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 danced with ambassadors’ wives and daughters, and in at least two cases, mistresses. The mistresses especially attempted to lure me into a dalliance, and I couldn’t help questioning the reasoning behind that. In the course of my work with the Company, there had been women who’d tried to draw me into their beds solely because I was the Ice Man, but here, as far as anyone knew, I was simply Quinton Mann,assistant to Undersecretary Sinclair at State.


“Would you care for a drink, Mother?” I escorted her from the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a merengue.


“Yes, please. I need something to fortify myself after—Oh, good grief! He’s heading this way again!” While she was too much a lady to cause a scene, it was easy to see Mother was fast losing patience.


“He,” of course, was Wexler. In spite of our hopes, he’d already been here when we’d arrived, and Mother and I had both been less than thrilled to see him.


“I believe a strategic retreat might be in order, Mother.”


Chapter 9