Poison and Prejudice

by Field, Chelsea

  But if I hadn’t been so short on time, I might have asked him why he’d been watching the entertainment channel in the first place.

  * * *

  My instructions were to wear comfortable clothes, so ten minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a stretchy tank top to find Connor, Oliver, and Meow seated together in the living room. Oliver must have recovered from our earlier conversation and was smirking. Connor was looking like he’d prefer to be somewhere else. Or maybe that was just his neutral expression. I still found it hard to tell.

  “Gee, Izzy, don’t dress up too much for your handsome date,” my ever helpful housemate said.

  I casually flipped a rude sign in his direction. “At least I have a date.”

  He pretended not to see it and straightened from his slouched position on the couch. “Ahem. Before you head off…”

  Darn, this was probably going to take a while as well.

  “With young Isobel so far from home and in dire need of parental guidance”—he sent me a significant look to let me know the red carpet was responsible for this speech—“I feel I should stand in for Izzy’s father here and ask Connor a few questions. But first, do either of you have a gun you could lend me? As a prop, I mean.”

  Connor stood up. Hopefully not to lend Oliver his gun. Or beat him with it.

  “We don’t have time for this tonight,” I told Oliver, petting Meow in farewell and then patting Oliver’s cheek too for good measure. “You can play some other time.”

  He pushed my hand away. “I’ll make it quick then.” He adopted a belligerent expression, which he turned on Connor and made his voice gruff. “How old are you, young man?”

  Connor didn’t answer.

  “Do you have a respectable job? Sweet Izzy here has expensive taste, you know.” He glanced at my outfit. “Well, sometimes. And be honest, have you had any run-ins with the law?”

  Connor’s lack of participation didn’t deter Oliver one bit.

  “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He pretended to look under one of Meow’s paws. “Tell me, lad, what are your intentions toward my Izzy here?”

  Connor stepped forward and whispered something in Oliver’s ear.

  Oliver’s eyes went wide, and he spluttered a little.

  Was he blushing?

  Connor patted him on the back. Hard.

  Time to go. “All right you two, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.” I grabbed Connor’s arm and steered him toward the door.

  Before we escaped, Oliver recovered from whatever Connor had told him and yelled out after us. “Make sure you bring her home before midnight. She’s got an early morning tomorrow!”

  I fled down the stairs feeling like Cinderella in reverse, and Connor opened the car door for me as he often did. When we’d first met, I was sure it was just for show. But the practice had continued now we were together and it was nice. Albeit superfluous.

  Okay, so it was less superfluous when I was using crutches because of a bullet wound in my thigh, or when I’d been drugged into a stupor, but most of the time it was unnecessary.

  I got in and admired him as he walked around the car. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. But it wasn’t just his athletic physique or striking face that drew me to him. It was the way he moved, the way he held himself, with quiet strength and competence. In a crowded room loud with bright colors and movement, he stood out for his stillness.

  His gray eyes held the same quality, but they were more revealing too, and while they were often stern, overcast, it had become my daily mission to bring out the warmth and humor waiting within.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, and we met in the middle for a kiss. One that made my toes tingle and brought out some of that warmth I loved to see in his eyes.

  Trying to retain my enthusiasm for a special outing rather than extra minutes in his arms, I leaned back. Apparently “comfortable clothes” in his books meant tailored shirt and jeans, but I was learning to be okay with being outshone by him since, from what I could tell, his own interest was reserved for me.

  “So where are we going?” I asked.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  It was somewhat disconcerting to realize that I really would have to wait and see because I had no idea what he might plan for a romantic get-together. We’d met five months ago on my first job as a Shade—that was the official title for undercover poison tasters among those who were aware of our existence—but Connor was a difficult person to get to know.

  I did know him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t give me any hints.

  I was coming up with ways to distract myself when my phone rang. Caller ID told me it was Etta, my elderly neighbor, friend, and accomplice. I would’ve let it go to voicemail except she didn’t phone me often, and she was currently visiting Connor’s mother, Mae. Praying she wasn’t phoning to say his mom was having chest pains again, I accepted the call.

  “Izzy, I have a question for you.”

  She wouldn’t start a conversation like that if this was a medical emergency. “Can I call you tomorrow? This isn’t a good time.”

  “Oh, it never is with you, is it?” Her voice had an edge to it that was strange coming from her. “When were you going to tell me about your new job with Zachariah Hill? I just saw you on the red carpet, and I can’t believe E! News had time to tell me about it before you did.”

  Ugh. That stupid, oversized doormat. “I didn’t realize it would be so important to you,” I said, which was kind of the truth. “Plus I thought you’d have plenty to entertain you at Mae’s.” That was a hundred percent true. It was how she was being entertained that I’d been concerned about. Etta had recently dragged me along on a murder investigation on behalf of a friend and had enjoyed it an almost disturbing amount. Mae, though retired, had been a PI for many years. It was a worrying combination.

  “Well, you should’ve known better. But never mind. Tell me all about it. What’s he like? How’d you land the job? Has he dated any older women?”

  “Now isn’t a good time,” I reiterated. “I’m on a date with Connor.”

  She loved Connor.

  “Why didn’t you say so? Goodness gracious girl, stop nattering and go pay attention to that gorgeous man of yours.”

  I was smart enough not to protest. Instead, I took the out and hung up.

  “Sorry, that was Etta. I thought I should answer on the off-chance it was something important.”

  Connor grunted understandingly but then ruined it by adding, “I know you’re a pushover.”

  I was debating whether to hit him when we pulled into a Taco Bell drive-through.

  Really? A drive-through? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not fussy, and I love food of all varieties. Mexican is even one of my favorites. But Connor seemed, well, classier than that. Then again, until he’d told me to dress comfortably, I would have pegged him to take me to some fancy restaurant and spend ridiculous amounts of money on tiny plates of food.

  For the record, I would have enjoyed that too. Did I mention I love food?

  “You can have anything on the menu,” he told me, amusement coloring his voice.

  Every time Connor chose playful over professional, it made me feel bright inside. Not only did it show that he was learning to trust me, at least as much as he trusted anyone, but it reminded me I was as good for him as he was for me. According to his mom and sister anyway. He worked for the Taste Society like I did, but his role was investigating lethal poisoning attempts instead of trying to prevent them, and he also owned a high-end security company. As a result, he spent so much of his life chasing down the bad guys and lying to the good guys for confidentiality reasons that it was difficult for him to loosen up and remember how to have fun.

  I went along with the joke and put a melodramatic hand over my chest. “Wow. Anything?”

  “Anything,” he confirmed extravagantly.

  I ordered a Crunchwrap Supreme with a side of cheesy fiesta
potatoes, a mango fiesta to wash it down, and a caramel apple empanada for dessert. It was way too much food, but he did say I could have anything I wanted.

  However, Mr. Extravagant wouldn’t let me eat any of it until we arrived at our mysterious destination, so the smell wafted out of the paper bag, teasing me.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled to a stop. I got out and looked around, curiosity temporarily overpowering my appetite. We were… somewhere in the hills overlooking LA. Lights twinkled below, and a dark, silvery mass farther out must have been the ocean.

  Connor opened the trunk and retrieved a flashlight, picnic rug, wine bottle, and a couple of glasses.

  I felt a smile creep across my face. “You must be a romantic under that grumpy exterior.”

  “I’m neither grumpy nor romantic.” Despite his words, he sounded pleased. “Think you can carry the food?”

  We walked a little way from the road and the car until it seemed like we could’ve been the only people for miles. I often craved the uncrowded, wide-open spaces of the Adelaide Hills, Australia, where I’d grown up, and this was LA’s equivalent. I dragged in a lungful of clean air—relatively speaking—and felt instantly lighter.

  Connor laid out the picnic rug, and we sat down side by side, our arms and legs touching. “I hope this is okay,” he said. “I thought after the bustle and limelight of working for Zac, you might enjoy some peace and solitude.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I had planned a more elaborate meal, but Harper told me romance isn’t about impressing your partner, it’s about showing them you care enough to do the things they love. And you love fast food.”

  I grinned. “You asked Harper for advice?”

  He shot me a “watch it” look and didn’t respond, which I took as a yes. Then he poured the wine and handed me a glass. “I have something else planned too, but eat before the food goes cold.”

  We ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the sounds of the night around us. When I’d finished, I wiped my fingers on my jeans and lay back on the rug, using my arm as a makeshift cushion. Only a few stars were bold enough to be visible past the thick layer of smog. Thanks, LA. But I felt peace and contentment wash over me.

  Connor joined me a moment later.

  “Is it time for the next stage of your plan?” I asked, my spare hand seeking his.

  “I suppose so.” He sounded reluctant. “I know the other thing you like is me being more open with you.” He cleared his throat. “So I came up with three topics I don’t usually talk about. To anyone. You’re allowed to pick one.”

  A tingle of excitement buzzed through me. This was an amazing concession on his part. An incredible gift.

  Well, depending on what those topics were. I rolled over so I could see his face. “The suspense is killing me. What are—ouch!” I sat up fast. “I think I just got bitten by something.”

  Connor grabbed the flashlight and searched the ground where my arm had been while I inspected the wound.

  “Damn,” he muttered. The light had illuminated a black spider with a red stripe on its abdomen.

  As an Australian, I knew red stripes on spiders meant danger. “What is it?”

  “A black widow.”

  “That’s comforting. Is it um, called that because it used to kill people’s husbands?”

  “No. They’re named widows because they sometimes kill and eat their mates.”

  That wasn’t particularly comforting either but better than the alternative I supposed. “Why aren’t they called black cannibalistic widows then?”

  “Their bites can be pretty unpleasant,” Connor said, ignoring my last question. “Even with your natural resistance. We should get you medical attention.”

  The site of the bite was burning, swelling, and turning red, but I was reluctant to interrupt our date. And there was another reason I was reluctant to seek medical attention. A reason far more uncomfortable than the venom.

  Nevertheless, Connor wouldn’t negotiate when it came to my safety. I moved off the picnic rug he was rushing to pack up and stifled a sigh.

  “Medical attention it is then. But does that mean I get to hear about two of your secret topics?”

  3

  The answer was no. In fact, he refused to even tell me what the topics were, claiming he wanted to save them for a special occasion. A special occasion he was going to engineer at least, but still.

  I guess my needing medical attention didn’t count as special since it had happened so often in the past few months.

  We arrived at the Taste Society medical facility half an hour before midnight. There was no signage out front since it was covert like everything else in the Taste Society, but I’d been here before. I hadn’t wanted to return so soon.

  To procrastinate going in, I leaned my head against the headrest and didn’t bother to hold in my sigh this time. “Unbelievable.”

  “What?”

  “I spend the first twenty-eight years of my life in Australia, the continent renowned around the world for its venomous spiders, snakes, and dangerous animals, and the worst I ever got bitten by was a hopper ant. Then I come to California, a place renowned for its celebrities rather than its menacing wildlife and get bitten by a black widow.”

  “Black widows are nonaggressive, and they’re getting rare around here,” Connor informed me.

  “I guess I’m just lucky then.”

  Connor leaned over and kissed my jawline, then moved to my lips. One hand traced my face before traveling south, and I found myself wondering whether I could convince him his distractions would be cure enough. He pulled away. “Go in and get your antivenom, then I’ll show you what getting lucky feels like.”

  It was a good motivation technique. I unclipped my seat belt.

  Connor made no move to do the same. “Will it be easier if I don’t go in with you?” He must have guessed at the reason for my dread.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I walked up to the unmarked sandstone-colored building, then used the intercom to ID myself as Shade 22703 and outline my purpose for being here. The reflective glass door slid open, then shut silently behind me as I entered. Swallowing me whole.

  I was greeted by that sterile, antiseptic smell and the reception area that doubled as a second layer of security. The on-duty receptionist would’ve pulled up my Taste Society profile as soon as I’d supplied my ID and could lock the room down in seconds if my face didn’t match. There were a lot of secrets to protect here.

  My arm was burning, and my head ached. Not life threatening, but Connor was right, as usual. It was worth getting attention for if I wanted to get any sleep. It would’ve been worse without my gene mutation too. Now I just had to talk to a nurse and hope a certain doctor wasn’t the one working tonight.

  After a brief conversation, I was led to a small, private room to await the moment of doom. Minutes ticked by. The nurse had warned me they were busy.

  I was half-asleep when the door opened. My hope fled out of it, leaving me to face the music.

  Dr. Levi Eduardo Reyes was the kind of man that romances are born from. Dark eyes that could switch between mischievous and soulful in a heartbeat, toffee skin complemented by his pristine white lab coat, and dimples so good they seemed sinful.

  But if this was a romance, it was going terribly wrong.

  He’d asked me out a little over a month and a half ago, but I’d turned him down saying my life was too complicated. Then I’d proceeded to berate myself and second-guess my decision until Connor had asked me out a week later, and I learned the real reason I’d said no to Levi.

  I hadn’t seen Levi since, so he didn’t know I was seeing Connor. Didn’t know that my life had gone from “too complicated” to “ready to date” in less than a week. The situation was made even more awkward because Levi had promised to ask me out again later when life was less complicated.

  That was why I hadn’t invited Connor to come in with me. I didn’t want to be the cause of any further sparring
over their respective “bedside manners.” And I didn’t want to hurt Levi.

  I needed to tell him. But at the end of this very long day, with my hair mussed from my date and black widow venom coursing through my system, it was tempting to wait for a better opportunity.

  The old Izzy wouldn’t have had a choice. Partly because she was hopeless at lying but mostly because her conscience wouldn’t allow any other option. But with my Taste Society job forcing me to keep secrets from everyone, including my closest family and friends, it wasn’t so cut-and-dried anymore.

  I decided if he didn’t ask, then I wouldn’t tell him tonight. It wouldn’t be lying. It would just be… neglecting to mention it.

  He swept into the room with his brisk limp and a bouquet of purple dahlias, which he presented to me with a flourish. “Beautiful Isobel, what trouble have you found this time?”

  I’d forgotten how ridiculously good-looking he was, and how unlike Connor he was too. Levi was warm, cheerful, engaging. To borrow a phrase from Etta, he could charm the stink off a skunk. Oh, and in case all that wasn’t enough, I’d learned he’d been an emergency physician in the Army. So he was a wounded war veteran doctor with soulful eyes and wicked dimples.

  Okay, I wasn’t a hundred percent certain his limp was from his time serving in the Army, but chances were good.

  “Thank you.” I took the flowers awkwardly, and he caught sight of the swollen red lump on my arm.

  “I hope that isn’t an infected cat scratch.”

  I laughed despite myself. I was sure the nurse would’ve filled him in about the black widow, but he was referencing the time he’d patched me up after Meow had clawed me in panic. Etta had insisted I get antibiotics for it, but I’d been embarrassed at having an ex-Army physician tend me for something so trivial, and he’d done his best to put me at ease with a story of how bad infected cat scratches could be.

  “No, it’s the arachnoid species I’m having trouble with this time.”

  He grinned. “You should learn to pick fights you can win.” Gentle fingers probed the wound and took my vitals while he spoke. Then he pulled out a syringe. “Now don’t look at the needle. Look at the flowers. Aren’t they beautiful? Like you.”