Taste (Take It Off #9)(4)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I recoiled from their words. My knees were shaking and I felt like I might fall over at any time. I was lightheaded. My face hurt. My body hurt. I had blood running in my eye, blurring my vision even further. My son was in the presence of killers, and I was being told the police wouldn’t and couldn’t help me.

“And if I do it?” I asked. I had no intention of killing the president. None at all. I was not a murderer. I could barely kill a spider without feeling guilty. But I had to ask. I had to know. And I wanted them to think I was considering this.

“Your son gets to live.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“As long as you keep your mouth shut, you will, too.”

I didn’t believe them. There was no way in hell that they would let me live, even if I did it. They would want to erase all loose ends.

I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted them to go. “I’ll think about it.”

Black Mask grunted. “You don’t have a choice. Do it. Do it soon. If you don’t, we’ll be back, and next time we won’t be as nice.” He went to the back door and turned the lock. After another hard glance at me, he disappeared into the dark.

My eyes swung to Blue Mask. He walked toward the door, but instead of going outside, he changed course and stopped right in front of me. “Do what he says,” he whispered. “Just do it. I don’t want to hurt that boy, but he’ll make me. Just do it.”

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

My knees gave out, and I slid down the cabinets until I was sitting on the tile floor. I felt totally numb. Almost like I was living in some bad dream and just needed to wake up. But this wasn’t a dream because I had yet to fall asleep tonight.

Jack sat up in my lap, straddling my waist, and looked at me. I brushed a thumb across his creamy, chubby cheek. Fear seized my throat at just the suggestion that something horrible could happen to him.

He gave me a toothless grin and then yawned.

I suppressed the ugly cry.

I pushed myself up off the kitchen floor to go rock Jack back to sleep. At barely two years old, I doubted what happened tonight would be enough to keep him from drifting back off to dream land.

But me?

I wondered if I would ever sleep again.

3

After I put Jack to bed, I checked all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked. Then I stared at my phone for a long time, debating if I should call the police. I was so confused. I didn’t know what to believe, but I was scared enough that it kept me from dialing.

I decided to try and calm down, to really try and think before I did anything. So I went into the bathroom to see what kind of damage was waiting for me. Of course the place was a mess. I spent over an hour cleaning it up and throwing out the broken items. The first aid kit was strewn all over the floor, and it took forever to gather it all up and dump it back into the kit. I wasn’t about to organize it all.

When that was done, I looked in the mirror and recoiled immediately. I’d forgotten about the cut on my forehead. I lifted up the sticky long strands of blond hair and saw the neat gash near my hairline.

It was no longer bleeding, having clotted over. It was red and irritated, of course, but didn’t appear to be so deep it needed stitches. I had dried blood on my face, and my lower lip was slightly swollen from where I assumed I cut it on my tooth. My cheek was red from where he hit me, but it appeared I wouldn’t have a noticeable bruise.

I cleaned up my face, washing it gently with cool water and a little soap. When I was done, I put on some moisturizer and then cleaned the cut lightly. I didn’t want to reopen it, but I was afraid it would get all nasty if I didn’t do anything.

After applying peroxide, it was bleeding again but only lightly. So I applied a little antiseptic and then put a small butterfly bandage over it. Thankfully, it was so close to my hairline that I would be able to fix my hair so it wasn’t visible.

I brushed out my hair and changed into a fresh pair of pajamas. I had taken a shower just before the men burst in, but I felt dirty and wanted something unsullied to wear.

I checked on Jack for like the millionth time and stood over his crib to watch him sleep. It was my job to protect him. I was all he had. Having a son and being a single mother wasn’t easy. Thank God for my mother or I didn’t know where I’d be. But even still, I couldn’t imagine not having Jack. I loved him more than anything.

And now he was being threatened.

It would have been easier if they’d threatened to kill me.

Clearly, they knew my weak spot. Whoever the hell they were. I believed they knew all about me. Some of the information he knew was too personal. It worried me. Who were these people? I didn’t know, but something told me they weren’t just two guys who sat in their basement and made up this elaborate plot in the spur of the moment.

This had been thought out. Planned.

What the hell was I going to do?

I couldn’t do it. Maybe calling their bluff and going to the cops was the best thing to do. Surely they couldn’t have the entire police force in Washington D.C. in their pocket. And besides, even if they did, if I went in there talking about conspiracy theories to kill the president, someone would listen.

Wouldn’t they?

We’ll make sure you’re the one who goes down for plotting to kill the commander in chief.

I shivered.

Leaving Jack’s room, I clutched my phone and went down to the kitchen. I turned on all the lights and rechecked all the doors. My tea had finally gone cold, and I poured it down the sink.

The poison sitting in the dark vial taunted me. It made me sick. I couldn’t even lie to myself and pretend this was just a dream. The proof was sitting right there.

What if it wasn’t really poison? What if this was some elaborate hoax. On impulse, I snatched the stuff off the counter and untwisted the lid. I was afraid to smell it, to get too close to the liquid. If it really was poison, I didn’t want to be its first victim.

Instead, I filled the little dropper and dispensed it on a little pot of green ivy trailing down the windowsill toward the sink.

Nothing happened.

I recapped the stuff and hid it on the very top shelf of a cabinet I never used. I left all the lights on downstairs and wearily climbed back up the steps. In Jack’s room, I sat in the rocker and covered my legs with a soft blanket.

In a few hours, I was supposed to be going into work. How was I supposed to just go about like nothing happened? I couldn’t. I was going to have to go to the police.

Or better yet, I would go to work and I would tell someone there. They would believe me. I worked there; they knew me. They would trust what I said. I could show them the cut on my head and the bruises marring my skin.