Dog walking seemed like an innocent job… but the mob has its paws in everything.
Lucie Rizzo, investment banker. Status: unemployed.
It’s a hard fall from grace for Lucie to move back in with her mother until she lands on her feet again. Everything she did before was to get as far away as possible from her mob-infested family.
Still, Lucie’s determined to make things work. She begins with a part-time gig walking dogs for wealthy clients, and it inspires her to start her own pet accessory line. Frankie Falcone, her smoking-hot ex, wants to start again as if they never stopped. He’s no stranger to family ties with “the Family,” either, but she’s hardly one to throw stones.
What does concern Lucie is the kidnappings.
Well, petnappings. Someone local is abducting innocent dogs, and all of them belong to her upper-crust clients.
One pilfered pooch is bad enough. Three is a pattern. At this rate, Lucie will be out of business in days and on the ASPCA’s Most Wanted list. Unless she solves the mystery herself—and sends the dogjacking culprits straight to the pound.
It is full of humor, twists and turns and surprises. The characters are really well developed and the scenes are so well described that you can actually picture them in your head. This one is a five star read a must have if you love a good mystery and a great read.
Beware--cute dogs, humorous sleuthing, and hot romance ahead! This mystery will sink its fangs into your funny bone and drag you along by a leash of laughter. Lucie is an endearing and determined heroine who will collar your heart.
A fun mystery for romance lovers. USA Today bestseller Adrienne Giordano "… hits a home run once again with a fun mystery you can't put down."
Lucie Rizzo is a riot. This fast paced story will keep you turning pages. Fun characters, canines, chaos and a paroled mob boss’s daughter in love with a cop makes for a romantic comedy you won’t be able to put down. A pure delight from every angle—family, friends, fraud, and furry critters. Best in show!
On a lovely March day—if such a thing existed in Chicago—Lucia Rizzo led Miss Elizabeth, a Yorkie possessing the confidence of a runway model with a good boob job, across State Street’s lunchtime traffic and was nearly pancaked.
“Slow down!” she hollered at the errant driver.
A terrified Miss Elizabeth cowered on the sidewalk and Lucie scooped her up for a nuzzle. “Poor baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog sniffed, then licked Lucie’s chin. “You’re a sweet girl.”
Maybe this dog walking thing wasn’t so bad. Heaven knew the investment bankers in Lucie’s old office never got their faces licked during the workday. And if they had, surely a sexual harassment suit would follow.
Speaking of investment banking… “Okay, girl, playtime is over. You need to poop so I can get home and look for a job.”
She glanced at her watch. No time for delays in an already packed schedule.
The sound of heavy breathing pelted Lucie’s ears and she glanced over her shoulder to see a man on her heels. Some people had no respect for personal space. She gave him the Lucie Rizzo version of the narrow-eyed back-off-bub look. When the man didn’t respond to her obvious warning, she darted ahead, but Miss Elizabeth flopped to the ground with an effort that sent her sequined barrette dancing in the sunlight. Fabulous.
Lucie stared at the dog. “Get moving, girl.”
The dog could have been a statue.
A man wearing a red warm-up jacket strode toward them, his eyes focused on Miss Elizabeth in a way that caused a prickle of unease to snake up Lucie’s spine. Another space invader?
She reached for the dog, but hands clamped on her shoulders from behind and shoved her sideways. Her heart jackhammered, and the shove carried her step by step by step until the side of a red Camry loomed in her vision. Uh-oh. Incoming. With the force of a line drive hitting a windshield, Lucie plowed headfirst into the parked car.
Pain slammed into her as she landed on all fours, her right knee taking the blow from the pavement before she rolled to her back. Swirling white birds flapped above. She blinked, realizing they weren’t birds but white spots from the whack to her head.
Had she been mugged? Couldn’t be. She didn’t have a purse.
Panic forced the hour-old kraut dog to lurch up her throat. She shifted to her knees, propped her hands under her and waited for the evacuation of her lunch. She let out a slow breath and stared at her hands.
No vomit. Good.
No leash. Bad.
No dog. Very bad.