Project Produce(61)

Gloria added, “I know this is New York, honey, but how many Inspector Gadgets, Cat Women, Thermometer Women, and Khaki Men can there actually be? He’s a cop. I’m sure he’s got a good reason. He’s probably just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, he lied to me. And I don’t need a babysitter.” I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if my pin-straight hair started to curl from all the heat steaming out of my head.

All that talk about being careful? With the exception of Flasher Freak, the only crazy things that had happened to me had been Dylan’s doing all along, yet he’d sat back and said nothing. He let me go on thinking I had lost my mind because he didn’t trust me enough to call for help if I truly needed it or to get myself out of a bad situation.

He’d already shown me how to defend myself. I’d knocked him off his feet, for crying out loud, but when I said I didn’t need a babysitter, he got me one anyway. Four, in fact. He couldn’t be trusted. He was trying to take charge of my life just like Bob had. Disappointment swamped me. For a moment I’d actually let down my guard and believed in him. Lesson learned.

“I take it you’re the big case he’s been working on. And if Brats One through Four are the Brat Pack, then Dylan must be Big Daddy,” Gloria said as she got up and set her cup in the sink.

“Dylan’s a big something, that’s what he is,” I ground out.

“What are you going to do?” She looked at me over her shoulder.

“Get even.”

“I think you’re making a mistake, but whatever you do, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, but this is something I have to do on my own. Any idea where this deli is?”

“No, but I can find out.” Gloria looked up Antonio’s in the phone book then wrote down the address and handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I got up and grabbed my coat from the closet and then headed out the door.

Note to self: When produce turns rotten, it’s time to throw the junk out.

Two could play at this game.

***

With a newspaper in front of me, I pretended to read as I hunched down in a corner booth in Antonio’s Deli. The clanking of silverware and the steady hum of conversation drifted throughout the room, making it impossible to pick out any familiar voices.

My mouth watered over the aroma of lunch meats, seasonings, salads, and coffee assaulting my senses, but I couldn’t afford to get up and order something. Someone might recognize me. How Dylan hung out in limbo just waiting and watching for a living was beyond me. Guess he had more patience than I did.

Ignoring my hunger, I peeked around the edge of my paper and seethed with anger as I watched Dylan and the infamous Brat Pack eat their lunch. After what seemed like forever, his cell phone rang.

I’d taken Gloria up on her offer to help. She’d agreed to call Dylan on his cell at exactly noon, become hysterical, and convince him to come to her rescue immediately. Did I mention Gloria is almost as good an actress as she is a singer?

Dylan snapped his phone closed, said something to the Brat Pack, then bolted outside. And the Oscar went to Gloria Martinez for her amazing performance in “Pull the Wool Over Hot Britches’ Blue Laser Beams.”

Wasting no time, I lowered the newspaper and strode to the table then dropped into his seat. “Hey, there, brats, remember me? The naïve, small-town girl who needs to be more careful?”

All of them stared at me, mouths agape, forks and cups halting halfway to their lips.

“Speechless, are we? Gee, I wonder why. Don’t worry, I have plenty to say,” I snapped, ready to rip into all of them, but strove to control myself.

Cat Woman set down her tuna sandwich and spoke first. “What are you talking about? I’m just here--”

“Looking for your cat? I’m not buying it, sister. I know all about Big Daddy.”

Thermometer Woman took a sip of her tea, her eyes narrowing in a calculated, thoughtful way, then she started to add her two cents, but I held up my hand and said, “Gig’s up, gang. What I want to know is, who the heck are you people?”

They all looked to Thermometer Woman who hesitated, then said, “We’re Dylan’s cousins. I’m Meghan and I’m a lawyer. This is Jo and she’s a cadet. Nick over here is a patrol officer. And Mike is a CSI agent. Dylan asked for our help, so we gave it. It’s that simple.”

“What’s with the Thermometer?” I asked.

“Her clock’s ticking,” Khaki Man said and received a swat from Thermometer Woman. “Well, it’s true. You’ve been trying to get pregnant for months.”

“And the karate chopping?” I raised a brow at Cat Woman.