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

“Your agent said Max called everyone mon cher. He never—”


“What the fuck are you talking about, Mann?”


“I saw the way you were looking at Max.”


“I wasn’t—” He swayed again, and this time I did catch him. “Let’s get you out of here, Quinn. You look like hell.”


“Robinson says I look like shit. You say I look like hell. What is this? ‘Pick on Quinton Mann Day’?”


“No, it’s ‘Let’s Get Quinton Mann to a Doctor before He Falls on His Ass Day’. Let’s go.”


The doctor who examined Quinn assured me that aside from various scrapes and bruises, and a lump the size of a pomme de terre, nothing was broken, and he was in fairly good shape. A little dehydrated, a little undernourished, but nothing a week in bed wouldn’t repair.


Chapter 87