“Well, it’s not like I know everything about you either,” he snapped.
Arching one eyebrow, she called his bluff. “What do you want to know? You can ask me anything.”
He exhaled loudly. “Look, I’m not trying to be evasive, it’s just … I have to go somewhere tonight, and I don’t want to go, but I feel like I have to go. And there will be some people there that I’m not looking forward to seeing again.”
“So then take me with you,” she offered, entwining her fingers with his. “At least you’ll have one friendly face on your side.”
“No, I don’t want you to go,” he said forcefully, pulling his hand free. Seeing her wounded look, he backpedaled, “Sophie, you remember those bad people I told you about? They’ll be there. It won’t be safe for you.”
She felt a flash of fear. “Then you shouldn’t go, either, if it’s not safe. Don’t go, Grant, please.”
Looking into her eyes, he was touched by her protectiveness.
She noticed him hesitate and continued, “You won’t be in violation of your parole if you go there, will you?”
“No.” Actually, he hadn’t thought about his parolee status. “It … should be fine. I have to go, Sophie. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Grant leaned in for a chaste peck on the lips, then hustled off the ship. Sophie was left staring at his quickly departing figure, wondering what the hell he was hiding.
* * *
“Hey, I’m home!” Sophie called to the empty hallway, pocketing her key as she entered the apartment.
She heard a muffled “In the bedroom!” and followed the sound of Kirsten’s voice to find her kneeling, partially swallowed by the closet. Bare feet and legs stuck out from under a skirt, then Kirsten emerged from the dark depths, holding two different sandals.
“Okay.” Kirsten smiled, hauling her tall body to a standing position, then precariously bending at the waist while balancing on one foot to slide on each sandal. “Which shoe looks better?”
Sophie eyed her stylish black shirt and denim skirt, tilting her head to one side as she evaluated a black wedge on Kirsten’s left foot and a turquoise open-toed shoe on her right. “Definitely the black.”
Kirsten exhaled nervously. “I thought so too. I’m so glad you’re out, um, that you’re back, to help me avoid fashion disasters.”
“What are you getting all dressed up for?”
Bashfully Kirsten admitted, “I have a blind date.”
“Eeeee! With who?” Sophie squealed. “Tell me!”
“My supervisor knows this guy from the suburbs, and she’s setting me up with him.”
“That’s wonderful! What do you know about him?”
“Well, he’s supposedly like six-five, and I like tall guys. And he’s a fertilizer technician.”
Sophie scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s that?”
Kirsten giggled. “I have no idea, but I guess I’ll find out!” She looked at her watch and her eyes widened. “Oh, I gotta go or I’ll be late.” She quickly dumped her wallet, keys, and lipstick into a handbag. “I was feeling like a loser since you go out like every night with Grant, so I figured I’d give this dating thing a try myself. Wait a minute—why aren’t you out with Grant now?”
“Because he blew me off,” Sophie replied indignantly.
“What?” Kirsten halted. “Am I going to have to kick McSailor’s ass?”
Now Sophie giggled. That was a funny visual.
“Relax, Laila Ali. I don’t know. He’s so hot and cold—I can’t figure him out.” She met Kirsten’s blue eyes. “But let’s talk about it later. This is your night. You gotta go meet your hot date!”
“Eek!” Kirsten shrieked. “If he’s one-fifth as cute as McSailor, I might be in business.” She waltzed out of the bedroom and was almost at the front door when she paused. “Oh!” she cried, turning back to Sophie. “I almost forgot—Anita called you.”
“Anita?”
“Yes, Anita. Anita Green, your advisor? Hellooo, don’t you remember her?”
“Of course I remember her. Why would she call?”
“I don’t know, but she gave me her number, and she wants you to call her. Tonight. I left a note for you on the counter. Ciao, roomie!”
Sophie quickly picked up the note and was entirely absorbed in reading her roommate’s scrawled handwriting: something about Anita leaving town soon and wanting Sophie to call her immediately.
Anita, her graduate advisor—the woman who had once heaped compliments on her, telling her she was astute, sharp, caring, a great writer, a real team player, a budding psychologist with a bright future. Sophie’s cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment. Why would Anita want anything to do with her now? She was a felon who had lost her license, bringing shame to her family and the entire psychology department at DePaul.
Pacing in the empty apartment, Sophie considered whether to make the call. She hadn’t talked to Anita since she’d been arrested, and she couldn’t imagine what they would discuss. So, what was prison like? Exactly how demeaning was it to be on the other side of the bars after we interviewed so many prisoners for our study?
Feeling a shiver of dread, Sophie set her jaw and crossed to the phone, quickly dialing the number Kirsten had left for her. She might as well get this over with.
“Hello?”
Sophie could not help but smile upon hearing the pleasing lilt of her advisor’s voice. She could just picture Anita answering the phone, her beautiful, long red hair curling over her shoulders and her deep-set blue eyes blinking earnestly, taking in everything around her with a cerebral intensity.
“Anita?” She heard her voice tremble. “It’s Sophie.”
“Oh, Sophie, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”
“I’m okay.” It seemed surreal to be conversing again with the woman who had been such an integral part of her life for four years of graduate school, back when she’d been on the professional fast track, back when life made sense. “How are you?”
“Well, I wish I’d heard from you sooner, because I’m about to head out of town. I got a grant! I’m going to Spain tomorrow to consult on their prison system. They’re setting up psychological services for their women’s prisons, and they really liked our manuscript published in Forensic Psychology. They want me to stay there for six months to help them get started!”
“Wow, that’s great!” Sophie was swept up by the enthusiasm in her mentor’s voice, as usual. That woman could convince her to try anything, to do anything—the sky was the limit. “I’m so happy for you, Anita.”
“Oh, just wait, my dear. You haven’t heard the half of it. I need to hire a visiting instructor to teach my fall-semester classes. We were interviewing some candidates but nobody looked promising. Then I got a phone call and the idea just came to me. I need somebody to teach my classes and, Sophie, that somebody is you! I talked it over with the department chair, and we want to hire you to be a visiting instructor.”
Sophie collapsed into a chair, sitting in stunned silence.
“Sophie?” Anita’s expectant voice filled her ear. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. I think so. Um, are you offering me a job?”
“Yes, precisely! We want you to teach in the psychology department.”
“But the state board took away my license, Anita.”
“I heard that, but you don’t need your license to teach, just to practice.”
Sophie took a deep breath. She remained mired in disbelief, but a tiny spark of possibility ignited inside her.
“I thought …” She gulped. “I thought I disgraced the entire psychology department when I went to prison.”
“Oh, Sophie, why would you think that? You made a mistake, that’s all. And when you tried to make up for it, you landed in a huge mess. You were one of our best and brightest grad students, and it would be impossible to mar your excellent reputation with just one mistake. But I didn’t get the chance to tell you any of this because you never contacted me! Why haven’t you
called me this whole time?”
“I thought you’d be ashamed of me,” Sophie said. “You worked so hard to train me, and then I went and messed it all up.”
Anita sighed, feeling unsure what to say. Sophie had arrived at graduate school with little self-esteem, and it had taken Anita years to build up the young woman’s confidence. It appeared her stint in prison had landed her back at square one.
“I’m not ashamed at all. I’m just happy to hear your voice again. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Sophie smiled wistfully, then asked, “Wait a minute—how did you get my number? I mean, how did you find out I’d been released?”
“Let’s see, a man named Grant, um, Grant … Madsen, yes, that’s his name. He called and asked if I knew of any job opportunities for you.”
Tears sprang to Sophie’s eyes.
Anita broke the silence. “He told me you were the smartest woman he’d ever met, and it would be a travesty if the field of psychology did not utilize your expertise. Who is he, Sophie?”
“He’s … he’s the man …” Her emotion-laden voice trailed off as she pictured his compassionate crystal-blue eyes boring into her. This was the kindest, most thoughtful gift she had ever received. Despite her earlier frustration, intense warmth filled her heart, and she realized how she really felt about him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He’s the man I love,” she finally managed.
“Why are you crying?” Anita inhaled sharply. “He doesn’t have anything to do with the man who put you in prison, does he?”
“Oh, no,” Sophie reassured her. “Grant has nothing to do with Logan Barberi.” She sniffed. “It’s just that nobody has ever done something so incredibly and unexpectedly nice for me.”
“Sounds like Grant means a lot to you.”
“Yes. I’m a little overwhelmed by this.”
“Well, you deserve it, Sophie. You’ve had quite a string of bad luck, and it’s time for things to start going right. Listen, I have to get back to packing. My flight is tomorrow night, but I want to meet with you before that to review some things. Can we meet in the morning? Let’s say around nine?”
“Sure,” Sophie agreed, still in shock. Then, after mentally thinking through her next day, she cried, “Oh, wait! Tomorrow is Wednesday.” She sniffed and then bit her lip. Her voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “I have to meet with my parole officer tomorrow at nine.”
“Well, how about right after that then?” Anita suggested, not fazed at all. “We need at least a few hours to get you settled with the teaching duties.”
“A few hours? Hmm … I’m supposed to be at work at eleven.”
“Really? What’s your job?”
Sophie grinned. “Serving drinks on an architectural cruise.”
“Oh, that sounds, um, nice.” Anita was not sure how to respond, and Sophie rescued her with an attempt at humor.
“I still get to use my training, though. You know what they say—bartenders are just like therapists.”
Anita laughed, and Sophie said, “I’ll call my boss and ask for a day off tomorrow.” She crossed her fingers that she’d find Roger in a good mood. Dieting had made him irritable and kind of depressed of late. “I’ll be there, Anita,” Sophie promised.
“I look forward to seeing you in my office, Sophie. Have a good night.”
“Anita?” Sophie added. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you should thank Grant for calling me in the first place.”
Sophie hung up and sat back with a sigh, slowly and thoughtfully running her tongue across her upper lip. Anita was thrilled to receive a grant, and Sophie was equally pleased to get her Grant. She would definitely thank him. Properly.
* * *
Logan crouched behind a line of bushes fronting a brownstone apartment building in the Gold Coast, Chicago’s wealthiest neighborhood. He knew the area well. Across the street was his Uncle Angelo’s mansion, alight with activity tonight: Ben’s sixteenth birthday bash. Expensive cars rolled to a stop as parents dropped off the teenage guests. Logan was amused as he observed the low-riding, baggy jeans of the boys and the plunging halter-top necklines of the girls. Strains of Fallout Boy or Chris Brownblasted from the house each time Ben opened the door for one of his friends.
Catching a glimpse of his son in the doorway, Logan’s jaw clenched. He should be there, celebrating this rite of passage. But as a man wanted by the police, Logan was stuck watching the festivities from afar. It crushed him that Ben didn’t seem very happy as he greeted his guests. He wore a morose expression and didn’t even crack a smile as he accepted haphazardly wrapped gifts from the arriving teens. Logan wanted to smack his son upside the head for his rudeness.
When a cute blond chick sashayed across the street, Logan zeroed in on her tight butt, admiring its curvy perkiness. Then she turned and he immediately recognized her profile: Ashley Fredrickson. There she was, the woman who had wooed him years ago, the mother of his child. He chuckled. Her butt still captured his attention seventeen years later. Too bad she was so goddamn opinionated or they might have made their fledgling relationship work. She disappeared inside the house as well.
But the guest he was waiting for still had not arrived. Logan had no idea if his brother even knew about Ben’s birthday party, though he was sure Grant knew the date of Ben’s entry into the world. Grant had been only fourteen years old when his nephew was born, but somehow Ben always received a birthday present from his uncle. Gifts had come from Qatar, Queensland, and Quito, depending on where Grant was stationed, but they always arrived safely and on time—except for the last two years when Grant had been in prison.
Logan waited another thirty minutes as dusk began settling into the summer sky. He was about to give up his Grant vigil when suddenly a tall, dark-haired man rounded the corner and headed toward Angelo’s home. Logan drew a sharp breath. When the lean figure stole a nervous glance to each side, showing his face, Logan smiled.
He was about to stand up and intercept Grant when he heard a strange noise. Logan froze, honing in on the area to his right, and he finally located the source of the sound: the snapping shutter of a camera, held by a dark figure in the shadows. Who the hell was that? Whoever it was, Logan wasn’t about to expose himself by stepping out of his hiding spot.
Oblivious to the camera, Grant strolled by, and Logan nearly burst with frustration after waiting for his arrival all night. He watched Grant hesitate before knocking on the ornate maple door. After a few moments Ben answered, and Logan saw his son smile for the first time tonight before Grant enveloped him in a bear hug. He felt a twinge of melancholy watching the scene unfold, once again reminded how remiss he was as a father. At least Grant was there for his son.
The bastard hiding to the right captured it all on film, snapping away as Grant entered the house. Logan watched the shadowy man continue taking photos, apparently aiming at license plates on the vehicles parked near the mansion on the tree-lined street. Logan felt violated. Fucking feds. Angelo wasn’t kidding. The Barberi family was under surveillance like never before, and they would all have to watch their backs.
Wanting to get the hell away from the long arm of the law, Logan slunk out of the bushes and headed in the opposite direction. Evidently he would not be able to warn Grant about Carlo tonight. His brother had just walked into the lion’s den, and there was nothing Logan could do about it.
* * *
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Ben grinned as they stepped out of their hug in the foyer.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Grant said, pretending he hadn’t agonized over the decision for days. “I ran into your mom a few weeks ago, and she told me about your party.”
“Wow, my mom, like, never gets out. Where did you guys run into each other?”
Grant affectionately studied his nephew, whose boyish features were beginning to shift toward manhood, although he remained rather short. Apparently, he’d inherited his mother’s genes when it came to
height. However, his eyes were a dead giveaway that he was a Barberi boy. Actually, Ben’s light-blue eyes mirrored his uncle’s much more closely than his father’s. That similarity seemed to bond them, though it had been years since they last saw each other.
“Ashley took an architectural cruise, which is where I work now.”
“Sounds like a sweet job,” Ben said.
Grant chuckled. “Um, yeah, the job is maybe not so sweet. But it…” He looked at the floor. “It keeps my parole officer off my back.”
Ben knew his uncle was embarrassed, and he felt embarrassed too. Grant had always shown him kindness and patience, unlike the stoicism and occasional gruffness his father displayed. And for the momentous occasion of his sixteenth birthday, Ben was not at all surprised that his uncle was here and his father was not. It seemed quite fitting.
Tentatively he asked, “Was it, like, scary or something in prison?”
Grant leveled his remorseful gaze with his nephew’s. “It was awful.” He swallowed hard and then sternly advised, “Don’t ever put yourself in a position where you’ll end up there too, Ben.”
Though he hated being lectured to by adults, Ben sensed the gravity in his uncle’s voice, and he nodded obediently.
Trying to lighten the dark mood, Grant handed over his gift. “I can’t believe you’re sixteen. Happy birthday, Ben.”
The boy grinned and took the gift from his uncle, immediately ripping into the neatly wrapped paper to reveal a DVD case. “Ohmigod, is this a Wii game?” He exuberantly turned over the case and read the name aloud: “Ocean’s Commander.”
“I was hoping you already have a Wii,” Grant said.
“Of course Ben has a Wii,” an adult male voice responded snidely. Grant tensed as Carlo swooped into the room. “I bought the system for him after all.”
Ben stopped grinning and tried to stand a little taller as Carlo draped his arm across his shoulders, snatching the game from his hand. “How sweet of your uncle to buy you another game, though.” His voice was slick and sarcastic. “How many games does that make for you now, Ben? About two hundred?”
With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 25
