With Good Behavior (3 page)

When they arrived at the docks of the Chicago River near Navy Pier, Grant curiously stepped out of the cab, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sunlight off the water.

Joe headed for one of the ships docked by the pier, and Grant read the clapboard sign sitting on shore:

Book Your Architectural Cruise Here!

Cruises Depart Daily at 1:00, 3:00, 5:00, and 7:00

“Roger!” Joe called out, tentatively stepping onto the gunwale of the ship and looking naturally at home in his khaki Navy uniform. “Yo, Rog!” he bellowed again, this time producing a short, rotund man from the ship’s interior.

“Son of a bitch!” the bald man cried, breaking into a huge grin. Joe hopped down onto the deck and they grabbed each other in a bear hug, slapping each other’s backs fondly.

“Christ, Rog,” Joe laughed, glancing at the man’s sizable belly. “You been eating deep dish pizza every day or what?”

“I’m missing your goddamn PT every morning, you asshole. You’re a commander now, huh? A fucking XO? The big cheese is here! So, what in the hell you doing in Chicago, sir?”

Still chuckling, Joe glanced up to find Grant carefully watching them from the pier. “I’m here to visit my nephew. Hey, Grant, come down here. I want to introduce you to a friend.”

Grant hopped onto the deck with one smooth motion, clearly at ease on the watercraft as well.

Joe nodded toward the shorter man. “This is Roger Eaton, former ensign serving with me at Great Lakes.” He then draped his arm protectively across Grant’s shoulders. “And this is my nephew Grant, former lieutenant at Great Lakes.”

“Oh fuck, you both outrank me then.” Roger grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. “At least you were smart enough to get out of the Navy, unlike the commander here,” he added, looking up at Grant.

Grant gave a plastic smile. His exit from the Navy had hardly been voluntary.

“So,” Joe began, feeling his nephew bristle beside him. “Grant needs a job. I was wondering if you could use a capable assistant on board?”

“Hmm …” Roger scratched his chin. “Well, I just hired a few guys, but I’m sure I’ll need more help with the season about to start. Anything for you, Joe.”

Joe removed his arm from his nephew’s shoulders and reached out to shake Roger’s hand, pumping vigorously. “I knew I could count on you. I have to return to Norfolk tomorrow. Is there any way Grant could sack out at your place until he finds an apartment of his own?”

Grant watched the interaction with amazement. His uncle was shamelessly persuading this stranger to take care of him.

“No problem, sir. We Navy boys got to stay together.” Roger turned to Grant. “How long you been out, kid?”

Grant blushed. “Just a day.”

“You got out of the Navy yesterday?” Roger asked incredulously.

“Oh, no, um, I, um, left the Navy over two years ago.”

Watching his nephew squirm, Joe stepped in. “Rog? I should probably tell you that Grant was just released from prison. He’s had a rough go of it, but he won’t cause you any problems, I promise. He just needs to stay away from his family and he’ll be fine.”

Roger squinted warily at Grant, while Grant peered at the spotless white deck of the ship. “Prison, huh? Convenient you told me that 
after
 I agreed to hire him, Joe.”

“Sorry about that. That was wrong of me. But Grant is a good man, and he’ll be your best employee. Just wait and you’ll see.”

Scowling, Roger reluctantly nodded. When Grant slowly raised his head to meet his gaze, his new boss told him, “You pull any of that prison shit on me and getting fired will be the least of your problems, you got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Roger’s glower abruptly turned into a grin. “I got a lieutenant calling me ‘sir.’ I love it. Okay, kid, you go up there,” he pointed to the door of the administration building nearby, “fill out some paperwork, and you can start work tomorrow. Eleven hundred hours, sharp.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Joe broke in, “Hey, Rog, when are you done tonight? Let’s go out and get a drink.”

“If you want to meet me here around twenty-thirty, I’ll take you to the place with the best pizza in the city.”

Joe grinned. “You look like you’ve tried a few pizza joints in your day.”

“Can you believe this guy?” Roger asked Grant. “He insults me at the same time he asks me for a favor. Unbelievable.”

Grant began to feel a sliver of relief wash over him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be so solitary anymore. He returned Roger’s smile. “Yep, that’s my Uncle Joe.”

“Ah, you guys love me, you know it,” Joe said. “Let’s get that paperwork started, Grant.”

Grant nodded. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Eaton.”

“See you then, kid.”

Roger disappeared below deck, muttering grumpily. His business wasn’t no halfway house, damn it. Joe’s nephew had better perform like the fucking Employee of the Month or there would be hell to pay.

S
ophie leaned back in the metal chair outside her PO’s office, nervously glancing at her watch. It was five past nine, and although she didn’t know Officer Stone all that well, he didn’t seem the type to run late. Should she knock again? She didn’t want to be a pest, but she also didn’t want to get in trouble for being late if he was somehow in his office yet hadn’t heard her first knock.

Glancing down at her form-fitting white sleeveless tank, layered with a flowing white silk blouse and navy-blue walking shorts, she hoped she was dressed all right. What exactly was the protocol for parolee fashion?

Anxiously twisting the silver ring on her right forefinger, she weighed her options and was just standing to rap on the door again when Jerry rounded the corner, flustered as he swiftly made his way down the hallway. Sliding the key into the doorknob lock without looking at Sophie, he muttered, “Sorry I’m late. C’mon in.”

Despite keeping his head down as Sophie followed him inside the office, she detected redness around his eyes and a sad, defeated body posture. She also heard a heavy sigh as they both sat down. She did not even need her keen powers of observation to detect that something was wrong.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Stone?”

He glanced up at her and held her concerned gaze for a moment before peering down at her file again. She noticed a white nametag on his shirt, and immediately recognized the Northwestern Hospital logo.

Biting her lower lip she inquired, “You were just visiting someone in the hospital, sir?”

He looked up again, startled. Scrunching his forehead, he asked, “How did you …” He then gazed down at his shirt and ripped the nametag off, angrily crumpling it in his hands before tossing the sticky wad into the garbage can.

“So, Ms. Taylor, how is your roommate’s dissertation coming along?”

Sophie was disappointed that he’d evaded her questions, but touched that he remembered this tidbit from their first meeting. “I made her write five pages!” she beamed.

“I see,” he gruffly replied. “And do you have a job yet?”

Her smile faded. “Um, no sir.”

“Time is running out, Taylor. How many jobs have you applied for?”

Sophie looked up and to the right, visibly performing mental calculations. “About twenty-four jobs, I think?”

Jerry raised his eyebrows and leaned in. “Twenty-four?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many interviews have you had?”

Sophie began twisting her ring again. “None.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Where have you applied?”

“Um, about five hospitals, um, one of them being Northwestern,” she added pointedly. “Three doctors’ offices, ten or so boarding schools, a couple of counseling centers …” She sighed. “I don’t think they want to hire a felon.”

Jerry sat back in his chair and studied the parolee across from him. She looked classy, fresh, and young—a sharp contrast to the bleak institutional setting of the hospital he’d just left.

His tone softened. “I think you’re aiming a bit high.”

Sophie frowned. “But I have my PhD. What do you want me to do—sell hot dogs on the street or something?”

“There’s no shame in that, Taylor. Hell, I was just at a Cubs game the other day, and they were hiring vendors to push hot dogs and beer. Why don’t you go apply at Wrigley?”

She shot him a hostile glance, offended by his preposterous suggestion, but then she noticed a slight smirk on his face. So, he was joking with her. Smiling a mischievous smile, she retorted indignantly, “
Cubs 
games? The only way I’d take a job like that is for White Sox games.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a White Sox fan,” he groaned. “They should 
never
 have allowed you out of your sentence early. In fact, I should send you right back to Downer’s Grove now that I know this about you. A Sox fan. Ugh.”

She giggled, and he felt drawn into her engaging smile. She seemed bright, caring, and warm. Jerry was a confirmed bachelor who had devoted his life to his career, but if he ever had a daughter, he’d want her to be something like Sophie Taylor. Well, minus the criminal history.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “I want you to expand your job search. Get something temporary and look for a position more suited to your tastes while you’re working. You know what they say: It’s easier to get a job when you already have a job.”

Sophie nodded. “I’ll keep looking, Mr. Stone. But if you see me walking up and down the aisles at 
Cubs 
games, you’ll know I’ve sunk to a new low.” That wasn’t true, actually. Having to crawl to her father and ask 
him
 for a job would be the lowest of lows.

Getting back to business, Jerry asked, “Have you attended therapy yet?”

“My first appointment is at ten this morning, sir.” Sophie said solemnly.

“And which shrink did you choose?”

“Dr. Hunter Hayes.”

Jerry arched one eyebrow. “You chose one of the only men on the list?”

“Well, I thought I’d relate better to a psychologist, and there weren’t that many listed. I hear he’s very good.”

The PO continued to shoot her a dubious stare, and suddenly she understood his consternation. “Oh! You’re worried about me seeing a male psychologist. You’re thinking that, um, maybe, um, something will happen again?”

“Exactly, Taylor,” he curtly replied.

“Uh, that is not going to happen, sir.”

“And how do you know that for sure?”

How could she answer without outing a colleague? Kirsten’s supervisor had let it slip that Dr. Hayes was gay, but Sophie wasn’t sure this was common knowledge, and she was determined not to cross professional boundaries again. “Well, uh, he, um, is, well, let’s just say I’m not his type. I seriously doubt Dr. Hayes is going to fall in love with me.”

Jerry stared blankly at her for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. “Dr. Hayes is gay?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “That’s what I hear, yes.”

He moved on. “You say your appointment is at ten today?”

She nodded.

Opening a file drawer, Jerry extracted a paper and scanned it quickly before dialing the phone. Sophie observed curiously and had no idea who Jerry was referring to when he said, “I got his voice mail.”

She felt sick when she heard Officer Stone begin leaving a message.

“Hello, Dr. Hayes. This is Parole Officer Jerry Stone with the Illinois Department of Corrections. I am calling to confirm your appointment with a parolee in my charge, Sophie Taylor. I will also need weekly updates regarding her attendance and progress in therapy. Please contact me at this number …”

Sophie dropped her head in shame. They’d had such a nice conversation, but this reminder that she was an untrustworthy con smacked her in the face. At times in the past week she’d felt almost normal, very nearly worthy, but something always took her back down to her status as a lowly, lying criminal.

Jerry hung up and was surprised to see Sophie looking so crestfallen. “What’s wrong, Taylor?”

Her tone was wounded. “You don’t believe me? About the therapy appointment?”

He sighed. “Trust has to be earned. I learned that the hard way too many times to count. You simply haven’t earned my trust yet.”

Nodding slowly, Sophie still felt hurt, although she knew his words were wise. She had given her trust too easily once, and now she was paying the price. She vowed to be more careful in the future.

“Taylor, we’re out of time,” Jerry informed her.

Sophie rose to leave, but after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “It’s my mother.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was visiting my mother in the hospital,” he said, shocked he was telling a parolee. “She’s dying of cancer.” What was this psychologist doing to him?

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You, um, had to come straight from the hospital to deal with a bunch of us convicts?”

Jerry did not respond. He looked as if he was about to cry.

“I’d better go. I don’t want to make you late,” she murmured, hastily exiting the office to help him save face.

Once Sophie opened the door, she found herself almost colliding again with the gorgeous man from last week. He had his right hand suspended in midair, his fist curled to knock, when she came busting through the door. He seemed as unsure about knocking as she had.

“Um, h-h-hi,” she stammered, closing the door behind her. Meeting her gaze were crystal eyes like blue shards of glass.

Grant appreciatively took in her bright, beautiful appearance and tilted his head in the direction of the office. “So, what kind of mood is he in today?”

Feeling her heart pound, Sophie managed, “Not so good today. His mother is dying. He just visited her in the hospital.” She cringed, realizing she was inappropriately sharing personal information.

The man showed a look of such utter sorrow that Sophie fought the urge to wrap him in a hug. She wondered what the hell she was thinking. He was a total stranger! And a criminal too.

“That’s awful,” he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Well, I better get in there.”

As he opened the door, Sophie caught sight of the logo on his shiny black athletic jacket. “Wait!” she whispered.

Grant turned to her, bewildered. “What?” he whispered back.

“Your White Sox jacket!” she hissed. “He’s a die-hard Cubs fan!”

“So what?” he retorted. “I would hope we’ve advanced to a world where Cubs fans and White Sox fans can peacefully coexist.”

“Maybe. But he almost had a conniption when he found out I cheer for the Sox. This is the man who could put you back in prison in a second. Do you 
really
 want to get on his bad side?”

“Good point.” He began shrugging out of the jacket.

“Madsen, is that you?” Jerry growled from inside the office. “Get your ass in here!”

Grant’s eyes widened in alarm. “I gotta hurry!” He now held the jacket crumpled in his hands, and Sophie admired the length of lean brown arms extending from a heather-gray short-sleeved T-shirt. The shirt’s brown piping accentuated his sinewy triceps.

“I can’t leave the jacket out here or somebody might take it. Here!” He thrust it into her unsuspecting grasp. “You hold it for me.”

Sophie was about to protest when he opened the door wide and dashed inside, leaving her alone in the hallway. She glanced down at the jacket. 
But I can’t wait outside for you. I have an appointment.

She sighed, stuck in a moment of indecision. Why hadn’t he just taken it with him, hiding the logo? She walked toward the exit, carrying the stranger’s jacket. Would there be any way to return it to him before next week? She drew up the collar of the jacket to see if his name or phone number was written inside.

Unfortunately there were no identifying marks, but as she held the jacket so close to her face, a subtle scent of aftershave wafted toward her nose. Sophie stopped walking and inhaled deeply, mesmerized by the masculine scent of bergamot and sandalwood. She closed her eyes and breathed in the tantalizing scent.

Suddenly she glanced up, her eyes darting guiltily to discern whether anyone had caught her, lost in a horny trance. She shook her head slowly. Apparently Officer Stone was a wise man in mandating therapy for her. She needed some serious help! She scurried away to hail a cab, hoping Dr. Hayes could set her straight.

* * *

“What was the holdup, Madsen?” Jerry demanded.

“Uh,” Grant stalled as took his seat. “I thought I saw a guy I knew in the hall—a guy I ran into at the Cubs game on Sunday.” He was surprised how easily he spun a lie, thinking on his feet. Dishonesty must run in his genes. “But it was a false alarm. It wasn’t him.”

Jerry brightened considerably at the mention of the Cubs. “
I
 was at that game. Where were your seats?”

Grant squirmed. “Uh, behind third base?”

“No wonder you’re so tan,” Jerry observed. “Those seats are right in the sun.”

Or the glare off the water after working on a ship the past week, Grant thought, but he went along with it. “Yeah, it gets pretty hot in the sun.”

“Who’d you go to the game with?”

Grant paused. “My uncle?”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any family in town.”

“No, sir, I have lots of family. They’re just, um, not the kind of people I want to associate with. Except for my uncle. He’s a commander in the Navy, and he’s always been there for me.”

“A commander in the Navy? He must have been pretty pissed off about you getting kicked out after your conviction, huh?”

“That’s putting it mildly, sir.” Grant had never felt more ashamed than when he had to tell his uncle he’d been arrested for aggravated robbery.

“Is your uncle on your dad’s side of the family?”

“No, he’s my mom’s brother.”

“So, where’s your mother? Is she one of the family members you don’t associate with?”

Grant felt the familiar ache in his heart, and he broke the parole officer’s gaze, looking down. “No, sir. She’s, uh, dead.”