“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.
“Next up is a look at the early photographers, Ansel Adams, Stieglitz, Sander, and many others. We are booked for the next two years, but after that I was thinking that I’d like to do some Native American art. I’ve been in touch with a splendid museum in Santa Fe with a huge selection of Navajo rugs they’d be willing to loan. I don’t know, it’s just something I’ve been thinking of.” A caterer came to them with a tray of drinks. The poor man didn’t know who to stare at, the rock star or one of the two beautiful blondes he was speaking with. Connor took a glass and handed it to Joss, then he took one for himself. The waiter looked at Genna who shook her head fractionally and smiled.
“Not for me, thanks. Well, whatever you choose, Joss, you’ll have our support. The foundation has got to spend it, and you’re our favorite, you know?”
“You guys are definitel
y my favorites, I’ve never had such a pliable patron before. The rock star thing doesn’t hurt either,” she smiled at them.
“This is all Genna’s baby, but if she’s happy, I’m happy,” he leaned down and kissed her. Joss felt a pain in her chest and had to look away.
Jeremy had been loitering and shifting nervously from foot to foot just out of her field of vision when the governor and his entourage finally arrived.
“Have you two met the governor?” Joss asked and Genna smiled.
“Yes, of course,” she said and turned to shake his hand. “Peter, it’s good to see you.”
“Genna, as always, you look beautiful. Connor, you clean up pretty nice, too.” They shook hands and laughed.
“Joss,” he put his hand over his heart and staggered back. “You look stunning,” Peter said to her and she put her hand out to shake his, but he bent and kissed her cheek for the press.
“Hello, Peter, I’m so glad you’re here tonight after all this time,” she said. “Again, I’m so sorry about cancelling on you before.”
“Relax, Joss, it’s just me, and I think we’re past that,” he moved her away from the gathering crowd with an arm around her small waist. Connor and Genna gave each other significant looks, and ambled away. “Any luck with your Special Agent?” He asked quietly.
“Yes and no, Peter. The number is his grandfather’s but he’s curiously reticent, and a bit of a bastard,” she said behind her hand and Peter laughed. Joss hunched her shoulders. “Yesterday he said he was coming to see me, I’m afraid it’s to tell me he’s dead.” She whispered the last words. Peter pulled her to him and patted her back.
“I’m so sorry, Joss.” She nodded, her eyes suddenly very wet. Then she gathered herself.
“I still owe you, though, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Oh please, I was glad to help, as uncertain as it seems to be so far. But, I’ve got you all to myself now, and that’s worth one small favor,” he said.
“You’re easy to please.” Joss said.
“No, you’re just hard to resist,” he said and leaned toward her again speaking softly. “You look truly beautiful tonight, Joss.”
“Maybe we should start,” she said. She didn’t want this. She wanted what Genna and Connor so clearly had, she wanted John Buckingham, not this affection texter. She looked up into his big brown eyes. “I’m sorry Peter, I’m not ready to give up on him.” Peter’s eyebrows went up fractionally.
“I appreciate your honesty and straightforwardness, Joss. I just wish the words were different,” he grinned and it was charming. Joss couldn’t help a little chuckle. “I will wait.” She touched his arm and looked at him with such sadness he almost rocked backwards.
“I’m not sure that would be fair to either of us, Peter.” He stopped her before she could deny him completely.
“Well, for tonight I get the undivided attention of the most beautiful woman in the state, Joss, lay on,” Peter said and she laughed.
“Well, aren’t you just full of sh…” she began and he cut her off.
“Oh, look, here’s the Denver Post, Joss, behave yourself,” he winked at her and they moved to the earlier works, progressing around the exhibit, with Peter’s hand lightly on her lower back the entire circuit. He was charming and said all the right things, and Joss thought he’d go far, he was eminently likeable. They were nearly done when she came to her immature owl. Peter’s phone buzzed and he looked at the display.
“Damn. I’m so sorry, Joss, I really must take this,” he said.
“Of course,” she said and he nodded smiling and stepped away from her. There was a small crowd surrounding her, people who were listening to what she had to say and some of the guard that came with Peter, but with Peter standing so close they seemed to keep their distance. As soon as Peter backed away for some privacy for his call the crowd moved closer to her but remained quietly speaking amongst themselves. Joss studied the immature owl in front of her.
She couldn’t look at the owl and not feel her losses piling up. Brand’s meaningless death and Buck’s sacrifice so that she would live, but never enjoy life again were two events that would shape the rest of her life. She would continue to wait until someone could give her a definitive answer. Maybe she should go to Boston anyway, and shock that bastard.
As she stood looking at her owl she felt Peter’s tall presence behind her and pointed to the owl without looking back at him. She did notice that the lingerers stepped back and stared at Peter rather than her. She didn’t mind.
“This is my favorite piece,” she said. There was a slight pause while she realized something was different. The air was suddenly charged. Joss smelled leather, and the scent of fresh air, like someone opened a window, and something else she didn’t dare try to label. Her breath hitched. “Buck,” she said, half whisper, half groan.
“It’s mine, too, Duchess.” Buck said and she gasped and wobbled. His arm went out to steady her and she moved back to his chest. He put his arm around her midriff and he bent his head to lay his chilled cheek against hers.
“How? Why?” It was all she could manage. Was she having some kind of psychological break down? Did it matter as long as it was Buck she was hallucinating?
“I heard a beautiful story about it once, and it happens to grace the very lovely, if somewhat diminished, backside of the woman I love, and can’t live without.” It was his voice, his arm supporting her, his scent wafting over the fresh air and leather.
“How are you here? Are you real? I thought you were dead,” she whispered, then turned around and put her hands to his face.
“I was a couple of times, if that makes you feel any better,” he said and grinned a little sheepishly.
“No,” she sobbed with a smile. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. Oh God, Buck, it really is you,” she put her hand to his leather clad chest where he had bled into her hand. She felt his heart thumping reassuringly. He took her hand in his and leaned down and kissed her.
“I love you, Joss, and I don’t want to live without you,” he said pulling away fractionally. “Not another second, you were right, it’s excruciating. I need you, my Duchess.”
“I know, I’ve always known,” she stood on tip toes and kissed him and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and he lifted her off her feet. She laughed and her tears finally overflowed. “I was so sure you were dead, you bastard.”
“I’m here now, my love, it’s okay.” They held each other and stared, fascinated by the subtle changes they saw in each other, unaware of the world around them, of every eye in the room focused on them. “You did say you’d wait,” he grinned.
“I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I never said anything about waiting patiently,” she grinned back, her eyelashes wet with tears. “I am this close to breaking your grandfather,” she said holding two fingers close together, and they both laughed. He kissed her again.
“So, the tall guy who’s been all over you isn’t your next conquest?” Buck asked a little nervously.
“The tall guy? Oh, Peter? No, he’s just the governor.” Buck smiled at her.
“Christ, you’re hard to please, Duchess.”
“No, I’m not, and I’ll prove it,” she grinned at him. “My apartment is about a ten minute walk away, or we could call a cab,” she said moving him toward the exit.
“My bike is downstairs, illegally parked,” he grinned pulling her down the stairs.
“You really are a bad boy,” she said laughing.
They stepped out into the cold October night. Buck shrugged out of his leather jacket and put it on her. “Hold me, keep me warm,” he said and she laughed, hitched her dress up to her crotch, happy for the dark, and swung her leg over on the back of the bike, happy for her long legs.
“Do you need directions?”
He smiled at her over his shoulder. “Give me some credit, Duchess,” he said and they were at her apartment inside three minutes. Buck found a parking place, helped her off the bike an
d they walked up the one flight to her apartment.
Alone with him, she felt suddenly shy. Buck kissed her lightly and stepped away. “May I use your shower? I’m a mess.”
“Of course,” she took him to her bedroom and then to the bath.
A few minutes into his shower the light changed and he looked up. She stepped naked into the tub and he took her hand and they simply looked at each other. They were both a lot slimmer than they had been two months before. She leveled her gaze at Buck’s angry red scar so close to his heart and she reached up on tiptoes and kissed it. He shuddered with the thrill and emotion and pulled her to him.
“It’s been torture without you, Joss. First, the whole trying not to die part, then the debriefing, then the physical therapy, all of it without you. I thought I’d go insane,” he said. “When I woke up from the surgery Davis let slip that you were still in a holding cell,” he shook his head. “They had no right.
“I wasn’t allowed to contact you, it was infuriating. My grandfather said you’d moved on, he showed me pictures of you and the guy at the museum eating dinner together,” he shook his head and frowned. “Like an idiot I believed him until yesterday morning when I picked up his cell phone and there were records of you having called him every day for the past two months, and they wouldn’t even let me tell you I was alive. It burned me; I walked out in a rage. I don’t care, Joss, I don’t want to spend another minute without you. I love you, I love you so much. It was so hard to perform even the most basic functions without you.” He pulled back to look at her. “You’re not involved, right?”
“Absolutely not. I could never move on, Buck. I just wanted some word about you, that’s all I wanted, but I pissed off Agent Bun, and she wasn’t going to give me anything after that.” The water felt good beating on his tired shoulders, and she felt good clinging to him. “Your grandfather made me hopeful only because he didn’t change his number, he kept answering and it gave me hope. He’s a bastard, though.”
“Yes, he is,” Buck said and laughed. “It’ll tickle him to hear you say it. Turn around, Duchess, let me see your back,” she turned for him. Her scars were still red, but thin except for two places where the stitches were torn out early on. There would be three light, even scars, not the blackened gashes he had dreaded for her after the fire. He kissed each of them lightly. “You’re beautiful, they’re healing very nicely.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “Christ woman, will you please invite me into your bed? I have a gross of condoms somewhere.”
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