Red Sole Clues (12 page)

“Nobody move,” he said.

But when it came to her BFF, the one she’d had since kindergarten, straitjacket or not, Lucie was all Team Ro. “You know it, girlfriend.”

Tim stepped away, talking to someone on his phone just as Joey flew around the rear bumper of the last car in the row.

He charged toward them, his big body moving like an out of control freight train. Lucie prayed he didn’t roll right over them.

“We found him,” Ro said.

Joey halted and sucked a giant breath. “Seriously?”

Lucie gave him a thumbs up. “Yep.”

“Listen up.” This from Tim, who once again shoved his phone in his back pocket. “The cops are inside. They pulled in on the other side of the building. They’ll be here in a second to get Otis out.”

“Great,” Lucie said. “You wait here and we’ll go looking for the blonde.”

At that, Tim snorted. “Forget it. I’m
not
letting you two out of my sight. There are more cops on the way.
They’ll
find the blonde.”

“No way,” Ro said. “That’ll take too long and she might get away. Besides, we know who we’re looking for.”

Lucie grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed. Being somewhat straight-laced, he might need a little finessing. “She’s right, Tim. I promise, we’ll behave. If we find her, we’ll just follow her. Keep tabs until the police can arrest her. Eventually, she’d have to make her way back here anyway.”

Tim’s phone chose that moment to ring, momentarily saving her from a surefire lecture about staying out of police business and maintaining personal safety.

Tim O’Brien worried about her way too much. But she supposed that was one of things she adored about him. His never-ending concern for her well-being. Physically and emotionally.

She hit him with a smile. He grunted as he whipped his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. “Crap. I gotta get this.”

After he stepped away again, a distressed bark from the direction of the gym cracked the sounds of traffic from the main roadway. Lucie scanned the end of the row until she spotted what looked like a Scottish Terrier with an inky black coat tugging—really tugging—on its leash. The dog barked again. This time tinged with a cry.

Lucie brought her gaze up. As suspected, that damned blonde thief had grabbed another dog.

And Lucie started moving, running hard, her mind buzzing as she locked onto the blonde.

Get her.

She pumped her arms, her feet pounding the pavement as she drew closer to the woman, who finally looked up and saw the group surrounding her car. She dropped the leash and took off, running parallel to the building. But Lucie was on her. Maybe ten feet behind.

Get her.

“Luce,” Tim yelled.

Sorry, big guy. Can’t talk now.

“Dammit,” he said. “Joey, go after her.”

“I’ll get the Scottie,” Mr. Pickney said.

The blonde scooted around parked cars, trying to lose Lucie.
No way
. She kept on her, picking up speed, gaining ground with each step.

“Stay with her, Luce!”

Ro. From somewhere behind her, but Lucie couldn’t look. Couldn’t chance slowing down. She darted between cars, shortcutting it to the next aisle as the blonde headed for the edge of the lot.

And then the rotten thief did it. The one thing Lucie wouldn’t do.

She looked back.

Gotcha.

Kicking into her next gear, Lucie dug in, pumping her legs and arms. The woman skirted right. Lucie, now just a few feet behind, followed as she angled around the rear of a parked car.

Lucie leaped, just—
whoop
—flew right off her feet, across the back driver’s corner of the car and grabbed the blonde’s blouse. Losing her footing, the woman stumbled. Lucie hung on. Her left hip clipped the edge of the vehicle and—
wowza
—the stabbing pain shot up her leg, into her torso.

But she hung on as the blonde went to one knee. Lucie landed on her back.

Got her.

“Hang on, Luce,” Ro wailed. “I’m coming!”

But the blonde bucked and Lucie was suddenly airborne. She rolled right and rocked back, locking both hands around the thief’s ankle.

“Get off me!”

“Are you crazy?” Lucie clawed at the blonde’s leg, dragging herself up. “Do you know what that dog means to me?”

But this witch wouldn’t go down.

No more playing. Lucie threw her body weight into the blonde, bouncing them both to the ground. “Lady, you picked the wrong dog to steal.”

“Ahhhhh!”

The woman’s shrieks split Lucie’s skull. Everything went upside down as Lucie rolled with the blonde on top of her. She bucked and the two of them barrel rolled again, landing in the middle of the aisle, Lucie half on top.

Scrambling, she straddled the blonde, tried to grab her hands, but the woman swung and slapped, connecting with Lucie’s right cheek. Lucie dodged and started slapping back—
fwak, fwak, fwak
.

And then Ro’s feet, one shoe on and one off, appeared near the woman’s head.

Lucie kept swinging, blocking the blonde’s slaps, but looked up.

Ro stood over them, one shoe in hand, the skinny heel pointing outward. She scrunched her nose, bared her teeth and growled.

The sound must have triggered the blonde’s radar. Still slapping, she cocked her head up at Ro.

“Go ahead, witch,” Ro said, “make my day.”

“Roseanne!”

Joey’s voice. He stepped up, shook his head and ripped the shoe out of her hand. “Are you nuts or what?” He looked down, pointed at Lucie’s attacker. “Hit my sister again and you’ll deal with me.”

Instantly, the slapping stopped.
Dammit.
How did he do that? Just get people—and animals—to obey him.

“You,” Joey said to Lucie, “get up.”

Tim flew around the side of the car, his face a mix of stoic resolve and smirking amusement. “Everybody chill. Joey and Ro, step back.”

The blonde looked up as he badged her.

“Ugh,” she said.

He snapped his wallet closed. “Yeah, bad day for you.”

Not knowing what else to do, Lucie put her hands up. That’s what criminals always did on television.

Tim snorted. “Honey, this isn’t a stick up. Put your arms down.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do.” She pointed at the blonde. “She hit me.”

“You jumped on me. What was I supposed to do?”

Ro lunged. “That’s it.”

“Hey.” Joey body blocked her. “You settle down. Tim’s got this.” He jerked his chin. “Let’s go. Over there. I’m always turned on by a good chick fight, but you’re not helping.”

My brother the idiot.

Tim held his hand out and lifted Lucie off the blonde. His gaze wandered to her cheek where she’d gotten hit, his gentle fingers turning her face so he could get a better look. “You okay?”

“Yeah. She didn’t get a good shot.”

A police cruiser pulled into the aisle and two cops jumped out.

Again, Tim held up his badge. That sucker was seeing a lot of action today.

“Hey, fellas. Detective Tim O’Brien. Chicago PD.” He pointed to the blonde still on the ground. “This woman just tried to steal two dogs. She’s all yours.”

W
hile Tim dealt
with the police and the arrest of the evil blonde, Lucie stood in the hallway in front of the auxiliary gym watching the Pickneys and Marlowe being interviewed by Melanie and her fabulous cameraman, Glen.

The two of them were in the midst of a fantastic scoop. Who knew a local dog show packed such drama?

“So,” Melanie said, her bright pink lips fanning wide, “our Marlowe here is quite the hero.”

Mrs. Pickney beamed. “He sure is. I’m thrilled we were here to help.”

Tim wandered up next to Lucie and dropped his arm over her shoulder. “Hey, pretty lady.”

She leaned into him, rested her head against him and breathed in the clean scent of his laundry soap. Everything about Tim O’Brien felt…good.

Like home.

“Hey yourself, Detective. What’s happening?”

“Your dognapper is on her way to lockup and Super Weiner earned himself a commendation.”

Lucie laughed. “Super Weiner?”

“Catchy, no?”

“Brilliant. And what about the evil blonde? What happens next?”

Tim shrugged. “She lawyered up, but we got enough out of her to know the Scottie was her original target. Then she spotted Otis and his limbo and all bets were off.”

Lucie’s mouth dropped open. Just dumbstruck. “Are you
kidding
me? Seriously?”

“As serious as a heart attack, babe.”

Babe.
She loved when he called her that. It didn’t happen all that often, but something about the way it rolled off his tongue made her giddy.

“So,” Lucie said, “she came here to steal the Scottie. Why?”

Tim shrugged. “She
claims
she wanted him for herself.”

“You don’t believe her?”

For months now, Tim had been assisting on an investigation into a dog theft ring operating in the Midwest. They couldn’t pin down where the ring was headquartered, but dogs all over Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin and Indiana were disappearing from dog shows.

“Not for a second,” he said. “This is standard for the dog theft ring. Whoever is running it sends a minion out to grab a dog. We can’t catch the son of a bitch.” He pumped his thumb toward the door. “The blonde isn’t talking. Hopefully her lawyer will wise her up to the fact that she just committed a felony and could do a few years.”

“Jail time? Really?”

“Oh, yeah. And if the prosecutor or judge is an animal lover? She’s toast.”

Burn, baby, burn.

Tim glanced around. “Where are Joey and Ro?”

“They were fighting. I sent them outside.”

“Aren’t they always fighting?”

True enough. With them the fighting was foreplay. Blech.

“Well, yeah, but the noise interfered with the interviews and I didn’t want them distracting anyone from Marlowe. By the time we’re done here, they’ll be making up and looking for a corner where they can hump each other.”

Tim grinned, then dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Too damned cute, Luce.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“It sure is.”

Melanie finished her interview with Marlowe and welcomed Mrs. Lutz and the fabulous Otis, winner of the talent competition.

“Woohoo!” Lucie clapped and pumped a fist. “Yay, Otis!”

Mrs. Lutz grinned at her and Lucie gave her a double thumbs up, even though she believed the fix was in. Truly, there was no way Otis’s limbo topped Marlowe’s sniffing skills. But since Marlowe got to be the hero, the judges more than likely had taken pity on Otis due to his trauma.

Either way, Lucie didn’t care. In her mind, both deserved whatever attention they’d get. As soon as she got home, she’d pick out something fun and blingy for each of them from Coco Barknell’s inventory. These dogs would be styling.

She slid her arm around Tim’s waist. “What do you say, Detective? Want to call this case closed and blow this joint?”

“Do I get to spend the rest of the day with you?”

“If I have anything to say about it you do.”

He nodded then dipped his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth, lingering for just a few seconds before pulling back. “Race you to the car.”

The End

USA Today
bestselling author Adrienne Giordano
writes romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports obsessed son and Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist (Terrier). She is a co-founder of Romance University blog and Lady Jane’s Salon-Naperville, a reading series dedicated to romantic fiction. For more information on Adrienne’s books, please visit
www.AdrienneGiordano.com
. Adrienne can also be found on Facebook at
facebook.com/AdrienneGiordanoAuthor
, Twitter at
twitter.com/AdriennGiordano
and Goodreads at
goodreads.com/AdrienneGiordano
. For information on Adrienne’s street team,
Dangerous Darlings
, go to
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.

Thank you for reading
Dog Collar Limbo
. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Lucie and the gang. If you did, please help others find it by:

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The Lucie Rizzo Mystery Series

Dog Collar Crime

Dog Collar Knockoff

Dog Collar Couture

Dog Collar Limbo

As with any project (even the short ones) there are people to thank.

John, Mara and Josh Leach, thank you for once again humoring me and letting me use your dog to complete a Lucie book. I never get tired of him. Thank you to Amy Hansen for the friendship and for saving me with the small details on television cameras.

A big thanks to Jolene Cazzola, whom I met randomly one day, but who wound up being an amazing resource for all things dog show related.

Scott Silverii and John Leach, thank you for never snickering (at least to my face) about the nutty law enforcement questions I ask.

Thank you always to my husband and son for the constant support. Without you, I couldn’t do this job that I love. I love you.

A Tiger’s Eye Mystery

Copyright © 2016 Alesia Holliday

J
ack Shepherd never
would have gotten involved in the mystery of who shot Santa if it hadn’t been for the red-soled, high-heeled shoes. Well, the shoes, and the long, shapely female legs attached to the feet wearing the shoes. He didn’t pinpoint the source of the problem until later, though, when yet another Christmas Eve was almost over, and Hope Springs, Utah was only a twinkle in the rearview mirrors of his Harley.