Taste (Take It Off #9)(12)
Author: Cambria Hebert

After we were both in the Mustang with the engine running, he turned to me. “You know I can’t keep this a secret.” His voice was heavy with duty. “I have to elevate this. Immediately.”

“I know.” It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

But I wasn’t sure it was the right thing for Jack.

My hands twisted in my lap as my stomach rolled like I was on some tiny boat in a wave-laden sea.

“Elle.” Spencer’s voice broke through my internal struggle. His hand covered both of mine, and I looked down at where our skin touched. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you or your son.”

“I want to believe you,” I whispered.

“Look at me,” he implored.

Our eyes connected.

“Keeping people alive is my job. It’s what I do.” His eyes were intense, serious, and true.

“I hope you’re good at your job,” I said. I tried to make it sound like a joke but failed horribly.

“I’m the best at my job.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” I said lightly as I turned to look out the window.

“Elle?” he said, still not turning away.

“Yes?”

“You’re not just a job to me,” he intoned. “Don’t ever think you are.”

I swallowed thickly, the bottom falling out of my stomach. “I’m kinda glad,” I whispered, letting him in on my secret.

His teeth flashed a fast grin. “I know.”

My lips pulled up into a smile. I couldn’t even call him on his arrogance because he was right.

6

As soon as I told Spencer, he brought me back to the White House. I was ushered into a small office to wait while he went and told them everything he knew.

Then the interrogation started. I answered question after question. After that, I answered them again. And again. I was scrutinized by the most intimidating security team ever. Sometimes when they looked at me, I felt dirty. I felt like they thought I was some kind of twisted murder-plotting serial killer.

I wasn’t.

I was a mom scared for her son. I was a woman scared for her future and a daughter scared for her mom.

I was also a woman being reeled in by a man.

Endless hours upon hours of going over every last detail until I began to doubt even myself, and through it all, Spencer was there. He didn’t sit close to me or hold my hand. He didn’t show any kind of feeling toward me except professional courtesy and the benefit of the doubt.

But he was still there. And sometimes in the worst moments, in the minutes I wanted to cry my eyes out, all I had to do was look at him. Those honey eyes of his pulled me back from falling off the ledge every single time.

They wanted to search my house but couldn’t. They argued about that forever. Spencer was adamantly against it. They were pretty certain I was still being watched and that meant my place was, too.

I was told to keep everything in my life exactly as it always was. I wasn’t to act paranoid or watchful. I was supposed to adhere to my everyday routine and do nothing that would make whoever it was that threatened me suspicious that I did what they told me not to do: tattle.

Robert Walsh, the head of the Secret Service team, was currently sitting across from me. I didn’t like him. He pretended we were friends, that we had some common ground because we both worked for the president. He must have thought I was stupid. Sometimes having blond hair and being a young woman totally worked against me.

Robert thought by creating some sort of camaraderie between us, I might show him something I wasn’t showing anyone else, like there was this secret part of me I kept hidden. I was so damn exhausted I couldn’t hide anything if I wanted to.

“You haven’t noticed anyone following you lately? Showing up to the same places you might be ‘coincidentally?’” he asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain behind them drilling into my skull. “No,” I answered.

He opened his mouth to ask something else, and I cut him off. “I’d like to go home now.”

“Soon,” he said in a completely placating tone.

“Not soon,” I snapped. “Now.”

“Ms. Bond,” he said. I heard a hint of warning and perhaps even suspicion in his tone. But even I knew he didn’t have any kind of evidence to arrest me or even hold me.

I was exhausted. I was irritable. My body hurt, and I wanted to see my son.

It was bad enough I had to call Mom and tell her I wouldn’t be home early after all. I had to lie (yet again) and say there was some sort of emergency at work.

What the hell kind of food emergency could someone have? I prayed to God she didn’t ask me for details.

“You said yourself that I should keep to my normal routine. If I go home too late from work, it will look suspicious. Especially so soon after they threatened me.”

He sighed. He knew I was right. I basically just used his own plan against him.

“We’re going to need the vial of poison they gave you,” he said.

“Yes. I know.” I repeated everything on autopilot. “I will bring it in first thing in the morning in the bag you gave me. I won’t let anyone else touch it, and I will use the gloves you gave me to pick it up.”

“I hope you know what a serious matter this is,” he said gravely.

I leaned forward. “You don’t think I know?” I pointed to the cut on my forehead and lifted the sleeves of my shirt to show him the bruises. “I was attacked. My son was taken from his bed and left in my car. My car. They want me to commit murder. I understand.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well…”

The door to the office opened and Spencer strode in. His suit jacket was still missing, his hair was mussed, and the gun he carried was on full display on his hip.

Even in my exhausted, emotional state, his presence sent a little zing of excitement through me.

“Her shift is supposed to be ending,” he said, his eyes sweeping over me before turning away.

“You can go,” Mr. Walsh said.

I sagged with relief. I didn’t waste time or give him a chance to change his mind, just jumped up to leave.

Spencer grinned at my haste as I rushed toward the door.

“Ms. Bond,” Mr. Walsh said.

I wanted to bang my head against the doorframe. What would it take to get away from him?

“Yes?” I turned back.

“I want to remind you that we’re having your house watched. You won’t see us, but we’ll be there. If you try to run, if you try to—”