On Best Behavior (C3) Read online

  Cover

  Title Page

  On Best Behavior

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  Jennifer Lane

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  Omnific Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Copyright Information

  On Best Behavior, Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Lane

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor

  Los Angeles, California 90067

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, September 2013

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, September 2013

  ...

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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  Lane, Jennifer.

  On Best Behavior / Jennifer Lane – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623420-53-6

  1. Romantic Suspense—Fiction. 2. Russian Mafia—Fiction. 3. Chicago—Fiction. 4. Psychology—Fiction. I. Title

  ...

  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  To those who strive for healing and redemption…

  may you find your way, with love.

  1. Conjugal

  GRANT WAS ABOUT to knock on the door when he turned to her. “You ready?”

  Sophie felt a rush of anxiety at the prospect of seeing the man inside once again. It had been over a year, and the circumstances of their last encounter had been less than ideal. She mustered a shaky smile. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?” Grant frowned. “I thought your face was flushed from the wind, but now you seem nervous. We don’t have to rush this, you know.”

  She shivered, recalling the January wind that had blasted them as they walked to the church. Warmer weather couldn’t come fast enough. “We do if we want it to happen this summer.”

  Grant’s hand dropped. “That’s no reason to take the plunge. We can come back later.”

  She looked into his worried eyes and reached for his hand. “Grant, I have absolutely no qualms about marrying you. I’d do it today if we could.”

  “Then let’s just go to the courthouse now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I’d love that, but my dad would kill me. No, we’ll do it this summer, like we planned. We’ll do the big church wedding.” She turned back to the door.

  He tugged at her hand, drawing her to face him again. “Sophie, talk to me.”

  “It’s just…” She sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Pastor Tom.”

  His thumb massaged her palm in soothing circles.

  “The last time I saw him…I was in handcuffs.”

  Sadness filled his eyes as he put the pieces together. “For your mother’s funeral.”

  “Two COs brought me from Downer’s Grove.” She despised the tremor in her voice. “They said I was lucky the warden let me attend.”

  “That sounds so humiliating.” He gathered her in his arms. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  She closed her eyes as she melted into his strong chest and breathed in his clean bergamot scent. His hand smoothed her hair while he spoke to her.

  “You’re different now, Bonnie. Wiser, tougher…stronger. And if anyone could forgive you for past mistakes, it’d be a man of God. Surely Pastor Tom understands what you’ve been through and knows who you really are.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. After a moment, she looked up at him. “Thank you. You’re right—Pastor Tom has known me since I was a kid. He wouldn’t judge me or just give up on me.”

  Grant kissed her forehead before letting her go.

  She brushed her hand down her coat then tossed her hair back, chin up.

  “There’s that confidence,” he said. “There’s that strong backbone of yours.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you forget it.”

  He laughed.

  Turning back to the door, she sighed. “I guess it’s good you realize in advance what kind of woman you’re getting, you know, with this whole till death do us part thing.” She felt the intensity of crystal blue eyes floating down her spine.

  “I sure do. It’s a beautiful backbone, by the way.”

  His silky voice unnerved her, as usual, and she rapped on the door to distract herself. If not, their inevitable making out would be inappropriate in the church hallway.

  A man in his early fifties with thinning sandy hair and intelligent brown eyes opened the door. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He stuck out his hand. “Sophie.”

  She returned his warm smile. “Pastor Tom. Thanks for meeting with us. This is Grant Madsen, my fiancé.”

  “Tom Kelley,” he said as he shook Grant’s hand, looking up a bit to meet the taller man’s eyes. He led them inside his office and gestured to two chairs. Sitting across from them behind his desk, Pastor Tom continued smiling at her, and she glanced down at her long, camel-colored coat.

  “You seem well, Sophie,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She fidgeted as she offered a smile.

  The pastor leaned forward. “How’s life been treating you?”

  “All right.” She shrugged, adding an anxious chuckle as her hands splayed open, palms up. “No, uh, no handcuffs this time.”

  Pastor Tom frowned.

  Grant grasped one of her hands in his.

  She swallowed, looking up and putting on a brave face. “Anyway, I’m happy to report that Grant and I are no longer on parole. It’s behind us now. We’re here to talk about moving forward.”

  The pastor said, “Then I’m glad it’s all in the past.” His eyes shifted over to Grant. “Sophie’s father told me you two met on your parole officer’s doorstep?”

  Grant winced. “Yes, sir—not your most typical hookup spot. Mr. Taylor isn’t exactly my biggest fan.”

  “Aw, he’s coming around,” Sophie countered.

  Pastor Tom hid a smile. “Well, if you can win over Will, you can win over anybody.”

  That’s certainly true, Sophie thought.

  “How is your father?” Pastor Tom asked her.

  “He’s doing well. The construction business is picking up.”

  “That’s good, but I wasn’t necessarily asking about his work life.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “He said his talks with you have helped a lot, but it’s still tough. We miss my mom. That’s why this whole wedding thing’s so important to him, I think.”

  “And that’s why you’re here,” Pastor Tom said. “Wedding talk. Tell me what you’re planning.”

  Grant nodded for her to field that question.

  “We’d like to get married this summer, here in the church,” she began.

  ***

  After what seemed like a four-hour wedding meeting, Grant hustled down Michigan Avenue, weaving around slow pedestrians, toward his job at Alex Remington’s hotel. Even though it was a balmy nineteen degrees, shoppers teemed the Magnificent Mile, toting bags from American Girl Place and Niketown. He reviewed the details of the meeting as he walked, huddled inside his long, navy-blue wool coat—a Christmas gift from Uncle Joe. His White Sox jacket just wasn’t cutting it in these temperatures. His main duty was to find a spot for their reception. He smiled. He knew the perfect plac
e.

  Some passengers disembarked a tour bus, and as he crossed in front of them, a voice called out, “Madsen!”

  He stopped short. He’d know that voice anywhere. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Power of suggestion? He searched the area for his irascible former boss but failed to locate him.

  “Madsen, I’m right here, dammit!”

  He looked again at the man getting off the bus—a shorter man of average weight with carefully combed black hair and a crisp business suit—and did a triple take.

  “Rog?”

  Then came that familiar hearty laugh. “Of course! Who the hell else you know leads architectural bus tours, dumbshit?”

  This was definitely Roger Eaton. Grant tried to shut his slacked jaw. “You look, uh, great, Rog. I barely recognized you, you look so good! I mean, uh, that didn’t come out right…”

  “Real nice, little fucker. Way to treat your elders.”

  “Sorry, I—you must be following your diet, huh? You’re back on good terms with Ms. Broccoli?”

  Roger gave a proud grin. “I got me a real life Ms. Broccoli now. A real sweetie.”

  “You—you have a girlfriend now?”

  “Ana,” he confirmed. “She lives in my building.”

  “That’s great! Did you meet her on the elevator or something?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “She was at the gym on the sixth floor.”

  “You were in the gym?”

  “Don’t look so surprised! I used to be real fit, back in the Navy. I know my way around a gym.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I met her doing free weights. This hard-body señorita was putting me to shame on squats, and I asked her how she got such a tight ass—”

  “And then she decked you.”

  “Nah, she loved it! She’s real proud of that butt—she should be. She took me to one of her classes, and I got hooked. She’s a Zumba instructor.”

  Grant absorbed that information for a moment. “You do…Zumba?”

  “It’s great! Much more fun than PT. You just get going…” He did a little two-step maneuver on the city street, dancing to an unknown Latin beat. “Cha cha cha. Heeuh? Ana does this a little better than me…”

  Grant tried to hold it in. He really did. But his body quivered, his shoulders shook, and soon a whooping laugh erupted—which lasted quite a few seconds.

  Roger abruptly stopped his dance. “You judge, Madsen. Not cool.”

  “You’re right,” he said, finding it difficult to compose a straight face. “That wasn’t cool of me. Zumba’s obviously working for you.”

  “Lost thirty-five pounds since September.”

  “Wow! And your hair…piece…looks real good too.”

  “Ana helped pick this one out.”

  Don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “So, uh, when do Sophie and I get to meet Ana?”

  “I was thinking of bringing her by Capone’s one night, make her suffer through your singing.”

  “I’d be honored,” Grant said. “But actually, I was going to call you. Um, I’m going by an alias now—some things have changed…”

  Roger looked at him with a newfound respect, and his voice lowered conspiratorially. “Last time I talked to Joe, he said you were in conversations with the FBI, thinking of working for them.”

  “I’m giving it a shot. Nothing’s happened yet, though.”

  “What’s it like working for those tight-ass feds?”

  He smirked. “Probably the same as working for your tight-ass boss.”

  “True that. So what’s your alias then?”

  “Mick Saylor.”

  “What the fuck kind of name is that?”

  “Sophie helped me come up with it. It’s sort of a private joke.”

  “So it’s Saylor and Taylor now.” He shook his head. “The fucking Bobbsey twins.”

  “Huh—I never put our names together like that before.”

  “Way to think it through first, Mick Dick.”

  His head spun with the volume of insults hurled his way.

  “How’s Taylor doing, by the way?” Roger continued.

  “She’s great. She’s teaching full time at DePaul now.”

  “You two still shacking up?”

  Grant grinned. “Yep, but not for much longer. We’re engaged.”

  His eyes widened. “Finally! About time you both realized nobody else would want you. You might as well stick together.”

  “I’ve missed this.” His heart swelled with fondness for his former boss.

  “Then come back and work on my ship this summer.”

  “I’d actually like to ask you something about that, sir.”

  Roger narrowed his eyes. “You sneaking behind my back again, trying to hire someone else for my cruise like you did with Taylor?”

  “Hey. As I recall, that worked out pretty well for your business. You should be so lucky.”

  He grunted.

  “I wanted to ask if Sophie and I could have our wedding reception on your ship. Saturday, June eighteenth.”

  He tilted his head, considering.

  “We’ll pay you, of course,” Grant added.

  “With what? My ship’s expensive to rent, you know.”

  “Mr. Taylor has agreed to foot the bill.”

  His eyes bugged. “I thought he hated you!”

  “I charmed him with my singing.”

  He shook his head. “Keep dreaming, Sinatra. Hey, I haven’t met Ana’s dad yet—maybe I should try singing for him too.”

  “Don’t you want him to like you? If so, I’d advise against it.”

  “I’ve missed this too, you pecker.” He grinned as he glanced at his watch. “Gotta get back to Willis Tower for the next bus tour or my boss will be all over me. So, June eighteenth? Sure, that should work. I’ll cancel the two evening cruises and expect a fat paycheck from Taylor’s dad to cover the losses.”

  “You got it, Rog. Thanks.”

  “And Madsen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful out there.”

  He nodded. “You too. Don’t let those tourists hit on you. You’ve got a girlfriend now.”

  “A hot girlfriend!” Roger echoed, starting a little merengue dance. “She’s one lucky woman!”

  Grant grinned as he walked away. “Zumba,” he marveled. He couldn’t wait to tell Sophie.

  ***

  A few minutes later, and feeling quite efficient, Grant welcomed the warm blast of air greeting him in the hotel lobby. As he peeled off his gloves and slid off his hat, he noticed there weren’t any guests at the reception desk, and he knew what that meant. As much as he tried to avoid eye contact with the redhead working behind the front desk, she still aimed a seductive wink his way. Grant gave her a tight smile and hurried past.

  Picturing Sophie’s engagement ring, he wished he wore a sign that he too was off the market. But then he realized she was so beautiful even an engagement ring wouldn’t stop men from pursuing her. At times he still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to marry him. Excitement coursed through him just thinking about it.

  He waltzed into the executive suite, and Alex Remington’s administrative assistant looked up from her desk. “Hi, Mick!”

  “Hey, Sarah. Could you let Mr. Remington know I’d like to see him?”

  “He said you could go on in when you arrived. He’s expecting you.”

  Surprised, he knocked on his boss’s door before entering the opulent office.

  Involved in a phone conversation, Remington gestured for him to sit in the chair across from the desk.

  Sinking into the leather, he listened for a moment.

  “He’s here, and I’ll send him up in a few…You’re welcome. I hope it works. Keep in touch.” Mr. Remington hung up the phone and gave him a stern stare. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Grant shifted in his chair. “I, uh, I ran into a friend on Michigan.” He felt a bit confused. He wouldn’t start singing for hours and typically his boss was too
busy with hotel business to care much when exactly he arrived. “Would you like me here at a particular time, Mr. Remington? I promise I won’t be late again.”

  His expression softened. “It’s not me keeping a timetable here—it’s the other party. It seems I’ll be the designated go-between.”

  “Sir?”

  “An agent’s waiting for you in room six thirty-one.”

  “Oh.” Understanding dawned on him. He’d been waiting for the FBI to make contact, but hadn’t expected it would happen at work.

  “Apparently they’d like you to report in to me at the start of your shift, and I’ll let you know if they’re here to meet with you.”

  “Why don’t they just call me?”

  “They don’t want to take any chances.”

  Grant took this in. “I didn’t mean to get you involved, Mr. Remington.”

  “Too late.” He smiled. “I want to be involved. I saw what happened to Will and Sophie, and I’ll do whatever it takes to stop mobsters from taking down more innocent people.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  Mr. Remington grinned. “I always knew you were a good hire. Now, do you have any new songs on tap for us?”

  “Andy and I are working on a Guys and Dolls song, sir.”

  “Great! Which one?”

  “‘Luck Be a Lady Tonight.’”

  “Indeed. We could all use a little luck. You better get going—the agent’s waiting.”

  He stood. “Thank you, sir.”

  He zoomed past reception, where thankfully the redhead was engrossed in checking in a hotel guest, toward the bank of elevators. So it’s beginning. A charge of energy bloomed up his spine, leaving him jumpy as he stepped into the open elevator.

  After making sure he wasn’t followed, he stole down the hallway of the sixth floor. An agent responded to his soft knock, but he stepped aside and let Grant in without showing himself in the open doorway. Once the door was shut, Agent Lucas Bounter gripped his hand in a firm handshake. “Welcome back.”

  “It’s good to see you, sir. Uh, is the task force involved with this assignment? I thought I’d be working with another agent.”

  “I’ve been reassigned to the organized crime unit,” said Bounter. “Less of a chance Jovanovich and his ilk can hunt me down.”

  “Has he been a problem?”