On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “Who the fuck are you?” Andrei yelled. “Mick, are you okay?”

  No. I’m definitely not okay.

  “Barberi is fine,” Mullens answered.

  I’m Grant Madsen! he wanted to scream. The wet sensation on his pant leg had grown cold.

  Andrei paused. “Barberi his name?” He didn’t sound entirely surprised, and Grant pieced together the reason the Russians had arrived so quickly—they’d overheard Mullens through the planted listening device.

  “Barberi,” Mullens confirmed.

  He closed his eyes, wishing he would lose consciousness before Andrei killed him. Another vehicle screeched to a stop and footsteps pounded the pavement. Bounter. Where’s Bounter?

  Instead Andrei spoke in quick Russian to his boss. Grant could make out the words prick, dead, and, of course, Barberi.

  “Look, gentlemen,” Mullens interrupted, “I need him for a few minutes, then he is yours. I…I need to take him to visit his father…in prison.”

  “Fuck that. Get out here, Mick,” Vladimir demanded.

  When he didn’t move, Vladimir’s voice deepened. “Move your ass, Barberi.”

  If he could move, that would’ve had him on his feet. As it was, all he could do was wait to be killed. He thought he heard the distant wail of a police siren.

  “He is sick,” Mullens said, his voice now tinged with desperation. “I need to get him to hospital.”

  Andrei’s voice was closer now. “Nyet. You say you take him to father in prison.”

  “After hospital.” Mullens’s German accent had thickened. Now his voice went up an octave—something had changed. “Hey, guy, I am on your side. Put away your gun. I get him back to you, I promise…”

  Andrei sounded right on top of the car now, and Grant could hear him even over the increasing volume of the police siren. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Pulsing blackness crowded Grant’s vision, and he knew it would be seconds before he succumbed. Maybe Mullens had injected him with poison? He was too tired to care.

  “I am your friend,” Mullens gasped. “I…I have a message from Enzo Barberi.”

  Gunshots rang out and something slammed into Grant right before he slipped away into darkness.

  21. Condemn

  SOPHIE KNEW something was wrong.

  She’d known the second she saw Ben. He hadn’t looked at her when she’d joined him on the bleachers, and tension radiated from his stony profile. When she’d tried to hug him, he’d shied away.

  “Ben,” she said after a few minutes. “I love you.”

  He faced her then, his watery blue eyes huge. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered.

  “What? Of course I should. You’re very lovable. Both Grant and I—” She paused when he flinched. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Grant and I are confused…and upset about your behavior last night, but we love you. Nothing could change that.”

  A scoff rumbled from his throat.

  “You’ve done something to make us stop loving you?”

  He froze, which made her even more curious. The announcer called the girls’ medley relay to the blocks. “You know that’s impossible,” she continued. “We’ll always love you.”

  “You’re so full of shit!” he hissed at his feet.

  She leaned away from him. “Are…are you angry with me?”

  “No.” He sniffed. “Sorry.”

  “Would you look at me?” His head shook. “C’mon, honey.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll get through this, whatever it is. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “No.” His voice trembled. “I can’t.” His arms hugged his torso, a huddled ball of misery.

  “Why can’t you?” She touched his chin and tried to tilt his face toward hers.

  “No!” As he struggled away from her, she saw tears.

  Oh. He didn’t want her to see him crying. She dug around in her handbag for tissues and sighed when she couldn’t find any. She’d always had tissues when she’d been a therapist. “It’s okay to cry. I worry more about the people who never cry than the ones who do. It takes a strong person to feel the feelings.”

  He made the scoffing noise again and mumbled something—the only word she caught was kill. “What did you say?”

  He looked up at her with defiance in his eyes and trails of tears etched down his cheeks. He had dark circles under his eyes and…was that a bruise on the side of his face? “Does it take a strong person to kill someone?”

  “Kill? Why would you say that? Are you thinking about what happened to your father?”

  “He’s already dead,” Ben sneered.

  “If this is about Carlo, you know Grant had to kill him in self-defense.”

  “This isn’t about Carlo! Screw him. Screw the whole family.”

  What the hell was he so upset about? The starter instructed the girls’ backstrokers to enter the water for the first leg of the medley relay. Lindsay popped into the pool, but Ben didn’t even look in her direction—he just kept staring down. Sophie tried again. “You’re mad at the family?”

  His hands stilled.

  “The family…” She felt her throat tighten. “The family’s going to kill someone?”

  He looked at her with alarm. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. She’d never seen him look so scared.

  Truth dawned on her like water flooding her lungs. “Grant,” she gasped.

  He collapsed forward, elbows on knees, palms squeezing his ears, his body shaking from sobs. Cheers and whistles pierced the air as the race began, but she barely registered them. She circled her arm around his shoulders and tucked her head down next to his so he could hear her over the din. “What’s going to happen to Grant?”

  “I’m sorry,” he moaned as he rocked next to her. “Sorry, sorry…”

  She looked up to find all the spectators absorbed in the race. It was so loud she couldn’t think. She leaned down again and shouted, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” When he didn’t respond, she grabbed his elbows and yanked him to his feet, surprised at his lack of resistance. Seizing his hand, she wove them through the crowd and out into the hallway. She dragged him around the corner then plastered his back against the wall. His eyes widened.

  Her voice was strangled. “Talk to me, Ben. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “They’ll k-k-kill my mom.”

  “They threatened her if you tell me about Grant?” When he nodded, she demanded, “Who?”

  “Please. They’ll murder her.”

  “Who?” she cried, her voice sounding shrill.

  Ben’s upper lip trembled. “Grandpa,” he finally managed. “Grandpa Barberi.”

  She stepped back, her hand covering her mouth. The Barberis. She should’ve known. She should’ve known her life had been going too well. She should’ve known they would try to take away everything again. Her nose burned with imminent tears, and she fought the urge to crumple to the floor. The image of Grant huddled on Hunter’s sofa, stuttering about the time his father had beat him till he bled…

  No! She wouldn’t let it happen again. Not again, damn it!

  “Tell me everything.” She clasped Ben’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. She held him tight against the wall. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep your mom safe. Tell me right now!”

  She wanted to hug him, but she knew time was ticking. She knew the Barberis moved fast. “My m-m-mom…” he finally said. “My mom started dating this guy, Hans, uh, um, Mullens. He works for Grandpa.”

  Sophie ground her teeth together. Ashley! How could you be so stupid?

  “He made me go with him to Gurnee yesterday to see Grandpa.”

  Yesterday…pieces clicked together, explaining his absence. “That’s why you missed swim practice?”

  Ben nodded.

  “You trusted him? That’s how he got you in the car?”

  “No.” He exhaled. “He held a gun on me. He said he’d kill Mom if I didn’t go with him.”


  “Oh God.” When she let go of his shoulders, he swiped his hand across his face. “Is that where you got that bruise?”

  “Grandpa made me tell him about Grant.”

  She stopped breathing.

  “About why Uncle Grant didn’t go to prison after the Jovanovich thing. He asked me if Grant was working with the feds, and I swear I said no, but he knew I was lying. He knew…” Ben’s face flushed, and he started to cry again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

  Enzo knew. He knew Grant had thwarted his plan to get out of prison. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

  Watching the poor boy cry, she gathered him up in a hug. “It’s not your fault. It’s their fault.” He quivered in her arms, and a steely fury rose in her. “So Enzo said he’d kill Grant?”

  Ben shrugged out of their hug and sniffed. “Not exactly. But he was really mad at him. He called him a fucking traitor.”

  With a shaking hand, Sophie reached into her handbag. When she pulled out her phone, he lunged for her wrist. “Grandpa said he’d kill Mom if I told anyone!”

  “Ben, I have to tell the FBI. Maybe Enzo hasn’t gotten to Grant yet—maybe they can pull him out.” When he didn’t let go of her, she added, “Agent Bounter can send men to pick up your mom.”

  “But Grandpa said—”

  “Are you really going to trust the word of Enzo Barberi?” she snapped. “Maybe he’s bluffing. Bounter told me the family was finished…though I have no idea who this Hans person is.”

  Ben paused. “He was in Gurnee too at some point.”

  “You see?” She shook her phone for emphasis. “He’s probably the only man Enzo has left to do his bidding. I’m calling.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged, looking utterly spent. “Your funeral.” He laced his arms across his chest.

  Waiting for the call to connect, she at first wanted to smack him for his snarky attitude. Then she realized he was back to his old self, and she felt a rush of gratitude. He’d been carrying around that awful secret for a whole day.

  When an unfamiliar voice answered, she said, “I need to speak to Lucas Bounter! There’s an emergency with Grant.” She heard a rustling and then Bounter was on the line.

  “Sophie!” He sounded frantic. “I didn’t have your number, damn it. I’ve got two agents coming to the pool to pick up you and Ben. That’s where you are, right?”

  “Why are you coming to get us?”

  Bounter was silent for a moment. “Grant’s off the grid.”

  “No!” She squeezed the phone.

  Ben pulled on her sleeve. “What happened?”

  She ignored him and tried to focus on Bounter’s voice.

  “A man forced himself into Grant’s apartment and made him take off the wire—now we don’t know Grant’s location.” When Sophie gasped, he added, “We think this man was another prisoner at Gurnee—”

  “Mullens,” Sophie whispered, then watched Ben’s mouth drop open. “His name is Hans Mullens.”

  “Hans is a fake name!” Ben hollered. “Oh my God, Sophie, what happened?”

  Bounter said something she couldn’t hear, and she glared at Ben. “Shut up a second—I can’t hear!”

  Instead of obeying, he ripped the phone from her grasp. When she tried to recover possession, he angled his body away and stiff-armed her. “This is Ben Barberi,” he yelled into the phone. “You gotta listen to me. They’re gonna kill Grant.”

  Sophie could no longer contain her tears. They’re gonna kill Grant. She stopped groping for her phone and sank back into the wall, fighting to stay upright. They’re gonna kill Grant. Ben related yesterday’s events in rapid-fire, and cheers leaked from the natatorium, but all she heard was one sentence—a death sentence. They’re gonna kill Grant.

  Ben snapped her from her trance when he grabbed her arm with one hand and stuffed her phone back in her handbag with the other. “C’mon, they’ll be here soon. They want us to wait for them by the back door.” When she didn’t budge, he shook her. “C’mon, Sophie! Grandpa might try to kidnap you again!”

  She nodded, and now Ben was the one dragging her toward the exit. With her fuzzy brain, she wondered why Enzo would try to kidnap her. He was already getting what he wanted. The evil bastard was already getting his precious revenge on the man she loved—taking him away from her when they hadn’t even known each other a year. She choked on a sob.

  “It’ll be okay,” Ben told her. He looked out the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The agent guy said they would find Grant. They’ve got the entire division searching for him, and knowing Mullens’s name will help them. I even remembered his license plate number!”

  She stared at him, wondering the source for his sudden optimism. His mouth formed barely audible words as he kept vigil on the parking lot, and she strained to hear him.

  “Please, God, let Uncle Grant be okay. Please, God. I can’t take it if he dies. It’ll be my fault. Please, God.”

  She closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer herself. Then she looped her arm around Ben’s shoulder and touched the side of her head to his. “This isn’t your fault, Ben—it’s Enzo’s. This is all about Enzo’s sick sense of revenge. He’s the bastard, not you.”

  He shuddered, and she knew he didn’t believe her words. Then he wiggled out of her hold. “They’re here! Let’s go.”

  Following him at a jog, she watched him scan the parking lot. She didn’t even bother. If they’d already killed Grant, her self-preservation was meaningless. Ben scrambled into the back seat of a government sedan, and she scooted in next to him.

  After the agent showed them his badge, they sped away from the natatorium.

  “Where are you taking us, Agent Thompson?” she asked.

  His eyes remained on the road. “Somewhere safe.”

  She closed her eyes in silent disagreement. Nowhere was safe unless Grant was there with her.

  ***

  Sophie sat in a conference room in what she assumed to be the Chicago FBI office. The décor was so stark that she thought maybe it was an interrogation room. She bent over to peek at the underside of her chair.

  “What are you doing?” Ben asked, halting mid-step behind her.

  “Trying to see where they handcuff the prisoners to the chair.” A long breath left her lungs. “I can’t believe they took my phone!”

  “At least you got a few calls off in the car.” He resumed his pacing.

  “This is ridiculous. Why won’t they tell us anything?” She stood and stalked over to the door. Yanking it open, she narrowed her eyes at the man standing outside. “Agent Thompson, I demand to know what’s going on. Why do you have us in here? Why’d you take away my phone?”

  “Just following Agent Bounter’s orders, ma’am. We don’t want anyone tracking your location with it.”

  “Oh.” That sort of made sense.

  “And we don’t want you announcing your location to the whole world, either.”

  “I only called people I trusted!”

  “Yeah,” Ben echoed behind her, apparently joining the conversation. She stepped into the hallway, and he followed her.

  “Despite me telling you not to make those calls,” Agent Thompson growled.

  A flash of red caught Sophie’s eye, and she turned to see a short, auburn-haired woman rounding the corner. She broke out in a relieved smile. “Marilyn!”

  Detective Marilyn Fox rushed forward. Before she reached them, Agent Thompson stuck his arm out to block her. “Who’re you?”

  Marilyn flashed her badge. “You guys already gave me enough crap downstairs. I’m with CPD.”

  “You’re with the Chicago police now?” asked Sophie.

  “Just transferred last month.”

  When the agent appeared satisfied, she tucked her badge back into the pocket of her suit jacket.

  “You’re the detective who found my dad’s body, huh?” Ben asked.

  Sophie gasped.

  “And you’re Benjamin
Barberi,” Marilyn countered as she shook his hand. “I remember you from the police station last year.” She turned back to Sophie. “Jerry and your father are downstairs—the agents won’t let them up.”

  “And how’d you make the cut?” Agent Thompson asked.

  “Lucas Bounter is a friend of mine. You know, Agent Bounter…your boss?”

  Thompson appeared ready to retort when his cell phone buzzed. As he turned away to take the call, Marilyn turned to Sophie. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Not so good,” she rasped.

  “Oh, dear.” Marilyn wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. The top of the detective’s head came up to her chin, which made her smile through her tears.

  “I think I’m taking all my anger out on poor Agent Thompson too,” Sophie added.

  “Said by the psychologist—always analyzing behavior. Thank you for having the wherewithal to call us.” Marilyn let go of her. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No! I keep asking them to call Bounter—”

  “No need,” Thompson butted in, holding the phone out. “He wants to speak to you.”

  Sophie snatched the phone. “What’s happening?”

  “Put it on speaker!” Ben urged, but she ignored him.

  “We have news.” She closed her eyes and braced herself as Bounter spoke. “It looks like the Russians have Grant.”

  Oh, God. “Is he alive?”

  “We don’t know.” He cleared his throat. “We haven’t honed in on his location yet.”

  “How do you know it’s the Russians, not Mullens?”

  “We have an eyewitness at the scene, a block from your apartment. She says she saw a man in a baseball cap carry a shirtless man, slung over his back, to a car and shove him inside. Then some more men—we think four—approached in another car, and they shouted at each other. Shots went off—”

  “Gunshots?” Sophie looked up to find Ben with a look of horror and Marilyn’s mouth set in a firm line.

  “Yes,” Bounter replied. “Unfortunately Grant and Mullens are gone, and so are the Russians, but Mullens’s car is still there…”

  Sophie clutched the phone. “Do the Russians know Grant’s working undercover?”