And, best of all, there was no arguing over distancing themselves from the life. As much as she loved Frankie, the issues in their relationship revolved around their families. And no matter how they tried, they always wound up in the same ugly place.
With Tim all the baggage went away. She could simply be a twenty-six-year-old woman finding her way in the world. One who wanted to kiss a cute detective, but whose nosy brother wouldn't stop interrupting long enough for that kiss to happen. Damned Joey.
But right now, she had a job to do on an August day so hot her lips weren't just dry, they were shedding.
Nugget, an adorable tan and white Beagle, pranced alongside Lucie, scoping out the next patch of grass to fall victim to his urine stream. On walks, Nugget didn't mess around. He was all business, all the time. The fact that Lucie slipped him a treat when they got back to the house probably didn't hurt, but this dog was a dog walker’s dream.
"One thing, Lauren," Lucie said to her trainee. "Nugget always gets a treat when we're done. It's part of his routine. Don't forget, okay?"
Lauren jotted a note in her trainee book. Being a stickler for details, Lucie had created a handbook with the Coco Barknell logo on the front and Lauren dutifully took notes on each pet. Regardless of who walked the dogs on any given day, the transition between walkers needed to be smooth.
Joey, of course, was the wild card. Chances were he completely blew off her instructions and did his own thing. She'd like to set up some kind of surveillance to see. Hmm...a doggie cam. That might have some merit. She'd have to work out the logistics.
Lucie and Lauren trekked back to Nugget's house, a renovated brownstone that, in this neighborhood, went for at least three million. The Horvaths had moved in over a year ago, but the house still looked newly remodeled. Mrs. H. apparently had OCD tendencies because the counters always sparkled—quite a feat with black marble—and the floors held not one scuffmark. Nada.
On her best day, Lucie couldn't manage avoiding footprints on the hand-scraped floors and always wound up cleaning them before she left. Luckily, she never had to go farther than the mudroom.
Once through the back door, Nugget immediately plopped his furry butt in front of the treat cabinet.
"He's so cute," Lauren said.
Bending low, Lucie gave Nugget a scratch and a nuzzle. "Yes, he is." She kissed the side of his head and handed him a treat. "Good, baby. Lucie loves you."
"You're so good with the dogs, Lucie. The owners must be crazy about you."
Lucie shrugged. "We had a dog growing up. He died when I was in college. Some day I'll have another one."
Some day when she lived in her own place again. And was allowed pets. Her apartment downtown hadn't allowed animals, and Mom certainly had no interest. She had her hands full with Joey.
And Dad.
She snorted. A dog would probably be easier to control than those two.
Lauren scooped up Nugget's water bowl. "He's out of water. Poor guy. I'll fill it."
"Okay. The kitchen is right through there." Lucie pointed then checked the time on her phone. "We're a few minutes behind, so let's make this quick. Grab some paper towels while you're in there. We might have to clean the footprints."
"We will?"
"Client is a neat freak. Can't blame her. The place is stunning."
Lauren headed into the kitchen with Nugget's bowl while Lucie stowed his leash.
"Lucie?" Lauren called. "Do you think I could use the bathroom?"
Now she had to pee? Before this was over, they'd be scrubbing every inch of flooring on the first level. But they'd been moving for two hours and Lauren had slammed two cups of coffee. As an employer, Lucie couldn't very well limit her intake of liquids.
Or her need to pee.
"Sure. The Horvaths don't mind. Down the hall on the right."
"Great. Thanks."
She set the bowl on the counter and scooted down the hall. "Oh, that's cool."
"What?"
"Have you seen this painting?"
Here we go again. "Lauren, go pee. Focus."
"I know, but it's right here on the wall across from the bathroom. You've gotta see it. I think it might be a Nodai."
Lucie would have to inventory which clients were art collectors and not assign Lauren to those homes. A passion for art was enviable, but not when they had a schedule to keep.
"We have to go." Lucie squatted to gather some of Nugget's toys. "Here you go, baby."
"It's just so beautiful. I've never seen a real one."
A real one. Oh no. Two months ago, she'd passed Bart Owens's card to Mrs. Horvath. Sculptures and paintings throughout the first floor were obvious indicators that they liked art, so Lucie, thinking of her loose agreement with Bart regarding commissions, had told Mrs. Horvath about the gallery.
But that had been the last of it. She'd never been notified of a sale, and she certainly never asked. She'd simply trusted Bart would let her know. Or hand over a check.
Lucie shot to her feet. Disregarding the fear of footprints, she hustled to where Lauren wistfully admired a giant painting spanning the four-foot wall across from the powder room.
Eeee-gads. Lucie slapped her hand over her eyes. What the hell is that? Could it be what she thought? Nah. No one would put that across from their powder room where guests and children would see it.
Had to be a mistake. Lucie cracked two fingers for a peek and—hello, fella.
In the painting, maybe something from the Renaissance period based on the color and appearance, a naked woman sat backward on top of an equally naked and—eh-hem—extremely endowed man.
In a half-buried wheelbarrow.
A wheelbarrow!
Lucie dropped her hand from her eyes and took it all in. Every perverted and yet entirely fascinating inch. Every inch. "Wow."
"I know, right?"
"What is this? Early European porn?"
"No," Lauren spat, her outrage obvious. "It's the earliest form of erotic art. Look at the lines, Lucie. It's amazing."
She tipped her head sideways. Too much. Quite literally. The man's... uh... member, or rather the size of it, damn near terrified her. She glanced down at her crotch, then back to the man in the painting. No way that thing fits. No way.
What sane woman would let... She couldn't even think about it. God, the agony. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face. "I almost can't look at it."
Lauren laughed. "Trust me. If this is a Nodai, and I think it is, it's a classic. Worth millions."
If that were the case, Lucie should invite an artist into Frankie's bedroom when he did his magic on her. They'd be billionaires. Just thinking about Frankie and his zest for lovemaking—and the lack of it in her life—made her cheeks hot. Now what? She was some kind of nymphomaniac from looking at a painting?
"Are you sure?" she asked, still not believing this painting was on display across from the bathroom. "Millions?"
"Yes! What makes them so valuable is they're part of a series. Twelve in all, if I remember. They all show different sexual positions. I'd have to look this one up to see what number it is. I wonder if it's labeled anywhere."
Lauren reached for the frame and Lucie locked on to her wrist. "No you don't. If this thing is worth millions, you can't touch it. Not when you're on Coco Barknell's time. If you damage it, I get sued. Nuh-uh."
The company's insurance premiums would skyrocket.
Lauren snatched her hand back. "Sorry. But I'm so curious. Lucie, these paintings are rare. I think most of them were destroyed in a fire in the 1800s. I'd love to know where they got it."
So would Lucie. Because a deal was a deal, and if this painting was worth millions, Bart Owens owed her a good chunk of cash. But considering how rare Lauren said the paintings were, it could be a copy.
Or Bart sold the Horvaths a fake. After Lucie vouched for him.
A sick feeling tumbled inside her and a vision of the cell she'd been locked in on Saturday flashed in her mind. Here we go again.
"I don't know where they got it."
But she'd find out. Somehow, she'd find out.
* * *
At home that evening, Lucie sat at the dining room table with her laptop and her favorite Notre Dame glass. The glass held diet pop, but she might be switching to something stronger if Bart Owens turned out to be, as Ro would say, a lying, scheming rat bastard.
She took in the stacked plastic bins in the corner and the bolts of fabric propped against grandma's breakfront. As soon as the renovations on Carlucci's—she had to start thinking of it as Coco Barknell—were complete, all these supplies would be moved over and her mother would have her dining room back.
In time for her father's return.
Timing was essential. Mainly because she had no interest in her father carrying on about how his dining room looked like a storage closet. Much less the idea that Mom was now working almost thirty-hours per week as a seamstress. Oh, boy, that would be interesting. No wonder Joey wanted to move out.
The front door flew open and smacked against the wall. Seriously, Ro was going to put a hole in the wall if she kept that up. Lucie’s best friend strolled in on five-inch heels that made her already long legs look like skyscrapers.
She came to a stop at the end of the table and cocked one hip. "Sorry it took so long to get here. I came as soon as I got your message. What’s up?"
"We're on a mission."
Ready for action, Ro did a fast clap and immediately slid into the chair next to Lucie. "I love missions. What is it?"
"We have to verify if a painting I saw at the Horvath's today is a fake."
"Another painting? What is it with you?"
"I know. I can't help it. Lauren spotted this one when we walked Nugget today. According to her, if it's real, it's worth millions."
Ro puckered and blew air through her lips. "Is this one you brokered for Owens?"
"Not sure. That's part of the mission. I did pass along Bart's name to Mrs. Horvath, and I know the painting is probably new because it wasn't there last week. But Bart didn't tell me if he sold her the painting."
"Okay. I gotcha. You want to see if the thing is real first in case Owens makes a habit of selling knockoffs. And if it is, you can ask him if he's been a rat bastard and cheated you out of your cut?"
Ah, Ro. How well Lucie knew her. "Simply put, yes. I started researching the entire series of paintings. Most of them were destroyed in a gallery fire in 1821. I was just starting to look up each individual piece to find the Horvath's."
Ro smacked her hands together then flicked them out. "I'm on it. What do you need me to do?"
"There are a lot of paintings in the series. We're double teaming it. I'll show you a photo of the Horvath's painting and then we need to figure out if it was one of the ones destroyed. If it wasn't, we figure out where the real one is. Who knows if the Internet can tell us all that, but it's worth a try."
Lucie picked up the tablet she used when she didn't feel like lugging her laptop around and handed it to Ro. "Here you go."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to show you the painting. Try to refrain from any sarcastic comments."
"This sounds juicy."
"You really have no idea."
Anticipating something exciting, Ro scooted closer. "Is it porn?"
How did she know that? "Why would your mind automatically go there?"
"It's porn? Really?" Ro hooted. "You're kind of a prude, so I went straight to porn."
A prude. Of course there were worse things, but somehow it felt like an insult. Whatever. "Lauren says they're classics of early European erotic art. It's meant to titillate."
"I always loved that word. Titillate. It sounds so dirty."
Focus. Focus. Focus. "Remember. No sarcasm."
"Blah, blah."
Lucie swiped at the pad on her laptop and the image of the painting filled the screen. For the first time—ever—Ro might have been struck mute. She leaned in, craning closer to the screen. "Well, well, well. Mister, where have you been all my life? And is that a wheelbarrow?"
Unbelievable. Totally off-point here. "What did I just say?"
Ro slouched back, resting her hand on her forehead. "I know, but, Luce, you can't put that in front of me and not expect it." She dropped her hand and straightened up again. "I don't know why this surprises me. Even four hundred years ago men had one-track minds. And frankly, not that this matters, but I think the logistics on that wheelbarrow thing are a little suspect."
Lucie laughed. She couldn't help it. She had the most incredibly twisted inner circle. But God, she loved them. "You're right. And if you're done ogling, can we get back to business here? We need to figure out if this painting was destroyed in that fire. Hopefully, it wasn't and it's hanging on the Horvath's wall."
"Okay. We've got this. Show me the rest so I'll be able to tell which ones were destroyed."
Please. As if Lucie believed that. "You just want to look at them."
Fighting a grin, Ro set the tips of her fingers over her mouth and giggled. "I'm so naughty."
"Fine. Be naughty. Just find that damned painting."
"Okay. But I'm writing down the name of this website."
* * *
Tim sat at his desk, clearing out some reports when his cell phone rang. After starting the day with two hours of paperwork, he welcomed the distraction and seeing adorable Lucie Rizzo's name lifted his mood considerably. He hit the button. "Hey, pretty lady."
"Hi. And thank you."
"For what?"
"For telling me I'm pretty."
"I only speak the truth."
“And for saving my butt with Frankie. That was awkward.”
“I know. For me, too. It was easier all around for me to just handle it. At least for now.”
He was a nice guy, but that only took him so far and if things progressed between he and Lucie, she’d need to make a decision. Him or Frankie. End of it. Tim didn’t share. Ever.
His lieutenant walked by the desk and dropped a file without even slowing down. "Take a look at that before court this afternoon."
At two o'clock, Tim would testify for the prosecution on a home invasion from eight months ago. The suspect was pretty much screwed, but Tim never went into court unprepared. "Uh, sure." He went back to Lucie. "Sorry. My boss. So what's up?"
"I'm sorry. You're busy. I'll call you later."
Again with the apologizing. Lucie Rizzo apologized a lot. For things she shouldn't be apologizing for. He'd break her of that if it killed him. "No, Lucie. We're good."
She hesitated for a few seconds and Tim glanced at the phone's screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped. Not uncommon in the precinct with all the cement walls.
Nope. Plenty of bars. He'd wait her out.
"Okay," she finally said. "Could I ask your advice on something? Not personal. Business. Sort of. Well, it's kind of both."
Tim smiled. Dang, he sort of loved this girl. Definitely a worrier. But there was more. Way more. Ambition maybe. And the drive to make sure the world knew she was more than a mob guy's kid. "Sure."
"Great. Can I buy you lunch?"
He stared down at the folder Lou had just dropped on his desk. Between what he already had on his desk and that file, his day had gone to hell pretty quick. "Today?"
"Yes. I know it's short notice, but I'll be seeing the client it involves this afternoon."
"Is this a legal issue?"
Again she hesitated and Tim's shit meter went off.
"Well, I guess I'm not sure."
"Which is why you want to ask me about it?"
"Yes."
He checked his watch. "Can you do it early. Maybe 11:30? I have to be in court this afternoon."
"Absolutely. 11:30. I'll text you the address. Thank you."
As if it were a hardship seeing her in the middle of the day. "No. Thank you. This might be the best part of my day."
And who said cops couldn't be charming? Frank Fal
cone better be on notice that Tim wanted his girl.
Ninety minutes later, he walked into Rizzo's Italian Beef, got a laugh out of her inviting him to lunch at her mobbed-up father's restaurant, and found Lucie sitting at a table by the window. He walked over, hung his suit jacket on the back of one of the empty chairs, slipped off his tie, and rolled it.
If he had to eat at Rizzo's, he was having a beef sandwich and they were tricky bastards. By the end of the meal, he’d be sure to have sandwich juice dripped down the front of him. As it was, he'd have to be careful with the shirt.
"Hi," he said to Lucie, who watched him shove the tie into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Court hearing today. I don't want to mess up my clothes."
"Smart, Detective. Is that the voice of experience?"
"Yep. Want to order before I sit?"
"Sure."
He stepped behind her, scooted her chair from under her, and held out his hand. The early lunch crowd trickled in, and roughly half of the fifty tables were occupied, the voices all melding together and bouncing off the brick walls. As restaurants went, Rizzo's appeared to do a healthy business. The food was good and the owner's reputation didn't hurt in terms of tourists. Everyone wanted a look at one of Joe Rizzo's joints.
Tim followed Lucie to the counter, where they ordered and were handed a number for the table. While waiting for their food, Tim took the empty seat beside her and decided, once again, that he liked looking at Lucie.
"Thanks for meeting me," she said.
"Thanks for calling. What's up? Problem with a client?"
"I'm not sure."
Lucie gave him the short version of her problem and finished just as a tray of food landed on their table.
Tim dove into his sandwich and the flavor of the beef, a little peppery but not too much, exploded in his mouth. Damn that was good. He set the sandwich down, wiped his mouth and decided he'd have to visit Rizzo's more often. Being a cop, he hadn't wanted to support a business connected to organized crime, but hell, this was a damned good sandwich.
And then there was Lucie...
"Back to your problem," he said. "Are you afraid this painting is another fake and your client bought it from Owens?"
"Exactly."
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