Houseboat on the Nile

Chapter 1-3

If that tone had been directed toward me I’d have gone for my overcoat. Cold.

And nicely done.

He jerked his gaze away from my face and stared at her in dismay. “But I told you I’d be right back,” he whined.

“But you weren’t.” Her expression was as icy as her words. “I’m not one of your empty-headed sycophants who are so flattered you can spare them a minute of your oh-so-valuable time.”

“Gabriella, please….” He flushed and took out a handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead.

She gave a delicate sniff and turned away from him and toward me.

“Thank you for the dance.” I raised her hand to my lips again, then grinned at her date. “You’re a lucky man,” I told him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t abandon such a lovely lady. She might not be where you left her.” As I stepped back, I bumped into someone. “Sorry….”

“No, that’s quite all right. The ballroom is very crowded, isn’t it?” His eyes were light with amusement, and he chuckled. It was Mann.

“Yes.” My heart began to pound. What the f**k? I scowled and took a few deep, surreptitious breaths, getting it under control. “Nice turnout tonight.”

“Do I know you?” His eyes lost their amusement and became intent. The only thing I hadn’t changed about my appearance was my eye color. Why bother? Lots of men had hazel eyes.

Mann did.

“I don’t think so.” I smiled easily. “I just flew in from Vienna.”

“Beautiful city.” He looked nostalgic. “My parents took me there to see the Lipizzaner stallions when I was ten.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Quinton Mann.” He had a firm grip, but he didn’t pull any of that macho bullshit of trying to prove he was top dog by breaking my fingers. Which was just as well because he wouldn’t have succeeded, and I would have.

“I’m Flint.”

“No first name?”

“Kane.” It wasn’t, but then Flint wasn’t my last name, either.

The woman with him cleared her throat pointedly.

“And this is my friend, Susan Burkhart.”

“Ms. Burkhart.”

She frowned at Mann. “Really, Quinton, aren’t I more than a friend?” She gave me her hand. It was so limp I almost expected to smell fish.

“Mr. Mann, it’s a pleasure to see you, sir.” Granger’s date provided a welcome diversion. He was falling all over himself to get Mann to notice him. He grabbed Mann’s hand and pumped it, and I couldn’t help grinning.

Mann saw, and he raised his eyebrow. Damn, I was making him too curious.

I made the grin broader and swayed a bit. “Oops. ‘Scuse me, gen’lemen. Ladies.” I nodded to Granger and the Burkhart woman, who held onto Mann’s arm with a death grip. Mann deserved better than her. “Gonna get a drink. Hap—” I hiccupped. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Kane.” Granger kept a bland expression on her face, but her eyes revealed she was on to me.

Her date, on the other hand, ignored me completely in favor of Mann. “I’m Richard Custiss,” he told Mann, still holding onto his hand.

“How nice to meet you.”

I’d have been tempted to slug the guy, but that was Mann, class all the way.

And then I realized he’d been talking to me. He freed his hand and held it out to me, and I had no choice but to take it.

“Happy New Year,” I said again, and I turned on my heel and got out of there.

* * * *

I could feel Mann’s eyes on me as I headed for the bar, walking as if I were making every effort to keep my gait steady.

They were about three deep all the way around. I could have gotten the bartender’s attention and been served immediately, but there was no rush, and it would have brought me to everyone’s notice. Instead, I waited to get closer to the bar, and while I waited, I let a portion of my mind wander.

That tux Mann was wearing suited him well. Could I get a picture of him in it to put on my computer? I licked my lips.

What did he look like under it? That age-old question: shorts or briefs? Or commando? What would it be like to get him naked, to get him into bed and have his wrists manacled by my left hand while I ran my fingertips over his n*****s, tugging lightly at his treasure trail, finally closing around his c**k and jacking him off while I buried myself deep in his ass?

My c**k began to stir, jerking me out of that fantasy.

No. f**k, no. What was I thinking? He was CIA, I was WBIS. There was no way he’d ever accept me as a lover.

And there was no f*****g way I’d accept him.

Of course I wouldn’t.

But…it was good to be two jumps ahead of the opposition, and the CIA didn’t have the relaxed attitude of the WBIS regarding an employee’s s****l orientation. I’d need to gather more information about Mann.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“What?” I demanded, irritated. The only reason why I didn’t react automatically and take this clown apart then and there was because only one part of my mind had been enjoying the idea of screwing—screwing over—Quinton Mann.

“The bartender’s already asked you twice what you want.” Jesus. Mann?

“Sorry. Club soda,” I told the bartender, who’d been almost ready to move on. “Open a new bottle, please.”

“Of course, sir. And would you like a lemon or lime with that?”

“Both.” I grinned at Mann. “I like to live dangerously.”

“Of course. I recall only too well how exciting a desk job can be.” His words were dry, his gaze sober. “I’m glad to see you’re not having another drink, Kane.”

“A man should know his limitations,” I said easily. I was coming across exactly as I’d intended: bland, someone who spent his life shuffling papers. So why was I offended that he saw me that way. “But how would you know about riding a desk?”

“I had a minor leg wound last summer, and as a result, I was out of the field for quite some time.”

Yeah, when Buonfiglio had shot him at the warehouse. “I’ve never taken a bullet for the Company.”

“You’re not missing anything. Trust me.” He studied my eyes. “I don’t believe you’re as drunk as you let on.”

“I was trying to make a dignified exit.”

“You abandoned me. Although I must admit I can’t blame you, but by acting drunk? I think you could have found a better excuse.”

I shrugged.

“Your club soda, sir.” The bartender handed me the glass, smiled broadly at the bills I stuffed in the tip cup, then turned that smile at Mann. “What can I get for you, sir?”

“A Cosmopolitan, please.”

The bartender turned away and began gathering the ingredients.

“I wouldn’t think that was your style, Mann.” I squeezed the lemon and dropped it into the soda.

“Call me Quinton. And you’re right, it’s not. It’s for my…it’s for Susan.” He looked concerned. “We’ve been seeing each other for some time, but it’s quite plain it’s not going anywhere.”

“She doesn’t seem to think so.”

“No, she doesn’t, does she?” He sighed. “I’m leaving the country for a few weeks. Is it too ungentlemanly to break it off with her on New Year’s Day?”

He was asking me? “It’s better than Valentine’s Day.”

“Have you done that?”

I hadn’t, but that wasn’t because I only did one-night stands—I’d never be fool enough to get so involved with someone that they’d expect me to spend holidays with them.

There was that thing I’d had with my partner, whatever that was, but then he’d gone and gotten himself kidnapped, tortured, and killed. I’d taken care of the bastards who’d gutted him and strangled him with his intestines, but after that, I’d refused to have another partner, ever.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s a personal question.”

Shit, I’d been quiet too long. “Not a problem.”

“Your Cosmo, sir.” The bartender offered Mann the martini glass.

Mann took it, slipped a bill into the tip cup, and stared down into the pink drink.

“I can’t imagine why I’m telling you this.”

I grinned at him. “I’ve got that kind of face.”

“Yes, you do.” He glanced over at the dance floor. “Susan seems to be enjoying that samba.”

She was twirling across the floor with Richard Custiss. Granger was dancing with someone else, and I was willing to bet Custiss was too intent on currying favor with Mann’s…friend…to care too much about that.

Mann touched my arm, and I turned my head, raising an eyebrow. “Shall we find a less crowded place to chat?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I believe the buffet has been set up with desserts.”

“Dessert works for me. But what about Ms. Burkhart’s Cosmo?”

He looked around, then signaled to a spook who sauntered over to us. “DB, would you mind seeing Susan gets this?”

“Not a problem, Quinn.” He didn’t move, though, just stood there staring at me.

Mann sighed. “This is Kane Flint, from our Vienna office.”

“Flint.”

“Cooper.”

Cooper narrowed his eyes at me. “Quinn didn’t mention my last name.”

“No, but wouldn’t I be foolish not to take note of who was at this affair?”

“Jesus, you sound as paranoid as Mark Vincent.”

Shit. I’d let myself get too distracted by Mann. I gave a relaxed smile and shrugged. “Vincent’s still alive.”

“Unfortunately.” Ah. Another fan.

“DB, I need to talk to Kane about something that’s come up in Austria.”

“What’s going on?”

Nosy son of a b***h. I wondered how Mann would deal with that flat-out lie.

“The Scarlet Chamber seems to be on the verge of reactivation. Members have been spotted in Carinthia,” Mann said smoothly.

I nearly choked on my club soda.

“Are you all right, Kane?”

I nodded, took a handkerchief from my breast pocket, and blotted my lips. “Seed from the lemon wedge.” How the f**k had he found out about the Scarlet Chamber? The Archbishop’s number two was always turning up, and as a matter of fact, I’d been in the Tyrol just after Thanksgiving to see if I could…persuade…him to retire permanently. But had Mann heard it was being reactivated, or was it just a lucky guess on his part?

Cooper stared at me for a minute, and I gave him a perky smile. He shook his head and turned back to Mann. “There’s proof positive about the Scarlet Chamber?”

“At this point, no,” Mann was saying, “but you know we can’t leave any stone unturned.”

“And look what comes out when we turn those stones over.” Cooper scowled. What the f**k was he pissed about? I was the one who dealt with the renegade organization.

“Yes. With the Archbishop gone, I thought we’d seen the last of the Scarlet Chamber.” Mann’s brow furrowed.

You’d think terrorists would come up with something more inventive to call themselves, but what could you expect from a bunch of psychos? Especially when their leader decided to give himself a stupid f*****g name like “the Archbishop.” Jesus. And they said WBIS agents were out of control.

“That was one good thing Vincent did,” Cooper conceded.

I didn’t dust my knuckles on my shoulder, but I was tempted to. It was nice to have my work appreciated.

Cooper looked me over. “What do you have to say about it, Flint?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a desk man. I just do the analyzing.”

Cooper curled his lip, then gazed at Mann. “Well, it doesn’t sound as if this affects my department.”

“No.” Mann’s smile was so charming I nearly swallowed my tongue. What would it be like if that smile was aimed at—

I cut off that thought. It wasn’t, and it didn’t matter a hill of beans to me who Mann smiled at.