Let's Misbehave (3 page)

It wasn’t easy.

And he wasn’t going to explain himself, not even to his best friend. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve grown up, Val. It happens.”

“Growing up happens, but we’re talking a complete metamorphosis.” Her gaze narrowed. “When was the last time you let the tiger out?”

He put a hand over his abdomen where he’d had a physical representation of his inner beast tattooed when he’d been at the height of his stardom. The tiger lay dormant now, but it stirred in its cage, waiting for the opportunity to escape. “The tiger was a boy’s macho fancy. It doesn’t really exist,” he lied.

“Of course it exists. You’ve just caged it.”

He drew on his patience, because he loved her. She was the only family he had. “You know what I’m trying to accomplish. You know that my opponents, particularly Thomas Kane, try to defame me every chance they get. I have to be above reproach.”

Valerie pouted. “I miss my partner in crime. Remember when you used to actually
go out
? You never go out any more.”

“I go out all the time.” He crossed his arms. “I went out to dinner last night.”

“With your dull political friends.”

“I have political friends because I’m in politics,” he explained with exaggerated patience.

“It’s your worst trait, too.”

“That I’m a Member of Parliament?”

“
Yes.
”

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“What?”

“That you and Joan are having another spat and you’re taking out your frustrations on me.” Valerie and her girlfriend Joan had a tempestuous relationship that stemmed from Joan wanting it all and Valerie pushing her away. Valerie’s family had no idea she was living with a woman, either. Personally, he thought Joan was a saint for putting up with Valerie’s fear of commitment.

“You may be a MP, but you don’t know anything, Merrick Graham.” She tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. “But that’s okay, because that’s why you have me. I’m staging an intervention. I’m going to save you from yourself.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize I was in danger.”

Putting her hands on his desk, she leaned forward. “I remember what day it is today.”

He felt sucker punched, right to the middle of his chest. He’d had years of practice schooling his emotions, and still he felt them leak.

They never mentioned what today was out loud. For thirteen years, they’d had an unspoken agreement that no one spoke of this black anniversary.

Valerie stood over him, a Valkyrie bent on breaking him. “Michaela wouldn’t have wanted this, Ricky.”

“I’m not Ricky anymore.” Pushing back from his desk, he stood. “And you don’t know what Michaela would have wanted.”

“Yes, I do.” Valerie stood toe-to-toe with him, refusing to back down. “She was your sister, but she may as well have been mine, too. I loved her as much as you did, and I can tell you without a doubt that she’d have hated to see you the way you are today.”

Yes, but Michaela didn’t have that luxury, because her life had ended tragically.

As if knowing where his thoughts were headed, Valerie grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Her death wasn’t your fault. You have to stop blaming yourself for it.”

Guilt and regret welled in his throat, and he had to swallow a couple times before he could speak. “I know it wasn’t my fault, but we both know I could have prevented it.”

Tears glistened in Val’s eyes. “Anyone could have prevented it. I could say the same thing. Michaela could have stopped it from happening by waiting for us instead of leaving that party on her own. But she didn’t.”

She hadn’t, and she’d paid for it. There was footage of her attack from the cameras in the underground. Eight minutes—it’d taken her eight minutes to bleed out. She could have been saved if there’d just been someone there.

While she’d been bleeding out, he’d been partying with groupies who’d thought he was a god.

Some god, letting the person he loved most in the world die.

He was going to stop that. His Public Safety Act was costly in the short-term, and the conservatives were loath to spend money. But how much was a saved life worth? He owed it to his sister. He was going to make it happen.

“It was a horrible, horrible thing.” Valerie leaned her forehead against his chest, sniffling. “It’s been thirteen years, and I still remember that night like it was yesterday. But sometimes bad things happen, and there’s nothing you can do.”

He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Bad things happen, but you can’t deny it’d have been different if I’d been there. I could have made a difference.”

She looked up at him, her gaze watery. “You’ll never know.”

“No, I won’t.” But he could try to prevent it from happening to other people.

“You can’t keep living Michaela’s life.”

He stiffened. “Sorry?”

Valerie waved a wild hand at the office. “This is what Michaela wanted. Effecting change. Positive influence in the world. She was the do-gooder who wanted to fix the world, not you. You changed the world with your music.”

He forced a laugh as he sat on the edge of his desk. “I got chicks with my music. That was the extent of my ambition.”

“You were a teenager. Of course you wanted girls.”

Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “That was a different lifetime, Val. I don’t understand why you’re bringing all this up now, after so much time.”

“Because I miss my best friend.” She took his hand. “Because I’m tired of dreading this day every year. Because I want to celebrate Michaela’s life instead of forever mourning her. Because Michaela would have been so angry that we let this happen to us.”

“Michaela would applaud what I’ve done with my life.”

“Michaela would have been sad that you live a half-life in a dark cave.” Valerie let go of his hand, eyes blazing, hands on her hips. “But we’re going to change things.”

“No, we’re not.”

“We’ll see about that.” She gave him an ominous look as she swept from his office.

He winced when he heard the front door slam.

The gnome grinned manically in front of him.

“You’re mocking me,” Merrick said to the statue. “But perhaps you should take a look at your outfit before you judge anyone else.”

Not able to sit, he headed to make himself coffee. As he walked down the hall, he tried not to notice the somberness of the ground floor, but it was difficult not to with Valerie’s words echoing in his head.

The tiger in him prowled restlessly.

Damn Val for bringing up his beast. Merrick stopped in front of the staircase that led upstairs. In the past, when he felt frustrated, he’d go to his piano.

But music brought out a recklessness he needed to keep suppressed. It was from a life he’d left behind—a life he could never revisit. Everything about the way he used to live was counterproductive to what he needed to get done now.

Impatience surged through him. It’d taken so long to get his safety act this far, and he wasn’t going to let it be rejected again. Countless people were attacked each year in the Underground, some with consequences like Michaela’s.

He wasn’t going to allow more deaths. Another year wasn’t going to pass with him feeling ineffective. His bill was going to pass—period.

He had a plan. He was going to win the Leader of the House of Lords to his side. Yes, Lawrence Howell was conservative to almost a fault, but Merrick was persuasive. He just needed a chance to talk to the man.

Unfortunately, Howell never gave him the time of day.

But that was going to change. Forget coffee—he was going to hunt down Lawrence Howell.

His tiger growled in approval as Merrick slipped on his coat. He pulled out his mobile and made a few calls as he left his house, to pinpoint where Howell was.

The Carlton Club.

He headed to his Ducati without thinking, but of course took the Jaguar instead. MPs didn’t drive Italian crotch rockets, he reminded himself.

But, like his piano, he couldn’t bear the thought of selling it, either.

He walked into the club as though he owned it. He’d only been in there once, as a guest of another MP, so he knew the general layout. He went from room to room, searching for his quarry.

But instead of Howell, Merrick found Thomas Kane in the library. The man sat with a snifter of brandy and a newspaper. Merrick knew for a fact that Lord Kane was as pompous as he looked.

Kane looked up before Merrick could duck out undetected. The man arched his bushy white brows. “You’re on the wrong side of the fence, Graham. You don’t belong to this club.”

“No, sir, I don’t.” He sat down in the chair facing the older man and gestured to the attendant for a cup of tea.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Kane said, sitting back in his seat. “You’ve got cheek.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment coming for you, Kane.” He nodded in thanks as the attendant set the tea service on the table in front of him and poured a cup. “You’ve never been a supporter of mine.”

Kane shrugged. “Like I said, opposite sides of the fence. It’s nothing personal.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Kane was the one who labelled him the Bad Boy of Politics. “You discredit me at every turn.”

“That’s politics, son.” Kane eyed him shrewdly. “So why
are
you here?”

“I’m looking for Lawrence Howell,” Merrick said honestly.

Kane blinked in surprise. “That’s bloody brilliant. Our party follows him like a bloody piper. With him on your side, even they’ll fall in line to vote your way.”

“I feel good about it.” Merrick drank the tea, wishing it were something stronger. He missed the bite of scotch, but he didn’t drink anymore. It’d taken him a long time to clean up his image. He wasn’t going to do anything to compromise it—not when he was finally so close.

Kane lifted his glass and toasted him. “You may be a pretty boy with a bad attitude, but you have a good head on your shoulders, Graham. If I’m not careful, the press is going to start calling you ‘the Golden Boy of the Liberals’ soon.”

“I don’t care what they call me. I only care about getting the measure passed.”

“You know I’m going to try to stop you,” Kane said.

Merrick met the man’s gaze head-on. “Yes.”

Kane sipped his brandy. “Howell isn’t here this afternoon, but he’s going to be at that charity event at the Tate Modern on Thursday night. I’m sure you’ll be able to secure an invitation. Howell chairs the organization. You might consider making a hefty contribution.”

Merrick leaned forward, suspicious. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping. I’m stirring the pot.” Grinning, Kane stood. “I’m going to enjoy this. I’d wish you luck, but we’d both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

Merrick watched the man walk away, both admiring and loathing him.

What Kane didn’t understand was that Merrick had been planning this safety act for thirteen years. He wasn’t going to let anything bollocks it up—not Kane, and definitely not himself.

Chapter Three

Her son sat huddled in a plastic chair in the hall outside the headteacher’s office. He was so still it was almost unnatural—that was enough to tell Holly how much trouble he was in.

It wasn’t the first time.

Holly had lost count how many times this scene had played out: Jamie waiting alone, her abandoning work to rush over, hoping she could convince the headteacher to give him a more lenient sentencing. Then rushing back to work and hoping she still had a job.

It’d happened too many times to count.

Sighing, she walked straight to her son. His head popped up when he heard her footsteps. His hair flopped in his eyes—he needed a trim again—and in those eyes she saw extreme remorse. Whatever he’d done this time was bad.

She sat next to him and took his hand. “Here we meet again.”

He became even smaller. “I didn’t mean to break the windows, Mum.”

She winced. “Windows? More than one?”

He turned to her, his little face earnest. “It was an accident.”

It always was. She rubbed her forehead, wondering how much it’d cost her this time, though it didn’t matter because she couldn’t afford even an extra pound this month. “How many windows did you break, and how did you break them?”

“Only two, and I broke them with my trebuchet.”

“Your trebuchet,” she repeated.

He lit up. “A trebuchet is a big slingshot. They used them in war, like when you were a kid. They’re
wicked
.”

“I know what a trebuchet is,” she interrupted. “What I don’t understand is how you came to have one.”

“I built it,” he said proudly.

“Of course you did.” She lifted her gaze to the sky, praying for patience. Really, she was lucky he was so bright. Too bright for his own good, but he was happy and healthy.

Unless she decided to kill him, which she was sometimes tempted to do—very fleetingly, and only when he broke windows she couldn’t pay for. “Let’s forego why you built the trebuchet,” she said, “tell me how you broke not one but two windows.”

“The first time I launched a rock it didn’t go as far as it should have, so I had to try again.”

“Of course you did.” She took his face between her hands. “You realize I’m going to string you up by your trebuchet.”

“You can’t,” he said solemnly. “It won’t support my weight, but I can build one that can.”

Heaven help her. He was only six. What sort of trouble would he get into as a teenager?

The headteacher’s door opened and he poked his head outside. “Holly?”

They both glanced up. Jamie looked apprehensive. Holly shivered, too—not because she was nervous but because that was how the headteacher always affected her.

Peter Sands was heaven. Younger than you’d expect a headteacher to be, with tousled hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms, a knowing glint in his eyes, like he could read your secret desires and make them come true.

She stood, wondering how awful she was to look forward to her son getting in trouble because it meant getting to see Peter.

She gave Jamie a quelling look. “Stay here.”

He nodded morosely.

Shaking her head, she walked into the headteacher’s office. He closed the door behind her and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Your chair, Holly,” he said, his voice like dusk and hot baths and chocolate, all rolled into one.