No One Should Be Alone

Chapter 1New Year’s Eve, 2001 The powers that be at the current administration decided having the CIA host a New Year’s Eve ball in the Dolley Madison Room at the Madison Arms was an ideal way to extend the holiday spirit to the various intelligence agencies. “I’m so excited, Quinton,” Susan Burkhart, my date for the evening, enthused. She slid her hand through arm and leaned her cheek against my shoulder. Susan worked at Justice, and we had a number of things in common, which made it convenient if either of us needed an escort to one of the parties, dinners, or embassy balls we were required to attend. Such as tonight’s affair. “Surely you’ve been to the Dolley Madison Room before?” “Yes, of course, but never when all the intelligence agencies were going to be represented. Don’t you find it exciting?” She rushed on before I could say a word. “I mean you’re an assistant to Undersecretary Sinclair, which is fine, but we’re actually going to see spies!” I kept my amusement hidden. Susan had no idea my position as assistant to the undersecretary was merely my cover. I’d been working for the CIA as one of their top officers for the past ten years. However, I wasn’t ready to share that information with her at this time. We entered the lobby, which was still decorated with pine swags and Christmas trees, and I took her wrap from her shoulders, checked it, and put the chit in the breast pocket of my tux. “Shall we see who’s already arrived?” I cupped her elbow in my hand and urged her toward the curving staircase rather than the bank of elevators. We climbed to the second floor and made our way to the Dolley Madison Room. And of course the first person I saw was Mark Vincent, senior special agent of the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security—the most notorious agency in the intelligence community. He was casually chatting with a lovely brunette who actually towered over him in her six-inch stilettos. “I wouldn’t wear heels that high.” Susan sniffed. “They’re not attractive in the least. As for that gown…” “I think she carries off the look rather well.” “You’re a man.” She sniffed again. “It’s not surprising you would.” A man I recognized strolled up to us. “Hello, Susan.” “Hello, Mitchell.” She turned to me. “Quinton, this is Mitchell McVey. We work together.” “McVey.” The man was one of my neighbors in Alexandria. “Your wife isn’t with you tonight?” “Barbara’s visiting the ladies’ room.” He gave a smug smile. “Pregnant ladies have that issue, although a bachelor such as yourself is most likely unaware of that.” I ignored his comment. I might be a bachelor, but I wasn’t living in the Dark Ages. “Congratulations.” “You know Mitchell, Quinton?” Susan not only seemed surprised, she didn’t seem happy with the knowledge. “I live across the street from him,” McVey said before I could answer. He turned to me. “I thought I’d ask Susan if she’d care to dance until my wife gets back. If you have no objection?” “None at all.” I turned to Susan. “Susan?” “I’d love to. You’re an excellent dancer, Mitchell, and I know Barb won’t mind.” “Shall I get you a Cosmopolitan?” I asked her. “Yes, please.” She took McVey’s arm, and he led her onto the dancefloor. Before I headed for the bar, I glanced toward where Vincent had been standing, startled to see another brunet at his side, this one with his arm round Vincent’s waist. He said something, and the WBIS agent grinned down at him, nodded to the woman, and whisked the young man off to the dancefloor, where they began dancing the merengue. Well. I hadn’t expected that. Oh, I was fully aware Vincent was gay—the man saw no reason to conceal his sexuality—but to flaunt it in front of every person of importance… Trevor Wallace, the man who ran the WBIS, approached the leggy brunette and murmured something, to which they both glanced in Vincent’s direction and laughed. He took her hand, and they strolled onto the dancefloor. I couldn’t resist watching. For someone most likely old enough to be her father, he cut an energetic rug. After a few whirls around the floor, the two couples came close enough to switch partners. I bit back a chuckle. No one was going to say anything about Mark Vincent dancing with a man when his boss appeared comfortable doing the same. It would be nice if I could dance with another man, but I had to conceal my sexuality. The CIA wasn’t as relaxed as the WBIS. I shook myself out of my introspection and hurried to the bar before Susan returned. She wouldn’t be pleased if I didn’t have her drink ready for her. * * * * McVey was dancing with his wife, so Susan stayed by my side, all the while gazing around the room avidly. “Do you think that distinguished man over there is a spy?” she asked, her voice breathless. “I’m sorry, I have no idea.” “Humph.” “What do you think about that man?” I pointed discretely toward Vincent. “Really, Quinton. Anyone can see he’s a total nonentity.” I choked back a laugh. She seriously thought so? Fortunately, she disregarded the WBIS agent. “What about that man?” “I haven’t seen him before.” He could very well be a new agent or officer, but I had no intention of admitting I knew any spies. I did find it interesting Susan didn’t seem to be at all willing to entertain the possibility some of the women attending this ball might also be agents. My lack of knowledge led to her becoming bored, so when Langdon, one of my colleagues from State, approached to ask for a dance, she hurried off with him, no doubt hoping he would reveal who was who. That was how I came to be alone propping up the wall when the tall brunette joined me. “Mr. Mann.” “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “No, but Mark pointed you out to me.” “Mark?” Surely she didn’t mean— “Vincent.” I couldn’t help blinking at her, unsure if I should take this as a compliment or not. “Is he your date?” She burst into husky laughter. “Not in the least. We’re…old acquaintances.” “I see.” “I’m without a partner just now, and I was wondering if you’d care to waltz with me?” “I’d be delighted, Ms.…?” “Call me Gabriella.” I gave a slight bow and offered her my arm. I didn’t know if she was a party girl or had accompanied one of the men—or women—here as their date, but in either case it hardly mattered. My parents had raised me to be courteous to all women. Which could be one of the reasons I hadn’t told Susan our relationship would go no further than friendship. Once we were on the dancefloor, she stepped into my arms, and we began to glide across the floor. “I hope you don’t think it was too forward of me to ask you to dance.” “Not in the least. I’m flattered. Although I must say I’m surprised.” “Why? You’re an attractive man, and you’re a very smooth dancer.” She leaned down. “I’ve been watching you.” “Have you? Should I be alarmed?” Her laughter trilled out. “May I tell you the truth?” “Please do.” “I’m here to persuade you to reveal all your secrets.” It was my turn to laugh. “I can’t imagine why you’d think I had any secrets.” “Everyone does, Mr. Mann.” “Call me Quinton.” “Quinton,” she repeated. “As I was about to say, Gabriella, you can try, but I assure you I don’t. I’m just an ordinary assistant to Undersecretary Sinclair.” The music changed to a Latin beat. “Would you care to continue?” “I’d love too. You are an excellent dancer.” “Thank you. May I say the same to you?” “So charming,” she murmured, and she smiled when in spite of myself, I blushed. I wasn’t used to hearing myself referred to in that manner. I returned her smile, though, twirled her into a spin, and we began to rumba. * * * * The band eventually stopped to take a break. “May I get you a drink?” I asked. “Thank you, I’d like that.” She took my arm, and we strolled over to the bar. “I’ll have a Blood and Sand, if you please?” she murmured. Before I could wave over the bartender, however, Susan approached. “Quinton.” Icicles dripped from her voice, and she sank her nails into my forearm. Gabrielle released my arm and stepped back. “Susan.” I pried her fingers from my arm. “May I introduce Gabriella?” “Hello.” Susan ran a disdainful glance from Gabriella’s sequined heels to the ink-black cap of curls that covered her head. Gabriella gave her a nod. “Miss Burkhart.” “That’s Ms.” “Of course.” Gabriella turned to me. “Never mind about that drink, Quinton. I see my date is looking for me.” She held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure.” She said in a teasing tone, “Perhaps next time I’ll wheedle out your secrets.” I laughed, brought her hand to my lips, and pressed a light kiss to it. Now it was Gabriella’s turn to run a glance over Susan. “You might want to keep him close, Ms. Burkhart. You don’t want to lose him. He’s an excellent dancer. Good night. Happy New Year.” She leaned close as if to brush a kiss across my cheek but instead whispered, “Not to sound catty, but you can do better, Mr. Mann.” And then she was gone, gliding across the room to join a man I hadn’t seen before. “Perhaps next time?” Susan jerked my arm. “What was the meaning of that?” she demanded. “Are you going to see her again?” “No.” She scowled at me, and I raised an eyebrow. “Really, Susan. I had no objection to you dancing with another man—a number of other men. Why do you object when I dance with another woman?” “Dancing is one thing. Dear God, why are men so blind? I could see she wanted more than that from you. Why couldn’t you?” “Perhaps because she wanted nothing of the kind from me.” I’d never come so close to losing my patience with her. Susan stared at me, her mouth agape. “I…I…” Fortunately, the band returned just then, and the M.C. hopped onto the bandstand and announced the countdown to the New Year.