Dog Collar Knockoff (27 page)

Tim read the text again, then set the phone down and tipped his head back to study the ceiling.

“Oh, boy,” Rich said. “You got that look you get when a case strings you up.”

Tim grunted.

Rich wheeled one of the rickety desk chairs into the aisle between the two rows of desks and sat. Right in the center of the aisle. Had to love cops.

He paddled both his hands. “Tell me. I can help.”

“You got two ex-wives. Why would I ask
your
opinion?”

Rich laughed. “You don’t think I learned a few things after two wives? Trust me, I got this. Go.”

In a twisted way, it made sense. Plus, Rich was a cop. He’d understand the dilemma.

“I’m dating someone. It’s fairly new.”

“Good for you. Get a lawyer.”

Tim shook his head. “It’s not that serious, moron.”

“Okay.” Rich rolled his hands in front of him. “But you like her. More than just casual hook up stuff, right? Or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

True. “Yeah. Exactly. And she might be into something here.”

“Something illegal? Get a lawyer. Now.”

“Hey, she’s a fraud victim. Sort of. We just figured that out. I haven’t even had a chance to kick it up yet and I get this text from her that something’s up with the guy running this scam.”

“Okay. What’s your problem?”

“I know where she is. I don’t know whether to go there, see what’s what or not. If I do that before I kick this up—and get warrants—the guy could bolt. And she’s in a jackpot.”

“Does this guy know you’re a cop?”

“No.”

Rich sat back, eyed him. “I’m thinking.”

“Great. Got all the time in the world. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Rich slapped his hands on his legs. “I got it.”

“Finally.”

“If he doesn’t know you’re a cop, I’d go over there. Consider it an undercover gig. You check things out, make sure she’s okay, and you come back, talk to the brass and get the paperwork going. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting here with your thumb up your ass getting pissy. There’s your plan.”

Tim rolled his bottom lip out, considered it. Rich had a point. Down deep, Tim wasn’t ready to go to his boss. A relationship with a mob boss’s daughter might have career implications. Nothing wrong with having his ducks in a row before he went public.

Tim stood and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair. “Never thought I’d say this, but you’re right. I’ll check it out.”

“You want company?”

“Nah. I’m good. If I think something’s hinky, I’ll call you.”

Because no cop should walk into an unknown situation without some backup. Regardless of the fact that his girlfriend was involved.

Girlfriend. Been a long time since he’d thought of a woman in that way.

Lucie. Girlfriend.

He liked it. A lot.

*

“You’re trespassing!”

Rage in full circulation, literally tearing her apart from the inside out, Lucie bounced on the balls of her feet and swung her fists at Bart. “That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.”

“What did you hear?”

“I heard it all, Bart. All. Of.
It
.”

She pushed by him, headed straight for Mr. Lutz, who was still in the main part of the gallery. “And you! I trusted you. How could you
do
this to me?”

“Lucie, now take it easy. I don’t know what you heard, but I never intended to put you in the middle.”

Lucie glanced back at Bart, who’d hustled up behind her. She needed to keep an eye on him. She didn’t think Mr. L. would physically harm her, but who knew what Bart was capable of?

“Daniel,” Bart said, “stop talking.”

Mr. Lutz put his hand up, but kept his eyes on Lucie. “Bart, shut up. This is between Lucie and me. We’ve been friends a long time.”

Totally playing her. That’s what he was doing. Yes, they’d been friends a long time. She had, in fact, worked side by side with him, watching him close deals, negotiate terms, sometimes string people along.

Playing
them.

Oh, he was the master.

And he knew it. His only problem was she knew it too.

The thing that really upset her was that he’d had the chance to come clean with her when she’d told him his painting was a forgery. When she couldn’t stand the fact that he’d been swindled. Because she
cared
about him.

In this relationship, respect only went one way and it stabbed at her like a pick ax.

Heartbreaking betrayal. No other way to describe it. Something in her chest hitched and she cleared her throat, but… nothing. No air. She shook her head, scrunched her nose and forced another cough that released a gasping breath.

Good. Fine. She stood a little taller—as tall as someone so petite could—and tipped her chin up.

“We have been friends a long time. Which is why you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Okay. Hold on a second. Let’s talk about this.”

“This is stupid,” Bart said. “You don’t owe her anything. She’s got nothing to defend herself with. Lucie, you’re screwed. We’ve got you on the tracksuits.”

Tracksuits. What? She spun on him. “What are you talking about?”

“A little insurance in case you decided to go to the cops. I bought those atrocious tracksuits from my cousin. He stole them. Brainiac didn’t realize the damned things were out of season and got stuck with them. They’ve been sitting in his basement for months.”

Oh, a fresh bout of rage burned right through her skin. “You,” she said.

“Yes.
Me.
I planted them in your place. After you talked to Keegan about the Gomez. Keegan has a big mouth, Lucie. Never trust him.”

Keegan. Another rat bastard.

“My dear,” Bart continued, “he told me all about your conversation. I decided a little insurance was in order. Just in case I needed to prove the squeaky-clean Lucie had a taste for her father’s lifestyle. That way, if you went to the cops, they’d have the tracksuits and think if you were involved in that, maybe fake paintings wasn’t a stretch. You’re in it just as deep.”

Lucie’s eyes burned. They’d set her up. After she’d cared for their dogs, loved them like they were her own, dealt with Oscar the Perv humping her leg every second.

“Bastards,” she said.

Both of them. Not the dogs, the owners.

And then he laughed. A deep, annoying rumble that ravaged Lucie’s mind. One thing she’d never been—at least until now—was a fool. All her adult life she’d known who she was and what people said about her. She’d risen above it.

Now, Bart Owens thought he could pigeonhole her, lead people to believe that she wasn’t a legitimate businesswoman, but simply Joe Rizzo’s kid, leading the Joe Rizzo lifestyle.

Bart continued to laugh and the look on his face, that grin, that smug knowing, that
pity,
she couldn’t stand it.

He half turned as if to walk away. Nuh-uh.
No one leaves.

Lucie leaped—
whaaaaa!—
and landed on his back. Moving on pure and potent adrenaline, she wrapped her legs around him and hooked an arm over his shoulder, hanging on as he tipped forward and stumbled.

“Aaaaahhhh!” he screamed. “Get her off.”

She slapped her hand across the back of his head.
Bam, bam, bam.
“You son of a bitch.”
Bam
, she smacked him again. “You tried to destroy my reputation?”
Bam
. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked? I’m not some fraud, like you. I earn my living.”
Bam!
“And now you think you’re going to tear that away from me?”

“Aaaaahhhh! Daniel, help!”

Bart swung around, faced Lutz, and tried to buck Lucie off, but she hung on and locked her legs. She’d bloody him before she let go.

“And you,” she said to Lutz, “you knew how I felt about stolen merchandise! You knew. I trusted you! And this is what I got?”

Bam
. She smacked Bart again. Why not? Lutz would be next. For now, Bart deserved whatever he got.

“Whoa,” came another voice.

All three of them glanced at the entrance where Tim stood, one hand over his holstered weapon.

Dear God.

“They set me up!”

Bam.
She gave Bart another shot.

“Stop hitting me or I’ll—”

“What?”

Another smack.

“Lucie,” Tim said, his voice carrying a relaxed amusement she couldn’t process, “as much as I’m enjoying this and think you have it under control, get off him before he gets hurt.”

She bared her teeth. “I want him hurt. I want him to bleed!”

Mr. Lutz’s head jerked back. “She’s nuts. How did I not realize?”

Tim stepped into the room and shoved Lutz against the staircase leading to the apartment upstairs. “You shut up. Stand there and be quiet or I’ll unleash her on you.”

He handcuffed Lutz to the bannister then turned back to Lucie, still on top of Bart but not swinging. “Off,” he said, his voice so commanding she nearly wet herself.

Wow. Who knew the cute detective could be so fierce?

She hopped off of Bart and gave him one last smack for the fun of it. “Bastard.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Everybody settle down.” He grabbed hold of Bart and shoved him against the stairs next to Mr. Lutz. “I don’t have another set of cuffs. If you move, I’ll shoot you. Got it?”

Bart’s lips peeled back. Apparently, he understood.

Obviously satisfied, Tim nodded. “Now, I’m going to call for backup and you nutcases are going to tell me exactly what happened here.”

*

Tim entered the
precinct’s interview room and found Lucie sitting at the table with her lawyer.

Joe Rizzo’s very expensive lawyer.

Tim nearly groaned. One thing he wasn’t up for was a battle with a shark. But he supposed the guy was doing his job and since this involved Lucie, he’d be friendly.

Lucie sat with her hands in her lap. She still wore her dog walking clothes and her shoulder-length hair was flying all over. Her big blue eyes met his. Damn, this girl and her family would be a handful. If he had any sense, he’d run. Fast.

But apparently, that wasn’t happening.

He swung the door closed behind him.

Seeing her beat the crap out of Bart Owens may have sealed the deal. The woman had no fear. Maybe it had been a dangerous thing to do, but he loved her spunk. Her willingness to take care of a problem on her own.

Lucie Rizzo didn’t depend on anyone or anything. She did it on her own.

“Detective,” the lawyer said, “either charge her or we’re leaving. She’s been fully cooperative. My client is a victim here. How do you not see that?”

At the lawyer’s condescending tone, Lucie’s eyes flashed. “It’s not his fault,” she said. “Be nice.”

Be nice. How flippin’ cute was she?

The lawyer patted her arm. One of those I’m-sorry-you’re-suffering-from-dementia pats, and Lucie drilled him with another look.

He’d better get in the middle of this before she jumped her lawyer too. Just as her mouth opened, Tim held up his hand. “You’re free to go.”

Her head drooped forward. “Free to… go?”

“Yep.”

“‘Bout time,” the lawyer said. “No charges are being filed, I presume?”

“No charges.” He focused on Lucie. “Lutz gave the whole thing up. Said you didn’t know about the scheme. All you did was make the introduction between him and Owens. Even Lutz thought that painting was real. The guy scammed his own partner.”

Lucie shook her head. “What an ass.”

“Which one?”

She rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Both of them, I suppose.” Then she turned to Mr. Slick Lawyer. “Would you give us a minute please?”

Slick didn’t like the sound of that. This guy was good, but Tim had been around lawyers on both sides of the aisle enough to know their game faces. This bland stare was all about him not being happy.

“Ms. Rizzo,” he said, “that’s not a good idea.”

“I know. I’ll take my chances. Thank you. You can go.”

Eee-doggies, I like this girl.

The lawyer packed up and headed out, but stopped at the doorway, asking one more time if she was sure.
Yeah, buddy, she’s sure. Papa Rizzo won’t hurt you.

As soon as the door closed, Lucie let out a huge breath and dropped her head to the table. She’d had to sit here while they sorted out the Owens-Lutz mess, the entire time wondering if she’d be implicated. Throw in the three rounds she went with Bart Owens and she had to be fried.