“Are we going to another safe house?” Priscilla leaned back against the bed. Man, she was tired. She wanted to collapse in a puddle on the floor, but the thought of washing some of the smoke from her body and hair kept her upright.
“Still working on that.” Mac fiddled with his phone. “We should have a destination by the time you’re ready to go.”
Ilene entered, another set of scrubs in her hand. “I think these will do for now. Ready for that shower?”
Priscilla nodded and followed Ilene into the women’s locker area, where the female staff showered and stored their street clothes.
Ilene stopped in front of a cubicle that held a small changing area, then a shower beyond that. “There’s soap and shampoo, with a couple of towels in there. Leave your clothes on the floor, and I’ll bag them. We should be able to wash them at the next safe house.”
“Thanks.” After cleaning up, she wrapped her hair in a towel, turban style, and put on the clean clothes Ilene had left for her.
The navy scrubs fit well enough, although she had to cinch the drawstring tight to avoid having droopy drawers. She shivered in the short sleeves. Hopefully, Ilene had found a coat or sweater to wear too. Priscilla pulled on fresh socks, then shoved her feet back into her black flats. Hanging the towel over the shower rod, she adjusted her hair towel more securely around her head and exited the cubicle.
The locker room was quiet. Frowning, Priscilla poked her head into the other shower stalls but no Ilene. The toilets had no one there either. A shiver of unease coiled around her shoulders.
Ilene shouldn’t have left her alone—Mac expected the female marshal to stick close by, so where was she?
A row of tall lockers stood opposite the bank of showers. Priscilla eased toward them, her heart rate accelerating. What if Ilene was stuffed inside a locker? She was letting her imagination and the events of the previous twelve hours make her paranoid.
Priscilla turned just in time to see the outline of someone raising a blunt object over her head.
“Nooo!” Priscilla raised her arms to defend against the attack, but the blow struck hard and she crumpled to the floor.
EIGHT
Luc tossed the weeks-old People magazine back onto the pile on a table in the clinic’s small waiting room. Mac had disappeared into an office with two of the four marshals who had arrived while Priscilla was showering. The other two patrolled the exterior of the building.
After all that had happened, he didn’t like to let Priscilla out of his sight. If Mac trusted Ilene to keep her safe, Luc knew he should be able to do the same.
Should being the operative word. He should be able to let the marshals do their job. But something didn’t feel right. He’d overheard enough from Mac and the other agents last night to piece together the facts. Priscilla had seen someone commit murder, and that precipitated her entry into the witness protection program. The suspect—Cuthbert or Culvert—had escaped custody, evidently to silence Priscilla for good. Luc wasn’t sure why the man would risk trying to kill Priscilla when he would have known the marshals would step up their security given his escape, but the marshals hadn’t mentioned anyone else who would want Priscilla dead.
A glance at the wall clock revealed twenty minutes had elapsed since Ilene and Priscilla entered the women’s locker room. He would check on them. The quiet, dimly lit hallway made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. His sneakers squeaked on the shiny floor as he approached the sign indicating the women’s locker room. He placed his hand on the door handle, then paused.
This was ridiculous, checking up on Priscilla when a US marshal was her bodyguard, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. If he entered and Ilene reprimanded him, so be it. He could stand a little embarrassment to put his unease to rest, and perhaps Priscilla wouldn’t be too embarrassed for his bursting in.
Squaring his shoulders, he knocked, then pulled open the door and entered. Silence greeted him. He stopped in the L-shaped curve that kept the changing areas hidden from the outside door. He listened intently. Luc inched up to the top of the L and peered around the corner. A movement at the far end of the locker room caught his eye.
“Marshal?” He approached the area and spotted Priscilla lying in a heap, partially hidden by one of the benches. He dropped to his knees beside her, resisting the urge to gather her into his arms. Instead, he reached down and touched his fingers lightly to her neck. Her heartbeat pulsed beneath his fingers and her eyelids fluttered. Luc sighed in relief.
He rocked back on his heels to further assess her, but instantly sensed a presence behind him.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” The marshal spoke over his left shoulder.
Luc raised his hands. “Ilene, what happened?”
The woman rounded the bench. “What did you do to Ms. Anderson?” Her Glock was aimed at his chest.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I came to check on you two and found her like this. Where were you?” Luc didn’t lower his hands. “Priscilla’s hurt. She needs medical attention.”
Ilene held the gun steady with one hand and pulled her cell phone out with the other. She hit a button before holding the phone to her ear. “Mac? Send the doctor to the women’s locker room. Something’s happened to Priscilla.”
She slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Now, step away from her slowly and keep your hands raised.”
Without objecting, Luc scrambled to his feet, his hands reaching for the ceiling, and moved back from the still form on the floor.
“Sit on that bench and don’t move.” Ilene tipped her head in the direction of one of the benches.
As Luc lowered his body gingerly onto the wooden bench, the outer door opened, and Mac, followed by Dr. Collins, rushed in. Ignoring Luc, the pair hurried over to Priscilla. Luc tried to follow exactly what the doctor said to Mac about Priscilla, but the distance and the distraction of Ilene standing with her gun pointed directly at him made concentrating difficult.
Two more agents entered the locker room, conferred briefly with Mac and began searching the area.
“Do you think you can put that away?” Luc appealed to Ilene. “I’d never hurt Priscilla.”
Ilene eyed him, then holstered her weapon. “Do. Not. Move.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Luc wrapped his fingers around the edge of the bench, angling his body to see what was happening. Dr. Collins still bent over her, but Luc could see she was alert and appeared to be answering his questions.
Ilene, her eyes never leaving Luc, stood to the side with Mac.
Luc nearly wept with relief when Priscilla sat up and discarded her hair towel. She was okay. The doctor said something to her and she replied, but Luc could hear only the beating of his heart in thanksgiving for her safety.
Mac walked over to him, his expression grim.
“What happened?” Luc stood. “Will she be okay?”
“Dr. Collins said she suffered a blow to the head but her hair wrapped up in a towel absorbed much of the blow. As a result, she was only stunned. Exhaustion fed into her unresponsiveness.” Mac had his phone out. “We’ll need to keep an eye on her, but it looks like she’ll be okay.”
“Who hit her? And why did Ilene leave her alone?” Luc had been tired but this third close call with Priscilla spiked his adrenaline again. He wanted to be doing something.
“We don’t know.” Mac shook his head. “Ilene said that she received an urgent text purportedly from her daughter’s nanny. She stepped outside the locker room to make a phone call. Cell phone reception isn’t great in here for long phone calls.”
Luc frowned. “But she wasn’t here when I—”
“She had to walk around the corner, but kept an eye on the outer door, which was why she spotted you entering.”
The wheels spun in Luc’s mind, and he played out the scenario. “Then how did w
hoever hit Priscilla get inside?”
“Looks like a window over one of the toilets has been jimmied open.” Mac’s expression remained hard.
“They were locked, but a professional wouldn’t have had any trouble gaining access,” Ilene interjected.
Another marshal joined them to report. “The premises are cleared, and no footprints on the ground outside the windows in this locker room. The outside security cameras don’t cover the back side of the building.”
“Thanks.” Mac glanced at his phone. “We’ll leave in five. Tell the others.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket as Dr. Collins and Priscilla walked up. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts. Again.” Priscilla’s smile wobbled on her lips. Her skin hadn’t regained its color, leaving her looking frail.
Dr. Collins patted her shoulder. “I’ll send some acetaminophen with you for the pain, but you need to wait a few hours before taking it. The nurse will give you an ice pack. Place it on for twenty minutes, then off for ten, repeating as necessary to help reduce the swelling on the contusion.”
Mac interjected, “Got our destination. We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”
“Are you sure Priscilla’s ready to travel?” Luc fought the urge to wrap her up in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. He wanted only to see her to safety to discuss what happened seven years ago.
“I’ll be all right.” Priscilla flipped a wet strand of hair over her shoulder, but Luc thought he detected more bravado behind the gesture, as if she was pretending to be fine. “I can rest in the car.”
Luc frowned. “Shouldn’t you stay awake because of the bump on the head?”
“She has a small contusion above her left ear, but since her towel turban absorbed most of the blow, she didn’t suffer from a concussion,” Dr. Collins explained.
“But she passed out. Wouldn’t that mean she was hit harder than that?” Luc glanced at Priscilla, who had loosely braided her hair and now fastened a hair tie at the end.
“I think that was due more to her body being on overload from the events of the past day. In other words, she was exhausted, and it only took a little push for her body to shut down.” Dr. Collins regarded Luc. “She’ll be okay. Trust me on this.”
Mac consulted his phone. “Ride’s here. Let’s go.”
Luc followed them through the clinic. At the door, a nurse handed Priscilla a bag with her medicine. As they stepped out into the night, Luc shot a prayer heavenward. Thank You for keeping Priscilla safe. Please let the marshals find the person responsible before any more harm comes to her.
* * *
In the back seat of yet another SUV, Priscilla leaned her head against the seat. Mac occupied the seat beside her, while another marshal drove. Luc rode in a separate vehicle behind theirs. A third SUV with two agents led the way. While glad to be able to rest for a while during the trip to a second secure location, she missed Luc’s presence. Even though Mac had made no bones about the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure Luc’s entry into her life hadn’t triggered these incidents, she didn’t feel threatened by Luc. Why she would feel that way after so short a time, she didn’t have the brain power to contemplate. Her eyes slid closed, and Priscilla used the quiet to thank God for keeping her safe over the past twenty-four hours.
“Praying?”
Priscilla blinked and straightened in the seat. Mac glanced at her, his cell phone in his hand.
“Seemed like the right thing to do.” Priscilla didn’t apologize or explain why, just stated it as a fact. Mac had seen her pray often over the years he had been assigned as her contact.
“You pray more than anyone I’ve ever known.” Mac placed a hand on her arm. “We’ll get this guy. I can promise you that.”
Priscilla summoned a smile. “I know you’ll try your hardest, Mac.”
Mac turned the screen off on his cell. “I suppose that means you think God might have other plans.”
“He might.” Priscilla didn’t preach Christianity to Mac, but instead preferred to live her faith and let that speak for itself.
“Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds ominous.” He turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t changed your mind about what you said when we met the first time, have you?”
“Refresh my memory?”
Mac drew in a breath and let it out in a whoosh. “You once told me that if Culvert managed to kill you despite my best efforts, I wasn’t to take it personally—that sometimes our plans differ from God’s plans.”
Priscilla chose her words carefully. Mac didn’t often bring up her faith, although she wasn’t shy about who she knew to be in charge of the universe. “God calls each of his children home in different ways. Mine might be at the hands of a murderer or it might be in my sleep at a ripe old age. But however it happens, I know that it will be for God’s glory and for my good.”
“How can you believe that death at the hands of a murderer is part of God’s plan for you?” Mac’s gaze intensified, as if willing her to say the words to erase his own doubts about God. “Someone is trying to kill you. A man you can’t remember says he’s your husband. And you’re telling me that your faith is so solid, so sure, that a bullet between your eyes would be for the glory of your God.”
Since his assignment to guard her after she’d been in WITSEC for four years, she’d learned that his faith was in himself, in his ability to weather any storm life sent his way. Now Priscilla answered him with confidence, knowing that Mac could easily dismiss the truth like he’d done over the past three years.
“It’s God’s peace.” As she spoke, that peace settled deep into her own heart, strengthening her resolve and faith. “For me, I know I’m in the palm of His hand and that nothing of this world can truly hurt me.”
Mac’s perplexed expression softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could respond, his cell phone buzzed. “Mac.” He sobered as he listened to the caller. “I see. When?”
Whoever was on the other end had delivered bad news—she was sure of that by Mac’s posture and clipped words.
Mac kept his attention on Priscilla in the dim interior of the car. “He’s getting more desperate.” After a few more exchanges, he disconnected.
“What happened?”
“Trevor Grammar has been killed.”
“Grammar? One of the other witnesses scheduled to appear at Culvert’s trial?”
Mac nodded. “Marshals found him a few hours ago dead and the word snitch written on the wall beside him.”
Her breath came out in a gasp. “That’s terrible.”
“Grammar refused to enter the witness protection program and didn’t even want any bodyguards.” Mac rubbed his face. “It was his right to refuse, but we repeatedly warned him of the danger, and had contacted him again when Culvert escaped.”
Mac delivered the news to the marshals in the front seat, then called the men in the other vehicles. Beside him, Priscilla tried to regulate her own breathing, not wanting to let her dismay over Grammar’s murder send her into a panic. As a middleman between Culvert and his clients, Grammar had brokered assignments with high-profile targets. Grammar’s direct knowledge of Culvert’s career as a hit man had helped the US attorney build a bigger case against Culvert beyond the casino shootings she’d witnessed. She had faith that could move mountains—wasn’t that what she’d just shared with Mac?
The SUV sped into the brightening sky as the sun awakened from its nightly slumber. Priscilla clung to the promises each new day brought, and prayed that she would live to see the sun go down that evening.
NINE
Luc buttoned the black-and-red flannel shirt, glad for the warmer shirt to combat the crisp early-December day. At least this fit better than the borrowed scrubs from the clinic. He yawned. Despite sleeping for eight hours in the new safe house tucked into a quiet neighborhood a few
blocks off the main street in Evans, West Virginia, he hadn’t wanted to get up. But Marshal Bill Myers—a huge bald man—had knocked on his door a half hour ago with a sack of clean clothes and an announcement that dinner would be ready in forty-five minutes.
The scent of tomato sauce and oregano beckoned and his stomach growled in reply. A feminine laugh drew him quickly down the hallway to the kitchen, but instead of Priscilla in the kitchen, a couple stood side by side at the counter. A man wearing a University of West Virginia hoodie snitched a piece of carrot from a cutting board while a tall, dark-haired woman in tailored jeans and a navy sweater swatted his hand, a kitchen knife in her other hand.
Disappointment coursed through his veins, but he tamped it down, not wanting to dwell on why he wanted to see Priscilla. He should focus instead on how to broach the subject of what they should do when she couldn’t remember their wedding.
The pair must have sensed his presence because they turned in unison to the doorway. The man popped the carrot in his mouth and crunched, while the woman laid the knife on the counter and held out her hand. “You must be Luc. I’m Marshal Laura Devins, and this rascal is my husband, Dr. Steven Devins, who’s a consultant for the US Marshals Service.”
Luc shook their hands, then moved back to the doorway. “Where’s Mac?”
“He got called back to headquarters, but will return tomorrow morning.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry—there are four agents patrolling outside, two more in the house, plus myself and Steven.”
Luc relaxed his shoulders. Surely all those highly trained men and women would keep them safe. He sniffed the air as his stomach rumbled more insistently. “Smells good.”
“Oh, it will be—it’s my grandmother’s special spaghetti sauce recipe. From the old country.” Laura picked up her knife to finish chopping carrots.
Dangerous Christmas Memories Page 6
