by
The New Year of 2002 starts off with a literal bang, when Mark Vincent is called to WBIS headquarters and learns the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security has been disbanded. He's not happy with the situation, but he's ready to make his own way in the intelligence waters of DC. However, when Trevor Wallace, known as The Boss, requests he accept the CIA's offer of a job, Mark reluctantly agrees. He isn't surprised to find working for the CIA is exactly what he expected, with the Company not allowing him to do his job. Mark lets his resentment be known as he's partnered with one officer after another, with no success. As a result, he's determined to leave the CIA, in spite of his promise to the man whose opinion he valued so highly.
Quinton Mann is viewed as royalty in the intelligence community. He had a run-in with Mark Vincent a few years before, while Vincent was still senior special agent for the WBIS, and Quinn had developed a healthy respect for him. Now, however, it's his turn to partner with the man considered by the alphabet agencies to be a sociopath.
Quinn can see what the problem is, and he's aware Vincent might not remain CIA for long. Now, the year is drawing to a close. Will a drink on Christmas Eve change things for both men?
Publisher: JMS Books, LLC
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Bisexual, Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 2 Age: 36-45
Tropes: Enemies to Lovers
Word Count: 27,169
Setting: Washington, DC
Languages Available: English
New Year's Day 2002
This had turned out to be a decent end to a year that was only so/so. I'd gotten my customary bonuses and commendations from the WBIS-the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security-and an additional six weeks of vacation time in the bank. That made almost seventy-five weeks now, and one of these days I might actually get around to using them.
In an unusual turn of events, I was in the States this holiday season and decided to take advantage of it. I climbed into the Oscar de la Renta monkey suit The Boss-and yeah, that was in all caps. He was that kind of boss-insisted I buy, fiddled with the bow tie until it was perfect, and shot the cuffs, making sure I looked good enough to eat. Most of the time I didn't think dumb thoughts like that, but that particular day I was pleased with myself and with life and the world in general.
And since I didn't have to leave the country on assignment until January 2, all I had to do was decide how I wanted to ring in the New Year-with Portuguese, French, or Italian for dinner, a redhead, blond, or brunet for bed.
I wound up spending New Year's Eve with a good friend who happened to be a rent boy. He told me up front he wasn't accepting a penny from me, so I took him to dinner at Raphael's, a newish Italian restaurant that was making quite a name for itself for its mouth-watering food and equally mouth-watering waitstaff, who were strictly off limits. But they gave excellent service and were worth the twenty percent tip automatically added to the bill, so I generally gave them an extra ten percent. Then we'd gone dancing at the Dolley Madison Room, where the CIA had apparently lost their collective minds and decided to host a New Year's Eve ball for the intelligence community. WBIS agents were there, and even Mr. Wallace put in an appearance, dancing first with Granger, our resident crossdresser, and then with my friend Paul before he left.
Quinton Mann was also there, and he had a skinny woman clinging to his arm.
"Talk about a waste," I muttered, forgetting Granger was at my side just then, sipping a Coke and pretending it was a Cuba Libre
"What?"
"Quinton Mann."
"Where?"
I pointed him out.
"Hmm. I thought he would have been taller."
"Don't let his height fool you." Or his poor taste in women. "The man's good."
"Really?" Granger gave me an interested look.
I gave him a brief rundown of what had happened at the Wyman Brothers warehouse on the Patapsco River a year and a half ago.
"Ah, I remember now." She-when Granger wore a dress, I found it easier to refer to him as a "she"-glanced from Mann back to me. "Why don't you ask him to dance?"
"He's straight."
"So is The Boss, but he danced with me and your friend."
Fortunately, Paul bounced up to me just then. "Come waltz with me, Mark."
"Sure. I'll see you later, Gabi."
"Oh, you can bet on it."
"What was that about?" Paul asked.
"Nothing."
Being a smart rent boy, he let it go.
And I, being a smart special agent, made sure to keep my distance from Mann. I'd had a couple of glasses of champagne before I realized he was there-champagne did crazy things to my libido. As I'd told Granger, Mann was straight. No sense in walking in temptation's path.
****
After the ball dropped, I brought Paul up to the room I'd booked earlier that evening-I never took anyone to my apartment in Forest Heights. Usually a room at the Madison Arms for New Year's Eve would be impossible to get, but the man who worked the front desk owed me a favor, so Paul and I would stay there for what remained of the night, have breakfast in bed courtesy of Room Service, and then I'd drive him home.
Paul stood for a moment studying the room's amenities, then sauntered up to me and curled an arm around my neck. "Very nice, babe. Thanks."
"You're welcome." I ran a palm over the firm curve of his butt. It would be enjoyable to spend the first hours of the New Year with him on such a luxurious bed, especially since Paul refused to accept money for his time; he deserved it.
Please be aware this is an alternate reality. Although it takes place in 2002, the WBIS has been disbanded and Mark Vincent has been recruited by the CIA.
