Knocked Off Read online

  Great track record so far.

  "Sure." Lauren took the leash from Lucie. "I understand. My lips are sealed. I can talk to you though, right?"

  "Of course."

  Oscar finished peeing and began his trot down the block.

  "Sounds like Bart Owens lent someone’s paintings to another gallery. And now he can't get them back. That's juicy. I should write a paper on the pitfalls of lending. I wonder who Robert is? I bet we could find out."

  Oh, boy.

  Moving fast, Oscar sniffed the ground, his snout swinging back and forth, back and forth. Lucie clutched Lauren's forearm, squeezing enough to let her know not to wreck this moment. "Sshhh. This is it. Don't rush him. He's getting ready to poop."

  Wide-eyed, but apparently understanding the importance, Lauren nodded. Oscar pooping in a timely manner meant keeping the already-blown schedule from completely slipping out of control.

  Finally, Oscar picked the winning spot and did his business while Lucie readied the atomic plastic baggie that hung from a holder on her belt loop. Having learned the hard way that she could wind up with a hole in a bag and poop smeared over her fingers—not fun when in the middle of a walk with nowhere to wash up—Lucie provided her own industrial bags. Just one of the many perks of Coco Barknell's services. She also now carried an extra water bottle, wipes and sanitizer in her backpack. For emergencies.

  "About the paintings," Lucie said, “this is what I'm talking about. We need to pretend we didn't hear that. So, no, you shouldn't write a paper on it. Please."

  A car honked—I know that horn—and Lucie turned, spotting Frankie jogging across the street from where he’d parked in a no-parking zone. He wore dress slacks and a dress shirt, no tie. His office look. Meaning he was probably on his way to the newspaper. His hair was a little shorter than usual, and even from the ten-yard distance, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the perfect jaw and dark eyes sent her body buzzing. Nothing unusual there. She'd missed him horribly. Mind-torturing missing him, and then he showed up and her body nearly purred over his closeness.

  The two of them were stuck. Broken-up but still talking and feeling the feelings that people in love felt.

  He squeezed between two parked cars. “Hey, Luce.”

  “Hey there. You’re in a no-parking zone.”

  “Yeah. I’ll only be a sec.”

  What if this was it? Him telling her he was ready to try again. A spark of adrenaline flooded her brain and she whipped around to Lauren. "I’ll just be a minute. Why don't you walk ahead and I'll catch up."

  "Got it."

  Lucie waited for Lauren and Oscar to get out of earshot and turned back to Frankie. "Are you heading to work?"

  "Yeah. I knew you walked Oscar around four and figured I’d catch you before I headed in. You know,” he said tapping his watch, “you’re a little behind schedule.”

  Oh, ha-ha. Funny man. More than anyone, he knew her obsession with managing her time. "Hardy-har. I'm training my new part-timer, so it’s taking longer. What's up?"

  "Joey told me about your dad. I was thinking about you. And him. Living under the same roof. Are you gonna be okay?"

  And apparently, this little impromptu visit wasn’t for him to pledge his undying love and tell her he couldn’t live without her. So much for the adrenaline rush. But he’d cared enough to stop and see her. That was something at least.

  Lucie shrugged. "I have to be. It's his house. If things get rough, I’ll rent an apartment. I just have to see what kind of budget I can manage."

  "If Ro and Tommy split, you could move in with her. It's eight to five Tommy is gonna get slaughtered in that settlement."

  Oh. My. God. That damned Joey. "Please, Frankie. You have to tell me Joey is not taking action on Ro getting divorced."

  "Really, Luce? He takes action on everything."

  "I'll kill him."

  "Technically, it's not his fault. The guys at Petey's started it, but it got too big and they needed Joey’s help. He’s not one to refuse money, so he caved."

  And here she'd hoped her degenerate gambler brother was getting out of the bookie business by helping her walk the dogs a few days a week. If things kept up with the accessory orders, she'd need Joey to help her run the dog walking end of the business.

  One thing she knew about her brother, he was good with numbers.

  "Still," Lucie said. "I think it's a little twisted that he's accepting bets on Ro's divorce considering they were once... whatever they were."

  "Eh. It's Joey. What are you gonna do?"

  "Nothing. He's like my dad. I love him, but he makes me crazy."

  "When your dad comes home, don't argue with him. It never gets you anywhere."

  "I'll try." She smiled for the first time in this whole misbegotten conversation. "You know that's never been my strong point."

  Frankie blew air through his lips. "You're telling me."

  "All I know is that house will be crowded with Joey and my dad under the same roof again. But hey, I rented Carlucci's for Coco Barknell's new headquarters.”

  “No way.”

  “Yep. You know my dad is a control freak. If he comes home and sees the dining room is Coco's headquarters, it'll start a war. If we move the stuff, maybe he won't wig out."

  Since Frankie was an early investor in the business, she owed it to him to clue him in. Let him know his investment was in good hands. Although, after all the years they'd known each other, she'd hoped he knew that. Plus, she'd spent four years moaning to him about her career ups and downs. Why should now be any different?

  Breakup aside.

  "Anyway,” she said, “Ro is flashing cleavage all over Franklin, trying to get us deals on supplies."

  That made Frankie roar. That great laugh she loved caused a little flutter in her belly. I miss him. Her breath caught and she smacked her hand against her chest. This semi-meltdown hit her every once in a while. A fierce longing for him that she hadn't quite figured out how to navigate in his absence. All she knew was it hurt. Like a flash mob inside her, ripping at her heart, tearing the pieces away.

  "That girl is a total pisser," Frankie said. "She gets it done though. Should we, uh, celebrate?"

  Having no idea what to do with that suggestion, she forced out a long, slow breath, tilted her head back and stared at the open sky. Relax. Would it be nice to spend time with him? Yes. But she missed him and there were moments, like now, when the physical ache split her in two. If they were going to remain broken-up, being out with him would be pure torture.

  Plus, whenever she got near him, her hormones whacked out and the insanity usually propelled them right to Frankie's bed.

  "Luce?"

  "I don't know. I mean, yes, we should celebrate. I just don't know if we should do it alone. Or together even. God, Frankie. I don't know."

  For a few seconds he stayed silent, those dark eyes of his on her in that way that let her know he was contemplating his next statement. Deciphering just how much to say and if it would get him in trouble.

  It was your doing this time, bucko. But she wouldn't say that. Not after all the times she'd been the one to say the four little words. I need a break. Each time he'd been understanding. Ridiculously so, she now realized.

  Lucie glanced behind her to where Lauren and Oscar wandered by a tree.

  "I know, Luce. This sucks. I miss you."

  "Me too. That's the problem."

  "I wake up every day and want to call you, but I think it's been good for me. Suddenly, there's no pressure to make anyone but me happy. Is that selfish?"

  She didn't need to know he was happy without her. "Frankie, you're always everyone's rock. Always keeping the peace. You deserve some time to yourself."

  "But it hurts. Not being with you. I want to go back to the beginning."

  Nice thought, but they never had a beginning. They went from being lifelong family friends to having a couple of casual dinners alone. Those casual dinners churned the Franklin gossip mill and soon the entire
town had planned a wedding.

  Then his father betrayed them by mixing Lucie up in a jewelry heist, and now everything was off. How she and Frankie would ever recover from the rift with his father, she couldn't fathom.

  She sighed. "I think we need to concentrate on moving forward, not backward. That's what I'm focused on. And now, with my father coming home? My life is a little nuts."

  Lauren stopped at the corner and motioned to Lucie about which way to turn. "Go left," she called. "I'm finishing up. Be right there." She shifted back to Frankie. "Sorry. I need to go."

  He glanced back at his car in the no-parking zone. "Yeah. I know you're working. Should we talk later?"

  Yes. No. She shrugged. Indifference. Great. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about. Nothing has changed. At least that I know of. Why torture ourselves?"

  More of that filthy, awkward silence drifted between them, and Lucie's heart slammed. It would be so easy to give in. To have a night out with Frankie, but if they weren't getting back together, she'd just be ripping her heart open for another stab. Wounds never healed if they were picked open.

  "You're right," Frankie said. "I guess."

  He guessed? He was the one who wanted this. She shook her head. Tried not to feel angry. As understanding as he'd been all those times she'd broken up with him, she never expected him to spend time with her. Not when they weren't a couple.

  "Frankie, I need to go."

  She went up on tip-toes and kissed his cheek like she used to do before they were lovers. She breathed in, taking the woodsy scent of his soap with her. This is where they’d wound up. Cheek kisses. Dammit, it felt like that stab to her mangled heart had already happened. She glanced over at Lauren, patiently waiting for the dog to finish inspecting one of the giant trees entrenched in the sidewalk.

  No need to glance at the time to know they were further behind schedule. “I have to go,” she said.

  “Right. Bye, Luce. Keep me updated on Carlucci’s.”

  She nodded, gave him a little wave, and jogged to meet Lauren and Oscar. When she reached them, she heard Frankie’s car door slam and then another honk. Frankie saying goodbye like he always did.

  Lucie didn’t look. Instead, she focused on Lauren and work. Because that’s what she did when things went awry with Frankie. She focused on work.

  "Sorry about that, Lauren. How are we doing?”

  Oscar swung his head in her direction, stared a second, then went back to the tree. "Move it along, Oscar. You've got five minutes before we turn back and you're nowhere near your favorite bush."

  Lauren laughed.

  "I know," Lucie said. "But these dogs can be so predictable. This one? If you try to turn back before he squirts on the bush that's just around the next corner, he'll dig in and refuse to move. I try to get him to that bush in a hurry so he can take his time going back."

  Of course, had she not been distracted by Frankie, she'd have explained that.

  And then her phone rang. "Yeesh!"

  She pulled the phone from the pocket of her shorts. A 3-1-2 number. Downtown.

  "Go ahead," Lauren said. "I've got Oscar."

  "Thanks. Hello?"

  "Lucie?"

  She knew that voice. Her stomach did that crazy flip-flop thing. After the last few minutes with Frankie, her emotions couldn't be trusted.

  "Yes."

  "It's Tim O'Brien."

  Yep. The hunky cop. "Uh, hi." Lordy, she'd need a solid shot of scotch. And she didn't even drink scotch. "How are you?"

  "I'll take Oscar to his bush," Lauren announced.

  Apparently hearing what Lauren said, O'Brien laughed, all deep and sexy—rrrowr—and the weight of her conversation with Frankie lifted. So did her hormone level.

  "He's being processed," O'Brien said to someone on his end. He came back to her. "Sorry. Finishing up here. So, Lucie, can I buy you dinner one night? I can quiz you on all things dogs since my sister is trying to unload a stray on me. The damned thing is cute as hell, but it needs to be about fifty pounds heavier."

  "Because you're a manly man?"

  "Because I carry a big freakin' weapon and I can't be seen with a midget dog. Then again, carrying a big freakin' weapon means I can have any dog I want."

  "Whatever you say, Detective."

  "Oh, ouch. Did I not just ask you to dinner?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how about calling me Tim, because there's something off about you calling me detective when I'm trying to take you on a date."

  Just wait until you get me into handcuffs.

  Mother of God! Lucie threw her hand over her head. She had to be insane. Or lonely. Or just plain horny. Or maybe she simply needed someone to touch her. In a good way, a loving way that made her feel safe and secure and not... heartbroken. Sitting at home, waiting for Frankie to come back to her was hard. Brutally so. And Tim seemed like a nice guy. What could it hurt to go out for dinner?

  "Sure. That sounds fun." Handcuffs notwithstanding. "Tim."

  "I'm off this weekend. How about Friday night?"

  Friday night. Hmmm. She'd been out of this dating thing a while. Maybe she should pretend to be busy?

  Nah. Who had the energy for that?

  "Friday night is good."

  "Great. I'll pick you up at seven. Does that work?"

  "Yep. Sure does."

  Just that fast, she had a date. With someone other than Frankie. Did anyone else hear that? The sound of her heart crumbling like an abandoned building? Think about the handcuffs.

  Lauren turned the corner. "Oscar did his thing in the bush."

  "Okay!" She went back to Tim. "Sorry. The dog just made a deposit in his favorite bush."

  She smacked her hand against her head. "Did that sound as bad as I think it did?"

  "I didn't hear anything."

  "You're a good man, Tim O'Brien."

  "You haven't seen anything yet, sweetheart."

  3

  Lucie sat at her mother's dining room table, her laptop open in front of her, researching Gomez paintings. After overhearing Bart Owens' argument, a niggling feeling of him being involved in something crooked wouldn't leave her. For the Lutz's sake, she decided a little research on that painting was necessary.

  Across the table, Mom was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and lightweight modern cargo pants. Her poker night outfit. She liked the extra side pockets for holding her chips. She sat quietly, hand-stitching a sample faux fur vest for one of the Ninja Bitches to test. If Mom and Ro could get the design on the first one right, they'd pitch a line of fur accessories to Frampton's Department Store, their largest client.

  The front door—one of those vintage oak ones that weighed slightly less than a ton—flew open and smacked against the inside wall. Lucie flinched and Mom's entire body jerked.

  "Ow!" Mom dropped the vest and shook her hand out. "Stuck myself."

  Ro's dramatic entrances were nothing new, but one day, she'd give someone in the Rizzo family a heart attack.

  "Ro!" Lucie said. "You just bludgeoned my mother."

  Stomping toward them in a micro mini, a tank top, and her typical mile-high strappy sandals, Ro went straight to Mom, threw her arms around her and started bawling. "I'm sorry."

  Lucie wasn't one to swear, but crap. Ro. Crying? "Ro, it's not that big of a deal. Just take it easy next time."

  "There, there," Mom cooed, rubbing Ro's back. "It was just a little stick."

  Still sobbing, Ro straightened up, grabbed a piece of loose silk Lucie had bought from the overpriced-but-worth-it fabric store in Lincoln Park and blew her nose on it.

  Had she lost her mind? "Hello? That was silk. Do you know what that stuff costs?"

  "I'll pay you back. After I get my settlement check from my stripper-banging husband."

  "No!" Mom said.

  Ro wailed again. "Yes! I'm done. He expects me to pretend like nothing happened. Like he didn't humiliate me in front of an entire town. All for his re-election. If he'd act the least bit sorry,
maybe I could stand by him. He's only sorry he got caught."

  The back door slammed. Again nothing new because Joey slammed every door he walked through. Between him and Ro, they'd take the whole house down.

  He rushed into the room arms up and ready for battle, his head swinging left and right. "What the hell? Sounds like a goddamn slaughter."

  "Joseph," Mom said. "Language."

  "It is a slaughter!"

  Ro. Heavy on the drama.

  Joey looked at Lucie, nudged his head in Ro's direction. "What's that about?"

  "She and Tommy." Not wanting to say the word divorce and risk more wailing, Lucie slashed her hand across her throat.

  "She's dumping him? My odds just hit nine to five the other way."

  "Whaaaaaaa," Ro wailed.

  "Joseph!" This from Mom. "Leave. Now. Go to your room."

  This place is an asylum. Twenty-nine years old and his mother was sending him to his room.

  Rushing around the table, Lucie wrapped her friend in a hug and flipped Joey the bird behind Mom's back. What an idiot.

  He held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right. Priorities. Ro, you want me to kick his ass? I'd do that for you."

  Finally. Some concern about their friend. This was the Joey she adored. Idiot or not, sometimes, in his own fatalistic way, he could be sweet and protective. Apparently, Ro responded to that because she pulled away from Lucie, turned to face Joey, and threw herself into his arms.

  "I know you would," she said. "But no. If I'm taking him to the cleaners, I have to be the loyal wife to pull it off. I've been so good to him and this is what he does to me? I can't believe it. The bastard."

  At which point, totally behind Mom's back, Joey grinned at Lucie, slid his hand over Ro's butt cheek and squeezed.

  As expected, because Joey knew Ro just as well as Lucie, if not better considering their sexual—blech—history, Ro snorted. Her brother had known just what to do to make Ro smile.

  "God, you're a pig," she said.

  Mom spun around. "What did he do?"