by Liliana Hart
“I don’t recall telling you my name,” he said, dark eyes narrowing into a menacing stare.
“I’m here with my Aunt Scarlet. She mentioned your name when I told her where I was going for dinner.”
Damn, I still had the good lie juju. I was starting to become impressed with myself.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Scarlet. I once knew a woman named Scarlet a long, long time ago. She seduced me and then broke my heart.” He smiled, his capped teeth eerily white and even in the fading sunlight. “I remember her fondly.”
“Hmm, yes. Well—” I struggled for the words and just decided to go for it. The tattoo matched and there was no time like the present. I just had to figure out where to touch him. I didn’t want to grab the wrong limb by mistake in the takedown.
“Are your bones fairly strong?” I asked.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Your bones,” I repeated. “You think they’re pretty strong?”
“This is a very unusual conversation. A little exciting.” He waggled his eyebrows creepily. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“Eww,” I said. “Not that way.” I took Elmer by the wrist and squeezed, using a technique Savage had taught me back when we were in and out of each other’s pockets. Elmer screamed like a little girl and went to his knees, and I twisted his arm behind his back.
“Hush,” I hissed, putting my other hand over his mouth so no one would hear his scream.
I put my knee in his back like I’d seen the cops do and then I realized I was practically straddling Elmer while buck-ass naked.
“I need restraints,” I called out. But Rosemarie and Scarlet didn’t come out of the bushes.
“What are you doing?” Elmer said. “I’m not into the kinky stuff. I’m too old. I’ve got a pacemaker.”
“I told you to hush,” I said. “Elmer Hughes, you should’ve kept the tattoo hidden a little longer. Like until you died. Or should I call you the Romeo Bandit?”
He went still beneath me and I grabbed his other arm to pull behind his back. “Rosemarie,” I called out a little louder this time. “I’m not playing. I need the restraints.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elmer said. “But I demand that you unhand me. I’m a paying member of this resort and they have rules here. You’re sexually assaulting me, you reprobate. It’s wrong to take advantage of a senior citizen just because his plumbing still works.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “Rosemarie!” I yelled louder. “If you don’t get out here right now I’m never watching Real Housewives with you again.”
“I sent Rosemarie and Scarlet down to the luau,” Savage said, stepping out from the shadows, a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Jesus God,” I said, letting go of Elmer and slapping my hand over my eyes. I felt Elmer roll away from me and get up, but then I heard a couple of grunts and peeked through my fingers to see Elmer back on the ground with cuffs around his wrists.
“What are you doing?” Savage asked.
“Sorry,” I said. “I panicked. I thought you were naked and I couldn’t handle it.”
He laughed out loud and I felt ridiculous all of a sudden. And then I remembered I was the one that was naked. Savage had on jeans and a t-shirt and his gun.
“I’m not sure I can handle it,” he said, his voice deepening. “I’ve got to tell you I’ve had a lot of fantasies that involved this moment.”
“You had fantasies about us at a nudist colony?”
“No, just about us being naked. Together.”
I had a hot flash and started waving my hand in front of my face. “You can’t do this. We had a truce.”
“That was before I saw you naked. And Addison, the fantasies don’t measure up to the reality.”
“Nope, nope, nope. I’m not listening.” I stuck my fingers in my ears like a toddler and tried not to pay attention to the fact that my nipples had hardened like tiny pebbles.
“You’re very good at this,” Elmer told Savage. “Nice technique.”
“Thank you,” Savage said. “Elmer Hughes, you’re under arrest for the murder of twenty-two people, plus committing multiple armed robberies as the Romeo Bandit.”
“I’d rather you just shoot me if you don’t mind. I’m not a fan of prison.”
“I wouldn’t mind putting a bullet in you,” Scarlet said, coming out of the shadows and up on the deck to stand over Elmer.
“Jesus,” Savage said, looking at Scarlet in her full glory. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the hot-pink pubic hair, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. It was mesmerizing.
“Scarlet?” Elmer asked. “What the hell do you want to put a bullet in me for? We’re neighbors. I thought you were just a desperate old lady.”
“I’ve never been desperate. Not even when you seduced me the first time. I almost cut you loose back then when you started talking about your wife. Really killed the mood. But you made up for it later. I have to say you were one of the best.”
“Of course I was. Still am. You can’t possibly be that Scarlet. She was one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seduced. There was no one comparable to her in bed.”
“Yes, I know. And I’ve hardly changed at all, so I don’t appreciate your insults.”
Savage and I shared a look that said it all. Scarlet was delusional. And this was ridiculous. Three-fourths of us were naked and I was kind of tired of being at the naked party.
“After all these years you’re getting just what you deserve,” Scarlet said. “You might be a charming Romeo, but you’re still a killer. And you still have to pay.” She turned to Savage and said, “Maybe you could rough him up a little on the way in. Say he resisted or something.”
“He’s an old man,” Savage said. “He has to pee every ten minutes. That’s punishment enough.”
“I want to go home now. And I want to wear clothes,” I said. “I also want my reward money so I can buy some new shoes. This has been a trying twenty-four hours.”
“You’re welcome to come back with me,” Savage said. “We can drop Elmer in for booking and then hit the outlet mall on the way back to Savannah.”
“You’re a good friend,” I said.
Savage raised a brow and the smile he gave me sent a shiver all the way to my lady bits. “The clothing part is optional,” he said.
Decisions, decisions.
The End
About the Author
Liliana Hart is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of more than forty books, including the popular MacKenzie Family Series and JJ Graves Series. She lives in Louisiana with her husband and six children.
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Love Addison Holmes? There’s more in the series!
Whiskey Rebellion (Book 1)
Whiskey Sour (Book 2)
Whiskey For Breakfast (Book 3)
Whiskey, You’re The Devil (Book 4)
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 5)
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Adrienne Giordano
DOG COLLAR LIMBO
A Lucie Rizzo Mystery
Copyright © 2016 Adrienne Giordano
Chapter One
“Luce, we’re over our heads here.”
Lucie, sitting next to her complaining ape of a brother, made snoring noises. For dramatic effect, she added an eye roll.
She hadn’t schlepped all the way to Evanston at 9:00 AM on a Saturday to sit on rock-hard bleachers in a sweat-funked college gymnasium with three thousand people just to watch Otis, her favorite dog walking client, lose a talent show.
Not happening. It was way too early for such pessimism.
Her Otis would pull this out.
Joey wagged his finger. “Roll your eyes all you want. All I’m saying is we don’t have this thing locked.”
Her brother. The big mush. “Why are you being so negative?”
As the daughter of a mob boss, she’d spent twenty-six years finding the upshots and refused to give in now.
Joey blew air through his lips. “I thought that limbo of his would be a showstopper.”
Lucie flapped her arms, and glanced at Tim, her maybe-boyfriend. “Who made him such a Debbie Downer?”
Next to her on the other side, Tim flashed that you’re-so-cute grin and his green eyes twinkled under the glare of the gym lights. “Joey, have a little faith.”
Tim understood the value of positive thinking. He was a Chicago PD detective. The atrocities he saw each day would pulverize him if he didn’t look for the good.
Her brother grunted. Well, he could buzz off. She’d waited three weeks for this dog show and wanted to have fun. This sucker featured the Midwest’s most elite show dogs and the organizers, in a flash of genius, had added an additional thirty non-show dogs in a separate talent competition. A portion of the event’s profits would be donated to a local animal shelter, and the shelter had brought out the big guns by convincing a dealership to raffle a new car.
That got the locals flocking.
Ro, Lucie’s BFF, leaned in, nudging Joey with her shoulder. Blech. As much as Lucie loved them—yes, even Joey—she couldn’t get used to the two of them doing the nasty.
Or whatever it was they were doing.
“It’s too soon to panic,” Ro said. “Besides, this whole thing is for charity, right? Either way, I didn’t bust out my favorite Louboutins to see this dog go down in flames.”
Lucie glanced down at the hem of Ro’s skintight jeans. Today she’d paired the shoes with a red, plunging V-neck cashmere sweater that showed off her cleavage. The jaguar print booties—leave it to Ro to wear animal print to a dog show—with the four-inch spiked heels amped up the destroyer-of-men factor.
“She’s right,” Lucie said. “I mean whoever saw an eighty-five-pound Olde English bulldog rocking a limbo? It’s fantastic.”
And truly, it was. Otis’s owner, Mrs. Lutz, had spent hours teaching him to crab walk under a broomstick hovering a mere thirteen inches off the ground. At first, Lucie considered this limbo a little nuts, but then the timing of the whole thing hit her. Mrs. Lutz’s husband—Lucie’s former boss—had just been shipped off to serve a yearlong prison stint for financial fraud and she’d needed a distraction.
Go figure.
“Wha, wha,” Joey said. “I still want him to win.”
Of course he did. Being the degenerate gambler-slash-bookie that he was, her brother was probably taking action on this.
The next competitor, a tap dancing poodle, was announced and the crowd let out a whoop.
“Great,” Joey said. “Another dancing dog. And that Dachshund? He’s a problem. The way he sniffed that girl and then found her scarf?”
“Uh-maze-ing!” Ro sang, swinging her long sable hair over her shoulder.
Joey glared at her and she lifted her perfect chin. “Hey, the scarf was buried under all those smelly gym mats. All I’m saying is it took skill.”
Lucie shot off a text to Mrs. Lutz and then stood, lightly backhanding Tim on the shoulder. “I’m going to check on Otis and then see how Mom is doing. Wanna come?”
Tim stood and scanned the packed bleachers for the best exit route. Bodies in all directions. They’d have to push through.
Ro looked up at Lucie. “I texted your mom before Otis went on. We were running low on the Hawaiian print shirts. By now, they’ll be gone. I knew we should have made more of those.”
In addition to the fun of watching Otis limbo in front of thousands, Lucie had seen an opportunity for Coco Barknell, her fledgling dog accessory business. She and Ro, her V.P. of sales, had set up a booth near the gym’s entrance, featuring their bestselling jewel-studded collars and coats. They’d included three-dozen Hawaiian print shirts—the same shirt Otis wore while doing his limbo.
Who knew a market for doggie Hawaiian shirts existed?
Lucie high-fived Ro. “Next week, we need to get busy on more of those. Thanks to your brilliance.”
Yep, things on the Coco Barknell front were moving right along and that made Lucie one happy camper.
She and Tim dodged their way out of the gym into the equally busy—and stinky—hallway. Holy cannoli, they needed to check into booth availability at all local dog shows. With this many people in attendance, the possibilities for expanding Coco Barknell’s brand awareness might be endless.
“Detective,” Lucie said to Tim, “you might have to start badging people so we can get through this crush.”
He once again grinned down at her, smiling in that way that made his freckles and green eyes dance. Darn, the man was handsome. And buff. And sweet. And protective and…a whole bunch of other things that sent Lucie’s stomach fluttering every time he came within three feet.
One thing they both knew was Tim wouldn’t abuse his badge and even if she liked to tease him about it, she adored him for it.
Tim O’Brien. Tim O’Hottie, as Ro called him, might be the most honorable man Lucie knew.
He got her hormones firing in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. But in the six weeks they’d been dating, they were taking things slow. Slow, slow, kill-me-please, slow.
All because he wanted to make sure Lucie was over her ex.
“Excuse me,” Tim said to a man wearing a shirt with the dog show logo on it. “Where is the staging area for the dogs?”
The man pointed. “Take this hallway to the end and make a right. You need a pass, though, or one of the owners can get you in.”
“Thanks.”
Tim grabbed Lucie’s hand and drilled through the crowd, his big shoulders plowing right along. Miraculously, people moved out of his way. Even in his weekend wear of jeans and a pullover, he had that way about him. All six-feet-plus of commanding, in-charge muscle.
Oh, yes, O’Hottie. You will be mine.
At the end of the corridor, a beige-shirted security guard stood in front of a velvet rope—as if that would keep anyone out.
“Afternoon,” he said. “This area is restricted. Open viewing starts in thirty minutes.”
Lucie waved. “Hi. We’re friends of Otis Lutz. They’re expecting us.”
“Lutz?”
“Yepper. He’s the bulldog with the Hawaiian print shirt.”
The guard pointed two fingers. “That guy. He’s a pip.”
“Sure is.”
“I’m sorry, though. I can’t let you in. Not without the owner’s permission.”
“Woohoo!”
Lucie went up on tiptoes and peered over the guard’s shoulder to where Mrs. Lutz stood in a doorway not twenty feet away.
“That’s her,” Lucie said.
The guard stepped behind the rope line, walked to Mrs. Lutz, checked her badge, and said something while gesturing to Lucie and Tim.
Wow. Tight security. A good thing Lucie supposed.
“You’re all set,” the guard said when he returned. He uncli
pped the rope and waved them through.
Tim grabbed Lucie’s hand again—love that—and they strolled toward Mrs. Lutz. Being the wife of an investment banker, she had an I-have-money look about her, evident in the black silk blouse and designer slacks she wore. And with her shoulder length, poker-straight blond hair, she exuded elegance and poise.
At a dog show.
“Hi, Mrs. L.,” Lucie said. “This is Tim.”
Tim slid free from Lucie’s grasp and shook hands with Mrs. L. Wow, first time introducing Tim to a friend outside of Ro. Getting serious now.
After the two exchanged the normal nice-to-meet-you routine, Lucie held up two hands. “Otis did awesome!”
Mrs. L. beamed. “I know. I’m so proud of him. Come inside and see my baby.”
Today’s event, including the talent show, had drawn hundreds of dogs, all of them housed in this auxiliary gym for the day. Inside the gym stood rows of partitioned, bright yellow stalls. The only sound in the room belonged to chattering people.
No barking.
In a room filled with dogs.
Whatever training method these people used, Lucie needed it. But, hey, she never claimed to be a dog whisperer. She was just a girl trying to make ends meet by walking dogs while growing her accessory business.
She and Tim followed Mrs. L. past a few rows of stalls. Benched shows, like this one, required all dogs to stay inside the building while not competing. Unless, of course, nature called. Otherwise, the dogs were crated and in stalls containing a bench—thus a bench show. This allowed spectators to meet the owners, view the dogs, and discuss all things amazing about them.
Miraculously, some of the dogs slept while others simply sat watching the onlookers.
“Wow,” Lucie said. “Well-behaved dogs.”
Mrs. Lutz nodded. “The talent show dogs are all together in one row. My baby is right over here.”
She angled around a man leading a miniature pinscher toward the far exit and then turned left into the last row.
