Taste

by Cambria Hebert

  “I need to get the poison from you, Elle,” he said quietly.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I said I’d bring it in today.”

  He shook his head. “I’d like to take it now. I’m going to drop it off at a private lab before I go in to work. They’re going to rush the results.”

  I felt like an idiot.

  It never occurred to me that Spencer came here last night because he wanted something. I was stupid. I blindly thought he had come because he wanted to check on me. I thought he came because he cared.

  I pushed away from the table and stood under the high cabinet I put it in. “It’s up there.” I pointed. “You can reach it better than me.”

  He nodded. “I’ll get it.”

  I felt awkward suddenly. The little moment I’d been living in at the breakfast table was popped.

  It was for the better.

  “Oh, um,” I said, drawing his attention. “I put some of the poison on my plant,” I pointed to the dead, brittle thing. “As you can see, they didn’t lie about what it is.”

  His mouth flattened into a grim line. His plate was empty when he stood and strode over to the cabinet and pulled down the vial of poison.

  “Sick bastards,” he muttered.

  Jack, who had clearly eaten his fill, started launching cereal around the kitchen.

  I pulled out the evidence bag Mr. Walsh gave me and handed it to Spencer. “You can put it in here.”

  “Elle,” he said, taking the bag, “about last night…”

  “I get it,” I said. “They wanted you to bring in the sample. Walsh doesn’t trust me.”

  “Walsh is all about the job.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Usually,” he said cryptically.

  “Well, I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble for not bringing it in right away.”

  “It’s all good,” he said. “They understand.”

  Well, at least someone does, I thought.

  Figuring that Jack made enough of a mess for one morning, I lifted him out of his seat and held him out. “You are a messy boy,” I told him, laughing.

  He grinned and laughed. Then he started kicking his feet around, wanting me to put him down. “Don’t go far,” I told him, setting him down. “You need to get dressed.”

  He toddled over to where Spencer was and stared up at him. Spencer gave him a lopsided grin.

  My heart turned over.

  “You should probably get that to the lab,” I said, motioning toward the bag. It made me slightly uncomfortable that Jack seemed to like Spencer so much. It was one of the reasons I didn’t date. I didn’t want Jack getting attached to someone who wasn’t going to stick around.

  “I need to wait until after you leave before I can clear out,” he replied. “Whoever is watching the house and you will likely stay with you. Once you’re gone, they won’t notice me leave.”

  I nodded. It was something I hadn’t even thought about. “Okay. Well, we’re going to go get dressed.”

  “Need some help?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows at me.

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he called out as Jack and I left the room.

  I smiled.

  I definitely couldn’t.

  10

  I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. Once inside the walls of the White House, I was ushered into another part of the house, where I was questioned all over again about everything. Most of my morning was spent replaying what I did after work the night before and if I was paid a visit again. I knew they only wanted to trip me up, or for me to recall a detail I’d forgotten, but damn¸ how many times could I say the same thing?

  “You have someone watching my son?” I probed, interrupting whatever he wanted to ask next. If they could ask questions twenty times, then so could I.

  “Yes, Ms. Bond, your son and mother are under surveillance. No harm will come to them,” he answered patiently.

  In truth, it didn’t make me feel any better. My house still felt like a dangerous cage. I felt like my son and I were being used for bait to catch these criminals. No one ever said that, but I knew. I knew my life, Jack’s life, wasn’t as important as the commander in chief’s. I didn’t think it was fair, but it was the way it was.

  The door opened and I looked up. My entire body cried out with relief when I saw Spencer. He didn’t glance at me. He kept his expression sober and focused on Robert Walsh. He was dressed like always, a black suit with a white shirt.

  “The results are back from the vial she brought in from her house,” Spencer told him.

  “Good. I’ll go look at them now.” Robert got up and left the room without another word.

  As soon as he was gone, I slumped back into the seat, utterly defeated. Spencer quietly shut the door, closing us in the room together. Finally, he looked at me, taking in my entire body, and then crouched down in front of my chair, resting his hand on my knee.

  “Long day?” he asked.

  “You have no idea.” I groaned. I looked at him. “They think I’m somehow in on this. They think I’m guilty.”

  His gaze grew dark. “No, they’re just doing their jobs. No one thinks you want to kill the president.”

  “I’m so tired,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.

  “I know, darlin’,” he crooned and swept me out of the chair and sat down, fitting me into his lap.

  Normally, I might have protested, but I didn’t have it in me. Instead, I breathed in that deep scent of his and pressed my face against his neck. I tried to stop the tears from coming, but they leaked out anyway. I knew he could feel them. My face was right against his skin, but he didn’t say anything.

  All I could think about was Jack and my mom. If they were safe, if someone was watching them. The questions were relentless. The look of doubt behind Walsh’s eyes. And I hated lying. I had to lie to everyone. My mom, my co-workers… no one could know about this.

  Slowly, he rubbed slow circles over my back and brushed his fingertips through my wavy hair. I didn’t have much energy when I got ready this morning, so I just released the braids and let my hair down in the loose beachy waves the braids left behind.

  “It will be over soon,” Spencer murmured. I didn’t know what I would do without him here. I would surely have fallen apart by now. Just his mere presence, knowing he was on my side, made a world of difference.

  “They won’t even let me in the kitchen to cook. I can’t even distract myself with work.” I complained.

  “It’s a damn shame,” he drawled as his stomach rumbled loudly.

  A muffled giggle forced its way out of my throat, and I tipped back my head, still lying on his shoulder, to look up at him. “Are you hungry?”

  “All the cookies in the kitchen are gone,” he said, sheepish.

  I smiled. “I’m sure someone else has been making them in my place.”

  “They have. They don’t taste good.” He made a face.

  Some of the storm clouds in my heart seemed to blow away. Even when he was complaining, he was utterly charming.

  “I doubt that. Everyone in that kitchen cooks very well.”

  “Well, they aren’t your cookies and those are the only ones I like.”

  “Are you using flattery to make me feel better?” I teased.

  He grunted. “It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, rolling my head back into his neck. His body was so strong-feeling. Solid. I was resting all my weight on him, not bothering to try and hold myself up. He didn’t even shift. It was like my weight was nothing for him to bear. All morning it felt like I was standing on shaky ground.

  But not now.

  Right now I felt incredibly secure.

  “For what?” he asked softly, bringing his arms around to loop around my waist.

  “For being here.”

  “How’s Jack?” he asked, his tone casual.

  My body stiffened slightly because he was asking about m
y son. I sat up, my eyes widening and my heart beginning to pound. “Did something happen?” I started to scramble off his lap, but his arms were like iron vises and wouldn’t let me move.

  “Calm down, darlin’,” Spencer drawled. “Everything’s fine. I was just asking about your boy.”

  “Oh.” I studied his face a moment. His eyes were sincere. “Sorry, I’m not used to people asking about him.”

  “Well, he’s part of you and that means I’m going to ask about him.”

  Something in my heart caved in a little. Like the soft spot that I managed to fill in with loosely packed dirt caved in unexpectedly.

  “He’s good,” I replied. “With my mom.”

  Spencer’s palm found the back of my head and he guided it back down to his shoulder. “He’s a cute kid.”

  “I just want this to be over,” I whispered.

  The door pulled open, the footsteps coming into the room faltered, and my body stiffened. Spencer probably wasn’t supposed to be in here with me. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be holding me in his lap. The last thing I wanted to do was get him into trouble.

  I started to leap up, but Spencer did that vise thing again with his arms, refusing to let me go.

  “What did you find?” he asked, totally casual, like he wasn’t holding me. He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed he was caught.

  Mr. Walsh cleared his throat and stared at us for long seconds before answering. I knew he could see the way my cheeks were flaming with embarrassment.

  “It’s what she says. Untraceable poison. Highly toxic. Will kill immediately. Her prints are all over the bottle.”

  This time Spencer did stiffen, and when I jumped up, he didn’t stop me. “That’s because I touched it, when I hid it in my cabinet.” I defended.

  Mr. Walsh sighed and held up his hand. “I realize that, Ms. Bond.”

  “It probably didn’t have any other prints because those men were wearing gloves,” I said, even though I’d told them that at least five hundred times.

  “You going to try and pin this on her, Walsh?” Spencer said, his tone completely no-nonsense and cold. He rose up out of the chair, unfolding his impressive height and width.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Waller. We found another print as well, only a partial and so small we’ll never be able to run it.”

  “But you said…” I echoed, feeling sick.

  “I said there weren’t any prints. There weren’t. No viable ones anyway,” he muttered and slapped down a manila folder on the desk. I jumped at the sudden burst of sound.

  “I think she’s had enough,” Spencer said, putting a hand to the small of my back. “She’s told you everything.”

  “A million times,” I muttered.

  Spencer covered a laugh with his cough.

  Mr. Walsh studied me for long moments, then sighed dejectedly. “Yeah.” I watched as he scrubbed a hand over his craggy features and then plopped down in the black leather chair behind the desk. “What a fucking clusterfuck.”

  Apparently Spencer learned his fowl language here at work.

  “You can’t go home ‘til your normal time,” he said. “We don’t—”

  “Want it to look suspicious.” I finished. “Yeah, I know.”

  He had the grace to cringe.

  “You can’t go back onto normal kitchen duty,” he said, reminding me that while he might not think I’m totally guilty, he wasn’t ready to declare I wasn’t either.

  “We need cookies,” Spencer said. “She can go make some.”

  “You can’t be cooking for the first family,” Walsh said, no apology in his tone.

  “Good. More for me,” Spencer said good-naturedly.

  I was standing there trying not to be angry that I was still suspected of trying to poison people.

  Walsh looked between Spencer and me. Then he sighed. “What kind you making?” Walsh directed the question at me.

  “Chocolate chip,” Spencer answered.

  I raised my eyebrows at Mr. Walsh and said, “Apparently, chocolate chip.”

  “All right,” he sighed. “Go.” He waved his hands at the door as he spoke.

  Spencer went around me to pull open the door and hold it open. I stepped out into the hall, feeling like a freed inmate

  “Waller, I want to talk to you,” Walsh said from inside the room.

  I grimaced and looked at Spencer. He was probably going to get a lecture for consorting with a suspected criminal.

  Spencer didn’t seem concerned. He winked. “Go make my cookies, woman.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I walked away, down the hall. Seconds later, the door to the office closed and another suit-wearing agent fell into step beside me.

  I gave him a glance. He looked at me with no expression.

  “You were told to watch me?” I asked without heat.

  He nodded once.

  I wasn’t surprised, not at all.

  “Well, come on, then, warden,” I said, heading to the kitchen and resigned myself to being watched like a hawk for the rest of the day.

  11

  Generally speaking, cookies make everyone happy.

  Unless, of course, you are a Secret Service agent with a stick up your ass.

  After spending endless hours being questioned and scrutinized, I was tired of gloomy, constipated expressions. I thought finally being allowed to escape to the kitchen would be a relief. Instead, I got stuck with a guard who probably wouldn’t crack a smile to save his life.

  It led me to believe two things:

  1.) He really thought I was guilty and was pissed he had to babysit me.

  or…

  2.) He really was constipated and mad he couldn’t go to the bathroom.

  I was going to go with the latter because I literally could not make a move or add an ingredient to the mixing bowl without him watching like a hawk. It became crystal clear that he was sent to make sure I didn’t poison anyone.

  Frankly, I was offended.

  I mean, who in their ever-loving mind would uncover a plot to poison the president and then go into the kitchen and make poisoned cookies?

  Actually, that was probably already an episode on some weird crime drama on TV.

  I felt my shoulders slump a little. I understood why I was being watched. I was surprised they were letting me anywhere in the kitchen. Of course, I was in the small kitchen off the large one. I was alone (except for ol’ Hawk Eyes, of course), and I had already been told no one could eat what I made. Except for Spencer, of course. He was eating at his own risk.

  The spatula I was using to incorporate the chocolate chunks into the dough clattered against the porcelain when I dropped it. Realization dawned.

  I was going to get fired.

  It didn’t matter that I was innocent. It didn’t matter that I told the truth. It didn’t matter that I literally had been studying culinary arts since the age of seventeen, having graduated a year early and then dedicated my life to working my way up to this job. All the time I spent sacrificing my free time and then later my time with my infant son so I could advance my career and have a solid background to take me into my thirties… it was all for nothing.

  I was ruined.

  My dishes, no matter how artfully prepared, would be tainted in suspicion.

  “Miss?” the watchman said as I sniffled.

  “Sorry,” I said, grabbing a nearby napkin and wiping my eyes. After rewashing my hands, I scooped out equal-sized cookies (I used an ice cream scoop, makes the perfect size every time) and slid them into the already heated oven.

  I busied myself cleaning up the minimal mess I made and became rather irritated that whenever I shifted, so did the man assigned to me. He kept my hands in view at all times. I could have made it harder for him, but why bother?

  Besides, I didn’t have anything to hide, and acting like a child was plain stupid.

  The little timer on the oven went off, and I pulled out two large cookie sheets from the double ov
ens and set them on the stone counter. After letting them cool on the sheet for a couple minutes, I began sliding them off one by one with a metal spatula and onto a cooling rack. Once that was done, I slid the cookie sheets into the industrial-sized washing machine and grabbed a large white platter to put them on when they were cool.

  The air was scented with the sweet smell of chocolate and sugar. It reminded me of when I was little and my mom and I would bake in the kitchen together. She always measured out the ingredients, and then I would add them to the bowl. She never minded when I ate the cookie dough, even though they say you aren’t supposed to because of the raw egg. Eating the dough was always half the fun of baking.

  It was something I always planned to do with Jack. Those were the kind of memories I wanted him to have. That is if I somehow wasn’t wrongfully indicted for conspiracy to commit murder.

  I felt bone weary, like all I wanted to do was lie down and let my body sink into the mattress of my bed. I wanted to hold my son and see his little chubby cheeks and listen to his baby babbling.

  Instead, I was standing here in the kitchen of a job I was totally getting fired from because they suspected I might be a murderer.

  Oh, and I was baking cookies.

  Yep. This was the life.

  I glanced down at the cooling treats and back at the man watching me. “Cookie?” I asked politely and held one out.

  He actually recoiled.

  Yep. He didn’t trust me.

  I sighed heavily, and it was laced with some anger. “Really?” I said. “You just stood there and stared me down while I was making them. You really think I somehow ninja-ed some kind of deadly ingredient in them?”

  His face blanched. Then he recovered to say, “I can’t eat while I’m on the job.”

  I laughed. Spencer ate constantly. Like the man was always chewing something. I wouldn’t be surprised if all his suit pockets were filled with snacks.

  “Okay.” I shrugged and broke the cookie in half. I took a huge bite and sighed. “I love when the chocolate is still all melty,” I said dreamily.

  In truth, I wasn’t the least bit hungry, but I’d be damned if I’d stand here and let this douche bag insult me.