1 Chapter 1
New 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.
