His grandmother had written him off as a lost cause, but his grandfather and his parents had kept in touch through the years. They told him what happened in their lives, tried to find out what was happening in his. But Josh rarely picked up the phone himself. More often than not, he'd used work as an excuse to avoid meeting his mom for lunch, or dropping by his dad's club for a drink, or making an appearance at his grandfather and Miss Q's annual Mardi Gras masque.
With age and experience came the knowledge that he might have handled his rebellion with more maturity and less rebellion. He suspected that if he'd just stood up to his grandmother, he might have found his grandfather and parents supportive of whatever path he chose. Which was why he'd rushed to Miss Q's assistance tonight. He owed his grandfather at least this much.
"Listen, charity case, we've got a problem," he said. More than one, actually, but his starved libido was technically his problem and not hers.
"I assumed. Why else would you be here? Is your family all right?"
Josh nodded, surprised that she would inquire about people who'd never had the time of day for her. Then again, he shouldn't be surprised. Quinevere McDarby had reared her, and she was a woman who opened her heart to everyone. Including him.
Which was another reason he'd come tonight.
Miss Q had always been full of the hugs and approval Josh had professed not to need, but had secretly placed himself in the line of fire for. He remembered thinking that fate had played a nasty trick by not allowing his grandfather to meet Miss Q long before he'd met Josh's own grandmother.
Then again, if his grandfather had met Miss Q first, Josh would never have been born. That just proved how satirical love could be. One of the reasons he made no time for it in his life. He did short-term relationships. Period.
"The family's fine." At least he hadn't heard otherwise. And what was the cliche? No news is good news....
"Then what's up?" Lennon took another long swallow of espresso, appeared to brace herself.
"A few hours ago, Miss Q left the museum to get some papers from your car. Someone assaulted her with a flash-and-bang grenade. She wasn't hurt, but we think it was a protest of my grandfather's collection."
"What are you...Auntie Q...someone threw..." Lennon's features blanked in the sort of stunned expression he knew all too well, from being a frequent bearer of bad news. She finally zeroed in. "A grenade? As in...hand grenade?"
"A flash-and-bang," he explained. "It's a nonlethal stun device used to disorient an enemy."
A clever device, and one he'd been grateful for on more than one occasion. But the way Lennon gaped drove home the differences in their interpretations of nonlethal.
A flash-and-bang grenade was useful in his line of work, but he doubted Lennon had ever heard of one, which reminded him why he didn't invite pretty, pouty-mouthed blondes into his life for more than a quick visit.
"It's a nonfragmenting type of grenade," he offered, hoping to reassure her. "The kind that doesn't explode."
Lennon didn't look reassured. "Josh, you must be mistaken. Auntie Q is in her office, asleep."
"It's almost six in the morning and I just put her in the car with Olaf. She's on her way home."
"I'm confused." Lennon ran a shaky hand through her hair, sending waves of honey-gold tumbling around her face, and inspiring thoughts about what that silky blond hair would feel like beneath his fingers. "Auntie Q couldn't just go out to my car. We're in a secure museum. The security guard has to let her out of the building after hours."
"The guard was asleep. She didn't want to disturb him when she can disable the system for the Eastman wing herself."
Apparently Lennon didn't have any trouble believing her great-aunt capable of that sort of recklessness. A frown creased her smooth brow and she shivered.
Plucking the cup from her hand, Josh marched her toward a nearby bench and forced her to sit. He didn't dwell on the awareness that ripped through him the minute he touched her bare arm. And he refused to acknowledge the naked lovers twined around each other on the canvas directly above her head.
"She's okay?"
"She's fine. The noise startled her."
"Thank goodness." Breathing deeply, Lennon cradled her face in her hands. She shivered again.
"Are you okay?"
Looking back up at him, she nodded. "But I don't understand why you're here. Where are the police?"
Josh shrugged. "Miss Q decided she doesn't want an investigation. She's afraid the museum will postpone the gallery opening. Instead of reporting the incident so the authorities can conduct an inquiry, she hid the discharged grenade in her handbag, lied to security and called me and Olaf."
"Where have I been while all this has been going on?"
He glanced over his shoulder at the phallic sculpture resting beneath his grandfather's portrait. "Given the way you were hanging on to that penis, chere, I'd say you were dreaming."
"Josh." Scowling, she grabbed the coffee cup and slugged back the remains defiantly.
He couldn't contain a laugh at her look of outrage.
"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," she finally said. "Auntie Q isn't about to let anything come in the way of this opening. Great-uncle Joshua loved Mardi Gras. 'A celebration of being alive,' he used to call it. She has had her heart set on this weekend ever since he died. I won't even bother trying to convince her otherwise."
Great-uncle Joshua. Damn, but that reference to his grandfather brought him back a lot of years. Lennon wasn't related, yet his grandfather had been as much a part of her family as his. Her posthumous concern for this memorial showed a graceful acceptance of the sordid triangle of man-family-mistress that Josh couldn't help but admire.
Though he'd grown up knowing his grandfather divided his time between two families, he couldn't help perceiving the entire situation as strange. True, people had done things differently back then. Otherwise his grandmother might have divorced his grandfather after realizing she wanted no part of marriage save the social and economic position it provided her.
She hadn't. Instead, she'd suggested her husband tend his needs outside their marriage. Her solution had offended his noble grandfather, who'd resisted for well over a decade--until Quinevere McDarby had come to work for Eastman Antiquities. Thus the Eastman-McDarby connection had been born, and this gorgeous woman before him had become a part of Josh's life.
"I tried reasoning with your great-aunt," he admitted. "Didn't work."
"So she wants you to investigate. Isn't this a little out of your normal line of work? I heard you freelance for a bunch of government agencies. Looking for missing people and heavy stuff like that."
Evidently Lennon knew a lot about him, and for some reason the realization pleased him. He nodded.
"How'd Auntie Q rope you into this, then?"
"She called me Josh Three and I caved. I haven't been called that since she gave me the nickname to distinguish me from my father and grandfather. It was a time warp."
"Joshua Eastman the third sounds so...highbrow."
"Confusing." At least while he'd been home.
"That's it?" Lennon eyed him doubtfully. "All a girl has to do is call you Josh Three to get her way with you?"
"And heap on the guilt. Works every time."
She tipped the cup at him and said, "Aha! I knew it."
"She laid a whole trip on me. Told me that she and my grandfather had been watching every move I've made during my career. She knew all about my college education, the civil and criminal programs, the certifications and the police training seminars. She even knew the exact date when I graduated with my master's degree." He shook his head, still staggered by Miss Q's revelation. "She said they'd thrown a party for every damned milestone, that they still had the right to celebrate my accomplishments, even if I chose not to be there."
"Whoa. She worked you over big time."
"Like a pro." He had to force a smile. "She resorted to threats, too. Told me my grandfather would haunt me for th
e rest of my life if I let her--or you--get blown into bits all over the parish. Then there'd be no one left to fund-raise for the Eastman Gallery until the museum can afford to support it. It would be sold off piecemeal...all my grandfather's acquisitions, his life's work--"
"Gotcha." Lennon laughed, then sobered. "Is she in danger?"
"After fifteen years in my business, I've learned it's never wise to ignore this type of incident. I can't rule out the possibility of a threat, and that's enough for me."
Lennon nodded and jumped on his reasoning like a speeding bullet. "We've already had some trouble."
"What sort of trouble?"
She rose in a lovely display of slim curves and sleek lines, then strode toward his grandfather's portrait to retrieve an envelope from beside the display case below. "Negative letters and some picketing. Given the, er, sensitive subject matter..." she said, studiously avoiding the marble sculpture propped erect beside her. "There are always supporters and detractors."
"Let me see."
She sat back down and passed him the envelope, which he opened to reveal a bold message in computer-generated type: "Erotic art is just an upscale name for smut. Smut doesn't belong in our museums."
"Have they all been like this--computer printouts with no signatures?
Lennon shook her head, sending pale hair slipping over her shoulder in a sleek wave. "Most, but not all. Some have been handwritten."
"I'll investigate and find out what's going on."
"Thanks. But I'm still worried about Auntie Q's safety."
"For the time being Olaf will be a more than adequate bodyguard. Not too many people would want to mess with him, based on his size alone, and he promised me he won't let her out of his sight. But I've got to tell you that Miss Q has the exact same concerns about you." Josh paused for effect before adding the kicker. "She wants me to be your bodyguard."
A golden brow arched skeptically. "Oh?"
"She hired me for round-the-clock protection. She's afraid if there's a personal threat it might place you at risk, since you've been active in opening the gallery, too."
"What do you think?"
He brushed stray hairs from her cheek, knowing he had no right to touch her, yet unable to help himself all the same. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you, chere."
She leaned away from him and forced a smile--an act of sheer determination if ever he saw one. "Well, it's very nice of you to be concerned, but you don't want to get stuck baby-sitting me through all the erotic activities we've got scheduled."
Josh could think of any number of erotic activities he'd willingly get stuck in with Lennon, but before he could see past images of her long legs naked and twined with his, she said, "I'll be fine. I understand why Auntie Q is worried, but no one has thrown a grenade at me."
He shrugged. "I promised."
Leaping off the bench, she handed him the empty coffee cup, cocked her fists on her hips and glared at him. Josh settled back against the wall while she came up with an astonishing number of reasons why she didn't need protection.
He didn't buy a single one. Her heart-shaped face revealed barely suppressed panic. He considered the possibility that he wasn't the only one who'd noticed the chemistry between them. The lady clearly found something disturbing about sharing close quarters for the long weekend.
"What's the trouble, chere?"
"I just told you--"
"The real trouble. You've got loads of reasons, but no explanation why having me undercover as your bodyguard won't work."
To say Lennon looked offended would have been an understatement. Josh bit back a smile.
Going undercover as Lennon's anything worked on a personal and professional level. His connection to the McDarbys and the Eastman Gallery would be an asset to solving this mystery. And this mystery needed to be solved. The whole flash-and-bang attack struck him wrong on a gut level. He'd learned long ago to trust his gut.
This attack meant someone had been waiting outside for Miss Q--or more likely both of them--to leave the gallery and head to Lennon's car. And though that someone had obviously meant to frighten rather than physically harm, that someone already knew too much about the McDarby women. He'd known their schedule, what vehicle they were driving and that he'd catch them together without Olaf, who'd been sent home before midnight to tend to details there.
For anyone to know this much about their activities meant they were being stalked. And stalkers made Josh nervous.
"Olaf can keep an eye on me, too," Lennon suggested.
Josh didn't think so. "Olaf will have trouble keeping up with Miss Q. From what I hear about the schedule, you two will be so busy entertaining and fund-raising, it'll be impossible for one of us to keep track of you both. You need me."
"I refuse to let people see me being...guarded."
That Lennon's argument had deteriorated into semantics about appearances meant he almost had her.
"Miss Q hired me, chere, so I'm on your tail until you convince her to fire me."
Lennon scowled. "You said Olaf took her home?" Before he had a chance to answer, she spun on her heel, gifting him with a lovely shot of her departing backside. "Let's go. I'll talk some sense into her."
Josh followed. Inclining his head at his grandfather's portrait as he passed, he decided he wasn't sorry he'd picked up the phone tonight, after all. The ensuing fireworks should prove entertaining, and he quite enjoyed being on Lennon's tail.
3
"I'LL WAIT IN THE CAR while you unload the suitcases," Quinevere told her assistant from her comfortable seat in the limo. No sense standing on the sidewalk when she needed a moment to collect her thoughts and evaluate her game plan. "I want you with me when I meet with the sales director."
Olaf caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. "Problems?""I want to check on a few details and make sure the hotel doesn't make any last-minute changes to our room assignments."
He held her gaze before nodding, curiosity written all over his smooth features. With his dark skin and bald brown head, Olaf looked like he'd be at home in a South American jungle. He was also strapping enough to make any prizefighter think twice about raising a fist his way. Exactly how his Goliath proportions and Scandinavian name factored into his French Guianese-Creole background was a question Quinevere had frequently asked through the years, but had yet to receive a straight answer to. She'd known the boy since he was nine years old and didn't think he'd ever get tired of spinning outrageous tales about his unusual name, not when she suspected he knew how much she enjoyed his fabrications.
And that wasn't all he knew. The smart, streetwise kid Joshua had brought home from a trip into the jungle had matured into a keenly intelligent and insightful man. He eyed her in the mirror with a look that told her he wasn't for a second buying her explanation about room assignments.
"Why are you worried, Miss Q?" he asked. "I thought the LeBlancs confirmed their reservation yesterday."
She smiled. She would let him in on her little secret when she was ready and not a moment before. "They did."
"Then what's the trouble? The extra room?"
Evidently Olaf didn't want to wait until she was ready. He knew something was up and intended to pick her brain. "I'll have management release the extra room from our block. With Mardi Gras, I'm sure they'll have it booked before we unpack."
"I wouldn't do that. I'd hang on to it for a day in case Mrs. DesJardin changes her mind again."
Quinevere grimaced. "Oh, phoo on Lisette. I'd forgotten about her. She's just yanking my chain to see who shows up before she consents to grace us with her presence."
"You're right, but think about Tete-a-tete. You don't want to miss the chance to acquire the drawing for the collection."
"Or a monetary contribution to alleviate her guilt if she decides she can't part with the piece." Quinevere wanted Lisette to feel good and guilty if she hung on to the superb black chalk on paper, a Francois Boucher original. "You're right. I'll keep the spare room, but I've go
t to confirm that the room assignments will stay exactly as I've arranged them. No last-minute changes."
Olaf narrowed his gaze, but he knew when to ask questions and, more importantly, when not to. She silently thanked Joshua for leaving behind someone so intuitive to help care for her. Most of the time a blessing...
"I'll see to the luggage," he said, maneuvering his six-foot-plus frame from the front seat.
Closing the door behind him, he sealed her in the cool interior of the car. "Olaf dotes on me almost as much as you did, Joshua," she whispered above the hum of the running engine. "And he's going to help me fix this mess, whether he knows it or not."
She sighed, leaning back into the plush leather seat and fixing her gaze through the tinted window on the valet entrance, where Olaf supervised the bellhops.
"I intended the auction to provide Lennon with a place to fall in love, not choose a companion. If I didn't know my great-niece so well, I'd think this was another trick of yours."
The drone of the engine was the only reply. But Joshua could hear her, she knew, and he would approve the steps she'd taken to disabuse her great-niece of the ridiculous notion that she should marry for anything but passion.
Life was far too precious to waste even a second. If Lennon wanted safe, companionable love, she should adopt a pet. A cute little Maltese, maybe, or a needy mutt from the pound.
Companionable was not a defining quality in a husband.
"Boring," Quinevere said with a shudder.
Some women might be content with that sort of life, but not Lennon. Even though she'd been buried in her writing lately, she'd had relationships before with some very suitable men. Nice, healthy romances that had put color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She thrived on love, so why she'd convinced herself she would be content with a companionable man while keeping grand passion reserved for her books...
One-Night Man Page 3