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

“Yeah, really. So live with it. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”


“All right, Mark.” I settled back in the seat and pretended to observe what scenery I could see courtesy of the lights on the interstate.


Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him glare at me again, but once he realized I wasn’t going to argue with him, he relaxed and grinned. “All right. Now suppose we talk about something else.”


“What would you like to talk about?”


“Well, for one thing, is that champagne we’re bringing going to be okay?” He’d suggested I choose something suitable to take along with us. “I mean, it’s just one bottle.”


“Trust me, Mark.” The ‘one bottle’ was a magnum of Mo?t & Chandon Dom Perignon 1985—a very good year. “It’s fine.”


Mark did the three-and-a-half-hour drive in a little under three hours, and it was just after eleven when I pointed out the winding road that led through the farm and to the manor house.


Chapter 112