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  “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  He nodded, ran his hands together, slowly rubbing. Finally, he looked up at her, met her gaze. “I got a job in New York. At ESPN.”

  It hit her like a bomb blast, rocking her upper body back, forcing her to squeeze every muscle to stay upright and not sink back.

  New York. ESPN.

  Did he really just say that? After years of begging him to move out of Franklin, possibly to New York where he could work as a sportswriter and she on Wall Street. After all those conversations when he’d told her—definitively—he would not leave his parents.

  For her, he wouldn’t leave his parents.

  For ESPN?

  Sure. Why not?

  Talk about cutting to the bone.

  “New York,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice level and contain the frustration and—yes—the flat-out anger consuming her.

  He sat back, held up his hands. “I know. I know. I’m a shit. We had countless fights over moving and I never would. I’m sorry.”

  Lucie swallowed, blinked a couple of times, but couldn’t manage one word. Not a single word. After all they’d been through together. Nothing.

  “Luce, it’s a good offer. It’ll get me closer to being on air.”

  His dream. Being a television announcer. Well, really, his dream had been to play professional baseball, but chronic concussions had destroyed the hand-eye coordination that had made him such a good ball player. Instead, he’d studied journalism and had been working as a columnist, but really, his goal was to be in front of a microphone.

  “I see.”

  But, really, no, she didn’t. I asked him for this a thousand times. And each time he’d told her no.

  “What would you think,” he said, “about going with me?”

  Oh. Six months ago, she’d have dropped to her knees and thanked the stars above. Now? Now it set something off in her so wild and cold she clutched the sofa cushion with both hands, her fingernails ripping right into the leather. After all the debating, arguing and breaking up, he wanted her to shut down her growing business, just put a halt to her life to go with him to New York.

  And oh, right, they were broken up.

  She shook her head, cleared the surging disappointment. This was Frankie, always trying to find a work-around to make her happy. Somewhere in his twisted mind, he thought finally giving her the thing she’d been begging for would make her not mad at him.

  Well, wrong. She wasn’t about to pick up her life to relieve his guilt.

  Particularly when she wasn’t even sure he still wanted her. The three months of being apart certainly didn’t indicate that.

  She looked down at the floor, at his sock-clad feet. “Well, I guess I should say congratulations on the job.”

  You rat-effing-bastard.

  This was Frankie. Never had she considered referring to him in that way, but what was it with the safe guys lately? Ro’s safe guy turned into a stripper-banger and now Frankie—steady, reasonable Frankie—had lost his damned mind and expected her to give up everything without the promise of a future together.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s a shock.”

  She laughed, but the lack of humor should have bludgeoned him. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? For doing something you would never do for me, but now suddenly expect me to give up a growing business to follow you across the country when—oh, hang on—you broke up with me.” She dug her fingers into her forehead. “God, even saying it out loud it sounds insane.”

  “I thought maybe we could start over.”

  Brilliant plan. “Again? What will be different this time? Other than the fact that I will once again be without a job and starting over while you get to chase your dream. If we were still together, if we were engaged or married, I wouldn’t hesitate. But we’re not together right now. You can’t expect me to give up my life for a maybe.”

  “Luce, I’m trying. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Frankie! You broke up with me three months ago. I’ve been sitting around, waiting for you to decide what you wanted. Now, it seems, you’ve decided New York is what you want. Fine. Great. Good for you for making a decision.”

  “I had to do something. This tension with my father is killing me. And my mom keeps asking why I don’t come around as often. I feel guilty as hell over that, but I’m not about to tell her what he did. Nuh-unh. I don’t see why her life has to be torn apart just for me to make a point.”

  Of course he didn’t. This was the problem. His parents came first. Always. Even when he was mad at his father. And now, he was doing it all over again. Running away from the situation because he didn’t want to disappoint anyone or upset his mother. Good old, Frankie, still trying to stay loyal.

  At Lucie’s expense.

  A crushing weight landed on her shoulders, bowing her body. She slumped back into the sofa. I’m so tired of this.

  Everything hurt. Her body, her mind, all of it.

  She closed her eyes, drew air through her nose, and let it out. She didn’t have the energy for this. After all these years of loving him, a love she’d probably always cherish, she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t live with this constant drama and carrying the entire Falcone family on her back.

  Now, she was done.

  She stood, stared down at her sneakers, and blinked back the moisture filling her eyes. So many tears she’d unleashed over the years and it all came down to Frankie doing the thing she’d always wanted. Leaving Franklin. Only he was doing it alone.

  She lifted her head, walked to where he sat and put her hand on his shoulder. “I can’t, Frankie. I’m sorry.” She looked up at the ceiling, let out a sarcastic laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it? You’re moving to New York and I’m staying in Franklin. Who’d have guessed that one?”

  But Frankie stood, grabbed onto both her arms, and held tight. “Don’t decide now. Give it some thought. I don’t leave for two weeks.”

  Two weeks. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, they wanted me out there ASAP.”

  “That’s good, Frankie. They’re excited to have you.”

  “Just, please, give it some thought. Okay? Do that for me?”

  She reached up, cupped her hands over his cheeks, and kissed him. A slow, lingering kiss that tore something inside her away. This might be it. The last time she’d ever kiss Frankie. Ever taste his lips and run her fingers over his perfect face in that intimate way only lovers understood.

  A sob caught in her chest and she broke the kiss, breathed through the ache. “Frankie, I love you. You know that.”

  “I love you too, Luce.”

  “I know. And I think that’s why this is so hard. We’ve been on the rollercoaster for years now. Heck, the people in this town take bets on when we’ll break up and get back together. It’s become a foregone conclusion. A damned habit.”

  “Luce—”

  “Some habits aren’t good.” She dropped her head, let the tears finally come, and gulped a huge breath. “It’s time to be fair to each other.” She looked up again, met his gaze, and the look in his eyes, that shattering heartbreak she knew was there because she felt it too.

  The dismantling of a life they’d hoped for.

  “We have to let each other go.” She backed up, held her hands out. “I’m ending this. Right now. Goodbye, Frankie.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tim finished dealing with a burglary on the South Side and retrieved Lucie’s message. He’d just detour into Franklin and stop by the storefront. Yeah, he could have called. But he was close, and he damned sure didn’t like the shaky tone in her voice. He hardly knew Lucie Rizzo well enough to know her signals, but that tone wasn’t like anything he’d heard from her. So he’d check on her. Which he’d do for anyone in distress. Cops did that.

  All the time.

  And, well, well, well, there she was in her cute shorts and a T-shirt that sagged a little
on her tiny body but somehow managed to look completely adorable. She quasi-walked-ran down Franklin Avenue toward the store. He honked, but she kept moving, not even glancing up as she raked a hand over her face.

  Hang on. Was she… crying?

  At the next corner, he waited for an oncoming car to cruise through the intersection and he swung a U-turn. He double-parked behind a Cadillac sitting in front of Petey’s and locked up before following Lucie into the store.

  She was sobbing, sprawled across the crappy desk, her right cheek plastered to its surface. And this wasn’t run-of-the-mill crying. This was walls-coming-down, lung-busting wails that echoed through the mostly empty space.

  Holy crap. He took three steps closer, then stopped. He probably shouldn’t even be here. Had no idea how she’d feel about him invading her space and seeing her come apart. But this kind of turmoil? He couldn’t walk away. Besides, she’d called asking for help. And now he was here.

  He took the last two steps toward her. “Lucie?”

  She jerked up, spotted him. Her mouth flew open, releasing another piercing scream.

  Whoa. Not exactly the greeting he’d expected. And, damn, the girl could holler.

  He hauled ass, grabbed her arm, pulling her up into a hug. “Honey, what happened? Is it the Lutz thing?”

  She gripped the back of his shirt, squeezing so hard, he felt the material bunch in her fist.

  “I can’t stand it anymore. I just can’t.”

  “What?”

  “All of it. I’m just trying to make a living. And deal with my crazy family. I got arrested and I may have brokered an illegal deal. Two illegal deals! And Joey and Ro were doing the wheelbarrow and Frankie is leaving and…and…I don’t want to be anyone’s bitch!” She reared back, slapped him hard—really hard—on the chest. “And you!”

  “Ow.”

  What the eff? What did he do that got him that hard whack?

  She smacked him again. “I like you and… and all I keep thinking about is kissing you and the guilt sucks. Sucks!” She inhaled a huge breath. “Oh my God, my life sucks.”

  Dropping her head against him, she continued to sob. He just let her wail. He hadn’t survived crazy sisters without learning a few things. One of those things being that sometimes women just needed to blow off steam.

  He held on to her, patting the back of her head. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

  Frankie is leaving? Clearly, whatever that was, she hadn’t taken it well. It hurt to see her this way—not to mention the shot to his ego—but Frank Falcone was out of the picture.

  I’m a schmuck. That’s what he was because, as much as he didn’t like seeing Lucie torn up like this, the idea of Frank Falcone gone made Tim a happy guy.

  But he wouldn’t apologize for wanting her to himself.

  “Sshhh,” he said, still patting Lucie’s head as her tantrum subsided.

  Tim fought the urge to speak. Another thing he’d learned from his sisters. Speaking right now could possibly get him in trouble for some obscure reason he wouldn’t fully understand. He’d play it safe and wait the whole thing out.

  Lucie finally let out a little sigh that should have hit him as exhaustion but somehow made him think of a bed and other reasons she might sigh, and his extremely male body responded. Yeah, total schmuck. But hey, he hadn’t seen a ton of action lately and sighing from Lucie—a woman he definitely wanted to see action with—was only causing problems.

  With her proximity, he needed to not have a physical reaction. One that she would most definitely feel jutting against her hip.

  Too late. Definitely happening.

  He stepped back, putting distance—plenty of distance—between them. “Are you okay?”

  She ran the palms of her hands over her eyes, let them rest there a second before lowering them. “I’m sorry. What a meltdown.”

  “Rough few days. And you’re under some pressure. All around.”

  “I think it all just hit me.”

  “Seems like it.” He waved one hand. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Frank Falcone leaving?

  “We probably should. I have a lot to update you on.”

  *

  After the record-setting entry for the most humiliating moment, Lucie boosted herself to a sitting position on top of the desk and wiped the last of her tears. Too bad the plumber had bailed on her because she’d love to go into the bathroom and throw some water on her face. Wasn’t that her father’s cure-all for crying women? “Go on,” he’d say. “Wash your face.”

  If only it were that easy. Oddly enough, it always did make her feel better. Not that she’d ever admit it to him.

  Tim grabbed the folding chair Ro had left in the corner and set it in front of the desk. He leaned back, rested his hands on his thighs, most definitely his go-to position when trying to appear casual, and waited.

  Bless this man for being smart enough to not react to her complete mind melt.

  He looked up at her and his amazing lips lifted into a smile.

  “I love your lips,” she said.

  Why fight it? The situation couldn’t get anymore humiliating.

  “And,” he added, “you stated you’d like to kiss them. Just so there’s no confusion, I’d like that as well. I was giving you space. But now that I’ve been alerted to this situation, I’ll be sure to fulfill any desire you might have. Make that desires. Plural.”

  Lucie snorted. A big, long one that made him laugh. “Thank you for your willingness to please.”

  “I do what I can. But first, let’s talk about the challenges you’re facing. The most important being your legal dilemmas. You should know I have received copies of the Contessa Gallery’s invoices from the last six months. They assure me they have the original Position Seven. I didn’t have a chance to look through everything, but the receipts they sent me have different fonts than the one you have. Horvath’s is close, but not the same.”

  “That jerk faked the receipt?”

  “Perhaps. I’m looking into it. Now, on this Lutz thing.”

  Yes, the Lutz thing. The Horvaths she could almost deal with. She didn’t have the long-standing friendship with them. The emotional connection. They were clients. Acquaintances. The Lutzses? With them came history, shared respect. If she’d gotten them hooked up with a swindler, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Tim, that’s freaking me out. The lawyer called this morning and told me the family still has the original painting and they don’t intend on selling it. Ever.”

  “Lutz has a fake then.”

  “Yes. And he believes it’s real. He told me that. Bart paid me a commission on the sale. Can I be charged with conspiracy or something?”

  “You didn’t know about it, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  He lifted one hand palm up. “Then we’ll fix it. By the time I get done with this guy, he’ll be standing on his roof screaming you had no knowledge of his fraudulent activities. Bet on it.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll take care of it. Do you think Lutz would show you the provenance on the painting? I’d like to get a look at it. If he faked the Horvath’s receipt, he probably did the same with Lutz’s paperwork. I could ask Lutz myself, but the minute a detective starts asking questions, it’ll raise suspicion.”

  “And Bart will close ranks.”

  “Or run.”

  What a mess that would be. If Bart did this, he needed to go to jail. “I could pretend I’m curious and see if Mr. Lutz will show me the provenance. I won’t come right out and ask, but I’ll frame it so he offers up the paperwork. He might not show me the actual receipt, but if it’s some kind of certification. Maybe.”

  “That’d work. If you feel comfortable with it.”

  Ha. She didn’t feel comfortable with much of anything today.

  Lucie swung her legs to let off some energy. Dog walking might be just the therapy she needed. Exercise, fresh air, doggie licks
. There might be hope for this day yet. “I’ll tell Joey I’ll walk Otis this afternoon. Sometimes I run into Mr. or Mrs. Lutz at the house.”

  “Don’t be too pushy about it. Keep it casual.”

  “I will.”

  “So if I’m keeping track, that’s two issues we’ve dealt with in the your-life-sucks department.”

  Tim O’Brien. Great guy.

  So far.

  Lucie nudged his knee with her foot. “Those are the big ones.”

  He looked straight at her, his gaze unwavering. “Then there’s…”

  Lucie knew he wouldn’t say it. He’d wait for her to offer it up. As if it violated some sort of man code. Whatever the reason, she’d put him out of his misery. “Frankie leaving.”

  “Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, wrinkled his nose. “You, uh, slipped that in there. What’s that about?”

  “He’s moving to New York. A job at ESPN.”

  Tim continued to study her. No frown, no quirking eyebrows, no narrowed eyes. Nothing. Investigator body language for I-will-give-you-no-hint-of-my-thoughts.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re upset about that.”

  “He asked me to go with him.”

  “Shit.”

  Lucie smiled at that. Had to love a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. “I said no.” The eyebrows finally went up. Ha. Surprised him on that one. “Gotcha, Detective.”

  “You sure did.”

  “You’re surprised I said no?”

  He poked his bottom lip out. “I guess I am. After spending years with the guy, you didn’t want to think about it?”

  What did that say about her? Or her relationship with Frankie? All this time they’d been doing battle, splitting up, reuniting, always coming or going, and now, finally, it appeared to be over and she didn’t want to at least consider his offer?

  Simple answer. No. Later she’d decide if that made her heartless. She couldn’t think about it now. She shook her head. Too many thoughts to contend with.

  “When I worked as an investment banker and wanted so badly to leave behind the mob princess moniker, I begged him—absolutely pleaded with him—to move to New York with me. I had a plan for us.”