Project Produce (30 page)

I swiped the tears away from my eyes. My God, I was an idiot. I’d gotten everything so wrong. I was an only child. My parents hadn’t wanted to let me go, and I hadn’t been able to stand up to them. So I’d used the scandal as an excuse to leave, blaming them for not wanting me. When in reality, they’d never actually told me to go. My breath hitched in my throat, and my stomach turned sour as another thought struck me.

Oh, God
. I’d just done the same thing with Dylan.

Now that I thought about it, I’d purposely left my paper in the full trash, right on top, knowing darn well he’d find it. Then I’d pushed him away and left before he’d had the chance to tell me to go. I sobbed again, harder this time. He’d never forgive me after what I’d done. I’d never forgive myself.

Note to self: You’re the biggest loser of all
.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Okay, enough wallowing in self-pity.

I brushed my tears away and decided I had to do something. But what? I glanced around Grand Central Station, receiving a few odd stares, but no one said a word. People moved about, chatting, drinking coffee, reading the morning paper, and waiting for their train to depart.

I’d come so far, made so much progress in getting my life back on track. Running was not the answer. I couldn’t go to Cutesville. I had to talk to Dylan, explain why I pushed him away, and get him to listen to me about my project. Out of all the people I’d known, Dylan had been the first one to hold a mirror up in front of me and force me to look at my own flaws and failures and to deal with them head-on.

I loved him.

Maybe I always had, I just didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to deal with it. I still wasn’t sure what the future had in store for me, for us, but I did know I wanted him in it. He was worth fighting for. That was what I needed to do. Fight.

I blew my nose, then grabbed my suitcase off the floor and headed for the door to hail a cab. As I stepped outside into the bright sunshine, I closed my eyes and let the rays warm my face. Hope. I had hope for the first time in a long time. I could do this. I had to believe I could fix things, make things right between us. I couldn’t lose Dylan, not after all we’d been through. And darn it, I deserved to be happy.

I pulled my money out and realized I’d spent most of it on my ticket. I didn’t have enough for a cab. How was I going to get all the way to Dylan’s place? I couldn’t call him. He’d probably hang up on me, if he answered at all. No, this was something I had to do in person.

I opened my phone to call Gloria, but remembered she was at the recording studio. Hmmm, maybe I could call the Brat Pack.

“Hello, Ms. MacDonald. Leaving town?” Professor Butthead asked, coming to a stop beside me.

Wouldn’t he just love that? Just my luck running into him. I hadn’t expected to see Butthead again anytime soon. “Hi, Mr.--”

“Professor.”

“Right. Professor Turner, what are you doing here?”

“Dropping my mother off.”

“You have a mother?”

“Funny.” He looked up at me with squinted eyes. “I have to say, you impressed me.”

I arched a brow. “Was that a compliment?”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I have to fight to keep this course in the curriculum every year. People who don’t take my class seriously tend to get under my skin. You can’t tell me you signed up for the right reasons.”

“Fair enough, but I didn’t quit, either.”

“No, you didn’t.” He sighed. “If you decide to come back next semester, I could probably get you a position as a T.A.”

That was the closest I’d get to an apology, but there was no way I would work as a teacher’s assistant for him. “Thanks, but I’ve decided to major in Interior Design. I think that will be a much better fit for me.”

“You’re probably right.” He glanced around. “You look stranded. At least let me offer you a ride.”

Riding in a car with Butthead was not my idea of a good time, truce or not, but I was desperate. “Thanks. That would be great. I’m a little short.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“On cash,” I blurted. “Short on cash. No cab fare.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said as he led the way to his car.

“If you open the trunk, I’ll put my suitcase in the back,” I said.

“No!”

I blinked. Okay. “Why not?”

“It’s full.” He snatched my bag from me and put it in the back seat, then climbed in the driver’s side without another word.

What an odd little man. I wanted to sit in the back with my bag, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate being my chauffeur, so I slipped into the passenger seat in the front.

The door locks clicked, loud as a gunshot in the silence. He pulled away from the curb and drove without a word.

“Um, don’t you need the directions?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure.” He looked straight ahead.

I told him the way, but I couldn’t tell if he’d heard or not. He seemed to be in his own little world. So I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, thinking about what I would say to Dylan. How I would convince him to give me another chance. He meant so much more to me than a stupid project. I’d only said those things because the thought that he might actually love me just for who I am scared the crap out of me. It still did, but since I loved him more than I ever thought possible, the risk was insignificant. Besides, what fun would life be without a little fear?

“How’d you do it?”

“Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy,” I said with my eyes still closed. “But I found some fantastic research assistants to--”

“No one else has ever gotten the best of me.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him, but he stared forward with a faraway look on what I could see of his profile. “I got the best of you because I earned a good grade? I know you wanted me to fail, but I thought you were over that.”

“You think you’re so clever, but you’re not.” His voice took on a hard edge. “You’re just a whore, like all the others.”

I gasped. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t deny it, Callie. I know you slept with that Detective. Did you sleep with all your subjects?”

Butthead never called me by my first name. My skin prickled, but annoyance overrode my fear. “School’s out, Professor. Who I sleep with is none of your business. And how did you know Detective Cabrizzi was one of my subjects?”

He looked me in the eye, and I flinched over the blatant hatred I saw burning within him. “I know a lot of things about you, Callie.”

My stomach churned. As I glanced around, it suddenly dawned on me I didn’t have a clue where we were. Sweat slicked my palms. “Thanks for the ride, but you can let me out right here.”

“I don’t think so.”

Oh, God. Why was this happening to me? My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and my hands were dripping with sweat now. I had to do something, anything. Biting my lip, I reached for the door handle.

He picked up speed and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Buildings flashed by and the sidewalk lines became blurred. “W-Why? What are you going to do to me?”

He chuckled. “Oh, I have plans for the two of us. Plans I never got to finish.”

“Finish?” I studied him closer. His eyes. There was something so familiar about them.

“Let me show you what I really want,” he said as he looked straight at me.

Something inside my brain clicked, and I froze. The beard and wig were gone, but the eyes were exactly the same. “Oh, my God, it’s you. You’re him. Y-You’re Flasher Freak.” How had I missed that?

“Not so much of a joke anymore, am I?” He smiled a sinister smile. “You’re smarter than you look, but not smart enough, I’m afraid. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to slip up. There’s no one baby-sitting you anymore, is there? You, my foolish girl, are finally mine.”

Something Oprah once said on her show hit me at that moment. Never let them take you to the other location. “Where are you taking me?”

“My place.”

Oh, God, the other location. “It’s broad daylight. You’ll never get away with this.”

“Callie, Callie, Callie. You really are naive. You know what they say, most crimes happen in broad daylight. It’s clichéd, but true.”

“What about the whole midnight thing?”

“I’ve had to change a lot of things because of you. It’s a small price to pay for revenge.”

“I know what you look like. You’ll go to jail after you let me go.”

“Who says I’m letting you go? I’ll be long gone by the time they find your body.”

“M-My body?” It felt like bugs were slithering under my skin, and I tried hard not to squirm. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t answer.

I tried to talk him out of this craziness, but I could get no other response from him during the rest of the drive. I still had no idea where we were or what borough we were even in. We were driving through some rundown neighborhood with really old homes. A few people shuffled along the sidewalk, but even if I tried to get their attention, they wouldn’t be able to see me. Stupid tinted windows. God, why had I closed my eyes when he first started driving? More important, just what did Flasher Freak plan to do to me?

I took a deep breath, determined to use my newfound confidence and stand up for myself. I could do this. I could find a way to save myself. He was half my size, for crying out loud. He might be armed, but I doubted it. I eased my hand into the side zipper of my backpack, wishing I still had good ole Jack in there. Although that would probably just tick Pickle Boy off with the sheer size of it by reminding him he didn’t exactly measure up in the produce department.

My hand bumped into my phone, thank God. Now, if I could just get it open and dial the police, I’d be...

Click
.

My hand stilled, and I slowly looked in Flasher Freak’s direction. Sunlight flashed off the barrel of a gun, and I stared at the hole in the end with real fear.

He smiled the worst, scariest smile I ever saw, then said, “Call anyone, and I can end this right now. This is a silencer, in case you’re wondering.”

I pulled my hand out of my backpack. “What did I ever do to you that was so bad?”

He lowered his gun but kept it aimed in my general direction. “It’s your kind. You just happened to be the only one who got away, and well, I can’t have a woman getting the best of me ever again. Nothing personal, just the philosophy I’ve lived with for five years now.”

“Five years?” I cringed. “You’ve been doing this for five years, and no one has caught you yet?” I had to keep him talking, maybe make him realize how much trouble he would be in if he took the next step.

“Women are lying, phony bitches who deserve every bad thing that happens to them. They say they like you, but the second they discover you’re not up to their standards, they lose interest. You all say finding love is about loving the person from the inside out. Well, that’s bullshit. I’m living proof that size does matter. I lived with it through high school, then college, and even grad school. Until I decided I’d had enough, and you all needed to be taught a lesson. The lessons I teach in class put food on the table; the lessons I teach after hours feed other needs.”

“You don’t have to do this. I’m sure you’ll find someone who likes you for you. Maybe you just need some counseling and--”

“Get out!” His eyes flicked to the gun and flashed with what looked like uncertainty, but then he pointed the barrel at my head.

I had to believe that he was a molester, not a murderer. So maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know how to use that gun. If I could get it away from him, then I could probably take him. “Where should I go? Maybe you should lead.”

“I said you weren’t smart, I didn’t say I wasn’t.” He opened the trunk and pulled out a rope, then closed it. But not before I saw an all-too-familiar fake beard, wig, battered hat, and tan Trench coat, somehow making this situation even more real. “Now, get inside,” he added.

I climbed out the passenger door and reached inside for my backpack.

“Leave it,” he said, his voice growing husky. “You won’t need it. You won’t need any clothes, in fact.”

Not good. So not good. Leading the way, I opened the door and stepped into a tiny, grubby kitchen. I searched the counter for any kind of weapon, but I didn’t see anything except useless clutter, so I kept walking. “Really. What exactly do you have planned?”

“That’s right, keep moving,” he said from close behind me, his breathing heavy now. “I’ll show you just as soon as we hit the bedroom.”

Close behind me. He was very close behind me. Close enough for me to make a move. Oh my God, that was it. I knew exactly what I had to do. “S.I.N.G.,” I murmured.

“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.”