With Good Behavior (17 page)

She stopped immediately once she opened the door. Instead of looking up at the six-foot-one Logan, she found herself looking down at her five-foot-two colleague, Jacki Fernandez.

“Oh! Um, hi, Jacki. What’s up?”

The dark-haired woman seemed to study Sophie curiously, and Sophie began feeling self-conscious about her untucked and wrinkled silk shirt, disheveled skirt, and bare feet. Jacki looked up at her friend and pouted, “What, no Jaquita Chaquita?”

Sophie laughed, hearing her refer to her nickname. “Sorry,” she apologized, opening the door wider and gesturing for Jacki to enter. “Bienvenidos, Jaquita Chaquita.”

Jacki tentatively entered, followed by Sophie, who crossed the room and slipped her feet into her black pumps, which made her tower over the diminutive Mexican. “What can I do for you, Jacki?”

“I won’t stay long—I have a client coming in five minutes. I just wanted to give you the heads-up that some of us are having the cleaning company deep clean our offices this weekend.”

“Deep clean?”

“Yeah, in addition to their normal trash collection and vacuuming, they wipe down everything, steam-clean the furniture, you know, make it spic and span. I paid extra for it in my office last spring, and they did a great job.”

“Hmm.” It had been almost a year since she began renting this office, and the space needed refreshing. She stole a guilty glance toward the sofa. That particular piece of furniture could definitely use some steam cleaning. A pulse of electricity sparked at the base of her spine as she remembered the feel of Logan’s sure, strong hands massaging her inner thigh, his rough fingers creeping toward her wet, receptive center …

“… so they can move the furniture around.”

“What?” Sophie shook her head rapidly, snapping out of her sexy daydream.

“I said, you have to get your belongings off the floor so the cleaners can vacuum underneath the furniture.”

“Oh.”

Jacki narrowed her eyes. “What’s with you lately, Sophie? You haven’t joined me for lunch in over a month.”

“I’m s-s-sorry. I’ve been busy.”

Frowning, Jacki touched Sophie’s thin forearm. “You seem stressed. Anything you want to talk about?”

Talking to colleagues was the last thing she wanted to do. Her lips tightening, Sophie said, “Thank you, Jacki. You’ve been great helping me start my practice. I’m just, it’s all rather overwhelming—fighting with insurance companies, collecting on unpaid bills—I’m trying to get to know all these new clients.” She gulped as she realized she now knew one of those clients in the biblical sense. “And I’m feeling exhausted at the end of the day.”

“I hear you,” Jacki smiled. “My first year was rough too. It gets easier, though. So, are you in for the deep cleaning?”

“Sounds great. Thanks for letting me know. They’ll just add it to my cleaning bill?”

Jacki nodded. “Yep. I gotta run. Catch you later, Sofita.”

Sophie giggled. “Adios, chica.”

When Jacki left, Sophie turned her attention to her office, suddenly noticing the accumulated dust and grime. Examining the offending sofa, she was relieved when she could not detect any stains on the cushions.

“I wonder if I can move this puppy myself?” she wondered out loud. Grasping the armrest, she wriggled the bulky sofa away from the wall.

Peering down into the shadowed space behind, Sophie tried to identify the uncovered objects. There appeared to be thick white envelopes littering the floor. Squatting down, she shoved the sofa out a few more inches, which allowed her to reach one of the envelopes.

A sick feeling kindled in her gut. She had seen this envelope before. Her uneasiness bloomed into full-blown nausea as she lifted the flap to find crisp one-hundred-dollar bills stacked neatly inside. Sophie staggered backward, landing in her chair with a thump. Her hand tightened around the envelope and she clutched it to her chest. Logan.

Sophie rose and wrenched the sofa completely away from the wall, almost toppling over the lamp on the nearby end table in the process. She frantically scooped up the envelopes, horrified by the sheer number of them, and threw her bundle on the sofa.

Despite her panic, she methodically opened each envelope and counted each and every bill. Once finished, she counted again. There were fifty one-hundred-dollar bills in each envelope, and twenty envelopes lying in a pile, staring back at her menacingly. She gasped, drawing her hand to her mouth. She had one hundred thousand dollars hidden in her office!

Why the hell had Logan left that much money here? What did he plan to do with it? Where had it come from? When had he hidden it?

Questions swirled through her brain, making her feel dizzy.

She pushed herself up to standing, swaying a bit, and went to sit at her desk. Intending to call Logan right away and demand that he explain, Sophie instead opened her computer. Swiftly clicking the internet icon, her fingers flew over the keys as she typed LOGAN BARBERI into the search engine.

The first hit was a newspaper photo: “Angelo Barberi Acquitted.” Sophie frantically clicked the link and was stunned to see a photograph of a younger Logan sitting in what appeared to be a courthouse. The caption read: Logan Barberi attends the trial of his uncle, Angelo Barberi.

Sophie returned to the search engine and typed ANGELO BARBERI. Once she read the first paragraph of the story, she knew she was going to vomit.

November 10, 2001—In a shocking end to the trial of alleged mobster Angelo Barberi, attorney Nick Gladden (known in some circles as “Slick Nick”) was able to clear his client of all racketeering charges by discrediting several material witnesses. Gladden’s skillful questioning of the government’s linchpin, Steven Albeiro, owner of Albeiro Construction, revealed that Albeiro had failed to pay taxes in 1999 and 2000, calling into question the witness’ integrity. Albeiro had brought forth allegations that his business went bankrupt due to being forced to pay protection to Barberi’s consulting firm, Barberi Family Consulting. Angelo Barberi is the younger brother of Vicenzo Barberi, who has been serving a life sentence for first-degree murder since 1986.

Sophie tried to swallow, but she her mouth was completely dry. With trembling hands, she typed VICENZO BARBERI into the search engine. Utterly horrified, she read that the Mafia godfather had been convicted of murdering a seven-year-old boy during a home invasion twenty-one years ago. The article made a point of mentioning that Vicenzo’s wife and two sons, ages thirteen and eight, had not attended his trial. She did the math in her head, knowing Logan was now thirty-four. He was Barberi’s older son.

Slumping back in her chair, Sophie stared dumbly at her computer screen. Logan’s father and uncle were in the Mafia. Logan had to be a mobster too. Sophie knew it. She knew it was true. She had trusted him completely. She had given herself to him, and the whole time he had been a sleazy, deceitful criminal. He and his family were not fucking consultants! They were Mafia!

Why hadn’t she searched his name on the internet before? Why? Because she was too damn trusting. She had listened to his every lie with rapt interest and deep concern. She’d tried to take care of him, while every session he was hiding dirty money underneath her sofa. Their entire relationship was dirty. Dirty and depraved. She now felt sick at the thought of his rough touch on her smooth skin, and she dissolved into tears.

Once she finally raised her head to gaze again at the stacks of money on her sofa, she knew she needed to confront him. She removed Logan’s chart from her desk drawer to locate his cell phone number, finding it ironic that she didn’t know his number by heart. They’d actually never seen each other outside their regularly scheduled appointments, maintaining the illusion that everything between them was prim and proper. Well, the illusion was now over. The illusion was smashed to a million little pieces.

He answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”

Sophie’s heart shattered, hearing his deep baritone. “Logan?”

“Who the hell is this?”

“It’s Sophie.”

There was silence, and then, “Hey! You’ve never called me before. What’s up, Doc?”

Her voice was cold. “I found the money.”

Another silence. “What did you say, Sophie?”

“I found the money, you son of a bitch. Where did you get it? Drug deals? Roughing up business owners to pay for protection? I bet it’s dirty as hell.”

“I can explain—”

“Don’t even try. I should hand it over to the police.”

“What the fuck, Sophie? That’s my money!”

“Your money? Why the hell did you keep it in my office? I’m not a goddamn bank!”

“Sophie, listen to me. I gotta get some things in place, then I’ll be right over. I’ll take everything away, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Please, Sophie. Stay there, okay? You don’t want to go to the cops, believe me. Don’t get us in trouble like that. Stay there.”

Overwhelmed, she hung up the phone with a shaking hand. Somehow she managed to call the next two clients on her schedule and cancel their appointments. She wanted to avoid bringing them anywhere near the thug who’d be visiting her soon.

She was frozen by indecision. 
Should
 she call the police? Although she disagreed with several aspects of the way her parents had raised her, they’d done a superb job of teaching her right and wrong. And keeping quiet about the money would definitely be wrong. But if she involved the authorities, she’d likely have to come clean about her ethical breach of sleeping with a client. She felt even sicker thinking about that.

Sophie wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed when a sharp knock jarred her out of her overwrought trance. Logan had arrived, and she hadn’t called the police yet. Evidently she’d be doing the wrong thing a bit longer.

She strode to the door, expecting to meet those troubled blue eyes, but she was surprised to find three men waiting for her instead.

“Dr. Sophie Taylor?” asked a man in a business suit, flanked by two uniformed officers. “I’m Detective Mike Kozlowski. We have a warrant to search your office.”

Sophie’s face froze. She gaped at the paper he held up. 
So that’s what a warrant looked like
.

“Step aside, ma’am,” the detective added, pushing forward into the office.

Sophie glanced at the sofa, which was littered with cash-filled envelopes.

Detective Kozlowski followed her gaze, then gave a triumphant smile to the officers behind him. “Ah, the motherload.”

“That’s not my money!” Sophie sounded frantic. “A client brought that in here!”

The detective looked suspicious. “What’s your client’s name?”

She hesitated. “I …”

“Take her outta here, Holloway, while we finish the search.”

Officer Holloway reached for her arm. “Let’s go, Doc.”

“My, my charts,” she protested.

“We’ll take good care of them,” the detective responded condescendingly.

Sophie squirmed in the brawny officer’s hold. “That’s confidential information in there!” The officer ignored her protests and guided her toward the break room down the hall. Sophie blushed furiously as Jacki curiously peeked out her office door.

After about fifteen minutes, the other officer entered the break room. “Both of you need to come with me,” he said.

Sophie walked to her office with one officer in front of her and one behind her. She gasped when she entered the room. Lying on her desk were five handguns.

Her eyes as wide as saucers, her trembling voice inquired, “W-w-where did you get those?”

Detective Kozlowski eyed her skeptically. “I found them behind your desk.”

“What?” she asked shrilly, taking a step toward the desk. Officer Holloway forcibly pulled her back, and she began to realize the gravity of the situation.

“Those are loaded weapons,” Kozlowski growled. “Where did they come from?”

“I’ve never seen them in my life. I promise.” Sophie’s stomach dropped as she realized Logan had hidden more than money in her office.

“You’re still not talking, Doctor? What’s the name of this supposed client?” Detective Koslowski’s tone was snide.

Sophie inhaled sharply. “You’re not suggesting the guns and money are mine, are you?”

“We don’t know what’s going on yet,” Koslowski said. “One thing I do know is you’re under arrest. We’ll sort this out at the station.”

She stood between the officers with a glassy stare. She barely heard her Miranda rights as Officer Holloway frisked and cuffed her. It was all a blur, a sickening haze. She was led out of her office and paraded down the hallway, past her esteemed colleagues’ offices and the disapproving stares of clients in the waiting room.

“Whoa” was all Hunter could say once she finished. “I guess you came forward with Logan’s name after you were arrested?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “Yes. My attorney told me confidentiality didn’t apply because it was probably a Tarasoff situation, so I finally caved. Giving them Logan’s name made it possible for me to plead the charges down to accessory. If they’d proven aiding and abetting, I’d have gone away for a long stretch. Turns out one of the guns was used in a murder.” She shuddered.