Jerry studied them both and saw Sophie’s face contort with fear. “What’s wrong, Taylor?”
When Grant turned to stare at her, she paused. “Ah, maybe I should talk about this with Grant in private.”
“What is it?” Grant asked.
Sophie wrung her hands in her lap. “It’s just—I don’t want you visiting your father, Grant. I know Hunter thinks it might be a good idea, but I’m, I’m scared for you. I don’t want you near Angelo or his men either. Please promise me you’ll stay away from them?”
Her frightened eyes made Grant’s chest swell with love. Grasping one of her hands, he stroked her skin softly and replied, “Don’t worry—I don’t want anything to do with Uncle Angelo. And I don’t want to visit my dad, either, but I, uh, I have to know if it’s an option, at least. If making peace with him is the only way to get my life back, I at least have to try.”
Jerry watched the parolees gaze intently into each other’s eyes, feeling drawn in like he was watching one of those ridiculous movies Marilyn forced him to see with her.
Shaking himself out of his trance, he said, “Typically you wouldn’t be permitted to visit a prison while you’re on parole.” He had both parolees’ attention now. “Unless you were returning as a resident there,” he added humorlessly. “But because you’re family, the rules might be more fluid. I’ll have to check with the DOC and get back to you.”
Grant nodded gravely. “Thank you, sir.”
Glancing at his watch, Jerry asked, “Any other questions today?”
Receiving simultaneous “No, sir” responses, Jerry stood up and bid them farewell.
As Grant guided Sophie down the courthouse steps, he could feel her tension and continued distress.
She was surprised when he stayed with her as they crossed the street; typically he peeled off toward the river while she began the trek to DePaul.
“I’m taking you to work today,” Grant explained, noticing her inquisitive glance. “Roger cancelled the one o’clock cruise since hardly anybody takes it this late in the season, so I have more time.” His hand remained firmly at the small of her back.
“Okay.” She sighed with relief and felt the trembling throughout her body begin to abate. At least her McSailor would be safe from his family for the next hour or so.
***
“Meat! Get in here!”
Angelo’s bellow was softer and weaker than he intended, and he gasped for air as he fought off the urge to cough. His damn lungs were getting worse every day. Mustering all his strength, he cried out again, “Meat!”
Tank stuck his head in the door of the ornate study. “Need something, boss?”
Pulling his squinting black eyes away from the computer screen, Angelo frowned. “I need Mario, not you.”
Tank cleared his throat as he stepped fully into the room. “Sorry, boss, Meat’s at the range.” Tank wished he was there too, practicing his aim, but they’d agreed somebody had to stay behind to keep an eye on their don. He wasn’t looking so great these days. “Something I can help you with?”
Angelo felt a coughing spasm overtake him.
“Boss,” Tank gently cajoled. “Let me take you back to the doc.”
“No,” Angelo rasped, fighting for air. “It’s pointless.” In a far-off voice, he added, “It’s inoperable.”
“Still,” Tank argued, “maybe you can get some better drugs, you know?”
“I’ve got all the fucking painkillers I need,” Angelo angrily retorted. “They make me too fuzzy. I gotta keep an eye on things, especially when I find shit like this.” He gestured to the computer screen.
“What’s wrong, boss?”
“I found an error in the books, and I’m going to turn Meat into a fucking vegetarian for his careless mistake.”
Tank looked confused. “That don’t sound like Meat. What’s the mistake?”
Angelo indignantly pointed at the screen. “It says here one of our suppliers paid extra last month,” he wheezed. “That can’t be right. In thirty years, I’ve never seen that.”
Tank leaned over his boss’s shoulder to peer at the screen. “Supplier” was their code word for a business they extorted money from—a backbone of their income. Either the business paid the protection fee, or it wouldn’t be in business for long.
“Who’s the supplier that overpaid?” he asked.
Angelo frowned. “Taylor Construction.”
***
“You’re using Dr. Green’s office while she’s overseas?” Grant asked, looking around at the piles of journals, books, and papers in the cluttered space.
“Yes, Anita told me to use it until she returns in late December—”
“—when your position will end, and you’ll have to find another job,” Grant finished ominously. The threat of returning to prison because they were unemployed continued to hang over them.
Sophie sighed. “Don’t remind me. You’ve got even less time. Any news on the job front?”
“Rog is trying to get me in with the company he works for, doing architectural bus tours, but they’re laying off more people than they’re hiring at this point.”
She rested her hand on his wiry forearm. “You’ll find something.”
He nodded grimly, and she slid her hand down to clasp his.
“C’mon, I’ll show you around,” she said.
Sophie first introduced Grant to the department secretary, Judy, a short brown-haired woman in her fifties who smiled warmly. They chatted for a few minutes until the secretary received a phone call.
As they walked out of the front office and into the hallway, Sophie smiled. “Judy’s a sweetheart. She was always so helpful to me as a grad student—with all the forms I had to complete for my thesis, dissertation, stipends, stuff like that. And she was tremendously welcoming when I started teaching this fall.”
“She seems friendly,” Grant said.
Sophie bit her lip and lowered her voice as they continued down the hallway. “Judy was actually my alibi.”
Grant gave her a sharp look.
“I came here to try to do some work after we, uh…”
Her voice trailed off and Grant silently continued her thought. After we yelled at each other, and you told me to stay the hell away from you.
“Anyway,” Sophie continued, “Marilyn interviewed Judy to make sure I was here that day…” the day Logan was murdered “…and Judy hasn’t said one word about it since.”
Grant had felt like the secretary seemed a little too curious about him. “Does she know, uh, everything that happened?”
“No,” Sophie assured him. “The only people who know everything are Anita and my friend Tanya. Here’s Tanya’s office—I want you to meet her. Let me see if she’s in.”
She knocked on the door and heard an inviting response in return.
“Oh!” Sophie cried as she opened the door. “I didn’t know you had company.”
Tanya stood, followed by the blond woman across from her.
“No worries,” she responded, eyeing the handsome man behind Sophie. “Please come in. Is this the famous Grant Madsen?”
Sophie grinned broadly, and Grant blushed as he trailed his girlfriend into the office.
“Tanya Highgate,” Sophie said, “I’d like to introduce you to Grant Madsen.” Grant gallantly reached out to shake Tanya’s hand, and the five-foot-ten woman nearly swooned as she gazed directly into his sparkling gemstone eyes. Sophie then gestured to the other woman. “And this is Nora Rodriguez, Tanya’s advisee.”
The lean, five-foot-five woman with short, spiky blond hair also shook Grant’s hand and nervously asked Tanya, “Should I leave and maybe we can finish this meeting later?”
“Please don’t go,” Sophie said. “We’ll only be here a couple of minutes. Grant has to get to work soon. And I’ve told Grant what a great writer you are, Nora, so he kind of already knows you.”
A delighted look lit up the grad student’s face, accompanied by a reddening of her tan skin.
Grant felt proud that Sophie was praising students to encourage them, just like Anita had done for her. He turned to Sophie and asked, “Nora’s the one who wrote the paper on interpersonal theory?”
Both Tanya and Nora were impressed.
Sophie beamed, touched that Grant remembered a detail about an important person in her life. She was also consumed by desire as she revisited what happened in their bed shortly after she read Nora’s paper.
“And Tanya is your best friend in the department, as I recall,” Grant added.
Sophie nodded, exchanging a smile with Tanya.
“Grant, you work on an architectural cruise, right?” asked Tanya. “I’ve always been meaning to take one of those.”
Grant chuckled. “Most Chicago natives say that. You’re welcome to come, but you’d better hurry because time’s running out.”
“Oh, I want to take one of those cruises!” Nora cut in. “What a great way to learn about a new city.”
“Nora is from Texas, right on the border,” Tanya said. “We were just talking about her research on counseling Mexican immigrants. We share an interest in cross-cultural research.”
“Tanya will be a great advisor,” Sophie assured Nora. In contrast, she instantly thought of Kirsten’s advisor, David Alton, who she believed was at least partially to blame for Kirsten taking so long to finish her degree. Some advisors helpfully nudged their students through all the research requirements, whereas others became critical and inaccessible, thereby delaying the graduation of their students. David belonged in the latter category.
“I think Nora will have access to a large Mexican immigrant population here in Chicago,” Tanya said.
“Yes,” Nora agreed. “I was just running through Pilsen the other day, and it seemed like a huge Mexican community.”
“Oh, right, that’s something you two have in common,” Sophie said, taking Grant’s hand. “Nora runs half-marathons.” She looked at Nora. “Grant runs every morning. He’s even got his sixteen-year-old nephew out there with him sometimes.”
“Begrudgingly,” Grant added with a grin.
Nora laughed. “Sounds like my son. He’s fourteen and thinks he’s super-fit until he tries to keep up with me on a run.”
“I didn’t know you had a son, Nora,” Sophie said.
“I have a son and a daughter. After my divorce I decided to leave nursing, and I figured I’d start training for a new career in psychology.”
“Wow, I’m learning all kinds of things about you today.” Sophie smiled. “Why did you want to leave nursing?”
Nora suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Sophie backpedaled. “I’m sorry for prying. Just ask Grant. I get into interrogation mode a little too easily—remnants of my counseling career.”
“You were in practice?” Nora asked.
Now Sophie seemed the hesitant one. “Y-Y-Yes,” she stammered, glancing anxiously at Grant. “But not anymore. I’m, uh, trying out the teaching thing now.”
“Oh.” Nora sensed the tension in Sophie’s voice. “Well, to answer your question, my ex-husband’s a physician, and I didn’t want to continue working in the same hospital as him. I figured a fresh start was in order—new career, new place to live. Though how I’ll keep up with the jogging once the weather gets cold is beyond me. I think I’ll be missing the Texas weather this winter,” Nora said. “Sophie, you should go running with Grant. It’s a great stress reliever.”
Sophie’s eyes widened and she shot Grant an amused glance, snuggling against him. “I don’t think I could keep up with this guy. He used to be in the Navy—you should see him in action on the ship.”
Tanya grinned as she watched Grant blush and clear his throat. “Speaking of ships, I better get going.”
Sophie nodded. “Okay, I’ll walk you out. Now you guys can get back to your meeting—sorry for the interruption.”
She followed Grant out of the office, and they paused in the hallway.
“Thank you,” Sophie told him, looking up into his cool eyes.
“For what?”
“For just being you. It’s nice to have a boyfriend I’m proud to introduce to my friends. You were great with them.”
“I can see why you like working here. Your colleagues are a little more civilized than Roger.”
They chuckled, and then trepidation crossed Sophie’s face as her eyes darted to something behind Grant.
“Hello, David,” she said tersely.
Grant spun around to find a gray-haired man of medium height moving their direction.
“Morning, Sophie,” David replied, his brown eyes crinkling as he smiled. He wore a gray T-shirt under a navy blue sport jacket with faded jeans, appearing casual yet professional at the same time.
To her horror, Sophie watched David stop in front of them, inquiringly observing the tall, dark man at her side. She silently hoped the McSailor Method would work its magic. A tense silence descended upon them until Sophie remembered her manners.
“Um, David Alton,” she forced out in a tight voice, gesturing to her boyfriend, “this is Grant Madsen.”
Grant immediately draped his left arm over her shoulders and reached out to pump David’s hand vigorously. “Sophie’s boyfriend,” Grant added smugly.
Feeling a possessive squeeze of his long fingers on her shoulder, it dawned on Sophie that Grant’s visit was perhaps not only to soothe her concerns about his family. He seemed to relish meeting David. Had he somehow planned on them running into each other?
There was a glint in David’s eyes—what was it? Anger? Jealousy? Whatever his reaction, he hid it well. “Nice to meet you, Grant,” he said smoothly. “So this is the boyfriend Sophie’s been hiding from us. I’m glad she finally decided to let you come for a visit.”
Grant’s smile was stiff. “I have a feeling I’ll be visiting much more frequently.”
Sophie gave a nervous chuckle.
“So what do you do for a living, Grant? Don’t tell me you’re a psychologist too?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Grant responded, letting the respectful address slip out before he could stop it. “I work in a top Chicago industry.” Seeing David’s questioning look, he added, “Tourism.”
David still appeared confused, but before he could ask a follow-up question Grant squeezed Sophie’s shoulder reassuringly and said, “I gotta run, honey. See you at home tonight?”
With that question hanging in the air, he leaned in, dipped her, and planted an intense smooch right on her lips. He held the breathtaking kiss for several seconds, even throwing some tongue in there for good measure, before finally drawing her back up and releasing her to try to maintain her balance on wobbly, boneless legs.
She felt her cheeks on fire as Grant sauntered down the hall, appearing quite satisfied with himself. Looking back to David, she tried to resume normal breathing as they stared at each other dumbly, both with no idea what to say. Their awkward silence was broken when Nora came out of Tanya’s office with her advisor in tow, still chatting excitedly about a research idea.
The women stopped short at Sophie and David rooted to their spots in the hallway. A slight step backward was David’s only sign of discomfort; otherwise, he was suave as ever.
“Ah, ladies, I can see I’m outnumbered here, so I’ll leave you to discuss female issues like men, or, uh, I don’t know, fashion.” He glanced down at his own ensemble. “Just don’t make fun of me for wearing my Garanimal professor uniform, okay?” He winked and continued down the hallway.
Shaking their heads and exchanging an exasperated look, Sophie and Tanya were surprised by Nora’s girlish giggle once David was gone.
“Garanimals?” Nora chuckled. “My kids used to wear those. I think his outfit looks pretty sexy, myself.”
She looked to the other women, both too taken aback to speak, and wondered if she’d said something wrong. “I have to get to class,” Nora announced more somberly, “Bye, Tanya. Bye, Sophie.”
The women murmured goodbyes, and Sophi
e stared at Tanya incredulously. “What the hell was that?”
***
The blackness enveloped him and all he could hear were his desperate gasps for air. Then his eyes popped open and gradually adjusted to the dim light of the cell. He felt his racing heart begin to slowly settle down, one beat at a time.
The familiar noises of the cellblock began entering his consciousness—a random cough here and there, grunts from cellmates getting a little too friendly in the middle of the night, the measured cadence of a CO’s footsteps patrolling the tier above. Fortunately, the only sound inside his cell was the steady breathing of the inmate on the bunk below. His man had slept through any disturbance created by the nightmare. It would be damn near impossible to lead men—to own men—if they knew of their leader’s penchant for crying out like a baby as he slept.
Enzo Barberi exhaled loudly and turned over on his side, thumping his thin pillow in a futile attempt to make it more comfortable. Feeling fatigue press down on his eyelids, he dared to close his eyes again and was immediately rewarded with the image he’d been trying to avoid all his life: terrified brown eyes staring back at him, pleading and begging with their intensity. The gag prevented the owner of those eyes from speaking, other than muffled moans and screams, but his eyes did all the talking anyway.
Enzo snapped his own eyes back open, gritting his teeth with frustration. Why wouldn’t the fucking image go away? Why did he have to relive it almost every fucking night? And why couldn’t he get any fucking booze to erase the image? If only he could have one drink. God, he missed alcohol more than life itself. Sighing again, he shifted his body, feeling the metal bunk-bed frame vibrate with his movement. He was going to have to stay awake all night again—not that there was any need to be well-rested tomorrow. All that awaited him was another shitty day in Gurnee.
***
Grant was really getting into his rendition of Frank Sinatra this time. He knew he wouldn’t have the pleasure of crooning tunes much longer. Even Roger, who was typically grumpy by the last cruise of the day, was dancing in place at the controls as Grant’s smooth voice caressed each syllable, guiding the half-filled cruise home to the docks. Grant had come to find singing a release not unlike running. He was lost in the song, stringing notes together in a smooth melody, just like he strung his strides together into a five-mile run.
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 15
