On Best Behavior (C3) (8 page)

Vladimir muttered, “Girls better get butts back in here.”

It was just the three of them at a round table in a dimly lit room, waiting for the promised “real vodka” from the Russians’ girlfriends. Red velvet curtains draped over the windows but otherwise the room was rather Spartan, the poker table stealing the spotlight. One bodyguard had driven them from the club to this house in West Town, and he was now perched in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette. Grant was sure several more bodyguards made their residence here. He hoped the tiny button recorder embedded in his shirt was working, transmitting to the FBI.

Andrei finished shuffling and looked up at his boss.

“No,” Vladimir grumbled. “Need drink first.” He glared at the bodyguard and spoke to him in Russian.

As the large man went to the kitchen, Innochka and Katya emerged carrying shot glasses of an amber liquid.

“Something different, you say,” Katya told Vladimir, placing the glass in front of him.

“I wanted to make margaritas, but Katya said they weren’t strong enough for you,” Innochka added.

Grant paled, realizing the drink in front of him was the dreaded tequila. He hoped he wouldn’t start singing after a few more shots.

“My girl know me well,” Vladimir said, winking at Katya as he held his glass aloft. “
Na zdorovie.
”

As the three men downed the burning tequila, he remembered the feel of Sophie’s skin during their unforgettable body shots. His smile faded when Vladimir tossed two blue chips into the kitty. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

“Bring bottle, then leave us,” Vladimir ordered. The women complied.

For the small blind bet, Grant added his own two blue chips, and Andrei followed suit before scooping the six chips toward him and dealing two cards to each of them, face down. Grant peeked at his cards: a seven of hearts and an ace of spades.

Andrei dealt three cards to the middle of the table and with a flourish turned them over. A four of hearts, ten of diamonds, and ace of clubs.

A pair of aces!
He tried to conceal his excitement, feeling Russian eyes on him, trying to read him.

Vladimir pushed two red chips to the middle. Grant had a sense the red ones were worth more than the blue ones, though he had no clue about their true value. He wasn’t about to ask. Calling the bet, he added two red chips of his own.

Andrei paused, seeming to think for a moment, then slapped his cards on the table face-down. It was just him and Vladimir left. Picking the top card from the deck, Andrei discarded it and turned over the next community board card in the middle of the table: a seven of clubs.

Vladimir shoved another red chip toward the pot.

Go big or go home
, Grant told himself. He nudged two red chips to the pile.

One of Andrei’s eyebrows lowered. He stared at Grant. Vladimir’s face was like a still pond as he tossed one more red chip into the kitty. Andrei burned another card, then turned up the final card in the middle of the table. It was a six of diamonds.

Vladimir glared at the five cards on the table, and Grant hoped the don didn’t have a five and an eight for a straight. But a three of a kind would also beat him. The Russian turned over his cards, first showing a five of spades. Grant held his breath. Vladimir’s next card was a king of clubs, and Grant exhaled.

He turned over his cards and tried not to smile, showing his two pair. Maybe gambling wasn’t all bad.

“Aces over sevens,” Vladimir said, frowning.

Andrei shrugged, corralling the chips and pushing them to Grant. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Almost five thousand dollars of beginner’s luck,” Vladimir growled.

Grant’s face froze. Counting the six blue chips and eight red ones added to his pile, he struggled to calculate. “The red chips…they’re worth…five hundred?”

“
Da
,” Andrei answered. “Blue chips one hundred each.”

He nodded. The FBI had only given him five thousand, and he didn’t even know how much the green chips were worth. He hoped his beginner’s luck would continue.

Andrei poured another round from the bottle Innochka had left, and Grant knocked back the next shot. He was going to need it.

5. Con Tequila

“T
HANK
H
EAVEN
that’s
over,” Kirsten Holland muttered, collapsing on the sofa.

“It’s great to live in the same building again,” Sophie said, handing her former roommate a glass of rosé. “But you’re not allowed to move ever again.”

“Cheers to that!” Kirsten grinned as she clinked Sophie’s glass. “Moving is exhausting.” They each took a sip. “I just couldn’t stay in our old place by myself, you know? Even though the management company cleaned the stain…”

“I totally get it, Kir. You shouldn’t have to live anywhere a man got killed. Talk about PTSD.”

She nodded. “It was almost like Carlo was still there some nights, lurking around.”

“Like a ghost?”

Kirsten tossed her thick brown hair over her shoulder. “Don’t know if I believe in ghosts. But the living room did seem kind of creepy, a little colder than the rest of the apartment.”

“Weird.” Sophie met her eyes. “You
sure
you didn’t see a little weasely guy with slicked-back hair sneaking around?”

Kirsten smiled. “Strutting around with his black cowboy boots, thinking he’s God’s gift to women?”

Sophie giggled. “Carlo the Cocky Ghost.”

“What a narcissist. His gun was probably way bigger than his peen.” When their laughter died down, Kirsten added, “Not that I should complain. He’s the only man I’ve had back to my apartment in a year.”

Sophie cackled then exhaled. “Ah. Glad we can laugh about it six months later.”

“
I’m
glad you live just one floor down from me now.”

“And you’re much closer to DePaul here too. How’re you liking your new position, Dr. Holland?”

“It’s fun working with college students again.” She smiled. “Thanks for helping me get the job.”

Sophie shrugged. “Hey, all I did was tell you about the opening at the counseling center.
You
did the rest.”

“It’s a great place to get my supervised hours before the licensing exam.” She groaned. “I don’t know how I’ll ever pass that sucker. Is the exam really as bad as they say?”

Sophie took a sip of wine. “Not really. You just have to study their materials and take all the pretests, which are much harder than the real thing. You only need a seventy to pass, by the way.”

“Didn’t you score like a ninety?”

Sophie blushed, taking another sip. She’d scored a ninety-one.

“Whatever—I know you did well. No wonder Anita’s so proud of you.”

Sophie looked down.
Not that it matters after losing my license
.

“How’s teaching going?” Kirsten’s voice had softened.

“Good. And the research project’s coming along well.”

“I thought you hated research!”

Sophie tilted her head. “Well, it’s not as fun as counseling, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Well,
I
keep sticking my foot in my mouth, reminding you about your lost career. Thanks for the wine.” She stood. “I should hang some pictures before it gets too late to bang on the walls.”

Sophie stood and took her glass.

“Speaking of banging, when’s McSailor getting home?” Kirsten’s smirk was the size of Texas.

Sophie had to smile. “Crude. You’re crude, roomie.”

“And you love me for it.”

“I
guess
.” Sophie set the glasses on the counter and hugged her friend. “Grant should be home in a few hours.” A yawn came on. “This wine’s made me sleepy. I hope I can stay up and wait for him.”

“Tell him I said hi. I’ll be down to annoy you both tomorrow.”

“Let us know if you need any help with that banging.”

Kirsten laughed. “Will do. Later, tater!”

***

Lurching awake on the sofa, Sophie scanned the darkened apartment. All was quiet except for the rasp of her breaths as she tried to orient herself. Then there was the noise that must have stirred her from sleep—a scratching at the door. She heard a slight clink of metal, the crunch of a key jamming into the lock, and harsh cursing from the hallway.

Was a Barberi thug trying to break into the apartment? She was fully awake now.

Soundlessly she crept toward the front door, halting at the clang of keys dropping on the hallway carpet. More swearing ensued, and her heart leaped to her throat. She was almost to the peephole when a soft chuckle floated through the door. Relief flooded her. She’d recognize that sound anywhere.

Yanking open the door, she had to look down to find Grant crouching at her feet, groping for the fallen keys.

“What’s your problem?” she hissed, trying not to disturb the neighbors.

It took him five seconds to look up at her with glassy eyes and a goofy grin. Clutching his keys, he woozily stood, swaying on his feet.

Her mouth popped open. “You’re
drunk!”

“
Hóla
, Bonita.” His smile broadened.

So much for not waking the neighbors
.

He fumbled for her hand and pressed her flush to his chest. “The door—” she cried, hearing it click shut and locked behind her.

“I have keys!” he proudly announced.

She rolled her eyes. “A lot of good they did you before.”

He nuzzled her nose, smiling dreamily, and she caught a whiff of Eau de Tequila. The low hallway light reflected in his dazzling eyes, which shone with mischief.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why were you drinking? I thought—”

He interrupted her with a scorching kiss, which made her bones wobble.

He followed his masterpiece by cupping her breasts in his hands. He skimmed his lips across her jaw, softly licking the skin near her ear. “You thought?” he prompted. He wasn’t slurring quite as badly as his first tequila bender.

“Hmmm…I thought…I thought…
what
was I thinking?”

He grabbed both her hands, and she found herself moving in step with him, ballroom dancing in the hallway. Naturally he started singing Sinatra in his deep baritone, crooning about the kick of champagne.

Feeling déjà vu from the bridge of the cruise ship, she closed her eyes and swayed along with him.
Here we go again
. She let him twirl her, and, despite her consternation, a giggle escaped.

He tucked her close, his hand resting on the small of her back, humming a tune about liquor not affecting him at all.

I beg to differ
. “So who were you drinking with, naughty McSailor?”

“No one as sexy as you,” he cooed in her ear. The humming resumed, and his hand traveled south, caressing her bottom.

A zing of energy sparked from his touch, and she attempted to stay focused. “And what did she look like?”

Halting the two-step, he looked into her eyes, a smile floating across his flushed face. “Jealous, Bonnie?”

“You better not be doing body shots with anyone else.”

He seemed to find this amusing, snorting loudly. “I doubt my drinking buddies would let me get that close.”

“Drinking budd
ies?”

They turned to their left when a neighbor’s door swung open, revealing a glaring woman with bed-head and an intricate neck tattoo peeking out from under her robe. “Could you take it
inside?”

He maintained his jovial grin, letting go of Sophie and approaching 7B. “Aw, don’t be mad, ma’am.” He kneeled and gently took the woman’s hand, then planted a kiss. “I do apologize—jusss having a good time out here on the dance floor.”

Sophie watched the woman teeter on the edge of fear and enthrallment, here in the hallway at two a.m.

“I’m sorry for all the noise,” Sophie said, stepping closer. “He had a bit too much to drink, and it’s time for me to put him to bed.”

“I like the sound of
that
,” Grant said, looking up at her but still holding the woman’s hand. “But I was jusss about to offer our lovely neighbor here a dance.”

The woman blushed. “Um, I have to go to work kind of early…”

“Mick,” Sophie hissed, tugging at his arm. “Time for bed, honey.”

Hearing his undercover name seemed to compel him to action. He stood, darted nervous glances down the hallway, then aimed a beseeching look at the woman. “I apologize, ma’am.”

Relieved he’d returned to his senses, Sophie pulled him toward their door. “Sorry for waking you up!”