Project Produce

by Kari Lee Harmon

  “Anyway, he starts spoutin’ off all the things that ain’t up to code. I thought Simpson’s face was gonna explode.” She giggled. “You shoulda seen him. He started to pick a fight with Mr. Clean, so Cleanie shut us down. Simple as that.” She sighed and took another sip. “Can’t say Simpson didn’t deserve it, but I needed that job.”

  “We needed that job.” I drummed my fingers on the white Formica table, trying to figure out what I was going to do now. My savings had run out, and there was no way I would go to my parents for help. They’d been horrified and tried to keep me from going out in public until the scandal talk died down, making me feel like Quasimodo. So I took matters into my own hands and left. They didn’t even know where I’d run to, but at least they no longer had to be embarrassed or ashamed to be seen with me. “I don’t get it. Simpson’s place has always been a dump. Why close it down now?”

  “Honey, wake up and smell the latte. Someone put pressure on the health department, that’s all there is to it.”

  I blinked. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t go that far, would he? “Was anyone else there, or just Mr. Clean?”

  “Mr. Clean came all by his stumpy little self and then stayed until we left.”

  I relaxed.

  “Wait, there was this one hot tamale standing outside all day next to a classic car. Calliente. Wish I had a ride like that, chica, and I don’t mean the wheels.”

  I choked. “Classic car?”

  “Oooh, yeah, a real muscle car, as sleek and fine as him. I was just about to talk to him, but he folded that gorgeous body into his ride and drove away before I had a chance.” Gloria sighed. “Too bad. He had the biggest damn feet I’ve ever seen. Could’ve been a great subject for your project, especially if you’re planning on any hands-on research. Hell, I would’ve volunteered to be your assistant for that job.” She winked and took another sip. “Want some?”

  I stood up and went over to the sink for a glass of water, but when a cloudy stream trickled out of the spout, I thought better of it. “No thanks,” I said, shelving the glass. “I’m suddenly not feeling well. I’m going out for some air.”

  “Be careful. There are some nasty scumbuckets out there.”

  “I will. You going to be around when I get back?”

  “Nah. Gotta head into the city and hit the club scene if I’m ever gonna make the big-time as a singer.”

  “Good luck.” I pulled on my Eskimo parka, hat, and mittens and then grabbed my coke-bottle-thick glasses. I had new contacts, but the frustrating things still took way too long to get in. Right now I didn’t have the time or the patience, so I headed outside and a blast of cold air hit me in the face. I welcomed the icy numbness. Maybe it would cool off the boiling rage burning up my insides. I knew exactly what scumbucket had put pressure on Mr. Clean, and I had a pretty good idea where to find him.

  Before I knew it, I stepped off the subway, jogged up the stairs, and walked along the dark street toward the motel. The dirty slush on the sidewalk glowed in the moonlight, and a soft mist started to fall. I took my glasses off to wipe away the water spots when they slipped out of my hands.

  Struggling to find the glasses, I heard a crunch. Shoot. My worst nightmare had come true. Blind as a bat. Picking up the broken remains, I shoved them in my pocket and then tightened my coat, feeling creeped-out by the shadows around every corner.

  I took this route to work every night. It wasn’t like I had a car, and I couldn’t afford a cab, so I hopped the subway as far as I could and walked the rest. But tonight the streets were nearly empty.

  I walked faster and the wind picked up, then my puffy hood got caught on the branch of a bush. I tugged at the hood, trying to free it, but the branch held fast, and I swore I heard a rustling behind the bush.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “Oh, I am so not in the mood for this.” I yanked harder. The rustling increased, and my breathing turned choppy, but my hood finally gave way and the branch snapped back into place.

  Oh, God. I glanced over my shoulder, but didn’t see anything, so I kept walking. Shoving my hands in my pocket, I frowned, then searched the inside for my keys. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I hated the thought of going back by that bush, but Gloria would kill me if I lost her extra set of keys. I listened, but I didn’t hear anything, so I turned around and jogged back in the direction I’d just come from. The rustling started up again like an animal scurrying around.

  Stay calm, I ordered myself, and looked around for a weapon, but then it grew quiet again. I leaned forward and squinted. Still nothing. Then I looked down. “Thank God.” I bent over and snatched up my dropped keys, then headed back toward the hotel as quick as I could.

  Booking it down the street, I didn’t stop until I reached Simpson’s Sanctuary, trying not to pee my pants. And I hadn’t even had any kids yet.

  A piece of paper taped to the front door of the motel caught my attention. I leaned forward until my nose hovered two inches away as I struggled to make out the words.

  I already knew what it said, but I’d hoped Simpson would find a loophole somehow. Fat chance. Simpson wasn’t smart enough, and the scumbucket had made sure that wouldn’t happen. Why, why, why did men feel like they had to take charge and control everything?

  I balled my fists. “Why you little--”

  “Looks like you need my assistance after all,” said a familiar voice from behind me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” I jumped a foot, made the sign of the cross, then spun around. Whipping my hands in front of me in a self-defense position like I’d seen on TV, I scrunched up my face in determination.

  Detective Cabrizzi stepped out of the shadows behind me, looked me over, and then nodded with a smirk. “Ma’am.”

  Okay, so I probably looked more like I was constipated than trying to defend myself, but at least I had done something. I relaxed my fists and took a deep breath to slow the bongos hammering against my chest. “Darn you.” I dropped my keys yet once again. “Do you always sneak up on unsuspecting women like that?”

  “Well, no, ma’am.” His smirk faded, but his eyes still smiled. Of course he’d have sexy crow’s feet.

  I frowned. “And that’s another thing. I hate ma’am. It makes me feel like your grandmother, or something.”

  “Believe me, ma’am is better than being compared to my fifth grade teacher. Her name was Ms. MacDonald, too.” He grimaced. “Not a pretty picture.” His gaze roamed over me. “You, on the other hand, are quite a sight.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “That was a compliment, ma’am.” He grinned.

  “Well, find another name, please.”

  He shrugged. “How ‘bout Mac?”

  “Mac?” He had to be kidding.

  “Mickey D’s is already taken, and MD makes me think of a doctor. It’s either Mac or Supersized.” A cockeyed grin hooked the corner of his full, blurry lips. “Something tells me you’d prefer Mac.”

  “Cute.” Not. But Hot Britches was, darn it. Even without my glasses, I could see he still looked hot. I, on the other hand, was positive I did not. I tugged my knit hat down over my ears and then smoothed my bulky mittens down the front of my Eskimo parka. Nope, definitely not hot. “Except Mac sounds like a man’s name, and I’m not a man.”

  His gaze roamed over every inch of me, and his eyes heated. “I can see that.”

  My stomach flipped. I might not be hot, but apparently, I wore the musher look well. Then Dylan locked those sapphire-blue laser beams onto my eyes, and the U.S. Gymnastics team decided to hold practice beneath my ribcage. I swayed, looking away. “I knew you’d be here, but I didn’t expect you to scare me half to death.”

  “I thought you were a big girl. You said you could handle yourself.” When he inched closer to me, I just about had an asthma attack. And I didn’t even have asthma.

  I started to step back but caught myself. “I can.” I tried for a glare, but I had a s
inking feeling my pale green gaze looked more like a flashlight low on batteries than a laser. So I hoisted my chin for good measure.

  “Yeah, with what? I bet you don’t even have pepper spray,” he said.

  No, but I smell good, I thought, remembering Gloria’s deodorant. “Don’t need it.”

  Dylan eyed my thick mittens and puffy coat. “Hell, even if you did have pepper spray, it’d take you a year to find it in that getup. Where do you get your clothes, Mac?”

  “From parents who haven’t got a clue, Zuc.”

  “Zuc?” He arched a black brow.

  Shoot. “Uh, I meant... Duke.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just my little nickname for you, Dukeypoo.” I poked him with my mitten, feeling like a complete fool. His brow hit his hairline this time, so I pulled my mittens on a little tighter and then held my hands out in front of me as I took a detour on the conversation path. “I don’t need any pepper spray, Detective Cabrizzi. I have these.”

  He slanted those cute blurry lips into that irritating, over-confident smile, and the strongest urge to reach out and pull his goatee swept over me. “What are those supposed to be? Let me guess. The small-town version of boxing gloves?” he asked.

  Smart-alec. I threw him a stiff smile. “Why, Detective, you surprise me. I thought you knew we hillbillies don’t box. We wrassle. But it don’t take much to wrassle a city boy, seein’ as how they don’t have much in the way of brains and all.” I looked him up and down. “Care to go a round?”

  “Ouch.” He slapped his hand over his heart.

  “You deserved that.”

  “Touché.”

  The icy wind blew crystals into my face, stinging my cheeks. Cold, tired, and in no mood to play games, I stabbed the sign taped to the front door of the motel. “Is this your way of making me lose my job?”

  “Hey, all I did was pass along your tip that your boss operates under questionable practices. We suspect the motel might be a front for prostitution. Closing this place down was a given, but the usual procedure would take too long. Calling the health department was quicker.”

  Prostitution? Figured. But that was neither here nor there. I couldn’t believe Hot Britches had interfered with my life. Who did he think he was? “Looks like you got your way after all. How do you expect me to eat?” I turned around and marched back toward the subway.

  He fell into step beside me and matched his long strides with mine. “Hey, wait a minute. It had nothing to do with getting my own way.”

  Ignoring him, I kept walking.

  “At least let me give you a ride home,” he said.

  I picked up the pace.

  “Dammit, Callie, hear me out.”

  My steps faltered over the sound of my name on his lips, but I kept trucking along, too mad to talk. How was I supposed to live without a job?

  He slowed his pace and fell behind. A twinge of disappointment trickled through me. Hmmm. He hadn’t put up much of a fight. Not that I wanted him to, I reminded myself. Five minutes later, the deep rumble of an engine purred along the streets behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who followed. Looked like Hot Britches was a fighter, after all.

  Score one for him, I conceded, then stopped walking. God, I was getting too old for these games. Rounding the hood of his car, I found the door handle and climbed in, glancing around at the refurbished interior. What I could see of it, anyway. “Nice car.”

  “Yup, she’s a beauty.”

  “She?”

  “Big Betty. Try to beat her in a race, and she’ll whoop your... well, you get the picture.” He revved up the engine and peeled away from the curb.

  I rolled my eyes. Typical guy. We didn’t speak again until he pulled into the driveway of... holy cow, my apartment complex. “How do you know where I live?”

  “I’m a Detective. It’s what I do.”

  Duh, Cal. “Well, do it with someone else, please.”

  He looked at me. “You’re a witness, and that freak is still on the loose. It’s my job, Mac.”

  He was right, and I knew it. I just didn’t want him looking into my background, terrified he’d find out about the scandal and judge me like everyone else had. And I wanted to make a fresh start on my own.

  “Listen, I knew you’d be upset about losing your job, so I called in a few favors. You know how it is.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, I don’t know how it is.” What was going on behind those blasted mirrored sunglasses of his? “Why don’t you tell me how it is, and what these favors have to do with me?”

  “I’ve lived in the neighborhood forever. Favors seem to fall in my lap. Thought I’d pass one on to you, is all.” He flashed his straight white teeth.

  Great. Another flasher. “What did you do, get me a job? Why? You barely know me.” My resolve softened, but I was afraid to let my guard down. Afraid to trust he would do something nice for me without an ulterior motive. I’d come to learn if something seemed too good to be true, then it probably was.

  He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “Hell, I don’t know why. Call it a moment of guilt. You sounded like you needed this job. I happened to know of a better one in a nicer hotel, that’s all.”

  “Well, I appreciate the offer, but I told you I can take care of myself.” I’d let Bob call the shots in our relationship, and look where it had ended. With him arrested, and me mortified beyond belief. Mortified, depressed, and completely alone.

  Note to self: Rock bottom is not a pretty place to be.

  Dylan ignored me. “Your shift will be in the afternoon right after your class, so your evenings will be free to study, and you can sleep at night. Don’t be stubborn, Mac. There’s no shame in accepting help.”

  “Shame has nothing to do with it. And how do you know when my class is?”

  “I went to college. Just assumed it was during the day.” He flashed his pearly whites again, looking like a fuzzy star in a toothpaste commercial.

  He was right. I couldn’t afford to turn down a perfect opportunity out of stubborn pride, and I really couldn’t take keeping Dracula’s hours anymore. I swallowed. “I’ll take it, thank you. Any way you can get my friend, Gloria, a job? She has to pay rent, too.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He handed me a piece of paper with the job details. “You start tomorrow.”

  I squinted at the job listing. “Okay. But I will pay back the favor. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, Detective.”

  “Dinner sounds like a good payback to me.” He glanced at me.

  My lips parted, but I couldn’t think of a word to say. “That’s not what I had in mind,” I hedged.

  He shrugged. “You said you had to eat. Besides, you’re the one who said you owed me. This is how I choose to collect. Do you have a problem with that, Callie?”

  My name sounded so sexy on those sculptured lips, my heart pinged like I’d hit the jackpot in a pinball game. Oh, yeah. I had a problem, all right. The last thing I needed was to fall under his spell and wind up in another scandal, even if said scandal was positively gorgeous. Although, I did have a project to finish and some questions that needed answering, so I had a reason to say yes. Or so I kept telling myself.

  “Dinner will be fine. Then we’re even, and I have a few questions you can answer for me, agreed?”

  “Whatever you say.” He smiled wide, but I got the impression answering my questions was the last thing on his mind.

  “So, when will this, um, payment take place?” I asked, not sure what to call it.

  “This date will take place as soon as I check my schedule,” he replied. “I’ll call you to work out the details.”

  “Okay. Well, Detective, thanks for the ride home.” I fumbled around for the door handle.

  “Something wrong?”

  “New contacts. Didn’t have the time or patience to try to put them in, and my glasses broke. Can’t see worth diddly, Dukeypoo.”

  He shook his head, wearing an odd smile. “Here, let m
e.” Then he reached across my lap to open the door at the same time I leaned forward, and we bumped heads.

  “Ow.” I lifted my mitten to my forehead.

  “You okay?” He touched my arm.

  The thick layer of my coat did nothing to prevent his touch from radiating up my arm and streaking down my spine to pool in the pit of my stomach. Triple flip into a double layout, and the U.S. wins the gold. “I... I...” I lifted my eyes to his, only to see their blurry reflection in those annoying heat shields he wore.

  “Mac?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, hell.” He pulled off his shades, and his five-alarm gaze sizzled as it bore into mine. Then his long, capable fingers slid up my sleeve and under the band of my mitten to draw slow, sensual circles on the center of my palm.

  Could this be called mitten pool?

  Whatever it was, I liked it way too much. My tongue slipped out to moisten lips gone desert-dry. Lord, I wanted nothing more than to jump on him, but I could think of a million reasons why that wasn’t a smart idea. He was a man, for one. That alone should have been reason enough.

  He shot a look at my mouth, and a groan rumbled deep in his chest. Tossing his glasses on the dash, he eased his hand down to rest on my thigh. I blinked rapidly, trying like heck to stay in control. I didn’t need a man, didn’t have a clue how to pick the right kind of man. And men like Hot Britches never hit on women like me. I felt completely out of my league with Mr. I-Can-Have-Any-Woman-I-Want-And-Probably-Have.

  Those expert fingers crept higher, almost causing me to hyperventilate. I couldn’t stop from tracking them, from noticing his olive skin tone. Dylan had nice hands. Long and lean. Masculine. He squeezed and kneaded the muscle of my thigh, while his other fingers worked magic on my palm.

  I had to stop him now before I lost control, so I lifted my face to talk and then gasped. His mouth hovered only centimeters from my own. When had he moved?

  Needing to put some distance between us, I twisted until my back pressed up against the door. He scooted closer, then his warm breath caressed my face, smelling like coffee and spice. My heart beat like a trip hammer, and my breathing quickened. I felt like a doe mesmerized by the headlights of an oncoming car: not quite sure what to make of it but too paralyzed to move. I wanted to make a new life for myself, not fall back into the bad patterns of my old life, but I didn’t know how to tell him.