Project Produce (2 page)

I fanned my face as I answered her, “Technically, no, but it starts out as a vegetable. And I couldn’t think of any other produce small enough, so a pickle it is.”

“Works for me.” She shrugged.

I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my pin-straight hair, but it fell right back into place. Darn genetics. I shook my head to focus. My hair was the least of my problems. “We all have different sex-related topics to cover, but I swear I got the worst one in the known universe.”

“Why?”

“Well, I sorta got off on the wrong foot with my professor when I told him I didn’t need to do the project, I just needed therapy. He accused me of not taking his course seriously, and then he assigned me a project he thought I wouldn’t be able to pull off. He’s setting me up to fail, so now I have to prove him wrong.”

“Ah, you’ll do fine. Just forget about Professor Butthead. He’s probably a teeny-weenie, anyway.” Propping her elbows on the desk, she looked up at me and asked, “So, whatcha gonna do?”

I wasn’t going to quit, even if it killed me. I sighed, knowing I’d probably gain ten more pounds, because it was going to take a whole lot of macaroni and cheese to get me through this one. “The only thing I can,” I answered. “Put Project Produce into motion and try not to make a fool of myself as I shop for a pickle, a cucumber, and a zucchini.”

“You need any help telling if one’s ripe, just ask.” She winked and then went to the coat closet. After glancing outside, she faced me with a frown. “I gotta go, but I hate to leave you here alone, honey. Simpson makes me so mad I could spit.” She stomped her red stiletto and conducted an imaginary orchestra while she ranted. “I mean, hasn’t he seen the news lately, or what? We don’t have any stinkin’ security. No video camera. No nothin’. He should at least have two of us working, but he’s too damn cheap for that.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. Not that I’d had time to watch the news. And not that I’d cared to, after seeing my own face plastered on the local channel back home more times than I could count. Then there was the newspaper. There had been so many inaccuracies I’d lost faith in all journalists, so what was the point?

Gloria looked me over. “Honey, your country-fresh face and blond hair are gonna land you in trouble. I’m leavin’ my pepper spray under the counter in case any pervy types come in.”

“Thanks, now stop worrying.” I tipped my lips up in a half-smile.

Gloria in her black leather micro-mini was more in danger of landing in ‘trouble’ than I would ever be. I had always been the simple “Average Jane” type, taller than most of the men I’d met. It wasn’t like I thought I was the ugly duckling, but I sure as heck hadn’t blossomed into a swan. Men didn’t flock to me the way they flocked to women like Gloria. Or at least they hadn’t before the scandal.

“They’ll love your song tonight,” I said, needing to get my mind off that. I secretly wished I had a good voice, but everyone had always told me I couldn’t sing to save my life.

“You really think so?” Gloria squealed, slipping on her black leather jacket and red silk scarf. At my nod, she snapped her spine straight and dived into another symphony. “You are so right. I’m good, dammit. Gonna be a big star someday.” She sailed out the door, a string of Spanish trailing in her wake as she swung her hips in a way that could make a man go cross-eyed.

I leaned against the window and watched through the dirty glass with a smile of amusement that faded fast. The neon sign of the Triple X video store across the street blinked against the harsh glare of the graffiti-laden streetlights, and I could hear the sound of an ambulance siren wailing in the distance. I felt so out of my element, but I needed a place like this: a place where nobody knew me, a place where gossip didn’t follow me every step I took.

A place where nobody had ever heard of “Callie Conquers Cutesville.”

Working in this dump wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, but I’d spent my first night in town here, and that’s where I’d met Gloria. She’d gotten me a job and given me a place to stay. It was a start, so how could I complain?

My temples began to throb from the poor lighting. I wandered behind the front desk, propped my chin on the palm of my hand, and then glanced at the clock on the wall. Midnight, and not a soul in sight. Good. I could use a nice, quiet evening. And maybe I would even come up with a plan to find my subjects for this absurd project.

I pulled out a piece of water-stained hotel paper and started to jot down ideas when the broken bell over the front door clanged out a half-hearted welcome. A man in a Trench coat burst into the lobby, and my pulse kicked into overdrive. So much for a quiet evening.

A scruffy brown beard and weathered hat hid the man’s features, but judging from the look of him, he had to be here to see Simpson. Unsavory characters had been coming and going all week, and this guy had ‘unsavory’ written all over him.

I sat up straight and tried to quiet my pounding heart by taking a deep breath and asking, “How may I help you, sir?” I felt around beneath the desk for the pepper spray. If this guy didn’t qualify as a “pervy type,” then no one did.

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 breath, 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.