Taste (Take It Off #9)(41)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I smiled, but then the worry behind his words intruded. “Is everything really okay, Spence?”

“Yeah,” he said, but it wasn’t that convincing.

“Spencer,” I said, digging my feet into the pavement. “What?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired and strung out. I felt guilty for pressuring him, but not guilty enough to keep walking toward his Mustang.

“It’s probably nothing,” he muttered. “It’s just talk.”

“Ahh,” I said knowingly. “You heard the rumors.”

His eyes flashed up to mine. “You did, too?”

“Of course. Work is a breeding ground for gossip, don’t you know?”

“Fuck,” he swore. “I thought we were supposed to be adults.”

“Adults are worse than teenagers.”

He grunted.

“I guess it is a natural assumption to draw,” I said. “I mean, he was eating at the time he grew sick and then died.”

“And no one else has been sick,” he said, grim.

“They took samples of the food to test for poison,” I told him. He nodded like he already knew.

“You think it will come back on me,” I said.

“I don’t know. I hope the hell not.”

I began ringing my hands anxiously.

Spencer gripped my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Look, even if you are suspected, it won’t go anywhere.”

“It won’t?”

“Of course not. We know the truth. They can’t pin you for a crime you didn’t commit. Walsh knows it, too.”

“But what about the investigators that have been called in?” I wanted to know.

Spence shook his head. “They’re in the dark. They have to be for now. We need this to look legit.”

“I understand.”

“Look, when they interview you, just play along, answer as honestly as you can without giving anything away.”

“And if they suspect something?”

His jaw muscles clenched. “Let them.”

“What?” I was surprised he would suggest such a thing.

“We don’t have a choice. Let them suspect you. When we catch whoever is behind this, you’ll be cleared.”

My limbs began to tremble. I was exhausted and afraid. I was reaching the end of my limit. I knew this shouldn’t be a big deal, that it would all be cleared up, but even just the thought of being suspected of being capable of murder made me sick inside.

“It’s going to be okay.” Spencer assured me. “I got you.”

I shivered.

He sighed. “Come on, let’s get you to my place.”

He pulled away, and when I didn’t immediately follow, he turned back to take my hand.

Immediately, everything changed.

The air around us dropped ten degrees. Everything about Spencer froze.

“Elle,” he said, his voice hoarse and afraid.

He was staring at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I followed his gaze, looking down.

There against my white top, glowing in the inky night…

Was a red dot.

A laser shining directly on my chest.

I thought of the note. Of how I was no longer necessary.

They were eliminating me before I could be dragged in for questioning, before I could give away any information.

Both of us stared at the seemingly harmless red dot signaling the end of my life.

I dragged my eyes away and up at Spencer, at the man I loved.

The stark fear I saw in his eyes ripped at my heart.

And then everything happened at once.

24

The sound of a gun being fired, of a bullet whizzing through the air, was deafening.

“No!” Spencer shouted and threw himself at me.

His broad body shielded mine as he knocked me to the ground.

“Spencer!” I screamed and tried to shove him away.

But it was too late.

I slammed into the pavement and turned in time to see Spencer jerk when the bullet hit him. I let out a strangled cry, and he stumbled. I leapt up to support his weight, but he shoved me back onto the ground and righted himself, hunching forward, still trying to shield me.

“Get down,” Spencer grunted.

I reached for him, tears falling down my cheeks. “Spence.”

Another bullet hit the pavement just inches from where we were. Bits of blacktop burst upward, hitting against us.

“Move!” Spencer yelled and wrapped an arm around my waist, towing me up. We ran the couple feet to his Mustang, and Spencer shoved me behind the car.

I scrambled up to grab at him as he slid down the door, lowering himself into a sitting position.

His hand was pressed against his side, and his lips were turned down. I pulled off my shirt immediately and pushed at his bloody hand to press the fabric against the wound.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, my voice wobbly. “We need to call an ambulance.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You got shot! You’re bleeding!”

“The bullet just grazed me. You pulled me out of the way,” he said, giving me a little grin.

I didn’t care what he said. He was not okay. Blood was already saturating my T-shirt, and it was smeared across his chest. The white dress shirt he was wearing was completely stained red. I could feel the sticky warmth of his blood coating my fingers, and it made me want to scream.

“Harder, darlin’,” he said, putting pressure with his seriously bloody hand over mine, showing me how hard to press.

“This is why I’m a chef,” I muttered, peeking around the edge of the car. “The only emergency in food prep is when a dish is in danger of no flavor.”

“Aww, your dishes never have that problem,” he drawled.

How the hell could he be so charming as he bled all over my street?

“You at least need stitches.” I worried.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” he muttered. “They might still be here.”

“They couldn’t possibly still be here!” I said, outraged.

“They didn’t make their shot.”

His voice was deadpan. Matter-of-fact. It made my blood run cold.

As if to punctuate his words, another shot rang out. One of the windows of the Mustang shattered.

Spencer stiffened and dug a set out keys out of his front pocket. “We gotta get out of here.”

I nodded.

Now wasn’t the time to freak out.

I snatched the keys from him and reached up and opened the passenger-side door. “Can you climb in? Sit on the floor.”