Now, all of it sat in a pile on her desk and she'd have to make sense of it before her meeting with the caterer in—wait for it—thirty minutes.
Being a type A personality, she didn't like mess. Of any kind. And for the last two days that seemed to be all she had. With Ro locked up, Lucie now handled the fashion show details, payroll, taxes, schedules and every other administrative function.
I've got this. She'd simply get a fresh notebook from Ro's stash of spirals in the supply closet and put everything related to the case in there. Getting organized was the first step. Then, when she had all her notes together, she'd talk to Tim. Show him what she'd found and see if any of it would help Ro's case.
He wouldn't be happy about her butting into police business, but he'd understand.
Eventually.
After grabbing a notebook from the back, she plopped down at her desk and started sorting through the scraps of paper to transcribe.
The door swung open and in walked...Frankie.
Oh, God.
Frankie. Gorgeous, funny, smart, Frankie. Home.
Her mouth may have dropped open. She lifted her hand to check and, yep, there she sat, jaw hanging open, staring at her first love. After years of her begging him to move away from Franklin and their mobbed-up families, he’d decided to take a job in New York just as her business was taking off. And despite his asking her to move with him, she couldn't do it. She had responsibilities now. A business to run. Employees to support.
And now he was back, standing in her shop.
In the months that he'd been gone, they'd exchanged a text or two, but that was it. No calls, no visits, nothing. Tim deserved her full attention and she’d given it to him. With Tim, there was no baggage. No familial pull. No expectations beyond their own.
Just her and her hunky Irish cop. The one increasingly frustrated with her putting him in awkward positions with his bosses.
Frankie.
Seeing him now, for the first time since he'd left, sent a jab of pain right to the center of her chest. It could have been the chili hot dog she'd eaten at lunch, but she doubted it.
He halted just inside the doorway and their eyes met for a few long seconds, all the words trapped somewhere between them. No man's land.
"Hi," he said, his voice hovering in the vast space between tentative and the normal Mr. Confident Frankie.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Lucie swallowed. "Hi. You're...home."
"I...uh..." He shrugged. "Talked to Joey last night. Sounded like things were getting crazy so I took a few vacation days. You know I think Ro is a pain in the ass, but I love her."
And that fast, the jab in her chest morphed to something bigger. Something that formed a giant ball between her ribs and blocked her air. Breathe.
She couldn't. The last days, between Ro being arrested, Tim’s irritation with her, and sneaking around behind his back to investigate, had drained her. And now—damn it—right in front of her stood Frankie. The one person who understood the insanity that came with being a mob boss's kid.
Lucie leaped from her chair and charged him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing so tight she might suffocate him.
"Ah, Luce," he said. "I'm so sorry."
She let out a hard breath, then inhaled the Frankie scent, the Tom Ford cologne she'd bought for him on every birthday and Christmas.
This year, she'd be buying for someone else.
"Luce? Are you okay?"
Standing on her tip-toes, she continued to hang on, resting her chin on his shoulder. She tried to speak, to say something, but the onslaught of emotions kept everything rooted inside so she did the only thing she could and managed to bob her head.
"Great," he said. "Nodding. That means you’re not okay."
He knew her. Years together had forged a bond. One that allowed them to recognize each other's body language and mood swings. And hidden messages.
"I'm okay," she said. "I just...when I saw you, something inside me exploded."
"I know. Me too." He patted her back. "I thought I'd prepared myself for it."
"Frankie?"
"Yeah?"
"You smell nice."
"Thanks. Good to know."
She let out a laugh and backed away, holding on to his forearms.
"So," she said, "how are you? How's New York?"
"Are we really going to do this?"
"What?"
"Pretend like we're fine and can pick up as friends?"
Guess not. But he was right. She'd loved him too hard and for too long to think they could leave all that behind. Seeing him confused her and Tim didn't deserve that.
God, this sucked because she needed Ro right now. Ro would tell her the reaction to Frankie was normal and that she shouldn't become a headcase over it. Maybe she could call her?
Gee, Ro, I know you're locked up, but can you talk me off a ledge?
"Well," Lucie said, "I'm not sure friends is the right word. But our fathers are friends and you're Joey's best friend. We're going to see each other so we should be...nice."
"Nice." He shook his head. "Sounds peachy."
"I know. Somehow I never expected us to be analyzing our relationship boundaries."
He met her gaze again, held it for a long moment. Sad eyes. "Me neither, Luce."
"So," she said, "thanks again for coming. Joey needs the support right now and unfortunately, I've recently learned that I suck at keeping him under control."
"I heard you all were cellmates." He grinned. "That had to be cozy."
"Oh, ha, ha, smart guy."
Then Frankie stepped away, moving in a slow circle, taking in the room. They'd done a lot of decorating since he left, and Lucie felt a burst of pride at how much had been accomplished.
"I can't believe this is Carlucci's. My Dad said you guys did a great job, but—wow."
"It was all Ro. As crazy as she makes us all, she has such an eye for style."
Frankie pointed to the pile of notes on her desk. "What's with the mess?"
"Just some notes. I ran out of paper and you know my mind, it never stops."
"Believe me, I know." He faced the rolling white board stowed against the wall and skimmed it. "You've been busy."
"I have. I can't let her sit in jail and do nothing. Not when I know she's innocent."
"You need help?"
Did she ever. Talking to Frankie seemed wrong, though. These last months Tim had been her first stop when she'd needed a sounding board. Tim was a good listener. The curious part of him was able to analyze situations and quickly form opinions. Which, she supposed made him a great detective. Now, with his limited knowledge of what she was doing with the Ro investigation, confiding in Frankie, in Lucie's mind, constituted a betrayal. No matter how alpha her hunky cop boyfriend was, that betrayal would hurt him and she wouldn’t do that.
"I'd love another set of eyes on it, but I, um...need to talk to someone else about it first."
"O'Brien?"
Lucie wasn't sure how much Frankie had heard about her and Tim, but between Joey and everyone else in their hometown, he no doubt knew Lucie had a new boyfriend.
She nodded. "I think he'd be upset if I talked to you first."
"I know I'd be pissed."
"But after I talk to him, maybe you can look at all we've collected. You have that journalist's eye and might catch something."
"It's serious? With O'Brien?"
Yes.
She should say it. Right here, right now. Just put it out there. With the way she felt about Tim, the love she had for him, it should have been easy. And, yet, no. The words wouldn't come. She had loved Frankie too—part of her always would—and that left her emotions churning.
"Oh, Frankie. I really don't want to talk to you about this."
Again, he nodded. "I know. I just…I don't know. I guess we've been back and forth so many times that I thought," he met her gaze. "I thought we'd..."
"From a thousa
nd miles away? How? Neither one of us is evolved enough for a commuter relationship."
"People do it, Luce."
"Not people like us."
Or maybe that had changed in the months since Frankie left. At least for him. Lucie? She still wanted her man close.
The doggie bells jangled and Lucie glanced over Frankie’s shoulder. Tim entered and froze, his hand still on the open door, as cold air rushed in. He knew—all too well—of the Lucie/Frankie saga. It had, in fact, been a major issue for him when they'd first started dating. He'd told her, straight away, he wouldn't get involved with her if the relationship with Frankie still had a chance.
Tim wanted her free and clear.
And she adored that about him. The strength and level-headedness.
But this? Tim finding her and Frankie alone? Probably didn't look good.
She plastered on a smile even as the ball of panic unfurled inside her. "Hi."
The two men sized each other up. Not that she'd expect either of them to do any obnoxious posturing, but they were men after all.
She perked up, way too heavy on the cheery. "You remember Frankie."
Tim vacated the doorway, letting the door close behind him as he extended his hand. "I guess I should say welcome back. How's New York?"
"It's good." Frankie glanced at Lucie. "I miss the old neighborhood, but I love the job."
Tim wasn't stupid. He met Lucie’s eye. "There's a lot to miss."
All righty then. Silence sucked all the energy from the room. Just gobbled it right up as the two men, opposites in many ways, yet truly the loves of Lucie's life, stared at her. Who knew she was such a man killer? Usually that fell into Ro's wheelhouse. Well, move over, sister. All Lucie needed now was her Wonder Woman gold cuffs.
A giggle bubbled up. That involuntary outburst that plagued her during stressful situations. It was either that or flop peeing. Right now, she'd take the laugh.
Frankie smacked his hands together. "I don't want to keep you. I just got back and need to track Joey down."
Excellent idea. "He's probably walking Otis about now. He should be done soon though."
"I'll, uh, just meet him back at the house, I guess."
Frankie took a step toward her and she flinched, her eyes immediately going to Tim. "Okay," Frankie said, "I'll see you guys later, then."
Lucie nodded. Tim nodded. A couple of bobble heads they were. Can we say awkward? Tim waited for Frankie to leave and faced her. "You were laughing. What's funny?"
"Tim, I can honestly say, not one thing. I think I may have finally snapped. Over the edge. Run while you can."
"Is that what you want?"
What now? "I'm sorry?"
"For me to go. Is that what you want?"
"No!" She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. "Baby, no. It was a joke. A bad one I guess. All I ever want is you. You have to know that. I'm usually worried my life is too much for you. The chaos is never ending with the Rizzo bunch. And these last few days has only added to that."
"True that. I can take it though. Usually." He pulled free of her and gestured to the door. "Frankie being here. That surprised me."
"I didn't know. I promise you. He just walked in. He said Joey seemed upset, so he hopped on a plane this morning."
"Crap. He's a good guy."
Lucie smiled. "He is, but I'm kinda loving the good guy in front of me right now."
He looked down at her, met her gaze, and panic whipped up her spine.
"Tim, what is it?"
"Are you sure?"
"About?"
He glanced at the door. "Us, Luce. I see the way he looks at you. I look at you that way. I need you to be sure. I told you in the beginning I wouldn't do a back and forth thing with Frankie."
She slid her arms around him again, squeezing tight, and pressing her cheek into his chest. Her heart might be exploding and shattering at the same time. Big, tough, Tim O'Brien was afraid he’d lost her. On some level, it gave her a boost to know he loved her that much. On the other, more important level, he questioned her commitment to him.
And she couldn't have that.
"No way. I love you. You're the best man I know and you are always, always there for me. Besides, with a nickname like O'Hottie, I'd be a fool to let you go. And my mama didn't raise no fool."
His big hand came up and cradled the back of her head, holding her in place against him, all the heat from his body pouring into her. "I love you, Luce. Even if I'll be in a strait jacket by the time you’re done with me."
He inched back and dipped his head, bringing his lips to hers and—oh, yowza, yowza, yowza—when Tim kissed her, it was like Christmas, her birthday and the fourth of July all rolled into one. One giant celebration of happiness and lust.
He brushed his lips against hers, doing that little sweeping motion he knew turned her on, then backed away, swatting her on the butt. "We'll finish this later. Now, tell me what's going on with this white board. Or don't I want to know?"
The white board. Shoot. She should have thrown a blanket over it or something.
"Don't freak," Lucie said.
"Ha!"
Funny man. "Listen, smart ass, they're just notes. I'm not investigating. Much."
Tim scratched at the back of his neck. She was probably giving him hives or some kind of stress-induced rash. And her without the Benadryl.
He let out a heavy breath. "You can't help yourself, can you?"
"Not when Ro is in jail. No."
"Alright then." He walked to the conference table and waggled a finger at her notes. "Tell me what you've got here."
Wait. What? He wanted to help? "Really?"
He turned back to her. "Yes. Really. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been thinking about this mess. My boss won’t let me help the PD. That leaves me one option. If you're not going to stop, the least I can do is make sure you don't cause havoc. I’ll help you."
A burst of happiness exploded and Lucie threw her arms up, leaping at her man, who scooped her up. She wrapped her legs around him, whacking her ankle on the table. Ow. Who cared? She smacked a kiss on him, then did it again just for kicks. “Yay! Thank you.”
Grinning like an idiot, he patted her rear. “You’re welcome. And my back is glad you don’t weigh a lot.”
“Always a perk.”
He eased her to the floor and she rushed back to her desk, scooped up the pile of notes, and deposited them on the conference table.
"Let's start with these." She picked up the brochure. "I talked to a guy this morning. He delivers groceries to Buzzy and her neighbors."
She wouldn't say how she found him. No sense in getting the hot Irish detective all riled up. She shoved the brochure with the company name on it at Tim and he perused it, turning it sideways then upside down as he read her abbreviated notes.
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where did you talk to him?"
"It's not important."
"Oh, boy."
"What is important is that he told me Buzzy had a boyfriend."
"And?"
The dry-cleaning receipt came next and she handed it over. "He answered her door in his bathrobe once."
"You think he's a killer because he answered her door in his robe? You walk around my place in my T-shirts all the time. If I wind up dead, does that make you my killer?"
Lucie gasped. "Don't say that."
"Just making a point. You can't randomly accuse people of murder."
"I'm not randomly accusing him. It's a lead. That's all. She was killed inside her house. Obviously, her killer was inside so she must have let him in."
"A reasonable assumption." Tim gestured to the white board. "And what's this?"
"This is my murder board."
Really, she needed to lay off the crime shows.
"All right." He let out another long sigh. Poor guy. "Can you summarize?"
Gladly. She grabbed a marker and tapped it against the board. "Apparently, there was fri
ction with Buzzy's agent."
"And you know this, how?"
"Buzzy’s sister. And her assistant confirmed it. She told me Lorraine wanted Buzzy to dump the agent. Something about him doing funky accounting."
Now Tim grabbed a legal pad off the stack in the center of the table. Finally, she'd said something that caught the good detective's interest.
"I'll look into the agent."
"I have the Cock Heads on it as well."
"Oh, goodie." He finished his note and pointed to Dad's name on the board. "Do I even want to ask?"
"It's fine. Dad, Jimmy and Lemon are putting feelers out with their cop friends."
Tim grunted and Lucie threw up her hands. "Just to see if they have any information. That's all."
"You're killing me. You know that, right? Every night I check my blood pressure."
Lucie rolled her eyes. "Stop. You know..." What? She shook her head. "I'm sorry I'm stressing you out. I just...love her. I'd do the same for you."
He grabbed her elbow, pulled her into him and kissed the top of her head. "I know. You worry me, Luce. This is a homicide. Someone killed this woman and you're running around asking questions. It could be dangerous."
"If it gets Ro out of jail it'll be worth it."
"I hope so."
Chapter Thirteen
Thump.
Something smacked against the shop window. Both Tim and Lucie jumped.
A growing group of pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk in front of the shop.
Tim cocked his head. "Are those picket signs?"
One woman stood at the front of the pack, that now extended beyond the shop's window, handing out poster boards attached to what looked like paint sticks. Talk about your grass roots protest. Lucie couldn't make out the writing yet, but as each person received their sign, they strolled the sidewalk to the far end of the shop, turned, and headed back.
"What the heck?"
Tim let out a snort. "Why the hell do you have protestors?"
That question was quickly answered as the growing crowd sent up a chant.
"Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!"
"For God’s sake." Lucie’s voice trembled and she fought to control the brewing hysteria.
Like annoying ants at a picnic, the protestors kept coming, each stepping up to receive a sign. Please let them run out of signs.
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