App herunterladen
0.98% Not My Spook / Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Not My Spook Not My Spook original

Not My Spook

Autor:

© WebNovel

Kapitel 1: Chapter 1

“Drum called again.” Major Jonathan Drum II worked out of the Pentagon, and he was an even bigger pain in my ass than Mark Vincent.

“That—What did he want?”

“What he usually wants: another favor. I wasn’t home, so he had to leave a message. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. He’s got quite an interesting vocabulary.” Lately it had seemed to me he was calling more frequently. Drum worked for the OIG andwas a smart lawyer, but he was also good-looking, and he often got by on those looks. I didn’t mind helping out on occasion, but now it was as if he expected me to drop everything to do his bidding. I wasn’t about to permit him or anyone else to use me.

“Son of a bitch. Why doesn’t he do his own legwork?” Fortunately DB’s question was purely rhetorical. He picked up his drink and finished it in a few gulps.

“You’d better take it easy, David. The last thing you need is to get stopped for driving under the influence.”

“I’m okay. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“There’s no need. I’m fine.” I pushed back my sleeve to check the watch that had been my grandfather’s—I’d been touched when Uncle Bryan had given it to me, telling me Grandfather had specifically requested I have it. “It’s getting late, and I’d better go.” I wanted to find out why Mark had called. “Are you staying?”

“No.” He reached for his wallet.

I stopped him, took out mine, and peeled off a bill, which I handed to the waiter. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You should have let me get this, Quinn. After all, Jack Daniels is more expensive than ginger ale.” He followed me out of the bar.

“I can afford it. Besides, it’s only fair. I feel as if I ruined your evening.”

“Not your fault things got exciting there for a bit. And you were right, much as I hate to admit it. Vincent wouldn’t do something as dumb as blowing himself up. Although I can still dream.”

“You—we may not like him, but you have to give the man his due. He does get the job done.” I unlocked the door to my car and got in.

“Yeah, only people die when he does.” He leaned down, keeping me from shutting the door, and gave me one last warning. “Call me when you get home, Quinn. Or by God I’ll come knocking on your door.”

“Yes, mother. You drive carefully too.” I grinned at him, and fortunately the light was dim enough that he didn’t see how forced it was. I was relieved when he chuckled and shut the door.

I buckled up, put the car into drive, and started home, wondering again why Mark had tried to call me.

* * * *

I returned his call as soon as I got in. He sounded tired, and I wasn’t surprised when I heard myself tell him, “Come over. I’ll make you a sandwich and something hot to drink. You can ‘crash’ in my spare bedroom.”

After all, it was simply the right thing to do for a…colleague.

Now…toasted cheese and tomato soup?

No, that was a boy’s comfort food. He’d need something more substantial—bacon, lettuce, and tomato, perhaps, and I had a fresh loaf of multigrain bread.

The last thing he’d need was caffeine. I had some Earl Grey that was decaffeinated. I’d brew him a pot of that.

One drank it with milk, but I had none in the house. I did have half-and-half for my coffee, but that would make the tea richer-tasting.

Since I had no idea if Mark preferred it that way, I drove down to a small, all-night grocery store, which was only about a half mile away. Most of the milk was dated for the next day, but I found a pint bottle whose pull date was still a few days away.

“You want a bag for that?” The cashier was bored and sleepy looking, and he took my money and automatically made change.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” I took my change and the bottle and returned home, garaged the Lexus, and let myself back into my town house.

After I put the milk in the fridge beside my half-and-half, I hung up my overcoat. Little, inconsequential things, all done by rote.

Once they were taken care of, I brewed the pot of Earl Grey and categorized what I’d need to do:

Switch on the fan in the hood above the stove, take out a frying pan and lay some strips of bacon in it, then turn the flame on beneath it.

I got that accomplished, then glanced at my watch. I really hadn’t expected Mark to show up immediately, but…where was he? And what was he doing?

Well, it was just as well he wasn’t here. I still had to put his sandwich together.

While the bacon fried, I washed lettuce and a tomato and put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster.

There were more things to do:

Drain the bacon on sheets of paper towels, wipe the frying pan down, wash and dry it, and then put it away.

Enumerating all the little tasks that needed to be done and then doing them did nothing to blot out the memory of Mark as he stood in the morgue. He’d been just so fucking nonchalant about the whole thing, as if bodies turning up, being mistaken for his occurred on a frequent basis.

I put the sandwich together, and the sensation in the pit of my stomach grew colder, the rigidity in my jaw tighter. How could he…?

My mouth was in a tight line, and my teeth ached from grinding them. I rotated my jaw,hoping to ease the tension.

And to whom, exactly, did that body in the morgue belong? A lover, perhaps?

A series of loud thwacks brought me out of my furious musings, and I stared aghast from the large knife in my hand to the sandwich. I’d had no intention of slicing off the crusts, but apparently my subconscious had other ideas.

I put the knife in the dishwasher and was distracted by the sight of my breakfast dishalready in place. My breakfast dish, but not my coffee cup. I knew I hadn’t had the time to put it there, and it wasn’t my cleaning service’s usual day. That left Mark. He had been here at some point today—the photograph replacing JessicaTheDumbBlonde’s was proof enough of that. Although why he’d tidied my kitchen…. And then it occurred to me: what better way of thumbing his nose at my security system?

I opened the microwave, and as I’d half suspected, there sat my coffee cup. Smiling wryly, I dumped its contents into the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the top rack of the dishwasher.


next chapter

Kapitel 2: Chapter 2

As I closed it, I realized I was grasping at any excuse to interrupt my thoughts. I’dnever lost my temper because a colleague had met with a near miss, and I’d certainly never been jealous.

Why now? Why this man?

Just then my doorbell chimed. I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and went to the door, pausing to peer through the peephole before opening it. No, I wasn’t expecting anyone except Mark, but it wouldn’t pay to grow careless.

Of course it was Mark standing there, and my breath caught at the sight of him, the lines at the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth deeply etched. I opened the door, and the weariness was wiped from his face, quickly replaced with his patented manic grin.

I could understand why Major Drum was uneasy whenever he came into contact with Mark Vincent.

“Come in before you frighten the neighbors, Mark. You look like death warmed over.”

His grin morphed into a scowl, but it took an effort. What had gone on with him today?Certainly it was upsetting to learn one’s home had been blown up, but his weariness seemed out of proportion to that.

But then someone had died in that explosion. Again I wondered if it had been a lover. I’d seen the way he’d curled his lip when regarding the deceased, but that didn’t mean that at some point in time there couldn’t have been warmer feelings between them.

“Go on into the kitchen; I’m sure you know where it is.”

He took a step forward, paused and looked down at his feet, then removed his shoes andsocks, which were obviously soaked through. For a moment he seemed uncertain as to what to do with his socks, but then he stuffed them into the pocket of his suit jacket.

That was…considerate of him. I reached for the duffel he carried. “I’ll take your bag up to the guest bedroom.”

“Jesus, Mann.” He wouldn’t let it go. “We’re adversaries. Don’t treat me like a fucking guest.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped. “I have no intention of getting some kind of vicarious thrill by searching through your clothes, so give me your fucking bag, go in the kitchen, and eat your goddamned sandwich. And for God’s sake, call me Quinn!”

Of course I was stunned by my verbal assault on him, but I didn’t know who was more surprised when he released his grip on his bag.

It was extremely lightweight. He’d said something about keeping a spare set of clothes in his office, but how much was in there?

I turned on my heel and went up to the second floor, left the duffel beside the bed in the guestroom, and then stopped in my own room to retrieve a pair of heavy woolen socks that I hoped would fit him. I returned to the kitchen in time to see a grimace darken his face as he took a sip of tea.

“Mark, you drink that tea with milk.”

“What?”

“Unless you’ve developed a taste for it straight?” One could drink it plain, and just because I preferred it with milk…. I felt myself flush. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed—”

“Don’t go all insecure on me, Quinn.”

“I’m not—” I had a reputation for being cool and unflappable. The Ice Man, I was called, although the younger officers who referred to me in that manner were unaware I knew of this. How was it that Mark Vincent of all people could so easily slip under that fa?ade? “Drink it however you want.”

“How do you drink it?”

I looked down my nose at him, easy for a change since he was sitting down. “I prefer it with milk.”

“Okay, fine. Have you got any?”

I was sure he knew the contents of my refrigerator as well as I did, but of course, as of this morning, I’d had no milk. I handed him the socks and went to retrieve the milk.

“What’s up with the socks?”

“Your feet will get cold.”

The expression that flashed across his face was gone in an instant, but it gave me pause. Hadn’t he had anyone in his life who cared about his wellbeing?

I thought briefly of the file I had on him. According to it, actually, no. He was estranged from his mother and hadn’t been in contact with his father’s family, or any of the men who’d entered into his life when he was a child for periods of time brief and not so brief.

How sad. He must have been hurt to cut off all ties to them.

And I knew he’d hate it with a passion if he could read my thoughts.

He took the milk, added a splash to his tea, then set the bottle aside.

“Is your sandwich to your taste?” I asked for want of a better thing to say.

“Yeah. It’s fine.”

“You haven’t taken a bite yet.”

He did so, probably larger than he’d intended, but it kept that mouth of his busy.

I turned and put the milk away.


Load failed, please RETRY

Geschenke

Geschenk -- Geschenk erhalten

    Wöchentlicher Energiestatus

    Stapelfreischaltung von Kapiteln

    Inhaltsverzeichnis

    Anzeigeoptionen

    Hintergrund

    Schriftart

    Größe

    Kapitel-Kommentare

    Schreiben Sie eine Rezension Lese-Status: C1
    Fehler beim Posten. Bitte versuchen Sie es erneut
    • Qualität des Schreibens
    • Veröffentlichungsstabilität
    • Geschichtenentwicklung
    • Charakter-Design
    • Welthintergrund

    Die Gesamtpunktzahl 0.0

    Rezension erfolgreich gepostet! Lesen Sie mehr Rezensionen
    Stimmen Sie mit Powerstein ab
    Rank 200+ Macht-Rangliste
    Stone 0 Power-Stein
    Unangemessene Inhalte melden
    error Tipp

    Missbrauch melden

    Kommentare zu Absätzen

    Einloggen

    tip Kommentar absatzweise anzeigen

    Die Absatzkommentarfunktion ist jetzt im Web! Bewegen Sie den Mauszeiger über einen beliebigen Absatz und klicken Sie auf das Symbol, um Ihren Kommentar hinzuzufügen.

    Außerdem können Sie es jederzeit in den Einstellungen aus- und einschalten.

    ICH HAB ES