Dog Collar Couture (4 page)

L
ucie led
Tim and his detective buddy inside with Dad bringing up the rear. The insanity of her life could be summed up by the fact that two detectives showed up, and they weren't looking for her father.

How had she gotten to be the hooligan in the family?

She gestured to the conference area, a dining table Ro had picked up at an estate sale. With the money Ro saved on the table, they'd splurged and bought fancy, leather swivel chairs so they could be comfortable while building their hopefully Fortune 500 company.

“Gentlemen,” Lucie said, “would you like anything to drink? I don't have coffee on yet, but I could start a pot.”

“I'm fine,” Detective Bickel said.

“I'm good,” Tim added.

Excellent. Everyone was a happy camper.

“Awright,” Dad said, “what the hell kind of bum beef is this?”

Nice, Dad.
Prison slang to brighten the day. Lawdy, she might as well curl into a ball and start screaming. Not only had her plan to tell Tim she might be a witness in an armed robbery failed completely, but now she had to face him with her father—the cop hater—present.

Heck of a way to have the two men meet.

But as in every other time things got crazy, she'd roll with it.

“Mr. Rizzo,” Tim said, “we have questions for Lucie.”

“Ms. Rizzo,” Detective Bickel said, “were you near the Bendorf Auction House yesterday?”

And we're off!

“Yes, I was. I walk a dog that lives in the area. Fin. He's an Australian Shepherd. In fact, yesterday I met the manager of the auction house while we were walking.”

Bickel made a note on his pad. “Did you see anything unusual?”

Lucie took a second to steal a glance at Tim, who sat casually, hands resting on the chair arms, but that rigid set of his jaw? Not good.

“No, sir. I walked Fin around the entire block and returned him to his home.”

“Are you aware there was a robbery at the auction house yesterday?”

Do or die. She could say no. Avoid Tim being mad at her for not admitting she'd been at the scene and preserve the trust between them.

And yet, it would be a lie.

She went back to Tim, made direct eye contact. “Yes, I'm aware. I saw it on the news last night, realized I was in the area around the same time and planned on calling Detective O'Brien this morning.”

Okay, so maybe that wasn't altogether true, but it wasn't a lie, either. Just a
flexing
of the truth.

Who was she kidding? Flexing? Before Coco Barknell there'd been only truths or untruths. No gray area. Now suddenly there was bend.

Whatever. She couldn't think too long about that. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.

Tim's jaw didn't necessarily soften, but those green eyes of his did. At least she'd managed to somewhat explain herself without completely outing their relationship in front of one of his co-workers and—oh, yeah—her father.

“Lucie,” Dad said, pulling out his phone, “don't say another word.”

But with Tim sitting right there, she knew she would say more. If for no other reason than to assure him she was being honest and cooperative. “It's okay, Dad. I have nothing to hide.”

And Tim needs to know that.

“I know you don't, but we're talking armed robbery. I'm shutting this down until I get a lawyer in here.”

“Dad!”

“That's all right, Lucie,” Tim said, earning himself a scathing look from his detective friend.

Tim was siding with her father?

“Leona?” Dad said into his phone. “It's Joe Rizzo. Willie available?”

Lucie had learned the hard way that Leona was his lawyer's—and Lucie's too after the art-fraud dustup—assistant.

Detective Bickel kept his eyes on Lucie, but stood. “We'll wait.”

He wandered a few steps taking in the office space, the furniture, the bolts of fabric in the sewing area, all of it.

Tim, without offering one blip of body language, straightened his tie then set his hands on his thighs, fingers spread wide, but seemingly relaxed. He wouldn't dare say anything more in front of her father and Bickel, but as soon as the place cleared out, Lucie would call him. Explain herself and hope he understood.

Now over by her desk, Bickel continued his perusal of all things Coco Barknell. He could snoop all he liked. He wouldn't find anything. “I have nothing to hide, Detective Bickel.”

Still on hold with the lawyer's office, something Lucie found infinitely entertaining, Dad jerked his chin at her. “Don't talk.”

Bickel's gaze locked on her desk. After a few seconds, one side of his mouth tilted up into a lazy, smug smile.

“Ms. Rizzo, I know we're waiting on your lawyer. I understand how you feel, but let me ask you about this feather.”

Tim didn't move his head, but his gaze shot right to hers.

The feather? What the heck did that have to do with anything?

Bickel reached across her desk, pointed at the pretty peacock feather she'd found the day before near the auction house.

He turned back, that smug smile spreading. “You know that fancy dress has specific feathers. The blue part? The so-called eye. On the stolen dress they're all double-eyed feathers.” He held up two fingers. “Two circles instead of one. Very rare.” He pointed to the feather on her desk. “This feather right here? Double-eyed. An interesting coincidence that you were on scene at the time of the robbery and are now in possession of a rare double-eyed feather. You see my problem here, Ms. Rizzo? The one where I think you stole that dress.”

“
O
h
, jeez,” Tim muttered.

Lucie snapped her head around, held his stare for a solid five seconds as panic—not the faster-than-a-speeding-bullet kind, but the meandering kind that shredded each bone of each limb—slowly ate through her body.

“Willie?” Dad said, “'Bout damned time. I'm putting you on speaker. I got two detectives here getting on Lucie about some dress that got lifted yesterday.” He punched the button on the screen, then waggled the phone. “Say hello to Willie Clay.”

Tim attempted not to roll his eyes at Dad's dramatics. “We've met,” he said, clearly referring to the last time Lucie got—as the guys at Petey's liked to say—
pinched
for unknowingly storing stolen track suits in her back room. Willie had come to her aid and met Tim in the process.

“Who do we have there?” Willie asked.

Tim finally leaned forward. “Mr. Clay, this is Detective O'Brien. I'm here with Detective Bickel.”

He'd raised his voice to that full baritone that Lucie didn't often hear. When with her, on a personal level anyway, his voice took a softer tone, more playful and teasing. When he was in cop mode? That playful teasing turned hard and serious. Commanding. In a twisted way, she liked it. Maybe not when her innocence was in question, but when Tim slid into cop mode, he emanated fierce and powerful and, well, sexy.

Lucie found it wildly intoxicating.

Just not right now.

“Again O'Brien?” Willie said, “What is it with you?”

A sudden lack of air made Lucie's throat expand and she slapped herself on the chest, coughing the whole way. Dad gave her a whack on the back. “You all right? What happened. Need water?”

Tim stood, took one step toward her and stopped. A pained grimace overtook his face and Lucie hated it. Despised every second of this meeting. Not for her. For him. Because he was stuck in the middle of an investigation involving a woman he was dating. She coughed once more and held up her hand. “No, I'm good. Thanks.”

“Detectives,” Willie said, “what is this about a missing dress?”

Bickel moved closer to the phone, but remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest. Had the man been thirty pounds lighter, that attempt to look tough might have worked. Now, all she saw was bloated belly sitting beneath his crossed arms.

“Counselor, we're investigating an armed robbery at the Bendorf Auction House yesterday. You may have seen it on the news.”

“What does this have to do with my client?”

Bickel smirked, then eyed Tim. “Ms. Rizzo was at the scene around the time of the theft. In fact, she spoke with the auction-house manager just before the woman entered the building and found her employee tied up. We came here to discuss this with your client,” he uncrossed his arms, waved one hand, “see if she remembered anything unusual.” He stopped talking and focused on Lucie. “At least until I found a feather on her desk.”

“A feather? I can't wait to hear this one.”

Bickel's smile widened. “The bottom of the stolen dress is lined with peacock feathers.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a couple of times and held the phone out to Lucie. “Feathers that look like the one we found on your client's desk.”

T
im sat in his chair
, forcing his body into a semicalm state. Not an easy task when all he wanted was to pound something.

How the hell did Lucie continually get into these shit storms? And how the hell did that feather wind up on her desk?

Down deep, he knew she wasn't involved. Knew it. He liked to think of himself as a decent judge of character, and, over these past months, he'd learned a lot about Lucie Rizzo. The first thing being her desire to live a good, honest, legitimate life. Despite her father's criminal history.

“I can explain the feather—”

“No,” Willie said. “Don't say anything.”

Lucie shook her head so hard it should have concussed her. “It's all right. I want to explain.”

“Lucie,” her father said, “let the man do his job.”

“Dad, I have nothing to hide.” She went back to the detectives. “I found the feather on the street yesterday. My company,” she gestured to the fabric samples and sketches on the table, “creates pet accessories, mostly dog coats and collars. I was walking Fin yesterday—I can give you his owner's number to confirm that. I found the feather outside the auction house. I thought it was pretty. The colors specifically. They all blend, and I thought it would be fun to create a collar with stones the same colors. I brought the feather back with me to show our designer, Roseanne. That's why I have it.”

Bickel took his seat again. “And you had no idea where it came from? Didn't strike you as odd that there was a peacock feather on the sidewalk?”

Ha. Given her lineage, that was about the biggest dumbass question Bickel could ask. In her lifetime, Lucie Rizzo had probably seen enough oddities to last her five thousand years. A peacock feather? That had nothing on life in the Rizzo family.

“Don't answer that,” Willie said.

“Detective,” she said, “nothing strikes me as odd anymore.”

Bam. Tim held his curled hand up to his mouth and coughed to hide the grin. He had to hand it to her, she was fast on her feet.

“Lucie,” Tim said, “did you see anyone, aside from the auction-house manager?”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Willie said. “Joe, what am I doing on this call if she won't listen to me?”

“No other pedestrians? A car pulling away? Nothing?”

Thinking that over, she pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling. “Well, it was the middle of the day. Sure there were people around, but I didn't see anyone carrying a couture dress, if that's what you're asking.”

“Detectives,” Willie said, “that's enough. She's answered your questions. I'm shutting this down. For the love of God, Lucie, shut up.”

Bickel made a show of rolling his eyes. “Awright. So you pick up this feather and bring it back. Then you see the theft on the news last night. You said you'd planned on calling Detective O'Brien this morning.” He turned to Tim. “Assuming that call hadn't come in?”

Bickel had always been in the top ten of Tim's least favorite co-workers. That question just bumped him to a solid number three.

Tim didn't bother answering.

Lucie gritted her teeth. “I'd planned on calling him when I got to the office. And, as you saw, I was just arriving when you pulled up.”

“I see,” Bickel said.

“We're done here, Detectives,” Willie said. “Ms. Rizzo has told you all she knows. Any further contact can come through me.”

Bickel rolled out his bottom lip and nodded. “Sure. But for now we're seizing the feather as possible evidence.”

Bickel turned to Tim. “I'm gonna grab an evidence envelope and some gloves from my car.”

Which left Tim alone with Lucie.

And her father.

Only slightly awkward since Tim had a boatload of questions. Questions he couldn't necessarily ask in front of her father or her lawyer.

The second Bickel walked out, Lucie swiveled her chair toward him.

“Tim—”

He held up his hand. “Don't. Not a word. At least until I unravel myself from this case. Anything you say right now, I have to put in a report, and I sure as hell don't want to take that chance.” He stood, straightened his cuffs. “What a cluster.”

Unbelievable. When he'd gotten called in the night before, he'd had no idea the case he'd spend most of the night reviewing would involve Lucie. How the hell could he have known? She'd never mentioned it.

Which . . . hang on. He stopped messing with his sleeves.

He'd just told her not to talk. He should leave her be. For both their sakes. But, hell, he needed an answer. Because if she'd seen the news before she'd seen him the night before . . .

“When exactly did you hear about the robbery?”

Joe Rizzo swung his eyes from Lucie to Tim and back to Lucie. “What's going on?”

“Tim—”

The doggie bells on the door jangled, and Bickel entered wearing latex gloves and carrying a paper envelope.

Tim turned away from Lucie, walked to Bickel. “You got this? I gotta get back.”

“Yeah, I'm good. We'll huddle up later. See what's what.”

Meaning, huddle up about what this feather might mean for one Lucie Rizzo. Daughter of Joe Rizzo, notorious mobster.

L
ucie's panic exploded
. Forget that slow-moving thing. This time her entire body lit up, all at once, a fierce combustion.

For the first time since they'd started dating, Tim was mad at her. Really mad. He didn't say it—didn't need to. She saw it in his face, the hollowed cheeks, the locked jaw. All of it added up to one handsome cop being more than mildly upset with her.

He'd always told her he wanted honesty, and she'd broken that trust by withholding information.

If she could go back, just hit rewind, she'd do it differently. Too late now.

Would he even believe she'd wanted to tell him the night before?

Bickel finished collecting his evidence, gripped the baggie between his fingers and held it in front of him, making sure she knew exactly what was happening. Gee, thanks for that clarification.

“I'll be in touch,” he said.

Dad grunted.

“I'll be here,” Lucie said.

Nothing to hide, fella.

The detective strode from the shop, and Dad didn't waste any time. “What the hell's going on with the redheaded guy?”

The Irish cop.

The one she'd planned to introduce to her father. What was it with her plans lately? Every one of them seemed to get incinerated. Not just quietly either. Her plans went up in a fireball.

Well, her dad wasn't stupid and putting him off had never been one of Lucie's strong points. Before now, she'd always had Frankie to run interference. Dad listened to Frankie. It irritated her on many levels, and she'd never reconciled herself to it.

She'd simply given up and let Frankie handle the heavy lifting with Dad.

Only now Frankie was in New York, and Lucie was dating Tim. Time to put on big girl panties and figure out how to have a meaningful conversation with her father.

She faced him, stared into the very same blue eyes she saw in the mirror.
I can do this.

“Dad, we're not going to argue about this.”

“About what?”

“About what I'm going to tell you. I'm an adult now. I make my own decisions. I need you to respect that.”

He angled his head one way, then the other. “Heh?”

“Tim O'Brien. He and I are dating.”

Whoosh. There it was. The words just stormed out. After two months of fretting, it hadn't been nearly as hard as she'd thought.

Dad's mouth didn't move. Maybe a bonus there. At the very least, she'd expected yelling. Lots of it.

“Dating? What does that mean?”

What kind of question was that? Her father knew what dating was.

She paddled her hand. “You know. We're seeing each other. We go to dinner, to the movies. Spend time together.”

“What about Frankie?”

Frankie. Ah, yes. It all came down to the boy wonder and her father's wish that the two of them get married and pump out oodles of dark-haired, Italian grandchildren. And for the first time, it hit her, that punch of realization. If they'd had this conversation two months ago, they'd already be arguing, and she'd, more than likely, be defensive. But now, after living under the same roof with her dad, watching him adjust to life on the outside again, she got it. Understood her father on a level she'd never imagined.

When she and Frankie had split up, it wasn't only her dreams going up in flames.

Her father's went with them.