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

“Well, you don’t have a pocket. Here, use mine.” He handed me the really elegant pocketknife that I’d first seen in that warehouse in Paris. The handle looked like it might be ivory, and the filigree work on it could be gold. Well, it was a yellow metal, and I didn’t see it as being something as cheap as gold plate.


I finally got the box opened to find a case made of teak. I took it out and ran my fingers over the smooth wood. A latch held it closed. I flipped it up and raised the lid.


“Fuck me!” Inside was a Llama Mini-max .45 subcompact. Quinn had a clutch piece like this one; I’d seen it when I’d rescued him in Paris. Each clip held ten rounds, and it carried one up the pipe. I stroked the barrel. “Quinn….”


“There are four clips in the case and a custom-made ankle holster as well.”


I didn’t know what to say. “This is…. Thank you.”


“Are you kidding? When I saw yours in Paris, I was tempted to tell you I couldn’t find it and keep it for my own.”


Chapter 92