Dog Collar Knockoff (18 page)

The front door flew open and smacked against the wall. Seriously, Ro was going to put a hole in the wall if she kept that up. Lucie’s best friend strolled in on five-inch heels that made her already long legs look like skyscrapers.

She came to a stop at the end of the table and cocked one hip. “Sorry it took so long to get here. I came as soon as I got your message. What’s up?”

“We’re on a mission.”

Ready for action, Ro did a fast clap and immediately slid into the chair next to Lucie. “I love missions. What is it?”

“We have to verify if a painting I saw at the Horvath’s today is a fake.”

“Another painting? What is it with you?”

“I know. I can’t help it. Lauren spotted this one when we walked Nugget today. According to her, if it’s real, it’s worth millions.”

Ro puckered and blew air through her lips. “Is this one you brokered for Owens?”

“Not sure. That’s part of the mission. I did pass along Bart’s name to Mrs. Horvath a few weeks ago, and I know the painting is probably new because it wasn’t there last week. But Bart didn’t tell me if he sold her the painting.”

“Okay. I gotcha. You want to see if the thing is real first in case Owens makes a habit of selling knockoffs. And if it is, you can ask him if he’s been a rat bastard and cheated you out of your cut?”

Ah, Ro. How well Lucie knew her. “Simply put, yes. I started researching the entire series of paintings. Most of them were destroyed in a gallery fire in 1821. I was just starting to look up each individual piece to find the Horvath’s.”

Ro smacked her hands together then flicked them out. “I’m on it. What do you need me to do?”

“There are a lot of paintings in the series. We’re double teaming it. I’ll show you a photo of the Horvath’s painting and then we need to figure out if it was one of the ones destroyed. If it wasn’t, we figure out where the real one is. Who knows if the Internet can tell us all that, but it’s worth a try.”

Lucie picked up the tablet she used when she didn’t feel like lugging her laptop around and handed it to Ro. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I’m going to show you the painting. Try to refrain from any sarcastic comments.”

“This sounds juicy.”

“You really have no idea.”

Anticipating something exciting, Ro scooted closer. “Is it porn?”

How did she know that? “Why would your mind automatically go there?”

“It’s porn? Really?” Ro hooted. “You’re kind of a prude, so I went straight to porn.”

A prude. Of course there were worse things, but somehow it felt like an insult. Whatever. “Lauren says they’re classics of early European erotic art. It’s meant to titillate.”

“I always loved that word. Titillate. It sounds so dirty.”

Focus. Focus. Focus.
“Remember. No sarcasm.”

“Blah, blah.”

Lucie swiped at the pad on her laptop and the image of the painting filled the screen. For the first time—ever—Ro might have been struck mute. She leaned in, craning closer to the screen. “Well, well, well. Mister, where have
you
been all my life? And is that a
wheelbarrow
?”

Unbelievable. Totally off-point here. “What did I just say?”

Ro slouched back, resting her hand on her forehead. “I know, but, Luce, you can’t put that in front of me and not expect it.” She dropped her hand and straightened up again. “I don’t know why this surprises me. Even four hundred years ago men had one-track minds. And frankly, not that this matters, but I think the logistics on that wheelbarrow thing are a little suspect.”

Lucie laughed. She couldn’t help it. She had the most incredibly twisted inner circle. But God, she loved them. “You’re right. And if you’re done ogling, can we get back to business here? We need to figure out if this painting was destroyed in that fire. Hopefully, it wasn’t and it’s hanging on the Horvath’s wall.”

“Okay. We’ve got this. Show me the rest so I’ll be able to tell which ones were destroyed.”

Please. As if Lucie believed that. “You just want to look at them.”

Fighting a grin, Ro set the tips of her fingers over her mouth and giggled. “I’m so naughty.”

“Fine. Be naughty. Just find that damned painting.”

“Okay. But I’m writing down the name of this website.”

*

Tim sat at
his desk, clearing out some reports when his cell phone rang. After starting the day with two hours of paperwork, he welcomed the distraction and seeing adorable Lucie Rizzo’s name lifted his mood considerably. He hit the button. “Hey, pretty lady.”

“Hi. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me I’m pretty.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“And for saving my butt with Frankie. That was awkward.”

“I know. For me, too. It was easier all around for me to just handle it. At least for now.”

He was a nice guy, but that only took him so far and if things progressed between he and Lucie, she’d need to make a decision. Him or Frankie. End of it. Tim didn’t share. Ever.

His lieutenant walked by the desk and dropped a file without even slowing down. “Take a look at that before court this afternoon.”

At two o’clock, Tim would testify for the prosecution on a home invasion from eight months ago. The suspect was pretty much screwed, but Tim never went into court unprepared. “Uh, sure.” He went back to Lucie. “Sorry. My boss. So what’s up?”

“I’m sorry. You’re busy. I’ll call you later.”

Again with the apologizing. Lucie Rizzo apologized a lot. For things she shouldn’t be apologizing for. He’d break her of that if it killed him. “No, Lucie. We’re good.”

She hesitated for a few seconds and Tim glanced at the phone’s screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Not uncommon in the precinct with all the cement walls.

Nope. Plenty of bars. He’d wait her out.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Could I ask your advice on something? Not personal. Business. Sort of. Well, it’s kind of both.”

Tim smiled. Dang, he
sort of
loved this girl. Definitely a worrier. But there was more. Way more. Ambition maybe. And the drive to make sure the world knew she was more than a mob guy’s kid. “Sure.”

“Great. Can I buy you lunch?”

He stared down at the folder Lou had just dropped on his desk. Between what he already had on his desk and that file, his day had gone to hell pretty quick. “Today?”

“Yes. I know it’s short notice, but I’ll be seeing the client it involves this afternoon.”

“Is this a legal issue?”

Again she hesitated and Tim’s shit meter went off.

“Well, I guess I’m not sure.”

“Which is why you want to ask me about it?”

“Yes.”

He checked his watch. “Can you do it early. Maybe 11:30? I have to be in court this afternoon.”

“Absolutely. 11:30. I’ll text you the address. Thank you.”

As if it were a hardship seeing her in the middle of the day. “No. Thank
you
. This might be the best part of my day.”

And who said cops couldn’t be charming? Frank Falcone better be on notice that Tim wanted his girl.

Ninety minutes later, he walked into Rizzo’s Italian Beef, got a laugh out of her inviting him to lunch at her mobbed-up father’s restaurant, and found Lucie sitting at a table by the window. He walked over, hung his suit jacket on the back of one of the empty chairs, slipped off his tie, and rolled it.

If he had to eat at Rizzo’s, he was having a beef sandwich and they were tricky bastards. By the end of the meal, he’d be sure to have sandwich juice dripped down the front of him. As it was, he’d have to be careful with the shirt.

“Hi,” he said to Lucie, who watched him shove the tie into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Court hearing today. I don’t want to mess up my big boy clothes.”

“Smart, Detective. Is that the voice of experience?”

“Yep. Want to order before I sit?”

“Sure.”

He stepped behind her, scooted her chair from under her, and held out his hand. The early lunch crowd trickled in, and roughly half of the fifty tables were occupied, the voices all melding together and bouncing off the brick walls. As restaurants went, Rizzo’s appeared to do a healthy business. The food was good and the owner’s reputation didn’t hurt in terms of tourists. Everyone wanted a look at one of Joe Rizzo’s joints.

Tim followed Lucie to the counter, where they ordered and were handed a number for the table. While waiting for their food, Tim took the empty seat beside her and decided, once again, that he liked looking at Lucie.

“Thanks for meeting me,” she said.

“Thanks for calling. What’s up? Problem with a client?”

“I’m not sure.”

Lucie gave him the short version of her problem and finished just as a tray of food landed on their table.

Tim dove into his sandwich and the flavor of the beef, a little peppery but not too much, exploded in his mouth. Damn that was good. He set the sandwich down, wiped his mouth and decided he’d have to visit Rizzo’s more often. Being a cop, he hadn’t wanted to support a business connected to organized crime, but hell, this was a damned good sandwich.

And then there was Lucie…

“Back to your problem,” he said. “Are you afraid this painting is another fake and your client bought it from Owens?”

“Exactly.”

Again with the Owens guy. Something was up with this dude. “I’m gonna look into Owens. Quietly. See if anything pops.”

“That’s not why I asked you here, but thanks. What I need to find out is if the original painting was destroyed in the fire. Ro and I did some research last night, but I can’t find anything on this particular painting. Do you have any idea how I find out if it’s the original?”

He didn’t, but the guys who worked fraud probably would. “Let me talk to a few people who handle fraud cases. They might know. Which painting is it?”

Tim took another bite of his sandwich.

“It’s called
Position Seven
.”

He stopped chewing and swallowed. “Come again?”

“That’s the title.
Position Seven
.”

“Kind of a generic title. Do you have a picture of it so I know what I’m looking for?”

“Um…”

“What?”

She stared at him a second, a pinched look on her face. Eventually, she grabbed her backpack from the chair beside her. “Nothing. It’s just… nothing. I’ll show it to you.” She hit him with a fast, toothy smile. “Free Wi-Fi at Rizzo’s.”

Nervous. Whatever this painting was, it had her rattled. “Lucie, I’ve been a cop twelve years.” He wiped his hands on his napkin. “Nothing shocks me. Show me the painting.”

She tapped the screen of the tablet and nodded. “It’s a Renaissance. Same as the Lutz’s painting. Lauren says it’s a classic. If it’s the real deal, it’s worth millions.”

After tapping the screen a couple more times, Lucie held out the tablet, but then snatched it back. “No snarky comments.”

He laughed. “Give me the damned tablet.”

“Fine. Just remember what I said.”

Too damned cute. He took the tablet and—
whoa
. He might have to take back that line about nothing shocking him. And crap on a cracker, he suddenly had a vision of Lucie sitting backward and bare-butt naked on top of him.
Day-am.
He cleared his throat, kept his eyes glued to the tablet and not on Lucie’s lovely and ample chest, willing his body to remain unaffected. Definitely not an easy task. “All righty, then. Is that a wheelbarrow?”

“What is it with people and the wheelbarrow?”

“It’s a legitimate question. I mean, I know it’s buried, so it’s stable, but that has to be uncomfortable. Not to mention a challenge.”

A woman squeezed behind him and he held the tablet against him. Didn’t need the general population thinking he was a pig. He smiled up at the woman, waited for her to clear the area, and got back to business. He turned the tablet sideways for a better view and whistled. Across from him, Lucie shifted and he glanced up, meting her gaze for a solid thirty seconds, hopefully letting her know that, yes, his mind had definitely gone to the gutter and it was all about her. Her cheeks fired and the very real possibility existed that he might have fallen in love.
I’m so going down on this one.

He handed the tablet back, then reached into his jacket pocket for his notepad.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing down the website. If I’m going to try and find this painting, I’ll need specifics.” Yeah, he’d definitely be reviewing that website on his own time.

“Oh, boy.”

Damned. Cute.

“Relax. It’s art. Not a big deal.” He leaned over, ran his hand over the back of her chair, and got right up to her ear. “But if you ever want to try that wheelbarrow thing, I’m your guy.”

L
ucie parked her
scooter in the alley behind the Horvath’s house and unclipped her helmet. From inside, Nugget heard her pull up and went into his barking frenzy, anticipating her arrival and his afternoon walk.

“I’m coming,” she said, “keep your shorts on.”

The back door opened and Lucie flinched as sharp warning tingles shot up her arms and down her legs. The Horvaths both worked.
Burglar
. Instinctively she reached for her messenger bag and the pepper-spray she kept handy. At times, she even carried a stun gun. After the dognappings five months earlier, she’d become her own special crossbreed of Wonder Woman and the Terminator.