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

Most people had a thing against Mondays. Their weekend was over, they were battling hangovers, and a good number of them had to show up at jobs they loathed, so when Monday shit on them, they weren’t surprised.


Me, now? I kept my alcohol intake under control, I liked my job, and the only time I’d had a quarrel with Monday was when I had to go up to Fall River for my old lady’sfuneral.


Wednesdays, on the other hand were sneaky, middle-of-the-week bastards. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on a Wednesday, or your fridge to be empty, or the last shirt in your closet to have a grease stain on it that had defeated the cleaners.


Another Wednesday had rolled around, and here I was, chained to this goddamned desk, while agents were out in the field having the time of their lives.


Chapter 62