On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  He elbowed her. “You know what I mean. Lucky for me my mom’s got shitty insurance, or that’d be me too.”

  “Why isn’t Nick here watching your meet?”

  His grin faded. “His dad won’t let him speak to me anymore.”

  “Oh. That must be rough, losing your friend over this.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve seen that happen sometimes,” she said. “Parents get scared when their child has a problem, and they blame their kid’s friends. But it’s not like you made Nick join you, did you?”

  “No. He was into it all on his own. He thought it made him cool.”

  “Is that why you did it? To make you look cool?”

  After a moment, he shook his head. “Nah. I’m already cool.”

  She laughed a little too loudly, and when a parent glared at her, she shrunk down. After the last diver executed a twisting nightmare, she straightened her spine. It wasn’t like the crowd’s silence helped the divers anyway. Normal crowd chatter resumed as the lifeguards dragged the lane markers back into place for last few races.

  “I wasn’t trying to be cool,” he said, continuing their conversation. “I was mad at my dad, and I was trying to get his attention.”

  “I see.” She marveled at his insight. “Seems like you’re getting a lot out of your sessions with Dr. Hayes. So, uh, did it work then? Did it get Logan’s attention?”

  “Yeah.” His teeth trapped his lower lip. “Sometimes I wish…I still had it.”

  A lump lodged in her throat. “Me too. You deserved a lot more of his attention than you got.”

  “Hey, Benji boy!”

  They looked up to see Dylan climbing the stands. The boy’s build was more like a football player than a swimmer.

  “Coach said you’re in the free relay,” Dylan said.

  “What? Why?”

  He grinned and gestured to the locker room. “Yoshi’s in there puking his guts out. You gotta take his place.”

  “Gross.” Ben made a face. “I told him not to eat in the school cafeteria.”

  “I know, right?” Dylan smirked. “Thanks for scoring some pizza for me.”

  “No probs.” Ben turned to Sophie. “You can tell Grant pizza’s always welcome at my house.”

  “Yeah, tell him, Sophie,” Dylan urged as he patted his belly. “We’s growin’ boys.”

  “You got nothin’ to worry about, Dyl. Olivia brings you lunch every day anyway.”

  He turned around to find his girlfriend across the pool. “Isn’t she awesome? I better go check on my woman. Later, guys.”

  Ben scooped up his goggles and towel.

  “You know, Grant used to try to push me away because he didn’t think he was good enough for me. But I didn’t let him. It’s my decision who I want to be with.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Maybe Lindsay doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  “I don’t have a chance with her.”

  “Then it’s her loss.”

  He made a sound of disgust as he stood. “Are you staying for the relay?”

  “Of course. And I’ll tell Grant about the pizza.”

  He paused. “Maybe…maybe you could tell him about the other thing too?”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “The selling drugs thing.” He tossed his towel over his shoulder and played with his goggles. “I might not get to talk to him for a while, and I don’t want it hanging over my head. Would you tell him?”

  “I think it’d be better if you told him yourself, but I get how hard it can be to talk with him these days. I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The announcer called the breaststrokers to the block.

  “Sophie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for being here.”

  “You bet, Ben Barberi.”

  13. Conduct Unbecoming

  WHY DID IT HAVE to be the same bar?

  From the passenger seat of Vladimir’s black Mercedes, Grant eyed the faded brown siding and neon sign of the bar located a block from the naval base: the scene of his crimes, past and present. The seedy ambience and uniformed patrons entering the bar were the same as the night he and Logan had sat in this very parking lot. But so many other things had changed.

  This time it was Andrei seated next to him instead of his brother.

  This time he pocketed the offered gun with cool professionalism instead of shaking hands.

  This time the authorities pushed him to commit the crime instead of waiting to arrest him afterward.

  “Has dark face and two chins,” Andrei said as he gestured to the bar entrance.

  “The man I’m meeting has a double chin?”

  He nodded.

  “Will he be in uniform?”

  “Do not know. No uniform first meeting.” He shrugged. “He will take you out to back for exchange.”

  “He will?” Grant frowned. “Was the first meeting here? At this bar?”

  Andrei’s eyes tapered into slits. “Why you ask?”

  “Because there’s a private room in the basement—I’m guessing that’s where we’ll go for the exchange.”

  “Ah. Then first meeting was in different place.” He grinned. “You know bar from Navy days, da? That is why we use you for this.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Smart.” His grin vanished. “You return with money missing, you not so smart.” He patted his heart, where Grant knew he kept his weapon under his jacket. “You dead.”

  Grant nodded, ignoring the flip of his stomach. “Understood.” He looked at the messenger bag Andrei held in his lap. “And if this goes down smoothly, Mr. Federov will forgive my debt?”

  “Not if, when. When this goes down smooth, Vladimir knock down your debt.” He winked. “There is never forgive in our world.”

  It was a world Grant knew well. He waited in silence until Andrei finally handed over the bag.

  “Stay off the ice,” he warned.

  Grant glanced out the window—the unexpected warm-up earlier that day had melted the snow. Then he realized Andrei was talking about the drugs inside the bag.

  “Is possible we have man inside watch you,” he added.

  “I’ll remember that,” he said as he exited the car into a blast of cold air.

  He entered the crowded building and maneuvered his way to the bar. As he waited behind a pair of women also trying to snag the bartender’s attention, he unwrapped the blue/gray striped scarf Sophie had given him for Christmas. His eyes floated over the men seated around the square bar, but failed to locate his target (or the Russians’ hired baby-sitter, if Andrei was telling the truth). Fortunately Agent Bounter had shown him FBI photos of the officers suspected in the drug ring, which gave him more to go on than Andrei’s vague physical description.

  “See anything you like?” the woman in front of him asked her friend.

  As she shook her head, her black hair swayed. “Nope. We need some fresh blood in this place.” A second later, she looked behind her. Then her head whipped back around so fast her friend couldn’t help but notice. She too turned to look, her eyes first scanning his face then zooming in on his crotch and resting there for several moments. He squirmed, wondering if his fly was unzipped.

  She turned back to face the bar and leaned in to whisper to her friend. Fantastic. The last thing he needed was more attention tonight. Just as Long Black Hair seemed about to ask him a question, he stepped to his left and weaved his way to the other side of the bar. He lucked out by reaching a barstool just as a seaman slid off, and sighed as he took a seat. He unbuttoned his coat but left the messenger bag strapped across his chest. He now had a view of the pool table over in the corner. Right away he made eye contact with a man taking a swig from his beer bottle. When the man set down the bottle, Grant noticed his full face and buzzed brown hair. Bingo. Lt. Mitchell Jernigan’s stocky build wouldn’t last long if he kept using meth.

  He sensed someone’s presence
and found the harried bartender giving him an expectant look. His heart thundered, as he had no idea what to order. “Tequila, on the rocks,” somehow slid out of his mouth. Sophie had joined him tonight whether she knew it or not.

  “Double?” the bartender asked.

  “Uh, sure.”

  Nodding, the bartender seized the tequila bottle by its neck and had it flipped over a glass of ice in no time. The pour kept going, and Grant gulped as the double shot glass slid in front of him. The bartender gave him another expectant look, and he realized the man had already told him the exorbitant price of the drink. Money exchanged hands, and the entire process had taken less than thirty seconds.

  It seemed the game of pool had also been swift, as the lieutenant now handed over some cash to one of his buddies—his frown an easy indication of who’d lost the game. He chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle down on the pool table. Then he glared at Grant for a second before heading down the stairs.

  Grant stared at the golden liquid in the tumbler. No time to nurse this drink—duty called. He pictured the flecks of gold in Sophie’s eyes and downed the double shot in two long sips. Before the bartender could return to refill his glass, he slunk over to the old-fashioned jukebox. Still no sign of any Russian thugs monitoring him. He flipped through the selections for what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, then ducked down the staircase.

  When he reached the bottom step, his spine tingled with the memory of Captain Lockhart staring him down, seeming to know something was wrong, blocking the staircase…

  He reached into his coat pocket and brushed the cool metal of the gun.

  “It’ll be okay,” Logan had promised. “You’re a Barberi. You’re Dad’s son. This stuff runs in our blood.”

  He would give anything to be another man’s son.

  “Vwe poteryalees?” came a voice from the dark hallway, jolting him back to the present. Impressive Russian from an American lieutenant.

  Silently translating the Russian words, Grant took a second to ponder the question. Was he lost? No, unfortunately not. He wished he was and could turn around to go home. Wherever home was these days. “No. I know exactly where I am,” he told the darkness. “I’m here to meet a friend.”

  Lt. Jernigan emerged from the hallway, dressed in black. “I was waiting for someone too.” He glanced at Grant’s bag. “But it’s not clear if he’s a friend.”

  “The Russian told you I used to be a lieutenant, right?”

  Jernigan gave the slightest of nods but continued to glare.

  How could he prove his Navy background? He looked over his shoulder—the stairwell was still empty. “You better watch out for article one-twelve-A, Louie.”

  After a moment, Jernigan nodded. “You’re probably right. Come with me.”

  He matched his stride. As they headed down the hallway, a raucous cheer from the bar descended through the floor. The lieutenant stopped, and Grant did too. A second later they heard the opening notes of “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feeling.” Someone had cranked the jukebox to an epic volume.

  “Fucking Tom Cruise,” Jernigan muttered as he resumed his way down the hall. “As if that tool could ever be a flyboy.”

  “True that. About being an aviator—do you speak from experience?” Grant asked.

  He hesitated. “No.” He gave Grant the onceover. “So what’d you do?”

  “Ops on bird farms.”

  “Which ops?”

  Grant stroked the gun in his pocket and surprised himself by grinning. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “A fucking spook…and you’re quoting that horrible movie.” Jernigan groaned. He entered a code into the lighted security pad next to a door at the end of the hall, and Grant made a big show of looking away. He wondered if they’d changed the code since he’d broken into the room to recover Logan’s lost money.

  Once inside, Jernigan sized him up. “I’m surprised they discharged you with all the dirt you had on them.”

  “I gathered intelligence on the enemy, not the US.”

  “Right.” Jernigan grinned.

  “Andrei told you about my discharge, huh?”

  “I told him I didn’t trust him. Something ain’t right with that Pinko.”

  Seemed like Jernigan was a good judge of character. Grant was surprised at how much he liked him. But first impressions weren’t everything.

  “I told him the only way this deal goes down is with someone I trust,” Jernigan said. “Someone who fights on the same side as me—not some Commie bastard.”

  “You said that to Andrei? You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” He smirked. “So…let’s see it.”

  Grant kept his eyes on the lieutenant as he opened the bag and extracted a baggie filled with crystal meth. He shook the baggie to let a couple of rocks spill out onto the table.

  Jernigan’s dark eyes gleamed as he reached for one. He held the rock up to the light and rubbed it.

  “It’ll light you up like a surface to air missile,” Grant offered.

  Jernigan shook his head. “I don’t use. This shit will put holes in your brain.”

  “Oh.”

  “This…” Jernigan held up the rock. “That’s what they got you on? The one-twelve-A?”

  “No. That shit will put holes in your brain. My discharge was article one thirty-three.”

  “One thirty-three…” He scratched his head. “And which conduct of yours wasn’t so becoming?”

  Grant stayed quiet.

  “The Navy kicked you out…but the Russkies got you now, don’t they? You’re still working the same crimes that got you discharged?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why do you fucking care?” He hoped he’d drummed up appropriate anger. Apparently his attempt at looking murderous was successful. Jernigan took a step back.

  “Hey, man, you don’t have to tell me. I just wondered what I’m looking at if things go FUBAR…if I get caught or something.” He looked down. “If I live that long.”

  Grant studied him. “You’re in deep.”

  Jernigan said nothing.

  “You owe someone a lot of money.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  He cleared his throat. “From experience. The conduct unbecoming charge…it was for gambling. I was a gambling addict.”

  “Was?”

  He snorted. “Yeah, guess past tense isn’t so accurate. You got me pegged, dude.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Jernigan admitted.

  Jesus Christ. He’d figured his easy rapport with the lieutenant had been about their military service, but now he realized Mitch Jernigan, gambling addict, was his brother all over again. He couldn’t get away from Logan.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Grant said. “They’re waiting for me.”

  Jernigan nodded. “Me too. I’m supposed to make sure you have the right amount.”

  “Thirty eight-balls,” he replied, scooping up the sample and stuffing it back in the bag. He opened the bag so Jernigan could see inside. “And I need to make sure you have the right amount too.”

  “I have it ready for you.” Jernigan crossed the room and paused in front of a black safe on the floor. “Move over here, where I can see you.”

  Grant shrugged and moved into to Jernigan’s line of vision before the man kneeled down to spin the safe’s combination. The hideous dogs-playing-poker painting still hung on the wall, but apparently the safe was no longer tucked behind it. Or perhaps this was Jernigan’s private stash.

  From the safe, Jernigan pulled his own messenger bag and set it on the table. He removed a bundle of twenties and slid off the rubber band. Each bill stacked on top of another as he counted them off. Then he gathered them back into the rubber band and stuffed the bundle in the bag. “There’re twenty bundles in here.”

  Grant lifted the strap of his bag over his head, and they made an even exchange. “These bills better not be marked,” he war
ned.

  Jernigan glared back. “And this better be quality rock.”

  They stared at each other for a few tense moments, then burst out laughing.

  “We make horrible criminals,” Jernigan said, shaking his head.

  Grant’s smile faded. “Maybe we should stop trying so hard.”

  Jernigan leaned down to stuff the methamphetamine into the safe. “It’s too late for me. But maybe you can get out?”

  “I don’t think the Russians will just let me go. Once the Mafia gets you, you never get out.” Logan’s words mocked him from the grave. “You’re a Barberi. This stuff runs in our blood.”

  “You’re probably right. C’mon, I’ll show you the back way out.”

  “The back way out?” Why the hell hadn’t he known about that three years ago? He would’ve never gotten arrested!

  “Yeah, right here,” Jernigan said as he led them out the door, yanked it closed, then stopped in the darkened hallway.

  Grant pulled the bag’s strap over his head and across his chest, and in the dark he made out the faint outline of a door. Damn it—he wished he’d seen that when the captain had thwarted his exit on the stairwell. He’d have never gone to Gurnee.

  Oh. But then he’d never have met Sophie.

  If he had to do it all over again, would he have left Captain Lockhart on the stairwell and hustled to this exit instead?

  No. He would’ve served a ten-year sentence if it meant bringing Sophie into his life. If only he could make it up to the captain somehow, though. Hopefully this operation would stem the flow of bad blood between them…but there was still a lot that could go wrong.

  Jernigan pressed the emergency exit door handle, and Grant almost reached out to stop him. But there was no alarm when it clicked open. Grant peeked out the door and saw a patch of night sky at the top of the shadowed stairwell—the perfect place for one of Jernigan’s buddies to hide and attack him.

  He patted the strap of the messenger bag as he studied Jernigan for one long moment. “There’s nobody waiting up there to ambush me, is there?”

  Jernigan tried to hide his look of surprise with a grin. “Nope. Wish I’d planned that, though.”