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  She leaned against the lamppost the kid almost clobbered, but leaped forward when the hot metal scalded her back right through her shirt. Yowzer!

  “If it’s a copy, he’s pretending it’s not. I saw him today and had to stand there while he gushed over his new acquisition. Do you know how embarrassing that was? I mean”—she waved her hand—“with the erotic nature of the thing. The painting. Not the…” Dear God, her mouth had suddenly figured out how to work and now she couldn’t stop the flow. She closed her eyes. Stay on point.

  From his side of the conversation, Tim cleared his throat. Probably hiding a laugh.

  She opened her eyes again and stared straight ahead at the dry cleaners across the street. “Go ahead, Detective. Laugh all you want. He’s my client for God’s sakes and he’s got that… that… member… hanging on the wall. Anyway, he told me Bart gave him paperwork authenticating the painting. So, it must be real.”

  “You never know. The art world is hinky. Art dealers fake that stuff all the time.”

  Great. Mr. Devil’s advocate. “So, I’m back where I started?”

  “Unless I can come up with probable cause and have someone review the documentation, pretty much. Hang on.” A muffled sound hit her ear. He must have put his hand over the phone. “Lucie?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  She disconnected and shoved her phone back into her pocket, hoping for another buzz at some point. The plight of a single girl.

  Ro’s Escalade came to a stop in a fire zone in front of the store. A second later, Lucie’s BFF hopped out and the rear hatch of the vehicle came open. Dropping something off maybe.

  Lucie wandered over while pondering her lack of probable cause.

  With her father’s history, she knew all about what law enforcement could and couldn’t do without probable cause. Probable cause—PC—protected citizens from unreasonable searches by law enforcement. Right now, Tim or any police officer had no PC to search Bart’s premises. Nothing.

  That didn’t keep Lucie from wondering if Mr. Horvath’s paperwork was legit.

  What she needed was a copy of that receipt.

  Ro reached into her SUV, hefted an oversized tote on her shoulder, and glanced down at her stretchy V-neck blouse that clung to her curves like Oscar the Perv working Lucie’s leg. Ro adjusted the front of her shirt, gave her boob a little adjustment to maximize the cleavage and Lucie knew exactly how she’d get a copy of that receipt.

  Two hours later, Lucie and Ro marched down the sidewalk to the Owens Gallery. The early evening sun had turned a rich, burnt orange and Lucie wanted to be on a beach somewhere, watching that sun drop away. Soon, she’d treat herself to a vacation. She and Ro maybe. A girls’ trip.

  Ro came to a stop and faced Lucie. “How do I look?”

  Lucie did a perfunctory scan of the wrap dress that really needed a cami under it, but for this, Ro had pulled out the stops.

  Or the boobs, as the case might be. “Well,” Lucie said, “your boobs are definitely on overtime.”

  “You said you needed me for a mission. I assumed that meant full-cleavage. Soooo, I went full-cleave.”

  Lucie held up a finger. “I said I needed your help. That’s all.”

  “Which, hello, usually involves me utilizing my assets. Where did I go wrong?”

  Got me there. “Okay. But just so you know, I love you for more than your boobs. You know that, right?”

  “Pfft. Of course. What’s your problem?”

  Good old Ro. “No problem. Just making sure. Anyway, here’s the deal. I called Bart and told him I had a friend interested in buying some art. When we get inside, you distract him and I’ll go into the office to say hello to Oscar. Hopefully, the filing cabinet will be unlocked and I can have a peek.”

  “Easy,” Ro said. “I’ll keep him away from the office.”

  “If the cabinet drawer is locked, I’ll text you. That’ll be your cue to tell him you’d like to see the provenance for whatever painting you’re looking at.”

  “Provenance?”

  “Yes. It’s documentation that the painting is legit. He’ll come into the office, see me playing with Oscar, and unlock the drawer so he can get whatever he needs. Hopefully, he’ll leave the cabinet unlocked when he returns to you. Got it?”

  “Ten-four. Roger that. But holy hell, sister, there’s a lot of hopefullys happening with this mission.”

  Lucie sighed. “I know. But it’s the only option.”

  And asking for help from Joey or Tim was out of the question. Joey would have a cow if he knew they were up to this. Plus, Tim might not approve. But he was the cop, not her. Probable cause wasn’t her issue. She just needed a look at that receipt. Then she’d snap a photo with her phone and call the gallery where it was purchased. If anything about the transaction seemed fishy, she’d turn the photo over to Tim and that should give them their probable cause. At least in her mind.

  Time to get to work.

  Ro and Lucie strolled through the front door of the gallery. The bells on the door did their little jangle and Bart entered the room from his office, closing the door behind him so Oscar couldn’t run out. Lucie turned her head away and whispered, “That’s the office.”

  Ro immediately offered up one of her sexy girl smiles and waved. “Un-huh. Got it,” she said without moving her mouth.

  Seriously. How did she do that?

  “Hello, Lucie,” Bart said. “Thank you for coming in.”

  Lucie set her hand on Ro’s arm. “Hi, Bart. This is my friend Ro. She’s the one I called you about. She’s interested in possibly starting an art collection.”

  Bart shifted his attention to Ro. To his credit, he lingered on her face for at least two-point-five seconds then his gaze… Come on, fella, come to mama… traveled lower and—bam—darted right back to Ro’s face.

  Just. Hold on. Here.

  What happened to the whole moth to a flame theory? Huh. Leave it to them to find the one man completely uninterested in Ro’s assets.

  “Well,” Bart said, “you’ve come to the right place. Do you have a particular style in mind?”

  Ro made a non-committal humming noise. “Not really. I’m new at all this. Maybe you could show me different styles?”

  Bart gestured to the wall. “Of course. Right this way.”

  Ro angled right, toward the wall at the front of the gallery and pointed. “Let’s start there.”

  Excellent. As far from the office as possible.

  Lucie swung her thumb to the back of the building. “Is Oscar in the office?”

  “He is,” Bart said. “He’s a rascal today. All he wants to do is play.”

  “Do you mind if I head back there and say hello? I missed him today.”

  “Be my guest. Just be prepared. You know how he gets with you.”

  Oh, she knew. The minute she stepped into his sight, the dog would pounce on her and give her a hump worthy of Olympic competition.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Have fun, Luce,” Ro called, giving her a finger wave.

  Despite Bart’s lack of interest in the boobage, could this operation be going any better? She’d just close the door behind her, give Oscar a quick pat, and snoop in the files. If they were arranged alphabetically by client and not in some CIA-worthy filing system, even better.

  She opened the door, and as expected, the second Oscar smelled her, he charged. She quickly shut the door and braced herself against it, holding her hand in a stop. “Be good, Oscar.”

  But this darned dog was so cute with his tail flicking back and forth she could barely stand it. Lucie squatted to give him a rub. “No humping.” She nuzzled his neck. “I have important business back here.”

  Oscar slapped a couple of licks across her cheek, and sensing him getting wound up for action, she stood, moving sideways around the desk to the cabinet.

  The key wasn’t in the lock—not necessarily a bad sign—and she graspe
d the handle. Shoot. Should have worn gloves. “Ach. What kind of detective are you?”

  Too late now. She’d just wipe it clean when she left. Then again, someone had told her that didn’t work, but she couldn’t remember why. Something about DNA maybe. She didn’t know.

  Gah.

  Just as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, Oscar mounted her. “Off!”

  Damned horny dog. But he was apparently in mission mode as well. He wrapped his front paws around her calf and went to work. She reached down, nudged him away and held him with one hand while yanking on the drawer. Nothing.

  Locked.

  God! Should have known—Oscar and the boob rejecting notwithstanding—things were moving along too well. Whenever that happened in her life, it meant a spectacular screw-up would ensue. She breathed deep. Went to plan B. Yes, she had a plan B because that’s what A-type personalities did.

  They planned.

  Forced to let go of Oscar, she dug her phone from her pocket and put her fingers to work texting her accomplice. In all caps so she’d understand the urgency.

  LOCKED. GO TO GUNS.

  Lucie shoved the phone back and squatted once again, pushing Oscar off and holding him at bay while giving him a scratch. If Ro had initiated plan B, any second now, Bart would come through the door and see Lucie on the floor with Oscar.

  “Let’s do this, Perv.”

  Oscar gave her another lick and she nuzzled him again. Stupid dog. She simply couldn’t stay mad at him.

  And sure enough, the door opened, and in stepped Bart, grinning from ear to ear at the Lucie-Oscar lovefest.

  “Well, look at you two,” he said.

  “Yep. Just me and the love machine. Everything okay?”

  “Oh, sure. Roseanne would like to see the provenance on one of the paintings.”

  “Provenance?”

  Oh, I’m good! She might join the Screen Actors Guild after this performance.

  “Yes.” Bart scooted behind her. “It confirms the painting’s authenticity.”

  Pretending to ignore him, Lucie rubbed noses with Oscar and scratched behind his ears. “You’re a sweet, sweet baby,” she said, baby talk in full swing. “Yes, you are.”

  Bart retrieved a file from the cabinet, slipped a document out and kneed the drawer closed.

  Please don’t lock it.

  “You know, Lucie, you don’t have to sit in here with him. He’ll be fine.”

  To add a little insurance to that no locking thing, Lucie stood, stepped back a foot to give herself leg room and shook out her legs. All while moving in front of the cabinet so Bart couldn’t flick that lock.

  “Oh, I know.” Lucie stuck one leg out, gave it a good stretch. Good, long, lock-blocking stretch. “I just like playing with him.”

  Bart drew his eyebrows together and maybe, perhaps, she’d gone a little too far on that stretch. “Stiff legs. Sorry. All that walking.”

  “All right.” He held up the file. “Back to work. Just come out when you’re ready.”

  “I sure will.”

  After I get done rummaging through your files.

  The second the door closed, Lucie lunged to the cabinet. Oscar followed suit by lunging on Lucie. Perv.

  “You’re a sick pig, Oscar.” She couldn’t waste time shoving him off and just let him have his way with her.

  Hump, hump, hump. She ran her fingers over the folders and slowed when she reached G. Hump, hump, hump. Perusing the names, they appeared to be alpha by client. Yes! She got to H and flipped through. Horvath. There.

  Thank you for being a normal filing person.

  Go to work.

  Hump, hump, hump. Crazy dog.

  She tugged the file out, flipped it open, and spread the pages. Door. Check it. She glanced over. Nothing. She dug her phone out. Thank God for the miracle of cell phone cameras. Snap, snap, snap. One each of a client information sheet, a bill of sale and an invoice—holy mother of God—for nine-hundred-thousand-dollars. Even as an investment banker, she’d been awed by sums of money that large. Tim had told her the original was worth three million. If that were true, the Horvaths did indeed get a deal.

  If what they had was the original.

  Sweat bubbled on the back of her neck, tickling her. In an attempt to dislodge the moisture, she rolled her shoulders. No good. Forget it.

  She set the three pages aside and spread the remaining two out. Snap, snap. Done. She slapped the file closed.

  “Hold on one second, Roseanne.”

  Bart’s voice.

  From just on the other side of the door.

  Yikes! A shot of panic raced straight up into her shoulders, stabbed at her neck. She steadied herself on trembling arms. Locked her nerves down. No time for panic. Close the drawer, close the drawer.

  Lucie’s phone buzzed and she glanced down. Ro. No time. Fingers spazzing, she shoved the folder back. Was that the right spot? Who knew?

  Lawdy!

  “No,” Bart said, his voice even closer.

  Right spot or not, she’d have to go with it. Hip-checking the drawer, she shoved Oscar off and dropped to her knees. Thinking it was playtime, Oscar lunged, knocking her off balance and back against the desk. She clocked her head on the top of the cabinet and a sharp jab radiated from the back of her head clear around the front. This was one dangerous mission. Mounting a full frontal assault, Oscar straddled her leg, trapping it against the floor and hump, hump, humped his way to heaven.

  Seriously, this dog needed to get laid.

  The door came open and Bart’s gaze zoomed to Lucie rubbing her head and Oscar having his way with her.

  “What happened?”

  “Well,” she said, “you were right about him being playful today. He just knocked me right into your desk, the little devil.”

  And thankfully, Oscar didn’t speak human. He’d totally throw her under the bus. Totally.

  Bart kneeled beside her, locked his gaze on hers. “Are you okay? Any blurry vision?”

  So, Lucie, how did you get that concussion? Well, you see, one of my clients humped me into a desk.

  The horrors of this job were sometimes plentiful. “Oh,” she said, “I’m fine. But I think it’s time for me to leave Mr. Oscar be. I don’t want him too wound up.” She pointed to the door. “I’ll just head out.”

  She shoved the perv off, got to all fours, and slowly rose to her feet. No whirling room. No swaying. No nausea. Okay. Good.

  Bart held out a steadying arm, but Lucie ignored it, set her shoulders back. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

  She headed toward the door.

  “I just need to file this and I’ll be out there.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We may have a winner, Lucie. And a hefty commission for you.”

  Oh, they’d see about that, wouldn’t they?

  *

  Lucie strolled out of Bart’s office, her gaze glued to Ro. Suddenly, she had to pee. Sometimes that happened at the worst moments. Flop-sweating had nothing on flop-peeing.

  Ro squinted and cocked her head.

  Lucie smiled all big, bright and cheery. “I’m back. You about done here?”

  They probably shouldn’t rush out, but at this point, Lucie didn’t want to be in the gallery a second longer than she had to be.

  “Yes.”

  Ro motioned to one of the paintings. A rather dark contemporary with harsh splashes of red and black that Lucie surmised might be indicative of Ro’s current emotional situation.

  “I like this one. Once the divorce is final, I may treat myself.”

  Unsure whether Ro was still method acting or really intended on buying the painting, Lucie nodded. “Good for you.”

  Bart entered the room, shutting the door behind him so Oscar the Perv couldn’t hump anyone. That dog was almost a menace. Almost?

  “Is there anything else I can show you?” Bart asked.

  “I think I’m good,” Ro said. “I do like this one. I can’t swing it right now though. If you still have it when I�
��m ready, I’ll be back.”

  She stared at the painting, her normally bright eyes a little droopy and with a wistful longing Lucie had ever only seen on her once before. And that was during a conversation about—if one could believe it—Joey.

  Blech.

  Ro wanted that painting. For whatever reason, it spoke to her. Depending on the cost, if they had a good month with accessories sales, Lucie could give Ro a much-deserved bonus. A bonus that would get her a painting. Without Ro, that first lucrative Frampton’s order, even if it had irritated Lucie at the time because they weren’t equipped for such a large undertaking, would never have happened. Their success had been a complete team effort and Ro had led the charge.

  Bart did a weird little bow that had Lucie quirking an eyebrow. Kinda creepy.

  She held her hand toward the door. “We’ll get out of your way. Have a good night.”

  Once on the walkway, surrounded by that same off-the-scale humidity, Ro nudged her with her elbow. “Did you find anything?”

  To be sure they weren’t being surveilled, Lucie glanced behind her. Even if Bart were watching them from inside, it wasn’t as if he could hear them. Unless he’d planted a bug or something.

  Lawdy, this was an epic level of paranoia.

  “I did. I took pictures of everything in the Horvath’s file.” She patted her back pocket where her phone was safely stored. “There was a receipt inside from a gallery. They paid nine hundred thousand for porn.”

  Ro whistled and clicked the key fob to unlock the car. “Big bucks.”

  “He bought it from the Contessa Gallery. In Rome. All I have to do is find the phone number, slip into my Delilah alter ego and tell them I’m interested in buying the Position Seven painting.”

  “It’s late over there now. The gallery is probably closed.”

  Lucie shrugged. “So, I’ll try first thing tomorrow. If they tell me the painting was sold, then maybe I can weasel out of them who they sold it to.”

  “And if they still have it?”

  Lucie stopped near the front tire of the car, cocked her head, and stared at Ro over the hood. “Then, my best buddy, we know the Horvaths have a fake.”

  Chapter Twelve