Dog Collar Couture

by Adrienne Giordano

  Oh, now that’s dirty. Ro didn’t make a lot of promises. To her, a promise, like shatterproof glass, should only be used in extreme cases. When she made a promise she never, ever broke it.

  “Ro,” Lucie said, “just say it. You know how he is. He won’t give up, and the longer he stands here, the less time he has to get a posse together.”

  Ro flapped her arms. “Fine. I promise I will stay here and not go anywhere near that warehouse.” She smacked his arm. “Satisfied?”

  A lightning-fast smile lit Joey’s face, and he smacked another lip-lock on Ro. They had the weirdest foreplay. All steam and sexual energy and, well, Lucie didn’t know what to do. Stand there and wait for the fire to burn out? Or tell them to knock it off and get a room?

  She tilted her head up and inspected the crown molding. “Any time now, kids.”

  Joey finally backed up, cuffing Ro lightly under the chin. “Thank you. Now I only have to worry about one of you. I’ll call you when we’re done.” He faced Lucie. “Give me half an hour and you’ll be set.”

  Eleven fifty and Lucie’s text alert pinged.

  “Joey is in place.”

  Five minutes earlier, Eric had parked his fancy Lincoln in the desolate warehouse’s back lot. They now sat, engine quietly idling, while Lucie scanned the blackness in front of her. The cloud-smothered sky offered no moonlight to illuminate the trees where Joey and posse had strategically placed themselves.

  Well, she hoped they’d strategically placed themselves. With this crew, a girl couldn’t assume anything.

  Eric swept his gaze left to right. “Where are they?”

  “Don’t know exactly. He didn’t want me distracted and looking for them. All I know is they’re scattered in the trees. He said there are five of them, and they can see us.”

  Joining Joey were Slip, Jimmy Two-Toes, Lemon and—God help her—Frankie’s father, Al. Later, she’d question the moment of insanity that precluded asking one of Lucie’s least favorite people to help on this mission, but all in all, she couldn’t say much considering the short notice.

  She had to hope the men would do as Joey asked and not tell Dad about this. If they did, the lecture would be like submersion into quicksand.

  Slow and agonizing.

  Eric rested his head against the seat, but Lucie sensed the high-strung tension rolling from him. He must have been a cop in his prior career. Like Tim, he possessed an edgy stillness even when adrenaline ate him alive.

  “I have my team in place on the other side of the building. If our friend Bill tries anything, we’ve got all angles covered.”

  “Good. Can we go over the plan again?”

  The lights from his dashboard threw shadows across his face as he continued scanning the lot. “When Bill shows up, we wait for him to come to us. We don’t get too close to his car.”

  “What do we tell him about the money?”

  “Tell him it’s in the trunk. I threw my gym bag back there and stuffed it with fake bricks of money.”

  “Fake bricks of money? You keep that stuff on hand?”

  Eric shrugged. “You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

  “Wow.”

  “If we have to, we unzip the gym bag and show him. I put fifties on top of the stacks. If he sees the actual stack, we’re screwed.”

  Yikes. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  “After show-and-tell,” Eric said, “we insist he take us to the dress. Then we’ll give him the ten K.”

  “Our hope is he takes us to the dress and then your team busts in, right?”

  Please let that be the plan.

  “Right.” Giving up on the tree line, he glanced over at her. “I know you’re nervous. You should be, but take a few deep breaths. I’ve done this before. I think it’s a con. I doubt this mope has any connection to the dress.”

  Off to the right, headlights from an approaching car flashed against the pitch-black parking lot. Lucie sat forward in her seat. As if having her nose pressed against the windshield would make a difference in how much she could actually see.

  “This has to be him.”

  Eric clucked his tongue. “Unless random people drive back here at midnight. Could be a drug dealer.”

  Ohmygod. Really? She could see the headline now: Mob Princess Bludgeoned By Stoner.

  “Well, thanks for that. I feel so much better now.”

  The corner of Eric’s mouth lifted. “Sorry.”

  He flipped his lights on and off, and the approaching car came to a stop three spaces down. The front grille of Bill’s—hopefully Bill’s—banged-up sedan faced Eric’s door.

  Eric held his hand up to cut the glare of headlights. “He’s making sure we’re the only ones here.”

  “And blinding us.”

  “That, too. But I see enough to know he’s alone.”

  “Unless someone is crouched down.”

  “Yes.”

  Great. Hot stabs jabbed her chest, just hack, hack, hacking away. If a stoned crackhead didn’t kill her, her nerves might.

  A minute later, headlights still on, the driver’s-side door on the other car jerked open, and a man stepped out. Still partially blinded, Lucie couldn’t make out details, but the man easily towered over the roof of the car. Tall man. Leather jacket hanging open. Breaths coming in white puffs into the cold night air.

  He walked toward them and stopped near the front of his car, his arms loose at his sides.

  Gun?

  Another glorious thought that sparked hacking stabs. She simply sucked at this criminal stuff.

  “Let’s go,” Eric said.

  Lucie followed him from the car, sticking close and hoping Joey had the posse contained.

  Everyone, including her, needed to stay calm.

  Eric halted about three feet from supposedly-Bill and nodded.

  Lucie did the same. “Bill?”

  “That’s me. Where’s the money?”

  Up close, with the help of the headlights, the man’s features became clear. Total puzzle. Short, dark hair with a touch of gray on the sides gave the impression of middle-aged, but his chubby cheeks and skin that lacked any deep crevices or lines appeared, at most, early thirties.

  How-the-heck old was this guy?

  Plus, she didn’t remember seeing him at the Cock Head meeting. But she’d been fairly hopped up and could have missed him. She supposed.

  Eric cleared his throat, the rumble drawing Lucie’s gaze up. He slid his eyes toward Bill.

  What?

  When she didn’t answer, he grimaced then faced Bill. “It’s in the car. We see the dress, you get the money.”

  “And who are you again?”

  Get in the game here, Luce. If she blew this, her chance at finding that dress and putting an end to this nightmare might go up in flames. “He’s a friend of mine,” she said. “A family friend.”

  If that didn’t scare the crap out of this creep, nothing would. A family friend of the Rizzos could be any number of psychos.

  Bill studied Eric for a few seconds, taking in his dress slacks and sport coat. It must have all passed the Bill test because he shifted back to Lucie.

  “Show me the money.”

  Oh, boy. But she and Eric had discussed this. They had a plan.

  And heaven help her if that plan went bust.

  “I’ll get it,” Eric said.

  Just as he stepped away, a loud brrring, brrring, brrring demolished the quiet air, jerking Lucie sideways as Bill fumbled for his phone.

  Lucie’s own phone rang, and, as much as she itched to check it, she didn’t move. Joey. Had to be. Tim would be asleep, and Ro knew not to call. And how truly pathetic was it that she could narrow the possibilities to only two people?

  Well, three if she counted the drunk who constantly reversed two digits and called looking for a ho named Jules. Leave it to Lucie to have a similar number to a prostitute.

  Bill poked at his phone and, still keeping an eye on Lucie, partially turned away.
“Hello?”

  He was taking a call now? What kind of amateur was this guy? Her phone rang again and with Bill occupied, she peeked at the screen. Ro.

  Bill’s head snapped around and the hard glare he leveled on her sent a burst of panic ripping up her neck. A stream of swear words flew from his mouth, and Eric stepped in front of Lucie, blocking Bill’s direct path.

  Hold on here.

  “Crap,” Bill said, and Lucie peeked around Eric to see him eyeing her with the disdain of a lynching party. “No . . . I’ll take care of it.”

  Lucie’s phone rang again. Dammit, Ro. No time now.

  Bill ended his call and jammed his phone into his jacket pocket hard enough that it should have torn clear through.

  One thing was evident. “Bill” and “happy camper” would not be used in the same sentence anytime soon.

  He confirmed it by charging back to his car. “Deal’s off.”

  “Hey.” Eric held his hands wide. “What the hell?”

  But Bill had already reached his car and ripped open the door. “Deal’s off! I said no cops.”

  Cops? What cops? All they had was a bunch of amped-up mob guys. “I didn’t call the police,” Lucie said.

  “No? Then how do the news reporters know you’re involved?”

  Lucie cocked her head. News reporters? “Heh?”

  “Watch the news. I’m outta here. It’s too hot now. Stupid! We were so close to a deal.”

  No. Nuh, nuh, nuh.

  More hot stabs traveled from her stomach into her chest, and she sucked a breath and rushed toward Bill, reaching the car just as he slid in. She hammered her fists on the window, and he leaned right, his eyes bulging. “Back off, crazy!”

  The distinct thud of the doors locking filled the momentary silence, and those hot stabs went nuclear, spreading over her body, lighting up her skin. This man, whoever the hell he was, knew where that dress was and that dress would clear her name. Bastard. She banged on the window again. “Open this door.”

  A hand clamped over her arm. Eric. “Lucie, calm down.”

  “He can’t leave. I need that dress.” She snapped the door handle then went back to banging on the window. “Open up, you . . . you . . . Cock Head!”

  He fired the engine, and she watched as he shifted the car into gear.

  “I need that dress!”

  A second later, the car shot backward, and Lucie started running, chasing him down.

  “Stop him!”

  One of her crew or someone on Eric’s team could block the driveway. Keep him from getting away.

  “Stop him. Please.”

  Red taillights flashed as the car veered left out of the lot, tires spinning against the pavement leaving the distinct aroma of burned rubber.

  “Noooo,” Lucie shouted, her voice carrying into the trees, but drowned out by the whistle of a distant train.

  Come back. Please. Come back.

  She whipped back to Eric, about to plead with him to do something, anything, to find that swindling Cock Head, but he had his phone pressed to his ear and held his hand up.

  “You got him?” he said. “Roger that. Stay with him. What? . . . Dammit . . . All right. Stay on it.”

  Before he even hung up, she was on him, stepping right into his personal space. “What is it?”

  He shook his head, let out a long sigh. “One of my guys is on him. Well, he was on him. He got caught at a light with a cop sitting on the corner.”

  Lucie stomped a foot. “Darn it.”

  “Rotten luck. He couldn’t blow through the light without tripping the cop.”

  Once again, Lucie’s phone rang. Ro again. I’ve had enough of this. She jabbed at the speaker button, and a niggling pressure wormed up her index finger. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now. Including whatever the hell it was Ro needed. Their only lead to that dress, and clearing Lucie’s name, just screeched out of the parking lot.

  “Hello?” Ro said, her voice a little more breathy than usual.

  “Your house had better be on fire with all these calls.”

  “Honey, it’s worse than that. You were just on the news.”

  10

  The postadrenaline fog disappeared like a drunk at an AA meeting.

  “The news?”

  Bill had just said something about the news, also.

  “Yepper,” Ro said. “They had your picture and everything.”

  Eric rolled his eyes, and Lucie understood his frustration on a primal—extremely primal—level. Fighting to control her temper, starting with her toes and working her way up, legs, hands, stomach, arms, all of it, Lucie imagined every muscle resisting tension. Stay loose. Relax.

  Don’t kill your best friend.

  When she reached her shoulders, she closed her eyes, blew out a breath.

  “Uh, Ro?”

  “Yes?”

  Ohmygod. The pressure behind Lucie’s eyes exploded and she waved her fist. The last ten minutes had just stripped away the measly crumbs of her sanity, and she couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t stand trying to control herself when every flipping thing she’d planned for tonight had gone haywire. No, no, no. She’d had enough of this stupid dress and stupid Bill and the stupid Cock Heads.

  She whipped away from Eric and stomped off, trying to hold it together. No good.

  She shook the phone in front of her, and the words finally broke free. “Why the hell was I on the news?”

  “Hey, don’t yell at me. I’m just the messenger.”

  Lucie stopped storming the lot. At this rate she’d shatter a knee and wind up on crutches. She bent at the waist, let the cold night air smother that flashing temper. I can do this.

  Calm. That’s all she needed.

  She glanced back at Eric who watched her with the inquisitive, studious face of a psychiatrist about to commit his favorite patient.

  Welcome to my world, mister.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucie said to Ro. “You’re right.”

  “All the reporter said was you’d been questioned by police about the robbery. No big deal.”

  “They named me as a suspect? On the news?”

  “Well, it was just the cable channel. I did a quick Internet search and the local station is the only one who has it. Wasn’t like it was World News Tonight or anything. I think it’s contained.”

  Contained to the cable channel. Dear God.

  “Don’t panic,” Eric said.

  Excellent advice. Advice she’d love to take, but just the mention of her last name in relation to a crime would create a media feast.

  The phone beeped, and Lucie glanced down at the screen to see Joey’s name scrolling across the top. Great. “Ro, I need to call you back. Joey is calling.”

  Dumping Ro, she tapped the screen. “Joey?”

  “What’s going on? Did you make the deal? Why’d that guy haul ass?”

  “It’s a mess, that’s why. We’re done here. Send the guys home for me, will you? And tell them thank you. I’ll stop by Petey’s tomorrow and tell them myself, but I can’t handle that bunch right now. Please?”

  “Luce?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She snorted. If she said no, he’d be on her in seconds, doing his pushy Joey thing, wanting to bust some heads or whatever else he could think of. If she said, yes, he wouldn’t believe her. Her brother knew her moods. They’d spent their lifetimes dealing with each other, learning the subtle nuances of certain looks and tones.

  And right now, he knew she wasn’t okay. “I will be,” she said. “Send the guys home and I’ll fill you in, but apparently, the Maxmillian dress and I have made the news.”

  “Shit.”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  Eric stepped up. “Sounds like the PD leaked it to the press.”

  “Shit,” Joey said again.

  “Ro said it’s contained to the local channel. The networks don’t have it. Let’s hope it stays that way.”


  The following morning, determined to make the day a productive one despite the four hours of sleep and the collapse of her reputation, Lucie tromped down Franklin Avenue on her way to Coco Barknell. Having thought ahead the night before, she’d called Lauren, her part-time dog walker, to cover the pooches today.

  Unfortunately for Lucie, her plan of spending the morning in her office while she waited for updates on the arrest of Bill and his thieving buddies, hadn’t quite worked out.

  But that was fine. Being an A-type personality came in handy at times like this because she could focus all her disappointment and anger into the ever-present backup plan. Plan B, here I come.

  Morning dew hung in the air, and she sucked it all in as she walked. To hell with the exhaustion pressing in. She’d do what she always did and march on.

  I’m a Rizzo.

  And if nothing else, Rizzos knew how to bounce.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  Lucie tilted her head up, let the sun warm her cheeks and hooked the right at the corner. Two stores down she’d find Coco Barknell’s headquarters and the always-active Petey’s nestled in the middle of the block.

  “There she is!”

  “Ms. Rizzo!”

  “Do you have a statement?”

  “Ms. Rizzo, look here!”

  Lucie froze as a swarm of people, a giant flash mob holding microphones and cameras, swung in her direction. All of them in front of her office, blocking her path.

  And charging.

  The herd descended, and a seizing panic shot right down her legs, rooting her to the sidewalk. And still they kept coming.

  No. Nuh, nuh, nuh. Run.

  “Ms. Rizzo! How does it feel to be associated with your father’s criminal activity?”

  “Ms. Rizzo, where’s the dress?”

  “Ms. Rizzo, have you spoken to your father?”

  Rushing blood blurred her vision, and the stampeding crowd looped and swayed. She rocked back on her heels and blinked. Once, twice, three times. There we go.

  The whooshing in her head settled into a low hiss, but the mob closed in. Getting closer. She could turn and run, but . . . no. She had a business to mind. The only way to the other side was through them. She shoved one hand in front of her, gripped her messenger bag with the other and pushed into the crowd.