Breaking the Bad Boy (30 page)

“I’m glad you liked them, I really just hoped they would lift your spirits. Did you have any fun at all?”

“Yes, I went riding, that always soothes me, but then I… well, I shouldn’t have gone alone, first rule broken.”

“Did you get hurt?” He sounded concerned.

“Peter, I wondered how much to tell you, but I think I’ll have to tell it all if you are to understand my problem, do you have a while? Or are you just fitting me in? Which is fine, Christ, you’re the governor, and I’m wasting your time asking personal favors. Oh God, this was a mistake,” she stopped and breathed and looked guiltily at him.

“Joss, I’m a public servant, relax. The next thing on my agenda is a meeting at 9:00 am with somebody or other; he won’t be half as interesting as you are, or anywhere near as pretty and he’ll be asking for favors, too. We’re just having a nice dinner together, okay? Let’s order, I’m starving.”

They ordered and ate as Joss regaled Peter with her story. He was shocked, of course, and amazed, and it took all he had not to ask to look at her back. Joss was hoping he would, but he was too decent a man. She told him about everything but the Frenchman’s gold and the brief, torrid affair with Buck, she couldn’t face having him think Buck was merely avoiding her and ending the affair, which was entirely too possible.

“My favor, of course, is to somehow find out about Special Agent John Buckingham. I had hoped you could get me in touch with someone who would know. I just need to know, Peter.” Her eyes filled with tears but she kept them in check. She couldn’t help it, she batted her eyes, and he laughed.

“I know someone who knows someone, Joss; I’ll do my best to find out about your Special Agent.”

“I would be so grateful, Peter. I’ve hogged the whole dinner conversation; tell me something nobody knows about you, I won’t tell a soul.” He leaned forward.

“I don’t care for chocolate,” he whispered.

“You’re a freak! How did you get elected anywhere? Well, obviously, it’s a secret, I see what you did there,” she laughed. “Will it be lemon something for dessert?”

“Yes, lemon is my favorite. Eat, you’ve barely eaten,” Peter said, but she was done, food hadn’t interested her since the doughnuts the morning Buck was shot, in fact, nothing had.

“I’m full, I’ll take it home, but I’d like a coffee while you eat your lemon confection.” He signaled the waiter and they sat over coffee and meringue discussing open space and art exhibits.

“Can I have my driver take you home?” He asked as they were getting ready to leave.

“I just live a half a block away,” she said.

“Then let me walk you to your door, it’s quite late,” he said giving her a smile full of school boy charm.

“Thank you, Peter; that would be lovely.” She turned her back to him and picked her scarf off the chair. He inhaled sharply and she turned her head to look at him, but not her shoulders. He was white. “I can’t quite see it in the mirror, and I’m not sure I want to.”

“I’m so sorry, Joss that was terribly ill-mannered of me. It’s not that they are ugly; it’s more of the shock of knowing you were attacked. I guess I had hoped you exaggerated in the telling. I beg your pardon.” He touched her arm gently. Joss felt rotten for having set the poor man up.

“You are terribly kind. I’m beginning to think politicians have been given a bum rap,” she said and he laughed.

“Don’t be foolish, Joss,” he picked up her “to go” box and followed her from the restaurant.

“Thank you, Peter, for dinner, I’m sorry I monopolized the conversation,” she said.

“I was riveted; you should go to the magazines with that tale.”

“I’m not sure I want anyone to know much of it.”

“If you keep my confidence about the chocolate thing I will never speak of your trip to
Montana
with anyone, you have my word.” They had come to her door.

“Thank you, Peter,” she said and he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. He slowly moved his mouth away from her. That was very nice, he thought.

“I’ll call you as soon as I have something,” he said. “And Joss, if it doesn’t work out with your Special Agent, I have a proposition for you.” He smiled at her.

“Should I be nervous?” She asked.

“Probably,” he exhaled loudly. “Joss, let’s do this again, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled at her and turned to walk back to his car. He turned back to wave at her, but she was already inside the door.

***

At three minutes before his 9:00 am meeting, Peter called Joss. “I have a phone number, Joss. I don’t know whose it is, but I was assured it is to a man who will know about the condition of your Special Agent.” He gave her the number.

“So soon?”

“The time change is in our favor in the mornings. Good luck, Joss, let me know what happens,” he said and hung up.

She made the call immediately.

“Buckingham,” was the terse answer.
Holy shit
! She thought. It wasn’t Buck, but it was someone with the same name. His grandfather?

“John Buckingham, please,” she said equally terse. There was a considerable pause.

“Now, who might this be?” He asked. The voice was cultured, English and old.

“My name is Joss Erickson,” she said.

“My dear Miss Erickson, there is no John Buckingham at this number,” he said and hung up just as she was inhaling to ask him her next question.
Damn, but there was some progress
.

Joss texted Peter. “Getting closer, you’re incredible!”

Peter surreptitiously slipped the phone out of his pocket and read the text in the middle of his very dull meeting. Joss. He smiled.

He’d been a confirmed bachelor all his life, but politically he’d gotten about as far as he could without a wife. He had damn near suggested she marry him last night, and he was glad he didn’t, the timing was shit, and the fact that she killed her mother might be a problem. Joss was beautiful, smart, funny, and so damn sexy. If she could get over the Fed she’d fallen for, she’d make a really great first lady. She might not like to be fourteen years younger than he was, but at least he was tall, she could wear high heels with him. That would be a check in his favor. Hell, he’d gotten his foot in the door; he’d done her a favor. The favor might backfire in his face, but she liked him, and he liked her, and that was half the battle. And man, he’d always had a thing for Marilyn Monroe.

***

She called the number the next day, and the same man answered.

“Miss Erickson,” he answered having recognized the number.

“Mr. Buckingham,” she said.

“How are you this fine day?”

“Hopeful that you will tire of my calls very soon and be ready to at least tell me if he’s alive,” she said.

“Who is that, my dear?”

“Why, your grandson, Mr. Buckingham.” She thought she heard a small gasp and felt a little jolt of satisfaction.

“A palpable hit, my dear,” he said and hung up. Would he be toying with her like this if Buck were dead?

The next day she called again.

“Will you tell me how you came to be in possession of my private unlisted number, Miss Erickson?” He asked.

“Will you tell me something about your grandson’s condition, Mr. Buckingham?” She asked.

“Are you planning to be a nuisance, my dear?”

“Yes, I certainly am.” He laughed and hung up the phone.

Another week, a month, and finally two months passed. She phoned the number everyday and got very little from the elder Buckingham. He was polite, and on occasion charming and playful, but sadistically unhelpful.

“Please tell me something, anything. Don’t be such a Sadist,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said and sounded quite sad.

“I’m coming to find you,” she said, it came out choked.

“Don’t bother, my dear, I’m on my way to you.”

That was the first time she hung up before he could; thinking the worst.

Jeremy had her working as much as she could, but she was getting painfully slim, noticeably depressed, and her eyes had black circles under them from lack of sleep.

The rescheduled night to host the governor and his retinue was upon them, and then two weeks after that the Durer exhibit would get carefully packed away and sent back to its individual homes. Joss stared at the artwork and thought she must have really been distracted, she hadn’t even really seen them yet.

The night before the gala she studied the art, reminding herself of their intricacies and why she loved Durer so much. If she concentrated the gaping wound in her heart didn’t hurt so much. She thought of Gunter and their time together. Then she remembered Buck saying: “He spoke very highly of you,” had Buck spoken to Gunter?

It was quite late when she got home, and surprisingly, she slept.

The night of the gala was upon her. She’d spent a fair amount of time on the phone reassuring the governor and his secretary that she would, in fact, be there, and the tour was to go as scheduled. She was brushed up on the interesting facts about her favorite artist, and she looked great in a new little cobalt blue dress that accentuated her eyes that had simple straight lines with long sleeves and a low neckline. She also had her hair styled and it felt good being pampered after the heaviness of Buck’s grandfather’s words, she would take succor where she could find it.

The tickets were in short supply, and hard to get, and shockingly expensive. Joss took her glass of wine and made the final circuit around the exhibit.
Perfect
, she thought.
I wish Buck could have seen it
.

She came into the main hall and Jeremy introduced her to one important art benefactor after another. The evening progressed along those lines, with Jeremy carting her from one group of people to the next. At one point Jeremy called her the preeminent Durer scholar and she had to stifle a laugh thinking of a line from the movie
Little Miss Sunshine
.

There was an excited thrill that ran through the crowd and Joss turned to see if it was the governor, but instead it was one of the major benefactors of the exhibit and her rock star husband. Joss excused herself and went to Genna Fleming and took both her hands in her own.

“Ah, the rock star,” Joss said with a smile.

“You’re the rock star tonight,” Connor said, grinning.

“Genna, Connor, I’m so glad you came,” Joss said and kissed them both in turn.

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Genna said. “I’m so glad your father’s doing better.”

“Thanks, he says he’s completely recovered, and feeling antsy.”

“That’s a good sign,” Genna said and gave her an appraising look filled with concern. “But how have you been?” Joss looked Genna in the eye and smiled sadly.

“I’ve been better, but I can’t really talk about it. You look great, though. Have you seen the exhibit yet?”

Connor laughed. “We’ve been three times,” he said in his Irish accent. “Genna can’t get enough of your man, Durer.” Genna laughed and looked up at him with adoration.

“Well, I do have the membership. There’s something about him, and you did such a great job, Joss, you should be proud.”

“Thanks, Genna, that means a lot.”

“So, what’s next for you and the museum?” Connor asked.