Project Produce (31 page)

He gave one final groan as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he passed out. I didn’t waste any time in grabbing the rope, tying him up, then pointing the gun at him as I called the police.

Note to Self: And they said I couldn’t sing to save my life. Ha!

***

A knock on the door had me jumping out of my skin. Flasher Freak was still out cold. I kept the gun in my shaking hands and ran to the door. “Who’s there?”

“Detective Cabrizzi, ma’am.” Dylan’s voice came from the other side, sounding all businesslike.

I opened the door, nearly wilting with relief. He looked so good in his trademark jeans, new leather jacket, slicked-back ponytail, and mirrored sunglasses. I tried to put on a brave face since I had no idea what to say to him. “You don’t look like any Detective I know. Where’s your badge, Dukeypoo?”

“Funny.” Only he wasn’t smiling in the least.

“I thought so. And I hate ‘ma’am.’ Can’t you think of something else to call me?” I tried again, but my stupid nerves had me babbling as usual.

“Mind giving me the gun?” He pulled off his glasses and slipped them in his pocket.

“Oh, sure.” I handed him the gun and stepped aside. “Flasher Freak’s in the bedroom. Now you can finally get that bust you wanted so much.”

“That’s what you think I wanted?” Dylan’s eyes flashed once, but then his face went back to being an emotionless mask. “Never mind. You okay?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m fine.” I wanted to add
Now that you’re here
, but somehow I didn’t think he’d care to hear that. I was afraid he didn’t care at all anymore.

Dylan led the way to the bedroom, and I followed close on his heels, or rather, monstrous boots. He stopped short when he saw Flasher Freak still out cold, trussed like a pig on a spit. “Jesus, what’d you do to him?” He turned to gape at me.

I shrugged. “Just sang, and then threw in that right hook you taught me. No biggie.”

He shook his head. “You still don’t think you need anyone, do you? Do you realize the amount of danger you were in?”

I started to shake. “Oh, I get it. I just can’t dwell on it, or I’ll fall to pieces.” My lip wobbled. “Is that what you want to hear, Detective?” My voice hitched. “I’m not strong, and I do need you.” The tears began to fall. “I need you, dammit. And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want any of this, but it’s too late. I love you, but you hate me, so there, okay? I said it. And you got exactly what you wanted. To hurt me like I hurt you. I get it, okay. I get it all!” I ran out of the room, and the reinforcements arrived, saving me from any further humiliation.

I sat on the curb for what seemed like forever, watching the sun sink lower in the sky as the cops filed in and out, until Flasher Freak had been hauled away and the last cop finally left. I felt his presence before I actually saw his boots come to a stop beside me. He sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and sighed. “You really don’t get it, or me, if you think I wanted to hurt you.”

I peeked over at him, but he stared at his boots, making it impossible to read him. “Then why the cold shoulder?”

He arched a brow and gave me a pointed look.

“Yeah, I know. I deserved that. Probably deserved a lot more. So if you don’t hate me, then what do you want?” I hiccupped, then pressed my lips together to keep from crying again.

His eyes met mine, and he stared at me for an endless moment before he said, “You. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“E-Even after everything I did, everything I said?” The lump in my throat was almost too much to bear.

“Even after all that.” His lips formed that crooked smile I’d come to love, and his face grew blurry through my tears.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said, and I didn’t even use your name in my report. I was just scared of getting hurt, so I pushed you away first.” I hiccupped again.

“I know. I saw your report. It was damn good.” He paused for a minute, then added, “You’re nothing like Tina. I knew that, I was just angry. I came back to say I was sorry, that I’d overreacted, but you were gone. Then I heard the call come over the police radio. God, I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.” He opened his arms. “Come here.”

I threw myself against him and sobbed as he held me tight, running his hand up and down my spine. “You don’t know what you’re getting into by loving me. Are you sure?” I asked.

He chuckled. “I don’t have a choice. I tried not loving you. Didn’t work. Even tried living without you. Can’t do it. At least my life won’t be boring.” He hugged me closer.

I looked up at him, and whispered, “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, then pressed his lips to mine, lending truth to his words as all the love he felt seeped into me through that single kiss. When we finally broke apart for air, he said, “Come on.” He stood up and held out his hand.

“Where are we going?” I dried my eyes, then let him pull me to my feet.

“To the train station.”

I blinked, and my mouth fell open. “But I, I...”

“It’s time.”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself.”

“Who said you’re going alone?”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would do anything for you. Believe me when I say you don’t ever have to be alone again.” He cupped my cheek. “Only do me a favor.”

“Anything.” I would have promised him the world at that moment and meant it.

“No more shopping for produce.”

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years, then placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Trust me. One zucchini is enough for any woman.”

The End

About the Author

Kari Lee Harmon lives in central NY with her own hero of a husband, her three strapping boys, and her little Darling Diva. When Kari's not writing about heroes, she's playing the role herself, for it takes someone pretty heroic to handle her wild crew.

Fun Facts

• Kari is a closet karaoke wannabe singer;

• is deathly afraid of rodents of any kind;

• loves country music;

• prefers Diet Pepsi to Diet Coke;

• her favorite food is Mexican;

•  loves romantic comedies, but hates scary movies;

• and secretly loves to sneak and read Scottish medievals, but can't write'em!