With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1]

by Jennifer Lane

  Caretaker, she mused. Logan had certainly taken care of her. He’d taken care of her career, her ethics, her self-respect, her dignity. With an acrid bitterness in her heart, she headed toward the docks.

  18. Fucking Carrots

  Sophie hopped from the dock to the deck and glanced around the empty ship, sighing. Despite her morning therapy appointment, she’d arrived at work ahead of Grant. She wanted to confront him about his standoffish demeanor and hoped she’d have enough courage.

  Heading toward the bar to check on her inventory for the day, she stopped short when Grant emerged right in front of her from the stairs leading to the machine room. He wiped black engine oil off his hands with a towel, looking rugged and manly in a dark-blue jumpsuit.

  Once he caught sight of her sad, tired eyes, lacking their typical coppery glow, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she immediately replied, hearing the edge to her voice.

  He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then began to walk away. Sophie called out, “Actually—”

  As he turned back to face her, Sophie heard Hunter’s words, Take care of your needs, in her head. “Actually, I’m not fine. I had a rough therapy session this morning.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “No, I …” Her voice trailed off as she gazed into his eyes: so earnest, so caring, so entrancing. “Yeah,” she finally admitted. “We were talking about some family stuff.”

  He nodded again and continued wiping his hands with the old rag he clutched nervously.

  Sophie couldn’t turn off the nagging internal voice that encouraged her, implored her, to tell Grant how she felt. Use assertive communication! Her heart pounding in her chest, she took a deep breath. “Grant, I, um …” She found his intense gaze searing into her, making her feel unsteady and unmoored. But she continued. “I—I feel kind of hurt, um, hurt and puzzled that you’ve been so aloof lately.”

  There. She said it. Oh God, was he going to be mad at her? Was he going to think she was a clingy psycho woman?

  His eyes registered surprise. “I have? I’ve been aloof?”

  “I think so. You haven’t really said much at all to anyone since, um, Ashley was here.” Sophie watched him listen and tried to explain further. “I just, you know, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your smiles.” Her cheeks flushed pink.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was being such a jerk.”

  “No, no—you weren’t a jerk.”

  He took a deep breath and averted his eyes. “Not that it’s much of an excuse, but I’ve had a lot on my mind since I talked to Ashley. I told you how my Uncle Joe got me this job, right?”

  He glanced at her and she nodded, feeling grateful for Joe’s indirect employment help for her as well.

  “Well, Joe did more than that. He pretty much saved my life. He’s been like a father to me since I was eight years old. And now I have a nephew—Ben—who’s almost sixteen.” Grant’s voice warbled with emotion. “And he needs me, like I needed Joe. He needs his uncle to save him, if it’s not too late.”

  Grant was surprised at how much he shared with Sophie, but he didn’t want her thinking she was to blame for his recent introversion. He looked down.

  “The problem is, I’m not as strong as Joe. I’m too chickenshit to stand up to my family like Joe did.” He clenched his fists. “I don’t know why I’m not stepping forward—it’s not like I have anything to lose. They’ve already destroyed my life. But I’m just standing back watching it all happen, watching them take down Ben with their sinking ship … I’m not even willing to throw him a damn life-raft.”

  It hurt her to see the self-hatred in his scowl. She knew she was violating their pact not to discuss the past—hell, they’d both already broken that rule this morning—but her inner therapist could not help but ask, “How did your family destroy your life?”

  Drinking in her beautiful brown eyes, her high cheekbones, and her perfectly sculpted lips, he sighed. He wanted to keep this classy, elegant woman away from his destructive family, but apparently that wasn’t possible.

  “Sometimes I like to pretend it’s my family’s fault that I was busted for aggravated robbery,” he said. “But the truth is it’s all my fault. I’m the one who screwed up my life.”

  Aggravated robbery? At least now she could confirm for Kirsten that Grant was not a murderer. She felt deep gratitude that he’d opened up to her.

  “I feel sad that your family has made things hard for you.” She grasped his wrists with her delicate fingers. “I went to prison because of guns and money too.”

  “You did? Guns and money?”

  He looked shocked. Then his widened eyes crinkled as he choked down laughter.

  “What is so funny?” Sophie asked indignantly.

  “You are like the most vanilla girl ever. Guns? You?” He let out a hearty laugh. “Yes, you are quite the thug, Sophie Taylor.”

  “Hey, I could be a bad girl. You’d never know.”

  “Yeah, you could be Bonnie to my Clyde.” He winked suggestively.

  She smiled, and he dropped the rag to the deck below, needing his hands free to fix another type of engine. “Come here, you little lawbreaker,” he demanded with a grin.

  Sophie stepped forward and he lovingly circled his arms around her waist. He leaned into her, his bemused eyes inches from hers.

  Peering up at him, she reminded herself to keep breathing.

  His sultry voice quietly apologized, “I’m sorry for acting so distant. But no matter how messed up I get about my family, you know how I feel about you, right?”

  She swallowed hard. “This is kind of new … Sometimes I’m not sure.” Her voice trembling, she confessed, “Sometimes I’m afraid you don’t want to be with me.”

  He frowned and a determined look set in his eyes. His hand snaked up her spine and gently cradled the back of her head, her soft hair running through his fingers as he drew her face to his. Their lips barely brushed for a few tantalizing seconds. Sophie cupped the smooth skin of his jaw with her hand. Her peripheral vision blurred completely, and she was conscious only of his hypnotic gaze, enraptured by the flecks of emerald green in a sea of sapphire blue.

  Finally, his full lips crashed onto hers. He stole all her oxygen in his absorbing liplock, and his tongue playfully flickered into her mouth, exploring and grazing her own. Her hand angled down from his hip and tentatively landed on his rear end, feeling the solid, sculpted muscles beneath her fingertips and causing them both to come up for air.

  Their noses nuzzling as they paused, he whispered, “I hope that answered your question. I hope you’re no longer afraid.”

  Sophie smiled seductively. “Maybe just a little afraid. I might need more convincing.” She leaned in to resume when a gruff voice loudly interrupted them.

  “Unfreakingbelievable. No wonder you two wanted to work together.”

  They scrambled out of their embrace to find none other than Jerry Stone glowering at them from a few feet away. How had they not heard their parole officer approach?

  “Officer Stone,” Grant acknowledged anxiously. He stood perfectly straight. “I didn’t see you there, sir.”

  Sophie blushed as she stared at their surprise visitor. “I guess you got the news that I’m working for Eaton Tours?”

  Jerry raised his eyebrows. “You call that working?” Smirking, he added, “If that’s working, then I obviously chose the wrong career.”

  Grant coughed nervously. “Sir, you’re here to check up on us?”

  “Yes, Madsen. It’s standard procedure to visit you at home and work to make sure you’re not getting into any trouble. I tend to avoid informing you in advance because I enjoy keeping my parolees on their toes. I like the element of surprise.”

  “Well, you sure surprised us, sir,” Sophie confirmed uncomfortably.

  Jerry chuckled. “Thirty years and that was definitely a first: parolees sucking face right in fro
nt of me.” He shuddered. “Jesus, I could have done without that!”

  Grant forced himself to recover. “I apologize for the unusual welcome, sir,” he said as he firmly shook Jerry’s hand. “May I show you around the ship?”

  Looking at the parolees skeptically, Jerry relented. “That would be fine. Is that your uniform?”

  Glancing down at his navy-blue jumpsuit, Grant grinned. “I wore this when I was chief toilet cleaner. But since then I’ve been promoted. I was just doing some maintenance in the engine room down below.”

  “You made it up to chief navigator, Madsen?”

  “Yes, sir. And I’ve also been filling in as docent on occasion. Would you like to see the bridge?”

  Nodding, Jerry appeared impressed. He followed Grant up the stairs to the top deck.

  Sophie bit her lip, unsure if she should follow. She looked up at the bridge and found Grant engrossed in explaining the various controls for the ship, with Jerry listening attentively. She sighed and headed toward the bar, her original destination before running into Grant, who was truly a good man, she thought. And who had given her quite a good kiss.

  She knelt down, reaching deep into the cabinet for a wayward bottle of rum, and heard Grant’s voice patiently explain, “We run four cruises daily.”

  “When are your days off?” Jerry inquired, trailing Grant into the passenger seating area.

  “Uh, so far we don’t get any days off,” Grant responded.

  Sophie rose and nervously eyed her parole officer from behind the bar.

  Noticing her appear over the counter, Jerry asked, “And what are your duties on board, Taylor?”

  She blushed. “I, um, serve the drinks, sir?”

  Jerry looked disgusted. What kind of boss put a parolee in charge of booze? “And you don’t get any days off? Where is this Roger Eaton?”

  Grant and Sophie exchanged nervous glances.

  “Who the fuck wants to know?” a familiar male voice grumbled from behind them. Turning around, Grant and Sophie both inhaled sharply to find their boss strolling slowly and unsteadily toward them, working to get his sea legs back.

  Grant quickly approached Roger. “Do you need any help, sir?”

  Roger waved him off, continuing to stare at the salt-and-pepper-haired invader on his ship. Clearing his throat, Grant introduced them, “Mr. Eaton, this is Officer Stone from the DOC—our parole officer.”

  Finally shuffling over to Jerry, Roger breathed heavily as he extended his hand, and the two men shared a vigorous handshake. “The PO is checking up on his cons, huh?” He took a sideways glance at his employees, smirking, “No wonder these two look like they’re about to crap their pants.”

  Jerry wasn’t quite sure what to make of this greeting, so he got down to business. “You’re Madsen and Taylor’s employer?”

  “That I am,” Roger confirmed. “Though what possessed me to hire two parolees is beyond me.”

  “Are they causing you any trouble, sir?”

  Roger decided joking around might not be the best idea at this juncture. “They’ve been doing fine,” he said. “They told you they’ve been running the cruises the past four days?”

  Jerry shook his head.

  “Yeah, I had a goddamn heart attack and just got released from the hospital,” Roger said. “I had to let these two take over, and from what I can tell so far, they didn’t fuck it up.”

  Grant felt his shoulders drop an inch, and he realized how anxiously he’d been awaiting his boss’s assessment of their performance. He had the sense that “not fucking it up” was high praise.

  “I’m a little concerned about Taylor working the bar, Mr. Eaton. Has she had proper bartending training?”

  Roger shifted uncomfortably. “She’s just a server. We have a bartender who has trained her on spotting fake IDs.”

  Sophie stopped breathing at Roger’s lies. They did indeed have a bartender, Dan, who was another of Rog’s old Navy buddies, but he was constantly hung over, which made his attendance at work spotty.

  “Have you had any problems with tardiness, insubordination, or association with criminal activity from either parolee?” Jerry asked, still a bit suspicious.

  “Nah, none of that,” Roger replied.

  Mentally checking off his list of questions for employers, Jerry added, “Any use of alcohol or other substances at work that you know about?”

  Now Grant held his breath. He could imagine how fast he would return to Gurnee with an allegation of drunk boating.

  Roger maintained his poker face. “Look, I’m just returning from the hospital, so I have to do some investigating to see how these two truly performed in my absence. But I got nothing to report to you indicating that they should go back inside. They were royal pains in the ass, making me go to the hospital when I had chest pain, but they probably saved my life in the process. And they both work very hard.”

  Sophie wanted to kiss Roger right then and there, but she restrained herself, anxiously twirling a tendril of blond hair in her fingers instead. She glanced surreptitiously at Grant, who broke his military gaze forward to shoot her a nervous look.

  Suddenly, Roger barked, “Speaking of working hard, what the fuck are you two doing just twiddling your thumbs? Get this ship ready for the first cruise!”

  “Aye, sir,” Grant replied, immediately striding toward the storeroom.

  “You got it, Rog,” Sophie added, taking a wet rag and beginning to wipe down the benches.

  Five minutes later, Sophie and Grant’s cleaning duties brought them together again, and they gazed apprehensively up at the bridge, where their parole officer and boss remained deep in conversation.

  Sophie grimaced. “Why do I feel like our parents are up there discussing our punishment or something?”

  “I don’t know, but I feel the same way,” Grand said with a chuckle. “Hopefully that punishment won’t involve a return to prison.” His expression turned serious. “We both owe Rog big time.”

  “Yep. And thank God Jerry didn’t quiz me on spotting a fake ID.”

  “I can’t believe Rog failed to mention my little tequila bender,” Grant said. “Though those body shots may have made going back inside worth it.”

  She scooped his hand into hers, and their fingers intertwined. The warm touch calmed their nerves, and Grant softly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, causing a chill of excitement to journey up Sophie’s arm into her chest.

  They heard a loud guffaw as Roger emerged from the bridge with Jerry trailing behind him. The parolees immediately scattered, finding random tasks to busy themselves as the two men headed down the stairs and strolled toward them.

  “Quit pretending you’re actually working and come say goodbye to your PO,” Roger called out.

  Coming together from the port and starboard sides of the ship, Sophie and Grant stood at a respectful distance from each other. “It appears you two passed this little inspection,” their PO informed them. They nodded with relief.

  “Can I tell my roommate, Kirsten, when we should expect your home visit, Officer Stone?” Sophie ventured.

  Jerry raised one eyebrow. “Now that wouldn’t be any fun, would it? See you both tomorrow morning in my office. Be on time.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

  After the long arm of the law had departed, all three breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You should have warned me the po-po would visit!” Roger grumbled.

  “But we didn’t know,” Grant countered. “We were just as surprised.”

  “How are you feeling, Rog?” Sophie asked.

  “Like shit,” he wheezed. “But I’ve been gone too long, and I had to check things out as soon as Nurse Ratched discharged me. Where the hell are Tommy and Dan?”

  “They’ll be here soon,” Grant promised, hoping Tommy was not too late and Dan actually showed up for once. Apparently Roger’s absence had not exactly inspired hard work in the two men. But Grant and Sophie had been operating the bu
siness quite adeptly on their own.

  “Well, we got one hour to show time,” Rog growled. “I’m going to meet with the ticketing company to find out how much money you two lost me. And when I come back, I’ll be observing you sorry parolees at work. I want to watch you play docent, Madsen, and you better knock my socks off if you want to keep this job.”

  Roger turned and Grant stared after him fretfully.

  “You gotta do it, Grant,” Sophie encouraged.

  “What? I can’t do it with him watching me!”

  “You have to. There’s a reason we’re selling out all the time now. You know it.”

  Grant brought his hands to his hips and exhaled loudly. “You’re going to get us both fired, Bonnie.”

  She was grateful to find a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. “C’mon, Clyde,” she urged. “I’ll help you clean the bathrooms.”

  * * *

  “That is, of course, Lake Michigan ahead of us,” Grant said into the headset microphone, “the only Great Lake entirely within the boundary of the United States. The lake is the fifth largest in the world, slightly larger than the country of Croatia. Do we have anyone from Croatia on the cruise today?”

  Grant glanced at Rog, who sat at the controls, watching him intently.

  “Just pretend I’m not here,” Roger had instructed. Yeah, right.

  Roger was eating baby carrots—with a vengeance, taking his anger out on the hapless vegetables with ferocious chomping and gnashing. Grant took a deep breath and continued his narration.

  “Perhaps there are no Croatians onboard today, but we’ve had folks from all over the world on this cruise. This is not surprising given that tourism is one of Chicago’s top industries. I’ve been asked if there are any shipwrecks in Lake Michigan, and there are many. There are also plane wrecks in the lake, as Navy Pier was used to train pilots on aircraft carrier takeoffs and landings during World War II.”

  Roger raised his eyebrows as he began turning the ship to starboard, heading inland on the Chicago River. Grant was providing far greater detail than Roger typically shared, and a quick glance at the passengers told the older man that the rich commentary was well received. Roger grumpily bit into another carrot.