Dog Collar Couture (20 page)

“Maybe one of these weekends we can go somewhere. Get out of the city for a couple of days,” Lucie said.

“Works for me. One of the guys has a cabin in Wisconsin.”

“Really?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, slid his boxers, pants and T-shirt on. “Yeah. It's not fancy; but it's on a lake, and it's quiet.”

“Oh, I'd love that.”

He stood again, zipped his pants and grabbed his belt off the dresser. “Then we'll do it.”

He came back to her, bent over and kissed her. A quick peck on the lips. Yep. She definitely liked starting the day like this.

“Luce, as much as I love the sight of you in my bed, if you want me to drive you to your car, you gotta get moving. Otherwise, sleep a couple more hours and take a cab.”

“Would you mind? If I stayed?”

“Nope.”

He trusted her alone in his home. A place where he kept all kinds of personal things. Secrets maybe.

Yep, this slut thing might work out just fine.

She tossed the covers off. “I'd love to sleep, but it'll be a busy day. We have a Cock Head Convention to attend.”

For whatever reason, Tim burst out laughing. “That name. Seriously, after the night we just had, it conjures all sorts of things in a man's imagination.”

On her way to the bathroom, she smacked him on the butt. “See me later, big boy.”

“Be careful at that convention today. Anything can happen at those things. Robberies, rapes.”

Rapes? Seriously? She turned back to him, flapped her arms. “Wow, that's a lovely thought. You're such a cop.”

“I'm just saying. People start drinking and make bad decisions. Make sure Joey and Ro stay with you.”

“Fine. I'm going to call Eric, too. See if he'll help us look around. And maybe I'll ask a few questions, but it's not a SWAT operation.”

At least she hoped it wasn't a SWAT operation. From what she'd seen of the Cock Heads, anything was possible.

L
ucie stepped
into the hotel ballroom and froze.

Ro plowed into her, sending Lucie sprawling forward nearly taking out a woman in a peacock-feather hat. Joey snagged her arm in one of his giant mitts.

“Whoa, Luce,” Ro shouted above the noise, testing the confines of the ballroom. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you stop. I was distracted.”

Lucie righted herself, tugged on her long-sleeved T-shirt and adjusted her vest, which she'd hoped she wouldn't roast in but could already feel sweat beads rolling down her spine.

The sweat bubbled up the second they'd stepped into thirty-thousand square feet of ballroom stuffed shoulder to shoulder with people.

Some proudly wearing their Cock Head gear.

And the noise. Holy cow. Lucie stuck her fingers in her ears to block the yammering in the confined space.

“Boy,” Ro said, “those Cock Heads weren't kidding when they said the place was a madhouse.”

Lucie scanned the area directly in front of her where rows and rows of vendors hawked their wares. Potential customers weaved through the rows, squeezing in and out, craning their necks for a glimpse of the offerings. Incredible.

Rows.

Rows.

Rows.

Of stuff.

Panic curled inside her, twisting in her belly. Her brother tilted forward, craning his neck so he could look at her.

“Don't freak.”

“You're kidding, right?” She flipped her palms up. “The place is a zoo. How the hell are we going to get through this? One of the women last night said all the good stuff goes early.”

Her phone vibrated, and she whipped it out of her vest pocket. Eric. Texting to say he was already there, working the aisles. Nothing unusual yet.

Oh,
that
was amusing. Wasn't this whole thing unusual?

A middle-aged man stormed by them wearing jeans, a black T-shirt proclaiming him to be a Cock Head and a baseball cap adorned with peacock feathers. He bumped Ro as he ran past.

Ro whipped around. “Hey, take it easy.” She fluffed her hair and turned back to Lucie. “These Cock Heads are nutballs. Which is why you need to put what that woman last night said out of your head. We're talking about a million-dollar dress here. Not some ten-dollar stuffed peacock. Trust me, we
will
leave here with answers today. I love you too much to have this fail.”

“Damn,” Joey said, “that's hot. I get worked up when you're like this.”

Ohmygod.
Total overshare. Lucie shoved her fingers in her ears again. “Joey!”

Making things worse, Ro wrapped her hand around Joey's neck, mashed herself against him and kissed him. And probably tongues were involved.

Lucie rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Good. They hadn't popped out.

“Let me know when you two are done.”

“Honey,” Ro said, “if I could help it, we'd never be done.”

At that, Lucie laughed. Joey and Ro, they were either the worst couple ever or perfection. Time would tell.

“Now,” Ro said, “before I do your brother in the middle of this cattle drive—”

“Technically it's a peacock drive,” Joey said. “I'd definitely do you here, though.”

Lucie gripped two handfuls of her hair and yanked. “Please. We need a plan. It's only nine thirty and this place is mobbed. In another hour, it'll be worse. I think we should split up.”

“No way,” Joey said. “Your boyfriend called this morning. He's freaking out about you running around here. He thinks it could be dangerous. No splitting up.”

“Oh, my God.” Ro charged toward one of the tables in the row ahead of them. “Look!”

The dress?

Could they have gotten that lucky? Lucie rushed to catch up just as Ro scooped something off the table and held it up, cooing over it.

Lucie's shoulders dropped, that momentary excitement plummeting like cement from a tall building.

“Peacock earmuffs.” Ro rubbed the feathers against her cheek. “These are just darling. Luce, I'm totally seeing peacock accessories in our doggie future.”

Ro rummaged through her giant tote bag, eventually pulling out a twenty and handing it over.

Now they were shopping? Everyone needed to focus. Sure, there was a lot of activity, but this crew—Lucie included—needed to settle down and concentrate on their mission.

She locked onto Ro's arm and dragged her back to where Joey stood.

Ro waved the earmuffs at him, pulled her arm free of Lucie's grip and set her new purchase on her head for Joey to see. “How cute are these?”

Joey whistled. “Those are something all right.”

A woman carrying a stack of flyers walked along the edge of the rows. “Maps. Anyone need a map? Maps here.”

Yes. Lucie threw both hands up. “I'll take one.”

The woman wandered over and slid a couple of papers off the top of her stack. “Here you go. Can I help you find anything? There's a system here.”

“We're looking for the Max memorabilia.”

“Oh, well, that's everywhere if you want T-shirts or something. But if you're looking for replicas of the dress, those will all be in the back corner.” The woman pointed to the far left corner of the ballroom. “Just head that way. You can't miss them.”

At least now they had a direction. When the woman left, Lucie faced her partners. “We'll start with the knockoffs. See what we can find. If nothing else, it's a starting point.”

“Atta girl,” Ro said. “Come on. We've got this.”

Always one to take the initiative, Joey pushed through the crowd, clearing a path like a human lawn mower. Having King Kong as a brother offered perks. The biggest being people generally stepped aside when he wanted to pass.

Still, with the size of this crowd, it took ten minutes to finally reach the back corner where racks and racks of black dresses lined the wall. Forty years ago, Italian widows would have had a field day in this place.

“Jeez,” Joey said, “there's enough black in here to fill a funeral parlor.”

Lucie smacked his arm. “That's what I was thinking. Well, sort of.”

“Knock it off, you two.” Ro hefted her tote higher on her shoulder. “I'm going in.”

Going in? What did she plan on doing? Lucie scooted up behind her, and they charged into the crowd, heads down, full speed.

“Lady! Chill. There's a line!”

“I don't want your table.” Ro pointed to the next table. “I'm going there. Dumbass!”

Nice.

Lucie tugged on the back of her blouse. “Let's not start a riot. Okay? Trying to lielow here.”

“You broads are wacky.” Joey angled around and planted himself directly in front of them. “Just let me do it.”

“Folks,” he called, his deep voice rising above the crowd noise, “where's the line?”

A petite woman barely bigger than Lucie and standing four deep raised her hand. “Back here.”

Joey held his hands out. “There you go. The wait shouldn't be that long.”

The three of them moved to the back of the line, Joey standing guard behind them making sure people didn't plow them over. Lucie's phone vibrated. Another text. What now?

She checked it, found an unknown 312 number and punched the message.

THIS IS WILLIAM FROM THE MEETING LAST NIGHT. NOTHING TO REPORT. WE'RE ALL ON ALERT.

Ro peeked over her shoulder. “Who is it?”

“William. He's a Cock Head from the meeting. Nothing to report.”

“Then why is he texting?”

As if she should know? Lucie waved the phone. “No idea. Checking in, I guess.”

“Lunatic Cock Heads,” Ro muttered.

“Hey, they're trying.”

A guy wearing a black, button-down shirt and a pair of dress slacks wandered by, his eyes glued to Ro's rear.

Of course, the leather skirt and stilettos didn't exactly blend with this crowd.

“Dude,” Joey said to the guy, “eyes up before I take them out for you.”

Then he grinned.
Grinned.

The man raised his fist for a bump. “Sorry, man. Couldn't help it.”

“I hear ya, Brother.”

Only Joey could threaten to remove a man's eyes and then make friends with him. Lucie stuck her finger down her throat and gagged.

“I know,” Ro said. “Males. They might as well have their own country with the language they speak.”

The two people at the front of the line moved off without making a purchase.
Thank you very much.
In a few minutes they'd be—
hang on.

Lucie slid up on tiptoes so she could speak to Ro without screaming. “Um, do you have a plan? I mean you just jumped on this line.”

“No, I don't have a plan. You said you wanted to start back here, so I dove in.”

No plan. Total mess. “Glad I asked.”

Ro snorted and added the eye-roll kicker.

Lucie held up her hands. “I've got this. Follow my lead.”

The woman in front of them purchased a peacock-feather headband and one of the replica dresses, which the vendor left on the hanger and pulled a dry-cleaning bag over. Nice touch there.

When the woman left, Lucie stepped up. “Hello.”

An older man with long, gray sideburns and a bushy mustache manned the table while a woman—his wife maybe—fiddled with the dresses on the racks. The man smiled at her. Not unusual. People tended to immediately respond to her with an aw-how-cute-are-you look. Most of the time, she despised it. Right now, she'd use it.

“How can I help you?”

“The dresses. Do you have any that have the double-eyed feathers like the original?”

“Real ones?”

Ro leaned in, hit the man with a flirty smile. “She won't say it, but we have money to spend. Rat-bastard, soon-to-be-ex-husband to screw.”

She winked and the man's face went deadpan. Just . . . nothing. Not a smile or even a smirk to be found. Lucie may have detected a bit of terror by the slightly raised eyebrows.

“Uh, no,” he said, darting his gaze from Ro to Lucie. “No real ones. I could probably get you dyed feathers, and my wife can make the dress. There'd be a custom tailoring charge.”

For the drama, Lucie made a pouty face. “I was hoping to get it today.”

“Today?” The man puckered, ran one hand down the side of his face. “I could make some calls, see if I could find one for you. I don't know if anyone here would have one. Check with Rudy. Two tables down. He'd be the only one. If he doesn't have it, come back and I'll see what I can do.”

A lead. Maybe Ro was right, and they'd actually leave here with some good intel. “Great. Thank you.”

Behind them a woman lurched forward, shoved from the crowd. She righted herself and spun backward. “Hey, watch it!”

“It wasn't me, lady.”

Lucie glanced right. The jerk yelling was the same guy who'd given Ro the business about cutting the line a few minutes earlier.

“What is with this guy?”

“He's an ass,” Ro said, “that's what.”

Once again Lucie's phone vibrated. Her phone was blowing up with texts. Another Cock Head with nothing to report. Who reported in with nothing? Why bother?

Whatever.

“You shoved me,” the lady in the aisle yelled, her voice packing some serious mean. Lucie looked up from her phone.

The guy jerked his thumb at the chubby, thirty-something nerd next to him. The nerd wore a T-shirt proudly proclaiming him to be a Cock Head and one of those hideous peacock-feathered baseball caps. Someone here had to be selling those things.

“Yeah,” the nerd said, “because you shoved me.”

The first guy—the ass—gritted his teeth. “Newsflash, genius. There's a shitload of people here. Kinda hard not to get pushed.”

“No need for that kind of foul language,” the nerd said. “But what should I expect from rude people?”

“Uh-oh,” Ro muttered.

Joey sighed. “Fellas, let's keep moving. No one is hurt. No harm done.”

Huh, this being-in-love thing might be mellowing her brother out, because when had
he
ever been the voice of reason?

“Rude?” the guy said. “How was I rude when you pushed me? Fatass.”

The nerd's cheeks turned a twisty shade of purplish-red. He scrunched his nose and raised his fists, pumping them in front of his face.

“What?” the jerk said. “You gonna hit me?” He tapped his chin. “Go ahead, fat boy. Right here.”

Boom!
Crunching bone sounded above the crowd noise, and Lucie reared back, closing her eyes, almost afraid to look. The nerd had clocked him. Right there on the chin. Walloped him.

Good for him. Not that she condoned fighting, but that guy? Totally deserved it.

“Ohmygod,” Ro said. “Cock fight.”

“Ah, dammit.” Joey's voice.

Lucie opened her eyes just as the jerky guy fell into a crowd of onlookers.

“Cock Head down!” someone in the crowd yelled. “Cock Head down!”

The place went wild, the noise kicking up another decibel. A group of Cock Heads began a chant of “fight, fight, fight.” If that continued, they'd have even more of a riot.

Lucie held up her hands. “Stop chanting! Please, stop.”

In front of her, Joey grabbed hold of the seething nerd, who attempted to outmuscle him.

Good luck, buddy.

“Hang on, dude,” Joey said. “I don't blame you for wanting to kick his ass, but trust me, this guy'll have you arrested. Been there done that.”

Two security guards pushed through the growing crowd demanding people step back and let them through.

The first security guard stepped up just as the jerky guy roared back, fists flying.

“Joey,” Lucie screamed.

Joey raised his elbow and—
whap
—the guy ran straight into it, his nose taking the full thrust.
Ouch.
Not only did he have a possibly broken jaw, he might need a new nose to boot.