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Fast.
Palms?
Kind of sweaty.
Everything else?
Okay, I guess.
What would I feel like if I was poisoned?
Shooting a quick email to George, I tell him there’s an emergency and then I forward the videos I’ve edited to the necessary people, informing them I had to leave early.
For all they know, I’ve been placed on assignment, but regardless of whether I’m experiencing a medical emergency or not, I know there’s no way in hell I can just sit here.
While I wait for Sophie, I make a call to someone who will know what I should do.
“Detective Briggs.”
“Hi, it’s Greer Bradley.”
“Greer, how are you? Everything okay?”
I inhale deeply, trying to calm my nerves. “I got a food delivery today and I thought it was from Mack, but when I texted him to thank him, he told me it wasn’t from him. But I had already eaten most of the food. It was my favorite, Goat Cheese Chicken Pasta from Louisiana Pizza Kitchen, and I was starving. But after Mack told me it wasn’t from him, I realized I’d fucked up… I ate it and it was fromhim. What should I do?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, voice calm. “Slow down. Do we know for sure the food was from… him?”
He hesitates on what to call this person who is making my life a living hell.
“It’s not from Sophie and she and Mack are the only two people who would know that’s my favorite dish and that I’m at work today. Plus, I found a note.”
I guess I should’ve led with that, but the whole situation makes me feel sick, and that makes me freak the fuck out, because I don’t know if the nausea is from my anxiety or something bad.
“What should I do?” I ask, desperation coating my plea. “Mack wants me to go to the hospital.”
“How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.” That admission comes out in almost a cry, because I’m at my wits end. “That’s why I called you.”
He exhales loudly. “Take anything that’s left of the food and I’ll meet you at Ochsner. I have a friend who works in the ER there, I’ll call ahead and tell her what we’re dealing with. They might run some tests or just keep you for observation, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Okay,” I say, barely above a whisper.
About that time, my phone pings with a text message from Sophie, letting me know she’s out front.
“My friend is here to pick me up.”
“Be safe and I’ll see you soon.”
We hang up and I grab the bag and my purse and head for the exit.
“Where are the kids?” I ask Sophie when I slide into the front seat and notice she’s alone.
“I asked our babysitter who lives a few doors down to come over and watch them. Are you okay?” Her blue eyes look so worried when she turns them my way.
Closing my eyes, I lean back in the seat as she starts to drive. “I don’t know.”
The first round of tears start to fall and it pisses me all the way off. “I just want my life back.”
