He made a growling sound and kissed me swiftly. Then he shoved another cookie into his mouth.
“I knew making these would get you in here,” I said, amused.
“You miss me?” He smiled.
“Maybe.” I sniffed.
“I miss you, too.”
He caught me around the waist again and pulled me close. “It’s almost over,” he whispered against my ear.
Nerves bunched in my belly, but I forced them down. The plan was in place. We were going through with it. I wanted my son to come home.
“I miss Jack,” I said quietly.
“I know, darlin’,” Spencer said. “He’s doing good. I promise.”
“Can’t I just talk to him?” I asked. It wasn’t the first time.
He groaned. “You know how hard it is to say no to you?”
“You could say yes.” I tried.
Spencer grabbed me by the waist. “Give me two days. Three tops.”
The dignitary dinner was the day after tomorrow.
“You really think things will move that fast after…?” I kept my voice low.
Someone walked by and Spencer covered up our conversation by kissing me. Apparently, PDA was a good way to look inconspicuous.
I heard some muffled giggles fading, and Spencer pulled away. As usual, he dropped a quick second kiss to my lips. “Thanks for the cookies, babe.”
He shoved another in his mouth and picked up at least four more.
I knew our conversation was over. We weren’t supposed to be talking about anything here anyway.
“Elle.” The kitchen manager appeared. “Could we go over some last-minute changes and additions to this menu?” She held up her clipboard.
“Of course,” I replied. “Mr. Caroway requested changes?”
“On behalf of Vice President Snyder.”
I gave Spencer a small smile and he winked. “Catch ya later,” he said.
“Bye,” I called, going back to work.
As the changes were outlined to me (they were fairly minor and easy to accommodate), this odd feeling came over me. Sort of like a terrible foreboding, like my subconscious was trying to tell me something.
But how could it tell me something it didn’t really know?
It couldn’t.
I just hoped by the time I figured it out, it wouldn’t be too late.
21
By the evening of the dinner, I was strung out. My nerves were frayed, and I just wanted this to be over, one way or another. It seemed like the anticipation of this situation was turning out to be far worse than the actual act.
I hoped anyway.
Spencer seemed distracted, going through profiles of the White House employees over and over again. They added extra secret security to the event and were disguising them as guests. He told me not to worry.
I worried anyway.
Thankfully, I couldn’t stress too much because I was too busy in the kitchen. Preparing a sit-down dinner for a ton of people required most of my attention.
The main course was comprised of rack of roasted lamb, roasted garlic asparagus, and creamy chive mashed potatoes. Before the main course, we were serving chilled melon soup and a mixed green salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. There were crusty French rolls in the warming drawer, freshly whipped sweet butter, and tons of wine.
For dessert, we chose to serve something light, strawberry granita with mint and shortbread cookies.
Very few people knew about what was going to happen tonight. Me, Spencer, Walsh, and two other Secret Service members. I was supposed to “poison” the president with dessert.
That meant I had to sweat the entire dinner, waiting.
These dinners were not short affairs. They lasted for hours. I understood they were necessary and part of the political world, but my God, they were boring.
As the chef, I needed to be present in case issues came up with the food, adjustments needed to be made, etc. So it wasn’t unusual for me to be here in the kitchen during the dinner.
I hadn’t heard from the men who were threatening me since the night at my apartment. But I didn’t need to see them to feel the threat hanging over my head. There was a clock inside me, ticking… reminding me that tonight was my deadline.
Please let this work, I prayed for the millionth time.
Spencer was here, too, but I didn’t see him. He was doing his job and I was doing mine.
When dessert finally came around, my entire body ached from my muscles being so tight. I was only too glad to prepare the president’s dish and carry it, by hand, out to the server. “This is the president’s,” I told her.
She nodded and took the dish, presenting it to him right away.
He took it with a large smile and then joked good-naturedly with the man sitting at his side. He seemed so laidback, so relaxed that my stomach knotted.
What if he didn’t go along with the plan?
What if he had his own agenda?
He seemed far too comfortable for a man who was about to “die.” I prayed it meant he was just a really good actor.
Once all the dessert was passed out among the guests, everyone began to eat. With bated breath, I watched from behind a cracked doorway as the president picked up his spoon.
“Delicious,” I heard him tell the First Lady as he took a second bite.
My teeth sank into my lower lip, and I watched the unfolding scene. Spencer stood not far away, looking like a statue, standing tall and stock-still. His face gave away no indication he knew what might happen.
No one did.
Seconds ticked by. I felt sweat dampen my brow.
The president’s spoon clattered against the plate holding his dish. He smiled tightly and wiped at his brow. The First Lady leaned into his ear, asking him if he was all right.
I watched him assure her he was.
He got up from the head table, excusing himself. On his way to a nearby door, he stumbled, then righted himself. Walsh went to his side, assisting him in going out the door.
Just as the door was almost closed, I saw the president collapse on the floor. Spencer and the other Secret Service agents all received word in the black earpieces they were wearing. They filed out of the room quickly, barely drawing any attention.
The door opened and closed quickly as they all disappeared to the president’s side.
A few guests at the president’s table looked around in curiosity, worry marring their made-up faces.
How everyone in the room could just go on, how they could not even realize someone was falling ill among them, how a sinister plot was developing right beneath their nose—it amazed me.
After a moment, the First Lady appeared concerned. She excused herself and knocked on the door the president just left through.