With Good Behavior (45 page)

She hooked her right arm into his left, attempting to distract him. “Time to go home?”

“Definitely. But do you mind if we make a stop first?”

* * *

The sunlight bounced off the rolling green waves of the Chicago River as Sophie and Grant sat on a bench by the dock, his arm protectively draped over her shoulders.

“You’re sure he’s on the ship?” Sophie questioned.

“Yeah, I had the police officer call my apartment from the station, and he wasn’t there, so I bet he’s helping Rog again. I don’t know where else he’d be.”

On cue, an awful sound hit their ears. They could make out a raspy, off-key shouting, like nails on a chalkboard, and to Grant’s horror he realized Roger was 
singing. 
Or rather he was 
trying
 to sing, croaking out the ugliest, most abrasive Frank Sinatra interpretation known to humankind. The ship slowly chugged into their line of vision.

“Oh my God, what is he 
doing
?” Sophie wondered, also aghast. Roger sounded like a dreadful karaoke Elvis.

“This is bad,” Grant agreed, shaking his head. “If this is his kind of town, I don’t want to live anywhere near it.”

“Join in, everyone!” Roger called gleefully over the microphone as the ship began docking. His encouragement was met with stunned silence, the passengers cautiously glancing at each other, having no idea what caused the auditory assault on their eardrums.

Just as he eased the ship alongside the dock, Roger realized there was dead silence onboard. He nervously cleared his throat. “Thank you for choosing Eaton Tours! Please come back soon.”

Once the ship had docked, passengers streamed down the gangway as if they could not disembark fast enough. Watching the melee, Grant and Sophie shared a bewildered smile. “Sounds like Rog missed you,” Sophie smirked.

“Grant!” Joe’s thrilled voice filled the air, easily audible over the din of the chattering passengers.

Grant popped up off the bench, finding his uncle leaping over the gunwale and rushing toward him. Meeting him halfway, Grant launched himself into his uncle’s awaiting embrace and they thumped each other on the back soundly.

“You’re out! What happened?”

“They dropped the charge to consorting with known criminals while on parole, and I got an additional year of parole, that’s all.”

Joe could only smile, the creases of worry lining his face finally smoothing away. “You don’t have to go back inside with your father,” he said, feeling liberation from the vice grip of the Barberi family.

Grant met his uncle’s clear blue eyes and felt overwhelming gratitude. “I’m already with my father,” he said.

Joe finally noticed Sophie standing a few feet behind his nephew. Grant turned to bring her forward. He rested his arm across her shoulders while she wrapped hers around his waist, and they faced Joe together.

“So, she’s the one, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Grant nodded, nuzzling in to sneak a kiss on her cheek.

Joe’s smiling eyes found Sophie’s. “I’m glad you’re here to take care of him, because I have to get back to my captain in Norfolk. We’re shipping out soon.”

“I’ll try to keep him out of prison for you, Joe.”

“Hey,” Grant protested. “You’re on parole too.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be done long before you will,” she teased.

“Holy fuck!” A voice rang out from the deck, and all three immediately knew who it must be. Roger stood at the ship’s railing, hands on his hips. “The parolees busted out! It’s about damn time!”

“How are you doing, Rog?” Grant asked, boarding the ship with Sophie in tow.

“Just trying to keep afloat,” he replied. “Since you left me in the lurch, you asshole, I’ve had to take back the reins as docent.”

“So I heard,” Grant said. Desperately attempting not to laugh, he tried to avoid Sophie’s gaze. “You’re, um, you’re singing now too, huh?”

“Yeah,” Roger smiled proudly, puffing out his chest. “I thought I’d do a little Frank Sinatra myself. He’s more from my generation than yours, anyway. How’d I sound?”

“Uh …”

Sophie cleared her throat, glancing at Grant. “I’ll take this one.” Looking back at the captain, Sophie began, “You know I love you, Rog, and I’m very grateful that you gave me a job. But if you sing again, your business will go straight down the tubes.” Her brown eyes were warm but her message was firm. “Rog, please promise me, 
never sing again
.”

His face fell, and Sophie immediately felt guilty. “But you do such an awesome job navigating, um, running the business …” She quickly tried to cover.

“Is she right? I’m not a good singer?” Roger pointedly asked Grant and Joe, who exchanged nervous glances.

Joe attempted a placating tone. “Rog, um, Sophie is a very wise woman. Her father is a successful businessman. Maybe you should take her advice.”

Just then Grant noticed a teenager in navy-blue coveralls emerging from the lower deck. “Ben?” he called.

The boy appeared startled. “Uncle Grant!”

“What are you doing here?”

Joe answered for him. “Ben wanted to make some extra money before school begins, so he’s helping out on the ship.” The two exchanged a knowing glance.

The truth was Ashley had hit the roof once Joe informed her about Ben’s drug habit, and she’d threatened to cart him off to rehab immediately. Ben had screamed that he’d run away before he went to rehab.

Somehow, Joe had helped them forge a compromise: Ben would see a local therapist and work on Roger’s ship for a month, and if his subsequent drug test was clean, he wouldn’t have to go to rehab.

Grant went over to rest his arm on Ben’s shoulders. “So, you’re chief toilet cleaner now!”

Out of earshot, Roger glared at Joe. “I’m gonna go check the shitters. He better have actually cleaned them this time or he’s getting an earful.”

Joe stifled a grin. “Give him a few days. He’ll get on board with the program, Rog.”

Once the ship’s captain headed aft, Joe and Sophie were left alone while Grant and Ben chatted nearby. Joe cast a worried look at Sophie’s sling. “How’s your arm feeling?”

“Sore,” Sophie admitted. Her right hand reached into her pocket and she felt the folded check. Pulling it out, she offered, “I uh, have some money for Grant’s attorney fees. Will ten thousand cover it?”

Joe looked shocked. “Where does a parolee come up with ten grand?”

Her cheeks reddened. “My father gave it to me.”

“Your father?” His eyebrows arched skeptically. “I find that hard to believe. He didn’t seem to be Grant’s biggest fan.”

Sophie chuckled. “He’s not, but he’s, um, he’s coming around.” Her voice dropped as she confessed, “My dad doesn’t exactly know what I’m doing with this money.”

This kind, beautiful woman made Joe’s heart swell with pride. “Thank you, Sophie,” he said. “But I can handle the fees. I’m sure they won’t be too bad. How about you pay off your student loans?”

She looked surprised, and Joe continued. “Grant told me about those. He was hoping the loans might convince you to move in with him someday—you know, to save money.”

A faint smile brushed her lips. “Are you sure you have enough money to cover it?”

“No worries. I have a rainy day fund.”

“But it’s not raining.”

Joe grinned. “Even better.” He glanced out at the calm river, feeling the ship rock gently beneath them, and his grin faded. “It may not be raining now, but it sure hasn’t been smooth sailing for you or Grant. You’ve both survived quite a storm.”

Sophie knew she and Grant still had a long way to go to recover from all they’d endured, but she had a sense that together they could do it. 
Bonnie-and-Clyde style,
 she told herself, smiling happily.

Grant brought the boy over and stood behind him, resting his hands on the teen’s shoulders. “Sophie, I want you to meet my nephew, Ben.”

So, here was Logan’s son. She gazed into yet another set of arresting eyes. What was it with the men in this family and their gorgeous baby blues? Logan’s voice floated into her mind: 
I spent the day with my son. He just turned fourteen in July.

“Hello, Ben.” Sophie smiled, suppressing her sadness.

“Hey,” he murmured, looking embarrassed. Glancing at his uncle nervously, he nodded toward her sling. “Uh, Carlo … um, he did that to you?”

“Yes. But I’m going to be fine.”

Biting his lip, Ben sniffed. “That’s, um, good.”

Grant squeezed his shoulders and advised, “You better get back to work.”

Ben sighed. “This sucks.”

“Yep,” Grant nodded, “Being the chief toilet cleaner does have its drawbacks. But maybe if you work hard, you can get promoted like I did.”

Ben shuffled off dejectedly, and Grant called after him, “See you tomorrow!” Then he grabbed Sophie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here. Rog said I could take the day off, and I want to leave before he changes his mind.”

“Oh!” Sophie cried. Sage-colored sheets awaited them both. She asked Joe, “Will I see you again?”

“After I book my flight home, I’ll stop by to get my stuff,” he promised. Reading the eagerness in their flushed complexions, he added, “I’ll, uh, knock first.”

Sophie’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and Grant laughed. “Good idea.” Clasping her hand tightly in his, he told her in his silky voice, “Come on, Bonnie. Let’s go home.”

J
erry Stone drummed his fingertips impatiently on his government-issued metal desk, feeling more and more irritated by the second. It was three minutes past nine o’clock. Taylor was late.

He growled as he surveyed the office. The drab cornflower-blue paint peeled from the walls, the grimy blinds were swathed in a thick layer of dust, and the linoleum floor was cracked and warped. He hoped Marilyn Fox would never see this shithole. He’d have to keep her away from his office—either that or redecorate.

Muttering under his breath about the nonstop drama surrounding the first two parolees scheduled for this morning, he opened the door, letting himself out into the hallway. Greeting him was the typical bustle of the DOC on a Wednesday morning—parolees filing into various offices or shuffling down the corridor to get drug tested, uniformed officers discussing the latest Cubs game over a cup of coffee, administrative assistants typing away—but still no sign of his particular parolee. Was somebody returning to prison today?

Finally he noticed a slender pair dash around the corner and head in his direction. They were moving quickly, though it seemed Madsen wouldn’t let Taylor break into a run and thus jar her injured elbow. He regulated their pace with a protective hand on her uninjured right arm.

At last they stood in front of their PO—panting, biting their bottom lips, fidgeting, and averting their eyes from his hostile glare.

His arms folded, Jerry glanced at his watch and growled, “Nine-oh-five, Taylor.”

She swallowed hard and slowly raised her eyes to meet his.

“It’s my fault, sir,” Grant said. “If anyone has to get in trouble for Sophie being late, it should be me. It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not!” Sophie protested.

“Whose fault was it then?” Jerry asked her. “Why were you late?”

“Um, it took …” Sophie’s voice faded, and Jerry watched with fascination as her exquisite porcelain skin flushed with color. He was also intrigued by Madsen squirming next to her. “It took, um, longer than we thought—than 
I
 thought it would take, um, to get dressed.”

Jerry narrowed his eyes, trying to sniff out what was going on between the two.

Sophie felt her pulse race even faster as she recalled their morning …

After an evening of passionate lovemaking, they’d fallen into a deep slumber. Only Grant’s alarm clock had prevented them from oversleeping.

To keep her bandaged wound dry and stationary, Grant had helped her shower. He’d attempted to be focused and gentlemanly about lathering her
body, but he’d been completely turned on by her, glistening in the pounding stream of water. Somehow he’d managed to wash her hair and help her step out of the shower, but by the time he’d toweled her off and stood before her in the bedroom, clutching her lacy bra and underwear in preparation to dress her, he’d lost all resolve.

She looked into his blazing blue eyes, and there was a suspended hush in the air. Apparently their prior coupling had not quenched their thirst for each other; on the contrary, their scorching sex-fest had left their throats dry and parched.

They needed to get to their PO, lest they return to lockup, but both felt a hot craving to lock onto each other instead, never letting go. Their brains acknowledged a pressing need to hustle to the courthouse, but their hearts desired to press their bodies together even more urgently.

Emotion trumping logic, Grant caressed the back of her neck and drew her face to his, their lips crashing together with a palpable, bruising force. Tongue on tongue, three hands groped for each other’s skin. The only piece of clothing between them was Grant’s boxers, which he’d slid on after the shower. Their deep kisses made their desire an insatiable compulsion.

Sophie took blind steps back to the bed, drawing him with her by the suction of her lips, and somehow they managed to fall onto the sheets without jolting her arm. He helped her scoot back toward the pillows, resting his weight on his elbows while hovering over her. Their long, bare legs became entangled and a fine sheen of moisture from the shower coated their skin. Grinning against his probing mouth she reached into his boxers and took him in her hand, causing him to halt his flurry of kisses and inhale deeply, staring down at her with longing, half-lidded eyes …

“… is no excuse.” A gruff voice drew her out of her enthralling memory, and she found herself staring not into her lover’s cool gemstone eyes, but her parole officer’s heated brown ones.

“What?” she asked, turning to see if Grant could catch her up on the conversation. His shoulders were back, spine stiff, and his face bore the anxious expression of a man getting chewed out by a superior.

“I 
said
,” Jerry repeated, “your injury is no excuse for being late. Don’t think just because you’ve been shot I won’t shoot your ass straight back to prison.”

Grant tensed, and Sophie gulped. “I’m sorry, Jerry. I won’t be late again.” But her response did not break the PO’s stern stare.

Sophie decided to try a different tactic. “I apologize for being late, but I hope you won’t hold it against me since you were late once too.”

Jerry’s bushy eyebrows arched as his glare intensified. “What the hell are you talking about, Taylor?”

“You were late for our meeting once last month,” she said. “You were, uh, coming from the hospital.” She noticed a shadow of grief cross Jerry’s face. “I’m sorry to bring that up, sir, but I’m sure you wouldn’t hold me to a higher standard than yourself?”

Grant tried to get Sophie’s attention, pleading silently for her to shut the hell up before their PO arrested both of them, but miraculously Jerry’s upper lip began to twitch toward a smile.

“Whenever I was late for psychotherapy clients, I figured I couldn’t be upset if 
they
 were late.” Sophie shrugged, wincing from the movement to her left arm. “The golden rule—that’s all I was thinking.”

Jerry shook his head. “Damn shrink parolee.” He opened his office door and ordered, “Both of you get inside, now.”

Grant looked startled. “You want me in there too, sir?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you two together. That way your tardiness won’t make me fall behind in my schedule. And I won’t have to listen to your bullshit twice, either.”

Grinning, Sophie allowed Grant to guide her into the office by the elbow. She still wasn’t sure what she thought about his chivalrous behavior. It felt reassuring to be ensconced in his protective shell, but she was 
not 
a delicate flower. And now that they were finally together, it certainly was not okay for him to take the blame for her mistakes—especially if that meant he might land himself back in prison. She couldn’t bear to be separated from him again.

Once the three were seated, Jerry pulled out their files and made a few notations.

“So,” he boomed. “Anything new to report? Well, besides one of you getting shot, the other killing a man in self-defense and getting arrested, and both of you being exonerated of murder?” He smirked.

“Uh, at least we’re not boring,” Sophie said.

“Hardly,” Jerry agreed.

Tapping her index finger on her chin, Sophie piped up, “Oh! I do need to tell you my new address, I guess.”

“Holland’s place spooks you now, huh? That’s okay. I already got your father’s address in your file.” Jerry nodded smugly.

“Um, Jerry? I’m not living with my dad.”

He tilted his head to one side and caught Sophie slyly glancing at Grant. It took him a second to understand their delight. “I see,” he said, holding up Grant’s file. “I can put the same address down for both of you now?”

Sophie nodded shyly, and Jerry rolled his eyes. So, the cons were 
con
-habitating. The parolee dating service had produced a perfect 
con
-nection indeed.

Grant felt a pleased grin on his face. His Bonnie was no longer over the ocean or over the sea. He had brought her back, he mused, 
and now she’s living with me. 
She would live with him! She would share his bed. Reliving their most recent experience in that very bed, he closed his eyes dreamily …

Hovering over her, stomach to stomach, he rested on his forearms, careful not to press against her injured elbow. One hand cradled the side of her face and the other smoothed her thick hair, fanning out the strawberry strands on the pillow. Her hand was doing amazing things to him down below. He had shimmied out of his boxers and there was nothing left between them. Truly.

“We don’t have … time,” he panted, kissing the tip of her nose.

“We’ll be quick,” she responded breathlessly, feeling the hard length of him brush her thigh. Stroking him, she remembered their encounter after the baseball game. “I’m just warming up the hot dog first.”

Grant shook his head. “Hon, my sausage has been cooked from the second I touched you in the shower.”

“Is that so?” she asked. “Well, my buns are toasted and ready.”

They burst out laughing, and in the midst of their good cheer, Grant slid on a condom. The hilarity passed the moment he held himself just above her, grazing her skin and teasing her quivering center. He gazed at her lustfully while her eyes reciprocated pleading desire.

Feeling simultaneously aroused, astounded, and amused by the beautiful woman in his arms, Grant murmured, “I love you, Sophie.”

“Christ, maybe I should just 
combine
 your files,” Jerry griped, bringing Grant back to the present. “You parolees used to work together and now you’re living together?”

“I think you should keep separate files because there 
are
 some differences between us,” Sophie said. “Like how many months of parole we have left, for example.” She batted her eyelashes, adding, “I’m not sure, but I think one of us will be done with parole long before the other.”

Jerry just sat back and watched.

Grant narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, and another difference is that I’ve had two drug tests already and Sophie’s had none.” He turned to Jerry, “Are you going to let that go, sir?”

“Hmm, I agree. That’s not right,” Jerry said. “You both will go get a drug test when we’re done here.”

Sensing that his retaliatory plan had backfired, Grant slumped in his chair. But Sophie sat up and protested. “I was taking pain medication in the hospital!”

“Make sure to give them your doctor’s name, then, and they’ll check it out,” Jerry advised, inwardly chuckling as Sophie glared at Grant.

“Hmph,” she retorted, slouching. Suddenly she sat up again. “What about therapy?” she demanded. “You made me go to counseling, but not Grant. Why is that? Do you think I’m a total nut job or something?”

Grant stared at her. What the hell was she doing?

Jerry smirked, watching them throw each other under the bus. They were surely making his job easier. “Not a 
total
 nut job,” he told Sophie. “But you 
have
 benefited from the counseling, haven’t you?”

Reluctantly she yielded. “Yes, sir.”

“Then perhaps Madsen could benefit as well. Once-a-week therapy, Madsen. It’s a condition of your parole.”

Fear gripped Grant. “What? You can’t do that!”

Jerry wondered why he hadn’t previously mandated therapy for Grant. Although the parolee surely had no desire to delve into his destructive family dynamics, they were precisely why he needed counseling. Arching one eyebrow, Jerry stood up and moved swiftly around his desk. “You’re telling me what to do now, Madsen?”

Sophie cowered as the PO sat on the edge of his desk, leaning forward to challenge Grant.

Glancing at the handcuffs swaying from the officer’s belt, Grant sat up a little taller and cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I—I—I’ll go to therapy, sir.” But he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “This sucks.” He sounded just like sixteen-year-old Ben.

“Maybe you can see the same shrink Taylor goes to,” Jerry offered. “If he’ll have her back.” He frowned at Sophie. “Dr. Hayes left a message yesterday that you didn’t show up for your session.”

She gasped. “My therapy appointment! I forgot all about it!” Looking first at Grant, who appeared panicked, and then at the officer, she begged, “Please, Jerry, don’t send me back. I didn’t miss it on purpose. It’s just with everything going on—”

“Relax, Taylor.” This was exactly the response Jerry was looking for. She still took the threat of returning to prison seriously. He didn’t want these parolees to think they could manipulate him just because he had a soft spot for them. “I’m not sending you back inside for that slip-up. I know you were in the hospital yesterday, and therapy was probably the last thing on your mind. But don’t let it happen again, or I won’t be so nice.”

“Yes, sir.” Sophie nodded, and Grant exhaled with relief. She had hated it when her clients didn’t show up. She’d have to call Hunter immediately to apologize.

“At least you’ll have Madsen to help you get to your next appointment,” Jerry said, thinking for a moment. “Maybe you can schedule back-to-back sessions to make sure you both get there. Hell, maybe you two should do couples therapy instead—kill two birds with one stone.” 
Or monitor two parolees with one Jerry Stone.