Project Produce(73)

“Mac, what the hell are you doing? Get out of there.” Dylan tried to intervene again, but the crowd blocked his path.

The giant tipped his head back and roared, while the crowd cheered us on wildly. Dylan tried to push his way back in, but they held him back, probably wanting to see what the crazy-dancing woman in the painted-on red dress would do.

The giant lunged for me, but I ducked low and jammed my spike into his knee, sending him howling to the floor. Rolling to his feet, he glared at me, no longer amused, but angry as the devil, with pure evil blazing from his eyes. I had to give Khaki Man credit. He’d picked a good actor tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d be scared senseless. I kept a steady eye on his face, gauging his character and guessing at his next move.

“Good job, Callie. Watch his eyes,” Dylan hollered from the sidelines, the sweetie. Figured. No sign of Beefcake.

I snapped my gaze to Dylan’s and smiled, then quickly focused my attention back on the giant. I could see Dylan’s blinding white teeth from the corner of my eye. The giant was big, all right, but he was also slow. He could probably crush me with one good shot, but I was smart, agile, and completely at ease. After all, he was a phony. I faked left, and when the giant fell for it, I surged to the right with a hard knee to the groin and a karate chop to the windpipe. Gotta love country karate boxing.

The giant fell to the floor, clutching his balls and gasping for breath. A man was a man, no matter how big. They still had the same parts, after all. And this guy was only acting. When he lay still, I shook my head. Man, he was good. Wiping my hands, I bowed at the waist to the stunned crowd, then strolled over to Dylan like I hadn’t a care in the world.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before the crowd decides to line up other contestants to face the crazy-dancing small-town girl with the deadly set of knees.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me after him.

“But what about Bombshell and Beefcake?” I scanned the crowd. So much for my protection. Good thing I had the giant as backup.

“You mean Penelope and Bart? They left an hour ago. A match made in heaven, I’m sure.” Dylan didn’t stop until he reached his car, then unlocked the doors, giving me five seconds flat to slide in and buckle up before he screeched away from the parking lot.

Tension filled the air. He didn’t speak, just drove, and wouldn’t even look at me.

Something was wrong.

***

The silence in the car became a deafening hum, and the tension thickened. I wrinkled my nose and then chewed my lip, wondering what was going on in Dylan’s head. I hadn’t thought this far ahead and certainly hadn’t figured on him giving me a ride home on Valentine’s Day, of all days.

“What were you trying to prove in there?” he finally asked, staring straight ahead at the road.

“What do you mean?” I tried not to sound too guilty.

“I get the picture. You can take care of yourself just fine, but did you have to pick the biggest guy in the joint to prove your point?” The muscles in his jaw bulged.

“I didn’t pick him, he picked me,” I huffed, then admitted grudgingly, “but I was never in any real danger.”

“Are you kidding? Did you see the size of his fists? If even one of his blows had landed, you’d never be the same again.” He shook his head, working his jaw.

“That bozo was just another one of Nick’s...” Whoops.

“Another one of Nick’s what? Who’s Nick?”

“Nick is just a guy I know from work, and this is a friend of his.”

“You’ve never mentioned a Nick before, and if that guy was a friend, why the hell would he want to fight me?” He glanced at me.

“Um, because... because he was interested in me. That’s right, he was jealous.” I smiled, feeling triumphant.

“Something doesn’t add up.” Dylan’s eyes narrowed, and after a lengthy pause, his mouth fell open. “Why didn’t I see it? I should have seen it. I knew I recognized your date. Bart. Benny Bartholemule, better known as the Bartman. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection until now.”

“Excuse me?” I turned my full attention on him.

“I just figured out who he is. Former hit man for the mob.” He shook his head. “And Nick is not a guy you know from work. You meant my cousin, Nick Cabrizzi. Bart is now one of Nick’s sources. So tell me, Mac. When did you figure it out?”

He wasn’t going to make me feel guilty over turning the tables on his own game. I stiffened. “Last weekend when Gloria called you in the diner,” I said with pride.

“So you’ve been playing me for a fool the whole week,” he said quietly, as though putting it all together.