Not My Spook

Chapter 1-3

I pushed that consideration from my mind for the time being when I realized Mark was staring at the pajamas. Ah. I’d gotten his attention. “Like the way the pajamas look, Mark? You have good taste. How’d you guess my size? Or did you go rummaging in my drawers?”

“What do you think, Mann?”

What did I think? I had no clue. He could have made a lucky guess, but he could just as easily have examined my clothing to see what size I wore. After all, I had no idea how long he’d been in my house the night he’d cuffed me to my bed and….

He ran his eyes over the pajamas once again in an almost palpable caress, and I felt my c**k stir even more. I turned away in hopes it would conceal my arousal. Was he regretting he hadn’t wandered down the hall last night?

Good.

“Never mind, I’m sorry I asked. Anyway, thank you again.” I took the container of half-and-half from the fridge, poured a dollop into my cup, then took the spoon beside Mark’s cup and stirred it.

“I thought you took coffee with cream.” He picked up his cup.

Why did he think that? “If that’s all that’s available.” I raised my cup to my lips and sipped my coffee.

“Huh. I need another cup.” Mark rose and helped himself.

I put the half-and-half back into the fridge, not bothering to offer it to him; I knew he took it black.

From the way he appeared to be savoring it, I thought it was safe to assume he was enjoying this brew. I only purchased enough beans for a week at a time and ground them before each use, so the coffee was always fresh.

Something else I had learned from my father.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to stay here until something can be done about your apartment. You’re not going to be stubborn about this, are you? There’s a perfectly good guestroom available here.” I knew he was going to object, so I continued blandly, “And you can always tell the ubiquitous Mr. Wallace that you’re staying here in hopes of getting Company secrets out of me.” Trevor Wallace, who ran the WBIS and who was referred to as The Boss—one could almost hear the capitals—within that organization, seemed to be the only man Mark respected.

“Looks like you’ve got all the angles covered.”

“That’s why I was made deputy director.” I almost expected him to make some snide comment about that, but instead he surprised me.

“Why don’t I give you a call later? We could go out to dinner.”

“I’m afraid I can’t—”

“Right. Forget about it. I’ve got to go.”

“I wish you’d let me finish,” I complained. From the expression on his face, I’d gathered he’d surprised himself as well as me with that unexpected invitation to dine out. “I have something on the calendar for this evening.” I’d promised Mother a month or so ago that I’d accompany her to the State-sponsored reception and ball for the ambassador of Bosnia and Herzegovina. “And I can’t get out of it, but I’d like to take a rain check, if I may?”

“Sure.” He shrugged, rinsed his cup and put it in the dishwasher, and headed for the door.

“Mark.” I followed him. I needed to disarm the security system if the entire neighborhood wasn’t to be awakened by it. “Don’t forget your overcoat.” I opened the closet door, took it out, and handed it to him. “According to the weatherman it’s going to be another cool morning.”

He grunted.

“Here.” I held out a piece of paper with the name and phone number of a company that was excellent when it came to restoring homes that had been damaged by fire or water or the results of a crime. “Call this number. This is a service I’ve used. They’re quite good, and they’ll see your apartment is habitable by the middle of the week. Of course, I’ve never had my home blown up.” I wasn’t certain if he’d accept my aid, and I wasn’t really surprised when he refused to take the piece of paper. Disappointed, but not surprised. “Goddamned paranoid son of a bitch.”

“Quinn.”

I spared him a brief glance, intent on showing him that he could do as he chose; it was immaterial to me.

He was holding his hand out. He was holding his hand out!

Very pleased, even though I hadn’t expected his capitulation, I gave him the paper.

“Thanks.” He was staring at my mouth, and for a second the wild hope that he planned to kiss me swept over me. “I’ll see you later.” He walked out the door, and I sighed in disappointment.

But still, he’d wanted to take me to dinner.

I gave myself a shake, pushed that from my mind, and turned my attention to other things.

The suit he was wearing, for instance. It was lightweight and wrinkle-proof, the best kind for unexpected trips out of the country, but it was a cheap suit at best, probably purchased at some chain store, and I knew he had others that were more suitable for his new position as Deputy Director of Interior Affairs. Perhaps I’d visit his apartment and see if any of those suits were salvageable.

If I intended to do so, however, I’d have to call my secretary to inform her I wouldn’t be in. It was too early to call in to State. I’d wait until 8:30, when I knew she’d be at her desk.

Meanwhile, I wandered into the living room, in the mood for a little Dinah Washington. I put her Mad About The Boy CD on the stereo system and set one particular cut on repeat. The lady did have a smooth voice.

Whistling along with “What a Difference a Day Makes,” I climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

What did Mark think of the vivid color I had selected to make up his bed? The blues and greens I’d seen in his linen closet had been conservative….

The thought suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what color sheets he’d had on his bed the night we’d made love. Not that the choice had been very varied: blue or green, and both fairly pastel.

Among other colors, I preferred rich jewel-tones: sapphire, ruby, emerald, and for Mark I’d selected a burgundy set. What had he thought of them?

Unable to resist, I decided to take a quick peek into the room I’d given him.

The bed was neatly made. It was only when I breathed a sigh of relief that I realized I’d unconsciously been expecting to find the sheets stripped off and stuffed into a pillowcase, indicating he didn’t plan to return.

I shook my head at how ridiculous that was. Of course Mark wouldn’t do something like that. He’d tell me to my face if he didn’t intend to spend another night under my roof.

I went to my own room to shower and dress for the day.

* * * *

Shortly after 8:30, I picked up my phone and called my secretary at State. “Bette, it’s Quinton Mann. I won’t be in today. I’ve cleared off my desk, and I’m taking a personal day.”

“Oh, but….”

“But what?”

“There’s a stack of files on your desk.” She sounded uneasy. “They need to be gone through.”

“Then of course I’ll be in. Later.”

“Yes, sir.” And now she sounded relieved. “I’ll see you then, Mr. Mann.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Bette.” Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice. My secretary at State tended to do her job and let me do mine without comment. What was going on? I’d no sooner hung up then the phone rang again. “Mann.”

“You were supposed to call me last night.”

“Sorry, DB.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I—”

“Listen,” I said, interrupting him without compunction. I was a big boy after all, and had been taking care of myself for years. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, Quinn.” He’d picked up on the note in my voice and immediately became serious. “What’s up?”

“I’m working at State today.”

“There’s nothing surprising in that. You told me the other day you’d be at State for the rest of the week.”

“Yes, but all I wound up doing yesterday was paperwork that could have been assigned to any assistant to the undersecretary.”

“That’s bureaucracy for you.”

That was true, but I ignored it. “I had my desk cleared off—”

“Well, yeah.”

I swallowed a smile, appreciating his confidence in my capability. “—and with no sign of anything more, only to learn there are more files waiting for me.”

“Hmm. And this doesn’t strike you as legit?”

“You could say that.”

“You want me to look into this?”

“If you don’t mind?” I didn’t really think anything out of the ordinary was going on—sometimes extra paperwork was nothing more than extra paperwork—but it would keep him from bombarding me with questions as to why I had failed to call him as I’d promised.

“I’ll get on it as soon as I get to Langley. I’ll…uh…I’ll be leaving early this afternoon, though.”

“Oh?”

“My ladies contacted me. I’m taking them out to dinner,” he informed me smugly.

“They’re actually consenting to be seen in public with you? My, my.”

“Consent my ass, it was their idea. And don’t bother asking where, Quinn, because that’s on a strictly need-to-know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

“I was just going to comment on what very brave ladies they are.”

“You were?” He sounded suspicious, and I couldn’t help chuckling.

“I wouldn’t have time to track you down anyway. I’m attending that reception and ball tonight.”

“That’s right, I remember hearing some mention of it. I understand the WBIS is going to have someone there.”

“It will be Sperling.” It always was.

“Yeah. And he’ll be busy sucking down martinis and stuffing his face. Listen, I’d better get going. I’ll put out some feelers and see what I can learn. I’ll call you—”

“Not on my State line. If something is going on, I don’t want anyone aware that I’m questioning things.”

“Paranoid much, buddy?”

Why was he all of a sudden calling me buddy? “You have my cell number, don’t you? Contact me on that.”

“Okay. I’ll call you whether I pick up on anything or not. Talk to you later.”

“Thanks, DB. Bye.”

* * * *

The door to Mark’s apartment had been replaced, and while it was temporary, it was very secure. However, never let it be said that the CIA didn’t have a way of opening locked doors that rivaled the WBIS. I let myself in and looked around.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, but it was still bad, the living room having taken the brunt of the explosion.

The coffee table was in pieces, the books that had been stacked on it scattered across the floor, ruined.

The couch was scorched and soaked, unsalvageable.

The television screen was shattered.

The bookcase that held his small library was on its side, the paperbacks knocked from their shelves, a soggy mass.

The case that held the sword hung at an odd angle, the glass a spider web of cracks.

As for Sam, there was nothing left of the ceramic dog but fragments.

Mark’s bedroom was undamaged, other than a poster from the movie Hondo that had been knocked from the wall. I hadn’t even noticed it the other night. Except for Vincent over me and in me, I hadn’t noticed anything the other night, and now I took the opportunity to look around.

His computer, a compact model with no brand name on it, sat on a small corner desk. I supposed I could take advantage of the opportunity and hack into it, but for some reason that felt dishonorable.