Dog Collar Couture (13 page)

But . . . no. He cocked his head, mulling the idea. “It'll be dark. We could use the trees for cover.”

Perhaps they'd been watching the films together. “I have to meet the guy at midnight. Can you get something set up by then?”

“For you? Sure. The guys love you. Plus, they're pissed the cops harassed you at the store.”

“Oh, please. They didn't harass me.”

“Hey, you want help or not? The imaginary harassment is gonna get these guys on board.”

“Well, fine. But I don't want them being mad at Tim. He was just doing his job.”

Joey waved that off. “Tim can handle it.” He checked his watch, the one with the platinum band and ice-blue face that Dad inherited after Grandpa died. For years, Lucie had never seen her father without it. Then he went to prison, and from that first day—the first minute of Dad's absence—Joey wore it. Whether he missed their dad or simply wanted people to know that Joe Rizzo wasn't out of reach, Lucie didn't know. Most likely, a bit of both.

In the two months since Dad had come home, he obviously hadn't asked for his beloved watch back. But that would be typical of their father. If the watch made Joey happy, he'd let him keep it. Simple.

“All right,” Joey said. “We have two hours. It'll take a good twenty minutes to get there, and we want to be in place at least an hour early. Which means, I gotta haul ass.”

He hopped off the sofa. “I'll call you when I'm on my way there. Text me the address.” He turned to Ro. “You stay put.”

“I can—”

“Whatever you're gonna say, forget it. I'm not screwing around with you on this one. Bad enough I'm letting my sister do this. You? You'd be collateral damage. Forget it, Roseanne.”

Ro scrunched her nose, a sure sign she was about to launch into a full attack.

“It's not happening,” Joey said. “If you come anywhere near that warehouse, we're gonna go at it. And I don't care how naked you are. I'll stay pissed for a long time.”

Eeep.
Lucie peeled her lips back, gave Ro the save-yourself headshake.

“Fine.” Ro folded her arms, let out a good solid huff. “The minute it's over, you call me. Both of you.”

But Joey had never been accused of being stupid or a fool. He bent low, got nearly nose-to-nose with Ro. “Promise me.”

Oh, now that's dirty.
Ro didn't make a lot of promises. To her, a promise, like shatterproof glass, should only be used in extreme cases. When she made a promise she never, ever broke it.

“Ro,” Lucie said, “just say it. You know how he is. He won't give up, and the longer he stands here, the less time he has to get a posse together.”

Ro flapped her arms. “Fine. I promise I will stay here and not go anywhere near that warehouse.” She smacked his arm. “Satisfied?”

A lightning-fast smile lit Joey's face, and he smacked another lip-lock on Ro. They had the weirdest foreplay. All steam and sexual energy and, well, Lucie didn't know what to do. Stand there and wait for the fire to burn out? Or tell them to knock it off and get a room?

She tilted her head up and inspected the crown molding. “Any time now, kids.”

Joey finally backed up, cuffing Ro lightly under the chin. “Thank you. Now I only have to worry about one of you. I'll call you when we're done.” He faced Lucie. “Give me half an hour and you'll be set.”

E
leven fifty and
Lucie's text alert pinged.

“Joey is in place.”

Five minutes earlier, Eric had parked his fancy Lincoln in the desolate warehouse's back lot. They now sat, engine quietly idling, while Lucie scanned the blackness in front of her. The cloud-smothered sky offered no moonlight to illuminate the trees where Joey and posse had strategically placed themselves.

Well, she hoped they'd strategically placed themselves. With this crew, a girl couldn't assume anything.

Eric swept his gaze left to right. “Where are they?”

“Don't know exactly. He didn't want me distracted and looking for them. All I know is they're scattered in the trees. He said there are five of them, and they can see us.”

Joining Joey were Slip, Jimmy Two-Toes, Lemon and—God help her—Frankie's father, Al. Later, she'd question the moment of insanity that precluded asking one of Lucie's least favorite people to help on this mission, but all in all, she couldn't say much considering the short notice.

She had to hope the men would do as Joey asked and not tell Dad about this. If they did, the lecture would be like submersion into quicksand.

Slow and agonizing.

Eric rested his head against the seat, but Lucie sensed the high-strung tension rolling from him. He must have been a cop in his prior career. Like Tim, he possessed an edgy stillness even when adrenaline ate him alive.

“I have my team in place on the other side of the building. If our friend Bill tries anything, we've got all angles covered.”

“Good. Can we go over the plan again?”

The lights from his dashboard threw shadows across his face as he continued scanning the lot. “When Bill shows up, we wait for him to come to us. We don't get too close to his car.”

“What do we tell him about the money?”

“Tell him it's in the trunk. I threw my gym bag back there and stuffed it with fake bricks of money.”

“Fake bricks of money? You keep that stuff on hand?”

Eric shrugged. “You never know when it'll come in handy.”

“Wow.”

“If we have to, we unzip the gym bag and show him. I put fifties on top of the stacks. If he sees the actual stack, we're screwed.”

Yikes. She didn't like the sound of that.

“After show-and-tell,” Eric said, “we insist he take us to the dress.
Then
we'll give him the ten K.”

“Our hope is he takes us to the dress and then your team busts in, right?”

Please let that be the plan.

“Right.” Giving up on the tree line, he glanced over at her. “I know you're nervous. You should be, but take a few deep breaths. I've done this before. I think it's a con. I doubt this mope has any connection to the dress.”

Off to the right, headlights from an approaching car flashed against the pitch-black parking lot. Lucie sat forward in her seat. As if having her nose pressed against the windshield would make a difference in how much she could actually see.

“This has to be him.”

Eric clucked his tongue. “Unless random people drive back here at midnight. Could be a drug dealer.”

Ohmygod.
Really? She could see the headline now:
Mob Princess Bludgeoned By Stoner
.

“Well, thanks for that. I feel so much better now.”

The corner of Eric's mouth lifted. “Sorry.”

He flipped his lights on and off, and the approaching car came to a stop three spaces down. The front grille of Bill's—hopefully Bill's—banged-up sedan faced Eric's door.

Eric held his hand up to cut the glare of headlights. “He's making sure we're the only ones here.”

“And blinding us.”

“That, too. But I see enough to know he's alone.”

“Unless someone is crouched down.”

“Yes.”

Great. Hot stabs jabbed her chest, just hack, hack, hacking away. If a stoned crackhead didn't kill her, her nerves might.

A minute later, headlights still on, the driver's-side door on the other car jerked open, and a man stepped out. Still partially blinded, Lucie couldn't make out details, but the man easily towered over the roof of the car. Tall man. Leather jacket hanging open. Breaths coming in white puffs into the cold night air.

He walked toward them and stopped near the front of his car, his arms loose at his sides.

Gun?

Another glorious thought that sparked hacking stabs. She simply sucked at this criminal stuff.

“Let's go,” Eric said.

Lucie followed him from the car, sticking close and hoping Joey had the posse contained.

Everyone, including her, needed to stay calm.

Eric halted about three feet from supposedly-Bill and nodded.

Lucie did the same. “Bill?”

“That's me. Where's the money?”

Up close, with the help of the headlights, the man's features became clear. Total puzzle. Short, dark hair with a touch of gray on the sides gave the impression of middle-aged, but his chubby cheeks and skin that lacked any deep crevices or lines appeared, at most, early thirties.

How-the-heck old was this guy?

Plus, she didn't remember seeing him at the Cock Head meeting. But she'd been fairly hopped up and could have missed him. She supposed.

Eric cleared his throat, the rumble drawing Lucie's gaze up. He slid his eyes toward Bill.

What?

When she didn't answer, he grimaced then faced Bill. “It's in the car. We see the dress, you get the money.”

“And who are you again?”

Get in the game here, Luce.
If she blew this, her chance at finding that dress and putting an end to this nightmare might go up in flames. “He's a friend of mine,” she said. “A
family
friend.”

If that didn't scare the crap out of this creep, nothing would. A family friend of the Rizzos could be any number of psychos.

Bill studied Eric for a few seconds, taking in his dress slacks and sport coat. It must have all passed the Bill test because he shifted back to Lucie.

“Show me the money.”

Oh, boy. But she and Eric had discussed this. They had a plan.

And heaven help her if that plan went bust.

“I'll get it,” Eric said.

Just as he stepped away, a loud
brrring, brrring, brrring
demolished the quiet air, jerking Lucie sideways as Bill fumbled for his phone.

Lucie's own phone rang, and, as much as she itched to check it, she didn't move.
Joey.
Had to be. Tim would be asleep, and Ro knew not to call. And how truly pathetic was it that she could narrow the possibilities to only two people?

Well, three if she counted the drunk who constantly reversed two digits and called looking for a ho named Jules. Leave it to Lucie to have a similar number to a prostitute.

Bill poked at his phone and, still keeping an eye on Lucie, partially turned away. “Hello?”

He was taking a call now? What kind of amateur was this guy? Her phone rang again and with Bill occupied, she peeked at the screen. Ro.

Bill's head snapped around and the hard glare he leveled on her sent a burst of panic ripping up her neck. A stream of swear words flew from his mouth, and Eric stepped in front of Lucie, blocking Bill's direct path.

Hold on here.

“Crap,” Bill said, and Lucie peeked around Eric to see him eyeing her with the disdain of a lynching party. “No . . . I'll take care of it.”

Lucie's phone rang again.
Dammit, Ro.
No time now.

Bill ended his call and jammed his phone into his jacket pocket hard enough that it should have torn clear through.

One thing was evident. “Bill” and “happy camper” would not be used in the same sentence anytime soon.

He confirmed it by charging back to his car. “Deal's off.”

“Hey.” Eric held his hands wide. “What the hell?”

But Bill had already reached his car and ripped open the door. “Deal's off! I said no cops.”

Cops? What cops? All they had was a bunch of amped-up mob guys. “I didn't call the police,” Lucie said.

“No? Then how do the news reporters know you're involved?”

Lucie cocked her head.
News reporters?
“Heh?”

“Watch the news. I'm outta here. It's too hot now. Stupid! We were so close to a deal.”

No.
Nuh, nuh, nuh.

More hot stabs traveled from her stomach into her chest, and she sucked a breath and rushed toward Bill, reaching the car just as he slid in. She hammered her fists on the window, and he leaned right, his eyes bulging. “Back off, crazy!”

The distinct thud of the doors locking filled the momentary silence, and those hot stabs went nuclear, spreading over her body, lighting up her skin. This man, whoever the hell he was, knew where that dress was and that dress would clear her name.
Bastard.
She banged on the window again. “Open this door.”

A hand clamped over her arm. Eric. “Lucie, calm down.”

“He can't leave. I need that dress.” She snapped the door handle then went back to banging on the window. “Open up, you . . . you . . . Cock Head!”

He fired the engine, and she watched as he shifted the car into gear.

“I need that dress!”

A second later, the car shot backward, and Lucie started running, chasing him down.

“Stop him!”

One of her crew or someone on Eric's team could block the driveway. Keep him from getting away.

“Stop him. Please.”

Red taillights flashed as the car veered left out of the lot, tires spinning against the pavement leaving the distinct aroma of burned rubber.