Bad Behavior (23 page)

“Now, Mr. Madsen,” FBI Agent Lucas Bounter said as he fiddled with Grant’s shirt, “make sure this microphone’s kept in the ‘on’ position the entire time you’re incarcerated, even if you’re not talking to the suspect.”

“Why’s that?” Sophie asked, leaning in toward the digital audio-recording console, pressing her palms flat against her father’s dining room table.

“It’s procedure,” Lucas gruffly replied. “We don’t want to give Barberi’s attorney any opportunity to question the investigation—alleging somebody threatened him while the mic was off or some such nonsense.”

“As if I could threaten
him
,” Grant scoffed, peering down at the button-sized digital voice recorder attached to his shirt collar. “This microphone seems sort of similar to the technology we used in the Navy.”

“Oh, like an underwater pinger locator?” Joe asked.

“Yes, sir, ’cept those were a heck of a lot bigger than this little guy.”

Joe glanced at the compact FBI agent. “And how does Grant get by with wearing the device in Gurnee?”

Lucas said, “It’s a good thing the task force was already sniffing around Jovanovich’s campaign funding, so we could mobilize right away when we heard Grant’s evidence. Between his information and what we already knew, the US Attorney was able to secure a warrant for the wire and the task force got the DOC to approve the operation.”

Jerry sighed, still not quite believing the DOC’s cooperation. “The warden and one of the COs are going to be in on it,” Jerry explained.

“The more people who know about this, the more likely the truth leaks out,” Joe countered. “Can we trust these men?”

“Warden Arthur’s a good man,” Jerry said. “Right, Madsen?”

Grant licked his lips. “I can’t honestly say, sir. The only interaction I had with him was when he threw me in the hole for standing up to my father.”

“But the other guys also went in the hole for fighting, right?” Jerry asked.

“No, sir.”

Joe inhaled sharply. “Enzo’s obviously bought off most of the guards in there. I do
not
want one of the COs in on the sting. It’s not safe.”

As Jerry snapped back, defending the corrections officers, Grant glanced uneasily at Sophie, who appeared pale and frightened.

He reached out for her, smoothing one hand down the side of her head, feeling her silky strawberry hair under his touch. “It’ll be okay,” he promised.

“It just seems like too much of a risk. Even if it works…”

“We’ll be all right. I won’t let them hurt you again, okay? The best defense is offense.”

She gave him a stern look. “That works with football, Grant, not with the Mafia.”

He offered a slight smile. “Well, the cons typically play football out in the yard this time of year, so maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe I’ll get a chance to tackle my dad.”

“Yes, tackle him, trip him, beat him up… I hope you grind his face in the mud.”

“Hey, I thought psychologists didn’t believe in violence,” Grant said.

She shook her head. “I know. It’s just that I hate that man. I hate him for what he did to you back then, and I hate him for what he’s doing to you now—forcing you to go back inside.”

“He’s not forcing me to do anything, Sophie. I thought we agreed on this. We both agreed we’d get our lives back this way.”

“But that was when I thought this wouldn’t go through. I never thought they’d go for—”

“Cool!” Detective Marilyn Fox’s voice cut into their conversation. Agent Bounter was showing her some of the finer points of the audio surveillance system. “You guys get all the fun toys,” she said with a pout.

“They don’t have this up in Lake County?” Lucas teased.

Her eyes narrowed, and she elbowed him in the ribs. “Thanks for talking to my captain and convincing him I needed to be here today. Not having any official role is frustrating, but at least I get to see the action up close.”

Sophie allowed a faint smile to break through her worry as she watched Jerry, sensing competition, float over to Marilyn and Lucas.

“The mic looks kind of flimsy,” Jerry observed.

“It’s quite strong,” Lucas countered, picking up the Gurnee-issue powder blue button-down shirt and rubbing the microphone, which was disguised as a button near the shirt’s collar. “It’s been field-tested and approved.”

“How many live operations has the device been used for?” Joe asked.

Lucas paused.

“Agent Bounter?” Joe prompted.

“Well, this is a new technology, actually.” Reading the dismay on the commander’s face, Lucas rushed in to add, “But I can assure you it will work.”

“I don’t like this,” Joe protested. “I don’t like this one bit.” He met his nephew’s wary eyes across the table. “Don’t do this, Grant. If they catch wind of your scheme, if they find that microphone planted on you…”

“It’s too late to back out now,” Grant responded, quiet determination in his voice. He crossed over to his uncle and stood before him. “I have to do this, Joe. I can’t let my father win.”

“He
won’t
be winning. Who cares if he gets out—he’ll still be the same miserable, morally depraved man he’s always been. It’s not your responsibility to stop him.”

“Tell that to Richie Fanocelli,” Grant said. “Tell him his son’s killer is about to get out of prison before serving his full sentence. My dad’s trying to cheat the system again. How can you just stand by and watch it happen? You taught me to stand up for what’s right. You taught me to fight. You’re a Navy commander! How can you be so passive about this?”

Joe exhaled loudly, gripping one of the dining room chairs. “Because he’s destroyed so much already, and I don’t want to give him the opportunity to do more damage. He took your mother—I know Karita died of cancer, but I blame Enzo. He hurt her, and he hurt you boys.”

Grant’s jaw clenched, and Joe continued. “And he took your brother. Logan’s dead because of Enzo. Make no mistake about it.” Joe’s voice softened. “I don’t want him taking you too.”

“I won’t let him, sir. I have to do this. I know I’m the only one who can get the information out of him. He wants to tell me how he’s outsmarted the system. He
needs
to tell me. He needs to put me in my place for challenging him like I did. I can’t stand by and just let him go free. Sophie and I will be in even more danger if he gets out.”

Joe sighed grimly, running one hand through his graying blond hair. He looked weary, older than his sixty-two years. “You’re right, of course. You have to fight. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Grant looked bewildered. “Mistakes?”

“I should’ve fought Enzo back then, back when you were a child. I regret not getting your mom and you boys away from him.”

Grant placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did get me away from him.”

Their blue eyes met, and Grant felt relieved that his uncle had accepted the plan—although the relief was mixed with fear.

Joe gathered his nephew into a hug, quietly ordering, “You come back to me in one piece, ya hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

They thumped each other on the back a few times before releasing their embrace.

“And you’re going to keep Ben with you for the next few days?” Grant asked.

“I’m heading over there once Officer Stone takes you away,” Joe assured him.

Jerry and Marilyn had been uncomfortably watching the uncle-nephew exchange, and Jerry took Joe’s statement as his cue.

“Let’s get outside so I can arrest you publicly,” Jerry said, looking pointedly at Grant.

“You don’t have to look so happy about it, sir.”

“It’s always a pleasure to send a deserving con back inside,” Jerry joked.

“You’re an ass, Jerry,” Marilyn retorted, causing Grant to chuckle. “But I do agree that it’s wise to make the arrest as public as possible, to make it more legit. The story is that you violated parole by losing your job?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Taylor’s arranging things with Mr. Remington as we speak.”

Jerry scooped up the wired Gurnee shirts and stuffed them in a bag. “Let’s go, Madsen.”

“Can we have a minute?” Sophie blurted. “Before you take him?”

Jerry frowned, but said, “Fine. Make it quick.”

She’d grabbed Grant’s hand and was already pulling him out of the room before Jerry finished responding. Sophie first guided him into her father’s study, but finding a state police detective from the task force there, speaking on his cell phone, she abruptly spun around and headed in the other direction. Flustered, Sophie opened the front door and led Grant toward the gated entrance.

Watching her punch in the security code for the gate, Grant asked, “Where’re you taking us?”

Sophie sighed with relief once they reached the sidewalk. “Just right here—I had to get out of there. All that talk about returning to prison was making me claustrophobic. I wanted to go somewhere to say goodbye.”

He rested his long fingers on the curve of her hips, gazing at her fondly. “I’m only going to be gone a few days, Bonnie.”

She nodded, shivering in the autumn chill.

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “If this works, you won’t have to worry about returning to prison. You won’t have to feel claustrophobic ever again. You’ll get your life back.”

She tried to be tough but couldn’t stop tears from pooling in her eyes.

When one tear rolled down her cheek, Grant murmured, “Oh, Sophie.” He leaned down to kiss away the salty droplet with his soft lips. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, pressing his mouth hard against hers, infusing her with strength.

Inside the house, the unmistakable sound of fervent kissing filled the dining room. Lucas cleared his throat, nodding at the recording mechanism on the console. “Looks like the device works.”

Joe averted his eyes, stifling a grin.

“Jesus Christ,” Jerry complained. “Do we really have to listen to Con and Conette going at it out there?”

“Let’s give them some privacy, Lucas,” Marilyn suggested, and the agent turned off the audio.

Back on the sidewalk, Sophie grudgingly peeled herself away. “I better let you go. Jerry’s itching to get those cuffs back on you.”

“More handcuffs.” Grant frowned.

She reached into her pocket and extracted a small envelope. “I promise to write you letters when you’re inside, but—”

“Sophie, really, I’m going to be out of there before the first letter will even arrive!”

“Don’t try to stop me, McSailor. I can’t visit you in there, and you said Joe shouldn’t visit you either, so I want you to have at least some contact from the outside.” She looked down. “I know what it’s like not to have visitors.”

“Yes, but
I
get to spend quality time with my dad.”

She matched his sarcastic tone. “Lucky you. Anyway, what I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted—” they both smiled “—was that I wanted you to have something to comfort you in there, until you get my first letter.”

Handing him the envelope, she watched his face as he opened it. He extracted a wallet-sized photo and brought it closer to get a good look at the ravishing blonde staring back at him, her face slightly shaded by the bill of a baseball cap.

“Kirsten took that at a White Sox game a few years ago,” she explained.

“You look so happy there,” he mused. His eyes drifted from the cheerful image to her apprehensive frown. “This picture was taken before you came into contact with my family. Before they hurt you.”

“I’m happy
now
,” she insisted. “But I’ll only stay that way if you come back to me.”

He nodded guiltily, tucking the photo back in the envelope and sliding it into his pocket. His eyes glittered, though it was a cloudy morning.

“Thank you,” he said. He planted a reassuring kiss on her trembling lips. She felt warmth emanating from his sure hands and soft lips, calming her with a sense of sanctuary.

They were so absorbed in their goodbye kiss that they barely heard the screeching tires, and only when several sets of pounding footsteps drew near did they realize something was happening. Once Grant glanced to the street, he froze.

Tank and Mario were jogging toward them, Mario’s heft shifting with each hustled step, and Tank’s menacing smile lending him an expression of triumph. Another set of large men loomed right behind them, and Grant stepped in front of Sophie, trying to shield her. It was too late to run—the men were on top of them in a second.

“We found you!” Mario huffed, breathing hard.

“Let’s go, Grant,” Tank ordered.

His blue eyes darted back and forth among the four men now encircling them. “Go where?”

“On a little trip,” Mario responded, still panting.

Grant reached behind him to clasp Sophie’s wrist, sensing her fear. He noticed the two cars waiting in the street, both with beefy drivers staring back at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he declared, attempting to keep his voice steady.

Tank slid a handgun out of its holster, keeping it low by his hip but obviously aiming it at Grant. “We can do this hard or easy,
Madsen.
Move it.”

Swallowing, Grant quickly countered, “I’ll only go with you if you leave Sophie alone.” He heard a small cry of protest behind him and squeezed her wrist comfortingly.

Tank chuckled. Madsen was outnumbered six to one and must have been incredibly stupid to think he could bargain with them. “Of course,” he promised. “We only want you. She can stay.”

Grant gave a slight nod and didn’t fight when Mario and Tank grabbed his arms, forcing him toward the first waiting car. He snuck a glance over his shoulder, expecting to see the other two goons lock-stepping into place behind him, and he gasped when he saw them seize Sophie instead and begin to push her toward the other car.

“Hey!” Grant cried, struggling to escape the bodyguards’ vice-like hold. He managed to free one arm, but Mario instantly punched a swift shot to his gut.

“Grant!” Sophie shrieked, unable to fight off the two men jostling her through the open car door.

Gasping for air and stumbling, Grant swiveled and jammed his foot into Tank’s knee. “Son of a bitch!” the bodyguard hollered, raising his fist in fury and clouting his detainee on the side of the head.