Dangerous Christmas Memories

by Sarah Hamaker

  “Come closer.” Mac turned to the female EMT, who had removed a blood pressure cuff from Mac’s arm and was attempting to shine a flashlight into his eyes. “I need a few minutes to speak privately with this man.”

  “What you need is to be thoroughly checked out,” the petite redhead snapped, but Mac pierced her with his gaze and she grunted, then stepped back from the SUV.

  Luc eased into her place. “What are we going to do?”

  “First, I need to know if you’re okay.” Mac searched Luc’s face as if to assess for himself whether Luc had come through the ramming unscathed.

  “Yeah, I think so. Of course, the EMTs want me to go to the hospital, but nothing’s broken.”

  “How about the others?”

  Luc relayed what he knew about Laura and Myers. “I don’t know about Dr. Devins and the other two marshals.”

  “You need to be very careful.”

  “I know—Culvert’s behind this. To think that he might have Priscilla is making me sick to my stomach.” Luc propped himself against the door frame as a wave of nausea hit. With the entire group hurt, everything pointed to how desperate Culvert was to get his hands on the only witness who could put him away for a very long time.

  Mac shifted, a flash of pain crossing his features. “You were right.”

  “I was?” Luc leaned closer.

  “Culvert wasn’t behind the previous attacks on Priscilla.” A coughing fit incapacitated Mac for several long seconds.

  Luc wished he had some water to offer Mac.

  Mac breathed in and out slowly. “There is someone inside the marshals who’s targeting Priscilla.”

  His hunch hadn’t been far off. But Luc had suspected Mac was the one trying to kill Priscilla. If it wasn’t Mac—and Luc couldn’t detect anything disingenuous in the man’s concern or demeanor—then who wanted to silence Priscilla?

  “You thought it was me.” Mac’s voice held a tinge of humor.

  Luc shrugged. “You seemed adamant that it had to be Culvert acting alone, and, well, that just didn’t add up for me.”

  “I couldn’t let the others know I suspected someone in the marshals of being a traitor.” Mac kept his eyes on Luc’s face. “But you were like a dog with a bone—wouldn’t let go of that idea.”

  “You tried to discourage me,” Luc filled in.

  “I didn’t want Priscilla to lose you. She’s had enough loss in her life. Time for her to have something good, something positive for the future.”

  Luc didn’t bother to correct the marshal’s misunderstanding. He had no future with Priscilla. She couldn’t risk a relationship while living in witness protection and he agreed it would be for the best for them to part ways.

  Mac touched Luc’s arm. “You have to find her before whoever’s behind these attempts does.”

  “If Culvert’s not behind the previous attacks, why did he kidnap Priscilla?” Luc could see Mac was tiring. The EMT hovered a few feet away, while law-enforcement personnel milled about the accident scene.

  “Leverage? If Priscilla’s a danger to this person, then perhaps Culvert wants to trade.”

  A chill settled around Luc’s heart. “You mean Priscilla’s life for leaving Culvert alone?”

  “Perhaps. I’m not sure about that part.”

  “And you have no idea who’s the one behind all this?”

  “I have an idea. It’s best if you don’t trust anyone except me.” Mac thrust his phone into Luc’s hands. “Take my phone. On my last trip to headquarters, I had our tech gurus install a new app—one that tracks the location of incoming calls.”

  Luc didn’t get it at first. Then the implication dawned on him. “You have the last known location of Culvert from his latest phone call.”

  “That’s right. He must be near here.” Mac began to cough again, and this time a longer bout racked his body.

  The EMT approached the vehicle. “Sir, an ambulance is here to transport you to the hospital.”

  “I need one more minute.” Mac’s severe tone prompted the redheaded EMT to step back once more.

  “You have sixty seconds. Then we’re loading you up.”

  Mac nodded. “I have another cell phone number programmed in there. Let me know when you’ve found Culvert.”

  “I will.” Luc’s heart raced. “But I don’t have any wheels. I doubt Culvert’s close enough to walk to his hiding place.”

  “Try the dark blue Toyota Camry with a West Virginia license plate XWF 1243 at the far end of the parking lot. The keys will be in the wheel well of the front passenger’s-side tire.” Mac closed his eyes and slid his head back. “I called in a favor from a friend in local law enforcement, and he dropped it off for me this morning. I had a feeling an extra set of wheels might come in handy.”

  The EMT shouldered her way past Luc, another pair of emergency technicians with a stretcher right behind her. “Sir, we need to get you ready for transport.”

  Luc stepped back, clutching the phone. “I’ll find her, Mac.”

  The marshal opened his eyes to meet Luc’s gaze. “Bring her home safe.”

  * * *

  “Sit down and don’t move.” Culvert shoved Priscilla toward a sagging couch in front of an empty fireplace.

  One look at her captor’s scowling face had her sinking onto the scratchy brown sofa without a word. As Culvert lit an ancient camping lantern, she glanced around the cabin. From the outside, it had the look of dereliction with its sagging gutters. While outside the morning sun had been shining, the cabin—tucked into a small clearing in an overgrown forest—had boarded-up windows that allowed only slivers of sunlight to filter inside. The shutters hung like drunken sailors after a night on the town, and if the outside had ever been painted, there was no sign of that now.

  Inside was only marginally better—at least the ceiling and walls didn’t have gaping holes or wood rot. The entire structure had a cold dampness that had penetrated her bones within minutes. But the one room had only a small kerosene heater. She hadn’t seen a working kerosene heater in ages, as most people viewed them as dangerous. But she didn’t care as long as it warmed her up. The lantern provided enough light to drive the shadows back into the corners.

  A crate with dry and canned goods and a sleeping bag and mat in one corner with a stack of books on the floor indicated Culvert must have been using the cabin as base for a few days. Somehow, seeing the books made the man seem more human and less of a monster. She couldn’t puzzle out why he hadn’t killed her outright. If he was behind all the recent attempts on her life, why hadn’t he simply killed her in the SUV or dragged her into the woods to shoot her, then bury her body?

  Worry about Luc gnawed at her. Please, Lord, let him be okay. Let Mac and the other marshals be okay too.

  Culvert moved to the front window, maneuvering one of the boards to peer outside. When he let go of the wood, it swung back in place. He angled a camping chair to have eyes on the front door and couch, then pulled out his smartphone.

  Priscilla studied the cold-blooded killer as he sat with his head tilted down, his attention on the phone screen. His appearance mirrored the man she’d seen murder those three people in the kitchen of the Last Chance Hotel in Las Vegas seven years ago. When giving her testimony to an FBI agent in the aftermath of the shooting, she had learned that all three had been involved in numerous criminal activities that included blackmail and skimming from the casino. The victims hadn’t been without fault, but that didn’t make killing them any less of a crime.

  While her body felt only bruised from the crash, she couldn’t seem to shake the coldness. She leaned closer to the heater, rubbing her hands together and staring into the yellow-orange flame. Gradually, as her body temperature rose with the room’s, her heart rate settled down to normal.

  Fear still nibbled at the edges, but anger at her situation fueled her thoughts
. If she was going to die, she wanted some answers. She would simply ask Culvert her most pressing questions. What was the worst he could do to her? She had spent years on the run, and she was tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, of watching every word that came out of her mouth, of holding people at arm’s length. She wanted her life back—or she didn’t want a life at all.

  She shot a quick prayer heavenward. Lord, please help me.

  Taking a deep breath, she took the plunge. “Why didn’t you just shoot me?” Her words cracked across the cabin, breaking the silence.

  Culvert’s head snapped up. He fixed steely gray eyes on hers with an intensity that made her wish she hadn’t voiced the question.

  When he didn’t answer, she swallowed hard but refused to back down. In for a penny, in for a pound, as her grandmother used to say. “Why did you kidnap me instead of killing me?”

  “Why would I want to kill you?” Culvert’s lips twisted into a menacing smile that turned her insides to jelly.

  She blinked several times in rapid succession, then blurted, “But you’ve been trying to kill me for the past four days.”

  “Have I?” His enigmatic smile lingered, now infuriating her rather than frightening her.

  If he was going to claim innocence—which no one would believe, given his history—then she would enlighten him to all the times she’d nearly been killed this week. “It started Monday at the hair salon, where you tried to shoot me and ended up grazing Luc’s upper arm.”

  “Ah, the missing and found husband.” Culvert fiddled with his phone, somersaulting it end over end on his crossed leg. “Go on.”

  Amusement colored his tone, jacking up her annoyance. “You nearly ran us off the road in that pickup truck parked outside this very cabin.” She ticked off the incidents on her fingers. “On Monday night, you set fire to the safe house where we were staying, then knocked me out at the clinic. Followed by shooting at us at the second safe house, with one marshal killed.”

  She paused. “Which brings us to the explosion at the motel where Rachel was killed.”

  He stopped rolling the phone, but he didn’t say a word. The air seemed chillier in his stillness of the movement.

  “Then there was the attack with the three other pickup trucks.” Priscilla modulated her voice, not wanting to rattle a saber at a sleeping tiger. “Now here we are and I’m a hostage.”

  “That’s quite a list.” His voice had dropped to a lower register. “Do you honestly believe if I wanted you dead you would still be alive?”

  She could detect no underlying malice in his question, but something in his tone caused her skin to prickle.

  “However, you did see me shoot three people in Vegas, and that is a loose end that warrants tying up.”

  Even as she had listed all the incidents, part of her had known Culvert couldn’t have been the one behind all of them. Luc had tried to tell her, tried to express his doubts that someone other than Culvert wanted her silenced, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it. Because to believe it wasn’t Culvert meant that she had spent the last seven years not really living her life for no good reason at all.

  Still, he could be trying to confuse her with the facts he wanted her to focus on. She pointed out the obvious. “Who else could it be? Grammar is dead. The FBI and the marshals say you killed him to keep him from testifying. And you did escape custody while in the hospital mere weeks before your trial start date. I saw you kill in cold blood. My testimony will—”

  Culvert cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand. “Your testimony is not as crucial as the marshals would have you believe.”

  “What are you talking about?” Priscilla gaped at him, her mind scrambling to process this unexpected statement.

  He suddenly rose, and moved to a window on the left side of the door, easing back a board very slowly. He put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  She obeyed. Culvert wasn’t a man to trifle with, and she’d already pushed him beyond what was safe.

  With the stealth of a panther, he moved to the opposite side of the door, positioning himself to be behind it. As the handle turned with a squeak, she held her breath.

  The door pushed open. A blond man appeared, sunlight flooding behind the stranger’s frame. Culvert pounced, bringing the man into the room and slamming him face-first against the wall with one arm drawn up behind his back.

  Culvert kicked the door shut with a bang. “We meet at last.”

  Priscilla stifled a scream as Culvert placed his handgun against the back of Luc’s head.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Priscilla leaped to her feet. “Don’t hurt him!”

  Culvert didn’t take his eyes off Luc, whose face remained smashed against the rough wood of the cabin’s wall. “Sit down.”

  She sat, quelled by the command but still itching to help Luc. How had he found her? Even with a gun to the back of his head, his very presence eased some of the strain.

  Culvert wedged his foot between Luc’s feet to separate his legs, keeping Luc’s right arm twisted behind him.

  “Are you okay?” Luc struggled despite Culvert’s tight hold.

  “Yes.” Stay strong.

  “Hands against the wall.” The hit man released Luc’s arm so he could comply with his instructions.

  Luc did exactly as he was told. Culvert slipped the gun into his waistband and frisked his hostage, extracting a cell phone and patting down his back and chest with extra care.

  “No wire.” Culvert put a hand on his shoulder and jerked him away from the wall.

  The rug-rash burn on the side of Luc’s cheek where he’d been pressed along the wall brought tears to Priscilla’s eyes. She also spotted a cleaned cut near his hairline that likely happened in the car crash.

  Culvert brought the gun to the back of Luc’s head as he directed him to the couch where Priscilla sat.

  “Sit next to your wife, but I’m keeping an eye on you two. I won’t hesitate to shoot her right between those pretty blue eyes.” Culvert pointed the gun at Priscilla’s face.

  Luc collapsed onto the couch and Priscilla threw herself into his arms, embracing the warmth of his body as her heart fluttered at being held by him.

  “Okay, reunion’s over.” Culvert nudged her foot. “Break it up.”

  Priscilla extracted herself from Luc’s embrace but kept tight hold of his hand. She looked up at Culvert. “What’s going to happen now?”

  Culvert gave what might pass as a smile on another man. “We wait.”

  “For what?” Luc gingerly touched his face with his free hand, his fingers coming back bloody from the superficial gashes left by the wood.

  “You’ll see.” Culvert returned to his chair by the window. “You two can talk, but remember, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.” With that, he turned his attention back to his phone.

  Priscilla feasted her eyes on Luc. “Are you really okay?” She let go of his hand to gently touch his injured cheek, then flattened her palm against the other side, holding it there for a few seconds.

  “Yes, I’m all right, only a few scratches. Did you get hurt in the crash?” Luc squeezed her hand.

  She shook her head. “Just some bruises. Aldrich was slumped over the steering wheel and Mac had passed out. I don’t know how badly they were hurt. Do you?”

  “Not sure about Aldrich or Myers, but both were taken to the hospital.”

  “What about Laura and her husband?”

  “Laura seemed okay, but she went to the hospital to get checked out too. I don’t know about Jarvis, Smith or Dr. Devins. Their vehicle was too far away for me to see what was going on with them.” He paused. “I was more concerned about finding you, once help arrived.”

  “And Mac?” Priscilla held her breath, hoping against hope her handler had come through the attack unscathed.

  “He
was alert enough to tell me what happened with you, but he clearly needed medical attention beyond first aid. The last I saw of him, he was being loaded into an ambulance.” Luc lowered his voice. “Did Culvert hurt you?”

  “No. He’s been brusque, but he hasn’t hurt me.” She kept her voice low as well. “How did you find me?”

  “Mac.” Luc leaned closer, his eyes intent on her face, his voice barely above a whisper. “He said I was right. Someone inside the marshals set us up.”

  “What?” She shot a glance at Culvert, still focused on his phone. “Someone in the marshals is trying to kill me? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Luc frowned. “Mac didn’t say this marshal was behind the attempts, only that they were involved somehow in this mess. He thought maybe Culvert kidnapped you as a bargaining chip for his own safety.”

  Priscilla stared into the heater’s flame, letting her mind wander over everything that had happened since Monday. She’d hardly had time to think since it all began. The timing niggled at her. Culvert’s trial was still more than two weeks away. If he wasn’t behind all of the attempts on her life, and instead, someone in the US Marshals Service was trying to kill her, why had it become crucial to silence her now? The marshal would have had access to—or at least, could have probably found out—her location months or years ago. What had set the ball in motion?

  Priscilla hadn’t realized she’d spoken the question out loud until Luc responded that he hadn’t a clue. She elaborated on her thoughts. “I believe the timing of all this is crucial. We’ve all been thinking it was the trial date, but if we take that out of the equation, what’s left? My life has stayed basically the same.”

  “Except,” Luc began, his countenance glowing as if a light bulb turned on in his brain, “that you were about to undergo hypnotherapy again.”

  “What difference would that make?” She shifted on the couch, drawing up her knee to angle her body to Luc’s. “I’d done hypnotherapy before.”

  “But what if it wasn’t that you’d done it before, but who you were going to do it with.”