Project Produce

by Kari Lee Harmon

  The man spoke in a hushed voice. “Let me show you.”

  Whipping the can of pepper spray out in front of me, I said, “Back off.”

  The guy looked at the can and hitched a shoulder as he took a step toward me.

  What on earth? I glanced at my shaking hand and... and nearly dropped Gloria’s flipping deodorant. “Really, I would back off. Way off. I smell bad. Horrible, in fact.”

  He just stared at me, his brows narrowing. Okay, if I couldn’t use the deodorant as a weapon, I had to stall him until I could think of something else. I gritted my teeth and proceeded to spray my non-smelly pits, then I slipped the useless can beneath the counter and tried not to freak out.

  “So, would you like a double bed or a queen?” I perused the ledger to see what was available, hoping the guy would just take a room and leave me alone.

  “I’m more the king-size kind of guy. Can’t you tell?”

  I gawked at the little man. King-size? Maybe in his dreams. “Sorry, sir. We’re fresh out.” Men. I wanted to believe there were some good ones left, but time and again they proved me wrong. I had a feeling they were all the same.

  “I don’t need a room.”

  “Okay.” I watched his stubby tongue moisten his dry, cracked lips and tried not to vomit. This was so not what I needed right now. “Well, then, how else can I help you, sir?”

  His eyes were glazed, and the excitement emanating from them sent shivers up my spine. I stood and racked my brain for the best way to handle the situation. Just because I was a fresh-faced blonde from a small town, people tended to think I was an airhead. That usually made me angry, but maybe it could work in my favor right now.

  He didn’t answer but panted like a dog.

  Eew!

  Our eyes met and he tugged his gloves on tighter then slid his hands in his pockets. I didn’t want to, in fact, I tried like heck not to, but the devil in me made me look. My whole body jerked, and I gasped at the tent poking out the front of his Trench coat, his hands fiddling beneath the fabric. Either he had a bad case of jock itch, or there was some serious pocket pool being played. Judging by the sick smile on his face, I was betting on the latter.

  My skin crawled and fear shot through me, followed by a layer of anger. I’d gone through enough to escape my past and make a new life for myself, thank you very much. No way would I let some “flasher wannabe” ruin things for me.

  Flasher Freak took a step toward the desk, so I put the small-town, dumb-blonde plan into action. “Listen, mister, we have very little cash in the till after dark. You aren’t going to get much for your trouble.” I emptied the cash register into a trash bag, stalling. I knew he wasn’t a robber, but I had to do something to take his mind off any other notions he might be entertaining.

  “Money?” he sputtered, then took another step toward me. “Let me show you what I really want.”

  Oh, I had a pretty good idea what he really wanted, but I had no desire to check out his cue stick. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and told myself I could handle this. “Ahhh, you’re more into jewelry. I should’ve known with the king-size bed and all. Gotta go for the big guns, right? Sorry to tell you, but you hit up the wrong hotel if you wanted jewels.”

  His forehead wrinkled and he paused, then he started to round the desk. I blocked his path, my heart in my throat. His eyebrows shot up, but he recovered and reached for me. Using the element of surprise, I functioned solely on adrenaline as I tossed the bag at his chest. He snatched it out of reflex, stumbling back a step. While his hands were occupied, I commandeered his elbow, towering over him.

  He looked dazed as I maneuvered him around while I talked, laying on a thick Ellie-May-takes-on-New-York accent, and striving to keep my voice calm. “Whoa there, Mister. I can be kind of unsettling, I know. But don’t you worry none, you’ll get your bearings in a jiffy.” I reached for the door, and he snapped out of it like he’d just now caught on to my game plan. I had to hurry. “Have a nice day, but don’t ya come back now, ya hear?”

  He narrowed his eyes and lunged for me, but I ducked then kicked him hard. He stumbled out the door and I turned the lock, my heart hammering through my chest. When I realized I was safe, I wilted in relief, and a sense of accomplishment settled in. I had faced my fear and stood up for myself for the first time since I could remember, and it felt fantastic.

  Dumb blonde, my behind.

  “Hey, wait a minute... I was supposed to... but you wouldn’t let me. What the hell just happened here?”

  I smiled through the window. Couldn’t help it. “I’m confident you’ll figure it out soon enough. You really should cover your legs this time of year, ya know. And wear some socks. You’re liable to catch pneumonia.”

  His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at his bare, hairy legs then back up at me like I was from outer space. He wasn’t too far off. My hometown wasn’t even on the map.

  “Go on, now, shoo. I’ve got work to do.” I strode over to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the police.

  He stood still, staring dumbstruck through the glass, so I raised my voice. “Better yet, stay there. I’m sure the police will appreciate you making their job easier.”

  Flasher Freak blasted me with an evil little smile then opened his coat and did a little dance, giving me a full view of his wiggling package. I watched him bolt down the street. His combat boots smacking the pavement and Trench coat flapping in the frigid winter breeze left me with one insane thought hammering through my tired, overworked brain.

  “Darn it, there goes my pickle!”

  ***

  Note to self: Pickles are a strange breed.

  Back on my perch, listening to the hum of the fluorescent lights above, I tried to put Flasher Freak’s little peep show out of my mind. Glancing up, I looked out the window. For a moment, I thought I was imagining things, but then I saw something move again from the edge of my vision. A shadow peeked around the corner through the window and swayed from side to side. A streak of silver flashed. The outside light reflected off the barrel of a gun, then the gunman crouched down and crept toward the front door of the motel. I watched in fascination, until it hit me.

  Flasher Freak had come back, and he had a gun.

  This couldn’t happen twice, could it? My mind raced, contemplating how to handle this latest development. After I’d hung up with the police, I’d unlocked the door in case any other psychos wanted to rent a room at this high-rise version of the Bates Motel. And I honestly hadn’t thought the flasher would be stupid enough to return when I had a positive I.D. on him.

  Okay, so I made a mistake. Huge surprise there. I surged to my feet and grabbed the phone then tried to reach the door first. Too late. The door creaked open, and a gun barrel appeared. I froze. Trapped.

  A man poked his head in the door and looked side-to-side as he scanned the room. Ho, baby. My stomach hit my throat and then plummeted to the floor. I exhaled a huge puff of air.

  He sure as heck wasn’t Flasher Freak.

  Flasher Freak didn’t have thick dark hair. Although I couldn’t be sure how thick, since this guy had pulled it back in a sleek, black ponytail. But the slight curls flowing down his neck said soft and full, and a silky-looking goatee circled the sexiest set of lips I’d ever seen. I didn’t even want to think about the muscled neck sporting a gold chain, which could only mean firm biceps to match. And the small gold hoop that shone in the light at his ear? In a word, yummy.

  God, why did I have to be such a sucker for bad boys? Bad boys equaled trouble. Men, in general, equaled trouble. Something I didn’t need any more of. Then I blinked at the pair of mirrored sunglasses shielding his eyes. Sunglasses? At night? I shook my head. “Dangerous” came to mind. Dangerous and... delicious. I swallowed, terrified, but all I could think about was playing “pocket pool” with Hot Britches.

  Gloria was right. I had serious issues.

  He seemed to hesitate when he looked at me, then he reached in his pocket. I held my bre
ath, but he came up empty-handed and cursed. “Detective Cabrizzi, ma’am,” he whispered. “Is the suspect still here?”

  Detective? He didn’t look anything like the Detectives I’d met back home. Not that you could compare small-town USA to Queens. Still, where was his badge? I needed proof.

  “Not anymore,” I whispered back, “he went that way.” I pointed down the road, hoping he’d look and then leave. “Cops are on their way,” I added. Bad guys didn’t usually like hanging around good guys. At least in the movies I’d seen, they didn’t. I clenched the phone in my hands, fumbling for the numbers. This guy, hot or not, had a gun pointed in my general direction.

  He frowned at me. “I’m gonna check the place out.”

  He still had that darn gun raised as he scouted around the room. “Uh, okay. I’ll just stand here, I guess.”

  He looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what was going on beneath those darn sunglasses. “You do that,” he said, then continued to move around the room, opening doors and checking closets.

  “The suspect appears to be long gone,” Hot Britches mused, his six-foot-two inch frame stopping right in front of me. Two whole inches taller than me. That thought shot straight to my libido. He looked like he’d poured his muscular body into a pair of faded Levi jeans with holes in the knees. Fine black hairs curled enticingly in the deep V of his light blue T-shirt, and a black leather jacket set off the sexy ensemble.

  Eight ball, corner pocket.

  Stop that, you wacko.

  I yanked my eyes back up, my mouth going dry. I had never seen a man that gorgeous in my life. “Long gone. Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Good Lord, I really had gone crazy. Time to figure out a plan to get rid of the bad boy, fast.

  I risked another peek at the impressive bulge cradled by his revealing jeans, and my eyes nearly crossed. Hot Britches was no pickle, I’d bet the last of my savings on it. My gaze dropped lower, and my mouth fell open. I stood there like an imbecile, gawking at what had to be size twelve or thirteen boots. Holy Mother of God, I had no idea they made them that big. And by ‘them,’ I meant his feet, not his...

  “I’ll need to ask you a few questions, ma’am.” Hot Britches slid his gun into the shoulder holster under his jacket. He set a trash bag on the floor by his boots and pulled off his gloves.

  My brain said he had to be a cop. He acted like a cop, but I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t trust my judgment when it came to men, and that was the same trash bag I’d thrown at Flasher Freak. He must’ve dropped it outside, making easy pickings for this guy, so why come inside? Unless he wanted a little something more. I moaned.

  The man snapped his head in my direction. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

  “Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?” A shiver raced down my spine. I was stunned and a little disturbed to realize it wasn’t entirely generated from fear. That settled it. I’d lost my mind completely. I’d left scandal behind with my old life, only to invite craziness into my new one. I snorted in disgust at myself and started choking.

  “What is it? Do you see something?” He spun around on the balls of his massive snakeskin boots and drew his weapon at a lightning-quick speed.

  This was my chance to act. Trust me, I didn’t hesitate. “Y-Yes. I saw a man outside the window.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded so fast my head hurt.

  He shoved me behind him. “Get down while I check it out.”

  I flopped onto the floor, until Hot Britches stepped out on the sidewalk and searched the street. Springing to my feet, I sped to the door like my life depended on it--my sanity sure as heck did--then I turned the lock.

  Click!

  He whirled around. “What are you doing?”

  “I called the cops,” I said with a shaky breath.

  “I know.” He just stared at me.

  “They’re on their way. Any second now, they’ll be barreling through this door.” I looked out, hoping to see a patrol car, a person, anything. Nothing but a vintage car. What crazy person left that there? It was a wonder no-one had stolen it yet. My knees knocked and I prayed the glass was bulletproof, but I had to stay calm. Losing my head would probably get me killed.

  His mouth fell open, and he hesitated a beat before he responded, “Look-it, lady, I am the police.”

  I folded my arms and arched a brow. Maybe. But I still couldn’t be sure. “Yeah, then where’s your badge?”

  “These are my street clothes. I’ve been undercover and came straight here when I heard the call. Forgot my badge at the office. Now, do us both a favor and open up.”

  I could hear police sirens off in the distance, and obviously, so could he. His mouth formed a hard line, making it clear he did not want to be caught in this predicament. My gut told me he wouldn’t hurt me, but then again, my gut stunk when it came to men. No way would I let this guy in.

  “You really expect me to believe you’re the police without proof?” I surveyed every inch of him and sighed in regret. “Of course you are. You can be anything you want to be, but please, be it somewhere else. Hurry up and shoo, now.” I swept my hand at him, then repeated, “Shoo, shoo. I’d hate to see you get into trouble.” The funny thing was I meant it. I’d just narrowly escaped being assaulted, yet here I was trying to help him get away. I frowned.

  His shoulders shook as though he were trying to hold back a laugh, probably at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Then his smile faded and he stared at me, probably trying to figure me out.

  Good luck, pal. I’ve been trying to figure me out for thirty years, and I’m still not there yet.

  His sunglasses made it impossible to know what he was looking at. I squirmed. I’d always hated being the center of attention. The only reason I’d worked in my parents’ general store instead of going to college was because I’d thought they needed me. Twelve years wasted for being wrong. It still hurt to admit it, but they only needed me when everything went according to “their” plan.

  I cleared my throat and pulled my shirt away from my neck, suddenly warm. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance to escape. Why don’t I call the police again? I’m sure they can clear this up.”

  He seemed to shake himself back into consciousness. “No. Don’t do that. C’mon, let me in, and I’ll explain.”

  I ignored him and dialed the police as I watched him pinch the bridge of his nose and blow out a breath. He walked to the street and kicked a big whitewall tire, then leaned against the hood of the classic red Mustang. So he was the crazy person with the vintage car. Kind of a noticeable car for a crook. Maybe he moonlighted as a car thief.

  The patrol officer arrived on the scene and joined Hot Britches while I verified with the man on the phone that Detective Dylan Cabrizzi was the real deal. After I hung up, I poked my head out the door. “Come on in. When I described you,” I jerked my chin in the Detective’s direction, “your captain assured me you’re not a criminal.”

  The patrol officer coughed into his fist.

  “Oh, and he said he wanted to speak with you first thing in the morning. Something about standard procedure.”

  “Great. Can we get on with this? I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure. I have some questions, too.” I led the way into the lobby.

  “Peterson, stand watch.”

  “Okay. But, um,” when Peterson paused, I glanced over my shoulder and watched him grin wide, “maybe you should get your badge, Cabrizzi. We wouldn’t want the poor victim forgetting you’re not a hoodlum.” He slapped Dylan on the shoulder.

  “And maybe you should can it, Peterson. We wouldn’t want you forgetting I outrank you.” Dylan returned the slap to Peterson’s back, and Peterson’s smile slipped a little.

  “No problem.”

  “Good.” Dylan entered the lobby and closed the door.

  Yes, indeed, it had been one very long day, but it wasn’t over yet. In fact, things were starting to look up. Detective Hot Britches wasn’t a lo
ser after all, not that I had any intention of getting involved with him. He was a man, and in my experience, that was just as bad. Nope, he wasn’t the perfect guy for me. No man was.

  But he just might be my perfect zucchini.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I put a pot of coffee on, then motioned for Detective Cabrizzi to sit.

  He glanced at the ugly excuse for a chair and said, “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  I couldn’t really blame him. I’d watched T.V. The icky stuff the CSI guys dug up in dirty motels turned my stomach. I didn’t want to sit in those chairs, either, but the adrenaline rush had left me exhausted. I wasn’t about to strain my neck just to answer his questions, so I breezed by him and sat, trying not to think about what might be wiggling beneath my derriere. Folding my hands in my lap, I stared at him.

  “Okay, I’ll sit.” He sat, pulling out a notepad and pen from his leather jacket. “Why don’t we start with your full name. For the record.”

  I didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him.

  “Look. I can’t help you if you don’t answer my questions.”

  “And I can’t help you if you don’t take off your glasses. I don’t trust a man whose eyes I can’t see.” I didn’t trust men, period, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Sorry. Forgot I had them on.” He removed his mirrored sunglasses.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I exhaled on a whoosh.

  “What?”

  “N-Nothing. Your eyes. They’re just...” I smiled. “They’re fake, aren’t they?”

  “Come again?” He blinked at me.

  “Come on, fess up. You have to be wearing contacts. There’s no way that sparkling sapphire blue is natural. And your lashes. Good Lord, they’re long.”

  He cocked a brow. “I assure you, ma’am, there’s not a thing on me that’s fake.”

  My eyes dropped to his crotch, and I wanted to smack myself silly. Yanking my gaze back up to his sizzling eyes, I gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Um, where were we?”