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 still didn’t think the view was that great, but I basked in her approval.


“No rug in front of the fireplace, Mark?” Quinn took the opportunity to murmur in my ear.


“Not when your mother is coming to visit.”


“Don’t be. There’s one in the master, and it’s got your name on it.” He flushed, and I couldn’t help grinning. I turned to his mother, making sure all trace of deviltry had been wiped from my expression. “Come see the master, Mrs. Mann.”


After the tour, I saw to it she was settled on the couch. “Are you comfortable?”


“How’s your hip?” I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The last fifteen minutes of the parade were being aired. “Do you want to put your legs up?”


“My hip is fine, and no, I’m quite all right like this.”


My fussing over her amused her. “I’m very sure, Mark. I could do with a glass of wine, though.”


“Okay. C’mon, Quinn. You can take out the hors d’oeuvres. I’ll go get the wine.”


Chapter 81