On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  “Mr. Barberi,” Vladimir began as he sank into the chair. Andrei stood off to the side, his eyes cold and hard. “Do not look good for you.”

  “What?” He willed his body to stop shaking.

  “Tell him,” Vladimir commanded.

  Andrei glared at him. “Everyone know Barberi empire dead. We no buy Barberi business—you pay us to take business off hands.”

  “That’s not true!” Grant protested. “My father still has contracts in place…money’s still coming in.”

  “Good,” Vladimir said. “He will need money. He will pay to get you back.”

  Grant’s mouth already hung open—it had become difficult to close as the night wore on. “No, he won’t!” He winced from the pain of speaking. “My father hates me, and I hate him. It’s his fault I have this gambling problem.” He paused, realizing he was channeling Logan. Logan had blamed their father for all of his faults, and that lack of self-reliance had gotten him killed.

  “You offer business proposal,” said Andrei. “We negotiate. No money in buy business. But good money in sell you. We sell you back to your father.”

  “No!” His heart seized with fear. His father would jump at the chance to tell the Russians he worked for the FBI—a perfect revenge for keeping him stuck in prison. “He’ll deny he sent me here! It would make him look weak.”

  Vladimir shook his head. “We see.” He nudged the empty bucket with his boot and looked up at Andrei. “Try wake him up,” he ordered, pointing at Mullens. “We check his story with what Mick say.”

  Grant swallowed, tasting blood.

  23. Concessions

  SOPHIE’S HANDS SHOOK so badly she had to sit on them to hide her fear. It had taken every psychological ploy she possessed to convince Jerry and Marilyn to agree to this, and she didn’t want to provide a reason to back out now.

  Parole Officer Jerry Stone gripped the steering wheel. “It’s starting to snow.”

  Ahead in the darkness, wisps of white shone in the headlights.

  “Be careful, Jer,” Marilyn said from the passenger seat.

  Jiggling her leg against the backseat, she clenched her jaw. Traffic out of the city had already slowed their progress north, and every minute lost was another opportunity for the Russians to kill Grant. “Hurry, Jerry.”

  “Pipe down, Taylor,” he growled. “Your dad would kill me if I got us into an accident. He already busted my balls for agreeing to drive you on this harebrained stunt.”

  She groaned. “Don’t remind me.” She could still hear her father’s shouts roaring in the FBI office.

  “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve heard yet!” he’d thundered. “You’re putting yourself right in the path of a murderer!”

  “He’ll be in a cage, Dad,” she’d said.

  “Haven’t he and his—his ilk—hurt you enough?”

  “Grant’s not ilk…he’s my fiancé!”

  Mesmerized by the flakes of snow that disappeared once they hit the highway, she sighed. How could she stand by and do nothing? If Enzo had something to do with the Russians holding Grant—anything—she had to try to get it out of him. Sure, Enzo had stonewalled Marilyn and the FBI agent when they’d interrogated him earlier. But she refused to give up.

  When the headlights illuminated a road sign, her heartbeat galloped. Gurnee was only two short miles away.

  “If Enzo is involved,” Marilyn mused, staring out the passenger window, “this might work.”

  Sophie scooted forward. “Really?”

  “I thought he didn’t tell you anything,” Jerry said.

  Marilyn rubbed her cheek. “He didn’t. But when we showed him those photos…”

  “What photos?” Sophie demanded.

  “Crime scene photos.” Marilyn hesitated. “Of other men likely killed by the Russians. Well, mutilated might be the better word for it, really.”

  Sophie collapsed back in her seat.

  “Nice job, Mar,” Jerry said.

  “Sorry, Sophie. But when we showed those photos…I swear Barberi flinched. Agent Powers didn’t see it, but I did. I think Barberi may have experienced a millisecond of emotion there…maybe remorse.”

  A millisecond was better than nothing, Sophie thought. Perhaps she could build on that.

  Five minutes later, a corrections officer let them through a back entrance to Gurnee State Penitentiary. The first thing she noticed was the assaulting stench. She’d thought Downers Grove had smelled bad, but female prisoners could never compete with this. Her nose burned with imminent tears when she thought of Grant spending more than two years in this wretched place. Keep it together. She forced a swallow as her eyes took in the grimy dark stone.

  “Let’s see some ID,” the CO ordered. Marilyn and Jerry flipped open their badges, and she offered her Illinois driver’s license. Thank God the words Registered Offender no longer appeared on it.

  The CO’s eyebrow went to the ceiling as he returned the license. “You’re the one talking to Barberi, Ms. Taylor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s Dr. Taylor,” Marilyn corrected.

  Sophie jumped when a loud buzz accompanied the barred door sliding open. Once they were through, the CO pointed and said, “This way to visitation.”

  “Oh,” Marilyn said. “We’re not heading to an attorney conference room?”

  “That was for you guys,” he explained. “Warden wants Barberi in the cage to talk to the civilian.”

  Marilyn nodded.

  “The cage is in the visitor’s area,” the CO said. “Let’s go.”

  Sophie watched the group walk away from her. “Wait!”

  They turned, and Jerry gave her an exasperated look. She cleared her throat. “I want to be in a conference room. I want to speak to Mr. Barberi face to face.”

  “Taylor,” Jerry said. “This is a child-killer we’re talking about.”

  “Agent Powers and I are trained law-enforcement officers,” added Marilyn. “You’re not. Even though he’ll be chained, it’s too risky to have you in the same room with him.”

  She shook her head. “He won’t tell me anything from inside a cage. I need to build rapport with him. I need to show him some respect.”

  “No can do,” the CO said. “Warden’s orders.”

  “Grant’s life is on the line!” she shouted. “I cannot meet him as Prisoner Barberi, child-killer. I have to meet him as Mr. Barberi, father to Grant and Logan. Please.”

  The CO exchanged glances with Marilyn and Jerry, but nobody said anything.

  “I’m a psychologist!” Her cheeks flushed with warmth. “I mean, I was. I know what I’m talking about here. I know Grant’s father. Please, Marilyn.”

  The detective stared at her then turned to the CO. “Get your warden on the phone, officer.”

  “He’s at home. We’re not to disturb him unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Then I’ll talk to him,” Marilyn said. “Just call him.”

  The CO exhaled and pulled out his cell phone.

  Jerry came to stand next to Sophie against the wall. “I see you’re still pushing boundaries, Taylor.”

  She shrugged wearily. “Sorry. It’s what I do, I guess.” She watched Marilyn accept the cell phone from the CO.

  Jerry’s shoulder nudged hers. “Nothing wrong with fighting for the one you love.”

  “Thank you” was her soft response. She felt tears well up again and took a long breath to fight them.

  “Listen to me, Warden Arthur—” Marilyn’s voice cut through the hallway quiet. “I wouldn’t be asking unless it was completely necessary. I know Dr. Taylor—”

  “Damn, she’s hot,” Jerry said, smirking as he watched Marilyn pace the linoleum floor.

  Sophie actually smiled.

  “She’s the feistiest damn gal I’ve ever met. I love watching her in action.”

  “Okay,” Marilyn announced, returning the phone to the CO. “We’re good to go for the attorney conference room.”

  The CO’s eyes bu
gged. “What’d you say to him? Could you stay on as our staff representative?”

  Marilyn laughed. “Oh, I might’ve mentioned something about exposing prisoner abuse at Gurnee.”

  “There’s no abuse here,” the CO retorted.

  “Really?” Marilyn glanced at Sophie then back at the CO. “Open your eyes, officer. Don’t accept bribes, and don’t trigger your inmates’ trauma reactions by throwing them in the hole for months.”

  The CO’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

  “Hey, bud,” Jerry broke in as he pushed himself off the wall. “I think she made herself clear. Let’s get to that conference room now.”

  The CO looked at the three of them and seemed to realize he was outnumbered. “Fine.” He led them in a different direction as he radioed for the prisoner to meet them at a revised location.

  Sophie hustled to match her step with Marilyn’s. She hoped the squeeze she gave the detective’s hand communicated her gratitude for going to bat for her. Marilyn smiled back and returned the squeeze.

  They had to pause every forty yards or so for the CO to unlock another door. While waiting at one stop, Marilyn said, “Don’t mention Ricker Mullens when you’re with Barberi. He seemed to get pissed off when we mentioned Mullens. Focus on the Russians.”

  “All right.” Her thoughts raced as they moved ahead. “Marilyn, let me ask you something. How’d you feel when you couldn’t get anything out of Enzo earlier tonight?”

  “How’d I feel?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re still a psychologist, asking a question like that—you can’t deny it.” She sighed. “Well, I guess frustration was what I’d call it.”

  “Helplessness?” Sophie asked.

  Marilyn nodded.

  “Disappointment?”

  Another nod.

  “Hopelessness?”

  “Yes, all that. What’s your point?”

  “That would be quite a downer to go home tonight feeling the same way.”

  She stopped. “Yes, it would. And I’m still waiting to hear your point.”

  She hoped Marilyn couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. “In order for Enzo to feel comfortable enough with me—to tell me what he knows about the Russians and Grant…I need him to be…unchained.”

  Marilyn placed her hands on her hips and appeared about to unleash holy hell when Jerry popped his head around the corner.

  “Hey, you guys coming?”

  “Jerry!” Marilyn called. “Sophie wants Barberi unchained when she meets with him!”

  “What?”

  Sophie ignored their glares and glided past them to catch up with the CO. Soon the detective and PO sandwiched her, matching her brisk strides. “You’re just like Madsen,” Jerry fumed. “Do you have a death wish?”

  “No, I don’t!” she cried. “I’m trying to prevent a death—Grant’s. His father won’t hurt me. I know it. I just need to talk to him.”

  They arrived at a corridor lined with black metal doors. “Here we are.”

  “Officer,” Sophie panted. Get yourself under control. “Do any of these rooms have one-way mirrors?”

  “Of course.” He gestured to a door. “We’ll use this one.”

  She nodded. “And what’s your response time if I need help? If you need to get in there?”

  “Couple seconds.” His chest puffed out, straining his black uniform.

  “Good. I want Mr. Barberi’s chains removed when he meets with me.”

  Jerry snorted. “This is insane.”

  “Warden will never go for that,” the CO said.

  “Marilyn.” Sophie grabbed her elbow. “The warden agreed to us using the conference room. He never specified the prisoner was to be in chains, right?”

  The detective shook her head. “Sophie, don’t go there.”

  “Your father would never agree to this!” Jerry barked.

  “I’m thirty years old.” She stood tall. “This is my life, and Grant’s life too. I’ll sign whatever waiver I need to, but Enzo Barberi will not wear chains. I will meet my father-in-law without the shame of shackles between us!”

  ***

  “Mr. Barberi.” She swallowed and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m Sophie Taylor.”

  Enzo stared at her for a moment, and a sense of wonder seemed to lighten his dark eyes. Then he grasped her palm, slowly curling his coarse fingers around the back of her hand. His touch was rougher than Grant’s, but just as warm.

  Sophie realized he probably hadn’t held a woman’s hand for more than twenty years. She also realized, so close to him that she could smell soap and washed denim, that he could easily hurt her: pull her into him, choke her, punch her, slap her—things he’d done to his wife. To Grant and Logan.

  But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead he looked down at their joined hands for a moment, then over to her left hand. “That’s quite a rock you got there.”

  She glanced down at her engagement ring, sparkling even in the dull prison light.

  A male voice boomed from the corner, and Sophie looked up to find a speaker mounted on the ceiling above the one-way mirror. “Release her hand and sit down, Barberi.”

  Enzo paused for a moment, staring into her eyes, then let her go. But he didn’t circle around to the other side of the table like she’d expected. Instead, he held the back of a chair and gestured for her to sit. She took a deep breath as she folded herself into it. If it hadn’t been bolted to the floor, she was relatively certain Enzo would have scooted her closer to the table. And here she’d thought Grant had inherited his exquisite manners from Uncle Joe. She wondered what other surprises were in store for her with this frightening man.

  “My son Grant…he bought that for you?” Enzo asked after he sat himself across from her.

  It took a second to remember he’d admired her ring. “Yes.”

  “He could afford that rock?”

  She noticed a look of pride float over his face. “He has a good job.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The feds pay him well to ruin men’s lives.”

  “No.” Her response came out too harshly, and she took a deep breath. “He sings. He has a lovely voice.” She watched him carefully. “I understand he got his singing talent from you.”

  His only response was a guarded stare.

  “I suppose you don’t get to sing anymore,” she ventured. “It must be very…sad, living here. All your basic freedoms stripped away.”

  “If you were a little shorter, with blue eyes instead of brown, you’d look like Karita.”

  She hesitated, thrown off by his change of subject. No wonder he’d been staring. “Thank you,” she finally replied. “I hear Grant’s mother was beautiful.”

  “She was.”

  She gauged what to say next. “You and Mrs. Barberi did a wonderful job raising Grant.”

  That was clearly the last thing he expected to hear.

  “I know some of what happened, of course,” she said. “I know there were…difficult times when Grant was young. But sometimes adversity like that makes a person grow stronger. Grant has empathy for others like I’ve never seen. You fostered that in him. I know you did the best you could as his father.”

  “What makes you know that?” He leaned forward, his words full of hate.

  Her heart raced as the small space seemed to close in on her. She focused on her breathing as she pictured Grant’s loving eyes. “I know that…because of Grant. Because of the amazing person he is. He had to get some of that integrity from you, whether you realize it or not.” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but her eyes welled up.

  “Why are you here?” Enzo asked bitterly.

  “I’m here to try to save my fiancé. Your son.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she swiped it away. “I haven’t given up on you like the rest of them.”

  He shook his head. “This is bullshit. A waste of my time.”

  “So you don’t care at all what happens to Grant.”

  He shrugged.
>
  Sophie leaned in, her eyes flaring. “That is the bullshit, Mr. Barberi.”

  His tired eyes looked away from hers, and she knew she had an opening. Stop crying. “You haven’t been able to sleep since you ordered the hit on Grant, have you?”

  When he ignored her, she cursed under her breath. Of course he wouldn’t admit that with the authorities watching.

  “It’s hard to sleep in prison—you’re always on edge, worried someone will shank you.” She skimmed her tongue across her front teeth. “I remember what it’s like.”

  He remained quiet, but she knew she’d piqued his interest, so she pushed ahead. “Did you know I spent time in prison too?”

  “I may have heard that.”

  “Do you know why?”

  His expression reminded her of Logan: a smirk that said You’ll never know what I know, a tension in the shoulders that belied the toughness he tried to portray. “I have a feeling you’re fucking going to tell me.”

  She nodded. “I was very naïve before I met your family. I’ve wised up a lot since then, so thank you for that.” His deep black eyes were so intense that she found herself trembling. “Logan…the court ordered him into counseling after Grant got arrested. I’d just gotten my psychologist license, and Logan started therapy with me. I knew nothing about the Barberi family at the time.”

  Enzo had leaned forward just a bit, and Sophie continued. “Your son Logan was troubled, Mr. Barberi. He had a gambling addiction, and as I learned later, he’d broken many laws, killed countless men. But that’s not how I knew Logan.” She had to look away from those piercing eyes. “I knew him as a good man. A man who wanted to be a better father to his son. A man who, as a boy—” she stared directly at Logan’s father “—had tried to protect his little brother from getting hit.”

  Observing a flicker of anger in those obsidian eyes, she admitted, “I fell for that man.” She hoped her past with his sons would forge some kind of connection with him. “When Logan told me what he and his brother had endured…” She sniffed. “It hurt me. I wanted to fight for those boys—I wanted to protect them, make it better.” She sighed. “I understand you faced a similar situation once—wanting to protect a child, to save him. You could’ve left Carlo to die after he’d been shot.”