Taste Read online

  “You didn’t answer me,” he said like he didn’t notice or care I was totally freaking out. “Do you work as the president’s personal chef or not?”

  He didn’t ask me that before. Did he? How the hell did he know where I worked? A very bad feeling crawled over me.

  “Yes,” I answered, still thinking of Jack.

  “You cook his meals?”

  “For the staff and the first family,” I answered, skirting the question.

  He backhanded me again. “Yes or no?”

  I swallowed, keeping my head down. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  The silence upstairs was too much. I got up and sprinted past the intruder, skirting around his grabby hands and toward the stairs. “Jack!” I called, unable to keep the panic from my voice, but not caring. I didn’t want my son to be scared, but maybe if he heard my worry, he would cry out.

  Movement at the top of the stairs grabbed my attention and my steps slowed just a fraction. It was my mistake. Black mask tackled me from behind. I went down at the bottom of the stairs, my body hitting the floor like it was an anchor falling to the base of the sea. He wasn’t gentle, and I think he enjoyed the sick sound my bones made when I hit.

  He grabbed the back of my head, yanking the long strands of my hair and forcing my head back. His teeth purposely grazed the side of my ear when he said, “You keep this up and you’re going to regret it.”

  I struggled beneath him, wanting desperately to get to Jack.

  “Seems she wants the kid,” Black mask yelled upstairs. “Toss him down here.”

  “No!” I screamed, struggling anew. “No.” I managed to get one hand free and reached behind me to claw at his face.

  He grunted as my nails just grazed his skin.

  “Do it,” he roared.

  I looked up at the top of the stairs where the man in the blue mask was holding Jack in his arms. Jack was staring down at me with wide eyes as I screamed.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I tried to tell him. I was a horrible liar, my words not convincing at all.

  “I don’t hurt kids,” the man holding Jack said.

  I whimpered in relief. “Thank you,” I cried.

  “You fucking moron!” Black Mask yelled.

  “You shouldn’t cuss in front of them either,” he said as he carried Jack down the stairs.

  I struggled and was wrenched up off the floor. Next to me, Jack held out his little chubby arms for me to take him. I reached for him but was jerked away, bouncing into the wall.

  “No,” was all my captor said.

  Jack started to cry.

  So did I.

  The man with the blue mask frowned. “No need to be such an asshole, boss.”

  He stepped between me and “the boss” and handed Jack out. I snatched him away, cradling him against my chest. Jack pushed his little face into the side of my neck and the scent of his shampoo wrapped around my senses. Another sob ripped from my throat.

  “Come on,” Blue Mask said and led me into the kitchen.

  I didn’t go back to the table. I wasn’t sitting down. It made me feel vulnerable. Instead, I put the island between us, my mind spinning with ways to get the hell out of here. Now that I had Jack, I could think more clearly.

  “We know everything about you, Elle Bond,” the man in the blue mask said, drawing my attention.

  “We know you get up every morning at five a.m. and spend an hour with your kid here before you take him over to your mother’s house so she can watch him for the day. We know where your mother lives. We know she lives alone, just like you and the kid. We know the route you drive to work, the route you take home. We know the coffee shop on the corner you go to every morning just after six. We know you leave work at eleven and go to your mother’s to see your kid before heading back to work to make dinner.”

  The more he talked about my routine, the more terrified I became. He knew everything. Everything. They’d been watching me for weeks, and I hadn’t even realized. How could I just go about my normal routine—how could I just live my life and not realize people were watching me?

  What kind of mother was I to not know that her son was in danger?

  “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaky. Jack made a little sound and I tucked him closer to me.

  “We have a job for you, Ms. Bond,” Blue Mask said.

  “I have a job.”

  “What he meant to say was you’re going to do something for us and you don’t have a choice,” Black Mask replied, his voice hard.

  “What?” A fearful knot blocked my esophagus.

  “We want you to kill the president.”

  I blinked.

  Then I blinked again.

  Surely I heard them wrong. There was no way on God’s green earth that two men just broke into my apartment to order me to kill the president of the United States.

  They stood there staring at me like they were deadly serious.

  Overwhelmed, I started to laugh. This was ridiculous. “Who put you up to this?” I asked, thinking surely this was some kind of joke gone wrong.

  Black Mask didn’t say a word, but he did reach into that ugly black jacket and pull out a dark vial with a dropper lid. He sat it on the counter. “This is very potent poison. Completely untraceable in the bloodstream.”

  I stared at the vial.

  “You have access to the president’s meals, his food. Just a couple drops will kill him.”

  Oh. My. God. They were serious.

  “I’m not going to the kill the president!” I burst out.

  “You will, Ms. Bond,” Blue Mask said gravely.

  “No.” I shook my head. This was unbelievable. “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter who we are. Do what we say or you’ll regret it.”

  “What?” I said. “You’ll kill me if I don’t poison the president?” I snorted. This was stupid.

  “No,” said Black Mask. “We won’t kill you. We’ll kill him.”

  His eyes went to Jack. I sucked in a breath. They were threatening my son.

  “You would kill an innocent baby?” I whispered.

  “Oh, yes. And then we’ll come for your mother. We will destroy everything in your life until it’s just you, all alone.”

  “I’ll call the police,” I replied bravely.

  They laughed. They actually chuckled like it was funny. “We own the police force.”

  “You can’t possibly…”

  “You have no idea who we work for. The police can’t help you. Go ahead. Call them. We’ll make sure you’re the one who goes down for plotting to kill the commander in chief. What will happen to your son then?”

  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.

  An image of Spencer swam before my heavy eyes and my lids drifted closed. For some reason, thinking about Spence made everything seem a little less terrifying. I clung to the thought of his honey-colored eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners when he was sneaking cookies from the kitchen.

  It didn’t take long for sheer exhaustion to pull me under, and I fell into sleep, an unwilling captor of fatigue.

  It felt like I was barely asleep for ten minutes when something woke me. I jerked awake immediately, a little disoriented, until I remembered I was in Jack’s room. My brain was foggy from sleep. My eyes felt as if they had one hundred pounds of sand in them, and my entire body ached like a giant bruise.

  And then I remembered why I was sleeping in Jack’s room and not mine.

  The fog in my brain blew away, and I sat up, ignoring the protests of my limbs. The light between the blinds was dim. The sun would be coming up soon. It was probably my internal alarm clock that woke me.

  I went over to Jack’s crib, smiling a little because I knew I would see his little angelic face, and leaned over the railing.

  My entire body jerked.

  The crib was empty.

  I did a double take, thinking I was still half asleep.

  I wasn’t.

  Jack was gone.

  “Jack!” I called as pure terror pounded through my veins. My vision blurred and my body swayed, threatening to pass out. I didn’t have time to pass out.

  How in the hell did this happen? I’d been in here all night!

  “Calm down, Elle,” I told myself. “Maybe he finally learned how to climb out.”

  I raced from the room, checking the bathroom, my bedroom, and the small hall closet. No sign of him. My heart began to hammer against my ribs as I approached the steps. I was beyond petrified I would see his little body lying at the bottom of the steps.

  He wasn’t there either.

  “Jack!” I called for him again, praying to God he would make some sort of sound. I’d give anything to hear a “Momma” right about now.

  It was achingly silent. I raced through the house, tearing it apart, looking in every possible spot he could be. He wasn’t there.

  Jack wasn’t there.

  Someone kidnapped my son.

  I was practically hyperventilating when I grabbed my keys and phone and raced outside to my car. I was going to the police station immediately. I needed as much help as I could get.

  Where was he? Was he okay? Was he confused? Was he hungry, crying? How in the hell could someone just
walk in and take him from literally right beneath my nose?

  The car door slammed behind me and I fought my shaking hands, trying to get the damn key into the ignition. I was sobbing openly, horrible sounds of pain ripping from my lungs.

  “Momma,” said a little voice from behind me.

  I spun around so fast it hurt my head. “Jack!” I cried.

  He was sitting in his car seat, still wearing the little pajamas I’d dressed him in the night before. I catapulted out of the car and rushed around to the back door and wrenched it open. I pulled Jack into my arms and cried, utterly relieved he was okay.

  “Mommy was so scared,” I told him, kissing the top of his dark head. “What happened to you?” I asked, pulling him back slightly so I could look him over for injury.

  He appeared to be fine. Not a single mark on him, and he wasn’t crying so I figured that was good.

  I hugged him again, so tight he squealed, and I pulled him back again with a smile. I heard the crinkling of paper and wrinkled my nose. That was an odd sound. I grabbed my keys and went back inside, still clutching Jack.

  I heard the sound again and looked down at his onesie. It seemed like the paper was inside his pajamas.

  I laid him on the couch and reached inside, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper.

  Next time he won’t be so easy to find.

  I ran into the bathroom and threw up.

  What in the hell was I going to do?

  4

  Some days going to work was hard. I felt guilty a lot for dropping Jack off with my mom and leaving. I felt like I was missing moments with him that I would regret later. I wondered when he grew up if he would have more memories with his grandma than he did with me.

  I wondered if I was a good enough mother. I wondered if it made me a bad person for loving what I did and wanting to do it.

  But today, going to work was hard for a completely different reason.

  I wondered what would happen if I wasn’t there to protect him. I worried that something horrible would happen to Jack or my mom. Before leaving, I gave Mom a wad of cash and told her to take Jack to the zoo. I didn’t know if sending her out in public was a good idea or not. I wasn’t sure if the crowd at the zoo would be a good thing or a bad thing. But it made me feel a fraction better that they would be with a ton of other people instead of alone at my mom’s place.