Joe punched in the pass code, and the exterior gate swung open. Jerry stepped in front of the metal bars to hold the door open with his back.
“Hold on,” Joe whispered, using his shirttails to grasp the gun with one hand and wipe away the fingerprints with the other. Tossing the gun into the bushes inside the gate, he glanced at Jerry’s strained face and leaned forward to scoop up Sophie. “Let me take her. Go.”
Ben had popped out of the vehicle and hopped all around Joe as he approached the car, almost impeding his progress. “Ohmigod!” he gasped. “You got her! Is she okay? Why are her eyes closed?”
Joe ignored the rapid-fire questions until he’d maneuvered Sophie into the backseat and scooted in next to her.
“Front seat!” Jerry shouted at Ben as he scrambled into the driver’s seat.
Bewildered, Ben slid into the passenger seat but instantly turned around, his eyes glued to the beautiful woman slouched unnaturally in the back.
“Where’s the nearest hospital?” Joe implored.
“I’m on it.” Jerry sped away, flinging his cell phone into Ben’s grasp and barking, “Call Marilyn! She’s in my contacts.”
As Ben located the number, a wave of fear swept over Joe. What if Tank and Mario found out Sophie had been freed before Grant completed the drop? His nephew would be a dead man. Find Grant, he silently implored the FBI. Find my boy.
***
As Grant jostled along the circular interior hallway, he noticed his hand was throbbing as it gripped the briefcase handle. He’d seen Tank eye the briefcase covetously, and he wondered if he’d try to make a move for the money before it exchanged hands. Grant hoped Tank was too afraid of Enzo to pull such a stunt.
Attempting to figure out a way to notify the task force about their exact location, Grant feigned curiosity at each apartment door they passed. “Fifteen oh-five…fifteen oh-six—”
The muzzle of Tank’s gun slammed into his ribs, and he inhaled sharply. Tank leaned in and hissed, “We already know college boy can count. Shut the fuck up.”
They arrived at apartment 1510, and Tank knocked softly. Tension rippled through the three men while they waited for an answer. In a quiet, menacing tone, Tank instructed, “They need to think everything’s copacetic with the family. Go along or the girl gets it.” As if Grant needed a reminder.
A man with jet-black hair and Slavic features opened the door, peering at them suspiciously. “You’re late,” he said.
Tank shrugged. “Had some trouble losing a tail.”
A storm cloud crossed his dark complexion. “You sure you lost them?”
“Of course,” Tank scoffed. “You letting us in or what?”
Still appearing mistrustful, the man opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow the tall trio into the apartment. Grant knew every Marina City apartment had a balcony, but in this residence velvet curtains were pulled closed over the wall of sliding glass doors. If they were in the East Tower, he wondered what view hid behind the rich, dark-red curtains—perhaps the river? The Hancock Building?
“…assuring me your father sent you?”
Grant turned to the other dark-haired man in the room, who waited impatiently for a response to his question. Grant nodded. “Yes.”
“I can’t get a fucking straight answer from you people,” the man continued as he stood and stepped toward Grant, invading his personal space. “Do you or don’t you work for your father?”
“Yes, I do.”
One bushy black eyebrow peaked. “Then why haven’t we talked to you before?”
Grant’s mouth felt dry. “My father puts me on his most important jobs…the ones requiring the most trust…the ones with people he greatly respects. These guys—” he gestured to the big bodyguards behind him “—handle the more menial tasks.”
Watching Tank’s face redden with rage, the Serbian bodyguard chuckled. “Indeed. This is quite an important meeting. You have something for us?”
“I do,” Grant confirmed, relieved that the hand offering the briefcase was steady. “Please accept this delivery.”
The man gave a tight smile and took the briefcase from Grant’s grasp. He spoke in a foreign language to another bodyguard, who crossed the room while extracting a folded piece of paper from his suit jacket. Apparently the paper contained a written code, which the man used to unlock the briefcase on one of the end tables. A satisfied sigh filled the room, and the man grinned as he spun the briefcase around, revealing piles of cash inside.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Your father keeps his word.”
“He is a man of his word,” Grant forced out.
Suddenly the apartment exploded with chaos and conflict.
“FBI!”
Shouts rang out around him, and abruptly the residence was teeming with men in shiny navy-blue jackets over their bulletproof vests who aimed weapons at Grant and the four bodyguards. Grant watched Tank being stripped of his gun, and it was only a second later that he felt his own body pushed down, his face shoved into the thick carpet.
“Got him!” a voice exclaimed. From his floor-level vantage point, Grant turned his head to see a recognizable man being led out from one of the bedrooms.
“Darko Jovanovich,” Agent Bounter crowed, and Grant grinned as Jovanovich tried to quickly back away from the open briefcase.
The agent smiled brightly at the gubernatorial candidate. “Looks like we caught you being naughty, hmm? Perhaps it would’ve been smarter to let your men handle the money exchange without you.”
Jovanovich wisely stayed silent, but he couldn’t keep the scowl from his craggy face.
One FBI agent read the politician his rights while others did the same with the men on the ground. Grant felt warm hands gently tug his arms together behind him, carefully snapping cuffs onto his bloody wrists. With all the action around him, he almost missed Bounter’s whisper as he knelt by his prone body. “We have Sophie. It’s over.”
Grant’s body shook and relief coursed down his spine. He barely heard the agent’s barked orders for taking the criminals into custody. It was over.
26. Conspirators
In the foreground was her bright smile and in the background jubilant White Sox fans on the upper deck of U.S. Cellular Field. Her freshly scrubbed cheeks lent her a warmhearted glow, only partially muted by the shadow of her black baseball cap. Grant sighed, stroking the pad of his thumb over the photo. His restrained wrists and less-than-friendly company had prevented him from looking at the picture in his pocket the entire thirty-two hours his family had detained him. But he’d known she was there the whole time.
All was quiet in the interrogation room. Here he was again: stuck in some law enforcement hole while Sophie was laid up in the hospital, fighting for her life. All because of his family…all because of him.
Studying her carefree expression in the photo, Grant silently wished, I want you to smile like this again someday—a big, genuine smile. I want to make you happy. I love you, Sophie. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe from my family.
“Uncle Grant!”
He looked up to find an FBI agent letting Ben and Joe into the room, and he popped out of his chair to envelop his nephew in his arms, quickly moving on to do the same with his uncle. At times he’d not been sure he’d ever see them again, and he closed his eyes with relief as he pressed each family member tightly to his chest.
The three blue-eyed men stood staring at each other for a few seconds, flooded by so many questions they had no idea where to start.
Noticing the darkened blood on Grant’s hands, Joe frowned. “What’d they do to you?”
“I’m fine.” Grant changed the subject. “Detective Fox told me you and Officer Stone rescued Sophie?”
Joe grinned and ruffled Ben’s hair. “Only because this one made it happen.”
“What?” Grant gaped at his nephew. “You helped rescue Sophie?”
Ben blushed. “I could’ve helped more but he didn’t let me go in.”
Joe suppressed a smile. “Ben knew about a hidden room in the basement of the mansion, off the wine cellar. Carlo had showed it to him.”
“That’s where they held Sophie?” Grant’s voice began to rise. “What’d they do to her? Why’s she in the hospital?”
“I think they drugged her,” Joe solemnly answered.
Grant grabbed his head in both hands. His nephew tentatively approached him, tapping his elbow. “It’s okay, Uncle Grant. She was coming to when we left the ER.”
“She’s there alone?”
“Her father’s with her,” Joe assured him. “She’s going to be okay.”
“I…” Grant dropped his arms and shook his head. “I don’t know how to thank you for saving her, sir.”
“You just did, Grant. I’m so relieved we found her,” said Joe.
“And Ben,” Grant continued as their eyes met. “I can’t believe what you did—you took something bad and made it good. You used our family’s awful secrets to save Sophie’s life.” He fondly gazed at his nephew. “Do you know how proud you’ve made me?”
Ben unflinchingly met Grant’s gaze. “Yes, sir.”
Both Grant and Joe were startled by the teenager’s respectful response. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
Thinking now might be the right time to share the news, Joe told Grant, “There’s a reason Jerry and I got into the compound without interference from the bodyguards.” He shot a sideways glance at the teenager and cleared his throat. “Apparently the men were upstairs in Angelo’s room, trying to revive him. He was coding.”
Grant’s eyes widened. “Uncle Angelo died?”
“Yes.”
Swallowing hard, Grant realized he’d been one of the last people to see Angelo alive. “I’m sorry, Ben,” he offered softly as he gathered his nephew into a hug once again.
“’S okay,” Ben mumbled softly, and then his voice became fierce. “He let them kill my dad.”
Stepping out of the hug, Grant nodded. “Yes, he did.” He glanced at Joe. “Did you get their confessions on tape?”
“The FBI is interrogating Tank and Mario as we speak. Apparently you were right—they started with Mario, and he’s proving to be very loose-lipped. He’s confessing to all sorts of crimes.”
Grant gave a wry half-smile. “He’s just not ruthless enough to work for my family. He was in the wrong job.”
“Just like you were, Mr. Madsen.” Agent Bounter swept into the room, followed by a paramedic. “I think your singing days are over.”
Confused, Grant stared at the FBI agent as the paramedic reached for his hands to check his injuries. “I’m fine.” He shook his shoulders, trying to slough off the pesky EMT. “What do you mean my singing days are over? Am I returning to prison?”
“Hell, no!” Lucas replied, gesturing to a chair. “Grant, would you please sit down so the EMT can attend to your wrists? I’ll explain if you take a seat.”
“I really don’t need medical attention, Agent Bounter.”
Joe pointed to the chair. “Grant, park it.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied with a sigh, and Ben smirked.
As the paramedic opened his bag, Lucas took a seat across from him, leaning in eagerly.
“We’ve got Jovanovich right where we want him.”
Grant couldn’t help but wince when the paramedic began flushing his cuts with saline. “Did he confess?”
“No, he lawyer’d up just as I expected, but we’ll secure his financial records soon, and then he’s toast.”
Joe cut in. “Grant’s not going to be implicated, is he?”
Lucas shook his head, grinning. “Your nephew’s very clever, Commander. We used his idea to blame the sting on Marina City’s valet, who supposedly called the police after being threatened by a Mafia driver. The valet ‘saw’ Tank hold a gun on Grant in the parking garage and followed them up to the fifteenth floor.”
“You better get that valet into witness protection,” Joe said, shaking his head.
“We’re taking care of him. He’s here legally and has been sending money to his wife in Costa Rica, hoping she’d join him in the States one day, so he was thrilled when we told him we’d place them both in California.”
Shivering at the cold snap that had overtaken Chicago, Ben asked, “California? Can I be in witness protection too?”
Grant smiled. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here with me in cold Chicago, kid.”
“There’s no need for any of you to enter witness protection, actually,” Lucas added. “Angelo’s dead, and just about every Barberi employee is going to be locked up with their boss in Gurnee soon. Given that Jovanovich’s people think the Barberi family screwed up and ruined their plan by letting the feds tail them, Enzo and his ilk will be too busy looking over their shoulders to come after you.”
Grant watched a smile erupt on his uncle’s face.
Joe sat back in his chair, awed by all that had transpired. “This worked out far better than I ever imagined—even better than Grant’s initial plan.”
“It’s all because you kept your cool, Grant,” Lucas told him. “You showed grace under pressure out there in the field. You brought down a corrupt politician—hell, you brought down an entire crime organization.”
Grant blushed, looking down.
“Which brings me back to the end of your singing days.” When Grant looked up, Lucas resumed. “We’d like you to think about working for the FBI, Grant. We need your skills to go after organized crime.”
Stunned, Grant said, “But I’m a criminal. I’m still on parole.”
The FBI agent nodded. “That is a major stumbling block. If the task force’s attorneys go to bat for you like they say they will, you’ll have a good chance of getting your conviction set aside. When that happens, talk to me. I’ve got a project just for you, with your insider’s perspective on the Mafia and the Navy. And you’ve obviously proven your mettle by the way you’ve handled yourself the past few days.”
When no response was forthcoming, Lucas stood. “Think about it. I gotta get back to Donnie Darko.”
Once the agent left, the paramedic finished bandaging Grant’s wrists and provided some advice for tending to the wounds. Grant barely heard any of the instructions—his mind swam with possibilities for the future.
Shrugging at his semi-responsive patient, the EMT packed up and departed as well.
Glancing at his nephew, Grant suddenly remembered something. “You had a swim meet tonight! Are you missing it?”
Ben nodded. “It’s okay. Coach was going to make me swim the one-hundred ’fly anyway.” His shudder let Grant and Joe know exactly how he felt about that prospect.
Just then a female voice countered, “Hey, don’t knock butterfly—it’s the best stroke there is.”
Grant bolted out of his chair and rushed to engulf Sophie in an overpowering embrace, almost lifting her off her feet and nearly knocking over her father in the process.
“You’re okay?” he asked, setting her down and scanning the length of her body to detect any injuries.
Nodding quickly, she replied, “It was just a sedative the guard put in my orange juice.” With an ironic grin, she added, “Mom always warned me to make sure nobody put anything in my drink.”
Grant’s mouth dropped open. She was joking at a time like this?
Will quietly added, “Your mother was a wise woman.”
Sophie exchanged a wistful glance with her father and turned her attention to Grant’s bandaged wrists. “What happened?” she asked.
“I found out Officer Stone’s handcuffs aren’t all that bad,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”
She cradled his bandaged wrists in her hands, staring into the depths of his eyes. His hold over her lasted several seconds, until she remembered others were in the room.
Sophie looked up to find Joe and Ben watching her fondly. Without hesitation, she crossed over to them, timidly stepping forward to wrap her arms around Joe. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Next she turned to Ben, smiling warmly. “My dad tells me you’re the one who figured out where they took me.”
He shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “Yeah…”
She felt tears spring to her eyes, though she continued smiling. “You saved my life, Ben.” After pausing for a moment, she told him, her voice quivering, “Your father would’ve been so proud of you.”
Ben’s upper lip began to tremble, and he seemed grateful when she folded him into her arms for a tight hug. When she let him go, he bowed his head, sniffling. Their collective tears made Grant’s throat tighten, and he clasped Sophie’s hand when she returned to his side.
Sensing that the two might want to be alone, Will told Joe and Ben, “I’m very grateful to you both as well. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
Ben grimaced, and Will amended, “Coke?”
Ben shook his head. “No thanks.”
Standing rooted to his spot, Ben didn’t get the hint until Joe roughly guided him toward the door, following Will into the hallway.
“But I’m not thirsty!” Ben protested as he went.
Once they were gone, Grant reached up to tuck a wayward strand of strawberry-blond hair behind Sophie’s ear, gazing down at her with wonder and relief.
“So they drugged you?” His voice was laced with guilt.
“I guess the FBI was raiding the compound, and they didn’t want me screaming for help. The guard made me drink some juice that tasted awful.”
Grant’s long fingers continued tenderly stroking her hair. “Were you scared?”
She nodded. “I was so afraid they’d found the wire on you. I was terrified they…that they’d killed you.”
“But I’m okay,” Grant said quickly. “We’re okay.”
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 33
