should be arriving to pick me up shortly. Walk with me to the cloakroom, sweetheart. Mr. Vincent, it was nice seeing you again.”

  “Mrs. Mann. It was nice meeting you. For the first time.”

  “Very well. If you say so.”

  Mark looked nonplussed at Mother’s obvious amusement, and I bit my lip to contain my laughter. She slid her arm into mine, and we began walking toward the elegant curved staircase.

  “What are you up to, Mother?” I demanded softly as we descended and crossed the foyer.

  “I?”

  “Did Father fall for that innocent expression?”

  She laughed softly. “Your father never questioned my motives.”

  “Perhaps not, but I think he would warn you about tweaking the lion’s tail.” I handed the coat check to the attendant and waited while she went to find Mother’s lynx. The fur had been one of the first gifts my father had given her after they were married, and she refused to part with it, no matter how politically incorrect wearing fur might have become.

  I tipped the attendant and took the soft fur, holding it while Mother slipped her arms into the shawl-style sleeves. “Mr. Vincent is not the only one who knows how to research a subject. I looked into his background, and I was intrigued by what little I was able to discover. One thing I did learn was th
at he’s exceptionally loyal to those he cares about.”

  How had she managed to discover that? “Mother, you might say we’re colleagues, but beyond that…. Mark Vincent is WBIS to the core. You know the reputation their agents have.”

  “I don’t think he would endanger you, Quinton.” She settled the coat on her shoulders with a brisk movement, then turned to face me. “I think he might even be good for you. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you this caught up in anything other than your work.”

  At a loss, I was scrambling for a sensible response when Gregor entered the foyer. “Mrs. Mann?”

  “Thank you for coming, Gregor. I’m sorry to call you out on your night off.”

  “I was just at my club, and believe me, chauffeuring you is more fun than sitting around with a bunch of old men listening to their arteries harden.”

  Not for the first time, I wondered if he was in love with her. Not that I would have objected. I wasn’t a possessive son, and I wanted my mother to find a measure of happiness. But loving a Sebring who’d already had his or her one true love…. The results wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Well, I knew from my own experience. For years after Armand, the partners I’d had hadn’t been contented with what I’d been able to give them, and so each relationship had ended in tears and recriminations. Even Susan Burkhart, who’d been so certain she could thaw the Ice Man, had, in the end, been unable to withstand the chill.

  That wasn’t to say we wouldn’t be faithful or caring, but—

  “Quinn?”

  I met Gregor’s eyes. His were clear and untroubled. I was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  Mother touched my cheek, bringing my gaze down to hers. The smile she gave me was the one she’d put me to bed with when I was a child—warm, loving, accepting. She pulled my face down and kissed my cheek. “Don’t take life so seriously all the time, sweetheart. None of us will be getting out of this alive.”

  She turned to Gregor, who took her arm, and they left.

  “She’s really special; you know that, Quinn?” Mark had come up while I stood there staring after them.