My euphoria lasted the length of the bus ride. The Greyhound pulled into the Martinsburg depot, and I put my Zune away, gathered up my laptop, and bounced down the steps, looking for Pierce, the underchauffeur.
He wasn’t there.
All right, he might have hit traffic. I’d just wait, and he’d be here any minute. He was a nice man, and he’d always treated me much better than Jackson.
I’d never particularly liked Sir’s head chauffeur. On the rare occasions when he’d been required to pick me up, he’d kept me waiting, with the result that Sir would be furious with me for being late for whatever event at which I needed to appear.
The bus driver tossed me my duffel, and I caught it, placed it beside me, and waited.
Before very long I was standing there alone. The bus passengers had all disembar
