“Only that US marshals had come to interview Ms. Whitehurst in connection with Culvert’s escape from custody following his emergency appendectomy on Sunday.”
“Thank you, Kent. We’ll be bringing you updates on the explosion in Peebles, West Virginia, as things unfold.” Nobles glanced at the papers on the polished table in front of her. “In national news, the president met with...”
Someone knocked on the door, and opened it before Priscilla or Luc could respond. Mac held up two bags of Chinese takeout. “I thought we’d eat in here, as I’m sure you have some questions about what’s happening.” He crossed the room and placed the bags on the dresser beside the TV. “You saw the news?”
“Yes.” Luc got to his feet. “I didn’t know they had confirmed Rachel’s death.”
“I wouldn’t have released that information, but it’s not our investigation.” Mac hauled out several food containers. “We have sweet-and-sour pork, chicken and broccoli, and moo shu beef and cabbage. What would you like?”
Priscilla picked the pork, Luc took the chicken and Mac seemed happy to have the beef-and-cabbage dish all to himself. Mac dished out the fried rice and spring rolls on paper plates he’d brought with him, and handed out napkins and utensils.
“If you’ll grab the desk chair, we can use the coffee table for our plates,” Luc suggested.
“Good idea. I’ll get some bottled water. Be right back.” Mac pulled the door to, but it didn’t latch, leaving a slight crack.
The marshals’ dinner conversation piqued Priscilla’s interest as she balanced her plate on her lap.
“The photos of the motel bomb site are very similar to another bombing attributed to Culvert,” Aldrich said, talking in the other room. “That other bombing was triggered by a keycard inserted into the door lock. Coincidence? I think not.”
* * *
The color drained from Priscilla’s face. “That poor woman.”
Luc put down his plate of food and was about to put his arm around her shaking shoulders when Mac returned with three bottles of water. Mac pushed the door closed with his foot before joining them around the coffee table.
“You heard Aldrich’s comment?” Mac passed around the bottled water as both Luc and Priscilla nodded. “We’re taking every precaution to keep you safe.”
She hunched her shoulders as she toyed with her fork above the steaming pork dish. “I know you are.”
But Luc could practically feel the stress crashing off her like waves against rocks. He asked the question that had been bouncing around in his brain for a while. “How can you be sure it’s Culvert who’s behind the attempts on Priscilla’s life and these deaths?”
Mac arched his eyebrows. “Culvert will do anything to avoid paying for his crimes.” He speared a piece of beef with a chopstick but didn’t pop it in his mouth. “Priscilla’s in the witness protection program because she witnessed him shoot three people—at point-blank range. In my professional opinion, yes, I believe Culvert’s behind all of it.”
Luc swallowed a bite of broccoli. “That’s what bothers me.”
“It bothers you that an assassin is after Priscilla?” Mac expertly wielded the chopsticks to eat a piece of cabbage.
“No, it bothers me that he’s not been successful.” Luc mentally slapped himself in the forehead over his poor word choice.
“You want Culvert to succeed in killing me?” Priscilla put down her fork, her eyes wide. “And here I thought you wanted me alive so we could figure out this marriage thing.”
Luc shifted his plate from his lap to the table in front of him. “I didn’t mean that. I do want you alive.” He groaned, frustrated over his bumbled conversation. “Let me start over.” He turned to Mac. “How long had Culvert been operating as a hired assassin?”
Mac finished a bite before answering. “As far as we can tell, at least two decades.”
“Okay, twenty years. Who hires him?” Luc ignored the food on his own plate as the idea he’d been thinking about for the last twenty-four hours came into focus.
Mac uncapped a bottle of water and took a drink. “It’s been major crime families, both international and domestic. Culvert’s the one these crime syndicates call to clean house, like the Vegas shooting Priscilla witnessed. He’s also had a hand in the assassinations of minor government officials in some of the more unstable countries.”
“In other words, he’s so good at his job that people in high places hire him.” Luc’s stomach growled.
“That’s a fair assessment of Culvert’s skills. He didn’t get caught until recently, and that was because of a two-year-long sting operation in which a deep undercover agent portrayed a potential client.” Mac picked up his spring roll and ate it quickly.
“How did Culvert usually kill his victims?” As he asked the questions that had been burning in his mind, Priscilla ate steadily.
“Just where are you going with all these questions?” Mac growled.
Mac’s irritation dampened Luc’s enthusiasm.
“You said you were here to answer some of our questions.” Priscilla ate another piece of sweet-and-sour pork.
“You’re right—I did.” Mac leaned back in the desk chair. “Culvert’s signature shot is a tap to the forehead between the eyes. He always follows up with a second shot to the head as well.”
“And the crime scenes?” Luc risked being shut down again, but he had to continue this line of thought.
“Clean as a whistle. Even that bomb Aldrich alluded to just now had been carefully calibrated to do maximum impact inside the room with as little collateral damage as possible.”
“I bet Culvert always wears gloves to leave no fingerprints.” Luc polished off the remaining water in his bottle.
Mac shoved his paper plate and chopsticks into a plastic bag. “Culvert treads lightly and I mean that in a literal sense. At one crime scene near a lake, he avoided walking in the muddy terrain to avoid leaving footprints.”
“Then why has his MO changed?” The answer to this question would be one that could change the direction of the investigation—and keep Priscilla safe.
EIGHTEEN
Priscilla’s heart raced as Luc voiced the very question about Culvert changing his MO that had been bothering her since the second hypnosis session. The memory of the cool, very collected hit man didn’t jibe with the slipshod attempts on her life. A man who picked up shell casings and walked nonchalantly out of the room where he had shot three people didn’t suddenly start acting like an amateur.
“Because he’s desperate,” Mac said, ticking off the items on his fingers. “He just had major surgery, and doesn’t have access to the resources he once did. Three very good reasons for his MO to change.” The marshal rose. “Besides, Culvert could be merely throwing us off his scent, making us think it’s not him behind the efforts to kill Priscilla.”
She scrambled to her feet and put her plate in the plastic trash bag that held the remains of Mac’s dinner.
Luc stared down at his barely touched plate of food.
“I know you mean well, but this is out of your league.” Mac laid a hand on Luc’s shoulder. “Don’t muddy the waters with such wild speculation. We all need to focus on catching Culvert. Once we do, we’ll be in a much better position to sort out the whys and hows.”
Mac took the bag of trash from Priscilla. “I’ll take care of the trash. I have to check in with the others anyway. Priscilla, trust me when I say that this will end soon.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Do you really think it’s Culvert?” Luc’s voice had an edge to it she hadn’t heard before. Maybe the nearly constant tension was getting to him as well.
“The marshals think so.” Her head ached. Priscilla wanted to sink down onto the bed and sleep for a week, but the kind of rest she needed would only happen once Culvert was caught.
Luc got
to his feet, his eyes earnest as he took her hand. “Priscilla, you know something’s not right with this whole situation. You heard Mac—Culvert doesn’t have access to the contacts he once did. How is it that he always seems to be dogging our steps so closely?”
While she drew comfort from Luc’s presence in her life during this difficult time, she couldn’t completely dismiss that none of this had started happening until Luc appeared at the salon.
Luc relaxed his grip on her hands, maybe sensing it was too much. “I know you think I’m meddling where I don’t belong, but it’s too much of a coincidence to believe a man as well versed in assassinations as Culvert could miss that many times.”
“Mac explained that.” Her brain hurt. Too much had happened over the course of a few days for her to make sense of any of it. All she knew for certain was that her life was in danger. Culvert had to be the one behind it all because she’d barely had any acquaintances, let alone enemies, in the past seven years. “Physically, Culvert’s not one hundred percent right now—he’s still recovering from the operation. It’s possible his wound is infected, and he wouldn’t think clearly or be able to perform like he’s done in the past.”
“That still doesn’t mesh with all that we know of Culvert. Plus, what about that phone call from Culvert?”
“You heard Mac—he thought Culvert was simply trying to muddy the waters.” She withdrew her hands from his. “You don’t know Culvert at all.”
“You don’t either.” Luc persisted. “You’re making him out to be some kind of supervillain.”
Her ire rose to near boiling. She pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t see him kill three people as calm as a cucumber.” Her voice rose. “You haven’t been looking over your shoulder for the past seven years, wondering if the man with the dead eyes was going to ring your doorbell and shoot you in the head. You haven’t lived like I have!”
“No, I haven’t.” Luc crossed his arms. “But you’re not hearing me.”
Priscilla gritted her teeth as he plowed on.
“Culvert is a professional—these attempts on your life have not been as meticulously planned as missions he’s done his entire career.”
“You said that already.” She shook her head, irritation rising to clash with his obstinacy. “Since you’re going over old ground, let me remind you that all of this started when you showed up at the hair salon where I worked.”
“I explained that—it’s just a coincidence.”
“It’s that coincidence that passes muster, but not the other coincidences that have happened since then?” Anger tightened her shoulders as tension poured into her muscles. “That’s very convenient for you, isn’t it? How do I know that you aren’t behind the entire thing? I’ve managed to escape being hurt, a few times because of your supposed quick thinking. What if it wasn’t quick thinking but preplanned to make me trust you?”
“What are you saying, Priscilla?” His voice turned icy and caused her to shiver. “You think I’m behind the attacks? That I would sanction killing those marshals just to gain your trust?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!” She threw up her hands. “The point is that I don’t know you.” Moving a tendril of hair from her face, she took a moment to collect her thoughts. “You show up out of the blue, saying you’re my long-lost husband of whom I have no memory and boom! Scary things, deadly things started happening.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this to me.” The pain on his face nearly convinced her of his sincerity. “I searched for you, yes, but not to kill you!”
Priscilla wavered, wanting to believe him. But a life spent not trusting anyone made it difficult for her to put her trust in a man that she could barely remember. Yes, she recalled spending a summer with him on a youth mission trip on the Navajo Nation Reservation, but that was years ago when they were both teenagers. People changed, and not always for the better. What if he coerced her into marriage? What if she had been running away from him when she ran into the kitchen of the Last Chance Hotel and Casino?
“I would never hurt you. Please believe me.” Luc reached out for her hand, but she took a step back.
“Those are only words.” She choked back sobs, exhaustion and stress robbing her of the ability to keep a tight lid on her emotions. “I don’t know if I believe you or not. But if it’s not Culvert and it’s not you, who could it be? What motive would this mysterious other person have for wanting me dead? Culvert’s the only one with a motive.”
“I don’t know.” Luc rubbed a hand over his eyes.
“You don’t know.” The energy and anger drained from her like water from a bathtub. “I’m going to take a shower, then try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” Luc put his hand on the bedroom door, then turned back to her. “If it’s not Culvert, then you might be in more danger than any of us realizes.”
* * *
Luc unwrapped the fast-food breakfast sandwich and bit into it. Cold. He glanced up from the couch where he had slunk to see Priscilla standing in the tiny kitchenette near the microwave. After the frosty way they’d parted last night, he wasn’t about to ask her to move to warm up his sandwich.
Last night, while lying in bed unable to fall asleep thanks to Agent Myers’s snoring, he went over and over their conversation. He certainly could have been less dogmatic about his idea that it must be someone other than Culvert behind the attacks. In the wee hours of the morning, he had realized Priscilla was right—his actions looked suspicious. He had been hunting her for years. He’d shown up out of the blue, using an assumed name. He hadn’t been forthcoming with his identity after the shooting. Yes, he had done all those things but not because he wanted to harm her. He’d started out wanting to find Priscilla to annul their marriage and have a clean slate for any future relationships. Not that he’d planned on finding a girlfriend anytime soon. He had no faith in his ability to sustain a relationship after his college fiancée left him for someone else and then Priscilla abruptly departed after their wedding. Lately, though, he found himself wondering what a future with Priscilla would be like.
“Luc?”
He jerked at the sound of Priscilla’s voice, nearly dropping the sandwich.
“May I join you?”
“Of course.” He scooted over to allow her more room. The last thing he wanted was for Priscilla to feel crowded by him—even though he ached to be close to her.
Dark circles smudged the pale skin underneath her eyes, attesting to her own restless night. She wore a fresh flannel shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. Both articles of clothing hung a bit loose on her frame.
“About last night.” Priscilla set her coffee cup on the low table in front of the couch. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder, examining everyone’s motive who wants to get close to me, for years. It’s hard not to be suspicious when that’s been my modus operandi for so long.”
“I understand.” Luc couldn’t imagine trying to carve out a life under those circumstances. He admired her for how she’d managed thus far.
She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. It’s lonely and monotonous and scary all wrapped together. I have very few friends because I can’t share anything beyond the surface to avoid accidentally sharing too much. I found it’s better to appear aloof than risk putting a friend or myself in danger.” She opened her sandwich, but didn’t take a bite. “Then you came along.”
“And told you we were married.” Luc held her gaze, seeing the confusion in her beautiful blue eyes.
“With no memory of you or our marriage at all, it was hard to believe you.” Priscilla took a sip of coffee. “I’m glad I remembered meeting you at least—both in Vegas and on that summer mission trip when we were teens. That helped calm my fears somewhat, that you hadn’t been lying about everything. Perhaps, when this is over, I can have another session with Dr. Devins and can recall the rest. But the fact is, whether I do or not, I
don’t see how we can stay married.”
Priscilla said the very thing he had been wanting her to say, yet the revelation didn’t fill him with relief. He didn’t say anything, sensing from her set shoulders that she had more to add.
“I thought about this all night. We hardly know each other. Even when Culvert is caught, there’s the trial that could last months. Then there’s appeals and sentencing. Culvert has already retained high-priced lawyers. There’s no doubt this could drag on for years. I’d have to stay in witness protection until it’s over and Culvert’s in prison.”
Her gaze dropped to the uneaten sandwich on her lap. “I couldn’t ask anyone to join me in such a life. Until it’s over, I can’t commit to anything, or anyone else either.” She raised her eyes to his. “I simply won’t have the energy to open up, to share all the things married couples should share, because my focus has to be on putting Culvert away for good and staying alive.”
The sadness in her eyes tugged at his heart, while the set of her jaw told him she had made up her mind. He wrestled with his own sense of loss at her words. She was right—their parting ways was for the best. But why did it leave him feeling empty inside instead of relieved? “It’s for your own good and safety,” she continued. “You were shot in the arm and nearly burned to death because of me. I can’t live with that on my conscience.”
A part of Luc was thrilled to hear that she had been thinking not of herself but of him in her decision.
But before he could reply, Mac walked up. “Come on—you can finish your breakfast in the car.”
“Where are we going?” Priscilla rewrapped her sandwich.
Luc grabbed his coffee and sandwich as well.
“To a new safe house.” Mac tapped his phone. “Luc will ride with Myers and Laura, while Priscilla will come with me and Aldrich. Dr. Devins will head out with Jarvis and Smith. We’ll take three different routes to the secure location.”
Dangerous Christmas Memories Page 13