Mark Vincent has risen from senior special agent to Director of Interior Affairs in the WBIS. Lately, life has been sweet for him -- in addition to his promotion, he's found a partner in Quinton Mann, who can almost match his ability in the intelligence field, in spite of the fact Quinn's CIA. Mark has also found a condo in Alexandria with the help of Portia Mann, Quinn's mother, and it's closer to Quinn's town house than Mark's present apartment. Sweetest of all, Mark plans to take Quinn to his island in the Caribbean for the holidays.<br><br>Quinn's glad he has the holiday with Mark to look forward to -- something is going on at Langley, and he feels he's being kept out of the loop. To make matters even worse, useless missions and sleepless nights filled with nightmares are leaving him exhausted. But then his mother's life if threatened, and Quinn discovers the accident that resulted in her hospitalization was no accident. The obsessively self-absorbed Senator Wexler is involved, and while Quinn considers himself a civilized man, now he's out for blood.<br><br>Up until this point, Mark has stayed out of Quinn's CIA business. But hurting Quinn and those he loves isn't a smart move, and Mark has every intention of seeing Wexler pays. Quinn demands to come along, and while Mark isn't happy, he finally agrees, and they set out together to deal with the senator. There's just one catch: this will be the first time Quinn sees Mark at his deadly best, and Mark isn't sure how his lover will react.

Forever

I gave him directions, and then said, “I’ll see you at seven,” and hung up.


With a few hours to kill before I left the WBIS, I hacked into the CIA’s computer system.


If I didn’t want Quinn to know what I’d done, I’d have to do something to burn off my aggravation. You’d think after all this time, the C-fucking-I-fucking-A would know better, but no, they were sending Quinn to the Far East on a mission more suitable for someone who’d never set foot out of Langley.


I parked about a mile from Ziggy’s and began walking.


A couple of blocks from Ziggy’s, I passed a junk shop. The sign in the window said “gently used,” but junk was junk. However, it was the cavalry saber in the window that caught my eye, and I backtracked and studied it more carefully. It was British and had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. I checked my watch. I had some time to spare. I entered the shop.


Chapter 11