Dog Collar Couture (15 page)

They'd maximized the space with the shelving units leaving the opposite end of the room for the countertop complete with a sink, a microwave and coffee pot. A round, oak table with four chairs completed the setup.

A few months ago, the room had basically been a dumping ground for the old owners. Now, the scent of fresh paint still hung in the air, and the newly tiled floors shined. Lucie had made that happen.

Nothing stopped her. Ever.

Except maybe a crowd of reporters.

She lifted her head. The ready signal.

Instinctively, he knew there were things she didn't tell him. He hadn't nailed it yet, but something in her body language—the stiffness maybe—changed when she held something back.

He never stewed over it. For the most part, Lucie defaulted to honesty, and he trusted her. If there were things she didn't tell him, there were reasons. And those reasons, more than likely, had to do with his job and compromising him.

That, he respected. Plenty of people would drag him into their drama knowing full well he could lose his career.

Not Lucie.

She'd never—as much as he sometimes wanted it—need a man to fight her battles.

“Well,” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “I'm happy to see you, too.” He lingered for a minute, cupped the back of her head in his hand and breathed in the familiar and sometimes excruciating cucumber scent of her soap. He wanted her. Physically. Emotionally. Every way. But she hadn't been ready.

He kissed the top of her head before backing away and meeting her gaze. “I'm sorry about the reporters. I heard it on the news this morning and came straight here.”

“Did someone leak my name?”

Of course someone leaked her name. The lack of movement on a case that should have been a slam dunk would frustrate any detective. Tim had to figure out which of the detectives had the most to gain from leaking a potential suspect's name. He had a pretty good idea. He'd spotted Bickel's car parked on the corner. The detective sat behind the wheel watching the action as reporters swarmed Lucie, and Tim's blood boiled over at the possibility that Bickel had resorted to using the media to amp up the pressure on Lucie.

In the court of public opinion, people in this town would easily believe Joe Rizzo's daughter was a criminal. Just like her father.

On their first date, she'd told him, laid it right out there, that she struggled to separate herself from her father's reputation.

At first, he'd thought she was being neurotic, worrying too much.

Now? With this latest development, he got it.

And it pissed him off.

Criminals deserved whatever they got. But good people? Honest, hardworking people? They shouldn't be crucified in the press. No matter their last name.

“I'll get into it. See if it came from my department.”

If it did, he'd. . . . Hell, he didn't know what he'd do.

Something.

“Okay, thanks.” She paused, squeezed her eyes closed.

He should wait again. Let her sort through it. But, hell on earth, how much of this waiting crap could he do?

With one finger, he tipped her face up. “Talk to me.”

She blinked once, twice, three times and tried to force her chin down, to look away. To hide.

Nothing doing. He nudged her chin again. “
Talk
to me.”

“I feel like . . . there are things I should tell you.”

“But?”

“I don't want to involve you.”

He smiled. “Thank you. But I'm a big boy. Tell me what you've got, and
I'll
figure out if I should be in the middle.”

She pointed to the table and chairs. “We'll need to sit down for this.”

At that, Tim laughed. Couldn't help it. Without a doubt, life with Lucie Rizzo would never be boring.

L
ucie slid
into the chair Tim pulled out for her then eyed the cold, empty coffee pot. All this without a fresh hit of caffeine. Twisted torture.

If she had to confess, she'd damn sure need coffee. She smacked her hand on the table and hopped out of her chair. “How about some coffee? I'll make it strong, just for you. I swear, I don't know how you drink that sludge.”

“Sugar.”

“What?”

“I load it up with sugar. And you're stalling.”

From the overhead cabinet she grabbed the bag of fancy coffee Ro liked and started scooping. As she prepped the pot, her mind drifted to Sunday dinners when she was a kid.

The memory produced a burst of laughter.

“What's funny?”

She filled the pot with water, getting to eye level and confirming ten cups. “I was thinking about my grandfather. My dad's dad.”

Whoopsie,
a little too much water. She dumped a wee bit from the pot. Perfect.

“When I was a kid we'd have big family dinners every Sunday. One o'clock. If you were late, too bad, they locked you out. My cousins would all be there, too. Twenty-five people in my gram's basement.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It was. After dinner, my grandfather always had to have a cup of coffee. If it didn't land in front of him within five minutes of the plates being removed, he'd start screaming.” Lucie cleared her throat, squinted her eyes and channeled Grandpa Joe's deep bass voice. “For the love of Christ, can I get a cup of Sanka?”

O'Hottie laughed, sending her already tortured emotions on a swooning spree.

“How old were you?”

Lucie hit the button on the coffee pot and rested a hip against the counter. “Maybe seven or eight.”

She missed those days. Back before she understood what her father did for a living. He'd always been gone at night. Always. Working, Mom would say.

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was fun. I was young then.” She slid back into her chair, propped her chin in her hand. “Sometimes I want to be seven again. When I was seven, I didn't know what I didn't know.”

“You mean about your dad?”

“Back then I was his little girl. I loved spending time with him. You know, he's wicked funny.”

The corner of Tim's mouth lifted. “Your dad?”

“Yeah. He tells the best stories, and you never quite know if they're true or not. At least until he gets to the end. If it's not true, at the very end of the story he does this quirking thing with his lips and then we all throw napkins at him because he bamboozled us.”

The good stuff.

That's what she needed to hang on to. For years she'd focused on the negatives, always seeing her father as the villain, the man who'd humiliated his family, the man who'd left his wife alone while he'd spent years—off and on—in jail.

Yes, he was all those unsavory things. No arguing it, but there were good things, too. The roof over their heads, the making sure his wife and kids had money while he was locked up. The unwillingness to allow people to mess with his family.

“I think,” she said, “I need to give myself a break on being mad at my father.”

“I'd imagine it takes a lot of energy.”

“God, you have no idea.” She looked up at him, met his gaze, that beautiful green that made her think of warmth and comfort. “I can't do this anymore, Tim.”

His head jerked back, his giant shoulders going with it. The stricken look on his face? Not good.

“Luce, what are you saying?”

Oh, no. He thought
she
was dumping
him.
She put her hands up, frantically shook her head. “No, no, no. Not you. God, no.”

He dropped his head, let out a grunting laugh. “Phew. That got my attention.”

“I'm so sorry. I can't believe you thought . . .” She stopped. Shook the thought away. “Never you. I adore you.”

“Well, all right then. Good to know. Ditto on that.”

Good to know, indeed. “I worry all the time. I'm a Rizzo, I will always be a Rizzo. I can't get away from it and, honestly, I'm not sure I want to. I need to stop trying to prove myself and just be me. Lucie Rizzo.”

Tim sat forward, linked his fingers with hers. “Lucie Rizzo is a hell of a woman. Honey, you can't control your father, or what people say. Focus on what you can control. Take it from a cop, you'll be a lot happier.”

“I'm happy now.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. With you. I'm happy. These past couple of months I feel . . . lighter. A fresh start. Every day means discovering something new about you. I like it.”

“Good. So do I.”

“I don't like keeping things from you.”

“Again, we agree.”

“So, I'll tell you everything. You're a big boy, right?”

He snorted, grinning at her for throwing his words back at him. “I am. Tell me what's on your mind, Luce, and we'll figure it out.”

Where to even start?

The Cock Heads.

Really, the craziness began with that first meeting. “The day before yesterday, after you talked me off the ledge about Mr. Dukane, I came back to the shop, and Ro was cruising message boards for leads.”

“Roseanne. On a
message
board?”

“I know. I try not to think about her unleashed on the Internet. Anyway, I thought maybe we should do some research on the Maxmillian dress. You know, see if we could get any leads.”

“Please, no.”

“Hey! I couldn't help it. I was a suspect and didn't even do anything wrong.” She paddled her hands. “Anyway, we found a fan group for the movie. The Cock Heads.”

Tim's head jutted forward. “The
Cock
Heads?”

“They have a strong membership. Daily meetings all over the city.”

“Wow.”

“I know. We thought we'd check it out.”

“You and Ro?”

Of course, her and Ro. Who else? “Yes. We went to a meeting. That night I texted you that we were out for coffee? We were at the meeting.” Before he could say anything she held her hand up. “I didn't lie to you. I knew your boss didn't want you directly involved, and I didn't want to compromise that. It was easier not to tell you. Then if something came up, you'd have full deniability. That was my intention.”

She waited a few seconds, her heart pounding under Tim's steady gaze. Most likely searching for the lie.

No lies here. Just life with Lucie Rizzo.

When Tim didn't speak, she forged ahead. “The meeting was uneventful. At least until the next morning.”

“Why do I think this will hurt?”

“It's not that bad. I got a call from someone named Bill. He said he was at the meeting and could hook us up—oh, hang on, I left out the part about the meeting where Ro mentioned she'd planned on bidding on the dress at the auction.”

“And me without blood pressure meds.”

Ha. Fatalist humor. She pinched his cheek. “You're funny. So, the next day, this Bill calls me and says that for ten thousand dollars he can hook me up with someone who has the dress.”

“Oh, Luce.”

“Don't panic. I wasn't about to give this nut ten grand.”

“You should have told me about it.”

“I wanted to, but—”

“I know. You were worried. Forget it. Tell me the rest.”

The rest. This part could be difficult. She'd just have to stick to the truth. The truth always prevailed. “I thought about going to your detective friend. Bickel.”

“He's not my friend.”

“Whatever. I didn't go to him because Bill told me he had a contact at the police, and if I went to them he'd know. I couldn't risk that dress disappearing.”

“Understood. What happened with Bill?”

As the man in her life, and knowing him and his alpha tendencies, Tim might get a smidge upset that she'd sought help from Eric, clearly another alpha and one investigating the same crime.

“Don't get mad.”

He sat forward, leaned into his arms and gently rapped his knuckles on the table, his jaw flexing a couple of times.

She might be pushing the good and patient detective to his limits. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. And something you should know. If I get mad, I'll get over it. I don't hang on to crap. Tell me what you did.”

This man. Always with the right answer. “I went to Eric Edwards.” When he didn't respond, she rolled her hand. “The P.I.”

“The one working for the insurance company?”

“Yes. Remember we talked about that at the family meeting? That I could funnel leads through him? Well, I did. I thought he'd be the safest bet. He wasn't a cop, and he stood to gain from finding the dress.”

To her surprise, Tim didn't yell. For a second he didn't even speak. All he did was flop out his bottom lip. “Okay. I follow that logic. I'm the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“Seriously,” she said, “I might love you.”

A flashing smile whipped across his face and her hormones wailed.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.”

Hang in with me, big boy, and you'll like more than that.

Whatever Tim was thinking—and Lucie hoped it was filthy—he shook it off. “Luce, you distract me when you say things like that. Not that I mind, but . . .”

“We need to focus.”

“Yes. So, you went to the investigator. Then what?”

“We set up a meeting with Bill.”

“For the record, now I'm starting to get mad.”

Nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh.
“It went bust! The cable channel broke that damned story last night, and Bill took off. He said things were too hot around me. And that was that.”

Perhaps she'd filtered out a few irrelevant details, like Joey and the posse, but more aggravation wouldn't do him any good. For the most part, she'd given him the facts he needed.

“Now, the press is at my door, Bill is gone, and I don't know what to do. I mean, can this get any worse?”

The back door flew open, and in stepped Ro, Joey, Dad and his cronies, Slip, Lemon and Jimmy Two-Toes.

And Frankie's father.

“Luce,” Tim said, “I think it just got worse.”

“
W
hat the hell
is going on?”

Her father stood in the middle of the break room, hands on hips, his face so red it took on a blue tint.

When Lucie pushed out of her seat, Tim did the same, standing behind her while she faced the crowd. This back room was only so big and with all these people clogging it up, the walls closed in, making her head throb.

“Dad,” she said, “please calm down.”

“We got cameras all over the street.”

Ro elbowed Joey. “And they're for Lucie. Who'd have seen that one coming?”

Joey snorted and the two of them made googly eyes at each other. Lucie stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged.

“Sorry,” Ro said. “Couldn't resist.”

“Well, try to control yourself.”

Dad eyeballed Lucie then Ro. “You two about done?”

Lucie straightened up. “I know it looks bad . . .”

“Looks bad? Ha! You think? We gotta get rid of them.”

Slip and Lemon muttered something about bats and skulls, and Lucie angled back to Tim. “You didn't hear that.”

“What?”

What a guy. Now she had to clear everyone but Dad, Joey and Ro out of the room. The rest of the lunatics had to go.

“Guys,” she said, “would you mind going around front and making sure everything is calm out there?”

She met Dad's gaze, opened her eyes wide and nudged her head.
Come on, Dad, take a hint.
“She's right. Don't get nuts, though. Stay calm. Don't put your mitts on anyone. You hear?”

The men filed out, and, whether from the burst of fresh air through the open door or the increased space, Lucie's head stopped pounding.

At least now she could think. “We need to get rid of the reporters, and we know from Dad's experience they won't leave until I comment.”

Joey threw his arms up. “Comment? What the hell are you gonna say?”

“I don't know, Joey, that's what I need to decide.”

Still standing beside her, Tim shifted sideways into Lucie's view. Maybe simply so she could see him and reinforce his presence. Whatever the reason, it worked.

“What do you think?” she asked him. “About commenting?”

He lifted one shoulder. “It's a risk. The first thing I'd tell you is to check with your lawyer. Anything you say will be heard by cops, too.”

“I have nothing to hide. Whatever I say, it'll be the truth. How can that be bad?”

“Personally,” Ro said, “I think she should do it. Maybe it'll knock something loose.”

“A reward,” Dad said.

“What?”

“We'll offer a reward.”

Yes! A reward. Someone, somewhere knew who stole that dress, and, with the economy being what it was, a nice reward might entice someone.