Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  Grant looked taken aback. “What am I—seventy?”

  She laughed. “You have to take care of your voice now, Mariah Carey.”

  Grant rolled his eyes, and Sophie added, “I want to get a drink for you that actually helps this time.”

  His eyes twinkled. “But the tequila did help me. Without it, I’d have never tried singing.”

  Sophie nodded thoughtfully. When she took another swig of her vodka tonic, Will gave her a harsh look.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking when you’re on parole,” he said.

  “Why not?” she countered. “It’s legal.”

  “I just don’t think you should take any unnecessary risks,” Will said.

  Sophie flipped her hair to the side with irritation. “Back off, Dad.”

  Grant was dismayed at their exchange, but he glanced at Joe to find him staring back with a look that said “stay out of it.” Biting his lip, Grant asked Will, “Where’s Mr. Remington tonight, sir?”

  “He’s at a political fundraiser for Tom Grogan in Springfield.”

  Sophie’s irritation changed into curiosity. “Why aren’t you there too, Dad?”

  “I had some business in town to take care of. With the economy like it is, I try to supervise every job site to make sure the client’s happy.” He sighed heavily. “Besides, it looks like this race is a lost cause.”

  Joe interjected, “You support Tom Grogan, Will?”

  Grant and Sophie exchanged glances, and Grant explained, “Mr. Taylor is a close personal friend of Governor Grogan.”

  Will grinned. “Yes, your nephew had quite a surprise for his debut. The governor of Illinois was here to see him sing.”

  Joe looked impressed. “Wow, I bet that was nerve-wracking, huh, Grant?”

  “Yes, sir.” He snuck a glance at Will, adding hesitantly, “But I was even more nervous to see Mr. Taylor in the audience.”

  Sophie’s heart rate increased, and her eyes darted back and forth between the two significant men in her life. She’d drawn a begrudging promise from her father: as a condition of inviting him, he wouldn’t be rude to Grant or Joe. So far he’d behaved, but she knew he could ruin the tentative détente with just one word.

  “You did just fine, Grant,” Will said, and Sophie breathed a sigh of relief.

  A bashful smile crept over McCrooner’s face.

  “Sorry it’s not looking so good for your friend Grogan,” said Joe. “I was just reading the newspaper on the plane—there was an article saying Jovanovich is up by over ten points.”

  Will frowned, lamenting, “It’s just not the Republicans’ year.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Joe bemoaned. “Looks like I’m about to get a new commander in chief—a Democrat this time. But at least the other countries might like us more when Ortiz wins.”

  “Well, I’m only seeing negative effects on my construction business,” Will grumbled.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Sophie piped up. “I mean, I’m nervous about Ortiz winning too, but maybe he’ll do a good job?”

  Will shrugged. “I hope you’re right. What concerns me is that we know so little about him. He’s a charming speaker, but what does he really stand for? Is he as centrist as his campaign suggests?”

  Chuckling, Joe shook his head. “That’s exactly what the article questioned about Darko Jovanovich. Who is this future governor of Illinois? We know he’s the son of Serbian immigrants, but beyond that he’s a mystery.”

  “Exactly.” Will nodded vigorously. “And Tom’s campaign wants to find out where all his money’s coming from. Jovanovich runs TV and radio commercials practically nonstop—Grogan can’t keep up.”

  Grant felt warm relief wash over him as he saw Joe and Will getting along so well. “What’s Governor Grogan going to do if he loses?” Grant asked.

  Will looked sad. “I don’t know. He’s been in politics his whole life—he was even in student government at U of I.”

  “Is that where you met him, Will?”

  Sophie’s father nodded at Joe. “Yes. Tom, Alex Remington—the man who owns this hotel—and I were fraternity brothers, though I was two years behind them in school.”

  Sophie smirked. “And you remind them at every opportunity that you’re younger than them.”

  “When did you graduate, Will?” Joe asked.

  “Seventy-five.”

  Joe smiled. “I graduated from Illinois in sixty-eight.”

  “Wow, you’re really old then.” Will’s teasing made Joe laugh. “What’d you major in?”

  “Engineering. I was Navy ROTC.”

  “Ah.” Will’s eyes rested for a moment on Grant, sitting completely straight in his chair across the table. “Uh, Grant, Sophie tells me you were in the Navy ROTC as well?”

  Surprised, Grant hesitated a moment before answering “Yes, sir.”

  “Grant went to Notre Dame,” Joe cut in, mocking the school’s name, “since he’s smarter than me.”

  Grant chuckled, and his uncle winked at him.

  Will added, “Yeah, I don’t think I could’ve ever gotten in to Northwestern, but Sophie made it look like a breeze.”

  A rosy color flushed her cheeks.

  “Northwestern—that’s a great school,” Joe said. “We’re hoping Ben will go to Illinois, though.”

  “I don’t know, Joe—Ben’s grades are improving.” Grant gave his uncle a wicked smile. “Maybe he won’t have to go to a lowly state school.”

  “That’s great!” Joe replied, ignoring the barb. “Are you keeping him in line, then?”

  “I’m trying, sir. Out of the blue Ben joined the high school swim team, and that seems to bring some structure in his life. His first meet’s next week.”

  “Sophie was a swimmer,” Will proudly announced.

  Grant looked at her with surprise, and she appeared embarrassed.

  “Dad…”

  “She was a great butterflier.” He seemed nostalgic, remembering happier times.

  “Does Ben know you were a swimmer?” Grant asked.

  “Yes, we talked about it one night when he was practicing his push-ups. I told him I was never good at push-ups either, but my coach loved to make us do them.”

  Resting his arm across her shoulders, Grant nuzzled in to plant a kiss on her neck. “So Ben’s decision to swim wasn’t so out of the blue, then.”

  “Sophie once had a bright future in swimming,” Will boasted, and then an angry look veiled his face. “Until she quit.”

  Grant felt Sophie’s shoulders tense.

  “How old were you when you stopped swimming?” Joe asked.

  Her reply was terse. “Twelve.”

  Grant softly inquired, “Why did you stop?”

  Sophie exchanged a knowing glance with her father, who said, “She couldn’t handle the pressure.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she felt a familiar powerlessness—the same she’d felt as a child when she’d tried to argue with her father. “Well, you’d know all about that, Dad, since you were the one applying the pressure.”

  “Nonsense. I was only trying to help you, Sophie.”

  Her face felt hot. “Help me? By yelling at me and my coaches?”

  Will stiffened. “You’ve got to be tough to survive in this world, kid.”

  Grant shared an uncomfortable glance with his uncle—both wished to be somewhere else.

  “So you were trying to make me tough.” Sophie exhaled derisively, taking another drink of the vodka tonic. She set the glass down and fixed a stare at Will. “Was that tough love when you didn’t visit me in prison too?”

  Will’s face fell. “Now, I’ve already explained that to you, Soph—”

  “Oh, right. You blamed yourself for me getting arrested. It’s all about you, Dad, isn’t it? It’s always about you!”

  “Sophie!”

  Grant’s sharp tone surprised her, and she was taken aback to catch a glint of anger in his eyes.

  “You can’t talk to your father that way!”
he said.

  At first she looked embarrassed, then betrayed. “Well, it’s no different than how you talk to your father!”

  He paused, feeling his heart thumping, and took a deep breath. He wanted to make an angry retort, but she was right. What she’d said to her father paled in comparison to the hostile words he’d shouted at his father in Gurnee. Grant recalled how Sophie’s encouragement had helped him keep his cool, and he wanted to help her as well.

  Leaning in, he whispered, “How’re you feeling?”

  Startled, she stared with questioning eyes.

  “Are you feeling angry?” he prompted. “Why don’t you tell him?”

  Sophie slowly nodded, feeling her fury diminish with each deep breath. Clearing her throat she glanced anxiously at Will.

  “Dad…I, um, I felt really hurt when you didn’t visit me in prison.”

  Will’s shoulders sagged. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. I regret that every day.”

  Her face softened.

  “I just couldn’t handle the idea that my decision not to pay the protection fee ruined your life,” he said. “I couldn’t live with myself.”

  Grant glanced guiltily at him. “You aren’t to blame, Mr. Taylor—my family is.”

  “It wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine,” Sophie amended testily. “Stop trying to take responsibility for my decisions, both of you.”

  Will and Grant openly stared at each other, slight smiles spreading on their faces. Eventually Will said, “Sophie told me Enzo threatened to get out of prison somehow?”

  Grant’s smile vanished. “Yes, sir.”

  Joe leaned forward, suddenly distressed. “There’s no way, Grant. The State of Illinois would never let him out.”

  Grant’s mouth tightened. “He’s figured out a way, Joe. I know it. If only I could figure out what he’s got up his sleeve, then maybe I could stop him. If he gets out—” he shot a nervous glance at Sophie “—none of us is safe.”

  A sudden chill blanketed the table.

  ***

  After they’d closed down the bar, Grant and Sophie sent Joe and Will off in their respective taxis before walking back inside the hotel.

  “We had our moments, but that went surprisingly well,” Grant said. “Who was that man, and what’d he do with your father?”

  She chuckled, entering the door he held open for her. “You know, he seems to accept you more since he saw your debut here, after Ben talked to him.”

  “Well, bless Ben then,” Grant replied. “Dealing with my father is quite enough. I certainly could do without your dad also hating me.”

  They strolled toward the bar, arm in arm.

  “It’s a good thing you reminded me of Hunter’s advice in there, or my dad might hate me too.”

  “That was a wonderful ‘I’ statement you used, Sophie,” Grant teased, imitating their psychologist. “Your assertive communication was quite effective. You really shared your innermost feelings, blah, blah, insert psychobabble here.”

  “Oh, thank you, Hunter!” she cried.

  As they neared the closed doors of the bar, Sophie inquired, “Where’re we going?”

  Grant furtively unlocked the doors leading into the darkened bar. “How would you like your own private show?”

  A look of keen anticipation crossed her face, and he smiled.

  His voice lowered. “I watched you down that vodka tonic, and I was completely turned on. I wanted you so badly. It’s been torture sitting right next to you all night with your dad watching us.”

  Fumbling for the lights, Grant flipped the last switch in the row, igniting the soft glow of 1930s-style lighting fixtures around the stage. The seating area remained somewhat dark.

  He took her hand and led her toward the piano, which was spotlighted on the cherry stage.

  Sophie was intrigued when he slid onto the piano bench and drew her down to sit beside him. One of her eyebrows quirked. “You know how to play piano?”

  “Not really. Andy’s been trying to teach me a few songs in our down time, though.”

  “So you are challenging yourself with your new job.”

  “I have a long way to go, as you’ll soon discover.”

  But when he placed his long fingers on the keys, it looked like they’d found a home. He began playing a vaguely familiar tune with a hip-hop rhythm. He swayed a bit, looking into her eyes and crooning soulfully, “It’s goin’ so right. Got my showty at my side…”

  They both burst out in laughter.

  “A little different from Frank Sinatra, huh?”

  “Slightly. And I’m not really a showty.”

  “No,” he agreed, sweeping his eyes down the length of her. “You’re definitely not. Maybe I have a better song for you.” He played a few notes of a recognizable rollicking melody, singing, “My Bonnie lies over the ocean. My Bonnie lies over the sea…”

  He stopped playing and turned to her with a smoldering gaze. He stared straight into her eyes as he resumed: “My Bonnie lies over the ocean. Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me!”

  He maneuvered her body around so she was straddling the bench, and his hands drifted to her hips, anchoring him as he leaned in and feathered a soft kiss on her lips. He continued singing, without the piano now.

  “Bring back…bring back…oh, bring back…my Bonnie…to me, to me,” he sang softly, all the while kissing her lips, neck, and shoulders between words.

  He stood and swung one leg up and over to straddle the bench as well. Grant faced Sophie and scooted her closer. She lifted each foot over his thighs and wrapped her legs around him, their heaving chests flush to each other.

  She hooked her hands over his shoulders, and he ran his fingers through her luxurious blond mane. Feeling his emergent hardness press into her belly, she whispered, “Your Bonnie’s back, McSailor.”

  “Aren’t I lucky?” He grinned, kissing her ear. “My Bonnie must never, ever leave.”

  His mouth trailed scorching kisses down the smooth curve of her jaw, up her chin, and onto her mouth, gently biting her lower lip as he gazed hungrily into her eyes.

  “Bonnie’s dad even likes McSailor,” she added with a giggle, capturing his lips with her own as their roving hands explored the finer points of each other’s physique.

  “Can’t say the same for McSailor’s dad,” Grant joked, stroking and kneading the back of her neck.

  Her eyes fluttered shut at the glorious sensation.

  Grant frowned. “He’s a shark in the ocean, stealthily waiting for Bonnie to cross the sea.”

  Her hands cradled his head, smoothing his face and neck before coming to rest on his collarbone as she angled to kiss his upper chest.

  “He can’t get me, though.”

  Grant’s breath hitched, feeling her tongue skate over his skin. “That’s right—you’re a swimmer,” he said softly.

  She glanced up, meeting his glittering gaze. “No. The shark can’t get me because McSailor will protect me.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later they stumbled, giggling, out of Capone’s Spirits. Grant shushed her as he located the key in his pocket to lock up the bar.

  “Grant?”

  He looked up to find his boss coming down the hallway, staring at him curiously. He straightened his posture. “Uh, hi, Mr. Remington.”

  Once the woman with tousled hair spun around, Alex recognized her too. “Sophie!”

  “Alex!” She rushed forward to give him a hug. “You look a little tired,” she said, stepping away. “Did you just get back from Springfield?”

  He nodded, suppressing a yawn. “Poor Tom. He’s rather depressed, and all the empty tables at the fundraiser didn’t help much.”

  “Isn’t it kind of late for a fundraiser?” Sophie asked. “The election’s next week.”

  Alex shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. But I fear it’s a sinking ship—Jovanovich really has the momentum right now. Anyway, let’s discuss happier topics. How did it go tonight, Grant?”

&nb
sp; “Fine, sir, seemed like a good crowd.” He looked nervous, gesturing behind him. “I was just showing Sophie around a little. Hope that’s okay.”

  Sophie hoped it wasn’t obvious what they’d been doing inside the bar.

  “Of course!” Alex scoffed. “That’s why you have keys.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, this old man better get to bed. Goodnight, you two.” He headed toward the elevator.

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  “’Night, Alex.”

  Drawing Sophie to his side, they headed down the hallway. Suddenly, Grant froze, his lips parted with a look of awe.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh my God. I just figured it out! I know how my dad’s planning to escape.” He swiveled his gaze to her. “We’ve got to stop him.”

  21. Constellation

  “Thank you for being here,” Grant began in a shaky voice, making eye contact with each of the five guests gathered around the dining room table. His gaze traveled slowly from Sophie to Joe to Will to Jerry Stone, and finally to Marilyn Fox. “I know you’re all busy people, so I’ll try to keep this brief.”

  “What the hell’s this about, Madsen?” Jerry grumbled. “Detective Fox needs to get back up to Lake County, and I’ve got a full slate of parolees on today’s schedule.”

  “Just give him a chance to explain,” Will said.

  Grant and Sophie looked at each other in surprise. Grant supposed Sophie’s father, acting as the host of this little soiree, felt obligated to speak on his behalf.

  Grant smiled at his parole officer. “I’m grateful you took the time to be here, sir.”

  Joe was pleased by his nephew’s respectful tone.

  “I believe everyone here knows about my father’s threat to get out of prison,” Grant said.

  “I know what you told me over the phone, Mr. Madsen,” Marilyn said. “But I’m unclear on the details. Why were you visiting your father in the first place?”

  Grant swallowed, exchanging a glance with Sophie, whose affectionate gaze heartened his resolve. “My psychologist, Dr. Hayes, encouraged me to meet with my father to, um, to try to heal from the past.”

  Sophie snuck her hand under the table and rested it on Grant’s knee in silent support. His hands had been tightly laced together in his lap, but feeling her presence he unfolded them, bringing one hand forward to meet hers.