Dog Collar Couture (2 page)

She also resented him for it.

Enter Tim O'Brien, a man who'd figured out how to love his family, but not be ruled by them.

And she'd been hiding him.

What is wrong with me?

“Tim?”

“I'm here.”

“I don't like sneaking around either. Let me talk to my mom. See when might be a good night to have you come over for dinner. How's that?”

“Tell me where and when, and I'll be there.”

“I know you will.”

For that, she adored him. “So, custard tonight?”

“Yep. I'll meet you there.”

She hung up with Tim and hopped in the shower to rinse the scent of dogs off and just generally wipe away the fatigue of the day. She stepped out of the tub feeling at least a little more perky. While managing her business, she'd hired and trained two new dog walkers in the last eight weeks and opened their new Coco Barknell headquarters in the old Carlucci shoe store.

Throw in the emotional roller coaster of Frankie leaving for New York and Tim O'Brien coming on scene, and it had been a wild ride.

“Lucie!” her father yelled from downstairs just as she finished toweling off.

“What?” she yelled back through the door.

“Dinner! Ten minutes!”

“Okay!”

Couldn't even shower in peace around here. She wrapped herself in her fluffy bathrobe and padded across the hall to her room, where she picked out a pair of trendy cargo pants and a light sweater she'd bought on a shopping trip with Ro. Suddenly, she'd figured out that she could be comfortable in things other than jeans and T-shirts.

She'd always be a jeans-and-T-shirt girl, but once in a while it was nice to do a little more. Particularly when seeing O'Hottie.

The Irish cop she was about to unleash on her father.

Or vice versa.

A
fter dinner
, Mom unwrapped a freshly baked coffee cake—Dad's favorite—and set it on the dining room table. The table that had been Grandma's and a mainstay in the Rizzo household since her maternal grandmother had passed. In truth, it was a little too large for the twelve-by-twelve room—particularly with the breakfront shoved against the far wall—but none of that mattered.

All that mattered was having Grandma's furniture, things she'd lovingly cared for and placed thousands of family meals on. For Lucie, no matter how dated the furniture might have been, as long as it was there, so was Grandma.

A lot of things had been inherited from Gram. Including dinner not being complete unless it was followed by homemade dessert.

Lucie sat back. Cake and then custard with Tim. It would be a three-day sugar buzz. From the living room, the familiar
dun-dun-dun
from the nightly newscast began. Seven o'clock. She'd texted Tim that she'd meet him at eight. If she left by seven forty, she'd make it in time.

“Oh, my God,” Ro said from her spot across from Joey, “more cake. I've gained five pounds since I dumped that rat-bastard husband and started eating here more.”

Wasn't that always the way? Lucie could eat an entire side of beef and not gain an ounce. Ro, the one with the curvy body that hospitalized men? She gained weight at the drop of a coffee cake.

How was that fair?

Dad reached across and patted Ro's hand. “That dumbass. All the strip joints around here, he goes to the one in town?”

“I know!” Ro cried. “I should have killed him for being stupid.”

Lucie stared straight ahead, meeting Mom's gaze, instinctively knowing they were both thinking the same thing. Ro had busted her husband banging a stripper, and all she and Dad were offended by was his choice to not take his bad behavior out of town.

“They're twisted,” Lucie said to Mom, “but they're our twisted.”

The room grew quiet as everyone, including Ro, took their first sampling of Mom's cake. The minute it hit Lucie's mouth, the sweet, buttery flavor melted over her tongue, and she slouched back, let her eyes roll.

Mom giggled.

“It's so good,” Ro said. “I have to stop. After the next bite. I have to stop.”

From the living room, the perky, perky, perky Maureen Gibbons from the local Chicago station delivered her newscast to her legions of fans. “An armed robbery occurred today at the Bendorf Auction House. Let's go to our on-scene reporter for the latest.”

Lucie's head snapped toward the living room. “Wait. What?” She hopped out of her chair, ran to the television.

“What happened?” Mom asked.

“Ssshhh.”

“The robbery occurred around 4:00
pm
when two men posing as police officers entered the premises, held a worker at gunpoint, restrained her and stole the famed Maxmillian dress from the classic film
Peacock Island.
”

The reporter angled back and pointed at the building behind him. “The thieves left via the front door of the building. The restrained worker was discovered by another employee. Police are asking any witnesses to contact them with information.”

“Holy smokes.”

“Baby girl?” Dad said.

Lucie paddled her hand. “I was just there today. Well, not inside, but I was walking Fin right around that time. I met the manager outside.”

“
Peacock Island,
” Ro said. “Isn't that the sci-fi flick from the sixties? The one where the peacocks take over an island and kill all the humans but one?”

Joey, the sometime sci-fi enthusiast nodded. “That's the one. The survivor wears some dress made by a famous designer. The movie sucks, but people go nuts for the dress.”

Lucie met her father's concerned gaze. “I could be a witness.”

J
oey flapped his arms
. “Oh, Christ! Not again.”

“Joseph! Language.”

“Sorry, Ma. But this dog-walking gig is a pain. Always with the drama.”

Ro made snoring noises, and Joey poked his finger. “And don't you start with the snoring. You know I'm right.”

“It's not like she goes looking for trouble. Not her fault she is always—and I mean
always
—in the wrong place.”

Dad banged a hand against the table, rattling the silverware. “What the hell are you people talking about?”

“Joe,” Mom said, “stay out of it. Lucie will handle it.”

She will?

Before Lucie could comment, Mom turned a hard, warning glare on her. Translation:
Don't get your father involved.

Point there.

“Uh, yeah,” Lucie said, “I'll handle it. I really didn't see anything anyway. All I did was talk to the manager.”

Ro snapped her fingers. Three times. And pointed one of her perfect nails. “What if the manager was the hostage?”

Really? She had to say that?

Joey flapped his arms again. “Ah, Christ!”

“Everyone calm down.” Mom, ever the voice of reason. “Lucie will call that detective friend of hers, tell him she was there but didn't see anything and that'll be that. Case closed.”

“What detective friend?” Dad asked, the words flowing like hot lava.

Joey and Ro both looked at her, anticipating her answer. Ro puckered against a smile while Joey had that same wide-eyed
my-father-terrifies-me
look he always wore when Dad got the lava voice.

“It's just someone I know,” Lucie said. “He helped with the dognapping case.”

And, oh yeah, I might be falling in love with him.

Yeesh.
That
was a revelation. Or was it? For weeks now, every time she saw Tim or talked to him on the phone even, she got this little buzz inside. The flutter. Knowing the upheaval her relationship with Tim would cause—and maybe fear of an eventual broken heart if he dumped her—she'd been hesitant to acknowledge it. But it had been there, burrowing inside, waiting for her to open up to the possibilities of a future with an Irish cop.

Dad waggled his finger at her. “You know how I feel about cops.”

Yeah, he only liked the crooked ones he could buy off. But God help her if she said that. Nope. She needed to take the high road. Smooth this out until she could come up with what to do about being a potential witness and about introducing her father to her new boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Huh. Was he? Were they a couple? Exclusively dating? When it came to sex that was sacred ground. Once that happened, they were exclusive whether Tim liked it or not, because she wasn't into casual hookups.

“Yes, Joe,” Mom said. “We're all aware of how you feel about cops.”

Time for an intervention before her father lost his cool. Lucie walked back to the table, gathered up a few scattered plates and forks. “Relax, Dad. Everything is fine.” She hip-checked Ro's chair on her way to the kitchen. “I have to run out and meet with a potential client. Can I see you a second? To touch base for our meeting tomorrow.”

Ro shoved her chair back. “What meet—”

Lucie gritted her teeth, instantly silencing Ro. Who knew that trick worked so well? “Frampton's,” Lucie said. “Now. Please.”

Ro followed her into the kitchen shaking her head. “Since when do we have a—”

Lucie set the plates on the counter next to the sink and started rinsing. “Shush.” Lucie kept her voice somewhere between her regular volume and a whisper. “We don't have a meeting. I'm just . . .”

“Freaking out?”

“Yes! How is it even possible that I was in the area at the exact time of that robbery?”

“Okay, Sister. Just take a breath. They could have the time wrong. I mean, you didn't see anything did you?”

“No. And I even walked around the whole building. Didn't see anyone come out.”

“So, you're in the clear. You must have been there right before.”

Lucie replayed Fin's walk in her mind. “I talked to the manager. I ran into her out back. Had a whole conversation about Fin and Coco Barknell. She must have been the one to discover the restrained employee. Oh, my God. I was chatting that woman up while people were robbing the place.”

“You don't know that. They could have left twenty minutes before.”

“No. The newscaster said around four.”

From the dining room, Dad yelled, “What are you two whispering about? I hate that whispering.”

Finishing with the plate rinse, Lucie turned the faucet off. “Nothing, Dad. Just work stuff.”

Ro grabbed her elbow, dragged her closer to the back door. “Even if it was the same time, you didn't see anything. That's all. You didn't see anything. And the manager knows who you are. If the cops want to find you, they will.”

“Maybe I should ask Tim about it. I'm on my way to meet him. I should just come clean, right?”

Ro's lips peeled back. “
No!
Why would you do that?”

Uh, because she wanted to be honest? When did the truth become a sin? “Well, why wouldn't I? I like him, and he already told me he likes full disclosure.”

“Honestly. My work is never done.” Ro huffed then popped her eyes wide. Queen Demented. “Because you
like
this guy. And the last time you got into a dustup you were terrified to tell him, because you thought he'd think you were a scam artist. Plus, you've already told me he worries about his career. He doesn't need his girlfriend bringing heat with his bosses. I say, do both of you a favor, and don't tell him yet. Play dumb. Pretend you never saw that newscast. Then if the cops show up, you can act surprised and
then
tell O'Hottie. That way, you're in the clear. You don't have to bring him into it unnecessarily. He'll thank you for it.”

In a twisted way, it made sense. Particularly because she and Tim had discussed the issue of his career and how his superiors would feel about him dating a mob boss's daughter. So far, it hadn't been an issue. But if she kept racking up these criminal involvements, that wouldn't last long.

There'd be no harm in keeping this to herself. Letting it play out.

“Okay,” Lucie said. “You're right. No need to panic. Chances are it'll be nothing.”

L
ucie parked
in the garage one street over from the custard shop and called Tim to let him know she was there, but would be a few minutes. At which point, he told her to stay put until he got there to walk her.

She liked that about him. The protective nature. The cop in him.

Being a smart girl, she waited in her car until she spotted him come off the garage elevator. He still wore his suit—minus the tie—leading her to believe he'd come straight from work. Otherwise, he'd have changed into jeans. They were alike in that way. They both preferred casual clothing during their downtime.

She hopped out of the car, hit the lock button and met him at the rear bumper.

“Hey, pretty lady.”

“Hi, sailor. Want a date?”

Any stress she'd felt on the drive downtown dissolved the second he hit her with his flashing smile. That smile was a wicked aphrodisiac. Every time he leveled it on her, she experienced a hot tingle that made her all sorts of giddy.

He bent over, popped a light kiss on her lips, lingering for just a second, letting her know that if she played her cards right, maybe they'd hit third base again tonight.

She could only hope.

Before he could back away, she gripped the open flap of his suit jacket and deepened the kiss.
Go, Lucie.

He backed her against the car, brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and the light, playful peck morphed into something altogether different. Something involving tongues and nips and a whole lot of steam.

A car whizzed by, honking at them, and Lucie burst out laughing.

Only slightly awkward.

He angled away, shaking his head at her, but his smile stretched wide. “You're too damned cute, Lucie.” He popped another kiss on her lips. “I love spending time with you.”

“Ditto that, Detective.” She hooked her arm into his. “Now take me for that custard you promised.”

They reached the street level, and the frosty wind coming off the lake prickled Lucie's cheeks. Fall had definitely arrived. The good news was evening bumper-to-bumper rush hour had dwindled and didn't require pedestrians to say a novena before they stepped off the curb. Lucie and Tim headed east, keeping pace with the other folks. City walking, Lucie called it. Not slow, but not fast either. She bumped Tim's shoulder. “Thanks for walking me.”

He bumped back. “There's no way I'm letting you walk through a parking garage at night. I should have picked you up.”

“But that wouldn't have made sense since you live downtown. Why should you drive from here to Franklin and back again?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

The light changed, and he set his hand on her lower back, guiding her across the street. The minute his fingers touched her, even through her jacket, something flickered again. The fuse being relit.

And, yep, she wanted to feel that sucker burn.

He slid his hand from her back, let it dangle at his side. Lucie glanced down.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I would like to hold your hand. If that's okay.”

Again with the devastating smile. “It's more than okay. I don't want to push you, Lucie.”

“What if I want to be pushed? What if it's not a push at all and it feels right and good and . . . easy. You're easy, Tim O'Brien.”

“I beg your pardon, madam.”

Lucie laughed as they angled around a group of teenagers moving the opposite direction. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do. You're easy yourself. Being with you, it's comfortable. Like we've been doing it forever.”

She'd had forever with Frankie, and they'd gotten too comfortable. They loved each other, but the spark had worn off.

“Sometimes forever becomes a habit,” Lucie said.

“Do we feel like a habit to you? It doesn't to me.”

Oh, ouch. Not what she meant at all. “No. I just . . . never mind.”

Tim stopped walking, drew her closer to the building, away from sidewalk traffic, and wrapped both her hands in his, chasing away the chill.

“I know, Lucie. Why do you think I've been giving you space? I want you to be sure about me. About us.”

Without him saying it, she knew what this was. This was about Frankie. Tim wanted assurances that she wasn't planning on leaving for New York anytime soon. And after the time they'd spent together these past couple of months, he deserved an honest answer. One she wanted, desperately, to give him.

“It's over,” she said. “With Frankie.”

He kept his gaze on her. The cop searching for a tell. “You're sure?”

“Positive. Every time we broke up before there was always this feeling, a lifeline, that kept us connected. We were apart, but not really apart. It's hard to explain, but each time before I knew it wasn't really over, that we'd find our way back. This time there's no lifeline. I haven't talked to him since he left.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. Part of it is you. I like you. A whole lot. And hanging on to Frankie wouldn't be fair to you. To us. I can't give you all the credit, though. That wouldn't be fair, either. I wouldn't want you thinking you were some kind of rebound. Because you aren't. You're the man who made me realize that I'd been selling myself short.”

She pulled her hands free of his, stepped closer and reached under his suit jacket to tug his shirt. “For the first time in years, I feel great. Alive. Like everything is new and fresh, and I love it. You gave me that.”

Tim's eyebrows hitched up. She'd surprised him. Good.

“Damn, you're gonna undo me. I knew it that first night we went to dinner.”

Was that what she wanted? To have such an effect on him that he'd come apart? No. She wanted this Tim O'Brien. Strong, reliable and fierce. “I don't want to undo you.” She grinned. “Not emotionally anyway.”

“Ooh, you're a wicked woman.”

She held her fingers to her mouth and snorted. “I know. So naughty. It's great fun.”

Tim dipped his head and kissed her, sliding his tongue along her lower lip. She shivered, but not from the cold wind. This was all about the man stirring her up.

In ways she desperately needed to be stirred up.

She gripped his suit jacket, folded herself into his big body. She could get used to this—the PDA—with him. No hiding, no worrying about people gossiping about the mob kids uniting like when she was with Frankie.

He pulled back from the kiss, snuggled against her ear. “How about some custard?”

“Yes! It'll be my second dessert tonight. I'm going to get fat.”