Chapter 70

~*~

JUST LIKE THE LAST time we’d seen the Phantom, I was annoyed when, during the Masquerade scene, no one realized the man in the mask was too fucking short to be the real Phantom.

“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

“I’m glad.” He stepped to the curb, about to hail a cab. “Do you want a nightcap?” We’d had wine with dinner and a Manhattan to honor Portia during the intermission at the Phantom. Usually I restricted my alcoholic intake, but fuck it, I was on my honeymoon. I could let myself have another drink.

I looked him up and down. “I think I’d rather—” I stopped and looked around. “Dammit.”

Quinn went still. “What is it?”

“I’ve got that feeling again.”

“That we’re being watched? Even if Taylor is here, what does it matter? I’m not with the CIA any longer.” And although he hadn’t been for more than a year, he was still the quintessential operative. Without being obvious about it, his gaze quartered the area. “I don’t see anyone.”