Project Produce(63)

Doubt started to creep into my brain. Could I have been wrong about him all along? But then I remembered the nudie mags and porn file I’d seen in his room. “It’s pretty low to use a victim for your own personal jollies.”

“Personal jollies?” Khaki Man said as he eyed Gadget. “I didn’t know Dylan did the personal jolly thing, did you?”

“Yeah, right. I saw the personal stuff with my own eyes,” I said.

“What personal stuff?” Gadget asked.

I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with these people. “You know, people who are addicted to porn can be helped.”

“What makes you think Dylan’s addicted to porn?” Cat Woman asked.

“I saw it with my own eyes. Not a pretty picture. He’s got all sorts of files on it at his apartment....” I trailed off as the word ‘files’ registered. Clearly marked files.

“You must mean the files he’s been keeping on the Midnight Molester and other creeps like him,” Thermometer woman said.

“Other creeps?” I blinked, struggling to digest those words.

“Poor son-of-a-bitch.” Khaki Man shook his head. “No way in hell would I want to be the Detective in charge of sex crimes.”

Well, that explained a lot. Hot Britches wasn’t a sex addict after all, so why wasn’t I relieved? He was a normal, decent guy who seemed to be genuinely interested in me. A burning knot began to form in the pit of my stomach over that thought, and my hands started to sweat. I still didn’t have all my answers, and I just wasn’t ready to take a chance.

I took a deep breath and forced my pulse to return to normal. Dylan might not be a sex addict, but he still had an agenda. He was still trying to control my life because he didn’t trust me to take care of myself, and he was only spending time with me in hopes of catching the bad guy. “Why not just have his captain assign someone else to look out for me if he thought I was in that much danger?”

“Because there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant around-the-clock police protection. Dylan just went with his gut, and over the years, we’ve all learned to not ask questions and follow his lead,” Thermometer woman said.

“I think he’s just driven enough that he won’t risk missing an opportunity to catch the creep,” I said.

“Dylan’s been after the Midnight Molester since the beginning, but he doesn’t care who gets the credit. He just doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. If he thinks you’re in danger, then you are,” Thermometer Woman replied.

My stomach started to churn again, so I held up my hand. “It doesn’t matter. You owe me. All of you.” I looked each of them in the eye. “I need Dylan for a project I’m researching. I’ll go along with this charade for now, but I want a little harmless payback. So can I count on your cooperation?”

“What kind of project?” Cat Woman asked.

“Psychology, why?”

They all gave each other funny looks, then Cat Woman said, “Dylan’s not crazy about shrinks, that’s all.”

Our dinner conversation at his place came back to me, and I remembered him commenting that some female shrink had given him the runaround and kept him out of work much longer than he had to be, all because she had some ulterior motive. I wasn’t a shrink, but he was still going to be angry when he found out he was part of a psychology project. “That’s right, I remember now.”

“He told you?” Gadget asked, his eyebrows shooting up under the rim of his hat.

“Some of it. Why?”

“It’s not something he usually talks about,” Gadget answered.

“Oh.” I wanted to ask why they thought he’d opened up to me, but the darn burning had moved up to my throat this time. This conversation had grown increasingly uncomfortable, and I suddenly wanted out.

“You tell us about this project of yours first.” Cat Woman’s words brought my gaze back to hers, and she eyed me suspiciously. “We may pick on Dylan, but he’s still our cousin.”

I dropped my face into my hands for a moment and sighed. Then I lifted my head and started talking. Apparently, I didn’t have a choice if I wanted their help. “Believe me, I’m not a shrink. I’m just trying to figure out what makes men tick by interviewing them to determine how the size of their, er, produce affects their personalities.”

“Produce?” Khaki Man asked. “You mean if I like apples instead of watermelons I have a small brain, or something?”

“More like pickles versus zucchinis and small Mr. Winkies.”

“Mr. Whaties?” Gadget asked.