Bad Behavior (12 page)

Feeling her damp hair on her shirt collar, Sophie watched Grant sit a little taller as the conversation continued.

“Ben? I haven’t had to keelhaul him yet, Joe.” Grant grinned. “Though I’ve been tempted.”

As she listened to his smooth voice, Sophie’s was transported to their dreamy, if overly hushed, lovemaking session a few nights ago. She had gazed into Grant’s eyes, feeling him inside her as they moved together. Clutching each other, a powerful pressure welled up, along with shuddering spasms. Holding each other tightly, staring deeply, tenderly, adoringly…they had both climaxed, wondrously, at precisely the same moment—

“Are you coming, Sophie?”

She flinched, turning in the direction of the voice to find Hunter with a smirk on his face. Immediately she looked at Grant, who was also on his feet, studying her curiously while holding his hand out. He must have ended his phone call with Joe at some point.

“Y-Y-Yes,” she blushed furiously, taking the offered hand and feeling herself pulled to standing.

She tried to regain her focus as they moved down the hall. Having McSailor around was definitely dangerous to her concentration.

After they were seated, Hunter decided to address the confidentiality issue right away. “It was interesting running into you two at the steakhouse.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” Sophie said. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your dinner like that.”

“Nonsense,” Hunter responded, glancing at Grant guiltily. “Bradley enjoyed meeting both of you. I was kind of curious about what led you to come over to our table, though.”

Sophie’s cheeks reddened. “I’m not sure—it just didn’t feel right to leave without saying something to you. I appreciate what you’ve done for us, and I guess I wanted Bradley to know that. I realize Jerry mandated me to come here, but you…you mean a lot to me. You’ve really helped me.”

Now Hunter was the one blushing. “Thank you, but you’re the one doing all the work.”

Grant wanted to speak as well, but he had no idea what to say. He was also grateful for Hunter’s help, but therapy had been an emotional rollercoaster, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the next descent.

“I’ve been thinking about our session a couple of weeks ago,” Hunter continued nervously. Although the public encounter with the couple had been awkward, his subsequent conversation with Bradley had helped him to realize he’d been experiencing countertransference with Grant. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was unprofessional of me to yell at you two about what happened in the bedroom that night.”

Grant frowned. “You’re apologizing for yelling at us?”

Hunter nodded.

“Why, sir? That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Grant looked down. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to Sophie.”

“But
I
have forgiven you,” Sophie said, taking his hand.

Slowly he looked up at her.

“As Hunter pointed out, I behaved badly that night too.” Noticing the psychologist’s wince, she added, “And I agree with Grant—there’s no need to apologize. I probably would’ve yelled at my clients too in that situation. Whatever you did, it worked.”

Turning back to her boyfriend, Sophie’s eyes took on a naughty glint. “Judging by our past few nights together, I’d say we’re back on track.”

“So things are going better for you two?” Hunter asked, observing Grant’s adorable blush.

“Yes, sir,” Grant replied. “And we’re trying to keep quiet since Ben’s in the other room.”

Hunter chuckled. “Ah, yes, how’s Ben doing?”

“He’s grounded right now, until he can show me fifty push-ups. And then he had the nerve to leave the apartment when he was supposed to be grounded, so I had to take his cell phone away.
That
got his attention.”

“I bet,” Hunter grinned. “A teenager without a cell phone? That’s like a SCUBA diver without an oxygen tank. He must be dying a slow death right now.”

Sophie giggled. “Oh, he was
so
mad when Grant took it away!”

“Well, Ben gets his phone back tonight,” Grant said, “
if
his behavior warrants it. And he’s up to forty-three push-ups now, so hopefully he won’t have to be grounded much longer.”

“If you two can survive a pissed-off teenager living with you in a one-bedroom apartment, I think you can survive anything.” Hunter smirked. “Okay, so I want to work on communication with you today.”

“All right,” Sophie eagerly responded.

Grant looked skeptical.

“We’re going to do a speaker-listener exercise. One of you will be speaker while the other is listener, and then we’ll swap roles. The speaker is going to use the ‘I’ language we’ve been working on to discuss a current issue in his or her life. It’s about honestly expressing thoughts, feelings, and opinions. For example, the speaker might say, ‘I feel annoyed when you don’t share the TV remote control.’”

Sophie elbowed Grant and laughed before Hunter continued.

“The listener’s task is to use empathy to reflect what the speaker’s saying—to paraphrase the speaker’s words. It’s all about the speaker, and the listener isn’t supposed to defend or argue—the listener will get a chance soon. An appropriate response might be, ‘You feel annoyed when I hog the remote.’”

Grant looked confused. “But that’s just repeating what she said. What good will come out of simply repeating how annoyed she is?”

Hunter nodded. “I see. So you’re the one who monopolizes the remote, then?”

“Yes,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes.

“But, but—” Grant sputtered. “She only wants to watch chick shows!”

His eyes full of mirth, Hunter looked at Sophie and scoffed, “
Men
.”

Returning his gaze to Grant, he explained, “It may feel like you’re doing nothing when you’re using empathic listening. But, Grant, it’s a very powerful technique. Women crave the emotional connection that comes from being heard. They
don’t
want their men to give advice or solve their problems for them. I’ve seen it many times—when the man listens and accepts what the woman is feeling without trying to change her or give her advice, he finds the woman much more receptive to him. And that receptivity extends to the bedroom, by the way.”

As expected, Grant’s skepticism suddenly disappeared. He nodded. “Let’s get started!”

“Okay,” Hunter instructed, “I want Sophie to be the speaker first, and Grant to be the listener.”

“Does this have to be about Grant and me?” Sophie asked.

“No, you can talk about whatever.”

“Good, because there’s something going on at work that’s bothering me.” She turned her body to face Grant. “I feel…bothered, uh, disrespected when my colleague David refers to male professors as Dr. So-and-so and female professors by their first names.”

“He
does
that?” Grant responded incredulously.

“The listener can ask open-ended questions, but first I want you to start with a paraphrase, Grant,” Hunter said. “Start with a ‘You feel’ response, okay?”

Grant nodded. “I understand that you feel, um, you feel mad because that jerk is a sexist pig.”

“Is that how you feel, Sophie?” Hunter prompted.

“Well, I guess I feel mad too, but he’s so condescending. It’s more like, I feel
belittled—
yeah, that’s it.”

Grant appeared anxious. “Did I screw it up, sir?”

“No, Grant, you’re doing great. If your empathic reflection’s slightly off, the speaker will correct you. You helped Sophie get to her true feeling: belittled. Do you want to try to paraphrase again?”

Chewing on his lip, Grant looked tentatively at Sophie. “You feel belittled when David doesn’t refer to you as doctor even though you’ve earned it.”

“Yes.” She nodded vehemently. “And when he refers to male professors as ‘doctor,’ I think he’s doing it intentionally.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Hunter asked.

“Furious.”

“Excellent. Let’s switch roles. Grant, you be the speaker, and Sophie, the listener.”

“Whoa,” Grant said. “What about David? What’s Sophie going to do about him?”

“I’m sure she’ll figure it out, Grant. It’s not your problem to solve, but you did help her by clarifying how she feels about the situation. Now, what would you like to discuss from the speaker’s perspective?”

Grant sat back on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable, but also unwilling to disobey Dr. Hayes. He sighed. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Is there anything you have strong feelings about that you want to tell Sophie?”

Grant thought for several moments.

“You look kind of worried,” Hunter prompted. “Is there something in particular you’re worried about?”

Grant swallowed hard and slowly faced Sophie. “I feel…uh, I feel like I don’t want you to get hurt any more by my family.”

He looked so pained that Sophie wanted to reach out and hold him, but before she could respond, Hunter gently broke in.

“Grant? That’s a great start, but how do you
feel
about Sophie possibly getting hurt by your family again? Nervous? Angry?”

“Terrified,” he responded, surprising himself. He was further dismayed by the threat of tears pulsing at the back of his eyes. “I can’t handle it if anything happens to you,” he said in a warbling voice. “But I don’t know if I can protect you. Angelo just showing up at the docks, my father wanting to see me—”

“Hold there,” Hunter said. “Sophie?”

She sniffed, unable to turn away from Grant. “You feel terrified that I…that I’ll get hurt by your family again.”

Grant nodded grimly, and Sophie asked Hunter, “Can I say something?”

When Hunter agreed, Sophie took both of Grant’s hands in hers. “I feel scared too. I know the danger of your family—hell, my father reminds me about it every day. But, Grant, no matter what your family does, I want to stay with you. I want to be with you…I love you,” she added shyly.

He gulped. “I love you so much, Sophie. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe from them.”

Hunter sat back in his chair, observing their interaction with satisfaction. The couple was communicating beautifully.

“Should we do our homework now?” Sophie asked.

They were sitting outside Jerry’s office, waiting for their nine o’clock appointment, and Grant turned to her with an amused expression. “The communication exercise?”

“Yes. We’re supposed to practice it twice before our next appointment with Hunter.”

“Okay. I’ll be speaker first.” He leaned in and whispered suggestively, “I feel quite, um,
aroused
by that sexy outfit you’ve got on, Bonnie.”

She smiled brightly with a coquettish batting of her eyelashes, but then frowned. “Somehow I don’t think that’s what Hunter had in mind.”

“It’s not?” Grant asked innocently, brushing his lips against the creamy skin of her neck.

“Mmm, and I feel…I feel—”

Her murmur was cut off by a scruffy man rushing past them to knock loudly on their parole officer’s door. The man positively reeked of alcohol, and he swayed on his feet as he hung onto the doorframe for support.

Both parolees watched as Jerry opened his office door a crack. Upon seeing who was waiting for him, he wrenched the door open and grabbed the man by the collar. “You were supposed to report here yesterday!” Jerry hollered, roughly manhandling the con into his office.

“Sorry, bossss,” the inebriated man slurred.

“You
will
be sorry!” Jerry slammed the door behind him.

Grant and Sophie exchanged frightened looks. They strained to hear what was happening, but all they could make out were Jerry’s relentless shouts.

Quickly the scene progressed, with two uniformed officers arriving at the door, barging into the office, and yanking the hapless con to his feet. Through the open door, Sophie and Grant were riveted by their view of one officer forcibly handcuffing the man before shoving him out of the office. The con’s plaintive wails of “I don’t wanna go back!” floated down the hallway as the officers took him away.

Stunned, Grant and Sophie glanced back at the office and found Jerry standing by the door, beckoning them inside. They quietly entered. As they slunk into the hard metal chairs, they remembered that just like the man who’d been dragged away, they could return to prison at any time.

After Jerry took his seat across the desk from them, Sophie ventured, “That parolee—he was in the sixty percent?”

“Yeah,” Jerry responded gruffly. Grant gave Sophie a questioning glance and Jerry continued, “Do me a favor, huh? If you know you’re going to be arrested, don’t take an all-night bender. It makes my office
stink
.”

With that, Jerry stood up and rifled through the papers stacked haphazardly on top of his filing cabinet. He extracted a can of air freshener and sprayed a few puffs toward the ceiling.

Sophie reached into her purse and dug around for a moment.

Expecting a horrible antiseptic odor to waft in her direction, she was pleasantly surprised by a light vanilla scent floating over them. “That air freshener smells good, Jerry,” she said.

“Marilyn gave it to me.” The words were out of Jerry’s mouth before he realized it, and he instantly began blushing. Grant worked hard not to laugh out loud.

“How are things going with Marilyn?” Sophie asked boldly.

Following his girlfriend’s lead, Grant jumped in too. “Yes, how is Detective Fox?”

“None of your business,
parolees
,” Jerry growled.

Grant felt his pocket vibrate, and he clandestinely read the text message from Sophie:

Jer says 60 percent of parolees return to prison

Grant winced. He
had
to keep himself and Sophie in the other forty percent. He had to find a new job—the cruises stopped running in less than two weeks.

Jerry interrupted his worries. “Now, what do you two have to report to me today?”

“Things are going well, sir,” Grant responded.

“Taylor?” Jerry asked.

“I’m fine, sir.”

The parole officer leaned back in his chair with their files open in his lap. “I’m inclined to believe you. Both of your recent drug tests were negative.”

Grant bit his lip, wondering what would happen if his nephew had to get tested.

“And your progress reports from Dr. Hayes are excellent. You two must’ve really conned him, huh?”

Sophie chuckled. “Hunter is great—he’s truly helping us, Jerry.”

Jerry studied Grant. “You don’t seem to share your girlfriend’s enthusiasm for therapy, Madsen.”

“Oh, um, well, I like Dr. Hayes all right, but therapy has been, uh, it’s been tough, sir.”

“I can imagine,” Jerry said, thinking of Grant’s less-than-fun family history.

Hearing the gruffness all but disappear from the wizened man’s voice, Grant hesitantly said, “Dr. Hayes wanted me to ask you a question, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m supposed to ask…” He sighed heavily and ran one hand through his closely cropped black hair. “I’m supposed to ask if I’d be allowed to visit my father.” Grant swallowed hard. “In Gurnee.”

Jerry studied them both and saw Sophie’s face contort with fear. “What’s wrong, Taylor?”

When Grant turned to stare at her, she paused. “Ah, maybe I should talk about this with Grant in private.”

“What is it?” Grant asked.

Sophie wrung her hands in her lap. “It’s just—I don’t want you visiting your father, Grant. I know Hunter thinks it might be a good idea, but I’m, I’m scared for you. I don’t want you near Angelo or his men either. Please promise me you’ll stay away from them?”

Her frightened eyes made Grant’s chest swell with love. Grasping one of her hands, he stroked her skin softly and replied, “Don’t worry—I don’t want
anything
to do with Uncle Angelo. And I don’t want to visit my dad, either, but I, uh, I have to know if it’s an option, at least. If making peace with him is the only way to get my life back, I at least have to try.”

Jerry watched the parolees gaze intently into each other’s eyes, feeling drawn in like he was watching one of those ridiculous movies Marilyn forced him to see with her.

Shaking himself out of his trance, he said, “Typically you wouldn’t be permitted to visit a prison while you’re on parole.” He had both parolees’ attention now. “Unless you were returning as a resident there,” he added humorlessly. “But because you’re family, the rules might be more fluid. I’ll have to check with the DOC and get back to you.”

Grant nodded gravely. “Thank you, sir.”

Glancing at his watch, Jerry asked, “Any other questions today?”

Receiving simultaneous “No, sir” responses, Jerry stood up and bid them farewell.

As Grant guided Sophie down the courthouse steps, he could feel her tension and continued distress.

She was surprised when he stayed with her as they crossed the street; typically he peeled off toward the river while she began the trek to DePaul.

“I’m taking you to work today,” Grant explained, noticing her inquisitive glance. “Roger cancelled the one o’clock cruise since hardly anybody takes it this late in the season, so I have more time.” His hand remained firmly at the small of her back.

“Okay.” She sighed with relief and felt the trembling throughout her body begin to abate. At least her McSailor would be safe from his family for the next hour or so.

***

“Meat! Get in here!”

Angelo’s bellow was softer and weaker than he intended, and he gasped for air as he fought off the urge to cough. His damn lungs were getting worse every day. Mustering all his strength, he cried out again, “Meat!”

Tank stuck his head in the door of the ornate study. “Need something, boss?”

Pulling his squinting black eyes away from the computer screen, Angelo frowned. “I need Mario, not you.”

Tank cleared his throat as he stepped fully into the room. “Sorry, boss, Meat’s at the range.” Tank wished he was there too, practicing his aim, but they’d agreed somebody had to stay behind to keep an eye on their don. He wasn’t looking so great these days. “Something I can help you with?”

Angelo felt a coughing spasm overtake him.

“Boss,” Tank gently cajoled. “Let me take you back to the doc.”

“No,” Angelo rasped, fighting for air. “It’s pointless.” In a far-off voice, he added, “It’s inoperable.”

“Still,” Tank argued, “maybe you can get some better drugs, you know?”

“I’ve got all the fucking painkillers I need,” Angelo angrily retorted. “They make me too fuzzy. I gotta keep an eye on things, especially when I find shit like this.” He gestured to the computer screen.

“What’s wrong, boss?”

“I found an error in the books, and I’m going to turn Meat into a fucking vegetarian for his careless mistake.”

Tank looked confused. “That don’t sound like Meat. What’s the mistake?”

Angelo indignantly pointed at the screen. “It says here one of our suppliers paid extra last month,” he wheezed. “That can’t be right. In thirty years, I’ve never seen that.”

Tank leaned over his boss’s shoulder to peer at the screen. “Supplier” was their code word for a business they extorted money from—a backbone of their income. Either the business paid the protection fee, or it wouldn’t be in business for long.

“Who’s the supplier that overpaid?” he asked.

Angelo frowned. “Taylor Construction.”

***

“You’re using Dr. Green’s office while she’s overseas?” Grant asked, looking around at the piles of journals, books, and papers in the cluttered space.

“Yes, Anita told me to use it until she returns in late December—”

“—when your position will end, and you’ll have to find another job,” Grant finished ominously. The threat of returning to prison because they were unemployed continued to hang over them.

Sophie sighed. “Don’t remind me. You’ve got even less time. Any news on the job front?”

“Rog is trying to get me in with the company he works for, doing architectural bus tours, but they’re laying off more people than they’re hiring at this point.”

She rested her hand on his wiry forearm. “You’ll find something.”

He nodded grimly, and she slid her hand down to clasp his.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around,” she said.

Sophie first introduced Grant to the department secretary, Judy, a short brown-haired woman in her fifties who smiled warmly. They chatted for a few minutes until the secretary received a phone call.

As they walked out of the front office and into the hallway, Sophie smiled. “Judy’s a sweetheart. She was always so helpful to me as a grad student—with all the forms I had to complete for my thesis, dissertation, stipends, stuff like that. And she was tremendously welcoming when I started teaching this fall.”

“She seems friendly,” Grant said.

Sophie bit her lip and lowered her voice as they continued down the hallway. “Judy was actually my alibi.”

Grant gave her a sharp look.

“I came here to try to do some work after we, uh…”

Her voice trailed off and Grant silently continued her thought.
After we yelled at each other, and you told me to stay the hell away from you.

“Anyway,” Sophie continued, “Marilyn interviewed Judy to make sure I was here that day…”
the day Logan was murdered
“…and Judy hasn’t said one word about it since.”

Grant
had
felt like the secretary seemed a little too curious about him. “Does she know, uh, everything that happened?”

“No,” Sophie assured him. “The only people who know everything are Anita and my friend Tanya. Here’s Tanya’s office—I want you to meet her. Let me see if she’s in.”

She knocked on the door and heard an inviting response in return.

“Oh!” Sophie cried as she opened the door. “I didn’t know you had company.”

Tanya stood, followed by the blond woman across from her.

“No worries,” she responded, eyeing the handsome man behind Sophie. “Please come in. Is this the famous Grant Madsen?”

Sophie grinned broadly, and Grant blushed as he trailed his girlfriend into the office.

“Tanya Highgate,” Sophie said, “I’d like to introduce you to Grant Madsen.” Grant gallantly reached out to shake Tanya’s hand, and the five-foot-ten woman nearly swooned as she gazed directly into his sparkling gemstone eyes. Sophie then gestured to the other woman. “And this is Nora Rodriguez, Tanya’s advisee.”

The lean, five-foot-five woman with short, spiky blond hair also shook Grant’s hand and nervously asked Tanya, “Should I leave and maybe we can finish this meeting later?”

“Please don’t go,” Sophie said. “We’ll only be here a couple of minutes. Grant has to get to work soon. And I’ve told Grant what a great writer you are, Nora, so he kind of already knows you.”

A delighted look lit up the grad student’s face, accompanied by a reddening of her tan skin.

Grant felt proud that Sophie was praising students to encourage them, just like Anita had done for her. He turned to Sophie and asked, “Nora’s the one who wrote the paper on interpersonal theory?”

Both Tanya and Nora were impressed.

Sophie beamed, touched that Grant remembered a detail about an important person in her life. She was also consumed by desire as she revisited what happened in their bed shortly after she read Nora’s paper.

“And Tanya is your best friend in the department, as I recall,” Grant added.

Sophie nodded, exchanging a smile with Tanya.

“Grant, you work on an architectural cruise, right?” asked Tanya. “I’ve always been meaning to take one of those.”

Grant chuckled. “Most Chicago natives say that. You’re welcome to come, but you’d better hurry because time’s running out.”

“Oh, I want to take one of those cruises!” Nora cut in. “What a great way to learn about a new city.”

“Nora is from Texas, right on the border,” Tanya said. “We were just talking about her research on counseling Mexican immigrants. We share an interest in cross-cultural research.”

“Tanya will be a great advisor,” Sophie assured Nora. In contrast, she instantly thought of Kirsten’s advisor, David Alton, who she believed was at least partially to blame for Kirsten taking so long to finish her degree. Some advisors helpfully nudged their students through all the research requirements, whereas others became critical and inaccessible, thereby delaying the graduation of their students. David belonged in the latter category.