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 was startled by the voice. That wasn’t Mark. That was…. Where had I heard it before?


He thumbed it off and looked at me. “Rescue 812 is on record as being on a dinner break. Let’s get hopping.”


We got the stretcher out of the back of the ambulance and rolled it to the sedan. “Are we going to be able to get him out?”


“Piece of cake.” He kicked in the rear window, unfastened the Senator’s seat belt, and caught him as he fell. “Help me get him on the stretcher.”


The moon was almost full, and by its light I could see how pale Wexler looked. His breathing was shallow but steady. He was a dead weight, and we had to wrestle him onto the stretcher.


Once that was done and we had him strapped down, we had no trouble getting him into the back of the ambulance.


Mark hoisted himself in and looked down at me. “Close the doors and get the ambulance started.”


I did, but not before I saw him turn and bend over Wexler’s supine form.


Chapter 139