With Good Behavior (42 page)

“At first he looked 
so
 busted, but then he tried to deny it. Grant wasn’t about to believe his lies.” She closed her eyes. “Grant kept walking toward him, and Carlo was shouting at him to stay back. They were yelling at each other, and then all I remember is feeling like a speeding train slammed into my arm.” She swallowed hard, trying to slow her breathing. “The next thing I knew, Grant was on his knees …” She felt tears behind her eyes. “And Carlo had the gun to his head.”

Sophie clenched the sheet as a tear slid down her cheek, and the heart-rate monitor beside the bed beeped as the number on its display climbed higher and higher.

“Take your time,” the detective encouraged.

Sophie nodded. “My memory is kind of fuzzy. I think Kirsten was trying to get to the phone, but Carlo wouldn’t let her, and then Grant and Carlo were wrestling on the floor and … the gun went off. I was so scared, thinking Grant was the one who was shot, but then he got up, and I could see it was Carlo.”

“What happened next?”

“Kirsten called 911, and I called Jerry. I, um …” She blushed. “I asked Grant to hold me. Then I woke up here.”

“Speaking of waking up,” Marilyn nodded toward Kirsten stretching in the chair, blinking her blue eyes at them. “I think your roommate just joined us. I’m Detective Marilyn Fox, Ms. Holland.”

Kirsten finished removing her earphones and frowned at Sophie. “I told you to wake me up when the detective got here!”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to Sophie on her own first,” Marilyn said.

“Oh,” Kirsten responded, bleary-eyed. “That makes sense.”

“And now I need to interview 
you
 separately, Ms. Holland, so why don’t we let Sophie get some rest?”

Kirsten stood and followed Marilyn.

“You can call me Kirsten, Detective. Is it all right if I call you Marilyn?”

“Of course, Kirsten.”

“Oh, good,” said Kirsten. “I thought you were going to be all cold and standoffish like Officer Stone.”

“Oh, he’s not cold at all,” Marilyn protested as they left the room.

* * *

By the time Marilyn and Kirsten returned, Sophie’s father had resumed his place at her bedside. He gently held Sophie’s hand as she snoozed and gazed apprehensively at her, seemingly worried she’d stop breathing at any moment.

“It took you long enough to get here, Detective,” Will quietly seethed, ignoring Kirsten.

Marilyn raised her eyebrows. “It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Taylor.”

He released his daughter’s hand and tenderly placed it on the sheet, turning expectantly to the detective. “So, what’s the update?”

“Well, sir, I arrested Grant Madsen—”

“Good.”

“Although Sophie’s and Kirsten’s stories corroborate that he was acting in self-defense.”

“That’s bullshit! You have to keep that man away from my daughter, Detective.”

“Dad?” Sophie’s weak voice made him swivel and find her sleepy eyes staring up at him. “Please be nice.”

“You can’t be serious, Sophie. He’s from a Mafia family!”

“But he isn’t a criminal like them. He doesn’t work for them.”

“Actually,” Marilyn interrupted, “he told me that before Carlo came to your place, he’d been at his and threatened him. Grant agreed to start working for them so Carlo wouldn’t hurt you, Sophie.”

Sophie’s heart ached even more for Grant.

“This is great, just great,” Will sputtered. “You know what, Sophie? Just go to your Mafia boyfriend, I don’t care. You two can commit your little crime spree together, Bonnie and Clyde style. But when you go back to prison, don’t expect me to come visit you.”

“Visit me in prison?” Sophie cried. “I’ve already learned not to expect that, 
Dad
.”

In the midst of the family squabble, a grin of recognition spread across Marilyn’s face. “Bonnie,” she said out loud, causing Will and Sophie to pause their argument. “I finally get why Grant called you that.” She winked at Sophie.

Sophie’s cheeks flamed.

Suddenly Marilyn seemed to come to her senses, and she officiously announced, “I have to leave now. I have to make a notification of death. You two need to let Ms. Taylor rest, and I’ll be in touch.” Smiling briefly at Sophie, Marilyn quickly left the hospital room, taking a deep breath as she strode down the corridor. She was headed to a Mafia compound, the home of one Angelo Barberi.

* * *

Joe stood by his chair as his nephew was brought into the interrogation room. Grant’s hands were cuffed in front of him and his eyes were huge. He held his breath, waiting for Joe’s reaction.

“Sit, Madsen,” the officer barked, and both Madsen men took their seats.

“You have fifteen minutes,” he informed them before exiting.

“I think we’ve done this once before,” Joe said.

Expecting to receive a tongue-lashing, Grant was surprised when instead Joe asked, “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Grant nodded. “Now that I know Sophie is okay, they can do whatever they want to me. I don’t care.”

“Well, 
I
 care,” Joe insisted, more loudly than he intended. Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’m going to get you an attorney.”

“It’s too expensive,” Grant countered. “I’ll just take the court-appointed guy.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so great for you last time.”

Grant looked down at his cuffed hands. He hated putting Joe through this again. “Maybe I won’t have to go back inside for as long this time,” he mumbled.

“Maybe you won’t have to go back inside at all. It was clearly self-defense.”

He forced his eyes upward to meet Joe’s. “I killed Carlo, Joe. I killed my cousin.”

“He held you at gunpoint! He shot Sophie! H-h-he murdered your brother!”

But Grant looked guilty as hell, and Joe became even more incensed. “Goddamn it!” he shouted, rising from his chair.

Grant cringed.

“Why do you blame yourself for all of this?” Joe raged. “It’s not your fault! You can’t help which family you were born into!”

“I’m sorry,” Grant said.

Watching his nephew tremble, Joe rested his hands on the back of his chair and tried to take a deep breath. Yelling at Grant wasn’t going to help anything. Joe realized he had buried one nephew and found the other arrested for murder, all in the span of ten hours, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He took his seat.

“I know what you did,” Joe said after a moment.

Grant’s heart beat faster.

“I know why you went to prison before. Ashley told me Logan and Carlo threatened to kill me unless you pulled that robbery.”

Grant looked away. When he finally looked back at Joe, he found his uncle’s blue eyes glistening with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me, Grant?”

“I didn’t want to drag you any further into this mess. It wasn’t your fault your sister married my dad. You already had to take care of me all my life—you didn’t ask for that burden. And then I went and screwed it all up. I must seem so ungrateful for all that you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t you understand?” Joe pleaded, grasping Grant’s arm. “You were 
never
 a burden to me. When your mother died …” He felt tears prickle the back of his eyes, and he tried to blink them away. “When Karita died, the only thing that got me through was 
you
. I was so proud to adopt you and have you as my son. Never forget that.”

Grant didn’t know what to say. Joe’s powerful grip on his arm finally released.

“Karita fell in love with her ‘tall, dark, and handsome Italian man,’ and I tried to talk her out of marrying him, but she was determined. She had no idea what he was—she had no idea what she was getting into. But you know what? I’m glad she married Enzo.”

Grant looked startled.

“I’m glad she married your dad because they produced two amazing boys. I have loved you both all my life.”

Feeling a lump in his throat, Grant acknowledged, “I love you too.”

“And this is awful to say, but I feel a sense of peace knowing Logan’s murderer got justice,” Joe admitted. “You did that, Grant. I hate that you have a man’s death on your hands, but you had no choice. You had to protect yourself and Sophie … I would have done the same thing.”

Grant sat silently, absorbing his words.

“So, what did they threaten you with this time?”

“Sir?”

“Did Angelo or Carlo threaten my life again unless you joined the family?” When Grant said nothing, he continued. “It’s their way, Grant. They threaten and extort their way through life. I’ve been around the Barberi family almost forty years now. I know what they do.”

“Carlo told me he’d kill Sophie unless I showed up to Angelo’s tomorrow.”

Joe nodded. “Do you think Angelo is going to come after you now that Carlo is dead?”

“I don’t know. I guess he can’t get to me if I’m in prison.”

“But your father can,” Joe said, sickened by the prospect. “I’ve got to keep you away from them. They seem hell bent on bringing you down. If it’s not Carlo framing you for murder, it’s another way to try to hurt you.”

“What?” Grant asked. “Carlo framed me?”

Joe gave him a bewildered look. “Yeah, by planting Logan’s body at Great Lakes. Why else would he put the body there? I bet Carlo saw Lo’s bruises and found out you two had fought, giving him the perfect opportunity to pin it on you.”

Grant shook his head. Carlo’s evil nature astounded him.

“Time’s up,” the officer announced, striding into the room and hauling Grant to his feet in one swift motion.

“I’ll be back when I can,” Joe promised.

“Thank you, Joe,” Grant called over his shoulder as he was led away.

As his nephew left, Joe Madsen’s jaw clinched determinedly. He would not let the Barberis hurt his nephew ever again.

A
shrill ring began competing with the deafening snores rocking the studio apartment. Bolting upright in bed, the snore producer looked all around, snorting and snuffling, until he identified the cause. Roger Eaton noticed his alarm clock said 6:30 a.m. as he reached for the phone.

“What is it?” he barked.

“Rog? Is that you? It’s Joe.”

With a yawn, Roger retorted, “Of course it’s me. Did you forget who you were calling, numbnuts?”

“You didn’t sound like yourself,” Joe said.

Another yawn. “Yeah, I’m losing my voice from being the docent on every cruise without your nephew there to help. Good thing he’s coming back.”

“Um, Rog? That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. Grant won’t be able to return to work today.”

“Why the hell not, sir?”

Joe was quiet a moment before revealing, “He’s been arrested.”

Roger drew in a sharp breath. “I thought he was cleared for his brother’s death.”

“He was.” Joe paused. “But then Grant shot and killed Logan’s murderer.” Hearing Roger’s gasp, Joe continued, “It was self-defense. His cousin Carlo came after Sophie, and Grant saved them both by tackling him to get the gun. The gun went off, and Carlo died—right after confessing to killing Logan.”

Roger didn’t know what to say. Madsen’s screwed-up family belonged on Jerry Springer or something. “He’s gotta get released if it was self-defense, right?”

“I hope so, but I don’t really know. It’s not good that he’s already on parole.”

“I’m sorry Joe—that fucking sucks. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Um …” Joe seemed startled by the question. “Do you know any good attorneys?’

“Ah, yeah, he needs to lawyer up, doesn’t he? Hmm, I certainly would not recommend the douche bag I hired for my divorce!”

Joe sighed. He didn’t have the energy to laugh. “Well, don’t worry about it—”

“Wait! That bitch who represented my wife—she obviously knew what she was doing. She was as tight as a camel’s ass in a sandstorm.”

This time Joe did crack a smile. “But I need an attorney specializing in criminal cases, not divorce.”

“She worked for some high-powered firm. I bet they got all kinds of ambulance chasers there. It’s called McCallister, Abrams, and Mitchell if you want to check it out.”

“Great, I’ll give them a call before I head out.”

“Where ya headed? Are you gonna help me with the cruises today?”

“I wish I could, Rog, but that brings me to the real reason I called. I wanted to tell at least one other person where I’m going this morning, in case anything happens to me.”

“That don’t sound good, sir.”

Joe took a deep breath. “I’m going to the compound—the Barberi home. I need to talk to Grant’s uncle, Angelo. So, if you don’t hear from me, you might want to call the detective working the case.”

“Don’t do it, Joe. At least don’t go alone. Hell, I’ll go with you—let me hop in the shower—”

“No,” Joe countered grimly. “Angelo won’t talk if he feels at all threatened, and I need to have some words with him. It’s a, it’s a family matter.”

Roger was quiet for a moment. “I don’t like the sound of this, Joe. Not one bit. But you’re a stubborn son of a bitch, and I’m sure that I can’t talk you out of it.”

“You know me well, Rog.” Joe hesitated and then added, “Oh!” He sighed deeply. “I’ve got some more bad news, I’m afraid. Sophie Taylor worked for you too, right? Grant told me she got shot in the standoff with Carlo, and now she’s in the hospital.”

“What the fuck?” His heart pounded. “Is she at Northwestern?”

“I think so. Apparently she’s doing okay now—Carlo shot her in the arm. Grant feels horribly guilty about the whole thing.”

“I bet. His family is a bunch of 
fucked up
 crackerjacks. Stay safe, Commander. I don’t want you to end up swimming with the fishes.”

“Thanks, Rog. Thanks, um, for looking after Grant these past two months.”

“I wasn’t much help, obviously. But our boy does not belong in prison.”

“You and I both know that. Let’s hope the prosecutor agrees with us. Gotta run, Rog.”

Roger stared at the phone. Madsen was in jail and Taylor was in the hospital? What a shitstorm this had turned out to be. He frowned, thinking about running his cruises without them. Who was he going to insult all day long? Who was going to tease him about his vegetable diet?

* * *

Sophie’s eyes fluttered open and panic gripped her. She had no idea where she was. Then the antiseptic smell and white, sterile room began to orient her, just as a shooting pain in her immobilized left arm brought it all back. Her breathing slowed as she looked all around her, wondering where Kirsten and her father were. She was pretty sure it was Tuesday morning.

Hearing a soft knock on the door, Sophie looked up and smiled brightly at the short man with a huge floral arrangement entering the room. “Roger!” she cried. “Those flowers are beautiful.”

Once he set down the massive vase, she could detect a blush forming on his cheeks. He tentatively approached her bedside. “You, uh, you look great, Taylor.”

She’d never seen her former boss try to be so civil, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “No, I don’t. I’ve been shot, Rog, and stuck in this hospital bed without a shower or any makeup. I’m a mess.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he said, holding his hands out in mock surrender. Despite her protests, she still looked beautiful to him.

Sophie bit her lip. “I guess 
I’m
 the one in the hospital and 
you’re
 the one visiting this time.”

“Yeah, kind of a role-reversal, huh?” He glanced around him excitedly. “Is that hot nutritionist chick gonna come see you?”

Sophie grinned. “I don’t think they send dietitians for gunshot wounds.”

Frowning, Roger peeked at her left arm. “Joe told me what happened. You gonna be okay, Taylor?”

She nodded. “Did Grant’s uncle say anything about how he’s doing?”

Her voice was etched with concern, and Roger was blown away that she still loved Madsen despite him nearly getting her killed. Some guys had all the luck. “Joe was trying to get an attorney for Grant, and I gave him a name. It’ll be pricey though.”

“Well, my dad will help pay for Grant’s legal costs,” she offered.

Roger scrunched his eyebrows. “He will?”

“Yes,” Sophie confirmed. “He doesn’t know it yet, but he will.”

Shaking his head, Roger chuckled. “You got him wrapped around your finger?”

She smiled wryly. “Obviously you haven’t met my father. He’s not exactly thrilled about me dating Grant.”

“Well, that’s what dads are supposed to do—protect their kids. I bet that’s why Joe is headed off to have words with Angelo Barberi, to try to protect Grant.”

Sophie drew her hand to her mouth. “I hope he’ll be okay.” She was consumed by worry for Grant’s uncle, though nothing compared to her fear for Grant himself. He was locked up, unsure of his fate, and all alone.

* * *

The guard led Grant into the interrogation room, and he found himself staring at a slender brown-haired woman with piercing hazel eyes, dressed in a tailored navy business suit and lavender silk blouse.

She eyed his manacled hands and glared at the guard. “Take off those cuffs.”

“No can do,” the officer retorted. “If you want the surveillance cameras off, the cuffs stay on.”

The woman gave the officer a puzzled glance—why all the precaution? She then realized the prisoner must be on suicide watch. She had a live one here, evidently.

“Fine.” She gave a tight smile. “Have a seat, Mr. Madsen.”

His polite “Yes, ma’am” threw her a bit, and his sea-blue eyes almost took her breath away.

“I’m your attorney, Mr. Madsen. No need to kiss up. Your uncle hired me.”

Grant offered her a guilty grimace.

“My clients are invariably thrilled to see me,” she said. “What’s 
your
 problem?”

Grant looked down. “I told Joe not to do that. It’s too expensive.”

“I 
am
 expensive,” she said. “But I assure you, Mr. Madsen, I’m worth it.”

“You can call me Grant,” he offered.

“Okay, Grant, then let’s get started.”

“I didn’t catch 
your
 name, ma’am.”

“Nicole McCallister, and you can call me Nic. Now,” she said with barely a pause. “Tell me everything about your involvement with the Barberi family, and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Grant took a deep breath.

* * *

Joe attempted to ignore the thumping of his heart as he stood outside the gated entrance to the massive stone house. He glanced down at his khaki uniform and bit his lip. He’d debated about wearing civilian clothes, but in the end decided his military garb might make them at least pause before they tried to kill him.

Holding on to the image of Grant’s angelic eight-year-old face, Joe rang the bell on the stone pillar. Within seconds a strapping black-haired man appeared, and Joe marveled at the speedy response; the bodyguard must have been perched outside the mansion, on patrol. Joe also noticed that despite the stifling warmth of the August day, the guard wore a suit-jacket, most likely to hide the weapon strapped in his holster.

“What do 
you
 want?” he questioned in a deep voice.

“I need to speak to Angelo.”

His black eyes danced with disbelief as the bodyguard gave Joe the once-over. The visitor seemed almost as insistent as the scrumptious little brunette who’d come knocking with a guy in a suit late last night, but this guy didn’t have a badge like they did. “Nobody gets to speak to Mr. Barberi.”

“Listen, meathead, go tell your boss Joe Madsen is here to see him, and quit wasting my time.” Joe felt a catch in his throat at the heat of the broad-shouldered goon’s glare, but then the guard turned and slowly ambled toward the house.

About five minutes later the door buzzed, and Joe turned the knob and entered. With no one to guide him, he headed to the front of the house.

As soon as Joe reached the porch, the solid front door opened, revealing two more large men in the foyer. “Come in, Commander,” Tank said, limping slightly as he stepped back and exchanging a nervous look with Mario. This was Logan’s uncle on his mother’s side, and Angelo had demanded he be treated with respect.

But respect did not negate the need for safety. Mario held his meaty paw against Joe’s chest. “We gotta frisk you first.”

Joe sent the bodyguard an irritated glance but nodded. He’d expected this. He stood ramrod straight as the two men expertly searched him. Tank paid special attention to patting down his chest, and Joe muttered snidely, “I don’t think a weapon would fit in there, gentlemen.”

Tank gave a perfunctory smile. “Just making sure you’re not wired.”

“This way,” Mario instructed, and Joe followed with Tank lurching on his heels. The naval commander was in the middle of a goon sandwich.

They entered a luxurious study, darkened by rich paneling and cherry bookshelves, and Joe found himself face to face with Angelo, whose tired, red-rimmed eyes were visible through a thick haze of cigar smoke. Angelo wearily rose from a leather recliner and sent a questioning glance at Mario.

“He’s clean,” the big man confirmed.

“Leave us,” Angelo ordered.

Joe heard the door softly click shut. There was palpable tension in the room as Joe ventured, “So, you’ve heard about Carlo, then.”

A flash of sadness crossed his face. Angelo had aged tremendously in the past few days. “The detectives came by here last night.”

Wondering if they’d made it out alive, Joe furtively glanced around the study but found nothing awry. It took all of his self control to mutter, “Sorry for your loss.”

“We’ve all experienced some losses lately,” Angelo said. He gestured to a chair. “Want to take a seat?”

Sitting casually and comfortably in this lion’s den was the last thing Joe wanted to do, but he needed Angelo to feel at ease. He crossed to the other leather recliner and both Grant’s uncles took a seat. Angelo looked at Joe expectantly.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

Angelo shot him a curious glance. “To gloat?”

Joe looked horrified. “
No. 
There’s no happiness in Carlo’s death for me. You lost your son, and I can’t imagine what pain you’re feeling right now … Well,” he swallowed, “I can imagine how much it would hurt to lose Grant.”

Angelo clenched his teeth. Joe adopting Grant behind Enzo’s back was still a sore spot.

“That’s why I’m here,” Joe said. “Grant. I assume the detective told you who killed Carlo.”

“Of course.”

“I need your word that no harm will come to Grant. Inside or outside of prison.”

Angelo looked into Joe’s pleading blue eyes, noticing his resemblance to Logan. Logan and Grant had never truly fit into the Italian family because of those blue eyes from their fair-skinned mother. Though Logan sure had tried to make it work as a mobster. “You’re asking me not to seek revenge on my son’s killer?” Angelo asked quietly.