Project Produce(89)

“What?”

I cleared my throat and said louder, “I have to sing. S.I.N.G.”

“Whatever, so long as you sing your way to my bedroom.” He panted like a dog.

I dug in my heels and came to a jarring stop in the middle of his bedroom, causing him to bump into my back, which jerked the gun in his hand to the side.

“Oof. What the hell?” he wheezed.

I jabbed my elbow into his gut. “Solar Plexus.” He grunted. “Instep.” I stomped my heel down on his instep, and he howled. “Nose.” I whipped my fist back and smashed him in his nose, turning his howl into a groan, and I finished with, “Groin,” as I promptly swung my fist down and smashed his wee little boys.

Then I karate chopped the air as I turned around, threw in a bob and weave, jabbing twice left, and then nailing him with my newly perfected right hook. He staggered and dropped the gun, giving me a flabbergasted look that might have been funny in any other situation as his nose spurted blood and he crumpled to the floor. “Gracie Hart’s S.I.N.G. method of self-defense, mixed with a little ka-ra-te boxing. Miss Congeniality 101.”

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.