Quinton Mann, a highly ranked CIA officer, is used to being called the Ice Man. He’s astounded to discover himself in a relationship with Mark Vincent, not because Vincent is a man, but because he’s a top-rated WBIS agent. There they are though, for a total of five glorious days. But when Mark uses the excuse of going to Massachusetts for his mother’s funeral to end their relationship, Quinn’s not buying it.<br><br>No one screws with Mark Vincent. Even Mark doesn't screw with himself. Once he realizes how close he's allowed Quinton Mann to get to him, he does what any self-respecting spy would do -- he makes tracks out of there. But Quinn does something no one else ever has -- he comes after Mark. Maybe this relationship thing with a spook isn’t such a bad idea.<br><br>Meanwhile, something strange is going on in the intelligence community worldwide. It takes Quinn’s disappearance while investigating a rogue antiterrorism organization that results in Mark making up his mind. Quinn may be a spook, but he’s Mark’s spook, dammit -- and once he gets Quinn home, he intends to keep him. He knows without a doubt he’ll find Quinn. The question is, will he find Quinn in time?

Not My Spook

I gave myself a shake, pushed that from my mind, and turned my attention to other things.


The suit he was wearing, for instance. It was lightweight and wrinkle-proof, the best kind for unexpected trips out of the country, but it was a cheap suit at best, probably purchased at some chain store, and I knew he had others that were more suitable for his new position as Deputy Director of Interior Affairs. Perhaps I’d visit his apartment and see if any of those suits were salvageable.


If I intended to do so, however, I’d have to call my secretary to inform her I wouldn’t be in. It was too early to call in to State. I’d wait until 8:30, when I knew she’d be at her desk.


Meanwhile, I wandered into the living room, in the mood for a little Dinah Washington. I put her Mad About The Boy CD on the stereo system and set one particularcut on repeat. The lady did have a smooth voice.


Whistling along with “What a Difference a Day Makes,” I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.


Chapter 5