Bad Behavior (22 page)

Her eyes narrowed as she felt a familiar powerlessness—the same she’d felt as a child when she’d tried to argue with her father. “Well, you’d know all about that, Dad, since
you
were the one applying the pressure.”

“Nonsense. I was only trying to help you, Sophie.”

Her face felt hot. “Help me? By yelling at me and my coaches?”

Will stiffened. “You’ve got to be tough to survive in this world, kid.”

Grant shared an uncomfortable glance with his uncle—both wished to be somewhere else.

“So you were trying to make me tough.” Sophie exhaled derisively, taking another drink of the vodka tonic. She set the glass down and fixed a stare at Will. “Was that tough love when you didn’t visit me in prison too?”

Will’s face fell. “Now, I’ve already explained that to you, Soph—”

“Oh, right. You blamed yourself for me getting arrested. It’s all about you, Dad, isn’t it? It’s always about
you!”

“Sophie!”

Grant’s sharp tone surprised her, and she was taken aback to catch a glint of anger in his eyes.

“You can’t talk to your father that way!” he said.

At first she looked embarrassed, then betrayed. “Well, it’s no different than how you talk to
your
father!”

He paused, feeling his heart thumping, and took a deep breath. He wanted to make an angry retort, but she was right. What she’d said to her father paled in comparison to the hostile words he’d shouted at his father in Gurnee. Grant recalled how Sophie’s encouragement had helped him keep his cool, and he wanted to help her as well.

Leaning in, he whispered, “How’re you feeling?”

Startled, she stared with questioning eyes.

“Are you feeling angry?” he prompted. “Why don’t you tell him?”

Sophie slowly nodded, feeling her fury diminish with each deep breath. Clearing her throat she glanced anxiously at Will.

“Dad…I, um, I felt really hurt when you didn’t visit me in prison.”

Will’s shoulders sagged. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I regret that every day.”

Her face softened.

“I just couldn’t handle the idea that my decision not to pay the protection fee ruined your life,” he said. “I couldn’t live with myself.”

Grant glanced guiltily at him. “You aren’t to blame, Mr. Taylor—my family is.”

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine,” Sophie amended testily. “Stop trying to take responsibility for my decisions, both of you.”

Will and Grant openly stared at each other, slight smiles spreading on their faces. Eventually Will said, “Sophie told me Enzo threatened to get out of prison somehow?”

Grant’s smile vanished. “Yes, sir.”

Joe leaned forward, suddenly distressed. “There’s no way, Grant. The State of Illinois would never let him out.”

Grant’s mouth tightened. “He’s figured out a way, Joe. I know it. If only
I
could figure out what he’s got up his sleeve, then maybe I could stop him. If he gets out—” he shot a nervous glance at Sophie “—none of us is safe.”

A sudden chill blanketed the table.

***

After they’d closed down the bar, Grant and Sophie sent Joe and Will off in their respective taxis before walking back inside the hotel.

“We had our moments, but that went surprisingly well,” Grant said. “Who was that man, and what’d he do with your father?”

She chuckled, entering the door he held open for her. “You know, he seems to accept you more since he saw your debut here, after Ben talked to him.”

“Well, bless Ben then,” Grant replied. “Dealing with my father is quite enough. I certainly could do without your dad also hating me.”

They strolled toward the bar, arm in arm.

“It’s a good thing you reminded me of Hunter’s advice in there, or my dad might hate me too.”

“That was a wonderful ‘I’ statement you used, Sophie,” Grant teased, imitating their psychologist. “Your assertive communication was quite effective. You really shared your innermost feelings, blah, blah, insert psychobabble here.”

“Oh, thank you, Hunter!” she cried.

As they neared the closed doors of the bar, Sophie inquired, “Where’re we going?”

Grant furtively unlocked the doors leading into the darkened bar. “How would you like your own private show?”

A look of keen anticipation crossed her face, and he smiled.

His voice lowered. “I watched you down that vodka tonic, and I was completely turned on. I wanted you so badly. It’s been torture sitting right next to you all night with your dad watching us.”

Fumbling for the lights, Grant flipped the last switch in the row, igniting the soft glow of 1930s-style lighting fixtures around the stage. The seating area remained somewhat dark.

He took her hand and led her toward the piano, which was spotlighted on the cherry stage.

Sophie was intrigued when he slid onto the piano bench and drew her down to sit beside him. One of her eyebrows quirked. “You know how to play piano?”

“Not really. Andy’s been trying to teach me a few songs in our down time, though.”

“So you
are
challenging yourself with your new job.”

“I have a long way to go, as you’ll soon discover.”

But when he placed his long fingers on the keys, it looked like they’d found a home. He began playing a vaguely familiar tune with a hip-hop rhythm. He swayed a bit, looking into her eyes and crooning soulfully, “It’s goin’ so right. Got my showty at my side…”

They both burst out in laughter.

“A little different from Frank Sinatra, huh?”

“Slightly. And I’m not really a showty.”

“No,” he agreed, sweeping his eyes down the length of her. “You’re definitely not. Maybe I have a better song for you.” He played a few notes of a recognizable rollicking melody, singing, “My Bonnie lies over the ocean. My Bonnie lies over the sea…”

He stopped playing and turned to her with a smoldering gaze. He stared straight into her eyes as he resumed: “My Bonnie lies over the ocean. Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me!”

He maneuvered her body around so she was straddling the bench, and his hands drifted to her hips, anchoring him as he leaned in and feathered a soft kiss on her lips. He continued singing, without the piano now.

“Bring back…bring back…oh, bring back…my Bonnie…to me, to me,” he sang softly, all the while kissing her lips, neck, and shoulders between words.

He stood and swung one leg up and over to straddle the bench as well. Grant faced Sophie and scooted her closer. She lifted each foot over his thighs and wrapped her legs around him, their heaving chests flush to each other.

She hooked her hands over his shoulders, and he ran his fingers through her luxurious blond mane. Feeling his emergent hardness press into her belly, she whispered, “Your Bonnie’s back, McSailor.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” He grinned, kissing her ear. “My Bonnie must never, ever leave.”

His mouth trailed scorching kisses down the smooth curve of her jaw, up her chin, and onto her mouth, gently biting her lower lip as he gazed hungrily into her eyes.

“Bonnie’s dad even likes McSailor,” she added with a giggle, capturing his lips with her own as their roving hands explored the finer points of each other’s physique.

“Can’t say the same for McSailor’s dad,” Grant joked, stroking and kneading the back of her neck.

Her eyes fluttered shut at the glorious sensation.

Grant frowned. “He’s a shark in the ocean, stealthily waiting for Bonnie to cross the sea.”

Her hands cradled his head, smoothing his face and neck before coming to rest on his collarbone as she angled to kiss his upper chest.

“He can’t get me, though.”

Grant’s breath hitched, feeling her tongue skate over his skin. “That’s right—you’re a swimmer,” he said softly.

She glanced up, meeting his glittering gaze. “No. The shark can’t get me because McSailor will protect me.”

***

Twenty minutes later they stumbled, giggling, out of Capone’s Spirits. Grant shushed her as he located the key in his pocket to lock up the bar.

“Grant?”

He looked up to find his boss coming down the hallway, staring at him curiously. He straightened his posture. “Uh, hi, Mr. Remington.”

Once the woman with tousled hair spun around, Alex recognized her too. “Sophie!”

“Alex!” She rushed forward to give him a hug. “You look a little tired,” she said, stepping away. “Did you just get back from Springfield?”

He nodded, suppressing a yawn. “Poor Tom. He’s rather depressed, and all the empty tables at the fundraiser didn’t help much.”

“Isn’t it kind of late for a fundraiser?” Sophie asked. “The election’s next week.”

Alex shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. But I fear it’s a sinking ship—Jovanovich really has the momentum right now. Anyway, let’s discuss happier topics. How did it go tonight, Grant?”

“Fine, sir, seemed like a good crowd.” He looked nervous, gesturing behind him. “I was just showing Sophie around a little. Hope that’s okay.”

Sophie hoped it wasn’t obvious what they’d been doing inside the bar.

“Of course!” Alex scoffed. “That’s why you have keys.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, this old man better get to bed. Goodnight, you two.” He headed toward the elevator.

“Goodnight, sir.”

“’Night, Alex.”

Drawing Sophie to his side, they headed down the hallway. Suddenly, Grant froze, his lips parted with a look of awe.

“What is it?”

“Oh my God. I just figured it out! I know how my dad’s planning to escape.” He swiveled his gaze to her. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“Thank you for being here,” Grant began in a shaky voice, making eye contact with each of the five guests gathered around the dining room table. His gaze traveled slowly from Sophie to Joe to Will to Jerry Stone, and finally to Marilyn Fox. “I know you’re all busy people, so I’ll try to keep this brief.”

“What the hell’s this about, Madsen?” Jerry grumbled. “Detective Fox needs to get back up to Lake County, and I’ve got a full slate of parolees on today’s schedule.”

“Just give him a chance to explain,” Will said.

Grant and Sophie looked at each other in surprise. Grant supposed Sophie’s father, acting as the host of this little soiree, felt obligated to speak on his behalf.

Grant smiled at his parole officer. “I’m grateful you took the time to be here, sir.”

Joe was pleased by his nephew’s respectful tone.

“I believe everyone here knows about my father’s threat to get out of prison,” Grant said.

“I know what you told me over the phone, Mr. Madsen,” Marilyn said. “But I’m unclear on the details. Why were you visiting your father in the first place?”

Grant swallowed, exchanging a glance with Sophie, whose affectionate gaze heartened his resolve. “My psychologist, Dr. Hayes, encouraged me to meet with my father to, um, to try to heal from the past.”

Sophie snuck her hand under the table and rested it on Grant’s knee in silent support. His hands had been tightly laced together in his lap, but feeling her presence he unfolded them, bringing one hand forward to meet hers.

Drawing a deep breath, Grant continued, “I’ve been sort of struggling lately, with nightmares and other stuff, I guess.” He sniffed. “You see, my father, well, when I was a kid, he…he physically abused me.”

The last words came out in a rush, but everyone heard him clearly and looked stunned by the revelation. Joe and Sophie couldn’t believe Grant had just shared this, and the others took in the news for the first time. Jerry looked down, not knowing what to say, and Marilyn appeared stricken. Will crumpled in his chair, feeling shocked then disgusted. He could never imagine hitting his child, no matter how angry she made him.

When Sophie squeezed his hand, Grant slowly looked up. Although she could detect some lingering shame in his bottomless blue eyes, she knew he’d come a long way from being that frightened little four-year-old locked in the closet. The fact that he’d openly admitted the abuse showed he was no longer shouldering the blame for his father’s actions. He was no longer internalizing his father’s cruel words.

“It must have been tough to confront your father, then,” Marilyn said, breaking the silence.

Grant nodded. “Yes, ma’am. And then when he told me he was getting out—”

“What were his exact words?”

“He said, ‘I’ll join you on the outside,’ um, ‘I’ll see you soon.’”

“And you think that’s credible?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s been in there twenty-two years, and he’s never even mentioned the idea of getting out before. I think he has a sure exit strategy all lined up. And his plan will begin next week unless we stop him.”

“Next week?” Jerry asked.

Grant nodded, glancing at Sophie and then back at his PO. “After the election.”

Will leaned forward. “Why the election?”

Clearing his throat, Grant said, “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out my dad’s plan. Why now? Why does he seem so certain he’s getting out now? I’ve also come to realize that after rolling in the dough for years, my family’s having money problems. There’s a reason Carlo came after Logan and Sophie so hard for that money. There’s a reason they’re pushing their extortion contracts so heavily. They’re broke.”

Grant looked around the table. Will, Joe, Marilyn, and Jerry all perched on the edge of their seats, staring back at him expectantly. Feeling Sophie’s steadying presence next to him, he continued, “I think my father has bribed Darko Jovanovich. He funds Jovanovich’s campaign, and Jovanovich pardons him once he wins office. My father will be released from prison by the new governor.”

There was a moment of silence, then everyone started talking at once.

“How’d you figure this out?”

“That conniving bastard!”

“How’ll we prove—”

“If Enzo Barberi gets free…”

Sophie gazed at Grant, both of them now feeling electrified by the energy in the room. It seemed Grant’s theory had merit.

Over the cacophony of voices, one rang out, defeating the others with its intensity and gravitas. “Wait a minute, people!” Marilyn hollered, standing up.

Joe suppressed a chuckle as he watched her take charge—this little half-pint could command authority almost better than his captain.

“Mr. Madsen, I have a question,” Marilyn said, meeting his gaze at almost eye-level from her standing position.

“Maybe if you stood up, Marilyn, we might actually notice you,” Jerry teased.

She playfully punched his arm. “Shut up, Stone.” She turned back to Grant. “Mr. Madsen, if I may continue, that’s a very interesting theory. Do you have any evidence to back it up?”

Grant swallowed. “Not yet, ma’am. I was hoping we could work together to gather some.” Sensing her skeptical glare, he rambled on. “Is there some sort of Chicago Police division focusing on the Mafia?”

Marilyn paused. “Not that I know of, but that’s not what you want anyway. You think Jovanovich is making shady deals with a prisoner? You want a public corruption task force.”

“A what?” Joe asked.

“The Illinois Public Corruption Task Force,” Marilyn answered. “They go after corrupt public officials. The City of Chicago, Cook County, the State of Illinois and the FBI all participate, so this would be perfect. I worked with one of the FBI agents on the task force, Lucas Bounter, on a case in Lake County. We took down a corrupt county commissioner.”

Grant asked, “Detective Fox, could you get in touch with Agent Bounter? Maybe get them involved and start an investigation?”

“Tom is going to want to hear about
this
,” Will interjected hotly. “He’ll get his staff on it right away.”

“Be careful,” Joe warned quietly. “If the Barberi family finds out you’re investigating them, they’ll come after you. They’ll come after you hard. Tom Grogan’s a politician, not a federal agent. Leave this to law enforcement.”

“The problem is that law enforcement will need a warrant to do what you’re asking, Mr. Madsen,” Marilyn said. “We can’t go sniffing around the Barberi family’s financial records, or those of a high-profile gubernatorial candidate, without solid evidence that something’s fishy.”

Sophie’s shoulders sagged, knowing what was coming next. Grant’s reassuring hand-squeeze did little to squelch her dread.

“I thought you might say that,” Grant replied, looking directly at Marilyn and Jerry. “But I said we’d be working
together
to gather the evidence. I haven’t told you my part yet.”

“Your part?” Joe asked warily.

Not looking at Sophie, Grant squared his shoulders. “I’m going to get you that evidence.”

“How the hell will you do that?” Jerry asked.

“I’ll go back inside Gurnee. Wired. I’ll get my father to confess his plan.”

This time the silence lasted much longer.

Finally, Joe said, “Are you
crazy
, Grant? Didn’t Enzo threaten to kill you once he got his hands on you?”

“He’s not going to kill his own son, Joe.”

“The hell he’s not. The man’s unstable! He’s probably been cultivating this exchange with Jovanovich for months! He’s not going to let you step in and ruin it all.”

“You knew about this?” Will stared at Sophie.

“Yes, Grant told me last night.”

Will looked incredulous. “And you agreed to his plan?”

She sighed glumly. “He hasn’t told you all of it yet.”

“So there’s more to this harebrained scheme?” Jerry scoffed, glowering at the plan’s mastermind. “You know how bad it is in Gurnee, Madsen. Why the hell would you willingly go back inside?”

Chewing on his lip, Grant eventually replied, “Because if I go in there and get you the evidence—if it stops a corrupt politician from winning office…well, then I want Sophie’s felony conviction reversed.”

“Grant too!” Sophie rushed to add. “That’s the only way I agreed to this: if Grant’s conviction gets reversed too.”

“Fat fucking chance!” Jerry exploded. “I should’ve known you two were up to something. The courts will
never
go for this.”

Marilyn rested a hand on Jerry’s forearm, trying to calm him. “Mr. Madsen, how exactly do you plan on getting your conviction vacated?”

Grant chewed on his lower lip. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I’m hoping if this works, someone will go to bat for us? There must be a way.”

“Tom Grogan would certainly be on board,” Will said. “If nothing else pans out, I’d think he’d be willing to issue pardons for both of you.”

Marilyn nodded thoughtfully. “The task force has a local prosecutor and an assistant attorney general assigned to it, I believe. They’d have to figure it out. You both pleaded guilty, so that may make it easier—no jury trial convictions to be set aside.”

Jerry looked nonplussed.

“They’re conning us, Mar. This is all about them skating scot-free.”

“Oh, come
on
, Jer, you and I both know they don’t belong in the correctional system. The only reason they were arrested in the first place is they got caught up in the Barberi family web. And now that they finally have a chance to get free, you’re going to stand in their way?” Her green eyes flared. “They’re both good people, and if Grant’s plan works, we’ll be doing our jobs—protecting the people of Illinois from the likes of Enzo Barberi and from Darko Jovanovich too, assuming he’s guilty of corruption.”

Sophie and Grant gazed at Marilyn, their new hero.

His bushy grey eyebrows knitting together, Jerry squinted pensively at Grant. “If you succeed—and that’s a big
if
—Enzo Barberi’s going to be mighty pissed at you.”

Grant swallowed. “That’s why we need to be free, sir—in case we need to go into hiding.”

“You honestly think you could elude the Mafia?” Marilyn asked, skepticism written all over her face.

“In its heyday, no,” Grant said. “But I think my family’s severely compromised right now. They’ve lost Logan and Carlo. Uncle Angelo’s about to die, and I bet they’ve spent most of their money on my dad’s freedom. My dad would’ve demanded it.”

“I should inform my captain before I put feelers out to the task force,” Marilyn said. “They’ll have to move fast—the election’s only six days away. Task forces typically work quickly, but this is fast even for them.”

Grant nodded. “I propose we all meet back here tomorrow morning after we check out the feasibility of this plan.”

Grant turned to Jerry with a hint of trepidation. “Officer Stone, would you check with the head of the DOC about me going back inside, sir? Maybe give him a head’s up so he’s ready if the task force decides to move forward?”

Grant held his breath while Jerry grumpily considered his request, drumming his fingertips on the opulent oak table. Finally he caved. “Fine. But don’t expect miracles, Madsen. And since tomorrow’s Wednesday, do you two plan on just blowing off your weekly meeting?”

“Would it be okay if we met here at my dad’s house instead, Jerry?” Sophie asked. “It could sort of be like a home visit for you.”

She received some muttering under his breath as a response.

“Thank you, sir,” Grant replied, hoping for the best. Then he turned to look at Sophie’s father. “Mr. Taylor, would you talk to Governor Grogan’s people about this theory? See what they might’ve uncovered during the campaign?”

“Hell yes, I will. This’ll be the first good news the Republicans have had in months.”

“It might not work,” Grant cautioned, dropping his voice. “I might be wrong.”

“Could be,” Will said. “But it just
feels
right. I haven’t liked that Darko character from the second I met him. He’s slick.”

“You met him?” Marilyn looked curious.

“Yes, at the debate last winter. Tom introduced me to his opponent, and he just seemed off. He’s got shifty eyes or something.”

While the group pondered that characterization, Joe asked, “What do you need from me, Grant?”

His nephew guiltily returned his gaze. “I know you don’t agree with this plan, Joe—Sophie hates it too. But I promise I’ll keep myself safe. What I need is to learn all I can about my father before I go in there—his mannerisms, his likes, his dislikes. Even though I’m his son, I feel like I don’t really know him. I tried to avoid him the last time I was inside, but obviously I can’t do that now.”

When Joe nodded, Grant added, “And for Ben—I need you to help me come up with a plan to keep Ben safe if this whole thing goes bad, okay?”

“Of course.”

“But it’s not going to go bad, right?” Sophie pleaded.

“Right,” Grant confirmed, rising to standing and drawing her out of her chair as well. He wrapped his arm around her back and rested his hand reassuringly on her hip. “C’mon, let’s walk Detective Fox and Officer Stone out. I’m sure they need to get going.”

Will and Joe found themselves left staring uncomfortably at each other.

“Wow. That’s some plan your boy’s got there,” Will said.

Joe nodded. “I guess he must have inherited Enzo’s mastermind for strategy. There’s no way the family would be crumbling like it is if Enzo was still at the helm.” He exhaled derisively. “You know, I had a premonition that anyone named Darko had to be dirty.”

Will cracked a grin. “According to Tom, Darko is a derivative of the Serbian word for ‘gift.’ Tom found that rather ironic, since his opponent thrashing him in the polls certainly hasn’t felt like a gift.”

Taking a worried breath, Joe grimaced in agreement. The idea of Grant returning to prison, and being in close proximity with his father, didn’t feel like a gift either. Joe hoped the stars would align to keep his nephew safe.