On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “You’re…a doctor?”

  She winced. “I was a psychologist. Now I teach and do research.”

  “How the world you go from here to there?”

  “Well, I’m done with my parole…trying to put my life back together.”

  “So you were in prison here, and now you’re some swanky shrink. You think you know all about me, then.”

  “I don’t.” She met her eyes. “Even though I’m a con too, I don’t presume to know what it’s like to be maximum security—to be cuffed anytime you get out of your cell, to be here for years, to suffer all the losses you have. Also I have no idea what it’s like to be black, facing racism every day.”

  Her glare softened.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Sophie said, attempting to keep her voice steady. “To try to understand your unique experience. To talk about what therapy has been like for you.”

  “Why you need to interview me? You probably saw a shrink too—you know what it’s like.”

  “Not in here,” she admitted. “I was too stubborn. But my PO made me see a psychologist when I got out, so I didn’t escape therapy for long.”

  Dominique smirked. “They always get ya in the end.”

  “That’s for sure.” Sophie smiled.

  A silence settled over them, but eventually Dominique said, “The reason I started counseling was my bunkie told me to do it.”

  “Okay.” Sophie hesitated. “She’s the one in charge?”

  “Nah, ain’t like that. My bunkie said she’d kill me if I kept waking her up at night hollerin’.”

  Pain pierced her heart as she thought of Grant. “Nightmares, huh?”

  Dominique looked down. “Then I found out I got a better chance of getting back my kids, once I get out, if I go to counseling. That’s why I keep going, even though it was stupid at first.”

  “What parts seemed stupid to you?”

  They continued the interview for over an hour, and Sophie found herself completely absorbed, really connecting with the woman. She’d avoided most of the other inmates during her stay, but perhaps it hadn’t needed to be such a lonely year.

  “It sounds like therapy has been helpful for you, Dominique,” she concluded near the end of their time. “Your nightmares have stopped—so at least your bunkie won’t kill you now—and you have some ideas about how to discipline your kids effectively when you get out.”

  “Sounds ’bout right.”

  “What are your recommendations for improving therapy here? What could the DOC do to make it a more helpful experience?”

  “The DOC wants to know what I think?”

  “Yes! You’re giving your valuable time for an interview, and we want to use your insights to make things better.”

  Dominique looked away. “Well, uh, they could hire you, I guess. I like you better than Dr. Ashby.”

  Stunned, she was speechless for a few seconds. “Um, wow, that’s a really kind thing to say, Dominique. Thank you. I…I lost my license when I was arrested, though. No more therapy for me.”

  The prisoner shook her head. “Just like I said. They always get ya in the end.”

  Sophie could see sadness in the woman’s drawn eyes—sadness that mirrored her own.

  ***

  Grant locked the door behind him and entered the darkened apartment. He found Sophie crashed on the sofa. The glow of the television framed her body in muted blue light. Her head tilted back, resting on the cushion, and her long strawberry-blond hair draped in soft waves around her face. She’d propped up her feet on the coffee table.

  He sat next to her, studying her delicate features. She hadn’t removed her makeup, and he noticed smudged eye shadow above her long eyelashes. She looked so serene. He reveled in the quiet after spending the night in a loud bar, stressed from hitting each note while scanning the crowd for any sign of the Russians.

  Glancing at the TV, he saw the menu screen for Titanic. She must have fallen asleep watching the DVD, and she’d muted the sound before drifting off. The remote rested on her upturned palm.

  As he reached for the remote, his hand paused midair.

  “Ahhhhh…” she moaned.

  He looked up to see her mouth twitch into a small grin. He wished he could be in the dream with her—it seemed like a fantastic time. As he slid the remote from her grasp, she stirred, much to his dismay.

  She gave him a dreamy smile. “You’re home.”

  “And you’re adorable.” Never taking his eyes off hers, he set the remote on the coffee table and leaned down for a kiss. There was an open box of Girl Scout cookies on the table, and she tasted like chocolate mint. Once their lips met, his time apart from her floated away. Each kiss was a reconnection…a homecoming.

  He gave her some space, and she stretched, catlike, lifting her arms above her head and curling her toes. She yawned and frowned. “Aw, I missed the end.”

  He smirked. “I’ve got a secret for you.” He planted soft kisses along the warmth of her jawline, then murmured in her ear, “The ship sinks.”

  She giggled and elbowed him. “Way to spoil it for me.”

  “Hardly. How many times have you seen Titanic?”

  Her cheeks pinked as she sat up. “About ten.”

  “That’s thirty-five hours of your life you’re not getting back.”

  “Stop ragging on my favorite movie! You haven’t even seen it.”

  “What’s the point? There’s no suspense there—we all know what’ll happen.”

  “It’s not about the suspense. It’s about the romance.” She sighed, her hand fluttering to her heart. “Jack Dawson’s the most amazing character.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So this is about Leonardo DiCaprio.”

  “He certainly helps my enjoyment of the movie.” A devious smile played on her lips.

  He pulled away from her. “I bet you were dreaming about him.”

  “What?”

  “You were moaning in your sleep. Sexy dream with Mr. Dawson?”

  “I…I can’t remember?”

  “Right.” He lunged forward, his long fingers snaking under her shirt to tickle her as he adopted a German accent. “You vill tell me your dream!”

  She squealed, shrinking away. “No!”

  The tickling increased. When his roving hands made their way to her bottom, cascading giggles mixed in with her shrieks.

  “Tell me, Bonnie.”

  She gasped for air. “I won’t confess.”

  “Ve have vays of making you talk.”

  She shivered from his waltzing fingers, and when he gave her a respite, she broke free and darted into the bedroom.

  He clicked off the TV and followed closely behind. “As if I vill let you get away so easy.” He found her on the bed, lying on her back, panting and staring up at him with anticipation.

  He snuggled in next to her, propping his head in his hand as his elbow rested near her ear. “Did you dream about Jack Dawson?” He tickled her soft neck, eliciting a sharp intake of air.

  “I’ll never tell.”

  His hand snaked up behind her ear, gently lifting her head to bring her closer.

  “Mmm,” she sighed, reaching up to cradle his face. “Put your hands on me, Jack.”

  He glowered.

  “I mean, put your hands on me, Grant.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Put your hands on me, McSailor.”

  She didn’t need to tell him again. Clothes flew off, bedding was pulled down, and bodies melded together. Their legs tangled as she rolled on top of him, anchoring herself by clasping the sides of his head. He closed his eyes as she massaged his buzzed hair. His hands reached for her naked bottom, skimming circles with his fingertips. Instead of her characteristic moans, she squeaked.

  “Ticklish, Taylor?”

  “You know my bum’s ticklish.”

  “That’s why I’m putting my hands right there.”

  “Still torturing me for that dream, I see.”

  He lifted his han
ds from her bottom, and she gasped. “I didn’t say you should stop.”

  His hands meandered back down, cupping her cheeks, and she rewarded him with a quiver through her body.

  She peeked down at his hardness. “This ship’s definitely not sinking.”

  “Not until it leaves port, at least.”

  “But it hasn’t even docked yet, McSailor.”

  “Jeez you’re impatient.” He lifted his head to draw her into a deep kiss, guiding them together. They rocked slowly, sensuously. Her lips trailed down his neck, kissing his collarbone. He shifted slightly, touching her just right, and she let out a sated moan.

  “That was the sound you made in your dream.”

  “All right, already, relax. It was you in my dream, not Jack Dawson.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I didn’t want you to get a big head.”

  He chuckled, clutching her tighter.

  “I love hearing your laugh rumble in your chest.”

  He loved the feel of her resting on top of him.

  “In the dream, we were in that icy water together, and you hoisted me up on a floating piece of wood. When you tried to climb up too, it almost toppled. You just resigned yourself to freezing. You were only focused on saving me.”

  His chest swelled with pride. “So I was the hero?”

  “Some hero, willing to die,” she scoffed. “No way I’d let that happen. I eased myself back into the water with you—”

  “That sounds stupid.”

  “Hush. I swam over to another piece of wood and dragged it back, so we both could get out of the water. We both survived.”

  Kissing the tip of her nose, he said, “I’m glad I’m dating a swimmer then.”

  “That always drove me crazy when Rose just gave up, letting Jack freeze—”

  “Hey, don’t spoil it for me!”

  “I thought you said you weren’t interested.”

  A steely thread of determination tightened in his chest. “I’ve got to see what this Jack Dawson character’s all about.”

  “Jealous?” One eyebrow cocked up.

  “Don’t think so. Jack Dawson isn’t holding you in his arms right now. I am.” His hands kneaded the smooth skin of her back.

  “Or maybe you want to watch Kate Winslet play Rose?”

  He scrunched his nose. “Redheads aren’t really my thing. So when did the moaning come into the dream?”

  “That was later.” She gave him a demure smile. “In a cabin on the Carpathia, after we were rescued. We had to warm each other up.”

  It may have been below freezing outside, but with her hot body on top of his, beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. “I bet we did a good job.”

  3. Control

  AS GRANT FINISHED updating Dr. Hunter Hayes on his work at the hotel, Sophie found their psychologist looking at her.

  “What’s happening in the land of academia?”

  “Anita’s keeping me busy on the prisoner counseling research project.”

  He nodded. “How was your return to Downer’s Grove?”

  “Wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  “The interviews went smoothly—I had a lot of fun. I never thought I’d enjoy myself so much in that place. Here I was, interviewing a maximum-security offender—”

  “What?” Grant butted in. “You told me they’d only be minimum security.”

  Sophie gave Hunter a look. “You can see he still does that protective caveman thing.”

  “Well you do the protective cavewoman thing, giving me a hard time about going undercover,” Grant countered.

  “That’s different,” she said.

  “How?”

  “The offender was cuffed, with a guard right outside. You’re going to be on your own with armed criminals.”

  “And a wire,” Grant added.

  “Yeah, that’ll save you.”

  “Okay, okay,” Hunter said. “We’ve been over this territory before.”

  “That’s for sure.” Grant’s voice sounded weary.

  “Instead of sarcasm, how about one of you states your position on this issue, using ‘I’ statements? Then you can describe your partner’s position, using validation.”

  Feeling fear and anger churn in her stomach, she crossed her arms and remained tight-lipped.

  So Grant began. “I feel…strongly, uh, compelled to work with the FBI, to stop the abuse, and, and domination by ruthless thugs.” Sky blue eyes bored into her. “You feel worried I’ll get hurt. You don’t understand why I’m taking the risk.”

  Her stomach relaxed just a bit. “Yes. I don’t get it. We barely survived our first run-ins with your family, and now we’re finally safe. We don’t have parole hanging over us anymore. Why would you ruin that?”

  He pulled back.

  “Sophie, could you rephrase that last question? Make it less leading and more open-ended?” Hunter asked.

  She nodded. “Grant, what makes you feel, um, compelled to stop them?”

  He rubbed his jaw, looking unsure.

  “Grant, I’m intrigued by the words you chose—abuse and domination,” Hunter said. “Do you see this undercover assignment as a way to retaliate against your father?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Yes, but not completely. It’s more about taking control back from those who’ve stolen it. Restoring power to the good guys.”

  “That was your motivation for joining the Navy, right?” Sophie asked. “Fighting for the good guys?”

  “Yes.”

  Hunter tapped his chin. “Some believe it’s not so black and white. The good guys versus the bad guys, I mean.”

  Grant leaned forward. “You don’t think Americans are the good guys?”

  She felt tension elevate between the men.

  “Not always,” Hunter said. “Our government’s made lots of mistakes.”

  “Exactly.” Grant nodded. “That’s why government should be smaller.”

  “Or maybe government should try to help people.”

  “Creating dependency on a welfare state is hardly helping people!” Grant fumed.

  “Ignoring the suffering of those in need certainly doesn’t help.”

  “This is exactly what makes America so great, isn’t it?” Sophie quickly offered. Both men paused, turning to her. “The opportunity to have your own opinion, to debate the best way to run the country.”

  Hunter took a deep breath. “I apologize. I don’t know what got into me. Therapy’s not the place for a political debate.”

  Grant sank back in his chair. “I’m sorry too, sir.”

  “No need to apologize, Grant. I’m the one who started it. Though I am impressed you didn’t back down. You stood your ground, managed your anger well.”

  Grant gaped at him.

  “You’re surprised I’d compliment you right after arguing with you?”

  Grant nodded.

  “It’s difficult for you to disagree and still maintain a relationship. Disagreements weren’t allowed in your family. If anyone in your family disagreed with your father, he or she got hit.”

  Slowly nodding, Grant said, “Yeah.”

  “And, Sophie, I noticed you decided to enter the fray, trying to smooth things out. How’d you feel during the argument?”

  “Nervous. My stomach was churning.”

  Hunter nodded. “Disagreeing with your father got you kicked out of the house.”

  She skimmed her fingertips down her long neck, thinking back to age nineteen.

  “No wonder you both struggle with this disagreement about Grant going undercover. In your families, differences of opinion weren’t allowed. Arguments led to aggression.” Hunter paused. “But conflict’s healthy in relationships. You’re different people, with different beliefs, different backgrounds. Of course you see your side more easily. Being able to communicate those differences and understand each other’s perspective is a way to resolve the conflict.”


  “It’s hard for me to understand Grant’s perspective on this,” she said.

  Hunter nodded. “I have to admit it’s tough for me to understand as well. Grant, you already confronted your father—very successfully, I might add. You feel the need to keep fighting him and men like him?”

  Grant tapped his thigh. “Maybe this is about my father and my mother.” He glanced at Sophie. “I visited my mother’s grave the other day.”

  “You did? I’d have gone with you, if you wanted.”

  “Thank you. Next time, that’d be great. And I’ll go with you to visit your mother if you want.”

  She hesitated. She hadn’t found the courage to visit her mother’s grave yet.

  “But this time I needed to go alone,” Grant continued. “I needed to say some things to her. I told her about you, Sophie.” His crystal eyes gleamed. “I know she’d be happy I found you in all this mess.”

  She felt her upper lip quivering.

  “I told my mother how much you don’t want me to do this FBI job. How worried you are about it.” He scooped up her hand in his. “I feel like I have to do this. I’m not sure why…Maybe it’s because my father took my mother. He stole her life away. I know she died of cancer, but he made her life miserable, short as it was. This is the only way I know how to make it up to her. She couldn’t stand up for herself, but I can stand up for her. I have to fight back…for her. To honor her.”

  Tears splashed her cheek, and Grant smoothed his hand down her hair. “I also need to do this for Ben,” he added. “Logan didn’t show Ben the right path in life. And now Ben’s on the edge. He can choose to follow his father’s footsteps, or he can learn how to contribute to this world—to take responsibility for himself, to reach his potential. Somebody has to show him how to do that…and since I’m his uncle, it’s gotta be me. Uncle Joe told me he regrets that he didn’t fight back against the family. I don’t want to have regrets. I have to fight.”

  “How can I argue with that?” she muttered.

  “It’d be tough.” Hunter sighed.

  She turned to the psychologist, wiping the corner of her eye. “Hunter, please tell Grant he’s not responsible for saving his mother or for saving Ben.”

  “Apparently she can argue with that.”

  Hunter chuckled. “Sophie, if one of your therapy clients asked you to tell her partner what to do, how would you respond?”