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

The lounge itself had a couple of sofas, comfortable chairs, a scattering of tables to hold snacks, and a twenty-seven-inch flat-screen TV mounted on a wall. Today was on.


Max was alone in the lounge. He looked around as I entered and smiled. Considering what he’d had to do while he’d been part of Prinzip, it was one of the sweetest expressions I’d ever seen.


“Bonjour, m’sieur.” He gestured toward a couch, muted the TV, and rose.


“Hi, Max.” Once I’d sat down, he handed me a cup and a plate with a warm croissant that dripped butter. I put the cup on the table beside the couch, took a bite of the croissant, and then accepted the napkin he offered me as butter started to drip down my chin. “Thanks. I have a question for you.”


“Ask. Whatever it is, I am at your service.”


“You shouldn’t do that, you know. You have no idea what I’m going to ask.”


Chapter 77