On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

She sniffed and nodded.

  “And you fought for Grant.” Her father’s eyes squinted like they did when he was mad at her, and she held her breath. “I was so ticked at you for going to Gurnee, and you didn’t listen to me…But you did it, Sophie. I don’t know how you convinced that bastard to save Grant.”

  She shrugged. “Well, Enzo is Grant’s father. I knew he couldn’t be all bad if he produced a son like Grant.”

  “How’d my daughter get so damn smart?”

  It certainly wasn’t reading accounting textbooks, she wanted to retort. Instead, she said, “She takes after her parents.”

  “Thompson.” The agent answering his phone brought all eyes to him. He listened for a few seconds, then broke out in a huge grin. “They have Grant!”

  Sophie shot out of her chair and ran to Ben. He leaped up and hugged her, and they circled around as he laughed and she cried happy tears.

  “Sophie.”

  The agent’s voice halted her celebration. “Yes?”

  “Bounter wants you to meet him at the hospital.”

  Her smile vanished. “Did he get hurt in the exchange?”

  Agent Thompson shook his head. “It’s Grant. They’re rushing him to the hospital.”

  Her shaking hand covered her mouth.

  ***

  Northwestern Memorial Hospital. She hadn’t walked these halls since she’d been a patient last August—a gunshot victim.

  She shivered as she followed Agent Thompson’s brisk steps. “Where did they take Grant?”

  “The ER.”

  “What happened to him?” she asked through a tightening throat. “Tell me!”

  He waited for her to catch up. “He has multiple injuries—that’s all I know. Apparently the Russians roughed him up.”

  When they rounded the corner, she identified Bounter standing next to another agent. “Agent Bounter!”

  He handed his coffee to the other agent and scooped her up in a surprise hug. She closed her eyes as he enveloped her in his arms.

  “That was a tough one, Sophie, but we did it,” he said. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got most of those bastards locked up now. When they realized we were feds, not Barberis, you should’ve seen their faces. It was like the return of the Cold War.”

  “Excuse me, ah, it’s great you busted the Russians, but how is Grant?”

  “Oh, sorry. They’ve taken him for tests. CT scans, I think?” He looked over her shoulder at Agent Thompson. “Ms. Fredrickson and her son are secure?”

  “Yes, sir,” Thompson said. “How’s John?”

  “In surgery,” Bounter answered.

  Sophie wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but asked, “Who’s John?”

  “Another agent.” Bounter’s rubbed his hand over his face. “He got shot a few times in the exchange, but he’ll be okay. Better than Mullens, anyway. He’s in the morgue.”

  Sophie’s eyes bugged. “Did Grant get shot?”

  “We don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? Why does he need CT scans?” Her voice trembled. “What’d they do to him?”

  “They knocked him around a bit,” Bounter admitted. “He’s, ah, he’s a little bruised.”

  Two orderlies rolled a hospital bed around the corner and swung it toward her. The patient had a gauze bandage wrapped over the top of his head and under his jaw. He had buzzed, black hair, and his feet stretched to the very end of the bed beneath the sheet. As the bed wheeled closer, she felt stirrings of nausea and her lips parted in horror. “A little bruised?” She raced to the bed and clutched the metal rails, looking down at Grant’s battered face. His beautiful, destroyed face.

  His eyes opened as she whimpered. Thank goodness they hadn’t hurt his crystal blue eyes. He croaked out a word that resembled her name.

  “No talking, Mr. Santino,” the male orderly said.

  “Ma’am, we have to keep moving,” the other orderly said. “We need to get some fluids in him.”

  She swallowed and began walking with the bed. “Of course.”

  When they reached the ER, one orderly caught her elbow. “You need to stay out here.”

  “No.” She wrestled out of his hold.

  “Sophie,” Agent Bounter called. “Listen to them. Grant’s going to be all right.”

  “This is your fault, Bounter!” she hissed. “You’ve lost the right to tell me what to do.”

  The glass doors to the ER slid open, and a nurse waited inside. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m his fiancée. And I’m not leaving.”

  The nurse exchanged a glance with the orderly, then nodded. “Okay. Just for a few minutes.”

  Sophie followed the bed through another sliding glass door into a cubicle. The nurse busied herself hooking Grant up to a heart monitor as Sophie stared into his eyes.

  Thank you, he mouthed.

  The bruising was deepest around his nose and along his jaw, but the purplish color bled out into his cheeks, darkening his whole face. As she reached down to hold his hand, she noticed his wrists were red and raw. “They…they tied you up before they beat you?”

  His attempt to nod made him groan.

  “Please don’t ask him any more questions,” the nurse said as she started an IV. “His jaw’s broken.”

  “Dislocated, actually,” a white-coated woman said as she breezed into the cubicle. “Mr. Santino, I’m Dr. Tucker.” She turned to speak to the nurse about medication doses in rapid-fire abbreviations, then looked back at Grant. “You have a dislocated jaw, a broken nose, a bone bruise on your tibia, and three broken ribs. We’re watching for a possible concussion as well. You’re getting some pain meds and muscle relaxants, and soon I’ll reduce your jaw dislocation. In a few days, after the swelling goes down, we’ll schedule a rhinoplasty with plastics.”

  Sophie broke in, “Is he bleeding internally?”

  “And you are?” the doctor asked.

  “Sophie Taylor, his fiancée.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be any internal bleeding, but we’ll keep Mr. Santino for observation overnight.”

  The nurse was about to leave when Sophie asked, “When can Gr…when can he speak?”

  “Not now.” She swept out of the cubicle.

  Grant’s eyelids drooped, and she could tell he fought to stay awake. “Are you in pain?” She cringed. “Whoops, don’t answer that. Of course you are.” She leaned over to press a gentle kiss on his forehead as she cradled the bandage. “My brave McSailor.” She smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. “I love you.”

  He blinked up at her with shining eyes. He didn’t have to speak for her to know his reply.

  All too soon the doctor returned. “Okay, let’s fix up your jaw.” She nodded at Sophie. “You probably don’t want to be here for this. Even with the meds, this procedure will cause some pain.”

  She rubbed circles on his palm. “Is it okay if I stay? Squeeze my hand if yes.” When pressure tightened on her hand, she looked at the doctor. “I’m staying.”

  “Try to stay out of the way, then.” The nurse pressed a button to elevate the mattress and put Grant in a more upright position, then she pushed down the railing on the side of the bed.

  The doctor slid on a pair of latex gloves as the nurse unwrapped the gauze from Grant’s head. Once the bandage fell away, his mouth plopped open, and he shuddered.

  His eyes opened wide as the doctor sat on the mattress and leaned forward. “Breathe as deeply as you can, Mr. Santino.” She placed her thumbs far into the recesses of his mouth and seemed to press down. Grant moaned and gripped Sophie’s hand. His other hand shot up to clutch the doctor’s arm.

  “Let go of my wrist,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

  When he cried out, Sophie had to look away.

  Dr. Tucker sighed. “I’m having trouble getting good pressure. Oh, hell.” She stood and grabbed some gauze, then wrapped it over her thumbs. She planted her left knee on the mattress and swung her right leg over to straddle Grant, star
ing down at him. “Let’s try this again.”

  Grant let out a sidesplitting scream, but when the doctor dismounted, his eyes fluttered shut and his mouth relaxed and closed. Sophie immediately backtracked her silent threats to the doctor’s life.

  But forgiving Grant for getting himself into this mess was another matter entirely. “Hey,” she said, forcing him to open his heavy eyelids. “This will never happen again.” Her pointed finger emphasized every word. “You will quit the FBI, mister.”

  His eyes closed again, and she thought he’d already slipped into sleep when she felt his long fingers stroking her hand. Her eyes filled with tears. Her McSailor was back.

  ***

  Grant jarred himself awake with his own snore. Brightness sliced into his eyes, and he moaned in pain as he turned his head away from the lights. Where the hell was he?

  A soft touch clasped his hand, and he rolled his head the other direction to find Sophie gazing down at him with a beatific smile.

  “Nice snoring, Roger.”

  “Sorry.” He winced.

  “Does it hurt to talk?”

  He opened his mouth and gingerly shifted his jaw. “I’m sore, but it’s a lot better.”

  “Good. They told me blood’s draining down your throat from your nose and mouth—yeah, you’ll need some dental work too—and that’s why you’re snoring.” She gave him some water, which he gulped greedily.

  “Where are we?”

  She sighed. “The ICU. They moved you here to monitor you overnight. Due to your rib fractures, apparently you’re at risk for something called flail chest.” She let go of his hand and waved her arms wildly overhead to demonstrate.

  His chuckle reminded him how bruised he was. He swallowed another moan. “So flail chest is the uncontrollable urge to flail your arms?”

  “It’s a potentially fatal condition involving a piece of rib breaking off.”

  “Oh.” This time he didn’t laugh. “Sorry.” He couldn’t believe she was still with him after all he’d put her through. After all she’d done for him. “Is Ben okay?”

  “He’s here, in the waiting room, along with Ashley.” She sighed. “And my dad.”

  “Your dad must hate me even more now.”

  She took his hand again. “He doesn’t, Grant. He saw how destroyed I was when the Russians had you. He finally gets it.”

  “Even though you spoke to my father, unprotected and alone?”

  “You know about that?”

  Grant managed to swallow. “Bounter told me about it in the ambulance—how Mullens made Ben go to Gurnee, holding him at gunpoint, how my father forced Ben to tell him about me working with the FBI…”

  “Are you mad at Ben?”

  “Am I mad? At Ben? Hell, no! I’m furious with myself for putting a sixteen-year-old in that situation. God, that’ll mess him up for life.”

  “Ben’s going to be fine, Grant.” She squeezed his hand. “Once he told me about it, he seemed much better. Keeping that secret was killing him, but now that you’re okay, he’ll be fine.”

  “Because of you.” He gazed into her caring eyes. “You got Ben to tell you what happened. That alone was incredible, but then you demanded to see my father…you got him to confess to a plan to murder me…” He paused. “Why are you crying?”

  “I…was so scared. So scared of losing you.” Her eyes glittered.

  He drew her hand to his lips, navigating the multiple wires extending to the machines surrounding him. “Oh, Bonnie.” He kissed her soft skin. “I bet you were terrified of my father.”

  “I wasn’t.” She shook her head. “I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I knew there was good in him, deep down.”

  Grant looked at her with wonder. “How did you know?”

  “He made you.” She sniffed and smiled through her tears. “I thanked him for that.”

  “And I thank God for you, Sophie. You saved my life.”

  Her lips trembled. “Now we’re even.”

  “Even?” He tried to discern how she could think that. “Oh, because of Carlo? You think we’re even because I stopped my cousin from killing you? My family—my blood—we’ve hurt you so much. It was my brother who sent you to prison!”

  “Logan sent you to prison too.” She leaned down and gazed into his eyes for a long moment. “Thank you to Logan for bringing you in my life.” When she pressed her lips against his, he felt her tears on his cheeks.

  “I wondered why your heart rate spiked,” a male voice said. Sophie popped up as a nurse entered the room with a smirk on his face. “This is why we don’t usually allow spouses in the ICU.” He winked at Sophie.

  “I’m not his spouse,” she said. “Yet.”

  As the nursed checked the machines and took more blood, Grant clutched the promise of marrying the woman he loved.

  The nurse nodded as he wrote on the vial of blood. “Everything looks good for now, Mr. Santino. How are you feeling?”

  Grant met Sophie’s eyes. “Excellent.”

  “Hmm, don’t typically hear that response in the ICU.” The nurse grinned as he departed.

  “I get the fake name, with maybe some Russians still out and about, but why Mr. Santino?” Sophie asked.

  “Agent Bounter has watched The Godfather one time too many.”

  She laughed. “He’s one happy camper with so many bad guys under arrest.” Her smiled faded. “He said you saved some women too…some women they were hurting.”

  “When we were in the ambulance, I told him about one of the Russian’s girlfriends who’d been there—Innochka. She wasn’t at the exchange, but luckily the FBI found a woman matching her description on the street. When they threatened to arrest her, she led them to the house where they’d held me. We got to the hospital before I heard about everything they found, but it looks like there was enough guns, money, and drugs in there to put them away for a long time.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Do you know if they found Katya? Vladimir’s girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know—Bounter didn’t say. Did they…beat the women like they beat you?”

  “They whipped them with a belt.”

  She gasped. “No wonder you were so committed to following through.” She shook her head. “Why did they beat you so badly? Did they discover you were undercover?”

  “No. They would’ve killed me long ago if they’d known.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Luckily Mullens never regained consciousness, or he’d have told them. He was able to tell the Russians I was a Barberi…I think it was before they shot him, and I passed out from the drug he gave me.”

  She shook her head, disgust scrunching her nose. “He gave you Rohypnol, the doctor said.”

  “What’s that?”

  Based on her hesitation, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Roofies,” she eventually said. “The date-rape drug.”

  Thick nausea flowed over him. “Mullens is dead, right?” When she nodded, he shuddered. “He told me my father paid him to turn me over to the Russians. He was supposed to tell them I worked with the feds.”

  “Enzo, how could you?” She pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “But he wanted to rape me first.” He looked down. “He wanted to do that from my first day at Gurnee.”

  Sophie was quiet. She eventually asked, “Did he…get what he wanted?”

  “No.” He let out a breath. “I don’t think so. He dragged me out of our building, but I was so out of it…he was furious I couldn’t walk…” A flash of memory sparked his synapses, and his eyes scanned the length of his body. He was wearing a hospital gown—his pants were nowhere in sight.

  “What is it?” Sophie asked.

  He closed his eyes and cringed. “Nothing.”

  “Did Mullens rape you? Are you remembering—”

  “No.” He clenched his teeth, even though it amplified the ache in his jaw. “I think I might’ve peed my pants.” Heat flushed his cheeks. “That’s what slowed Mullen
s down.”

  She stared at him. “Then that’s what saved your life.”

  “What?”

  “Thank God you still pee in your pants now and then.” She grinned. “Or you wouldn’t be here with me today. It slowed Mullens down so the Russians could get you both. If you’d peed even more, maybe Bounter would’ve gotten there too, and you wouldn’t have been beaten to a pulp.”

  “But then the FBI wouldn’t have found all the evidence,” he said with a slight smile.

  “True.” She seemed to brace herself. “Grant, I know you went undercover to honor your mother. To save women like your mother. But was it worth it?”

  He considered. “They’re bad men, Soph. I’m so relieved they can’t hurt people anymore.” He sighed. “But I was a fool to think I could take this on and not bring danger to you and Ben. You don’t know how sorry I am.” He remembered the feel of warm blood pooling in his mouth as he sat tied to the chair, stabs of pain with every breath…“I thought I would die, and all I could think about was you.”

  She blushed.

  “You’re what’s most important in my life—not some stupid job. I promise I’m done with the FBI, okay?”

  “Oh, thank you.” She looked to the ceiling, seeming to battle more tears.

  An image of Andrei’s fist flying toward his nose assailed him, and he fought to breathe. But Dr. Hayes’s advice for handling flashbacks helped calm him.

  “It’s interesting, facing your death,” he said once his chest relaxed. “It makes you think.” She met his eyes. “Sophie, life is short. We can’t let anything stop us from reaching our dreams. We have to keep fighting for our dreams.”

  Her forehead creased as she listened.

  “And my biggest dream is marrying you.”

  She smiled as she cradled his head in her hands. “That’s my dream too. You’ve got three months for those bruises to heal, McSailor. And they better heal before the wedding photos, ’cause I’m only marrying you for your good looks.”

  Ignoring the pain in his face, he grinned.

  25. Consummate

  SOPHIE BRUSHED HER HAND down her wedding gown, then tugged and straightened the delicate material. The lively notes of Pachelbel’s Canon floated from the sanctuary into the narthex, sparking a pulse of excitement in her belly. This is happening. She tried to hold her head up high.