Project Produce(9)

“Pretty gutsy lady.” He sat back and studied me.

“Thanks. I like to think so.”

“Not too smart putting yourself at risk like that, though.”

I frowned.

“But I have to say, I would’ve loved to have seen that one go down,” he continued. “The perp probably still wonders what the hell happened.”

“I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it by now.”

“I doubt it.” Dylan scanned his notes. “No surveillance camera, no secret alarm, only one employee working at a time. Your boss runs one hell of an operation.” He grunted.

“Well, now, that’s an understatement. Simpson’s an operator, all right.”

He made a note, then chewed his bottom lip, stroking his goatee. “So tell me. Why would a robber leave the goods behind when the coast was clear to escape?”

“Because he wasn’t a robber.”

“Why’d you do it?” Dylan asked quietly, staring at me with that something more I’d caught in his eyes when he’d checked out my insecurity.

I peered at him, and heat decided to take up residence in every cell throughout my body. “D-Do what?”

“Why’d you let me go free?” He stared me down.

I swallowed, wanting to shout, Because I have the hots for you, and I shouldn’t. Because something about you makes me feel safe, which is crazy. Because you’re a freaking zucchini, darn it. But I said, “Because I’m not a cop, and I was scared senseless when the pervert played pocket pool under his Trench coat. For all I knew, he had a gun in there somewhere. There was a lot going on under that coat, ya know.”

He blinked at me.

So I continued to ramble, repeating everything I’d already told him. Stupid nerves. “Then you show up with a gun. I thought you were his accomplice, but you didn’t have anything going on in your pants.” My gaze dropped to his groin. Good Lord, there I went again. I closed my eyes, “I mean, you certainly do have something in your pants, quite a lot in fact, but I... I... Oh, heck, I plead the fifth.”

He chuckled. “How exactly did you think I could help this pervert? Flashing is kind of a solitary act.”

Forget heat in my cells, a flipping fire had ignited, burning up my insides with his every word. “Okay, I get it. He didn’t need your help for that.” Heck, he barely had enough for his own hand. “And we both know he wasn’t here to rob me.”

“So what do you think he was here to do?”

“He wore a Trench coat with no pants on. Now, I know the city’s a little different than where I come from, but even I could tell he’s a warthog who gets his jollies by flashing women.”

“Warthog?” Hot Britches’ lips twitched again. I must have amused the heck out of him.

“You know what I mean.” I looked away and then smoothed my non-designer jeans and tugged at my secondhand sweater.

“You’ve got the ‘warthog’ part right, but flashing is only the beginning of what he wanted to do to you.” The Detective leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “The perp came to molest you.”

“M-Molest me?” I squeaked, then cleared my voice, striving for calm. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. He was half my size, for crying out loud.”

“Size doesn’t matter, Ms. MacDonald.”

Hey, wait a minute. I knew he wasn’t talking about winkie size, but a door had just opened for me to question him about my project. I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass. “Hang on a sec.” My heart still raced, but I took a deep breath and ran over to the desk to grab my own pen and paper. “Size doesn’t matter,” I said, writing the words on my notepad, then I looked up at him. “Doesn’t matter to whom, you or the woman?”

He blinked at me. “Excuse me?”

“Just curious.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter to anyone, in this case. Just because the perp is small doesn’t mean he isn’t strong. Or packin’, as we cops call it.” Dylan smiled wide.

“Oh, he wasn’t packin’. Trust me.” The only thing he had in there was the smallest pickle I’d ever seen. Smaller than a gherkin, for Pete’s sake. I sighed and put my notebook down, hearing the door of opportunity slam shut. I was tired of answering his questions, but he was making it impossible for me to conduct my own interview.

“Where have you been the past week? Haven’t you seen the news? You do watch the news, don’t you?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” I lied. The fire burning up my insides had died down, but the lingering embers managed to paint my cheeks once again. “I’ve just been too busy lately.”