“Tell that to Richie Fanocelli,” Grant said. “Tell him his son’s killer is about to get out of prison before serving his full sentence. My dad’s trying to cheat the system again. How can you just stand by and watch it happen? You taught me to stand up for what’s right. You taught me to fight. You’re a Navy commander! How can you be so passive about this?”
Joe exhaled loudly, gripping one of the dining room chairs. “Because he’s destroyed so much already, and I don’t want to give him the opportunity to do more damage. He took your mother—I know Karita died of cancer, but I blame Enzo. He hurt her, and he hurt you boys.”
Grant’s jaw clenched, and Joe continued. “And he took your brother. Logan’s dead because of Enzo. Make no mistake about it.” Joe’s voice softened. “I don’t want him taking you too.”
“I won’t let him, sir. I have to do this. I know I’m the only one who can get the information out of him. He wants to tell me how he’s outsmarted the system. He needs to tell me. He needs to put me in my place for challenging him like I did. I can’t stand by and just let him go free. Sophie and I will be in even more danger if he gets out.”
Joe sighed grimly, running one hand through his graying blond hair. He looked weary, older than his sixty-two years. “You’re right, of course. You have to fight. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
Grant looked bewildered. “Mistakes?”
“I should’ve fought Enzo back then, back when you were a child. I regret not getting your mom and you boys away from him.”
Grant placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did get me away from him.”
Their blue eyes met, and Grant felt relieved that his uncle had accepted the plan—although the relief was mixed with fear.
Joe gathered his nephew into a hug, quietly ordering, “You come back to me in one piece, ya hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
They thumped each other on the back a few times before releasing their embrace.
“And you’re going to keep Ben with you for the next few days?” Grant asked.
“I’m heading over there once Officer Stone takes you away,” Joe assured him.
Jerry and Marilyn had been uncomfortably watching the uncle-nephew exchange, and Jerry took Joe’s statement as his cue.
“Let’s get outside so I can arrest you publicly,” Jerry said, looking pointedly at Grant.
“You don’t have to look so happy about it, sir.”
“It’s always a pleasure to send a deserving con back inside,” Jerry joked.
“You’re an ass, Jerry,” Marilyn retorted, causing Grant to chuckle. “But I do agree that it’s wise to make the arrest as public as possible, to make it more legit. The story is that you violated parole by losing your job?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Taylor’s arranging things with Mr. Remington as we speak.”
Jerry scooped up the wired Gurnee shirts and stuffed them in a bag. “Let’s go, Madsen.”
“Can we have a minute?” Sophie blurted. “Before you take him?”
Jerry frowned, but said, “Fine. Make it quick.”
She’d grabbed Grant’s hand and was already pulling him out of the room before Jerry finished responding. Sophie first guided him into her father’s study, but finding a state police detective from the task force there, speaking on his cell phone, she abruptly spun around and headed in the other direction. Flustered, Sophie opened the front door and led Grant toward the gated entrance.
Watching her punch in the security code for the gate, Grant asked, “Where’re you taking us?”
Sophie sighed with relief once they reached the sidewalk. “Just right here—I had to get out of there. All that talk about returning to prison was making me claustrophobic. I wanted to go somewhere to say goodbye.”
He rested his long fingers on the curve of her hips, gazing at her fondly. “I’m only going to be gone a few days, Bonnie.”
She nodded, shivering in the autumn chill.
He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “If this works, you won’t have to worry about returning to prison. You won’t have to feel claustrophobic ever again. You’ll get your life back.”
She tried to be tough but couldn’t stop tears from pooling in her eyes.
When one tear rolled down her cheek, Grant murmured, “Oh, Sophie.” He leaned down to kiss away the salty droplet with his soft lips. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, pressing his mouth hard against hers, infusing her with strength.
Inside the house, the unmistakable sound of fervent kissing filled the dining room. Lucas cleared his throat, nodding at the recording mechanism on the console. “Looks like the device works.”
Joe averted his eyes, stifling a grin.
“Jesus Christ,” Jerry complained. “Do we really have to listen to Con and Conette going at it out there?”
“Let’s give them some privacy, Lucas,” Marilyn suggested, and the agent turned off the audio.
Back on the sidewalk, Sophie grudgingly peeled herself away. “I better let you go. Jerry’s itching to get those cuffs back on you.”
“More handcuffs.” Grant frowned.
She reached into her pocket and extracted a small envelope. “I promise to write you letters when you’re inside, but—”
“Sophie, really, I’m going to be out of there before the first letter will even arrive!”
“Don’t try to stop me, McSailor. I can’t visit you in there, and you said Joe shouldn’t visit you either, so I want you to have at least some contact from the outside.” She looked down. “I know what it’s like not to have visitors.”
“Yes, but I get to spend quality time with my dad.”
She matched his sarcastic tone. “Lucky you. Anyway, what I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted—” they both smiled “—was that I wanted you to have something to comfort you in there, until you get my first letter.”
Handing him the envelope, she watched his face as he opened it. He extracted a wallet-sized photo and brought it closer to get a good look at the ravishing blonde staring back at him, her face slightly shaded by the bill of a baseball cap.
“Kirsten took that at a White Sox game a few years ago,” she explained.
“You look so happy there,” he mused. His eyes drifted from the cheerful image to her apprehensive frown. “This picture was taken before you came into contact with my family. Before they hurt you.”
“I’m happy now,” she insisted. “But I’ll only stay that way if you come back to me.”
He nodded guiltily, tucking the photo back in the envelope and sliding it into his pocket. His eyes glittered, though it was a cloudy morning.
“Thank you,” he said. He planted a reassuring kiss on her trembling lips. She felt warmth emanating from his sure hands and soft lips, calming her with a sense of sanctuary.
They were so absorbed in their goodbye kiss that they barely heard the screeching tires, and only when several sets of pounding footsteps drew near did they realize something was happening. Once Grant glanced to the street, he froze.
Tank and Mario were jogging toward them, Mario’s heft shifting with each hustled step, and Tank’s menacing smile lending him an expression of triumph. Another set of large men loomed right behind them, and Grant stepped in front of Sophie, trying to shield her. It was too late to run—the men were on top of them in a second.
“We found you!” Mario huffed, breathing hard.
“Let’s go, Grant,” Tank ordered.
His blue eyes darted back and forth among the four men now encircling them. “Go where?”
“On a little trip,” Mario responded, still panting.
Grant reached behind him to clasp Sophie’s wrist, sensing her fear. He noticed the two cars waiting in the street, both with beefy drivers staring back at him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he declared, attempting to keep his voice steady.
Tank slid a handgun out of its holster, keeping it low by his hip but obviously
aiming it at Grant. “We can do this hard or easy, Madsen. Move it.”
Swallowing, Grant quickly countered, “I’ll only go with you if you leave Sophie alone.” He heard a small cry of protest behind him and squeezed her wrist comfortingly.
Tank chuckled. Madsen was outnumbered six to one and must have been incredibly stupid to think he could bargain with them. “Of course,” he promised. “We only want you. She can stay.”
Grant gave a slight nod and didn’t fight when Mario and Tank grabbed his arms, forcing him toward the first waiting car. He snuck a glance over his shoulder, expecting to see the other two goons lock-stepping into place behind him, and he gasped when he saw them seize Sophie instead and begin to push her toward the other car.
“Hey!” Grant cried, struggling to escape the bodyguards’ vice-like hold. He managed to free one arm, but Mario instantly punched a swift shot to his gut.
“Grant!” Sophie shrieked, unable to fight off the two men jostling her through the open car door.
Gasping for air and stumbling, Grant swiveled and jammed his foot into Tank’s knee. “Son of a bitch!” the bodyguard hollered, raising his fist in fury and clouting his detainee on the side of the head.
Grant’s vision blurred from the blow, and he barely heard Mario warn, “He said not to hurt him!” Before he knew it, he’d been shoved into the backseat of a black Lincoln town car, sandwiched between Tank and Mario.
“Go!” Tank shouted, and the driver obediently sped away.
Feeling woozy, his ears ringing, Grant was terrified to see the car carrying Sophie turn off onto a side street, widening the distance between them. Where were they taking Sophie?
He felt another blow to the side of his head and heard Tank bellow, “Eyes forward, damn it! Mario, get the plastic tie!”
“Got it,” Mario huffed, and Grant felt himself hefted sideways to face the incensed Tank as Mario wrenched his arms behind his back. Despite his struggles, he felt his wrists instantly restrained, the hard plastic tie already cutting into his skin.
Tank manhandled him back in his seat so he faced forward. “Don’t fucking move,” he growled.
Grant’s temple throbbed and his heart rate soared. His hands were already starting to feel numb. As the driver guided the car onto the Dan Ryan, Grant said nothing. Finally, once his breathing had slowed, he asked, “Where’re you taking me?”
Mario eyed him carefully, watching for any sudden movement. “Enzo wants a chat.”
Grant’s heart skipped a beat. Had they already uncovered his attempt to thwart his father’s plan? His mind whirred as a sickening dread overtook him. Eventually he asked, “And Sophie? Where’re you taking her?”
Tank smiled smugly. “Well, that depends entirely on you, Madsen.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shut up,” Tank said. “No more questions. It’ll all make sense when you talk to your dad. He’s been missing you.”
Mario joined Tank’s low chuckle.
Grant slumped in the seat, ignoring the increasing ache radiating through his arms and hands. He was supposed to be handcuffed, but this scenario was all wrong. Jerry was supposed to be driving, not some Mafia goon. Sophie was supposed to be safe at her father’s house, not kidnapped.
Grant’s entire plan had been shot to hell, thanks to his family. White-hot anger coursed through him. It was a good thing he was restrained or he might have exploded, not caring one iota that the men guarding him had guns. They weren’t going to take everything from him again, he resolved quietly. They weren’t going to destroy everything he loved!
This time he was determined not to let his father win.
23. Confound
Damn, his arms hurt. He’d thought nothing could be worse than being handcuffed for the sixty-minute drive to Gurnee, but he’d been wrong—metal handcuffs would have been far superior to the plastic tie currently lacerating his wrists. Being sandwiched between two meatheads didn’t make the backseat any more comfortable, either. And thanks to Ben’s eavesdropping, Grant was acutely aware that Tank and Mario had been the men holding Logan when Carlo murdered him.
He looked down with despair. Think. Why were the bodyguards taking him to his father? Had they discovered his plan to thwart the early release? Would his father try to get him to confess the sting and then murder him and Sophie? Did they know he was wired?
He was wired! Grant tucked his chin to peek at the button-shaped device on his collar, wondering if Detective Fox and Agent Bounter had heard him and Sophie being kidnapped. Was the device on? Had it survived the bodyguards’ assault as they shoved him into the vehicle? His scrambled worries overwhelmed him, and he drew in a panicked breath.
Leaning his bulk into the restrained passenger, Tank asked, “What’s wrong?”
Grant’s mind raced. “Where did you take Sophie?”
Silence greeted him. Undeterred, he asked, “Why are you taking me to Gurnee?”
Tank’s lips were in a tight line as he spoke. “I already told you, numb nuts, you’re talking to the boss.”
“Why does he want to see me?”
“That’s for you and him to sort out.”
“I’m on parole—they won’t allow me to visit him.”
Tank’s meaty hand seized the back of Grant’s neck and drilled his head into his lap, doubling him over and knocking the air out of him. “Don’t give me that shit,” Tank seethed into his ear. “You just visited Enzo.”
Grant strained to get oxygen into his compressed lungs, worried less about his own well-being than that of the recording device. Agent Bounter’s promise about the durability of the digital recorder would be seriously tested this time around.
Grant’s reply was muffled. “I had to get special permission from the DOC.”
Tank released his neck, and Grant slowly sat up again, coughing.
“If they let you see him once, they’ll let you see him again.”
“Maybe not,” Grant argued. “I had to give the guards a special letter. They might not let me in without one.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Tank said, “if you want the Taylor girl to live.”
Grant’s stomach knotted.
“Yeah,” Mario added, straining to seem relevant to the conversation. Somehow he didn’t appear as menacing as his partner.
After another five miles, Tank began rubbing the side of his knee. Grant knew better than to say anything, but Mario didn’t.
“This asshole kick you?” he asked, gesturing to Grant.
Tank grunted, and Grant stifled a smile over his small victory in the takedown.
Mario continued. “That the same knee that—”
“Shut the fuck up, idiot!” Tank roared, cutting him off. “Not with him here.”
Admonished, Mario slumped back in the seat.
Grant tried to make sense of that exchange, and the rest of the journey went way too quickly. His mind swam with potential directions for the conversation with his father.
Once they neared the prison parking lot, Tank instructed, “Cut ’em.”
Grant felt Mario’s beefy paws swivel him toward Tank, who leered at him, threatening, “You make one wrong move, and we stick the Taylor chick.”
Mercifully Grant heard a snap, and the pressure on his wrists instantly abated. Turning his body back to face the windshield, he drew his tingling arms forward, massaging his bloody wrists.
“Fuck,” Tank spat. “You tied it too tight, Meat. The guards are gonna see the blood.”
“It’ll be fine,” Mario replied defensively, yanking out Grant’s shirttails. Grant held his breath, but began to breathe easier when the bodyguard simply patted the sore cuts on his wrists with the shirttails before instructing him to tuck them back into his jeans.
“Why ain’t you wearing a coat?” Mario asked, as Grant shivered slightly. “It’s almost November.”
Because I only stepped out for a second to say goodbye to Sophie before I tried to take down the entire family. “I, um…I’m
not cold.”
Grant had to get out of this car soon.
As they rolled up to the guard station, Tank ordered, “Not one word.”
A corrections officer peered into the vehicle. “State your business.”
“We’re visiting an inmate,” the driver explained.
“Which one?”
“Vicenzo Barberi.”
The CO quirked his eyebrow and radioed the inmate’s name to the visitation area. He looked curiously to the backseat, poking his head partly into the vehicle. “Y’all cozy back there?”
Grant didn’t move, feeling Tank’s elbow jab into his ribcage. Mario gave a sweet smile, jiggling his double chin. “Yes, Officer.”
After a moment of deliberation, the CO gruffly commanded, “Proceed to the parking lot.”
Shortly, the black Lincoln town car came to a stop in the crowded parking area. Mario glanced at his watch. “We’re cutting it close—there’s only about thirty minutes left of visitation.”
“Here’s the deal, Madsen,” Tank said.
Grant’s military training took hold, and he looked straight ahead, sitting erect.
“You go in there and talk to your dad, and then you come straight back to the car.”
Grant couldn’t help but turn and look at Tank with surprise. “You’re not coming with me?”
“Enzo don’t want us in there for some strange reason. But you know what’ll happen if you try to get cute?”
Grant swallowed hard. “You’ll hurt Sophie.”
Tank gave a tight smile. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”
“What if I can’t see my dad because of the parole thing?”
“What did I just say?” Tank countered, opening the car door and scooting out. “Make it work, Madsen, or your little cupcake gets squashed.”
Mario chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind licking her icing.”
Disgusted, Grant hopped out of the car and took quick strides toward the prison, eager to put ground between him and his father’s goons. If only he could also walk away from his father, instead of heading toward him…but there was no choice. Not when Sophie’s life was in danger, which was once again his fault.
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 29