Taste (Take It Off #9)(43)
Author: Cambria Hebert

It had been almost a year since that day.

And I realized that year was always leading us here. The pull between us had always been there. We just hadn’t been ready.

How was I going to live with the fact that he was in danger on a daily basis? How would I not worry myself sick?

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking into my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I said, glancing in his direction.

“Come here.” He hitched his chin at me.

I closed the distance between us, slipping a red-tinted hand against the shirt and applying extra pressure. His hand covered mine.

“I’m tough. I got this.”

I cupped the side of his jaw with my hand, amazed at how fast my feelings for him grew once I allowed myself to admit them. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of my palm.

It made me smile.

The doctor bustled in, breaking the moment between us, and I stepped away so he could look Spencer over.

He asked several questions, looked over the wound, and declared he needed stitches and an IV. I guess it really was a flesh wound. A bad one, but only a flesh wound.

When the doctor sent the nurse to get all the supplies as he set about getting ready to stitch him up, Spencer started to complain about the IV, and I swung around and gave him a look. It shut him up. Guess I was getting better at the mom look.

When they started giving him numbing shots and sticking the IV in the back of his hand, my stomach got queasy again. I went across the room and sank into the chair, averting my eyes from what they were doing to him. Instead, I looked out into the hall between the gap in the curtain that afforded us some privacy.

My eyes grew heavy as I sat there. All the adrenaline, stress, and lack of sleep was seriously catching up to me. When I finally did get to go to bed, I’d probably sleep for twelve hours straight.

My eyes were drifting closed when someone walked by our little room. He was walking at a turtle’s pace and looked right in between the curtain. My eyes sprang open all the way as I watched him disappear out of sight.

Something about him was familiar. I thought I knew him.

I glanced over where the doctor and nurse were bent over Spencer, who was lying on the table, and I quietly slipped around the curtain.

Up ahead, a man with pressed khaki’s and a dark-colored sport coat was continuing down the hall. Not far away, the hall ended, which caused him to turn back around.

He stopped when he saw me.

I did know him.

I rushed down the hall toward him, knowing he was here to get an update on Spencer.

“Mr. Caroway,” I said, stopping in front of him. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Hello, Ms. Bond,” he said, inclining his head. “We are all very concerned about Mr. Waller. Word about him being shot has spread through the White House. The vice president asked me to come down here and get an update on his condition.”

Something niggled in the back of my head. Something about what he said just didn’t sit right with me.

“Of course,” I said, realizing he was waiting for a reply. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure Spencer will be happy to know so many people are pulling for him.”

“Are his injuries that severe, then?”

Why did that sound like he was hopeful? That strange feeling wormed its way through my chest. The whisper in the back of my mind turned into a scream.

“How did you know Spencer was shot, Mr. Caroway?” I asked.

“I told you,” he said. “It’s all over the White House.”

“But Spencer wasn’t shot at the White House. How would everyone there know?”

“Walsh, of course,” he answered smoothly.

Wrong.

I knew, knew that Walsh would never tell everyone about Spencer. This shooting was part of the plot to kill the president. It was top secret. Walsh would never be that sloppy.

He cleared his throat to draw my attention. “Is everything okay?” he inquired. “Spencer?”

“Yes,” I said, watching him carefully. “Spencer will be just fine.”

A little bit of panic passed behind his eyes.

His icy blue eyes.

The dream flashed before me. The man with the ski mask and the icy eyes invaded my brain.

I gasped.

“It was you!” I burst out, unable to contain the reaction to figuring out who had been terrorizing me.

“I assure you I don’t know what you are talking about.” He sniffed, trying to step around me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized before. He was the same build and height of the man who broke into my home. He had the same deep voice.

Now I knew why he was so eager and non-hesitant to eat my cookies in the kitchen that day. He wanted to throw me off in case I was suspicious. He wanted to prove he didn’t think twice about my food.

“You’ve been plotting against the president,” I whispered fervently. “You shot Spencer!” My voice grew louder with the accusation.

“Shut up,” he growled, menace dripping from every pore.

“I will not,” I growled. “How dare you threaten my son!”

I turned to yell for help. Mr. Caroway grabbed my ponytail and yanked, making me yelp. He dragged me behind the nearest curtain and forcefully threw me into a rolling cart. The tray sitting atop went flying, clattering to the floor, and I fell. My knees took the brunt of my tumble. I grunted as pain shot through my legs, then pushed up to run for help.

He pounced on me, straddling my backside and wrapping his hands around my throat from behind. “I knew you wouldn’t keep your mouth shut,” he spat. “All you are is a loose end that needs cutting.”

All four fingers of each hand pressed against my windpipe, threatening to crush it.

I gasped and gagged for air. He was going to strangle me if I didn’t so something!

I blinked, trying to clear my vision and look for something, anything, I could use as a weapon.

“It’s the perfect plan,” he growled, squeezing just a little harder.

I began to wheeze.

“The president is dead. No one would have known why, and then my boss, the VP, would have had the position.”

Did that mean the VP didn’t know about this? Or was he the one behind it?

It was getting harder and harder to breath. My lungs seized, begging my body for air it wasn’t allowed to have.

“But for it to stay perfect, you have to die.”

“He’s not dead!” I rasped, forcing the words from my throat.

The pressure on my windpipe immediately went away. I sagged against the floor, gasping for breath.