Where the Heart Chooses (29 page)

“It’s an attractive dimple, but I never felt
any desire to explore it,” I teased, hoping to distract her. I
wasn’t successful.

“As if I didn’t know that. You’re just being
silly. You should find someone, even if you don’t want to remarry,
someone to escort you to balls like this, or your charity
affairs.”

“I do have someone,” I assured her
patiently.

“I don’t mean your son. I saw him earlier,
by the way. He’s looking very well.” She didn’t give me a chance to
thank her. “You need companionship, Portia. There is a life after
Nigel.”

“Yes, but do you know, Allison, it just
isn’t the same.”

“I don’t know whether to pity you or envy
you.”

“There’s no need to do either. Now, how are
your children?”

“Ian had sympathy morning sickness! Did you
ever hear of that?”

“I can’t say that I did. Nigel never
complained of it, at any rate.”

“I enjoyed being pregnant,” she mused.
“Except for the morning sickness, the indigestion, the
constipation. What we suffer for our children.”

I patted her hand. I wasn’t going to tell
her I hadn’t suffered from any of those. “How’s Tommy?” I thought
fondly of my godson. “Is he still seeing that girl…Danielle?”

“No, she ran off with one of his
friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What is Tommy up to
these days?”

“I…” She glanced quickly around the room,
and then lowered her voice. “I think he might be…gay.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I happened to come across a website—I
wasn’t snooping! He was supposed to upload…update…I don’t know…’up’
something or other on my computer, and when I opened the browser, I
found…I’m an adult woman, Portia, and I had some idea what two men
did together, but to actually see it—”

“Shocking?”

“Actually, it was arousing. Although if his
father should learn of this…”

“Clarkson’s an ass. How do
you
feel
about it?”

“Really, Portia. Your brother is gay. How do
you
feel about that?”

“He’s my brother. No matter whom he chooses
to love, he’ll always be my brother.”

“Exactly. And Tommy will always be my
son.”

I patted her hand again. “Forgive me for
saying this, but since he’s my godson, I have the right. I hope he
practices safe sex, no matter who his partner is.”

“I know, but I can hardly bring that up to
him. At least you had Gregor to talk to Quinton. By the way, how is
Gregor’s sister?” Allison knew Alyona not only from the dinner
parties I’d hosted, but from the time she’d spent in Great Falls.
“Too bad she’s up in New York. Chance could have hired her!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “She would have
run his kitchen like a general. She’s doing well, thank you for
asking.” I was afraid the cold weather in New York would affect her
joints, but she never complained of it. “Gregor usually goes up to
see her and their cousins around Thanksgiving. I’m considering
going with him this year, and Quinton as well if he has some spare
time.”

I gave a thought to how frequently he seemed
to be in Mark Vincent’s company this evening. That wasn’t to say he
neglected his responsibilities, because even though he was
attending this ball at my request, he still represented State.
“Now, shall we rejoin the party?”

“We may as well.” She smoothed on a fresh
coat of lipstick, and we left the lounge.

“Do you see Wexler anywhere?” I asked.

“The pompous fool. I think he’s by the
bar.”

“Then I’m off in the other direction. Ah,
there’s Elise Franklin.” She was the wife of a senator who was on
the Appropriations Committee along with Senator Wexler. I found it
interesting that both senators were here tonight—Senator Franklin
had been talking with Mark Vincent earlier. “I want to speak with
her about the abuse counseling we’re thinking of setting up for the
women’s shelter.”

“That’s a good idea. Let me know what you
decide. And now I’d better go see if I can find Chance.”

“Good luck, Allison.”

“I’ll manage somehow. I always do, don’t I?
Oh God, that sounded pitiful! I’m so sorry!”

“No need to be.” She was a strong woman, and
if she hadn’t been so enamored with being a mother and wife all
those years ago, I would have suggested she submit her resume to
the NSA. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything I can do
for you, call me.”

“Alli!” Her husband appeared out of nowhere.
Unlike the usual houndstooth trousers worn by professional chefs,
he wore a tuxedo. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I had to
hear it from my sous-chef!”

“Chance. I wanted to surprise you.” She
would have kissed his cheek, but he turned his head and their lips
met. Her hand crept up to caress his throat, and he shivered.

“You have! I thought you’d be in Palm
Springs! I’m so happy you’re here!” And either he was an excellent
actor, or he meant those words. “Come dance with me, sweetheart.
Oh! Hullo, Mrs. Mann. I didn’t see you there.”

“Hello, Chance.”

“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”

“Certainly. Enjoy the music, Allison.” And
we parted company.

* * * *

Our discussion about the counselor we were
thinking of hiring complete, we were now talking about family.

“Sully looks dashing in his Service Dress
Blues,” she said about her son. “And in spite of the fact that I’m
so proud of his choice to join the Navy, I do worry about him.”

“Don’t all mothers worry?”

“Yes. We can only hope the men they follow are
capable and smart enough to keep them out of harm’s way.”

“Portia!” It was Wexler again.

“And honorable would be nice as well,” I added
sotto voce. “Senator.”

“Now, now, didn’t I tell you to call me
Richard?”

“Senator.” If he was going to be so aggravating,
I saw no need to accommodate him. “You know Elise Franklin, I’m
sure. Her husband is on the Appropriations Committee with you.”

“Oh…er…yes. It’s nice to see you, Mrs.
Franklin.”

“Senator.”

“Your husband was looking for you. Something
about a dance.”

“Indeed?” The expression on her face revealed
her disbelief. “Thank you. Portia, I’ll see you in a week or so.”
And she took the opportunity to escape Wexler’s vicinity.

Fortunately Quinton was once more in the
room. In between dances with the wives and daughters of
dignitaries—and the occasional mistress—I’d seen him talking with
Mark Vincent. Both appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Just now, however, Quinton was alone.

I raised my left hand and toyed with the
black pearl in my ear, and Quinton sauntered over to join us.

“Senator, you know my son, Quinton, I
believe? He’s assistant to the undersecretary at State.”

“How do you do, Senator?”

“Son. I told Portia earlier that she doesn’t
look old enough to have a son working for the government.”

At that moment Quinton was very much his
father’s son. No one would have known simply by looking at him how
very much he loathed being called “son”‘ by any man not his father,
but most especially this man.

“She has kept herself well, hasn’t she?” His
sardonic tone went right over the officious man’s head. “Mother,
are you ready to leave? I’m afraid I need to make an early night of
it.”

“Certainly, sweetheart. Just let me visit
the ladies’ lounge.” I made my escape. There was no need for
Quinton to go out of his way to drive me home. Fortunately Gregor
had told me earlier he would be in the Capitol. I’d place a call to
him.

* * * *

Once the call was complete, it was simply a
matter of waiting until Gregor arrived. Perhaps Wexler would have
recalled there was somewhere else he needed to be by the time I
rejoined my son?

Unfortunately, he was still bending
Quinton’s ear, but as I watched, Mark Vincent approached and routed
the senator by asking a loaded question: “Tell me, Senator, have
you stopped beating your wife?”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing
out loud.

Wexler flushed scarlet and began to babble.
“It’s…I don’t…I need to let Daren know we won’t need…My apologies
to your mother, please, Mann. Vincent.” And Wexler hurried off.

Quinton realized I was there, and he smiled
ironically. “Mother, you’ll be sorry to hear Senator Wexler is
unavailable to drive you home.”

“I’m heartbroken.”

Vincent stared at me, a slightly baffled
expression on his face. I raised a questioning eyebrow, but he
shook his head and looked over the room, something I’d noticed him
do quite frequently.

“Why don’t you and Mr. Vincent stay and
enjoy the ball, Quinton? I called Gregor, and he should be arriving
to pick me up shortly. Mr. Vincent. It was nice seeing you
again.”

“Mrs. Mann. It was nice meeting you. For the
first time.” He’d consistently refused to acknowledge he’d
interviewed me as Harriman Patterson.

I smiled at him and turned to Quinton. “Walk
me to the cloakroom, sweetheart.”

“What are you up to, Mother?” he asked in an
undertone as we walked down to the lobby floor. “And please don’t
answer a question with a question.”

“Very well.” I wasn’t going to tell him
about the search I’d instigated with a “dead” woman. Quinton was an
adult and would be unhappy if he thought I didn’t give him credit
for being able to take care of himself. “I was intrigued by what
little Gregor was able to discover regarding Mark Vincent.”

“Mark is WBIS to the core. You know the
reputation their agents have.” He retrieved my lynx coat and held
it while I slid my arms into the sleeves.

“Yes, but I don’t think he would endanger
you.”

He drew on a poker face that would have made
his father proud. “I don’t understand what you’re driving at. Why
would I worry about being endangered by Mark Vincent?”

I smiled. Although I was willing to withhold
judgment for the moment, if Mark Vincent hurt my son the way Armand
Bauchet had, I’d do more than cancel a wine shipment.

At that moment, Gregor arrived. “Mrs.
Mann?”

“Thank you for coming, Gregor. I’m sorry to
call you out on your night off.”

“I was just at my club, and believe me,
chauffeuring you is more fun than sitting around with a bunch of
old fu-men, listening to their arteries harden.” He glanced around,
making sure it was safe—once FBI, always FBI—and scowled when he
saw Mark Vincent. “It looks like Wayne Center will need to be
fumigated. What’s
he
doing here?”

“He’s representing the WBIS.”

“Has anyone turned up dead?”

“He’s been on his best behavior,” Quinton
murmured.

“And how would you know what his best
behavior is, Quinn?”

A slight flush mounted Quinton’s cheeks, but
he brushed the hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Well, as you
noted, Gregor, no one is dead, not even the ubiquitous Senator
Wexler.”

“Jesus, don’t tell me that dirtbag was
here!” An indication of Gregor’s ire—he hadn’t thought to censor
his language. “It looks like the Center really will need to be
fumigated.”

“For rodents? Yes. He was annoying Mother,
as usual.”

I didn’t bother looking around to make sure
no one was close enough to overhear. Quinton wouldn’t have said
something like that without making sure himself.

Vincent approached us, curling his lip at
Gregor’s sneer. But when he turned his gaze on Quinton, his
expression became almost hungry.

Hmm. I thought of that flush. Knowing how
Sebrings were, I wanted to tell my son to be careful. Knowing how
Manns were, I wanted to tell him to throw caution to the winds.

Instead, I kissed his cheek, nodded at
Vincent, and took Gregor’s arm. A glance over my shoulder showed my
son and the WBIS agent standing side by side.

* * * *

“I’m telling you, Portia, I don’t think it
was a good idea leaving Quinn back there.” We were on the road,
heading for Great Falls.

“Did you want to carry him off?” I met his
eyes in the rearview mirror—no matter how much I objected, he
wouldn’t allow me to sit beside him.

“You know that isn’t what I meant. Quinn’s a
grown man, and he can take care of himself. But Vincent is a loose
cannon, and the only way I’d trust him is if he were six feet
under, with a stake through his black heart.”

“As you say, Quinton is a grown man.”

“Well, I’m keeping an eye on Vincent.”

“Yes, Gregor.”

* * * *

Once we arrived home, he offered to make a
pot of tea.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“It will only take a minute. You…uh…you
won’t mind if I don’t stay to drink it with you?” He was
blushing.

“Of course not.” Had I taken him away from a
date? “I’m just grateful that you were able to drive me home
tonight.”

“Nigel would have…” His lower lip quivered,
and then he stiffened it. “He wouldn’t have expected any less.”

“Thank you.”

After he’d left, I took my cup of tea into
Nigel’s study. I felt the need to be close to him, to take the
taste of Senator Wexler from my mouth.

My cell phone rang, and while I didn’t
recognize the number, I was familiar with the city code.

I removed the pearl stud from my ear.
“Hello?”

“Portia.”

“Folana. You’re well?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Yes. You have more news?” I knew she
wouldn’t be offended by the shortness of my query.

“I discovered something more about the man
you wanted me to investigate. Even before you asked this of me, I
was aware of what happened in South America. Portia…there was a
more recent incident in Ho Chi Minh City. Park Jung-su had been
invited there.”

“Hmm.” I knew North Korea expected the
intelligence community to believe Park was a low-ranking member of
the Third Building, its secret service, but what was he doing in
Vietnam?