On Best Behavior (C3)
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.
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Omnific Publishing
1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor
Los Angeles, California 90067
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First Omnific eBook edition, September 2013
First Omnific trade paperback edition, September 2013
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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
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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
G
RANT
W
AS
A
BOUT
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 place.
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.”