by Dianna Love
Cooper stood near the rock outcropping, watching the familiar curvy form of a certain Fed jog the beach. Her dark hair was pulled high in a ponytail, and her gait was purposeful. She’d had surgery on her hand hours after arresting Londano for a second time and the prognosis was good. Given time, a bunch of physical therapy, and a return to gun training exercises, the accuracy in her right hand would return to one hundred percent.
Forester’s body had been released and flown home to Des Moines. His funeral was scheduled for the following Monday, and Celina and Cooper had already booked plane tickets so they could attend.
Ronni Punta was out of the hospital, and Mary, the safe house agent, had already returned to work. Dawn McBroom was still hospitalized, but improving daily. Agent Quarters and Lana Custov were also still in the hospital. Pending Celina’s testimony, Lana would be facing a full investigation and criminal charges for her actions once she’d recovered.
Celina caught sight of him waiting for her and slowed, a curious look on her face. She was sweating and out of breath, but her color was normal, and the cloud that had hung over her for the past week had lifted.
She came to a stop, sized up his clean shirt, nice jeans, and shaved jawline. “What is that in your hands?”
“Starbucks. Iced coffees.”
“Thought you didn’t do Starbucks.”
“I don’t drink Mountain Dew, either, but for you?” He shrugged and handed her one of the paper cups. “If it makes you happy, I’ll concede once in a while.”
She took the cup and he clinked his against it, giving her a smile. She eyed him, taking a healthy swig. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me?”
“Yeah, you seem…happy. Did Londano slip on a bar of soap in prison and break his neck or something?”
“What? I can’t be happy watching my girlfriend jog down the beach on a beautiful California morning?”
“You’re The Beast. You don’t do Starbucks. You don’t do happy. Your words, not mine.”
Small beads of sweat glistened on her upper lip. He wanted to kiss them off. “I got the dog.”
Her eyes brightened. “You did? You found Thunder?”
He nodded. “Wasn’t easy tracking him down, but he was still with the gal who trains dogs for government work. Bomb sniffers, drug sniffers, and dogs like Thunder, who help with undercover work. I officially adopted him this morning. I took Owen out of school and he and Thunder are in the car. Apparently, Chihuahuas like Starbucks too.”
Her smile was contagious. “You’re a good dad.”
A kind of pride he hadn’t felt in a long time rose up inside him. “It was the least I could do for the little fellow since he helped nail Londano last year. And you’re right. Owen needed a friend.”
Celina looked out at the ocean. “It is a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Wish I’d brought my camera.”
Her camera was at still at his place with the rest of her stuff. “How about you, me, and the boys go home and grab it?”
“Home. Hmm.”
“What?”
“I don’t really have a home at the moment, and my job is in flux. I’m on medical leave, but I still have paperwork to do and depositions to give. And all I really want to do is stay right here and enjoy the view.”
“Dyer will do the paperwork for you, and Dupé can wait for his deposition. I’m taking the day off, and I say we grab your camera and have a picnic.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I really am a bad influence on you.”
He pulled her close, careful of her drink and wrist brace. “Not true. You’re the best influence I’ve had in my life in a long time. Come home with me, Celina. Make it your home. Owen needs that dog, and I need you.”
She melted against him, and then looked guilty. “I want to pursue photography full time.”
“Leave the Bureau?”
“I don’t want to do undercover work anymore.”
“Okay…” But he worried there was something else behind this decision. “You’re not just bailing because of me, right? Because of the potential conflict with our jobs?”
She shook her head. “I’m still going to work for the FBI, but I’m going to be a forensic photographer once I’m off medical leave. I’ve already signed up for the certification course.”
No more undercover work. No more worrying his balls off that she was in danger. He couldn’t keep the relief off his face. “If that makes you happy, I’m ecstatic.”
“Dupé said they can use me in both the San Diego and L.A. offices, so I guess I can go home with you and live here, if the offer still stands.”
He dropped his cup, grabbed her, and twirled her around. She laughed out loud, throwing her head back, and dropping her cup too. For Cooper, it was better than the rush from his first bust, and he hoped it outshined hers as well.
She lifted her hands and let him swing her around. People stopped and stared. A few clapped and whistled. When he put her back down, she was still laughing, carefree and happy. “I think I’m up for the picnic now,” she said.
He kissed her, once, twice, three times. Quick kisses, each a promise for their future. “I think I’m ready to make you happy for many, many decades.”
“Decades. I like the sound of that. I love you, Cooper Harris.”
“I love you, too.” He picked up their cups and tossed them in a nearby garbage barrel. Then he took her good hand and led her toward his truck. “Let’s go home, Celina.”
She squeezed his hand, waved at Owen in the truck, the little dog standing on his lap and wagging furiously. “Yes, let’s go home.”
THE END
***
Author updates can be found at http://www.readmistyevans.com. There you can sign up for my newsletter, find free reads, and learn about upcoming contests and giveaways.
Look For These Titles by Misty Evans:
If you like Romantic Suspense…
Operation Sheba, Super Agent Series, Book 1
I’d Rather Be In Paris, Super Agent Series, Book 2
Proof of Life, Super Agent Series, Book 3
The Blood Code, Super Agent Series, Book 4
The Perfect Hostage, A Super Agent Novella
Deadly Pursuit, SCVC Taskforce Series, Book 1
If you like Dark Paranormal Romance or Urban Fantasy…
Soul Survivor, Lost Worlds, Book 1
Soul Protector. Lost Worlds, Book 2
Sweet Demon, Entangled, A Paranormal Anthology
Revenge is Sweet, Kali Sweet Series, Book 1
Sweet Chaos, Kali Sweet Series, Book 2
Sweet Soldier, Kali Sweet Series, Book 3
If you like Light Paranormal Romance…
Witches Anonymous, A Tickle My Fantasy Story
Jingle Hells, Witches Anonymous, Step 2
Wicked Souls, Witches Anonymous, Step 3
Dark Moon Lilith, Witches Anonymous, Step 4
Dancing With the Devil, Witches Anonymous, Step 5
Ghost of a Match, Every Witch Way But Wicked Anthology (featuring Keisha from Witches Anonymous)
If you like Culinary Mysteries…
The Secret Ingredient, A Culinary Romantic Mystery with Bonus Recipes
The Secret Life of Cranberry Sauce, A Secret Ingredient Holiday Novella
DOG COLLAR CRIME
by
Adrienne Giordano
Chapter One
On a lovely March day—if such a thing existed in Chicago—Lucia Rizzo led Miss Elizabeth, a Yorkie possessing the confidence of a runway model with a good boob job, across State Street’s lunchtime traffic and was nearly pancaked.
“Slow down!” she hollered at the errant driver.
A terrified Miss Elizabeth cowered on the sidewalk and Lucie scooped her up for a nuzzle. “Poor baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog sniffed, then licked Lucie’s chin. “You’re a sweet girl.”
Another lick.
Maybe this dog walking thing wasn’t so bad. Heaven knew the
investment bankers in Lucie’s old office never got their faces licked during the workday. And if they had, surely a sexual harassment suit would follow.
Speaking of investment banking… “Okay, girl, playtime is over. You need to poop so I can get home and look for a job.”
She glanced at her watch. No time for delays in an already packed schedule.
The sound of heavy breathing pelted Lucie’s ears and she glanced over her shoulder to see a man on her heels. Some people had no respect for personal space. She gave him the Lucie Rizzo version of the narrow-eyed back-off-bub look. When the man didn’t respond to her obvious warning, she darted ahead, but Miss Elizabeth flopped to the ground with an effort that sent her sequined barrette dancing in the sunlight. Fabulous.
Lucie stared at the dog. “Get moving, girl.”
The dog could have been a statue.
A man wearing a red warm-up jacket strode toward them, his eyes focused on Miss Elizabeth in a way that caused a prickle of unease to snake up Lucie’s spine. Another space invader?
She reached for the dog, but hands clamped on her shoulders from behind and shoved her sideways. Her heart jackhammered, and the shove carried her step by step by step until the side of a red Camry loomed in her vision. Uh-oh. Incoming. With the force of a line drive hitting a windshield, Lucie plowed headfirst into the parked car.
“Ow!”
Pain slammed into her as she landed on all fours, her right knee taking the blow from the pavement before she rolled to her back. Swirling white birds flapped above. She blinked, realizing they weren’t birds but white spots from the whack to her head.
Had she been mugged? Couldn’t be. She didn’t have a purse.
Panic forced the hour-old kraut dog to lurch up her throat. She shifted to her knees, propped her hands under her and waited for the evacuation of her lunch. She let out a slow breath and stared at her hands.
No vomit. Good.
No leash. Bad.
No dog. Very bad.
She turned her head to where Miss Elizabeth should have been. Nothing. Could the dog have been under her when she fell? She hadn’t felt anything or heard a yelp. Please don’t let me have fallen on her. Lucie might be petite, but her hundred and ten pounds could still take out a three-pound dog. An image of the beloved Yorkie—lifeless—gripped her mind.
The sounds of traffic and car horns nearly blew Lucie’s aching head apart, but she peeked all around. No dog. At least she wouldn’t have to live with knowing she’d crushed Miss Elizabeth. A moment of relief sparked and disappeared.
The jerk that knocked her over had vanished and sent poor Miss Elizabeth into hiding. She couldn’t have gotten far. Her legs didn’t move that fast. Lucie dropped to the ground and checked under the cars. Nothing.
She ran to the corner, where a dark-haired man wearing a red jacket bolted through heavy traffic on State Street. She squinted hard and focused on a flash of glitter in the man’s arms. Miss Elizabeth’s sequined barrette.
“Help!” Lucie’s voice carried the high-pitched panic storming her body. “Stop him. He stole my dog.”
She stepped off the curb, but a middle-aged man in a business suit heaved her backward before a speeding cab tattooed her to the pavement. “Are you okay?”
“He stole my dog! That guy.” Dammit. The thief had turned the corner.
“What guy?” the man asked in a this-chick-is-nuts tone.
For a change, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. All she cared about was losing Miss Elizabeth. “The one that’s gone.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lucie sat on a broken curb while the biting edge of anger and guilt morphed into emotional sludge.
Yes, at certain times in her life, she needed to maintain absolute emotional control.
This was not one of those times.
She drew a deep breath of Chicago’s eau de diesel fumes as a fresh line of cars turned off State Street. The rubberneckers, apparently fascinated by flashing lights on a police car, slowed to barely moving. Lucie dropped her head into her hands. Hiding would be the best way to limit eye contact with the gawkers.
The cop finished his conversation with dispatch and came around the back of the car.
“Okay, Ms….” He checked his notepad… “Rizzo. Lucia Rizzo.”
Lucie’s gaze drifted to the name on the uniform that had seen one too many washings. The broken-in look suited the man—this Officer Lindstrom—who kept his dusty blond hair buzzed into a crew cut that accentuated his thick neck and linebacker build. A big boy.
The man’s blue eyes drilled into her. She recognized the narrow-eyed fascination that came with wondering if she was Joe Rizzo’s daughter.
Her father, being the accused in a long string of criminal trials, left the distinction of ‘mob princess’ sitting on her like an overweight elephant. This cop was probably judging her as a lowlife. She should be used to it by now, the presumptions about her heritage and character made by people who knew nothing of her work ethic. All because of her last name. All because of her father. The jailbird. Regardless, she was a citizen who had been wronged and deserved respect.
“He’s my father,” she said.
“Joe Rizzo?”
“Yep.”
Lindstrom cocked his head. “That’s gotta be interesting.”
With that, Lucie snorted a half sob, half giggle. What a lovely sound. “You have no idea.”
“I’m sure. Anyway, we put out a BOLO. It’s still early so we might get a quick response.”
Lucie glanced up and squinted against the bright sun. “What’s a BOLO?”
“Be on the lookout. The BOLO is for a Yorkie wearing a rhinestone barrette.”
At least he didn’t laugh when he said it. Lucie closed her eyes, felt the swell of bubbling tears and let them fire down her cheeks. Crying. Just great.
“Ms. Rizzo?” Lindstrom said. “You still with me?”
With a vicious swipe, she swatted her cheeks and saw his face soften in a way that offered understanding. He must be a dog owner.
“I don’t know how it happened. We were walking along and—bam—I was on the ground and some goon was taking off with her.”
The panic rushed back, clawed at her for being so irresponsible that she’d lose a dog belonging to her most high-strung client. Well, she hadn’t actually lost the dog, but Lucie took the safety of her charges seriously, and this would certainly be her fault. What if the thieves hurt Miss Elizabeth? Lucie rubbed at a fresh batch of tears. Idiot.
Officer Lindstrom went back to his notes. “Ms. Rizzo, your dog’s name is Miss Elizabeth?”
“Call me Lucie. And she’s not my dog. I’m the walker. Tom Darcy is the owner.”
“Miss Elizabeth and…Mr. Darcy?”
Lucie, awed by the fact that he appreciated Pride and Prejudice, glanced up. “You’re a Jane Austen fan?”
He winced. “Not me. My wife. I’ve seen that damned movie six times.”
His wife. He’s married. Not that Lucie was looking, considering she had Frankie, but—wow—a guy who’d sit through Pride and Prejudice six times. “It’s still impressive.”
He shrugged, tapped his pen on his notepad. “Is Miss Elizabeth a show dog?”
“No. Why?”
“There’s a dog theft ring operating in the city. They steal show dogs for ransom.”
Oh, no. Poor Miss Elizabeth. “She looks like a show dog. She’s impeccably groomed.”
Lindstrom’s radio crackled and he spoke into the microphone on his shoulder. He finished the radio call, pulled a card from his pocket and wrote something on it. “I need to run, but here’s my card and your case number. If this is tied to the theft ring, the case will go to a detective. If not, it’ll come back to me. Either way, someone will follow up.”
Lucie took the card. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
He jerked his head, started for his car, but turned back to her. “Is there someone you can call for a ride?”
A nice guy. Her fa
ther would never believe it of a cop. “That’s okay. I have my scooter at Mr. Lutz’s place.”
“A scooter?”
Lucie nodded. “I use a scooter to get around the city faster. My old boss lets me store it in his garage.”
“Nice former boss.”
“He’s trying to help. I was laid off six months ago. The dog walking helps pay the bills while I’m job hunting.”
Which was the reason she was sitting on this blasted curb wanting to skewer the bastard who stole Miss Elizabeth. Lucie mentally settled the queasies plaguing her belly. Maybe the whack on the head was messing with her stomach.
Lindstrom’s feet shifted in front of her. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough. “No. Thanks.”
“You should get that head checked out. At least go to your regular doctor.”
That was doable. “I will.”
Lucie watched him jump into the car, flip on the lights and drive off. Part of her wished she could join him, because she now had to inform Tom Darcy his beloved pet had been snatched.
She slid her phone from her pocket. What would she even say? Gee, Mr. Darcy, you still have a slew of Pride and Prejudice characters to choose from for the name of your next dog.
With that, she ran to the garbage can on the corner and lost the kraut dog.
Chapter Two
Lucie stepped through the front door of her parents’ Franklin, Illinois home and dropped her duffel at the base of the stairs. The entryway of the shoebox-sized living room closed in, the nearness suffocating her, while the pungent aroma of her mother’s garlic-infused roast beef filled the air. Lucie’s tender stomach seized. Oi.
Most of her twenty-six years had been spent trying to escape this place, but six months ago, she had moved back. How did I get here?
Voices from the kitchen sparked a memory. The Falcone’s were here for dinner. Her mother had mentioned it that morning. Terrific.
She shifted to see Joey, her ape of a brother, sprawled across the sofa watching a March Madness basketball game. Frankie, her currently off-again-in-limbo-fiancé-slash-boyfriend—heck, she didn’t know what he was anymore, sat in the green wingback chair next to the sofa. For weeks, she’d managed to avoid him. Now, seeing him in his favorite chair, so comfortable in her mother’s home, the ache from missing him, the one she had learned to compartmentalize, broke free and cut off her air. “Hey,” she said.