On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  Sophie pressed her palm to her forehead, feeling the beginning of a hunger headache. Or maybe it was a career headache. A regret headache.

  “Sorry for badgering you,” Anita said softly. When Sophie looked up, she was smiling. “I promise I won’t say anything about therapy or research at lunch. C’mon.”

  ***

  “Warm night,” Andrei said as he stomped out his cigarette on the pavement.

  Grant nodded. They stood outside a bar in West Town. Agent Bounter had told him this was one of the Russians’ favorite hangouts, but they’d never taken him here before. He wondered what that meant.

  Andrei inhaled the night air. “Would not be so warm in home country in March.”

  In Solntsevo, you mean? “Just wait—it’ll get cold again. Where did you grow up?”

  Andrei glared at him, then headed into the bar.

  Apparently personal questions weren’t allowed. With a deep breath, he followed.

  He heard some welcoming shouts as Andrei stepped inside, but once he came through the door, the reception cooled. Dark eyes studied him.

  “Is my friend Mick,” Andrei said to his buddies at the bar.

  Though a few men nodded, the hard set of their jaws and coldness of their eyes revealed ongoing suspicion.

  Andrei beckoned him to a booth. “Come.”

  Grant swallowed and slid onto the cracked plastic cushion on the bench, wishing his back wasn’t facing the door. A stooped, gray-haired man arrived a second later with shots of vodka.

  Andrei raised his shot glass. “Budem.”

  “Budem.” When Grant felt fire slide down his throat, he finally exhaled. You can do this. “You’ve never taken me here before.”

  “Is good place for talk.”

  Grant nodded as he listened to the faint sounds of a Cubs spring training game on a TV hanging over the corner of the bar. Likely it wasn’t the atypical quiet of this place that made it good for a chat. Instead, the Russians had probably swept it for bugs that very day.

  When another round of shots arrived, Grant tensed. If they kept up this pace, he’d soon be on the floor.

  “Leave us now,” Andrei told the man. “To your success,” he added, lifting his glass. Grant clinked his glass to Andrei’s and knocked back the second shot. Andrei wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in. “Vladimir like you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I not say that to many men.”

  Grant wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “But you still in debt.”

  “When I get my next paycheck—”

  “Shut,” Andrei ordered. “We all know once you pay, you lose again. You pathetic.”

  Grant found himself strangely wounded by the insult, as if he cared whether he won or lost at cards. Perhaps he was playing the role of gambling addict a bit too well. “C’mon, you know I’ll pay up. And one day I’ll win big…I can feel it.”

  Andrei blew out through his nose. “One day might never come, but today…is here. Now.” Black eyes stared him down. “You do jobs for us, pay debt.”

  Here it comes. “What kind of jobs?”

  “The kind we tell you to do.”

  Now Grant leaned in. “Listen, if you expect me to break the law —”

  “Who say break law?” Andrei’s eyes gleamed.

  Grant suppressed a snort. “All I’m saying is if you expect me to…take risks, you better pay me a percentage of what we take in.”

  Mischief vanished from Andrei’s eyes. “You in no position to bargain.” His hand darted under the table and seized Grant’s junk, squeezing his balls like a vise.

  Following the sharp slam of pain came a flash of nausea. Grant couldn’t breathe, and he definitely couldn’t speak. The pain. His hands itched to break Andrei’s damn wrists, but he didn’t want to reveal the moves he’d learned at Quantico. His vision started to cloud, and he squeaked, “Okay.”

  Andrei held on for a few sickening seconds more, then finally released him. Grant sank back in the booth, sucking in air. Warmth flooded his injured groin.

  “We have understanding now,” Andrei said, his voice low.

  He opened his eyes, the spots fading from his vision. “Yes, sir.”

  A small grin spread on Andrei’s face. “You work submarines in Navy, da?”

  “Uh…” Grant cleared his throat. “They trained me on subs, but I mostly worked on aircraft carriers.”

  “You know how to drive subs.”

  “I…” He shrugged.

  Two black slits stared back at him.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, feeling his heart flutter. “I can figure it out.”

  “Good. Go south, drive sub here. Leave in one week.”

  South? He remembered learning the Russians were probably using defunct submarines to transport drugs to the U.S. from several South American locations. Columbia? Ecuador? “South? Where are we going?”

  Andrei ignored the question. “But first, we need cash—pay for product. That where you come in.”

  I thought I was already in.

  “Break into safe at hotel.”

  His mouth dropped open. “I couldn’t do that to Mr. Remington, after all he’s done for me…and I don’t even know how to get to the safe!”

  “Find out.” Andrei smiled. “If want to live.”

  Grant forced a swallow, finding his throat dry.

  “You look upset.”

  He looked back, tilting his head. That was something Hunter would say, not Andrei.

  “We help you feel better.” Andrei nodded, then beckoned for the waiter.

  His stomach clenched. More vodka?

  ***

  After Sophie checked in at the storage office, she picked her way through the looming watercraft in the yacht yard to the familiar Eaton Tours ship. She patted the underbelly of the bow as she remembered pleading for a job last June—the day she’d first met Roger. The day she’d first immersed herself with Grant.

  She also recalled hustling on deck, filling drink orders, and looking up to the bridge to find his sparkling blue eyes gazing down at her with warmth and intrigue.

  She jumped when a hand rested on her shoulder. Those same loving eyes now stood before her. “You’re early,” Grant said, drawing her into his arms.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled his fresh bergamot scent. She hadn’t seen him for three days. “I knew McSailor would be on military time…”

  “And you didn’t want to miss one minute together,” he answered. His hands roved down her back and sparked tingles of pleasure. She felt the warmth of his breath near her ear a second before he pressed a kiss to her cheek. He feathered a kiss to the tip of her nose then nudged her nose with his. But he kept her waiting, his lips hovering over hers for a frustrating few moments as he stared at her. “It’s so good to be with my fiancée. Hello, the soon-to-be Mrs. Saylor—I mean Dr. Saylor.”

  She giggled. “Not too far off what students call me now.”

  “Roger pointed out our similar last names. He thought my alias was crap.”

  “I think it’s perfect.” Tired of waiting, she dived in for a hello kiss. He responded hungrily, and she cradled his head as she drew him closer. She nipped at his lower lip, and he growled deep in his throat. His hard body pressed into her like a blustery Chicago wind, almost knocking her off her feet. His fingers curled around her to scoop her even tighter—she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “How much time do we have?” Grant asked between kisses.

  “Before the wedding planner arrives?” Sophie somehow peeked at her watch as his tongue danced with hers. “Twenty minutes.”

  “More than enough.” When he hooked his hands under her arms and hoisted her up, at first she laughed with surprise, but then wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles underneath his taut Navy butt.

  “Where’re we headed, McSailor?”

  He grinned. “See if she’s sea-worthy.”

  “What?” Grant had carried her to starboard and with a grunt he stepped
up a metal staircase one of the facility’s employees must’ve scooted in place for the wedding planner’s inspection. Sophie’s eyes darted around the yard. “Shouldn’t we wait for Cheri?”

  “What I plan to do to you…” His eyes darkened. “Cheri wouldn’t want to see.”

  Sophie gasped. “I’m not sure Cheri approves of premarital sex.”

  At the top step, Grant unclasped the small starboard-side door. “She’ll have to get over it.”

  He set her down on the deck, then led her up another set of stairs to the bridge. When they reached the top, he stooped over to enter the security code. From this vantage point, she scanned the yacht yard and failed to detect any movement around surrounding ships. Still, her cheeks grew warm as he drew her into the ship’s control area.

  She squealed when he yanked her flush to his body. One hand pressed to the small of her back and his other hand curled around hers as he began rocking them together, humming “I Get a Kick Out of You.”

  “A sober dance this time,” she murmured.

  His gaze slid down her body then back up to her face. “I feel anything but sober.”

  She had to agree. When he lowered her for a dip, dizziness buzzed in her brain like she’d just downed champagne.

  One of his hands supported her back and the other cradled her head, holding her body parallel to the floor. She returned the beaming smile he gave her—he was teasing her again—then let her eyes flutter shut as he lowered to kiss her, softly at first, then with more insistence, more fervor. She felt the contraction of his quad muscle against her thigh—his muscles alone kept them upright, hovering over the bridge floor. It surprised her how completely she’d relaxed into his hold. But he’d earned her trust. Again and again.

  Unmolding his mouth from hers, he gently pulled her back to her feet. She swayed with him, dancing to his imaginary Sinatra beat, until he backed her into a wall. His hands found her waist to unbutton her pants. She cocked one eyebrow. “I see where this is headed, McSailor.”

  His impish grin vanished when she reached up to unbutton his shirt. “They told me not to mess with the mic.”

  “The FBI’s not coming with us on this voyage,” she said.

  “But Agent Bounter told me not to turn off the mic again.” He blushed. “At least not to get it on with you.”

  She laughed.

  “Seriously,” he said. “Remember that one time they turned off the mic? My family kidnapped you!”

  “That’s not going to happen again.” She resumed her unbuttoning.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  She stared into his eyes. “Because if they even try to interrupt us, I’ll kill them.” Finally getting the last button undone, she split open his shirt and ripped it off. Once she held it in her hand, she wondered what to do with it. Then inspiration struck. She held up her index finger, crossed to the bridge doorway, and flung his shirt down the stairs to the deck. “Now those pervs won’t get to listen in.”

  Turning back, she found her man bare-skinned with his mouth hanging open. “Jesus, Bonnie.” He cleared his throat. “You are hot.” He reached her in two long strides and practically slammed her up onto the counter, clawing at her clothing. She grasped his shoulders to steady herself as she lifted her thighs so he could peel down her pants, and soon she felt cool fiberglass beneath her naked bottom. Her gaze drifted to the plaque on the opposite wall. Roger must’ve added it after she’d resigned. Beatings would continue until morale improved.

  “Morale’s definitely up,” she sighed, admiring the symmetrical grooves of lean muscle tapering down to Grant’s groin.

  He’d just shucked his jeans and boxers to his knees, and a wicked grin broadened his face. “I’d say.”

  Pride swelled within her, knowing she could turn him on so fully—knowing just the sight of him had fired her up, readied her for the glory about to come. And come they did, mere moments after he cupped her bottom and slid her forward onto him, filling her immediately. With a sharp inhale, she dug into the corded muscles of his upper back as they pulsed together. One of her hands reached up to smooth his black buzz-cut, and he groaned from the pleasure. He leaned into her for kisses, his tongue penetrating her mouth, and the rest of his body doing amazing things to her down below.

  She heard a grunt of frustration as his lips skated down her neck—her turtleneck sweater. In a flash he’d yanked it off, and her hair sparked with electricity as it settled back on her shoulders. His lips and hands now attended to her breasts, massaging her through her silky bra. As waves of pleasure rocked through her, she tossed her head back, promptly thumping her skull on the glass window of the bridge.

  “Ouch.” She rubbed the crown of her head.

  His head popped up from her breasts. “Are you all right?”

  She pouted. “Sex injury.”

  He laughed and batted her hand aside, taking over rubbing duty. “I don’t think the bridge was quite designed for this.” He drew her forehead to his chest and planted soft kisses on her smarting head as she snuggled into his chest. Combined with his smell of aftershave and sweat, his caresses soothed her, and heaviness weighed her though it was the middle of the day.

  “I’ve missed you, Grant.”

  He tilted up her chin. “I’ve missed you so much, Bonnie.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. She was glad he was still inside her—she could never get too close to him. “But our forced separation will be over soon.”

  “Really? How do you know?”

  “The Russians let me in—they finally trust me, I guess. They want me to help them transport drugs from South America. They told me we leave within a week.”

  She let go of him. “What? How can the FBI keep track of you there?”

  “They can’t, but don’t worry. They’ll arrest the Russians before we get that far.” He smiled. “When we rob Mr. Remington’s hotel, Agent Bounter’s men will be waiting for us.”

  “Grant.” Her heart seized with fear. “I don’t like this. Too many things could go wrong. What if they figure out you’re FBI?”

  He frowned for a moment, then eased out of her. He squatted to help her pull her pants back on. “It’ll be fine. We’re doing it the same way we did with Jovanovich—they’ll arrest me too, and Vladimir won’t be any wiser. It worked great before.”

  “Are you sure it went great?” Enthralled by the grace of his hands, she let him button her pants.

  “I don’t see any Serbs coming after me, do you?” His smile faded. “Or my father’s men, either.”

  She cradled the side of his face. “Don’t underestimate your father. He ruined your grand plan once before.”

  His mouth set in a grim line. “Then with Dr. Hayes’s help, we went to Plan B. And that turned out even better.”

  Speaking of Hunter, she certainly wasn’t using any of his communication skills. Validate, she reminded herself. Validation is acknowledgement, not agreement or acceptance. “Things did turn out well with Jovanovich,” she admitted, placing her hands on his shoulders. “And it sounds like you’re well prepared for the Russians.” She mustered a faint smile. “Just like last time, I hope it goes even better than expected.”

  “Thank you.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. He pulled his boxers back on. “I’ll be back to you and Ben soon, I promise. I know what a strain this has put on us all.”

  “Speaking of Ben…He wanted me to tell you something.” She felt his shoulders tense.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It is now. He’s been working through some things with Hunter…”

  He hung his head. “I should be there for him.”

  “You are there, as much as you can be. He said keep the pizzas coming, by the way.” He snorted. “Anyway, Ben told Hunter something he’d done in the past—it’s been eating him up inside. Hunter recommended he tell his mother and you about it. When Ben told Ashley, she grounded him—”

  “She grounded him?”

  “I know, I was surprised too when I hea
rd—and proud of her. She’s actually trying to be his parent. Anyway, Ben felt the need to tell you too but wasn’t sure when he’d see you next.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “He…” She paused. “He sold drugs.”

  For a second Grant showed no reaction, but then his eyes clouded over with a coming storm.

  “Breathe, Grant. He just sold ecstasy pills to his friends—”

  “To other kids?” he roared. “How could he? Does he have a death wish?” He raised his fists then threw his arms down. “God!” Radiating energy, he looked like he needed to move, to pace, to smash something. But with his jeans pooled at his feet, he didn’t make it one step before he tumbled to the floor, landing on his butt.

  Sophie scrambled off the counter and kneeled by his side. “Are you okay?”

  He rubbed his backside, which had to be bruised. One corner of his mouth twitched. “Sex injury.”

  She giggled. “We make some pair.” She sat down facing him, resting her back on his bent leg while smoothing her hand over his taut abdominal muscles. “How’re you feeling?”

  He let out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t judge him for selling drugs. I’m a big, fat hypocrite.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve killed a man, Sophie.”

  “Are you talking about Carlo Barberi?”

  He nodded.

  “That was self-defense, you idiot! He shot me. He would’ve killed us both if you hadn’t stopped him.”

  He touched the mottled, pink scar near her elbow. “I know.” He sighed. “But sometimes I wonder if I’m all that different from the Mafia guys. Vladimir’s not far off from my dad. And Andrei? Sometimes he reminds me of Logan…”

  She leaned in to kiss his collarbone. “You know, Ben craved Logan’s attention. That’s the only reason he sold the drugs. He promised he wouldn’t do it again.”

  Grant nodded. “And now he’ll never get Lo’s attention.”

  “But he has ours,” she said. “And his mom’s, and Hunter’s…and Lindsay—this girl he likes. He’ll get her attention too once she comes around.”

  “Lindsay, huh? I bet she isn’t near as cute as you are.” He scooped her into his lap and ran his fingers through her hair. She sighed with pleasure as he plied her with deep kisses.