With Good Behavior (7 page)

Her blond hair was swept up high on her head, accenting the splotches of pink on her alabaster cheeks and nose. A few tendrils had loosened from her ponytail to softly frame her face.

A small whimper escaped her lips when she noticed his expression of pure sympathy. Sharing such an intimate moment of emotional vulnerability, despite being virtual strangers, neither knew what to do.

Instinctively Grant gathered her in his arms. Sophie gratefully folded herself into his strong frame. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, feeling the comforting cotton of his navy-blue hoodie on her skin. His body was warm and solid and—God, he smelled good. His strong arms soothed away her tension and gradually slowed her tears.

Only then did Grant realize how inappropriate it was to just scoop an unknown woman into an embrace. She seemed to lean into him, creating a cocoon of coziness, but he had a fleeting worry that she might think he was some kind of aggressive pervert for mauling her with a hug. He was suddenly aware of her breasts pushing into his chest, and he abruptly let go of her for fear that parts of his anatomy would also be pushing out.

He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Wait for me?” he pleaded.

She stared and then seemed to come to her senses. “Oh! You must want your jacket back.” She patted her bag, “I have it in here.”

“My jacket? No, I don’t care about my stupid jacket. You’re crying. You’re upset, and I want to talk to you. Wait for me?”

Sophie nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”

With one last glance in her direction, he disappeared into the office.

“You’re late, Madsen!” Officer Stone yelled as the door closed. Sophie hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble. It was no fun to be in trouble with their parole officer.

Wiping her eyes, Sophie sank into the metal chair in the hallway. She realized how tired she was after her emotional freakout. She unzipped her bag and peeked in on the White Sox jacket folded neatly inside.

She sighed. That had been a close one in there, but she was determined to stay in the prison-free forty percent. Her mouth tightened as she thought about going to see her father. But first she would speak to the crystal-eyed parolee, and she did not dread that at all.

She drew her shirt collar to her nose and inhaled deeply, drinking in the transferred smell of his aftershave. Sitting up a little straighter, Sophie eagerly anticipated a real conversation with the man. There seemed to be a mystery behind those gorgeous blue eyes, and she couldn’t wait to learn more about him.

A
fter what seemed like an eternity, Grant finally exited his PO’s office and was relieved to find the woman still outside, just as she’d promised. Her tears had stopped, and her cap-sleeved white blouse and beige skirt seemed less disheveled than they had ten minutes ago.

His face lit up. “You waited.”

“Of course. I didn’t want to steal your jacket two weeks in a row, ‘cause then you might have to report me for a parole violation.” Hearing the man chuckle, she added, “I hope I didn’t get you in any trouble with Jerry.”

Grant raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you two are on a first-name basis now?”

Sophie smiled. “We ought to be after what we went through today.”

“I was worried when I saw two bulls go in there.”

“That was a close call. Fortunately, Jerry let me go after I started bawling like a baby.” Shrugging sheepishly, she continued. “Sorry for subjecting you to that cry-fest. I must look like a mess.”

He did not believe this strawberry-blond beauty was calling herself that. She could never look a mess. “Not at all,” he reassured her. Clearing his throat nervously, he added, “Speaking of 
Jerry
, of, um, first names … I’m—I’m Grant.”

She was about to introduce herself when a scruffy-looking man approached the door. He gave them a suspicious glance before knocking and entering the office, and the couple suddenly felt awkward conversing right outside their PO’s door.

“Want to take a walk?” Grant suggested, extending his arm toward the exit.

She nodded gratefully, and they strolled in amicable silence, emerging into the bright sunlight outside the courthouse.

Perching on one concrete stair, she extended her hand to him, and his long fingers enveloped her skin warmly. He glanced down at the silver rings on her delicate fingers, particularly attracted to the band on her forefinger. The unusual placement of the ring made her seem both tough and sophisticated.

She smiled pleasantly. “I’m Sophie.”

“Nice to finally know your name, Sophie.” He reluctantly released her hand. “I probably should have introduced myself before I attacked you with that hug earlier.”

Gazing into his eyes, shining in the sunlight, she confidently informed him, “It was exactly what I needed. You, um, you give great hugs.” More demurely, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Well, I owed you one after you warned me about our PO being a Cubs fan. If I’d worn that Sox jacket in there that day, who knows what would have happened … maybe those cops would have been coming for 
me
.”

Sophie grinned and reached into her bag to extract the jacket. “I think it’s about time I give this back to you.”

He took it from her gratefully. “M-maybe—” he stuttered, then ducked his head nervously before starting again. “Maybe we could go to a White Sox game together some time?”

He looked absolutely adorable when he was all anxious like that. Sophie shot him a bright grin. “I’d love that.”

Grant beamed. Enraptured by her beauty, he barely registered what she told him next. But when she sat on the steps, smoothing her skirt beneath her, he finally understood that she had asked him to sit with her. He eagerly folded his long, lean body next to hers.

They basked in the warm morning sun for a few moments before Grant inquired, “Why did those cops come for you today, if you don’t mind me asking?” Watching her react to his question with reddening cheeks and a dip of her head, he added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just wanted to know if there was something in particular I needed to avoid so I don’t return to prison myself.” He stared off into the distance. “I can’t go back there.”

“It’s okay,” Sophie said with a sigh. “The truth is I haven’t found a job yet. Jerry told me I would return to prison if I didn’t get a job in two weeks, and stupidly I decided to test him on his word.” Grant watched her rub her wrists absentmindedly.

“He handcuffed you?” Grant asked quietly, wrapped up in his own memories of cops and cuffs.

“Yes. I thought I was going back inside, for a whole year … I’m not sure I would have made it this time. But then I let it slip that my dad would probably hire me, and Jerry pounced on that. He told me if I got a job today from my father, he wouldn’t arrest me.”

Observing her face, Grant ventured, “I’m guessing you and your dad don’t get along so well?”

Sophie snapped her head toward him, meeting his concerned gaze. “How did you know?”

“I know it would have to be quite bad for you to risk going back to prison.”

“Really bad,” she said. “My dad pretty much hates me, and he hasn’t exactly been father of the year.”

Grant sighed. It seemed that they had something in common besides rooting for the Sox. “My dad and I don’t get along so great either.”

Sophie nodded sadly and then mused, “I bet most convicts come from awful family backgrounds. Long family histories of dysfunction … It’s like we never learned how to ‘get along’ in society, you know?”

Grant took in her comment and looked at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Not only was she attractive, but also intelligent and insightful. “Never really thought about it,” he admitted. “But ‘awful’ describes my family perfectly.”

Thinking about family dysfunction, Sophie’s thoughts drifted to her mother. Laura Taylor had been a high-maintenance, emotionally needy woman who could drive Sophie crazy with her controlling personality, but she still missed her deeply. At least her mother acted lovingly once in a while, in contrast to her father’s stern, cold demeanor. Feeling tears threaten once again, Sophie said, “Let’s not talk about our families. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.”

Tentatively she asked a question that had been troubling her since she first encountered Grant. “Um, why did you go to prison?”

Grant was quiet for a few moments. “Well, if we’re not talking about families, then I can’t really answer that.”

His gemstone eyes scorched her with an earnest intensity.

“Tell you what. Let’s make a pact, okay? No talking about family, about prison, about why we were inside, about how long our sentences were. No questions that cons might ask each other. No talking about the past. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather never think of the past again.”

Sophie nodded vigorously.

Grant continued to outline his plan. “We’re both trying to move forward, to rebuild our lives. Let’s focus only on the future.”

She continued to nod, secretly hoping this handsome man might somehow be part of her future.

“We’ll concentrate on the future—starting today with getting you a job.”

“Getting me a job?”

“Yep. C’mon, let’s go.”

Grant bounded down the stairs of the courthouse. Sophie stared after him. Should she follow? She didn’t even know him. A nagging voice in the back of her head urged her not to trust this con, this criminal, this delinquent.

But she was a criminal too. Would she want others to refuse to give her a chance because of one mistake? Would she want others never to trust her again? Taking a deep breath, she jogged down the steps and into the taxi Grant had hailed.

* * *

Grant paid the cabbie, and they stepped out at the Chicago River docks. Rays of sun bounced off the blue-green water in a dazzling array.

“You ever been on a Chicago architectural cruise?” Grant inquired.

“I always wanted to,” Sophie said. “But like most Chicago natives, I never got around to it.”

He grinned. “Here’s your chance then.” Grant stepped onto the deck gracefully and turned around, extending his hand and beckoning to her. She cautiously grasped his hand, and he guided her over the gunwale.

“Rog?” Grant called out. “Rog?”

“Well, hello,” Roger boomed as he emerged from the bridge, eyeing the blonde who had just walked onto his ship. He stood up a little taller and tried to suck in his gut as Grant brought her over.

“Roger Eaton, I’d like to introduce you to Sophie, um …”

“Taylor,” she supplied. “Sophie Taylor.”

Obviously smitten as he shook her hand, Roger said, “You must be the prettiest passenger we’ve ever had on one of our cruises.”

Sophie shot Grant a nervous glance and he interrupted. “Um, Rog? Sophie is not a passenger. She … well actually, she’s looking for a job on the ship. We, um, met outside our PO’s office, and I thought there might be an opening for a server on your cruise now that I’m doing navigation?”

“Madsen, what did I tell you about my business? About this ship?”

Grant cleared his throat. “Err, ‘It ain’t no fucking halfway house’?”

Sophie tried not to laugh as Roger confirmed, “Damn straight. You think just because you saved that kid’s life you’re now my goddamn human resources department?”

What was this about Grant saving a kid’s life? Sophie wanted details, but before she could open her mouth, Grant responded.

“No, sir. I thought it might be good for business to have a beautiful woman serving drinks on your cruises, that’s all.”

Oh God, the Adonis had just called her beautiful! Sophie couldn’t hide her pleasure, and there was a satisfied twinkle in Grant’s eye as he watched her react to his comment.

Roger caught their subtle flirting and gazed at Grant with a newfound respect. She was one hot chick, and the fact that she’d served time made her even more mysterious. He glanced back and forth from one parolee to another, considering whether or not to hire the broad.

“You ever worked as a server before?” he asked.

She paused. “Sort of. I used to serve meals at a homeless shelter.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “Madsen, you brought me Mother Fucking Teresa?”

“Hardly,” Sophie scoffed. “I doubt Mother Teresa was a convicted felon.”

“True that,” Roger agreed. “So, what other work experience do you have?”

“Um, not the kind that will be much help on a boat, I’m afraid.” She wondered if she should be truthful. After Grant gave her an encouraging nod, she confessed, “I don’t have much job experience because I was in school for a long time, um, studying to become a psychologist.”

Rog’s eyes bugged out. “A psychologist?” A huge grin erupted on his face. “You got yourself one smart chick here, Madsen. She’s waaaay out of your league, sailor boy.”

Grant was too absorbed in Sophie’s apparent discomfort to take umbrage at his boss’ insult. He held his breath, eagerly anticipating the conclusion of this job interview/interrogation.

Still grinning, Roger mused, “Hmm, a psychologist. Can you hook Madsen up with some sleep medication then? The boy doesn’t sleep real well.”

This last jab did not sit well with Grant, and his mouth dropped open in protest. “I can’t sleep because of your snoring! It would wake a man from a 
coma
!”

“Oh, it’s not that bad!” Roger argued.

“I was a psychologist, not a psychiatrist,” Sophie jumped in. “I did not prescribe meds. I did therapy.” She blushed as she concluded, “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I lost my license when I went to prison.”

Grant watched shame and disappointment color her cheeks. She had experienced many recent losses too, just like him: career, family, and dignity, to name a few. Attempting to lighten the mood, Roger countered dubiously, “I don’t know about having a shrink around all the time. Are you analyzing me right now?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. She had despised telling people her profession because they would invariably make some inane comment about their own mental health, or in Roger’s case, their apparent mental illness.

“How original,” Sophie snidely remarked. “No, I’m not analyzing you. It would take a whole team of shrinks to figure out your crazy ass, and I simply don’t have the time or energy.”

Taken aback, Roger scrutinized her carefully.

“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve seen him speechless,” Grant observed. “Nice work, Sophie.”

He turned to his boss. “You’ve made her suffer long enough, sir. Are you giving her the job or what?”

Roger exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand across his bald head. After a few agonizing moments in which Grant and Sophie exchanged anxious glances, the boss finally relented. “Shift starts in thirty minutes. Eleven to eight.”

“Oh!” Sophie replied worriedly. “Thank you so much, Roger, but is it okay if I start tomorrow? I have an appointment I have to attend today at noon.”

“What kind of appointment?” he asked suspiciously.

Finding Grant staring curiously at her as well, Sophie gulped. “Therapy. My PO is forcing me to see a psychologist once a week.”

“A shrink gotta go see another shrink, huh?” Roger scratched his chin. “Are you gonna be late to work every Wednesday then?”

“Oh, no, sir, I can ask for an earlier appointment in the future. It’s just too late to reschedule it now, and I have to make my session or I’m going back to prison.”

Roger turned to Grant. “Did your PO force you to go to therapy too? You never mentioned that before.”

Grant looked down and jammed his hands into his jean pockets, murmuring, “No, no therapy for me.”