On Best Behavior (C3) (2 page)

Grant absorbed that information for a moment. “You do…Zumba?”

“It’s great! Much more fun than PT. You just get going…” He did a little two-step maneuver on the city street, dancing to an unknown Latin beat. “Cha cha cha. Heeuh? Ana does this a little better than me…”

Grant tried to hold it in. He really did. But his body quivered, his shoulders shook, and soon a whooping laugh erupted—which lasted quite a few seconds.

Roger abruptly stopped his dance. “You judge, Madsen. Not cool.”

“You’re right,” he said, finding it difficult to compose a straight face. “That wasn’t cool of me. Zumba’s obviously working for you.”

“Lost thirty-five pounds since September.”

“Wow! And your hair…piece…looks real good too.”

“Ana helped pick this one out.”

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh.
“So, uh, when do Sophie and I get to meet Ana?”

“I was thinking of bringing her by Capone’s one night, make her suffer through your singing.”

“I’d be honored,” Grant said. “But actually, I was going to call you. Um, I’m going by an alias now—some things have changed…”

Roger looked at him with a newfound respect, and his voice lowered conspiratorially. “Last time I talked to Joe, he said you were in conversations with the FBI, thinking of working for them.”

“I’m giving it a shot. Nothing’s happened yet, though.”

“What’s it like working for those tight-ass feds?”

He smirked. “Probably the same as working for
your
tight-ass boss.”

“True that. So what’s your alias then?”

“Mick Saylor.”

“What the fuck kind of name is that?”

“Sophie helped me come up with it. It’s sort of a private joke.”

“So it’s Saylor and Taylor now.” He shook his head. “The fucking Bobbsey twins.”

“Huh—I never put our names together like that before.”

“Way to think it through first, Mick Dick.”

His head spun with the volume of insults hurled his way.

“How’s Taylor doing, by the way?” Roger continued.

“She’s great. She’s teaching full time at DePaul now.”

“You two still shacking up?”

Grant grinned. “Yep, but not for much longer. We’re engaged.”

His eyes widened. “Finally! About time you both realized nobody
else
would want you. You might as well stick together.”

“I’ve missed this.” His heart swelled with fondness for his former boss.

“Then come back and work on my ship this summer.”

“I’d actually like to ask you something about that, sir.”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “You sneaking behind my back again, trying to hire someone else for my cruise like you did with Taylor?”

“
Hey
. As I recall, that worked out pretty well for your business. You should be so lucky.”

He grunted.

“I wanted to ask if Sophie and I could have our wedding reception on your ship. Saturday, June eighteenth.”

He tilted his head, considering.

“We’ll pay you, of course,” Grant added.

“With what? My ship’s expensive to rent, you know.”

“Mr. Taylor has agreed to foot the bill.”

His eyes bugged. “I thought he hated you!”

“I charmed him with my singing.”

He shook his head. “Keep dreaming, Sinatra. Hey, I haven’t met Ana’s dad yet—maybe I should try singing for him too.”

“Don’t you want him to like you? If so, I’d advise against it.”

“I’ve missed this too, you pecker.” He grinned as he glanced at his watch. “Gotta get back to Willis Tower for the next bus tour or my boss will be all over me. So, June eighteenth? Sure, that should work. I’ll cancel the two evening cruises and expect a fat paycheck from Taylor’s dad to cover the losses.”

“You got it, Rog. Thanks.”

“And Madsen?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful out there.”

He nodded. “You too. Don’t let those tourists hit on you. You’ve got a girlfriend now.”

“A
hot
girlfriend!” Roger echoed, starting a little merengue dance. “She’s one lucky woman!”

Grant grinned as he walked away. “Zumba,” he marveled. He couldn’t wait to tell Sophie.

***

A few minutes later, and feeling quite efficient, Grant welcomed the warm blast of air greeting him in the hotel lobby. As he peeled off his gloves and slid off his hat, he noticed there weren’t any guests at the reception desk, and he knew what that meant. As much as he tried to avoid eye contact with the redhead working behind the front desk, she still aimed a seductive wink his way. Grant gave her a tight smile and hurried past.

Picturing Sophie’s engagement ring, he wished he wore a sign that he too was off the market. But then he realized she was so beautiful even an engagement ring wouldn’t stop men from pursuing her. At times he still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to marry him. Excitement coursed through him just thinking about it.

He waltzed into the executive suite, and Alex Remington’s administrative assistant looked up from her desk. “Hi, Mick!”

“Hey, Sarah. Could you let Mr. Remington know I’d like to see him?”

“He said you could go on in when you arrived. He’s expecting you.”

Surprised, he knocked on his boss’s door before entering the opulent office.

Involved in a phone conversation, Remington gestured for him to sit in the chair across from the desk.

Sinking into the leather, he listened for a moment.

“He’s here, and I’ll send him up in a few…You’re welcome. I hope it works. Keep in touch.” Mr. Remington hung up the phone and gave him a stern stare. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sir.” Grant shifted in his chair. “I, uh, I ran into a friend on Michigan.” He felt a bit confused. He wouldn’t start singing for hours and typically his boss was too busy with hotel business to care much when exactly he arrived. “Would you like me here at a particular time, Mr. Remington? I promise I won’t be late again.”

His expression softened. “It’s not me keeping a timetable here—it’s the other party. It seems I’ll be the designated go-between.”

“Sir?”

“An agent’s waiting for you in room six thirty-one.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on him. He’d been waiting for the FBI to make contact, but hadn’t expected it would happen at work.

“Apparently they’d like you to report in to me at the start of your shift, and I’ll let you know if they’re here to meet with you.”

“Why don’t they just call me?”

“They don’t want to take any chances.”

Grant took this in. “I didn’t mean to get you involved, Mr. Remington.”

“Too late.” He smiled. “I
want
to be involved. I saw what happened to Will and Sophie, and I’ll do whatever it takes to stop mobsters from taking down more innocent people.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.”

Mr. Remington grinned. “I always knew you were a good hire. Now, do you have any new songs on tap for us?”

“Andy and I are working on a
Guys and Dolls
song, sir.”

“Great! Which one?”

“‘Luck Be a Lady Tonight.’”

“Indeed. We could all use a little luck. You better get going—the agent’s waiting.”

He stood. “Thank you, sir.”

He zoomed past reception, where thankfully the redhead was engrossed in checking in a hotel guest, toward the bank of elevators.
So it’s beginning
. A charge of energy bloomed up his spine, leaving him jumpy as he stepped into the open elevator.

After making sure he wasn’t followed, he stole down the hallway of the sixth floor. An agent responded to his soft knock, but he stepped aside and let Grant in without showing himself in the open doorway. Once the door was shut, Agent Lucas Bounter gripped his hand in a firm handshake. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to see you, sir. Uh, is the task force involved with this assignment? I thought I’d be working with another agent.”

“I’ve been reassigned to the organized crime unit,” said Bounter. “Less of a chance Jovanovich and his ilk can hunt me down.”

“Has he been a problem?”

“Nah. He’s still on ‘extended leave’ in Serbia as far as we know, probably feeling lucky we didn’t prosecute him. Hopefully he’ll stay there.” He gave a weary smile. “Busting him felt like taking down a Mafia kingpin—more so than arresting a corrupt politician—so this new job’s not much of a stretch.”

Grant noticed faint purple smudges under Bounter’s eyes, darkening the rich brown skin of his face, and then the mussed comforter on one of the full beds. “You’re sleeping in the hotel?”

“This is a makeshift office. Not much sleep’s happening here now that things are heating up.” He yawned and gestured to the small round table in the corner of the room, covered by a laptop and messy papers. “Please, come in, have a seat.”

“I hope Mr. Remington’s giving the FBI a good rate.” He joined him at the table. “Rooms here aren’t cheap.”

“
Free
sounds like a pretty good rate to me.”

His boss was indeed getting involved. “Wow, that’s generous of him.”

“Remington is a good man,” Bounter agreed. “Though his motives aren’t completely altruistic. It seems the criminal element has wormed its way to this hotel, and he doesn’t want it to find a home here.”

Grant gave him a questioning look.

“Last night was your first back performing, singing at Capone’s Spirits, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Got my sea legs back.”

“I know they trained you on observational skills during your time at the Academy. What’d you notice about last night’s audience?”

“I didn’t…” His voice drifted off as he felt the heat of the agent’s stare. He closed his eyes, pushing himself to remember the guests watching him sing Sinatra and Bennett. There was the usual smattering of women wearing low-cut blouses, smiling back at him, but surely those weren’t the people Agent Bounter had in mind. Who else was there? He frantically searched his mind, feeling his throat go dry.

“Anyone catch your eye?” Bounter prompted.

Mr. Remington had been there, standing off to the side, making sure his vocal chords still did their thing after the two-month FBI training hiatus at Quantico. Sophie had been there too, and he’d felt at home singing to her, focusing only on her…

“Well?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, sir—I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

He winced.

“Particularly if you want to survive. What interfered with your concentration?”

“I’m not sure—I remember looking at Sophie, and—”

“She distracted you. That won’t happen again.”

“It won’t?”

“No, it’s too risky for Sophie to be there now. Important targets came in during your first song.”

“The Russians were there? Last night?” He paled. “What about Sophie? Did they see me go over to her when I was done?”

“No, they were only there for a few songs. They had a drink, then left.”

Panic laced his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve kept her far from this place if I’d known.”

Bounter held his hands out, palms up. “We had no idea they’d show up. You never know what to expect with these thugs. We thought
you’d
have to go to
them
, but it’ll actually work out much better this way. Less risk of entrapment.”

He felt sick. Sophie had been in the same bar with members of the Russian Mafia. “Who was there, sir?”

“You tell me.”

“Uh, probably not Federov…” He watched the agent raise an eyebrow. “The
don
was there? And I didn’t see him?”

“He was there with a woman and another couple, in the back. You’d have to look carefully to find him.”

“Which I obviously didn’t do,” he muttered, angry with himself. He sat up like the snap of a sail in the wind. “Wait a minute. The woman with him when they walked in—was she a blonde? Wearing a red dress?”

The agent smiled. “Are you scoping the crowd for dates, Mr. Saylor?”

“No, sir. I thought she might—” his voice dipped “—try to buy me a drink after. She looked the type.”

Bounter seemed to stifle a laugh.

“But then she was hanging off the guy, so I knew I was safe.”

“That woman was Kebin’s date, not Federov’s.”

“Andrei Kebin?”

Bounter nodded—he seemed relieved Grant had at least learned the targets’ names. “Federov’s girl isn’t quite as much a looker as Kebin’s.”

“They didn’t show me photos of the girlfriends.”