“But,” Ro said, “his business is closed right now. Maybe he’ll be quicker.”
Lucie sure hoped so.
Ro nudged closer. “Hey, can we do this to my rat-bastard ex? He’s behind on his support payments. If he’s spending my money on strippers, I’ll crucify him.”
Unbelievable. Ro’s ex might be a schmuck, but he deserved his privacy. “No, we’re not doing that. While we’re waiting, I’ll run down some of the other leads we discussed this morning. Dean, can you call me with this information?”
The hacker shrugged. “Sure. But if he’s smart, he won’t open it. Just so you know. This whole thing could be a bust.”
After determining the closest firehouse to Restaurant Durand, Lucie and Ro swung by the Bernards’ to pick up Josie and Fannie, aka the Ninja Bitches. The girls were always on point when it came to covert missions. Part of their allure was how darned cute they were. All people saw were a couple of Shih-Tzus decked out in bejeweled Coco Barknell coats and collars. What they didn’t see was the underlying survival instinct these girls possessed.
If prompted, they’d take a leg off. Gnaw right through the bone.
Thus, the Ninja Bitch moniker.
Which made them perfect for investigative uses. Cute, tough, smart. An all-around killer combo.
Lucie found street parking, and they hoofed it the two city blocks to the firehouse. Beside her, Ro, in her typical sky-high heels, click-click-clicked down the sidewalk as Fannie kept her nose to the ground.
A high-heeled dog walker. Who’d believe that? Exactly no one. “You should have worn flat shoes.”
“Why?”
“You think these firemen will believe we’re canvassing the neighborhood and passing out brochures with you in six-inch heels?”
Fannie stopped to water a towering oak tree. Ro held one finger up. “First of all, they’re only five inches. These are my walking shoes. I could go five miles in these. Second of all, I’ll pop a button on my blouse and, believe me, those boys won’t be looking at my shoes.”
She opened her coat and one-handed—yes, she’d become an expert by now—released the extra button on her blouse that would give the world an insanely obvious view of her cleavage. Porn stars showed less skin.
Ro adjusted the opening of her blouse, made a hmmm noise, then threw herself forward, bending at the waist.
Josie and Fannie flinched, leaping sideways with a growl.
Lucie cracked up. “Easy, girls. Just ignore the crazy lady.”
“Listen, a push-up bra only goes so far.”
Ro flipped her head back up, then gave her boobs a plump. Right in the middle of the sidewalk.
Alrighty. Lucie scanned the windows of the surrounding homes hoping they didn’t have an audience. So much for a covert operation.
“Okay,” Ro said, still scrutinizing her breasts. “Now we’re talking. As soon as those boys see the boobage, they’ll be putty in your hands.”
Who needed waterboarding when Ro’s chest was available? “Maybe we should lease your rack to the CIA.”
“Hardy-har. You won’t be cracking wise in a few minutes.”
“Let me do the talking,” Lucie said. “I have the brochures.”
Nothing like multitasking. The plan was simple. They’d march inside, distribute Coco Barknell brochures to the firefighters, and hopefully collect some names.
Talk about a half-baked scheme. Chances of this leading somewhere were nil, but Lucie never let that stop her.
They swung through the entrance with the Bitches leading the way. A plump, middle-aged receptionist locked eyes on the dogs in their rhinestone leather bomber jackets and an immediate smile split her face.
As mom would say, in like Flynn.
“Hello, ladies,” the woman said, “how can I help you?”
Lucie slid a business card and a brochure from the outside pocket of her messenger bag. “Hi. I’m Lucie from Coco Barknell. This is my partner, Roseanne. We’re walking the neighborhood handing out brochures and wondered if we could give some to the staff.”
A firefighter the size of a 747 appeared in the doorway separating reception from the guts of the firehouse.
Lucie smiled a greeting and he nodded, but his attention shifted…elsewhere.
Elsewhere being the 36Ds to Lucie’s right.
The receptionist shook her head as Ro gave Lucie the I-told-you-so look. Hips swinging, Ro sauntered to the firefighter. “Hello.” She held out her hand. “I’m Roseanne from Coco Barknell. We’re a dog-walking/pet accessory company. This is Fannie. She’s wearing one of our latest designs. Fabulous, no?”
“Uh.”
“Exactly!” Ro swung back to Lucie. “See? He’s speechless.”
He was speechless all right.
Ro flapped some brochures against the firefighter’s chest. “We were hoping to give you boys these flyers.”
“Uh.”
“Excellent.” Ro shoved by the guy, with Fannie trotting along.
Later, Lucie would be horrified. Right now? Not so much.
Lucie peered down at the receptionist’s pinched mouth. Ro had just steamrolled this poor woman. Rather, Ro’s boobs had steamrolled her.
“I’m sorry,” Lucie said. “As you can see, she’s passionate about our company.”
“Oh, I see.” The woman waved her hand. “Go on back. I think they’re all eating. First door on your left.”
“Thank you.”
Once inside, Lucie walked down the long corridor. In full investigative mode, she paused in front of a bulletin board to snoop.
Ro’s voice carried from what Lucie assumed was a kitchen or common area. “We also custom design accessories,” she was saying. “Tell your wives and girlfriends. There are photos in the brochures. Our most popular collar is the pink one with rhinestones.”
“These are handmade?” one of the men asked.
“Yes. Every one of them. I design them and our team of seamstresses does all the sewing. We’re so confident, we offer a money back guarantee.”
While Ro did her magic, Lucie perused the bulletin board. Local charity events, community plays, restaurant menus, the usual. She skimmed a memo informing employees that, due to a transparency policy, all city of Chicago employees’ departments, positions, and salaries would be listed on the city’s website.
Now that might be something to follow-up on.
She’d have to hunt down that list. It probably wouldn’t give her specifics—she’d never get that lucky—as to which house the firefighters were assigned to, but it might be a start with names.
Another document peeked out from under one of the menus. Lucie lifted the menu away to find a white sheet of paper announcing a baby pool for one of the firefighters. Thank God for men. They’d bet on just about anything. Her brother the bookie counted on it.
She glanced left then right. No one. Quickly, she slid her phone from her jacket pocket and snapped photos of all the names, phone numbers, and email addresses on the list.
Lucie stowed her camera and poked her head into the kitchen/common area. Seven men sat around a large farm table. One of them held Fannie’s leash while Ro moved around the table, slapping brochures in front of the men. And if she bent forward a wee bit too much, none of the men seemed to mind. One guy may have had spittle running down his chin.
“There are coupons in here,” Ro said. “Twenty percent off a purchase. That’s good for dog walking, too, so take advantage of it.” She winked at spittle guy. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
Lawdy.
Ro nodded and continued handing out brochures. “Here are my business cards. If you’d like to be added to our mailing list, write your name and email on the back.”
Brilliant. Rather than break Ro’s momentum, Lucie headed back to the lobby to pump the receptionist for information. Divide and conquer.
Lucie led Josie down the hall, her little nails’ tippety-tapping alerting the receptionist of their arrival.
Using her f
ree hand, Lucie dug in the outside pocket of her messenger bag for more brochures. “I thought I’d leave some extras with you. Maybe for the employees who aren’t here? Would that be okay?”
The receptionist pursed her lips as if Lucie wanted to hand her anthrax. People were so paranoid these days.
The receptionist held her hand out. “Sure. I’ll make sure the other shifts get them. If you want all the shifts and admins to have them, I’d need about thirty.”
Thirty. Based on the number of names Lucie found on the baby pool list, that meant most of the employees had signed up.
If she found the employee list on the city’s website, she could cross check the names from the baby pool to see which folks were firefighters and which were admins.
Dang it. If only she could get a breakdown of who was on which shift.
She counted out the requisite number of brochures and, taking Ro’s lead, handed over a stack of her business cards. “If anyone has any questions, they can call me.”
The receptionist tapped the photo on the cover of the brochure. “Are these the same two dogs?”
Observant woman. Then again, who could resist all that cuteness? “Yes. The one on the left is Josie.” Lucie glanced down. “That’s this pretty girl. Fannie is her sister. We test a lot of our products on them. That pink collar is our bestseller.”
In the last six months they’d given away dozens of those collars to newsletter subscribers.
Freebies.
Who didn’t love free? “In fact, you all have been so nice, why don’t I do a drawing for all your employees? I wouldn’t want to leave the later shifts out. Maybe a custom coat and collar?”
The receptionist’s eyes lit up. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure. You’re civil servants. It’s the least we could do. All I’d need is everyone’s names.”
“Oh.” She glanced down, tapping her fingers against the desk. “I’m not sure if I can give you that. I mean, they’re all on the website, but that doesn’t list specific firehouses.”
Shoot.
“Hmmm, that would be such a shame. I’ve run into this before, though, and completely understand. The last time it happened, the manager gave me first names and shifts only. The manager then passed my card on to the winner. That way I didn’t have any personal info.”
The receptionist twisted her mouth one way then the other, clearly pondering Lucie’s wisdom. “The names are on the website. And I wouldn’t be giving any personal information out.” She smacked her hand on the desk. “Let’s do it. The gang here loves when people do things for them.”
Jackpot.
Josie barked once, followed by two more rapid yips. Pee signal. “Whoopsie. She has to piddle. How about I take her out and come back for the list?”
The receptionist spun to her computer. “I have the names in a spreadsheet. I’ll have it ready when you get back.”
“Perfect.” Between what Ro collected from the firefighters, the names on the bulletin board, the transparency list, and what the receptionist gave them, they should be able to narrow down which firefighters had been at the restaurant yesterday.
By six o’clock, Lucie had dealt with some minor customer scheduling issues, processed payroll, and moved on to creating a spreadsheet containing the firefighters’ names.
Ro sat at her own desk, answering emails and waiting for Joey to pick her up for—whatever it was they did on their downtime. Lucie didn’t want to know.
Blech.
Back to the spreadsheet.
“Now,” she said to Ro, “all I have to do is match the first names from the receptionist’s list to what you got from the men and the baby pool list, then crosscheck it with the transparency file from the city’s website. Easy.”
Ro stared at her with eyes that flashed a red vacancy sign. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. “You lost me, but as long as you know what you’re doing, I don’t care.”
Lucie’s phone rang. She glanced down to see O’Hottie lighting up the screen. He complained about the nickname, but down deep, he had to like it. Lucie sure did.
“Hiya, handsome.”
“My girl. What are you doing?”
Tricky business here. Tim didn’t like her involved in what he termed screwball investigations. Sympathetic to the plight of her cop boyfriend, she chose not to put him in awkward positions by filling him in on every detail.
Right now, this firefighter thing hadn’t quite materialized into anything and, in Lucie’s mind, wasn’t worth irritating her beloved.
Yes, she’d protect him from this.
What a crock. Protect herself from a lecture was more like it.
She flicked a gaze at her laptop screen. “I’m working on a spreadsheet.”
So she’d left out a few minor details.
“Gee, that sounds fun. Can I drag you away?”
“What’d you have in mind, sailor?”
Across the room, Ro rolled her eyes. Lucie stuck her tongue out. According to Ro, Lucie stunk at seduction. Maybe she did, but Tim never seemed to mind.
“I’m on my way home,” he said. “I can pick up dinner from the Italian place you like and we’ll watch a movie.”
And other things, Lucie presumed.
Stolen recipe or not, she wanted time with her man. Again, she glanced at the spreadsheet. Wait on it. Tonight, after she got home from Tim’s, she’d tackle it. “I’d love that.”
“See you at my place. Be ready for a long night.”
Men.
Lucie disconnected, saved the file, and stowed her laptop in her messenger bag. Along with the manila folder containing all the paperwork and notes from the trip to the fire station.
“I’m leaving,” she said to Ro, who furiously banged on her keyboard. “I’ll finish this spreadsheet later. I’ve got a hot Irishman to do.”
Forty-five minutes later, Lucie walked through Tim’s front door using—eh-hem—the key he’d given her.
Her hot Irishman stood at the dining table in his favorite track pants with the rip at the knee and a T-shirt tight enough to send Lucie’s mind straight to the gutter.
“Got all your favorites,” he said, piling a plate high with pasta. “Major calories tonight, babe.”
Such a sweet guy. “I do adore you, Tim O’Brien.”
He hit her with one of his flashing O’Hottie smiles and a hard yearning sparked in Lucie’s core. Tim made her…happy. Sure, they argued and occasionally disagreed, but her life with him, despite the craziness of the last few months, brought peace and calm.
Limited drama.
She set her messenger bag on the sofa and walked to the table, where she smacked a kiss on him. Full frontal, all tongue.
Naughty Lucie.
“Mmmm.” he said, “I think it’s gonna be a good night.”
“I don’t think. I know.”
Lucie moved the loaded plates to their respective spots while Tim poured wine. Her man was more of a beer guy, but with Italian food he went for red wine. One of the many things she’d learned over these last six months with him.
After settling in, Lucie inhaled the fresh garlic and cheese. Her stomach let out a rumble.
“Did you skip lunch again?”
She thought back. “I forgot.”
“Luce, come on. With how hard you run yourself, your body needs fuel. At least a protein bar.”
“I know. But I was…busy.” Snooping around a firehouse.
“What was so important that you couldn’t eat?”
She broke off a hunk of bread. “I don’t know. Stuff. I’m running a business. There’s not enough time for it all.”
Not going there. No, sir. If he knew she and Ro took on Mission Firefighter…yikes. She didn’t even want to ponder it. Putting that out into the universe would only start an argument.
Refusing to look at him, she shoved a forkful of broccoli and cavatelli into her mouth and waited for the explosion of flavor. “Wow, this is really good tonight.”
Tim set his
fork down, sat back, and narrowed his eyes. The focused detective stare. “You’re lying.”
Oh, boy. Time for the Lucie soft shoe.
“I’m not. The food is good.”
“Ha. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Tell me what you did today.”
Fat chance. She pretended to study her plate. “Now that I think about it, they may have put a bit too much garlic in here.”
Head still dipped, she stole another peek as he pushed his plate to the side and rested his elbows on the table.
I’m cooked.
“You were investigating again, weren’t you? And don’t lie. I know you.”
Okay. She wouldn’t lie. She’d just sit here. Quietly. Not saying a word.
“Crap,” he said, his voice rising to that extra-special I’m-getting-pissed level. “Tell me everything.”
Telling him everything included admitting making a deal with a hacker. And that couldn’t happen.
Firehouse. Definitely the way to go.
Playing it cool, Lucie continued eating. “Truly, it wasn’t a big deal. I made a list of possible suspects, which, by the way, I’m happy to share with you.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
Under the table, Tim’s bare foot smacked against the floor like a jackhammer. The angry foot, Lucie called it.
“How did you develop this list?”
She set her fork down and slid her plate away. “Simple. I thought of all the people who had access to Antoine’s office during the fire. Employees, first responders, etc.”
Tim closed his eyes and whispered something Lucie couldn’t quite make out.
“Being the brilliant business women we are, Ro and I paid a visit to the firehouse near the restaurant.”
Tim opened his eyes. “A visit?”
“We brought a bunch of brochures and told the guys we were canvassing the area. Trust me, they bought our cover story. Really, it was a double win because a lot of them signed up for our newsletter. I’m sure Ro’s half unbuttoned blouse didn’t hurt.”
“Good God.”
“I know. But I have to say, in a room full of alpha males, a little—well, a lot—of cleavage, goes a long way. She’s an ace. Makes it look sexy. Me? I’d look like an idiot.”
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