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

Of course there were, but Holmes knew how honorable the Sebring men were. If they believed this was the only copy, he would believe it as well.


I wished I could be there when they watched DCI Holmes gamboling on that pink bed in his pretty pink unmentionables with Pretty Boy, Spike, and Delilah Carson, but I had other things that needed to be done, ditching the uniform and the van among them.


I let myself out of the suite, went back down to the van, and drove away.


As the last two months of 2002 made their way toward the New Year, things started quieting down. Mrs. Mann had been home from the hospital for a little more than a week, and her physical therapy was coming along well, although it would still be some time before she could walk without a cane.


When I walked into Raphael’s that Friday night, the Italian restaurant was crowded, as usual. Not that it mattered. I’d called earlier to make a reservation.


Chapter 74