Where the Heart Chooses (24 page)

Quinton looked thoughtful. “What else, Uncle
Bryan?”

“Holmes is attempting to distance himself
from Buonfiglio. For what it’s worth, the two of them had been seen
together quite frequently.”

“I don’t know much about Holmes, so I’m
willing to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Quinton said.

“I’m not. I won’t.” Bryan’s mouth was a grim
line. “I intend to keep an eye on him. Unobtrusively, of
course.”

“Of course.”

“There’s one more thing. Drum isn’t going to
get that commendation he was anticipating. The briefcase you were
supposed to pick up held nothing but junk.”

“Excuse me?”

“That nonpolluting, renewable source of
energy is useless.”

“I imagine the Company is going to want to
talk to Dr. Bruchner.”

“Who? Oh the scientist who came up with it?
He’s in the wind. I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Gregor announced. “Let’s
eat before talking about this situation gives us all
indigestion.”

* * * *

It had been a quiet summer, and now autumn
was just around the corner.

Quinton and the little ER doctor had tried
for eight weeks to date, but between her work and his, they’d only
managed to see each other a grand total of two times, and so they
decided to part ways, with no hard feelings.

“I’m sorry for that, Mother,” he told me
during our Sunday ride. “It seemed like I’d be free, but she’d be
on call, or she’d be free, and I’d be flying to Europe or South
America.”

“If she were the one, you’d have made time
to see her, sweetheart.”

“I suppose.”

I reached across and patted his knee.
“Allison and her husband will be coming for lunch on Tuesday. Will
you be available?”

“I have to stop at the Pentagon in the
morning, but I should be able to make lunch.”

“Never tell me Drum needs something!”

“All right, I won’t.” He turned his head and
met my eyes, a sly grin on his face. “But he does.”

I laughed and shook my head.

* * * *

Gregor and I were listening to the morning
program on the radio when the first news bulletin came over. We
bolted for the living room and turned on CNN.

We watched in horror as the North Tower
burned, and then as another jet slammed into the second tower.

I went cold when a crawl along the bottom of
the screen revealed the Pentagon had been hit.

“Gregor…Quinton’s at the Pentagon!”

“I’ll call Bryan and see what he knows.” He
pulled out his cell phone and then swore in Czech. “The lines must
be overwhelmed.”

The phone in my study began to ring, and I
ran to answer it. “Yes?” Mother would have been disappointed, but
etiquette could go hang right then.

“Mother—”

“Quinton.” Oh thank God. “Are you all
right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I can’t stay on the line. I
just wanted you to know I’m still here at Langley. General
Kirkpatrick canceled the meeting at the OIG after he was notified
the North Tower was hit.”

“Thank you for calling, sweetheart.”

“I have to go.”

“I understand. Quinton…keep yourself
safe.”

“Always, Mother. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I hung up the phone and
looked at Gregor. “He’s all right. Kirkpatrick canceled the
meeting.”

“Portia.” He did something he’d never done
in all the time I’d known him. He pulled me into his embrace and
held me. And while we both shook in relief, we also grieved the
senseless loss of life.

And this time, the world went into
mourning.

* * * *

“I don’t like her, Portia.”

I knew who Gregor was talking about. For
some time Quinton had been dating a woman from Justice. Susan
Burkhart was attractive, and Quinton apparently enjoyed her
company, but something seemed to be missing.

“She changed her hair from brunette to
blonde.”

“Gregor, many women change the color of
their hair.”

“Yeah, but…it’s freaky how similar she
looked to you.”

“
What
?”

He nodded. “Y’ know that black outfit Madame
Rosa made for you? She was wearing a copy of it, and from a
distance, anyone would think it was you.”

“I fail to see her rationale. Why would a
young woman want to resemble her boyfriend’s mother?”

“Maybe she thinks that’s the only way she
can get him.”

“How Oedipal.” The thought made me
nauseous.

“From what I could learn, she’s been pushing
Quinn for an invitation to Christmas dinner.”

“Because that would be as good as a
declaration of intentions.”

“Yeah. The next thing she’d expect would be
an engagement ring.” The phone rang, and Gregor picked it up. “Mann
residence. Oh, hey, Quinn, we were just talking about you. We’re
both good. How are you? Oh yeah?” He put a hand over the receiver.
“Quinn’s got an assignment right after the New Year.”

“Will he be able to join us for
Christmas?”

“Quinn, your mom wants to know if you’re
coming here for—you will? Cool. Uh…you do?” He covered the receiver
again. “He wants to bring someone. Quinn? Who?” He blew out a
relieved breath. “Sure, we’d love to have DB here.”

I could understand Gregor’s relief.
Not
Susan Burkhart. DB Cooper was a friend of my son’s who
also worked for the CIA. Quinton spoke warmly of him, and I was
pleased I’d finally get to meet him.

“We’ll need to pick up a gift for him,
Gregor. Ask Quinton what DB likes.”

“Hold on a sec, Quinn. Here, Portia. You’re
going to want to talk to him anyway.”

I took the phone from him. “Hello,
sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mother. How are you?”

“Very well. And you?”

“I’m fine. Well, almost fine. I need to
break up with Susan, and it’s not going to be pretty. I promised to
take her to the New Year’s Eve affair the Company is having at the
Madison Arms. God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll need to
buy her a Christmas gift as well.”

“A scarf and gloves, Quinton, if you’re
serious about breaking up with her.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Thank
you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I really appreciate you allowing me to
bring DB home for Christmas.”

“Not at all. He isn’t able to see his
family?”

“No. I’m sure they miss him a good deal, but
something’s going on in his department, and he has to remain
available.”

“Pity.”

“Yes, it is. He’s very close with his
parents and siblings.”

“Well, since he’s your friend, he’s more
than welcome to visit anytime. Now, suppose you give me some idea
of what DB’s tastes run to?”

“Anything that had to do with
Aliens
.” There was amusement in his voice.

“Aliens? As in outer space aliens?”

“As in the James Cameron movie.”

“I don’t believe I’ve seen that.”

“If there’s a lull in the conversation, just
mention the subject. He’ll be more than happy to go into exhaustive
detail.”

“If he enjoys the movie that much…perhaps a
popcorn machine?”

“The kind that looks like a little pushcart?
Sounds perfect, Mother.” He laughed. I loved to hear him so happy.
For months after that day in September, no one had laughed. “Just
don’t forget the starter kit.”

“I’ll go online and see what I can
find.”

“I’m impressed!”

“Scamp!”

“I know. I have to inform DB he’s got a
place to come for Christmas dinner. Thanks so much for inviting
him.”

As long as Quinton didn’t ask me to extend
an invitation to Susan Burkhart, he could even bring Mark Vincent,
that WBIS agent everyone was wary of, to spend the holiday with us.
“Your friends are always welcome.”

“Thank you. I love you, Mother. Bye.”

“I love you too, Quinton. Good-bye.”

* * * *

Christmas was chilly, although once again
there was no snow.

Tony and Bryan had flown in from the West
Coast, where they were living now. Earlier in the fall, Bryan had
announced he’d had enough, he was retiring. And since he no longer
had anything keeping him in Washington—he and Johanna had divorced
in 1990, after both Mother and Father were gone, and he’d moved to
a one-bedroom condo in Dupont Circle—he was moving to Los
Angeles.

“But what will you do?”

“A friend is producing a TV show,
CIA
, and he’s asked me to be technical advisor.”

Shortly after Bryan’s announcement, Tony
made one of his own—he was leaving the NSA and moving to the West
Coast as well. “I have no desire to drop dead at my desk,” he
informed us. “And besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on the
sprout.” He slid an arm around Bryan’s shoulders.

There had been such tension, such distance
between them for so many years. All we could do was shake our heads
and be thankful they’d worked out whatever it was that had kept
them apart.

They were spending Christmas with me, and we
would all ring in the New Year with Jefferson and Ludovic, who’d
moved to Shadow Brook after Father passed away.

“Thank you for coming with us,” I said as
Tony turned into the parking lot of Arlington National Cemetery.
Quinton and I would bring Nigel up to date on whatever had gone on
in our lives.

“We wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Because it’s your turn to accompany us,”
Quinton teased.

“We love our baby sister very much,” Bryan
responded. Each year my brothers took turns coming with us to the
cemetery. Gregor remained home, preparing our Christmas dinner. The
only year he’d joined us, he’d broken down, and so we never asked
him to try again.

“Still, if your hip is bothering you,
Bryan…”

A few years before, during one of the rare
times we were all together at Shadow Brook, we’d been schooling our
mounts over the jumps in the paddock, and Bryan’s had taken it
wrong, going down heavily and rolling over him before managing to
regain its footing.

We thought nothing of it. “Get up, you big
baby,” Tony sniped when Bryan just lay there. “You’ve simply had
the wind knocked out of you.”

Bryan tried to sit up, and then he jammed
his gloved hand into his mouth to stifle a groan. Tony was off his
mount and beside him, while Jefferson went after Bryan’s horse and
I caught up the reins of Tony’s chestnut and led him away.

I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and
jumped off. “Ogilvie, take the horses!”

The head groom came running out of the
stable. “What…? Oh my God, Mr. Bryan!” He pulled a cell phone from
his pocket and tossed it to me.

I dialed 911 and spoke to dispatch. “This is
Mrs. Mann. I need an ambulance at Shadow Brook Farm. It’s at the
end of—”

“
I’m a local boy, ma’am. I know where it
is. What happened?”

“
My brother’s horse fell and rolled on
him.”

“
Is he conscious?”

“
Yes.”

“
Ask him what hurts.”

“
Bryan, what hurts?”

“
H-hip,” Bryan said between clenched
teeth. He was pale and sweating, and I was afraid he was going into
shock.

“
He’s complaining of his hip.”

“
All right. I’ve notified Rescue, and
they should be there in about five minutes.”

“
Thank you. Do you need me to stay on the
line?”

“
No, ma’am.”

I hung up and returned the phone to Ogilvie
with a word of thanks. “They’ll be here in about five minutes.”

“
I’m sorry, Bryan.” Tony was almost as
pale as Bryan. “I’m so sorry!”

Bryan raised his hand, but then it dropped,
and he slumped in Tony’s embrace, unconscious.

It turned out there was some internal
bruising as well as a fractured hip, but nothing major, and within
the week, Bryan had been released with a pin in his hip and
crutches to bear his weight. He’d dispensed with those crutches as
soon as he was able.

Tony turned off the ignition and hurried
around to the passenger side to open the door for Bryan.

“You don’t have to fuss, big brother.”

“I’m not fussing. I simply don’t want you to
fall on that pretty face of yours and break your nose. Think of the
disappointment of all the ladies in Hollywood.”

Bryan blushed but laughed. “And we wouldn’t
want that, would we?”

“No. Portia, why don’t you and Quinn go to
Nigel’s grave? We’ll wait by the Tomb of the Unknowns.” My brothers
always gave us that time alone.

“All right.” Quinton took my arm, and we
strolled down the path that led to the place where Nigel was
buried.

We’d ordered a half blanket of red roses and
white carnations for Nigel’s grave. “It always looks lovely,” I
murmured. “Well, darling, things aren’t much different from last
year or the year before. The charities are doing well. Allison is
still married to number five. I wonder if Chance Dashwood will last
longer than the last one. Tony and Bryan are alive and well. They
both resigned—I know, we were all stunned—and moved out to Los
Angeles this past fall. They’re sharing a house out there, and they
haven’t killed each other yet! We used to wonder what had caused
the breach between them. Now we wonder what healed it. Gregor sends
his regards. He misses you, darling.”
And I miss you more than I
can say!
“Quinton?”

“Hello, Father. This was an intriguing year.
A relatively risk-free assignment this past summer resulted in me
being shot for my pains. Oh, nothing serious, just a flesh wound to
my thigh. That was when I ran into Mark Vincent. He’s WBIS and
after your time, but I think you’d have found him an interesting
agent. His partner was killed in South America back in ’93, I think
it was, and Vincent flew down and took apart the cartel that was
behind it. You always valued loyalty. Well, the whole family does.
What else? Do you remember me mentioning Marnie, the doctor who
worked for the CDC? We broke up. I dated the doctor who stitched me
up last summer—I know, I never thought I’d have a thing for
doctors.” He chuckled, but sobered quickly and sighed. “Our
schedules just didn’t mesh. And Susan, the woman I’m seeing now?
I’ll be breaking up with her next week. Maybe one of these years
I’ll be able to tell you about someone I’m still with.”