On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “I studied hard.” She pressed her lips together. “I did good in English…at school. My father told me I could be an international businessman one day.”

  “You could still get into international business.”

  “No. Too late.” She looked down. “I came here instead.”

  “Why?”

  Her sigh was heavy. “My uncle…he works for Vladimir. In Russia. They told him Andrei liked me. They wanted me to come here.”

  “Surely you could’ve said no?”

  “Does not work that way.” She grimaced.

  His stomach clenched. “How does it work?”

  She paused and sat up, seeming to listen for something. But there was only silence. “It was the only way to keep my uncle safe—if I came here. Or else they killed him.”

  His eyes tapered into slits.

  “But it’s fine. Like I said, Andrei is nice to me. He only beats me when I’m stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid—it’s not your fault. You deserve better.”

  She blinked up at him. “I know the real you, Mick. You’re kind. You’re good. You’re not like them.” She shivered, clutching the blanket.

  He kneeled by the mattress, frowning. “I’m not good.” Grant looked down. “I’ve done bad things. I’ve killed a man.”

  “Then he must have been a bad man.”

  He swallowed. “He was part of my family. My cousin.”

  Her recoil confirmed the disgust he felt inside. Who was he kidding, trying to put Vladimir and Andrei behind bars? He was no different from his father. Then he remembered Sophie’s words. “You’re not like them. You’re my McSailor.”

  A soft touch made him smile, thinking of Bonnie, before he realized it was Innochka’s hand stroking his face. The touch of a mobster’s girlfriend. He leaped back, still crouched on his feet.

  Her eyes got bigger. “What’s wrong? It’s okay. I don’t judge you for killing this man. I know you had to do it.” She reached out again to touch his face, and he leaned back some more.

  “No, Innochka. You’re with Andrei.”

  “He doesn’t have to know.” Her lips curled into a sexy smile.

  His heart pounded. “No. It’s not right.”

  Her smile widened. “You are even more cute when you’re scared.” She rose to her knees, letting the blanket slide off her shoulders.

  His jaw dropped when she lunged for his collar and drew his mouth to hers.

  “Stop!” He pushed back from her, rising and stepping away until his back was flush with the wall. Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Innochka, but that can’t happen between us.”

  “You think I’m filthy,” she cried, gathering the blanket around her again. “I’m stupid.”

  “No.” He took a small step forward. “You’re so pretty. You’re very sweet. But you’re Andrei’s girl.”

  “He does not even like me,” she moaned. “He just likes to order me around. He treats me like a dog.”

  “You tell him I take care of your mother?” Andrei roared, bursting into the room. “I take care of you too! You want for nothing.”

  Both Grant and Innochka jumped. How long had he been listening?

  “This how you thank me? You whore!” He whirled back and slapped her face. “I leave for short time, and you kiss him?”

  Holy Jesus. Thank God he’d pushed her away. He was now coiled like a spring, ready to restrain Andrei if he tried another assault. The sound of his hand smacking her face resonated in his mind.

  She crawled to the back of the mattress, huddling in the far corner and cradling her cheek in her hand. “Sorry! I was so cold, and he gave me a blanket…”

  “Give to me, now.” His voice was icier than the air in the room.

  Innochka peeled off the quilt with shaking hands and shoved it off the mattress onto the floor. This time she folded her arms across her chest, covering her breasts.

  The Russian’s eyes shone like an oil spill as he unbuckled his belt.

  “Please,” Innochka whimpered.

  He whipped the belt out of its loops. “On your stomach,” he growled. “I teach who you kiss. Who you fuck.”

  Grant stopped breathing. He was barely aware of Innochka’s moans as she slid down the mattress to obey her boyfriend.

  Andrei glared at him. “Leave us.”

  But he stayed put. He couldn’t let this happen.

  “I say, leave!”

  “Don’t hit her.” Grant swallowed as he locked eyes with Andrei. “She did nothing wrong.”

  Andrei’s face reddened, and his eyes bulged. He bounded right up to him, and Grant did his best not to step back. “You not tell me what to do, Saylor! You want bullet in head? Swim with the ublyudok in river?”

  He held fast. He’d recognized the Russian word and wondered who the bastard in the river was. Had they just killed a man and thrown him in the river? Would he be next? Think, he ordered himself. “You kill me, you lose your money.”

  “Fuck the money!” Andrei’s chest heaved.

  “Please,” Innochka begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Andrei whipped his head around to stare at her. “Suka.” He launched into Russian too fast to understand, but Grant assumed it was an elaboration on the insult Andrei had started with: bitch.

  “Please,” she said again, tears tracking mascara down her blotchy cheeks. “He was just being n-n-nice to me.”

  Andrei drew his right arm back, the belt flying behind him.

  Innochka moaned. “Please don’t beat me.” Grant was about to lunge for the belt when Andrei halted. His arm slowly lowered, leaving the belt hanging limp at his side.

  “Not worry, ’Nochka,” he said, looking at Grant. “I will not beat you.”

  Her sobs turned into shaky whimpers of relief.

  Andrei moved toward Grant and offered him the belt. “He will.”

  “What?”

  “I see you look at her,” Andrei accused. “You know I outside door so you not let her kiss you.”

  “No!” How do I reason with a mobster? “I know she’s yours. I don’t want her.”

  “Prove it.” Andrei forced the belt into Grant’s hand.

  As his palm curled around the cold metal of the buckle, Grant realized his mouth was still hanging open. Staring at Andrei, he pressed his lips together. Here was the test of loyalty he’d known would come.

  Andrei grunted and gestured toward Innochka.

  “No,” Grant said, swallowing bile. “I can’t.”

  Andrei’s eyes clouded. “Beat her now. Prove you will not fuck like rabbits the second I turn my back.”

  “I won’t become involved in this sick game.”

  Andrei glided toward him. Vladimir exuded pure strength, but Andrei was smooth and slick. He was like Carlo, only more lethal. His hand snaked to the back of his waist beneath his suit jacket, where Grant knew he’d concealed a gun.

  “Do it or die.”

  All he could hear was the thud of his heartbeat. He felt cold sweat trickle down his back. He dared take his eyes off Andrei to look down at Innochka, who huddled in a trembling heap on the mattress. There was an angry red mark on her left cheek where Andrei had hit her, and there would be more marks on her if he carried through with this task.

  With a sniff, she rolled over and tucked her body into the mattress, lying belly-down. She rested her forehead on the cloth and threaded her hands together on the back of her neck. Soft sobs escaped.

  What would happen if he refused? They’d likely beat him instead. He could deal with that, but not with the evaporation of their trust. The FBI would be furious. If the Russians let him live—and that was a big if—they’d never let him inside again. And what if they killed him? Without the chance to say goodbye to Sophie? To Joe? To Ben? His heart seized up, making it hard to breathe.

  Innochka trembling on the mattress reminded him of his mother cringing before his father hit her. He knew what he had to do.

  He threw the belt on the floor. Shoulders back,
he met Andrei’s glare. “My father beat my mother. I promised myself I’d never hit a woman after that. And I won’t start now.” Andrei’s eyes widened as he straightened from his attack pose. The man looked almost sad for a moment. What was that about? “I won’t become a coward like my father.”

  There was a quick shift in Andrei’s demeanor, and his eyes narrowed. “You call me coward?” He shook his head. “Your funeral.”

  He remembered Andrei had mentioned a funeral at the poker game. Only this was no game. Would Andrei pull out his gun now?

  Andrei charged him and smashed a hard fist into his cheek, but Grant retaliated with a sharp blow to his gut. When Andrei bent over and groaned, Grant shoved him into a wall. The house shook from the impact, and Innochka screamed.

  Undeterred, Andrei seemed to bounce off the hideous maroon wallpaper and attacked him again, this time going for his kidneys. Grunting, Grant unleashed a backhand across Andrei’s head, sending him reeling to the side. Grant thought he’d gained an advantage until a moving mass zoomed from the doorway into his left side, slamming him across the room. He landed on the floor, dazed from the blow. It felt like a slab of rock had just plowed into him, and he looked up at the looming shadow to realize the bodyguard had joined the fight.

  Wonderful.

  Once the ringing in his ears faded, he heard gruff voices jawing in Russian. Through the gap in the bodyguard’s tree-trunk legs hovering over him, he could see that Vladimir had arrived. The don gestured to Innochka as he scowled.

  “Get up,” Vladimir ordered, and Grant realized he was talking to him. He ignored the bodyguard’s menacing sneer and peeled himself off the floor.

  Vladimir glowered at him. “Why you attack my man?”

  His eyebrows shot up. Interesting revisionist history.

  “He not to be trusted,” Andrei spat.

  As Grant’s cheek throbbed, he was glad to see a bruise forming on Andrei’s temple.

  Suddenly Vladimir had Grant pinned against the wall, a meaty paw pressed into his throat. So the don was strong and fast. “Informant?” Vladimir hissed. “Work for police?”

  He struggled for air through his compressed windpipe. “No,” he choked out.

  “You try take us down?” Vladimir said. His black eyes glistened.

  Where the hell was the FBI to break up this little party? Was his mic still working? Black spots crowded his vision, and he wondered how many seconds of consciousness he had left. He gasped, “No, sir.”

  Vladimir tilted his head, stared at him for a few long moments, then let him go.

  It was a long way down to the floor, and he stayed crumpled there for several seconds, gasping for air. He saw muddy leather shoes step up to him. “You in American military?” Vladimir asked.

  After he coughed, he looked up at him. He finally nodded, feigning reluctance to answer. “Navy. I got kicked out.”

  A small smile bled across Vladimir’s face.

  Andrei sidled up to his boss. “Why you get kicked out?”

  He looked down again. “Too much gambling.”

  Andrei laughed. “This I believe, singer boy. You worst card player I see.”

  “Come.” Vladimir grabbed Grant’s collar and yanked him to his feet. “We talk business.”

  As Vladimir headed out the door, Andrei asked, “What about ’Nochka?”

  Vladimir turned. “Not now.” He barked to the bodyguard in Russian, something about getting Innochka some clothes. “We have business. Important. Mr. Navy Saylor help us with business.”

  Grant didn’t even glance at Innochka as he followed Vladimir out of the room with Andrei close on his six. But relief flooded him. Apparently they’d found another way to test his loyalty. To hide the tremor in his hands, he shoved them in his pockets.

  ***

  Sophie jarred awake. With one ear still pressed into the pillow, she listened to the darkness of Kirsten’s bedroom for a few seconds, but heard nothing. Just as she closed her eyes, the bedroom door hinges creaked.

  Shooting up in bed, her heart raced. Then she made out a tall silhouette in the doorway.

  “Why aren’t you on the sofa?” Grant whispered.

  She clutched her collarbone, letting out her panicked breath. “Kir’s at her parents this weekend. She said I could sleep here.”

  “Oh.” He also let out a slow breath. “When I didn’t see you out there, I thought…”

  “What did you think?”

  He came to her, and she could see the fear in his shining eyes. “I…” He hesitated for a moment, then scooped her into a fierce hug. She melted into him, and it felt so good to be cradled in his strong arms. But tension radiated from his body.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” When he didn’t answer, she offered, “Carlo’s dead. Your father’s locked up. I’m safe now—you don’t need to worry.”

  “I know.”

  His grip didn’t loosen at all.

  “Did you make a mistake tonight? Is Agent Bounter mad?”

  “No.” He sighed. “He said I played it just right. We meet tomorrow to plan the next move.”

  “Good.” She smoothed circles on his back, feeling the muscles beneath his dress shirt. “What happened, then?”

  He was silent for almost a minute, then finally relaxed into her. She closed her eyes and felt the weight of his troubles pressing into her body.

  He leaned back and skated his fingertips from her temple to chin with the softest of touches. Then she noticed the shadow of a bruise on his cheek.

  “Where—?”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Before she could respond, his mouth found hers. The kiss started as a gentle brush of lips, a warm feather of air settling over her skin. She inhaled his light scent of sandalwood. He hovered over her lips, and she felt the slight tug of his long fingers sliding through her hair. When she could wait no longer and leaned in to kiss him back, his pressure deepened, his touch more urgent. Desperation now pressed into these kisses, hard and burning. She clutched him to her chest as his mouth melded to hers.

  She didn’t know why he needed her right then, but she was there. She’d always be there—listening to his anguish, taking his pain. He’s been through so much.

  She prayed he’d make it out of this assignment alive.

  9. Confide

  THE NEXT DAY, Sophie smiled from the doorway as Tanya Mitchell scowled at her laptop.

  “This makes no freaking sense!” the assistant professor muttered. Her headshake swayed her gargantuan gold hoop earrings.

  “You need help,” Sophie said.

  Tanya swiveled to look at her. “I hate statistics,” she whined.

  “Me too.” Sophie pulled a chair around behind the desk to sit next to her friend.

  “But you’re good at it,” Tanya noted.

  “Hardly. I mean, Anita’s taught me a lot, but I’d much rather do therapy than research.”

  Tanya’s face clouded, and Sophie feared she’d made the woman uncomfortable by bringing up her lost psychologist’s license. She’d disclosed her sordid past to Tanya over a month ago, and not surprisingly she’d been horrified about Logan’s role in the mess. Less predictably, Tanya had been completely forgiving of her ethical breach. She’d said she admired Sophie for bouncing back from prison. Tanya said she could understand how she’d fallen for Logan if he was half as cute as Grant.

  “So what’s stumping you?” Sophie asked, gesturing to the computer. “You said the regression analyses don’t make sense?”

  “Nice try changing the subject. Have you thought about petitioning the board to get your license back?”

  “The Illinois Psychology Board won’t reinstate a convicted felon, Dr. Mitchell.”

  “But the governor pardoned you.”

  She looked down. “I don’t think that matters. I’m sure the board won’t reissue my license because they think I’ll exploit a client again.”

  “So they’ll order you to get supervision or something. If you love counseling
so much, you have to at least try. What do you have to lose?”

  Heaving a loud sigh, she continued staring at her lap. “All sense of dignity. Can you imagine what it’d be like to go up in front of the board?” She looked at Tanya. “To face a bunch of old men who’ve been psychologists forever? What am I supposed to tell them? ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I slept with my client. Sorry for my out-of-control libido. I’ll never let it happen again.’ It would be intensely mortifying for them to judge my sexual behavior…to judge me.”

  Tanya said nothing, but just as Sophie grabbed a printout of statistical analyses she added, “The judgment of board members isn’t what’s bothering you. It’s your judgment that’s the problem. You’re way too harsh. You still haven’t forgiven yourself.”

  “Ugh. Why do you have to be so damn intuitive?” Sophie asked after a moment.

  Tanya grinned.

  “You’re the one who should be doing therapy,” Sophie added.

  “Honestly?” Tanya sat back in her chair. “Therapy is way too stressful. I couldn’t wait for my internship to end so I could get back to teaching and research. How do you sleep at night after hearing clients tell you horrifying stories?” She shuddered. “It’s not for me.”

  “It was stressful at times, I admit. And my own therapist has helped me understand that I took on too much responsibility for my clients, and that made me anxious. But now I see I don’t have to make change happen—I just have to let it happen. The few times I was able to trust my clients to figure out their own answers, therapy was really fun.”

  “Even more reason to pursue your license.”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, I still think you should try. But if you don’t, you’re in a good place. Research is a blast!”

  “Except for statistics?” Sophie asked.

  Tanya’s smile vanished. “Yeah. The damn statistics.”

  Sophie handed her the printout.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. You know how I split the sample into the top third and the lowest third in terms of how much they’d adapted to American culture?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Well, my hypothesis was that the most Americanized students would seek counseling more frequently than the group that held to their culture of origin.”