Taste (Take It Off #9)(13)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I made a sound in the back of my throat and held up my hand. “Stop,” I snapped. “Look, I get you’re just doing your job. I’m grateful and I am thankful you have assigned my house a watch and someone to also watch my son. But stop treating me like a criminal. I—” My monologue was cut short when Spencer’s hand dropped onto my shoulder.

“Time to go.” He ushered me out into the hall, shutting the door between Mr. Walsh and me.

I glanced up at him. “That guy is a—” Just before I slung an insult, I noted we weren’t in the hallway alone, and I snapped my lips closed.

A few members of the White House staff were walking by, clearly intrigued about what was going on down here. Spencer greeted them like they’d known each other all their lives, and I took advantage and slipped away.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky as I walked through the parking lot toward my car. All I wanted to do was see Jack and get away from this place.

“Elle!” Spencer called, jogging toward me across the pavement.

When he stopped in front of me, he extended a clipboard and a pen at me. “You forgot to sign this grocery order,” he said loudly.

I took the clipboard and stared down at the blank paper. Clearly, he was creating a reason to talk to me out here in the open.

“Oh!” I said in mock surprise. “I forgot.” I took the pen from his hand and glanced over the blank paper like I was checking the order one last time.

“I’ll stay at your place tonight,” he said, low.

I glanced up swiftly, noting he was smiling widely, like he was joking with me.

But he wasn’t joking. His eyes were entirely serious.

I played along, grinned, and gave a little laugh. “You can’t.” I hope he heard how serious I was beneath my pretend nonchalance as well.

“You shouldn’t be alone.” He insisted.

I glanced at the paper again and scrawled my name across the bottom. “I never have men stay over. It would look suspicious. Besides, the police are watching the house. I’ll be fine.”

I was rather impressed I sounded so confident. In reality, I was dreading spending all night alone in the dark.

“Elle.” He began, low.

I shoved the clipboard at him and smiled widely, giving him a little wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He couldn’t say anything to argue; it would look suspicious. Spencer was forced to walk away, back toward the house, as I started up my car and drove away.

7

It took forever to get Jack down to sleep.

Even though I could tell he was exhausted, he fought slumber with quite the valiant effort. I spent over an hour rocking him in the chair in his room and pacing the dimly lit hallway upstairs while holding him against my chest.

It was almost as if he could read my emotions. As if he could sense all the turmoil brewing inside me. I didn’t mind rocking him or singing a million little songs. I loved the time with him. I knew someday in the near future, he would be too big for me to do this with. Hell, some parents might say he was too old now, but I didn’t care.

Even though rocking him was the highlight of my day and I could finally rest a little easier because I knew he was safe in my arms, I still breathed a sigh of relief when at last I was able to lay him in his crib and shake out my exhausted arms.

On nights like this, nights when I was worn out and overwhelmed, I sometimes felt sorry for myself. Sorry I was all alone, that Jack’s father—that any man—had never thought I was worth sticking around for. It might be nice to have someone I could share a glass of wine with, talk about trivial stuff that happened to me that day, or even just someone I could fall asleep against while we watched unrealistic TV shows on the couch.

After watching Jack for long moments, I double-checked the baby monitor, making sure the volume was all the way up, and then went through the rest of the upstairs, checking every window for the millionth time.

It didn’t matter how many times I saw they were locked; I would still be frightened.

I wanted to take a long, hot shower to release some of my insanely sore and tense muscles, but I couldn’t allow myself the luxury. If I was in the shower, I wouldn’t hear what was going on in the rest of the house. It would make me too vulnerable.

Instead, I settled for putting my hair in a high ponytail and washing my face quickly. I changed into an oversized T-shirt, flinging my bra across the bed, and didn’t bother with any pants.

I guess there was something good about living alone.

No one knew when I went pants-less.

Once I checked on Jack yet again, I stood in the hall and debated for like ten minutes before convincing myself it was okay to go into the kitchen to get some tea and maybe a snack to bring back upstairs.

Sleep probably wouldn’t happen for me tonight, but I could at least try to make myself comfortable.

The entire time I was making a mug of hot tea and milling around the kitchen, I kept sneaking glances at the high cupboard where I hid the poison. Just knowing it was there unsettled me. As much as I didn’t want to get it out and put it in my purse tomorrow, I would be glad to have it out of here.

When my tea was seeping on the counter, I grabbed a granola bar out of the pantry even though I didn’t want it and palmed the bottle of honey. I couldn’t help but think of Spencer as I swirled the thick, sweet stuff into my tea. What was he doing right then? Probably sleeping. Lucky bastard.

After stirring the hot liquid, I licked the spoon and carried it to the sink.

That’s when I saw it.

The plant.

I’d completely forgotten I dropped some of the poison into it. When it didn’t die or wilt instantly, I put it out of my head.

Yesterday it was green and supple, the ivy trailing over the windowsill.

Not anymore.

It was dried, brittle, and brown. The ivy appeared like I let it sit out under the hot sun for weeks without watering it once. I reached out a finger to touch the leaves, kind of in shock they could go from perfectly healthy to dead in such a short amount of time.

Just as my finger was about to make contact with the ivy, a sound erupted in the room. I let out a startled yelp and the spoon clattered into the sink.

I spun, forgetting about the plant, to see who or what was there.

But it wasn’t anyone. It was my ringing cell phone from beside my mug. With one last glance at the dead plant, I went over to stare at the screen of the phone.

I didn’t recognize the number.

What the hell good was caller ID if I didn’t know the number?

My heart pounded heavily as I shifted from foot to foot and debated whether or not to answer. No one ever called me at this late of an hour. Hell, no one ever called me except my mother, and I knew she was long in bed.