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

He stared at me. “Sinclair’s one of mine. There’s no reason why you should know him.”


I shrugged. “It’s a small world. I ran into him around the water cooler.” Like me, Sinclair was sent where he was needed most. He was younger, didn’t have as much experience as I did under his belt, but he was good.


“I sent him after Travers when Travers didn’t make his scheduled contact.” Stanley scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hate it like hell when shit like this happens. I called Dr. Schmidt in to do the autopsies.”


“It’s his day off, but—You haven’t had lunch yet, have you?”


“Good. It’s not pretty. Come on.” He pushed open the door and went into the morgue.


I knew what he meant as soon as I saw what was on the tables. “Shit.” I bit down hardon my back teeth. I was used to seeing cut up bodies; hell, I’d cut up my share of them, but this….


Smitty put a hand over his mic. “Yeah.”


“Is it too much to hope all these wounds are post mortem?”


Chapter 57