Dangerous Christmas Memories

FOUR

Luc jolted awake when the SUV stopped. He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep. The combination of the shooting, car accident and ibuprofen must have lulled him into catching a few winks. Stretching his back sent a stabbing pain in his arm, which receded to throbbing. Careful not to move his injured limb, he pulled out his phone to check the time. 6:38 p.m. They had been driving for around three hours.

Mac shifted in the driver’s seat to face the back and spotted Luc’s phone. “You’ll need to give me your phone, Mr. Langsdale.”

“My phone?” Luc wasn’t about to hand over his smartphone without an explanation. “Why do you need it?”

“Because you’re now in witness protection along with Priscilla. For security, you can’t contact anyone until we apprehend the man who’s after her. I’d have asked for it earlier, but you were sleeping.”

Luc shook the last of the cobwebs from his brain, his hand clutching the phone in a tighter grip. “What if I don’t want to go into witness protection? I have a choice, right?”

Mac exchanged a look with Priscilla, who stayed silent. “To enter the program permanently, you would have to agree to do so. However, this would be temporary. My top priority is keeping Priscilla safe, and right now, you’re along for the ride.”

“What does that mean?” Luc still kept his phone, not willing to hand over the device so easily.

“That you’ll need to stay in the safe house with Priscilla for a day or two while we get this sorted out,” Mac replied. “We’ll have marshals on guard around the clock while we figure out where to permanently relocate her. With your being a witness to the salon shooting, you might have noticed something that can help us catch whoever’s behind this.”

Luc had a hard time digesting that information. But the idea that he’d be able to talk more with Priscilla appealed to him. “Will I be able to at least let my family and employer know I’ll be gone for a couple of days?”

Mac shook his head. “Tell me who to text or email and what to say, and I’ll send it for you.”

Luc studied the marshal’s granite jawline. The other man wasn’t going to budge. Luc reluctantly reached over the seat to give Mac the phone. “I’m glad you take keeping Priscilla safe seriously, but I have to ask—do you trust anyone?”

“I wish I could trust people, but unfortunately, most of them think precautions like not using their smartphone for anything don’t apply to them.” Mac’s face settled into grim lines. “Witnesses can die because someone didn’t follow these rules. Now, who needs to know you’ll be taking a few days off?”

Luc gave Mac the name of his boss and a message about a family emergency that necessitated his immediate absence from his job with CS Enterprises, a cybersecurity company with government contracts. He also gave Mac a message to give his sister, with whom he was expected for dinner the next evening. He used a sudden trip to work for a client who insisted on no outside phones while working on the company’s highly sensitive computer network.

Priscilla raised her eyebrows. “Wow, those are really good excuses. Sounds like you’ve had practice in covering your real whereabouts.”

“Not at all. Just read too many spy thrillers, I guess.” He shrugged. “I just hope those excuses work. I’d hate for anyone to be worried about me or think I’m missing.”

Mac powered off Luc’s phone and pocketed it. “I’ll make sure you get it back.”

“Are we waiting for backup?” Priscilla’s left leg started jiggling again. She looked up to see Luc watching her leg and stopped the movement.

“Yes, should be here soon.” Mac continued to survey their surroundings.

Luc gazed at the small house tucked into a side street of what appeared to be a quiet neighborhood. Many of the houses had Christmas lights, the bright displays a welcome sight after their harrowing trip. The mild early-December day hadn’t brought anyone outside, although most driveways had cars parked in them.

Another vehicle pulled parallel with theirs in the gravel driveway and four clean-shaven men in nearly identical suits stepped out. Reinforcements had arrived. Two of the men fanned out to check the house perimeter, while the other pair disappeared inside. After a few minutes, one of the men who had entered the house gave a hand signal to Mac from the front stoop.

“Mac? Can we get out of the car?” Priscilla sounded tired and scared.

“Yes, let’s go into the house.” Mac exited the SUV, giving the area a sweep before opening Priscilla’s door. As she got out, Luc opened his own door and eased to a standing position. His whole body ached even though it was his upper arm that had been creased by a bullet.

He followed the pair into the small Cape Cod–style house with two dormer windows. The avocado-green shag carpet in the living room affirmed the home hadn’t been updated since it was built in the early seventies. A small kitchen with the same color appliances sat to the right and a short hallway led to what Mac said was a bedroom and adjoining bathroom.

One of the two men who had cleared the house stood in the kitchen doorway. “Mr. Langsdale? If you’ll come through to the kitchen, I’d like to take a closer look at your arm.”

Luc wasn’t surprised they knew his identity. Mac had likely relayed that information soon after Luc had told Priscilla his real name. What he didn’t know was how deep into his background the marshals would look at first glance. Luc needed to talk with Priscilla first about their wedding, but that would have to wait until he’d had something to eat and some rest. His brain in its current state was too muddled to think straight.

He followed the man into the kitchen, where the second marshal had laid out first-aid supplies—gauze, bandages and a syringe.

“What’s that?” Luc pointed to the syringe.

“Antibiotics.” The man grinned. “Don’t worry—I’m a trained paramedic as well as a US marshal.” He held out his hand to Luc. “By the way, I’m Nick Grayson. Have a seat and let me see that arm.”

Luc shook his hand, then joined Grayson at the table. From the open doorway, he could see Priscilla and Mac conferring in the living room, standing close together. Mac, with his wavy brown hair and muscular form, appeared like a TV version of a US marshal. Luc didn’t spot a wedding ring on Mac’s hand. Maybe Priscilla was in love with her handler, which would make asking her for an annulment that much easier.

“Stay still while I remove the bandage.” Grayson nodded toward the other room. “Don’t worry. Mac’s married.”

Embarrassment crept over Luc like an old man shoving on a baseball cap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Grayson swiped the area around the wound with an alcohol swab, then used a saline rinse to cleanse the wound itself. “Not that I blame you. She’s definitely striking, but you don’t have anything to worry about with Mac.”

Luc gritted his teeth but couldn’t stop a groan from escaping as the paramedic-marshal worked on his arm. To distract himself from the stinging pain, he contemplated Priscilla. Her formerly blond hair was now brown with purple and turquoise streaks. Today she wore it in two buns on either side of her head, which meant it was longer than the short haircut she sported the night they’d met. He jerked his thoughts away from wondering how long her hair was. He was here to end their nonexistent marriage, not rekindle a failed romance. A broken engagement right after college and a missing bride had undermined Luc’s confidence in sustaining a relationship. His busy work schedule made meeting women difficult, and over the years it became easier to not even try than to have his heart broken again. Both sets of grandparents and his own parents had fairy-tale marriages—the love between each couple had been nauseating to him and his siblings as children, but now it served to highlight his own inability to find someone with whom he could settle down.

Luc bit back a yelp as Grayson used tweezers to extract something from the wound.

“Sorry, got some of the bandanna in the wound.”

“That’s okay. I’m not usually so sensitive, but today has been anything but normal.”

Grayson affixed a fresh bandage on the wound, then wrapped it in gauze. “There, that will keep it covered. Now, time for your shot of antibiotics.”

Luc grunted as the man gave the shot.

After adhering a bandage to the injection site, Grayson stripped off his gloves. “You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

Luc stood. “Are we done here?”

Grayson nodded as he cleaned up the supplies.

“Thanks. I’m going to check on Priscilla.” Luc pushed open the kitchen door and hurried into the living room.

Priscilla and Mac stopped talking at his entrance. “How’s the arm?” Priscilla gestured toward the fresh bandage.

“Sore.” Luc looked from one to the other. “What happens next?”

Mac’s eyes hardened.

Luc braced himself for what the marshal would say.

The other man didn’t disappoint. “You tell us why you’ve been following Priscilla.”

FIVE

Priscilla frowned as Luc’s face paled. His wound looked fine from the outside, but he had lost some blood. Being shot wasn’t something one recovered from quickly. Even she was still edgy not knowing for certain the danger had passed. Furthermore, she disagreed with Mac about pressing Luc for answers, but her handler had been firm.

Luc and Mac stood nearly toe to toe, sizing each other up like prizefighters about to start round one. Not good at all. There had been enough blood spilled today.

“Why don’t we sit down?” She promptly put action to her words by choosing one end of the sagging brown couch. Luc took the chair to her right while Mac sank onto the love seat perpendicular to the sofa.

Mac immediately addressed Luc. “Mr. Langsdale, why don’t we start with some background on who you are?”

“I work for CS Enterprises, a government contractor. My area of expertise is in cybersecurity. Currently, I’m assigned to the US Department of Homeland Security to develop a new protocol for accessing the internet over Wi-Fi that doesn’t compromise the security of the data being sent or received.”

Priscilla knew little about the ins and outs of cybersecurity, but Luc sounded like someone who could find things out. Like her location. Although why he would want to do so had yet to be answered.

Mac casually pushed his suit coat aside to reveal his holstered weapon, his gaze never leaving Luc’s face, which had regained its color. “You know your way around computers.”

Luc nodded. “Since I was a kid, I’ve been fascinated with them.” A sheepish grin crossed his face. “I hacked into my dad’s email when I was nine just to see if I could do it. It was so easy that I got a little carried away and hacked into my teacher’s email, then the principal’s. I sent some ‘joke’ emails that would only be funny to a fourth grader.” He rubbed his chin. “But I wasn’t as savvy as I thought because I signed the emails with my initials.”

Priscilla grinned as a smile surfaced on Mac’s face too.

Luc’s story broke the tension in the room like water cresting a dam. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time since the shooting. “What happened?”

“I was grounded for a month. Then my dad enrolled me in a code-writing class at the local community college to, as he put it, ‘better channel my interest in computers.’” Luc leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “My dad had spoken with the teacher, who agreed to let me attend on a trial basis. I think the teacher thought I would drop out after the first class because it would be too hard for me. But I loved it, and the teacher soon realized I had a knack for writing—and finding flaws in—code.”

“In other words, you had hacking skills.” Mac let his smile drop.

Luc acknowledged Mac’s statement with a nod. “I’ve been working on helping companies discern flaws in their supposedly secure platforms since I was a teenager.” He tapped his crossed leg with his fingers.

“I see. And now you’re working for a Homeland Security contractor. What’s your security clearance?” Mac asked in a casual voice that Priscilla knew was anything but casual.

The implication of Luc’s ability hit home for Priscilla. If he was that good at hacking, then he probably put those skills to use to find her.

“Top secret.”

“Hmm.” Mac leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “That type of security clearance would give you access to sensitive government systems and documents.”

Luc uncrossed his leg and straightened, his frame tensing. “If you’re implying that I used my security clearance to read things I wasn’t supposed to, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not implying.” Mac narrowed his eyes. “Did you use your access to find Priscilla?”

“Not exactly.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose.

Luc held up a hand. “Wait a minute. I didn’t do anything illegal. My job was to double-check security measures certain government agencies used to safeguard data. And I also had to see that anyone seeking data on one or two individuals had the same level of security.”

Priscilla reflexively reached up to check on the stability of her side hair buns, then jabbed a bobby pin back into one as she listened. She had a feeling she knew what Luc would reveal next.

“I used the name Priscilla Makin to check the security levels at a number of government databases.” Luc paused.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you decided to search for that particular name.”

Priscilla stiffened at Mac’s tone. She was beginning to think there was more to Luc’s search of her than he had revealed, and she wasn’t sure she was going to like his answers.

“The thing is, I had been looking for Priscilla for a while and getting nowhere.” Luc clasped his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees.

Priscilla frowned. “Why would you be looking for me?”

“Because we know—well, knew—each other.” Luc’s eyes bored into hers. “And we have unfinished business.”

Priscilla searched his face, noting the strong jawline with its slight stubble, the thick golden hair, the vivid blue eyes, the broad shoulders. All of which were very pleasing to look at but brought no spark of remembrance to mind. Surely if she knew him, she would have some memory of him. Only the hours prior to the murders had been blanked from her memory. Doctors called it “selective amnesia” brought on by the traumatic event of Culvert executing three people practically right in front of her. “We did? When? Where?”

Luc’s gaze intensified, almost as if he was willing her to recall their acquaintance. “Las Vegas.”

“Vegas?” She blinked. “Where?” She tried to puzzle out how she might have known him, sifting through her acquaintances, but coming up short.

“The most recent time was at the Last Chance Casino.”

She sucked in a breath. “I worked there once, as a cocktail waitress.” That she remembered quite clearly. She’d spent long hours working as a cocktail waitress at the busy Last Chance Casino on the Vegas Strip, trying to save enough to finish her bachelor’s degree. Unfortunately, she’d had to leave that part of her life unfinished when she’d entered WITSEC. Since she’d always been interested in hairstyling, the witness protection program had paid for her beautician’s license under her new name.

“We met when I went there for a bachelor party for someone I’d known in college. My fiancée had broken up with me over Christmas—we had talked about getting married that summer—so I thought it would help take my mind off my failed engagement.” A faint blush stole over his cheeks. “Vegas wouldn’t have been my choice, but Brian, the groom, wanted to gamble, drink and flirt with pretty girls—not necessarily in that order—before he got hitched. His words, not mine.”

Priscilla shook her head. “I still don’t remember you.” She frowned in an effort to recall Luc. “There were a lot of bachelor parties.”

“Popular place.” Luc looked down at his shoes, then up at her. “But you might remember our group because one of our party was the reason you were fired.”

Her stomach clenched. She had lost her job the night of the shooting.

“When was this trip of yours?” Mac interjected.

Priscilla had nearly forgotten Mac was listening, her attention laser focused on Luc.

Luc leaned forward. “Seven years ago.”

She struggled not to panic. “What day?”

Luc didn’t waver his gaze from her face. “June 20.”

She closed her eyes and mentally did a free fall into time spent working at the casino. An image of a killer calmly shooting two men and a woman at point-blank range as they pleaded for their lives assailed her. She opened her eyes, blinking back tears.

“I didn’t see you.” She turned to Mac, her eyes wide. “He wasn’t there.” Priscilla pointed a trembling finger at Luc. “You weren’t in the kitchen, not when that man shot those people!”

“That’s enough, Priscilla.” Mac touched her arm. “Don’t say anything more.”

Priscilla swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue, recognizing Mac’s warning glare. She had come close to blurting out details that would make it clear that she knew a lot more than anyone outside of a small group of federal marshals and one US attorney had reason to suspect. Her identity had been a close-kept secret, and she had nearly blown her cover in her shock at Luc’s words. But how did he recall with such clarity one day over seven years ago?

“I didn’t see anyone shoot anyone.” Luc’s voice held bewilderment. “Who was shot?”

“That’s not important right now.” Mac snapped out the statement. “Right now, you’re telling us how you know Priscilla.”

The tension in the room rose along with the hackles on Priscilla’s neck. Mac was on edge, maybe because of Luc and his sudden appearance into her life. She had a feeling that Luc could fill in some of the gaps in her memory of that night. Priscilla refocused on ferreting out that information. “You’re telling me I served you and your bachelor friends drinks, right?”

Luc kept his attention squarely on Priscilla. The pleading in his eyes tugged at her to remember him.

“Why would that make you search for Priscilla all these years later?” Mac voiced the very question swimming in her own mind.

“Because there’s more to the story than my interest in a pretty waitress.” Luc drew in a deep breath, and Priscilla braced herself for what was to come. It couldn’t be good news, not with this big buildup. What would make a man search for a woman he’d met seven years ago? Then again, she’d known of another cocktail waitress who received a huge tip days after a gambler won the jackpot. The gambler had explained the waitress brought him good luck. But seven years was an awfully long time to hunt someone down to tip.

“I found you crying after your manager fired you.” Luc spoke rapidly, as if he had to get everything out at once. “You told me everything—about your needing money to finish school and how your boss threatened to blackball you from all the casinos on the Strip. By the end of your story, I wanted to help you any way I could.”

Surely he wasn’t saying he’d fallen in love with her. Priscilla had no time for love, not when her every fiber concentrated on staying alive. Shoving that aside to examine when she wasn’t running for her life, she instead concentrated on trying to recall the events he talked about, but the shootings had blasted the previous day’s memories out of her mind entirely. She didn’t remember why she’d been fired. Only a handful of people knew she actually didn’t remember the shooting with great detail—just an impression of shots and the shooter’s gray eyes devoid of any emotion at all. If he’d seen her in her hiding place underneath a room-service cart, she would have been dead. She had been able to describe his height because of where he stood as he shot the three people, and she would never forget his voice, low, calm, deadly. But she couldn’t admit that nearly the entire twenty-four hours preceding the murders were very hazy. “I don’t remember much about that night.”