Pick Your Poison Read online

  At the sight of the chef, Callie whipped forward, clenching her jaw and praying that the woman hadn’t noticed her just a few feet away.

  “What the hell is he doing?”

  Callie recognized the low, confident voice and fought the urge to turn and glare at the woman who had stolen her roses and was using them to poison the governor. Rage rocked her, but she closed her fingers over her seat, forcing herself to remain off the chef’s deadly radar.

  The server with the roses climbed the stage at the same moment that Governor McManus spotted Ben striding across the room. A frown pulled on the older man’s face as he leaned to the person next to him, whispering and pointing to Ben.

  “Excuse me!” A man in a suit hustled toward Ben, but he dodged and rounded the next table.

  “Security!” Ben hollered as he darted closer to the dais.

  A rumble of reaction rolled through the room, a slow thunder that started at one end and picked up steam as the crowd sensed that something was wrong.

  The server reached Governor McManus, standing behind him, ready to place his plate in front of him. The governor barely noticed, his furious glower directed at Ben, who barreled forward.

  “God damn him!” The voice behind Callie echoed the very expression of the governor, as though they were of one mind.

  “Hold it!” Two more security guards lunged at Ben, but he easily avoided one who tried to grab him and pushed the other aside, earning a few shouts of concern from around the room.

  “Don’t eat that!” Ben yelled at the governor.

  The entire room fell silent in shock and then chaos erupted as people stood and four burly guards seized Ben, too much for him to shake off.

  “Calm down, everyone!” The governor shouted, standing, waving his hands as though he had the power to still the room. The bodyguards instantly maneuvered Ben to the opposite end of the banquet room.

  “There’s poison on every table!” Ben shouted just as the guards whipped him through a door, silencing him.

  “Everything is fine,” the governor called out again, taking the mic from the podium to quiet the crowd. “That’s just a disgruntled former employee, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  But the rumble grew louder, a few people cried out, someone tossed their whole plate on the floor.

  “I’ll prove it to you!” The governor moved to his plate to take a bite and horror closed Callie’s throat, cutting off her air. Should she stand up and call out—and end up being carried off like Ben? Should she—?

  The doors behind her swung open again. “That’s for Mrs. McManus,” the chef said.

  Callie risked turning in her seat to see another gold-rimmed plate, instantly spotting the black rose petals in place of the shaved truffle.

  For the governor’s wife?

  At that moment, Callie felt eyes drilling a hole through her. Without thinking, she looked up and froze as she met the chef’s steely gaze, hissing in a breath at the realization that she’d been caught.

  The waiter moved forward, slowly hoisting the tray while the rumble and conversation of the crowd almost drowned out the punching beat of Callie’s pulse.

  That plate was headed to the governor’s wife. Callie had to stop it. She had to. What if Mrs. McManus wanted to keep order and set an example by eating?

  Just as the waiter stepped forward, Callie pushed her chair back and threw out her leg, tripping the waiter and sending everything on the tray in a clatter to the floor.

  Another scream rose from the already jittery crowd as the waiter swore mightily.

  “So sorry,” Callie murmured, trying to help the man up, only to have a hand land on her own shoulder. Even in all the noise and confusion, the smash of bodies, china, and chairs, Callie knew who it was.

  “Nice to see you again.” The voice was right in her ear, so close she could feel the chef’s breath… and the hard, unforgiving jab of a gun in her back. “Get up and come with me, or I pull the trigger.”

  Callie managed to breathe and think. “You wouldn’t kill me in cold blood in front of five hundred people.”

  “I wouldn’t? I’ll be a hero, killing the flower farmer who purposely sold us the poison roses.” She stabbed the gun harder into Callie’s rib. “Or you can come with me.”

  Die here… or die somewhere else. Callie stood slowly, if only to delay the inevitable.

  The chef shouldered Callie through the crowd and chaos, the whole room on the edge of panic. No one even noticed the two women who disappeared down a hallway that ran parallel to the kitchens.

  “Move it!” The chef poked the gun and wrenched Callie’s arm, cracking it back as she pushed them both through another door to a dimly lit stairway. “Down!”

  She shoved so hard that Callie stumbled, her knees buckling under her, but the chef yanked her upright, the move popping her shoulder and sending white lights of pain flashing behind Callie’s eyes.

  “Oww!”

  “Shut up.” She pushed Callie harder, practically tossing her down the stairs, then whipping her around to shove her down another flight.

  Callie tried to wrest her arm from the other woman’s grip, but just got the butt of the gun slammed on the soft part of her back.

  “Here.” The chef threw Callie against a door, then into a dank, dark dry storage room that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “In there!” the woman demanded, thrusting Callie across the room toward a large stainless steel door. “Get in!”

  Oh, Lord. The freezer. The freezer!

  ~*~

  Looking around the “security command center,” Ben would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed off. The room was little more than an empty conference area with two computers and a sofa in the bowels of the hotel, the perfect reflection of McManus’s second-rate security team.

  That team milled about, clearly over their heads, until the door flew open and McManus himself stood before Ben.

  “I hope you’re happy, Youngblood.” The purple vein that ran deep into his distinguished white hair throbbed as it did every time he lost his temper. “Rumors of poison spread through that room faster than fire, and now the luncheon’s cancelled. Do you live to screw up my campaign?”

  One of the security team, a bespectacled, balding man who might have been in charge—if anyone in this Mickey Mouse operation was actually in charge—stepped forward. “We can’t ignore the accusation, Governor, regardless of the source.”

  “Shut up, Brickman.” McManus dismissed the man with a flick of his wrist, spearing Ben with a look. “What is it with you?” he demanded. “Are you working for the other side? You’re ruining my campaign and you’re not even on my security team.”

  “Get your plate,” Ben said.

  McManus waved a hand. “Enough of that crap, now—”

  “We have the plate set aside,” Brickman said. “For the lab.”

  “Fine,” McManus said, stepping closer to Ben. “I really think you’re out to ruin me.”

  “Not as much as the person who put poisoned rose petals on your lunch plate.”

  “No one put…” He hesitated for a minute, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which must have vibrated quietly.

  Ben recognized the phone as the one that even Bullet Catchers had never had their hands on—McManus’s most private of private lines.

  For a moment, McManus said nothing, not even a greeting, but listened to the person on the other end. Ben thought he might have heard a female voice, but couldn’t be sure.

  “I understand,” McManus finally said. “That’s quite interesting. I’ll handle it.” After a moment, he hung up and then nodded slowly to Ben. “You’re free to go, Youngblood.”

  Ben blinked in surprise. “I don’t want to go, Governor. I want to tell you exactly who—”

  “In fact, let’s walk out together.” McManus put a friendly, phony arm on Ben’s back. “Gentlemen,” he said to the others, “I’m going to walk out with Mr. Youngblood. No need to follow, he
’s an excellent bodyguard and I’m in good hands.”

  Something was up. Something was definitely up. Still, Ben stayed with McManus, strolling down a carpeted hallway and all the way back into the banquet room where a lot of people still circulated, despite efforts to get everyone out.

  Neither Callie nor Chef Stone was in sight. “Governor, I know—”

  “It’s okay, Ben” he said, his tone rich with forgiveness. “I realize you were just doing your job. Or what used to be your job. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your, uh, enthusiasm.”

  Screw enthusiasm and screw this asshole. “I know who’s been sending you the assassination threats.”

  McManus nodded and leaned closer. “Chef Stone.”

  Ben froze mid-step. “You know that?”

  The governor took a long, slow inhale, hissing through his teeth as he slowly guided Ben across the room, ignoring everyone’s looks. “Let’s just say I’ve had my suspicions.”

  “And you keep her on staff?”

  “I had to work with a special team to have her watched, Ben, and that’s why I let you go. You were getting too close to the investigation and I didn’t want you to blow it before we could really catch her.”

  What? “You’re running a security investigation and keeping it secret from your security team?”

  McManus led him past the table where Ben and Callie had been sitting, but she was long gone. Her absence kicked him in the gut, surprisingly strong.

  With luck, she was out in the lobby. But maybe she’d had enough of this intrigue and figured out a way to get back to her farm. If so, he’d find her. And pay her. And…

  McManus gave a side door a good shove. “This way.”

  Ben hesitated at the doorway to a short hall and stairwell. “Where are we going?”

  “The investigation is complete.” The governor turned and smiled. “We got her downstairs.”

  “Chef Stone?”

  He nodded. “My new security team detained her minutes ago, and they’re questioning her. We had to catch her red-handed, Ben, and that’s why I was so angry every time you stepped in to save me.”

  That made sense, in a convoluted and stupid way.

  “I want you down there for the questioning,” McManus said. “You have a vested interest in this.”

  But not vested enough to know about the investigation when he should have been heading it. Something stunk… bad.

  The governor gave him another nudge to the stairs. “Hurry, Ben.”

  He did, but, hell, his gut was screaming loud and clear that something was wrong.

  ~*~

  Monica Stone let go of Callie’s arm long enough to grab the handle and tug open the heavy door. Icy air blasted through thick, clear panels that hung in the doorway.

  Just her luck, Callie thought. An abandoned pantry and the ancient freezer still worked.

  “In there.” She shoved Callie forward, a vinyl panel in the doorway like a chilly slap in her face.

  “Please.” Callie could finally turn and meet her enemy face to face. Eyes as cold as the freezer narrowed at her. “Please let me go.”

  “You know too much.” She took a menacing step forward, the gun aimed right at Callie’s heart.

  “I don’t know anything,” she lied.

  “You’re with that bodyguard, that Bullet Catcher.”

  “He’s my—”

  The side of the gun slammed against the side of her head, stunning her with the impact and a fiery slice of pain that made the inside of her brain scream.

  “Don’t lie, you little bitch. He’s figured out too much already.” She shoved Callie backward, this time with enough force to knock her onto an unforgiving pebbled floor.

  Crouching down, the chef held the gun directly in the center of Callie’s forehead, her hand remarkably steady, her gaze unwavering as she reached into a pocket in the front of her chef’s apron.

  “These have been rubbed liberally in beet root jelly.” She opened her palm to reveal a handful of Black Cherry petals. “If you eat them, you will die in your sleep, quietly and peacefully. If you don’t, you will die of hypothermia in an hour, frozen until your heart gives out. Either way, the world will think you were part of the assassination plot and it’ll be assumed you took the chicken’s choice of suicide rather than face attempted charges. Same end result, however you choose to die.”

  Already Callie was shivering, her thin silk clothes no match for what felt like twenty below. “Wh… why?” she asked, trying to force her teeth not to clatter. “Why do you want to kill the governor?”

  The woman stood slowly, a wicked smile curving her lips. “I’m not going to kill him, my dear. I’m going to marry him, once we get rid of his pesky wife. She’s going to be the victim of an assassination attempt gone wrong, and Roy, my future husband, will be re-elected on sympathy votes.”

  So the governor wasn’t the target… he was the killer.

  The chef backed up, the gun aimed at Callie’s heart. “Your manner of death is up to you.” She fluttered the petals on the cold steel floor. “Good-bye and thanks for the flowers.”

  Death? Not if she lunged, dodged a bullet, and took this devil woman down by stuffing poison down her throat.

  It was a plan.

  She swallowed hard, scooped up the petals, took a breath, and jumped—

  The gunshot echoed through the steel walls with a blinding flash of light and an impact that threw Callie backwards. The world went dark instantly and completely.

  All she could do was pray that she died quickly.

  Chapter Five

  A gunshot—muffled but close—brought Ben to a complete halt. Out of habit and training, he seized the governor with one hand and drew his weapon with the other.

  “No way, Governor,” he said, gripping his jacket even though the other man tried to wrench free and get to the door of a storage pantry.

  “They’re in there,” McManus said.

  “And so was that shot.” Ben let go, lifting his Glock and facing the door. He braced the weapon with his left hand, prepared for anything or anyone to come out.

  “Governor McManus!” The shout came from up the stairway, and Ben recognized it as Brickman, the head of his security.

  “Go,” Ben gave him a push toward the stairs. “Get up and get secure. I’ll go in here.”

  “I’m on my way, Brickman.” He headed to the stairs, turning back to look at Ben over his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Youngblood. Too good.”

  “Just stay alive so I can get my goddamn job back.”

  He thought he heard the governor laugh, but didn’t take the time to analyze that. Instead, Ben kicked in the pantry door, ready to fire.

  The room was empty, except for dry food supplies and stainless steel shelving. No other door or window. Just shelves and frozen storage.

  Holding the gun, he turned the handle of the freezer, drawing the heavy door out to peer into the darkness inside. Wasn’t there a—

  Whoompf! Kicked from the back, Ben went sailing into the cold space, gripping his gun as he caught his balance, instantly swinging around to fire, getting off a shot just as the door slammed shut, leaving him in ice-cold darkness.

  What the fuck? He lunged at the door release, tripping over something soft as he threw his body on the lever.

  And nothing happened.

  “God damn it!” He shouldered the bar again, hitting nothing but frozen steel. There wasn’t so much as a sliver of light, not anything to help him get his bearings, but he moved on instinct, long ago trained for how to get out of situations like these.

  Don’t get in situations like these, Lucy Sharpe would have said.

  But where had that person been hiding? On top of the freezer?

  Swearing softly, he started searching for an emergency lock release, no doubt a large mushroom cap that was required by law even in an abandoned freezer. He felt his way around the door, not bothering to dig out his phone for a light. His hands rolled over mounds of ice
grown thick from a lack of defrosting. And with warm temperatures outside… that emergency release shaft could be frozen, too.

  He found the smooth, round cap and slammed with all his strength. “God damn it.” Frozen solid. He punched harder. “Fuck!”

  Shoving his weapon in the holster, he started back across the freezer, not even a low-grade panic building inside of him. He had to get out; he had to get to McManus—who already knew the assassin.

  That was—

  His foot hit the soft lump again, feeling a touch of warmth against his ankle. What was in this freezer that wasn’t frozen? He dropped to his knees and reached into the dark, landing on… a person. A female.

  A lifeless female.

  The minute his chilled hands touched her face and silky hair, he knew who it was. Then he really swore.

  ~*~

  So this was death. Callie didn’t expect it to hurt so much once you were actually dead. Agonizing, stabbing, searing pain ricocheted through her head, clobbering her brain like someone was pounding her with a shovel.

  And the cold. Bone-deep, bitter, biting cold seeped through her clothes and skin and felt like it was actually freezing her inside. Her lungs ached with each ragged breath, as though they’d been stripped bare and flattened in snow.

  And… there was the light. Everyone talked about the light. Absolutely blinding white light, so bright she couldn’t stand to open her eyes to face it. At least she was headed in the right direction, going up to the Lo—

  “Callie. Holy hell, Callie, wake up.”

  Holy hell? After all the prayers she said? All the times she didn’t lie or cuss or covet a dang thing? After leaving Kentucky and giving up her dream of college because no one else in the whole family would move to Florida to help Granny Belle run her farm? That wasn’t enough to get her in—

  “Callie, come on, honey, come on.”

  Who was that? Whose voice was calling her? St. Peter? God Himself? Fighting all the pain and misery, she forced her eyes to open just enough and instantly the light moved away.

  “Wake up, Callie. Please, wake up.”