Project Produce by Kari Lee Harmon Read Free Book Online Page B

him about what it was like to be a zucchini. It wasn’t like I wanted to spend time with him. Liar . I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid “almost” kiss and what it all meant.
    He’d asked me out. Me! Little Miss Small-Town, for Pete’s sake. Maybe he’d seen the tape. He had caressed my palm and thigh, after all. And if I hadn’t fallen, or rolled, or whatever that was, right out of his car door, he probably would have done a whole lot more. Once again, I wondered what on earth I’d been thinking by saying yes tonight.
I hadn’t been, that much was clear. “So, any news on the case?” I asked when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
I looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He glanced at me and then back at the road. “The Midnight Molester struck again.”
“Oh, no, that’s awful. When did it happen?”
“The night the health department shut the motel down. Right after you showed up.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Wish I was. He struck earlier than usual, around eleven, close by the motel.”
    Good Lord, that could have been me . “Animal, my foot,” I muttered.
“What?”
“I heard a sound in the bushes before I ran into you that night around ten.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He glanced at me.
    I looked out the window again, feeling stupid. “I didn’t think it was important. I thought it was an animal. Then after you stepped out of the shadows, I thought it had been you. My God, he didn’t get me, so he must have attacked some other poor woman after you gave me a ride home. I feel awful.”
    Dylan squeezed my shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Callie. Don’t beat yourself up about it. It may not have even been him. But take this as a lesson and be more careful.”
    I looked back at him. “How come they call him the Midnight Molester if he doesn’t always strike at midnight?”
    “Because up until now, he’s only struck at midnight.”
    “Huh, that’s odd.”
    “Not really. He’s been following the same M.O. all along, until now. Something, or someone,” he shot me a pointed look, “made him snap. This makes him more dangerous, but cocky, which might make him easier to catch.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t really think this has something to do with me, do you?”
His eyes met mine again. “The victim looked a hell of a lot like you.”
“Oh,” I squeaked. “Well, I’m sure it’s a coincidence.”
“Not likely.” He reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t worry, Mac, I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”
    “Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” I pulled my hand from under his. He hugged a corner, zoomed into a parking lot, and then cut the engine.
    I blinked. We were having dinner at his apartment? Not a good idea. Somehow, I’d envisioned a noisy restaurant with loads of people, not a night alone with Mr. Make-My-Pulse-Beat-In-Places-It-Has-No-Business-Beating.
“You coming?” Dylan asked, grinning wide.
I clamped my lips closed before I said something stupid.
“Or can’t you handle being alone with me, Mac? I don’t bite.”
    “I’m fine,” I said, climbing out of Big Betty. Being alone with him didn’t bother me, it was the handling him that worried me. And now I couldn’t get the image of him biting me out of my mind, either, darn it.
    He grabbed my hand and pulled me through his apartment door before I could say anything further. Then I skidded to a stop and gaped like a flounder.
    “Anything wrong?”
    “Uh, no. Course not. Um, interesting décor.” I smiled big, trying to hide my surprise. I might not know much about make-up and fashion, but after remodeling the general store back home, I knew a bit about interior design. Honestly, I’d never seen anything like this. His taste wasn’t modern, or country, or Victorian, or even rustic.
    It was sheer madness.
    “Cool, huh?” He beamed. “A cop’s salary isn’t much, but you’d be surprised what you can do