Dog Collar Knockoff (3 page)

“Listen, goody-two-shoes, how do you think Ma’s plumbing gets fixed? The next time you take a dump, thank my degenerate gamblers.”

Still in the entryway, Ro laughed. “I do adore you, Joey.”

He leaned back and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Good God.

“Does Mom know that? Not that Ro adores you. About the degenerates?”

“I guess. She tells me she needs a plumber and I tell her I’ll take care of it. We’re lucky this guy can’t pick a winner. She hasn’t paid a plumbing bill since Dad went away.”

“Luce,” Ro said, “you’d better take him up on this. Fixing this trap up will cost you. Save money where you can. Besides, since you pee at your mother’s, your integrity has already been compromised.”

Joey jerked his thumb in Ro’s direction and gave her one of his smart-ass perfect teeth smiles. “Good point.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Joey,” Ro called, “what other contractors owe you money? She’ll need a flooring guy and a painter.”

Slippery slope, this one.

With Lucie on his heels, he left the bathroom and headed for the door. “Let me see what I can do.”

On the way out, he lightly smacked Ro’s ass. The one that looked great today.

She waved him away. “Hands off, big boy. Looking is one thing. Besides, you had your chance.”

Ew
.

“Don’t remind me,” Joey said.

Recently, Ro had admitted to Lucie that she and Joey were an item for a few months while Lucie was in graduate school. But her brother couldn’t commit and Ro had moved on. Lucie wasn’t sure she was exactly comfortable with her brother and Ro having done the nasty. So she stood in the middle of the filthy floor, avoiding eye contact with her best friend because the visions swimming in her mind were too much.

Lucie stifled an ick face. “Sometimes I wish I still didn’t know about you two.”

Ro shrugged. “He really has a sweet side. You don’t see it because you’re his sister. But that’s old news. And with the state of my life right now, not worth rehashing.”

Ro loved her husband. Prior to a month ago, he’d been a good, solid guy and that’s what she needed. Someone to cool her fire once in a while. Except, last month that good, solid guy, who was also president of the Franklin town council, got caught in a strip club doing things he shouldn’t have been doing.

“How are things at home?”

Ro let out a heavy breath, then studied the molding around the ceiling for a few seconds before finally meeting Lucie’s gaze. “You mean my stripper-banging husband? He’s lucky I don’t stab him in his sleep. It takes incredible restraint, you know. I keep telling him not to close his eyes.”

“I’m sorry, Ro.”

She rubbed her nose a couple of times, sniffled, and shrugged. Ro wasn’t a crier. Hated it. She’d sooner cut off her own leg than cry in front of anyone, but Lucie knew the signs. Inside, Ro was coming apart.

“Eh,” Ro said. “It’s only a broken heart. It’ll get better. What do you think about this dump? Is it our new headquarters?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you can get it cleaned up in roughly two weeks because that’s when my father comes home.”

“Two weeks!”

Lucie raised her hands before Ro started yelling. “It could be three. I’m sorry! I just found out. They’re having an overcrowding issue and they’re paroling him early.”

Lucie’s father had been locked up over an income tax issue. Not exactly the violent offense the government would have liked to have nailed Joe Rizzo on, but they took what they could get. Lucie suspected the feds were still trying to build a case on her father—they’d been at it for years—but they obviously didn’t have enough evidence to bring him to trial again, and since he’d been a model prisoner, they were letting him out early. Go figure.

And now she had to move her company headquarters from the dining room. Her dad would take one look at the boxes of fabric and sample racks and start yelling about getting that crap out of his house.
Thanks for the support, Dad.

“It’s a good thing I love you,” Ro said. “Two weeks!”

“It doesn’t have to be finished. It just has to be usable.” Lucie moved to the side of the store where the design area would be. “Let’s get this half going. Then I can move all the stuff from the dining room here and set up a desk in the corner. We can work out of this half while the other half is being renovated. That’s doable, right?”

Ro put one finger up. “Cleanup.” Another finger. “Paint.” Another finger. “New floors.” Her pinkie. “Bathroom.”

“I’ll take care of cleaning out the back room. Joey will line up the contractors. All you’ll have to do is pick out the floor, fixtures, and paint. Is it a deal?”

“It’ll be a
miracle
.”

With that, she spun on her Prada sandals and marched away.

“Thank you,” Lucie called after her.

Finally alone in the store, she turned back and took it all in. In a few weeks, this broken-down mess would be the new corporate headquarters of Coco Barknell.

And her father would be home from prison.

T
he following afternoon,
Lucie stormed down Ashland Avenue with Bear, an overweight Great Dane who totally lacked an aggression gene, pulling her along. Bear may have looked like a force, but the dog was a complete lover. On the rare occasion someone approached to pet the behemoth, he’d go up on his hindquarters, drop his front paws on the person’s shoulders, and nearly knock them backward, aiming for a lick or twelve.

Their first week together, Lucie had learned not to give him much slack. As in any at all. Considering the heat today, and the melting asphalt, a dog his size shouldn’t be moving fast anyway.

In the subtle mayhem of Chicago traffic, a taxi driver sat on his horn. Bear halted, turned toward the offending sound, and let out three rapid-fire barks.
That’ll teach him, Bear.
Having added his opinion, Bear went back to searching the pavement for a good spot to relieve himself.

Oh, these dogs. If there ever came a time where she’d have to be in the office full-time, hopefully running her Fortune 500 company, she’d miss the quirky rascals. She wouldn’t miss schlepping around in snow in the winter, but being outside during the other three seasons, getting the air and exercise, wailing through the streets on her scooter from client to client, all of that she’d miss.

Somehow, even on busy days, it relaxed her. Made her feel not so trapped by life.

A chirp sounded from her pocket and she moved the leash into her other hand to check her phone. Mr. Lutz. Ahead of her, a group of pedestrians parted like the Red Sea to give Bear room, so it was as good a time as any to take a call.

“Hi, Mr. L.”

“Lucie? Hi. I got your note about the painting.”

After the conversation with Lauren, Lucie had taken pity on the eager student and left Mr. L. a note regarding the title of the painting. “Thanks for calling. You could have left me a note though.”

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

“My new part-timer is an art history major. She’s enthralled and wanted to know the title.”

A man in a suit, also talking on his phone, headed straight for them, obviously not paying attention to the giant dog in front of him.

Without a free hand, Lucie pulled the phone away from her ear and waved it at the guy to grab his attention. “Hey, there. Lady with a giant dog coming through.”

Just before going ass over elbow, his eyes shot wide and he veered left.

On the other end of the phone, Mr. L. laughed. “The painting is called
My Darkest Night
. My wife says it’s a Gomez, whoever the hell he is. She knows more about art than I do, but Bart convinced me it would be a good investment. He says modern art is hot right now and no one is buying the old classics. I’ll make a fortune.”

“I guess art is like real estate. When the market is dead, you invest and wait for it to come back.”

“Let’s hope so.”

At the corner, Bear stopped to inspect a garbage can and finally let fly a stream of urine so strong it could wash away a small village. The dog, quite literally, peed like a racehorse. While waiting, Lucie went back to Mr. Lutz. “Either way, it’s a beautiful painting. I’ll let Lauren know the title. I’ll be by this afternoon to walk Otis again. He’s my last stop today.”

Lucie ended her call with Mr. L. and swung a right at the corner to head back. Except, the parked car must have appealed to Bear. He tugged, dragging her so he could inspect a tire.

“Don’t you pee on that car.”

But he kept sniffing and she knew what was coming.

He lifted his leg.

“No, Bear!”

Too late. He squeaked out another shot of urine. Terrific. Lucie glanced around, praying the owner wasn’t nearby.

“Glad that’s not my car,” a passing woman said.

“No kidding, lady,” Lucie muttered.

A beat-up Crown Victoria came to a stop on the other side of the defiled car. Other drivers zoomed around, honking at the Crown Vic, but Lucie knew that didn’t matter. Not in this city.

Out of the double-parked car stepped Detective Tim O’Brien. As with the last time she’d seen him, O’Brien wore a suit, gray this time, and a white shirt sans the jacket and tie. Maybe those were in the car. She hadn’t seen him in over three months, but he appeared bigger, more beefcake than the lanky guy she’d first met. And the lonely side of Lucie liked the beefcake look on O’Brien—a lot.

Helloooo, Detective.

Because of a little issue a few months back with some stolen diamonds, she hadn’t quite figured out if Detective O’Brien was friend or foe. But he liked to flirt with her, and given the serious lack of Frankie in her life, flirting wasn’t such a bad thing.

He stepped onto the curb. “Hello, Lucie.”

Bear made a move to maul O’Brien, straining against his leash. Lucie planted her feet, leaned all her weight back, and held on. She was only 105 pounds, so Bear could take her for a ride if he insisted, but she’d at least make it a challenge. Really though, she couldn’t blame the dog. Where Frankie was dark-haired and a lean, 5’10” movie-star handsome, O’Brien was fair-haired but rugged and… alpha.

Extremely alpha.

He also had that half-cute, half-deadly handsome face inherent to fair-skinned Irish boys. Add the green eyes, the strawberry-blond hair that was more strawberry than blond, and the broad-shouldered build, and a girl could be done for.

“Nice to see you, Detective.”

He grinned down at Bear. “Who do we have here?”

Bear lunged and Lucie gave him a little slack. Maybe too much because he raised up on his hind legs, dropped his paws on O’Brien’s shoulders, and launched into an all-out lickfest.

Holy crap, the dog was a menace. Lucie couldn’t help laughing at the rude behavior, but still found it embarrassing. “Bear! Off!”

O’Brien set his hands on the dog’s back and patted. Slow dancing. With a Great Dane. How funny was that?

Must have been darned amusing to the hottie detective. The deep rumble of his laughter—first time she’d heard that—shot a zing right to her core.

Seriously? She
had
to be lonely. When had she ever had that feeling about anyone other than Frankie?

She didn’t like it. Well, she liked the
feeling
, but not having it about anyone other than Frankie. Talk about your tangled web. But spending her evenings alone hadn’t been a picnic. It seemed these last few years, they’d spent more time apart than together, and if she were being truly honest with herself, it was getting old. Working day and night to kill time didn’t exactly make an exciting life for a twenty-six-year-old. Even Mom had a more packed social schedule.

How the hell did that happen?

All she could hope was that she and Frankie, as they had countless times before, worked through this break-up fairly soon because her lusting after cute Irish cops was a disaster in waiting.

Her father would have a stroke. She didn’t know which would be worse, the he’s-not-Italian part or the cop part. Her father wanted his grandchildren—all of them—to have an Italian last name. In short, he wanted Frankie, a nice Italian boy from the neighborhood, who had a successful—i.e. legitimate—career. On paper, in Joe Rizzo’s eyes, Frankie was the gold star of husband material.

“Um, Lucie?” O’Brien said. “How about calling off the atomic tongue here?”

“Ooh, shoot. Sorry!”

She reached around Bear’s ribcage and hauled him off, her feet moving backward in perfect sequence with his hind legs.

O’Brien stepped back and slid his big hand over his cheeks. “Helluva greeting.”

Obviously exhausted—
shall I get you a cigarette?
—Bear dropped to the pavement for a nap. Unbelievable.

Lucie squatted and gave him a good rub. “Sweet boy.” She smiled up at O’Brien. “He’s such a mush it’s hard to get mad at him. At least you’re tall.” Somewhere about six-foot-one, she figured, but who paid attention? “A couple of months ago, he knocked a teeny-tiny grandma on her butt. It was a nightmare.”

O’Brien grinned and that little squeeze in her belly happened again.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m great. Business is good.”

“I saw your stuff in Frampton’s a few weeks ago.”

Ah, yes. The big Frampton’s order. Roseanne had taken it upon herself to send Chicago’s largest department store samples of their doggie collars and before they knew it, they were producing thousands of diamond-studded collars and coats.

She stood again, but with his height, she barely reached his chest. “It’s been insane. We’re so busy. It’s good though. And fun.”

“That’s great.” He tilted his head and studied her for a second. “I, uh, heard you and Frank Falcone split up.”

Heard that, did he? She wouldn’t bother asking where or how he came upon this information. What did it matter? “Yes. A few months ago.”

Right after you thought I stole a million dollars-worth of diamonds.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said in that voice that telegraphed he wasn’t sorry at all.

Lucie shrugged. What else could she do? She’d cried enough tears over Frankie to fill Wrigley Field. Now she just had to wait and hope they once again found their way back to each other. With both of their fathers in
the life,
she and Frankie understood each other. There was an acceptance between mob kids. Except, sometimes that didn’t quite measure up and they found themselves in a place where they couldn’t agree on how much interference from their families was too much.