With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1]

by Jennifer Lane

  “Please join us,” Grant offered, and Joe and Grant scooted down the bench to make room for mother and son.

  The priest, dressed in a black cope, began singing the introit, signaling the start of the requiem mass. Grant laid his hand reassuringly on Ben’s knee, and both looked to the altar, where the coffin rested.

  The priest welcomed the congregation, then began a prayer. Mired in choking sadness, Grant was barely aware of what was happening.

  Ashley rose and made her way to the pulpit for the first reading. She drew a deep breath, leaned toward the microphone, and with a trembling voice began reading from Romans 12.

  Let love be without pretense. Avoid what is evil; stick to what is good. In brotherly love let your feelings of deep affection for one another come to expression and regard others as more important than yourself. In the service of the Lord, work not halfheartedly but with conscientiousness and an eager spirit. Be joyful in hope, persevere in hardship; keep praying regularly; share with any of God’s holy people who are in need; look for opportunities to be hospitable. Bless your persecutors; never curse them, bless them. Rejoice with others when they rejoice and be sad with those in sorrow. Give the same consideration to all others alike. Pay no regard to social standing, but meet humble people on their own terms. Do not congratulate yourself on your own wisdom. Never pay back evil with evil, but bear in mind the ideals that all regard with respect. As much as possible, and to the utmost of your ability, be at peace with everyone.

  Carlo tensed beside his father, then quickly recomposed his face in a look of appropriate sadness. Ashley’s eyes glistened with tears as she returned to the pew.

  The priest began the responsorial psalm, and Grant’s mind drifted from present to past and back. He tried to focus on the priest’s voice, on the words of the twenty-third Psalm, on the steadying presence of his uncle beside him—but he kept remembering. He was twelve years old again, attending his mother’s funeral at the exact same church.

  Grant had stood outside the church, alone in his grief. The big, strong men had just eased Karita’s coffin into the hearse, and Grant watched Uncle Joe gruffly take Uncle Angelo aside, appearing to exchange tense words. Logan snuck away from the hearse and miserably slouched against the stone wall.

  Carefully, timidly, falteringly, Grant crept toward his brother. He had not seen Logan for four whole years, and the seventeen year old was now huge, probably six feet tall, towering over Grant.

  “Lo?” His voice sounded frustratingly small and needy.

  Logan looked down. “Hey.”

  They stood quietly for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. Grant hesitantly backed up and leaned his shorter body against the wall, nestling himself beside Logan. Their substitute fathers continued to quarrel near the hearse, and when Joe pointed his index finger toward Angelo’s chest, two beefy men stepped forward to flank the don.

  “Your Uncle Joe looks pretty pissed off,” Logan said.

  “He’s your uncle too,” Grant pointed out.

  “Nah, he wants nothing to do with me.”

  Grant frowned. He’d often overheard his mother and Joe lament losing Logan to Angelo, and it seemed more like Logan wanted nothing to do with them. Gulping, Grant asked, “Lo? How come you didn’t visit Mom in the hospital?”

  Logan exhaled loudly and licked his bottom lip. Grant wondered why his brother seemed to have trouble breathing.

  “She kept asking for you,” Grant added, having no idea how his words sliced through his brother’s heart.

  “I didn’t know she was going to die!” Logan said, clenching his fists.

  “Oh.”

  Grant chewed on his lip, wondering if he should ask his next question. Logan was in a horrible mood, but Grant didn’t know when he would see him again.

  Finally mustering the courage, he asked, “Lo?”

  “What?”

  “Um, will you, um … will you come live with me and Joe now? Please?”

  The lines around Logan’s mouth tightened. “I can’t.”

  “Uncle Ange won’t let you?”

  “No, that’s not it. I, uh, I can’t live with you ‘cause,” Logan swallowed guiltily, “’cause I have to go to juvie. My sentence starts tomorrow.”

  “What’s juvie?”

  “Dunno. Juvenile detention or something like that. It’s like jail for kids.”

  Gasping, Grant asked, “Do you gotta go to jail with Dad?”

  Logan smiled at his worried brother. “No, he’s in an adult facility. Juvie’s different.”

  After a couple of seconds Grant asked, “Why you gotta go?”

  Kicking at a rock, Logan looked down. Eventually he muttered, “’Cause I got caught selling drugs.”

  Grant’s mouth formed a small “o” and he remarked automatically, “Drugs are bad.”

  Logan found himself smiling. “That’s right, Grantey. Drugs are bad.”

  Joe hollered for Grant, interrupting the brothers’ conversation. Looking up at Logan, Grant whispered urgently, “I gotta go.”

  “’Kay.” Logan looked really sad. “Be good, Grant.”

  Grant nodded solemnly, and Logan’s arms gathered him in a firm embrace. Suffocated by Logan’s brawny hold, Grant barely heard him say once more, “Be good.”

  Feeling his uncle’s hand patting his knee brought Grant back to the present. He looked around through blurry eyes, taking in the cream, blue, and gold of the church. He realized he was crying openly. Joe gently nudged him, handing him his handkerchief, which Grant scooped up gratefully.

  Arriving late, a woman in a simple black dress and a not-so-simple wide-brimmed black hat quietly crept down the side aisle, walking on the balls of her feet to prevent her patent-leather heels from clicking on the floor. She slid into an empty pew at the rear of the church and breathed out, relieved that she seemed to go unnoticed. However, Detective Fox smirked when she saw the woman glide gracefully into her seat. She’d been wondering if Sophie Taylor would attend.

  Feeling protected by her ridiculously large hat, Sophie took in the somber surroundings. Her eyes swept over the mourners sitting quietly as the cantor sang, and as soon as she determined her father had not followed her here, she allowed her shoulders to drop, releasing the tension she’d been carrying the past two days. She welcomed a brief respite from the conflict with her father, who had exploded upon learning of her relationship with Grant. He had forbidden her to attend Logan’s funeral, and she prayed he would not discover her presence.

  Noting the closed coffin near the altar, Sophie felt a sickening heaviness. Such a wasted life. Logan had been only thirty-five years old. As a woman with twenty-nine years already under her belt, Sophie could not imagine having only six more to live. Prison had stalled her goals, and she still had so much she wanted to accomplish …

  Her eyes wandered to the left of the altar, and she saw the back of his head about twenty rows in front of her. She held her breath and instinctively slouched down in the pew. That perfectly shaped skull, covered in buzzed black hair, could be none other than Grant. Her father had warned her to stay away from him, and she desperately wanted to follow his advice. But she couldn’t. She just had to see him—she had to know how he was coping with the loss of his brother. It must have devastated him.

  Sophie watched as he protectively draped his arm across the shoulders of a boy sitting next to him. To the boy’s right was a blond woman, who anxiously turned to her son. In profile, Sophie recognized her from the ship. Ashley was her name?

  The priest gestured to the congregation, and all stood on cue as the priest sang the antiphon, wishing everlasting rest for the recently departed.

  Sophie clenched the church program in her hand. She remembered Logan’s edgy deep-blue eyes, darting around her office, avoiding her stare, fighting off tears as he told her stories from his painful childhood. She hoped Logan had finally found some rest.

  The crowd returned to sitting or kneeling as several men made their way to the center ais
le and toward the coffin. Grant and the boy, who must be his nephew, were among them, as well as a man dressed in a military uniform, who must be Grant’s uncle. Sophie thought she recognized Angelo Barberi in the mix as well.

  The six men arranged themselves around the raised coffin—Joe, Grant, and Ben on one side, and Angelo, Carlo, and Tank on the other. Angelo glanced at Tank, the wrong sixth man. It should be Enzo, he thought. Angelo felt the familiar hatred when he aimed his icy stare at the back of his son’s head. Carlo had taken his brother from him, and now he’d stolen his godson too.

  The men hoisted the coffin over their shoulders, attempting to accommodate the shorter sixteen year old among them. Feeling the weight of his brother’s body on his shoulder, Grant’s knees almost buckled. It wasn’t only the physical weight burdening him, but also the emotional load—the burden of never feeling good enough for his older brother to want to be with him, and the weight of his brother’s dysfunctional addictions, which Grant had been helpless to fight. Logan may have failed Grant, but Grant believed he had failed him in return. The heavy loss crushed his fragile spirit, and he cried once again.

  As the subdued group proceeded down the aisle, Sophie’s eyes never left Grant. He looked devastatingly handsome in his black suit and tie, but what took her breath away were his glistening tears. She longed to touch him, to try to comfort him, but he passed her row without a glance in her direction. She looked at her hands in her lap. Maybe she’d missed her chance with him. Maybe it was too late.

  Once the men placed the coffin in the hearse, they dispersed, preparing to drive to the cemetery for the burial.

  Grant, Joe, Ben, and Ashley stood in a foursome. Eyeing the corner of the building where his brother had hugged him eighteen years ago, Grant felt pulled to that spot. “Um, Joe? I need a minute.”

  “Sure, Grant. Take all the time you need.”

  He approached the grassy spot, then leaned his back against the stone and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Grant was so tired, yet standing here also infused him with some sort of spiritual energy. He felt closer to Logan in this spot.

  Ashley watched Grant retreat. “I guess it would be hell to lose your only sibling,” she mused. “Still, I’m kind of surprised how destroyed Grant seems to be, especially after what Lo did to him.”

  Joe studied her curiously. “What Lo did to him?”

  “You know, forcing him to pull that robbery.”

  Ben morphed from bored teenager to piqued young man, and he leaned in to hear their conversation.

  “What do you mean?” Joe asked. “Who forced Grant to steal that money?”

  “You don’t know?” Ashley’s voice lilted with surprise. “You don’t know about Logan’s threat if Grant didn’t pull that job?”

  “I assure you I have no idea what you’re referring to, Ashley.”

  She stared at Grant’s uncle. He’d never told him? Why? Glancing at the man slumped against the church wall, Ashley stammered, “Um, maybe I—I shouldn’t tell you. Maybe he should—”

  “Tell me, Ashley. Tell me what Logan did.”

  His commanding voice startled her. Meeting Joe’s strong stare, Ashley confessed, “Logan told Grant they would kill you if he didn’t help them rob that club.”

  Joe blinked several times, gazing at Ashley and then over at Grant.

  “You’re lying!” Ben hissed, his eyes narrowing with rage. “My dad would never do that!”

  “Ben, I’m sorry,” Ashley placed her hand on his shoulder, but he quickly shrugged it off. “But it’s true. Logan admitted it to me himself.”

  “No!” Ben retorted, sounding younger than his age. “You know what? I can’t take this shit anymore!” He pivoted and furiously strode away, heading toward Carlo and Angelo.

  Ashley drew in her breath. “Should I go after him?”

  “Just let him be for awhile, Ashley. Give him some space.” Joe sighed sadly, still shaking off Ashley’s news. “His father wasn’t all that different. Looks like Ben inherited Logan’s short fuse.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Ashley said.

  Joe glanced at Grant, still glued to the wall, looking down at the grass. His heart felt heavy, realizing his nephew’s sacrifice for him. He guiltily remembered yelling at him at the courthouse visitation booth before his sentencing hearing, feeling utterly disappointed that his nephew had flushed his future down the toilet. Grant had silently absorbed his uncle’s tirade, never saying one word about what led him down that dark path.

  After everyone had filed out, Sophie emerged from the church, self-consciously adjusting her hat. Her eyes nervously skimmed the crowd, and she bit her lip when she didn’t see him. She knew she should probably leave.

  Be good, Grant. Logan’s voice reverberated in his head, and Grant forced himself to open his eyes. He looked back toward the entrance to the church and noticed a young woman standing there, looking for someone among the lingering guests. Her wide-brimmed hat obscured her face, but Grant knew that lithe, sexy figure. He pushed his body off the wall and stared at her, wondering what she would do next.

  With a frustrated sigh, Sophie turned to leave but stopped short when she saw Grant standing by the corner of the church, his eyes bearing down on her. She nervously brushed her hands down the sides of her dress. If she followed her father’s advice, she would turn right now and flee. But seeing Grant’s mournful expression, she knew there was no way to flee from him. Quite the opposite. Those soulful eyes sucked her to him like a magnet.

  Making sure he was still waiting for her, she took a tentative first step and then swiftly crossed to him, holding her hat on her head with one hand.

  Sophie came to rest right in front of Grant, the tension so palpable she was almost grateful the wide brim of her hat blocked most of her view. Grant was not so grateful for her obscured face, and he gently reached out to touch the black fabric, his lips curling into a small grin at the ostentatious head-covering.

  Peeking up at his amused expression, Sophie gave an apologetic shrug and swept the hat off her head, freeing her strawberry curls to rest on her shoulders. His eyes remained moist with tears, and he seemed to stop breathing as he fixed them on her. She could not take her eyes off his tortured face.

  When they’d first met, Grant had reached out in her time of need to swathe her in a hug, providing immense comfort. Sophie knew she must now return the favor. He was hurting deeply. Her trembling hand reached up to caress his cheek. Their eyes remained locked as she gently wiped away a tear. Then she dropped her hand and stepped into his body, wrapping her arms around his lean waist.

  Grant had been frozen, desperately wanting to touch her but afraid to do so. When she melded her body into his, he shuddered with relief and immediately enfolded her in his arms, wrapping her up like the most precious gift he’d ever received. He was stunned that she’d returned to him, and despite his utter desolation at losing Logan, he felt like the luckiest man on earth.

  Sophie’s cheek rested against his chest and she sighed contentedly, inhaling his characteristic scent. Withdrawal symptoms for the drug otherwise known as Grant quickly abated.

  Striding toward his Lexus, Carlo’s steely black gaze swept across the lingering mourners, wondering if anyone was admiring his sweet ride. He caught a glimpse of a couple by the corner of the church. That was no platonic hug of sympathy. This was something much more.

  “Hold on, Tank,” he called, halting the big man from sliding into the passenger seat. His eyes glued on the couple, Carlo took a few steps forward, observing their embrace.

  Tank joined his boss in gaping at the couple, and felt a pang of longing. He’d felt the same way about Irene, the woman who turned out to be a fucking undercover cop. He was lucky to be alive after that.

  “I already got Meat tailing Grant after the burial,” Carlo whispered. “And that smokin’-hot chick he’s hugging—I want you to find out who in the hell she is.”

  “Okay, boss,” Tank responded agreeably.

  Suddenly a
Mercedes Benz squealed into the church parking lot, and a man leapt out, almost before it stopped, and stomped toward the church. He searched the crowd, then stormed toward Grant and the woman as Carlo and Tank looked on.

  “Sophie!” Will yelled.

  She instantly stepped away from Grant, her eyes widening with alarm.

  “What the hell are you doing here, young lady?” After glaring at his daughter, he trained his hostile gaze on Grant, who anxiously bit his lip.

  “Dad!” Sophie said. “I—I had to come. You don’t understand.”

  “To hell I don’t! You want to return to prison, don’t you? You’re doing this just to spite me. You just can’t let go of that criminal Logan Barberi.”

  “This has nothing to do with him!” Sophie countered. “Or you … I came here for Grant.”

  Will turned to glare at him. Placing his face inches from Grant’s, he jabbed his finger into Grant’s chest. “You’re just like your brother! You stay away from my daughter, you got it?”

  Completely embarrassed, Sophie looked at the ground, but Grant met Mr. Taylor’s wild-eyed stare. “I won’t hurt her, sir.”

  “What’s going on here?” Joe interrupted, coming to stand by Grant’s side.

  “Oh, so now you got a military man on your payroll too, huh?”

  Grant stared at Will incredulously, and Sophie gasped. “Dad! That’s Grant’s uncle!”

  Will was frantic. “You’re not safe here, Sophie. Come home with me now.”

  “Yes,” Joe said evenly, stepping in front of his bewildered nephew. “Perhaps you should go home.”

  Shooting Joe and then Grant an evil glare, Will warned, “Leave my daughter out of whatever you’ve got going on here.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked Sophie away.

  She had not seen her father so angry or shaken in years. Sophie looked over her shoulder and mouthed Sorry before allowing herself to be carted away like an errant schoolgirl caught drinking at a high-school kegger.

  As Joe watched the father and daughter exit, Grant took his head in his hands, feeling as if he’d been hit by a truck. “So, now you’ve met Sophie,” Grant said.