Bad Behavior (25 page)

He stared through the enclosed, fenced-in walkway leading to the parking lot, first noticing the black sedan still waiting for him. With his elbows propped on the hood of the car, Tank sent him a menacing glare. Then Grant looked to the left, his eyes sweeping over the parked cars and coming to rest on a nondescript gray vehicle. Agent Lucas Bounter popped his head out of the open driver’s side window, catching Grant’s attention. His presence here could mean only one thing: the mic was working! Squinting, Grant saw another man in the front seat but couldn’t make out who it was.

Grant’s stomach dropped. Were they going to try to steal him back? Abruptly he spun on his heel and swiftly made his way back inside the prison, ignoring the cry of protest from Tank behind him.

Breathing heavily, Grant burst back into the visitation check-in area, pleading, “Do you have a visitor’s bathroom?”

The CO cocked his head to the right. “Sure, it’s down there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Grant jogged to the restroom, luckily finding it empty. Securing the lock, he leaned against the door, words frantically tumbling out of his mouth. “Don’t take me. Please don’t take me. Enzo wants me to make a money drop, and it’s gotta be to Jovanovich’s people. Please let me do this. Follow me and make the bust tomorrow night, just don’t take me now—I’ll be okay.” His gut clenched, knowing he’d be in the custody of Logan’s killers until then.

“Find Sophie,” he continued, speaking aloud to the empty bathroom. “They took her somewhere, and they’re holding her to make sure I do the drop. Please find her.”

Reckless thoughts careened through his brain—what was he missing? He knew he had to get back out there before the bodyguards came looking for him. “And Ben—make sure Ben’s okay, too. Please, sirs. Find Sophie.”

Grant unlocked the door, trying to collect himself as he hustled to the exit. Noticing the CO watching him, Grant took the time to meet his gaze and assure him, “I won’t be back, I promise. Thank you, sir.”

Every muscle in his body tensed as he walked to the town car, silently pleading for no move from the FBI agent and the officer to his left. Fortunately Lucas and the man stayed put, but he could feel the heat of their distant stares.

“What the fuck was that?” Tank hollered, grasping Grant’s elbows and shoving his back into the car door. “We told you to come right back here!”

“Sorry,” Grant breathlessly explained. “I had to go so bad I thought I’d pee in my pants.”

Abruptly releasing his arms, Tank took a step back and sneered at him, exchanging an evil grin with Mario. “And according to the boss, that’s a genuine threat. I suppose we should thank you for not pissing all over yourself. That would’ve made for a long, smelly car ride.”

Mario laughed heartily as color rose in Grant’s cheeks. He allowed himself to be shoved inside the backseat, once again stuffed between the bodyguards. Grant hoped Agent Bounter would be discreet in tailing the vehicle, wherever they were headed.

Once they cleared the guard station and were barreling toward I-94, Tank instructed, “Do it.”

Mario whipped out a fresh plastic tie, and Grant tensed. But the portly bodyguard secured the tie with his hands in front of him this time, and he allowed slightly more slack. The hard edges of the tie wouldn’t sear into the existing cuts as long as Grant kept his hands still.

“Can’t have you bleeding on the leather seats,” Tank explained maliciously. “And we can’t have you seeing where we’re going, either.”

Before Grant knew it, Mario wrapped a blindfold over his eyes, tying the dark material tightly against the back of his shorn head. As darkness descended, Grant’s stomach dropped. He didn’t like the dark very much. Fighting for oxygen, Sophie’s soothing words came to him:
You’re an adult now. They can’t hurt you anymore.

His yearning for Sophie was palpable. Clenching his jaw, he fought the hot tears burning his cool crystal eyes. All was black.

Sophie awoke to sheer blackness.

Frantically tossing her head and struggling to escape the darkness, she tried to figure out where the hell she was. She strained to release her arms from an unknown binding, desperate to find something, anything recognizable. Her thrashing caused a sharp pain in her forehead and a throbbing ache to radiate up the length of her arms, and then it all came back.

They had her.

They had her blindfolded and tied down, probably on some hard wooden chair, by the feel of it. She moaned in despair.

“She’s awake,” a harsh, nasal voice announced, and Sophie froze.

She heard a faint, tinny reverberation, followed by a snapping sound.

“Boss is happy to hear that,” Nasal Voice continued, sounding like he was looking in her direction. “He thought that blow to the head mighta killed you, and we didn’t know how we were gonna get rid of your body.”

This conversation was so astounding that Sophie had to suppress an inappropriate urge to laugh. “Where am I?” she feebly inquired, hearing the rasp in her voice. How long had she been unconscious?

“Somewhere safe,” the man responded, stepping closer.

Sophie shivered and suddenly noticed the damp coolness of her surroundings.

“You cold?” the voice asked. “You didn’t have a jacket on when we took you. I’ll be right back.” He hesitated, and a hint of amusement then entered his voice. “Now don’t go anywhere, you hear?”

She focused on breathing steadily as footsteps faded into the sound of a door sliding closed, and then she shifted her thoughts to making sense of her predicament. Why had they taken her? What was happening to Grant? Had they found the recording device—had they figured out his plan? Oh, God…had they hurt him? She felt her eyes well up with tears.

Too quickly she heard the heavy footfalls return. As a soft material descended over her shoulders, she sensed the man pause in his efforts to blanket her body.

“Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “You’ll be okay—we’re just holding you for a while.”

She felt a rough thumb skate across her cheek, wiping away the tears. However, more tears were forthcoming.

“Stop crying,” he ordered.

“Sorry.” Her voice was shaky and her throat too dry to swallow. “I, um, I’m scared.”

His tone was softer. “You’re perfectly safe here.”

It dawned on her that it might be a good sign she was blindfolded—if she hadn’t see his face, maybe he’d let her live. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Why are you holding me here?”

“Co-ladder-all,” he answered.

Did he mean ‘collateral’?

“Boss wants to make sure somebody does a job right. Gotta provide the
proper motivation.
”

For a fleeting moment, Sophie wondered if they were forcing her father to do a job for them, but the “somebody” was more likely Grant. She’d seen them kidnap him too. What were they making him do? Undoubtedly another crime. Sophie said a silent prayer he wouldn’t be caught this time. She couldn’t bear for her McSailor to return to prison.

Suddenly she felt a cool glass pressing at her bottom lip.

“Drink this,” the man commanded, but she shied away.

They’re trying to drug me!

“Drink this!” he loudly repeated, corralling her weaving head with a heavy clamp on her neck. He forced her to take down the liquid. “It’s just water!” he exclaimed.

She couldn’t fight any more and swallowed the unknown fluid pressing at the back of her throat. Sophie noted with relief that it did indeed seem to be water—no poisonous aftertaste—but the struggle had sent tears cascading down her cheeks again. She felt helpless and terrified, and she panted for air after the tussle.
Grant,
she silently cried, her body shaking despite the blanket slung across her shoulders.
Please stay alive. Please save me.

***

It didn’t look like he’d be able to save her this time.

Grant’s mind kept flashing back to Kirsten’s apartment, where he’d crept inside to find Carlo aiming a gun at Sophie. Miraculously he’d kept her safe then, but Mario and Tank weren’t going to let him go anytime soon. His body seized up in terror as he thought about what could be happening to his Bonnie.

Grant glanced over at his captors to find them casually stretched out on crates, using the warehouse floor as their poker table.

At least they’d removed the damn blindfold after forcing him to hug a water pipe and securing his wrists with a new plastic tie. When his back throbbed from hunching over in his seated position, he could get to his feet and slowly glide his hands up the pipe to stand for a time. Then when his legs ached from standing, he’d slide back to the floor. He’d alternated between these two positions throughout the night, somehow managing to catch a few restless minutes of sleep in between. His long legs, straddling the pipe, now stretched out on the cold concrete floor.

He only hoped Sophie was faring better wherever they were holding her.

Tonight was the drop, and Grant couldn’t wait to get out of here. Not only was he terribly uncomfortable, there was something ominous about the warehouse that he couldn’t identify—an eerie unease that chilled him. He wished he could access the photo of Sophie, but he had no way to reach into his pocket.

The poker game must have ended, and it was obvious who the winner was. Flashing a sated grin, Tank stood up and stretched his arms over his head, growling as he yawned. “I’m gonna take a piss.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Mario irritably replied, watching his partner limp to a makeshift bathroom in the opposite corner of the warehouse.

Twenty feet away, Grant coolly observed the man called “Meat.” Mario gathered the cards, scratched himself a few times, and glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” he muttered.

“We, uh, we going somewhere far from here?” Grant questioned, trying to sound casual.

“Nah. We take you to Angelo first, then we make the drop. It’s all close by.” As soon as he finished speaking, his portly face reddened. He seemed to realize he’d said too much.

Trying to capitalize on his alone time with the less ruthless, more dimwitted bodyguard, Grant continued, “What’s it like working for my family?”

This seemed like safer territory to Mario. “Eh, it’s a job. Working for Angelo’s not too bad.”

“But Angelo’s dying of lung cancer.”

“Yeah,” Mario confirmed, looking genuinely sad. “He told us we’re getting a new boss soon, though. I wonder who he’ll bring in.”

So they didn’t know about his father’s plan. The bodyguards were in for quite a surprise once Enzo took the reins.

“Gotta be better than Carlo,” Mario added.

“You didn’t like Carlo?”

Mario looked embarrassed. “Well, God rest his soul, he, ah—”

“I told you not to talk to Madsen!” Tank yelled, returning quickly and pointing an accusatory finger in Grant’s direction, glaring at his partner. “
He’s
the one who killed Carlo in the first place!”

Grant locked eyes with Tank. “I didn’t want to do it, I swear. He forced my hand—he…he shot Sophie.”

“That’s right, and she’ll get shot again if you don’t cooperate.”

“I know that,” Grant sullenly replied. “I won’t do anything to jeopardize her safety. You don’t have to keep me tied up. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, right,” Tank scoffed. “You’re staying put, Madsen.”

Mario bit his lip. “How did, um, how did Carlo die? I mean, did he take it like a man?”

Tank started to reprimand his partner again but stopped short. He wanted to hear Grant’s response as well.

With a far-off gaze, Grant answered, “I suppose so. His last words were that Logan…that Logan died trying to protect me.” Grant’s eyes pierced into the bodyguards. “Was Carlo telling the truth? Did Logan die trying to protect me?”

Mario’s jowls quivered like a cornered hamster, but Tank maintained his composure, saying nothing.

Grant continued prodding. “How did Logan die? Did
he
take it like a man?”

Tank exploded, “How the fuck should we know? We weren’t there when Logan died!”

“Yes, you were.” Playing this exchange carefully, Grant lied. “Carlo confessed it as he was dying. He told me you held Logan down while he killed him.”

Mario turned white. “B-B-But we didn’t know Carlo was going to
stab
him!”

Tank swallowed hard, and it was the first time Grant had seen him look shaken. “Does Enzo know about this?”

“Do you think you’d still be alive if Enzo knew?”

“Good point,” Tank conceded. “You—you planning on telling him?”

Ben’s devastated eyes flashed in Grant’s mind. Pushing that memory aside for now, he answered grimly, “Logan already got his justice when Carlo died. I know Carlo forced you two to be there—you were only doing your jobs. You had no idea what Carlo was going to do.”

Mario’s big head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. “Exactly! Logan was a cool guy. I’d never try to kill him.”

Sadly, Grant said, “Logan got what was coming to him.”

He stole a glance at Tank, who still appeared unconvinced that the son of Enzo Barberi would let the past slide. Grant added, “Besides, I hate my father, so I’m not going to tell him anything. I never want to see him again.”

“You’d better not speak that way about him,” Tank warned.

“What’s he going to do?” Grant challenged bitterly. “He’s already taken everything from me.”

“Not everything,” Tank amended, towering over his seated detainee. “You still got your girlfriend, if you play this right.”

Kneeling down by Grant, Tank whipped out a knife out of his boot, slowly unsheathing it. Grant studied the dull gleam of daylight reflected on the blade. Was Tank going to murder him now, just like he’d killed his brother? Was the FBI right outside, listening in? Could they save him in time if he was stabbed?

Hesitating, Tank glared at Grant, whose shoulders stiffened.

The bodyguard clutched the knife with one hand and ran the other through his short brown hair, considering what to do. “If I cut you free, you gonna do what we tell you?”

Grant exhaled. “You have Sophie. I’m not going to do anything stupid as long as she’s in danger.”

Evidently satisfied with his response, Tank quickly sliced his blade through the plastic tie.

Reveling in his freedom, Grant immediately began stretching his sore shoulders. He tentatively asked, “Is it okay if I use the head?”

Tank looked pensive as he replaced the knife. “Fine. Meat, go with him.”

Mario waited for Grant to rise to standing and followed him to the bathroom. It felt good to use his legs, and Grant set a swift pace until something on the floor brought him to a halt. There on the concrete was a rust-colored stain, splotchy and smeared. Grant stared at the bloodstain in horror.

When Mario noticed where Grant’s gaze had landed, he drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t wanna see that. C’mon.” He latched on to Grant’s arms and shoved him forward.

“Logan was here,” Grant mumbled, feeling a sickening dread sweep over him—a chilling sensation that made him want to vomit.

Mario said nothing as he pushed him, which confirmed Grant’s suspicions. His mind whirling, he barely remembered making it to the bathroom and shutting the door, but now found himself enclosed in the small, dark space. Feeling his chest spasm with hyperventilated breaths, Grant fought for control, gripping the counter of a grimy sink.

“We’ve got their confessions,” he whispered urgently, hoping his shaky voice could be deciphered by the ears listening to the recording device. “If anything happens to me, bring Tank and Mario to justice. Make them pay for killing my brother.” He closed his eyes, feeling his nose burn as he fought back tears. “And I hope you’ve found Sophie by now.” Swallowing hard, he begged, “You have to find her.”

***

“You must be getting bored,” Sophie called out into the darkness. “How long have we been here?”

Nasal Voice grunted and was quiet a few moments before offering, “Only a day or so.”

A whole day?
Her father must be insane with worry by now, and she knew Grant would be even more panicked—if he was still alive.
Concentrate,
she told herself.
How can I win this guy over?

“Thank you for making sure I’m safe here.”

There was silence. Eventually he asked, “Do you need some more water?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? I can just run upstairs and get some.”

Upstairs?
Are we in some sort of basement?

“No, I’m fine. You’re very kind to ask though.”

“You’re sure pretty,” he offered. “No wonder Logan gave you all that money.”

She licked her dry lips, trying to comprehend his comment. “He didn’t give me the money. Logan stashed it in my office, and I’m sure he intended to retrieve it when he needed it. But then I found it, and I kind of freaked out. Then the police got involved.”

He sounded wounded. “You gave the cops our money?”

“They took it,” she corrected. “Right after they arrested me.”

“You got popped?”

“Yes. I spent a year in prison, and I’m still on parole.” Forcing a smile, she added, “So please let me go by next Wednesday ’cause I have to meet with my PO that day.”

The man chuckled. “You’ll be outta here for sure by then, sweetie.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Why’d you get popped? Just for having our cash?”

Sophie gave a rueful smile. “Logan hid guns in my office too.”

The man whistled between his teeth. “Carlo never told me that.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.” She couldn’t stop the anger seeping into her voice.

“You mad at Carlo? What’d he ever do to you?”

“He shot me!”

There was a stunned silence. Slowly he said, “I didn’t know that either. They never tell the bodyguards nothing.”

“Carlo shot me, and then Grant wrestled the gun away from him.”

“Huh. And this whole time I was thinking that was a pure revenge kill—you know, Grant getting back at Carlo for offing his brother. But he did it to save you?”

“Yes.”

She heard a faint chuckle. “No wonder Carlo used to call him Saint Grant.”