“I look forward to it, sir.”
He went to shake Marilyn’s hand as well, but feeling a wellspring of gratitude, he awkwardly leaned in and gave her a chaste hug instead. “Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured.
Pleasantly surprised by the impromptu hug, Marilyn whispered in his ear, “Bonnie is in room 1165. Go get her.”
He stepped back and a look of stunned anticipation crossed his face. Nodding, he gulped. “I’m free to go?”
“Yeah, the bulls down there know you’re to be released,” Jerry said. “Just don’t get into any trouble between now and tomorrow morning. Okay, Madsen?”
Grant nodded, then practically ran down the hallway.
Marilyn leaned against the wall, a smug look on her face. “Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds,” she gloated. “What made you think he would take the deal faster than that?”
“I knew I should have picked ten minutes instead of five. Those damn attorneys always milk it for every billable second.” He turned to the detective, and she could see his indignant anger was all for show. “Well, I thought the horn-dog would jump at the chance to get back with Taylor. And I was right—did you see his happy dance out of here?”
Marilyn chuckled.
“What made you think it would take longer than five minutes?”
Her smile faded. “The boy has the self-esteem of a gnat, Jerry. I was worried he would feel like he belonged in prison or some such nonsense. His family has really done a number on him.”
She thought back to the two occasions when she’d interviewed Grant’s uncle, the slippery and malicious Mafia don, at his club and then at his house. There’d been something not quite right with Angelo’s responses, but she hadn’t been able to pinpoint the problem. It was incredible to her that Grant was related to people like Angelo and Carlo Barberi.
Jerry nodded. “Well, let’s hope they stay away from him. I will put him back in prison if he commits a crime, even if he’s forced to do it.”
“You’d only be doing your job,” Marilyn said, resting one hand on his arm. “Speaking of jobs, I’m sure we both have to get back to ours. But before we go, I do want to know how you’re planning on paying up. You’re not going to welsh on our bet are you?”
“I—I—I don’t have any cash on me!” Jerry stammered.
Marilyn narrowed her green eyes.
“But I can do you one better,” he amended. “Um, I could take you to dinner? You know, uh, to pay off the bet and all.”
“Hmm, dinner,” Marilyn said, letting the word linger on her tongue while she stroked her chin pensively. She finally flashed him a bright smile. “That would be lovely.”
Jerry returned her smile. “Great, uh, Marilyn. I’ll call you.”
She nodded and they parted ways. The cool detective felt her face flush with warmth as she strode down the hallway. It had been quite a good day!
*
As Grant neared Northwestern Memorial Hospital, his pace slowed. He’d run all the way from the police station, dodging meandering shoppers, and now that he finally had Sophie’s location in sight, he should have been sprinting to the elevators. Instead, his gait morphed from a run to a jog to a walk.
A niggling question played at the back of his brain, dancing and nudging, poking at his consciousness with an irritating reverberation.
What if she doesn’t want me back?
Sure, Sophie had once told him she loved him, but that was before she found out he was related to Logan. Just thinking about his brother made Grant’s stride decelerate even further, and a wave of regret once again crashed over him.
Willing himself to stop thinking about murders and funerals, Grant instead conjured up the image of Sophie’s beautiful face, intelligent and compassionate, chestnut-brown eyes and flawless porcelain skin framed by wavy strawberry-blond curls. The depth of his love for her seized him with a ferocious intensity. He’d never felt this enamored of a woman. Did she feel the same way about him?
Grant placed his hands on his hips and sighed deeply. Whether she would have him or not, he had to go in and find out. If she never wanted to see him again, at least he might derive some comfort from knowing she was safe and on the mend. Taking a deep breath, Grant pushed forward and the revolving door conveyed him inside.
Emerging from the elevator, he scrutinized a sign on the eleventh floor and turned to his left, his anticipation building as he drew closer to Sophie’s room. Reaching the door, he knocked softly. Hearing no response, he peeked inside.
He took in her prone form, lying on her right side, evidently sleeping. With a guilty wince he noticed her bandaged left arm in a sling over her shoulder, but his expression lightened considerably at the soft, peaceful look on her resting face. Grant was so mesmerized by her vulnerable beauty that he didn’t notice the shadowy figure rising from a chair by the window.
He looked up at the last minute to find Sophie’s father right next to him with a scowl on his face. Will gestured to the hallway. Pushed backward by her father’s brusque advance, Grant backed out of the room and almost crashed into an orderly wheeling an IV stand down the hallway.
Will pointed to an empty spot near the water fountain and they stood, eyeing each other warily. Grant was dog-tired and full of dread about conversing with this man who seemed to hate him, but if he had to fight to have a chance with Sophie, he would. She was worth it.
“How’s she doing, Mr. Taylor?”
“Why are you here?” he countered. “I thought you were locked up.”
Taking a deep breath, Grant responded, “Yes, sir, I was.”
Will glared at him. “Then how did you get out?”
“The prosecutor agreed it was self-defense and knocked it down to a parole violation. They let me off with another year of parole.”
The news did not please Will. “Call it self-defense, call murdering a man whatever you want. The truth is my daughter would not be in there”—he pointed to the hospital room—”recovering from a gunshot wound if she hadn’t gotten involved with you.”
“You’re right, sir.”
Expecting the young man to argue with him, Sophie’s father paused. He wanted to fire off another question but didn’t get a chance before Grant continued.
“I can understand why you don’t want Sophie to be with me, sir.” He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and looked down. “I come from a criminal family, and you don’t want her associating with people like me.”
He looked up to find Will staring at him blankly.
Grant sighed. “I knew what my family was capable of, and I promised myself I would never put Sophie in danger. But I failed.” His hands tightened into fists. “I never meant for any harm to come to her, but she almost … died. Because of me.” Swallowing hard, Grant confessed, “If I were you, I wouldn’t want a man like me with your daughter either.”