Gregor looked me over carefully. “How are you feeling, Quinn? Really?”
“Well enough, Gregor. There was no need to inform Mother. It’s just a—”
“Yeah, well, you can take it up with her.” He untied a shoelace and removed my left shoe, then went to work on the right one. “And don’t tell me it’s just a flesh wound. A fraction of an inch lower, and you would have bled out before the ambulance could have gotten you here.”
“I’m sorry, Gregor. The last thing I want is to upset Mother.” That made it sound as if either I was a mama’s boy or she was overprotective, but that was far from the truth in both instances. Portia Sebring Mann had been part of the intelligence community herself, deciphering Russian codes for the NSA during the Cold War. She’d lost my father, a CIA officer, when that Air In
