Where the Heart Chooses (39 page)

“No, he’s loyal because he’s in lo-fond of
me.”

She looked ill. “Uh…you said you wanted to
look at the wall?” She led the way into the dining room.

* * * *

“Did you find anything illuminating on the
roof?” I asked as we drove away from Aspen Reach. He’d put in an
offer, and it was just a matter of waiting to hear back from the
Realtor.

“Yeah. Crime scene tape.” He concentrated on
merging with the flow of traffic onto I-495. “There’s something
else. Do you remember hearing about Delilah Carson’s murder?
Beginning of the year, very high-priced call girl? Whoever killed
her had been…thorough. Her boyfriend got the blame.”

“But you said
whoever
.”

“It’s all circumstantial. The boyfriend took
a header off the roof, and the case was closed.”

“And because of that no one wants her
home.”

“Except me. Whoever’s handling her estate
might not be happy about my offer, but the association fees for
this quarter are coming due and they’ve already had to pay the
three previous quarters. Add to that having the bedroom cleaned up.
Not a bad job, but—” He cleared his throat. “I was able to access
the crime scene photos, and Jesus, it wasn’t pretty.”

“The poor woman.”

“Yeah. No one deserves to die like that.”
His cell phone rang, and it proved to be Francesca Dashwood. After
a brief conversation, he hung up and said, “Congratulate me, Mrs.
Mann. It’s mine.”

“Congratulations, Mark. I’m so pleased for
you. When do you close?”

He told me. “But it will need a lot of
work.”

“To make it less pink?”

“Yes. I get a toothache just looking at the
walls and carpeting. A friend of mine is big into decorating.”

We spent the remainder of the drive
discussing his plans for his new home.

* * * *

Mark pulled up to the curb. “I see Novotny’s
waiting. God knows what he thinks will happen between here and your
front door, but I’ll wait until you get in the house. Thank
you—”

“Turn off the engine, Mark. You’re staying
for dinner,” I told him.

“I am?”

“You are.”

“You realize Novotny’s gonna slip something
into my food, don’t you?” He sounded disgruntled but he switched
off the ignition.

I laughed softly and patted his arm before
letting myself out of the car. Actually, it was Quinton at the top
of the steps. The backlighting left his face shadowed and made it
difficult to distinguish between them, since both he and Gregor
were of similar heights.

Quinton came down the steps, and I walked
toward him, my heart hurting. “You’re looking tired,
sweetheart.”

“I’m very glad it’s Friday, Mother.” He bent
to kiss my cheek. “It’s been a long week. In addition to that, my
car needed to go in for its eighteen-thousand-mile tune-up. It’s a
good thing your message let me know that Gregor was in town. I
called him and got a lift.”

“Mrs. Mann!” Gregor appeared in the doorway,
his stance indicating his annoyance.

“I’m coming, Gregor. Quinton…” I cupped his
cheek.

“I’m all right, Mother.”

“Are you?”

“Well, I will be after I get a decent
night’s sleep.”

“How long was your flight?”

“More than twenty-four hours.”

I sighed. No wonder why he looked so
exhausted. He wouldn’t have slept during the flight, and who knew
how long before that he’d been awake.

“Mann.” Mark sauntered up to us. “I wasn’t
expecting to see you here.”

Quinton turned to face Mark, brushing the
hair out of his eyes. I left them to greet each other while I went
into the house, Gregor right behind me.

“Vincent coming here is all kinds of wrong,
Portia. He’s no good for Quinn!”

“Gregor.” I removed my coat and handed it to
him, and as he hung it up, I asked, “Why did Edward Holmes send
Quinton to Bangkok?”

“Huh?” He jerked around. “What are you…?
That son of a—” A tide of red rose from his throat to his
hairline.

“So you haven’t heard anything?”

“No, but I’ll get in touch with my
contacts.”

“I wish you would. You spent the past few
hours with Quinton. How was he?”

“Not good. He went up his old bedroom, and I
think he may have slept for about maybe fifteen minutes, but he
came down looking even worse than when he went up.”

“He never napped well.” I’d need to speak to
Folana. “Would you do me a favor? Please cut Mark some slack this
evening.”

He ground his teeth. “All right. It’s going
to kill me, but…”

“Thank you.”

“I hung up your gown. Madame Rosa did a
great job.”

“She usually does.”

“Why don’t you freshen up? I’ll have dinner
ready shortly.”

“It smells delicious.”

“I made shrimp scampi.” He grinned, and I
could tell from his expression that he’d gone overboard with the
garlic. Did he think it would stop Mark?

I suddenly wondered,
Would it stop
him?

* * * *

After finishing dinner, Gregor served
dessert in the small parlor, and then took a cup of coffee and
retired to his suite of rooms. He was still irritated that Mark had
greeted his smug, “I hope you don’t mind garlic,” with an equally
smug, “Nope. Keeps the vampires away.”

I put a Cole Porter CD into the player,
turned down the lights, and we sat and listened to the lush rhythms
and clever lyrics.

“I had the opportunity to meet him once, you
know,” I said. “He was very charming.”

“You’ve known some very interesting people,
if you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am.”

“Yes, I was quite fortunate.” I gazed across
at Quinton, who was sitting on his spine, his legs stretched out
and his head resting on the back of the loveseat. “Sweetheart, you
look so tired.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother. I just need a solid
night’s sleep.”

“In that case, I think you’ve had enough
coffee, Quinn.” Mark took his cup and rose. “Mrs. Mann, can I bring
your cup to the kitchen?”

“Thank you, Mark.”

“Pushy so-and-so,” Quinton muttered. “Thinks
he can run my life. We…uh…we had an argument before.” He looked
embarrassed. “About that Dashwood woman.”

“Why?”

“I…it just sounded as if he were awfully
interested in her.” They must have ironed the matter out, because
when they’d entered the dining room, Quinton’s cheek seemed
reddened from whisker burn, and Mark’s mouth looked swollen.

“Oh, sweetheart, if only you’d been there! I
thought at one point he’d pitch her over the terrace off the master
bedroom.”

He laughed, but exhaustion was in the
sound.

“I’m serious about you looking tired.”

“That seems to be the general consensus.
However, I left word at both State and Langley that short of a
national emergency, I wasn’t to be called this weekend.” He yawned
so broadly I was surprised his jaws didn’t crack. “Sorry.”

“Perhaps we should call off our Sunday
ride.” Even in the dim light of the parlor, I could see he was
almost gray with fatigue.

“I’m not an invalid, Mother.”

“Of course not.” I exchanged glances with
Mark, who’d just returned.

“C’mon, tough guy.” He scowled, but I could
hear the concern in his voice. “I’ll drive you home.”

I walked with them to the front door, kissed
Quinton’s cheek, and then drew Mark’s head down and whispered,
“Please see he isn’t disturbed, even in the event of a national
emergency.”

“That was my intention.”

“What was your intention, Mark?” Quinton
yawned again.

“Getting you home before you fall on your
ass.”

“Thank you, Mark.” I kissed his cheek, which
surprised him. “Drive carefully.”

“Yes, ma’am. Always do.”

I watched until the taillights disappeared,
and then closed the door and shut the outside light. A quick visit
to the kitchen revealed that Mark had put the plates and coffee
cups into the dishwasher.

I returned to the small parlor, and looked
up at the portrait. Nigel’s eyes seemed to be gazing into mine. “I
think Quinton has chosen well this time, darling.”

* * * *

As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary for
Quinton to see Dr. Helms.

Although he let Gregor take the credit for
it, Mark was the one who discovered what was behind Quinton’s
sleepless nights—subliminal perception due to his cell phone having
been tampered with. Which was so
Mission: Impossible
it
would have been amusing if my son hadn’t been the target. I wanted
to
hurt
someone.

Because the only place where he hadn’t felt
the need to keep his phone in his possession had been at
Langley.

The CIA had supposedly abandoned the
program, but for some reason, Edward Holmes had it resurrected.

The question was,
why
? And why gear
it toward my son, who was an exemplary officer? In addition, he had
nothing to do with Holmes’s department.

I hadn’t heard back from Folana, and my
brothers were still looking into a way to keep Holmes from sending
Quinton on any more useless operations.

However, I did receive a phone call from
Mark. “Mrs. Mann, Quinn’s fine. He’s got a new phone…” He rattled
off the number. “…and this time, he’ll keep it on him at all
times.”

I clenched my hands into fists. All that the
Sebring family had given to our country and this was how we were
repaid?

“He wants this kept in the family,” Mark was
saying. “But I’ve got my eye on Holmes, and if he even looks
cross-eyed at my—at Quinn, he’s a dead man.”

“Thank you, Mark.” I felt marginally better
about it. “I believe I’ll keep an eye on Director Holmes
myself.”

“Okay, ma’am. Just don’t get hurt. Quinn
wouldn’t be happy about it.”

* * * *

Another embassy ball, this one hosted by a
tiny Middle Eastern country that hadn’t been on the map six months
prior.

I made the rounds of the room, chatting with
friends and acquaintances. There was one woman I would have
preferred to avoid, but Sebrings knew how to do their duty.

“Elizabeth!” I greeted Senator Wexler’s
wife. We were almost the same age, but she intended to battle the
passage of time to a standstill. Her blonde hair, the product of a
very expensive salon, was drawn away from her face, revealing the
youthful tone of her skin, courtesy of her plastic surgeon. As for
her gown, it would have been more suitable on a woman several
decades her junior. “We missed you at the last meeting for the
American Heart Association.”

“Portia! I…er…I couldn’t make it. I
was…Something else came up.” Her smile was artificial, and her eyes
veered off mine.

I raised an eyebrow, but her gaze was fixed
on something beyond my shoulder.

“Perhaps next time you could let one of us
know?” If she were no longer interested in working with us, there
were other political wives who were. “I heard you’ve become a
grandmother again.” As well as Beatrice, who’d given birth this
past spring, Jennifer, her third youngest, had had another little
boy. Her daughters appeared to be as prolific as she herself.
“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Thank you also for the receiving
blanket you sent. It was quite lovely.”

“You’re welcome.” I’d found it in France.
“Jennifer sent a very nice thank you note.”

“Well, at least that finishing school taught
her something!”

“I understand Virginia…” Her oldest
daughter. “…will be a grandmother herself soon.” A shotgun wedding
had been involved. I had no objections to premarital sex—well,
obviously—but what I did object to was not providing a
seventeen-year-old access to any form of birth control other than
abstinence and then giving her no alternative beyond marrying the
boy who’d made her pregnant.

Elizabeth’s mouth tightened. “Can you
believe the absurdity of that? I’m much too young to be a…” the
words seemed to stick in her throat. “…a great-grandmother!” She
brought her hand to her throat, fiddling with the diamond slide
that hung there. “I see someone I need to speak with. Please excuse
me.”

I watched thoughtfully as she made her way
across the room. She joined a young man I hadn’t seen before,
although her body language indicated she knew him.

“Something bothering you, Mother?” Quinton
arrived with the flute of champagne that I’d requested. He was
looking so much better.

“I don’t know.”

“I recognize that look! You’ve got the bit
between your teeth, the bull by the horns, and you’re going to
worry it until you’re satisfied with the results.”

“That’s certainly mixing your metaphors,
Quinton.”

He laughed. “Let me know if you need my
help.”

I smiled myself. He was in such good
spirits. “Do you know that young man with Elizabeth Wexler?”

“Who? Oh, that’s Peter Lapin. He’s the
Senator’s newest aide.”

“Ah.” I’d heard the previous one had passed
away suddenly last spring from a severe asthma attack. Such a
tragedy. “Quinton, is it my imagination, or does Elizabeth
seem…fascinated with him?”

“She’s certainly giving that impression.” He
took a sip of his own champagne. “You have an amazing sense about
things like that.”

“You flatter me, sweetheart.”

“Merely the truth, Mother.” He smiled. “That
gown is lovely, by the way. It emphasizes the blue of your
eyes.”

“Thank you. Your father always did like this
shade of blue. I must say you and Mark both look distinguished
tonight. There’s something about a man in a tuxedo.”

“I learned my fashion sense from my
mother.”

“Scamp. Don’t let your uncles hear that!” We
both chuckled. “I haven’t seen Mark for a while. He didn’t seem too
thrilled to be here tonight.”

“He never is. He’s around somewhere,
probably putting the fear of God into some hapless politico.” His
smile was wry, but there was more than a touch of fondness in it.
They’d been together for almost nine months now. “He doesn’t enjoy
having to schmooze.”