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.”
“Dr. Devins? But I didn’t meet Dr. Devins until we arrived at the second safe house.” She opened her mouth, then closed it. The feeling of having met Dr. Devins before and the uneasiness she’d felt during their initial session along with the shadowy figure of a man outside the kitchen in the corridor all seemed too fantastical to even consider, and yet…something about the idea clicked.
* * *
“That’s true, but Mac had already arranged the session with Dr. Devins, right?” Luc jiggled his leg up and down as his mind raced.
“No more talking.” Culvert glared at them, then turned his attention back to his phone.
Priscilla leaned closer. “Yes,” she whispered. “Is Laura involved too?”
He kept his voice soft. “Mac seemed to think it was someone inside the marshals. I’d say that’s very possible.”
She winced. “I thought Laura was my friend. This is a nightmare.”
“As a marshal working with Mac on the team, she would have had access to where you were, even before we actually met her.” Luc gave her hand a squeeze.
“But why? What would make a psychiatrist and a US marshal do these terrible things?” The anguish in Priscilla’s voice coupled with the tears now streaming down her cheeks prompted Luc to draw her into his arms. He wasn’t able to take away her pain or confusion, but he could offer a shoulder to cry on and a warm hug. For now, that had to be enough.
* * *
A short while later, Luc looked up at Culvert, who had padded across the room without a sound. His stealthy actions must have aided him as a hired killer, given his ability to move about even in a place as creaky as this old cabin in silence.
Culvert pointed to Priscilla. “Is she asleep?”
“Yeah.” Luc tightened his arm slightly around the dozing Priscilla.
The man grunted as if in reply. “Wake her up.”
“Are we going somewhere?” Luc hated to disturb Priscilla—she’d had little rest these last few days.
“No, but I’m hungry and, since you’re both here, figured I wouldn’t need to cook for myself.” Culvert eyed him. “Unless you can cook, you’d better wake up Sleeping Beauty.”
As if on cue, Luc’s stomach growled, reminding him how long ago it had been since the aborted breakfast. “I can cook.”
Culvert gave a mock bow and swept his arm toward the far corner where a camp stove rested on a wooden table. “Then you’d better get on with it.”
Luc slid his arm from around Priscilla, then inched forward to gently ease her sleeping form onto the couch. She stirred but didn’t awaken. He wished he’d had a blanket to cover her with.
In a box on the floor beside the table, Luc found several cans of black beans, a can of mixed vegetables and a box of elbow macaroni. Rooting around in the bottom of the box, he came up with a couple of packets of barbecue sauce. Black bean pasta bowls it is. Next to the propane camp stove he discovered two pots and a can opener. Not much in the way of a weapon, but good for making a hot lunch.
After opening the cans and pouring the contents into the smaller pot, he hit the first snag. Culvert had returned to his position in the chair, his attention on the front door.
Luc walked over carrying the larger pot. “Where’s the water?”
Culvert didn’t turn his gaze from the door. “There’s a pump out back. Don’t do anything foolish.”
Luc nodded once and headed out back, wishing he had Mac’s cell phone. He had sent the GPS coordinates of the cabin before he’d entered the clearing to the marshal’s personal cell phone, and now he prayed Mac hadn’t been hurt too badly to pass along the info to local law enforcement or the FBI. The pump handle moved easily, water gushing out and nearly overflowing the pot.
The sun had taken up position high above him, but the trees still hadn’t shed all their leaves, leaving the tiny clearing shrouded in shadows. An animal rustled in the undergrowth. Luc jumped and only just managed to hang on to the pot’s handle. Water splashed onto his jeans. A pair of squirrels darted from the right to race across the yard, disappearing into the forest once more. Yet his heart didn’t stop hammering.
Luc shivered despite the mild autumn day, an overwhelming desire to be inside the cabin’s four walls quickening his steps. Funny how he sensed evil not inside the cabin in the presence of a man who killed others for a living, but outside these walls.
Almost on autopilot, he found the lighter, got the stove going and heated the water and the beans and veggie mixture. After adding the noodles to the boiling water, he spotted a coffeepot and asked permission for another quick trip to the pump for more water. Hot food and a hot drink—that was what was needed to boost his and Priscilla’s spirits. He gave little thought to what Culvert would think of the meal, choosing to focus on her well-being. Back inside, he put the coffeepot on the other burner and turned up the flame.
“Luc?”
Luc turned from the stove to see Priscilla sitting up on the couch, her hair tousled. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?” She stretched, then yawned. Then her shoulders tensed as she caught sight of Culvert in his post by the door.
“Putting together some lunch.” He turned off one of the stove’s burners, then moved the coffee percolator to the other burner. “It’s nearly ready, if I can find some plates or bowls.”
“Let me help.” Priscilla came over. “If it weren’t for him, this would seem like a normal camping experience.”
He leaned closer. “We can do this. It will be okay.”
“Food ready yet?” Culvert called, his eyes hard as they met Luc’s gaze.
“Almost.” Luc stirred the pot’s contents as Priscilla rifled through the canned-goods box.
Then she tugged out a paper bag Luc had overlooked from underneath the table. “Aha! Success.” She triumphantly held up a bag of insulated coffee cups. “We can use these as bowls.”
Luc scrunched up his face. “They’re not big enough for much of a serving.”
“Better than nothing.” She produced spoons from the bag as well. “We can always get seconds.”
“And thirds.” Luc sighed, trying to keep his voice light and the conversation normal. “But you’re right—it’s better than eating out of the pots.”
Priscilla separated out cups for their meal and coffee, while Luc combined the noodles and the bean mixture into the larger pot. He stuck the wooden spoon back in to use as a serving utensil. “Food’s ready.” The percolator bubbled but the color remained a light brown. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”
Culvert came over and Luc dished up some for him. The older man returned to his post, his eyes constantly roving from the door, to the window, to the couch where Priscilla and Luc sat to eat their meal. All three ate the first few bites in silence.
“Not bad.” Priscilla made the first comment. “I doubt I would have done as well, given the limited ingredients. Who taught you to cook?”
“My mom. That’s how she unwound after a day spent in surgery.” Luc went back for seconds, his hunger ramping up as the meager serving hit his stomach. “She insisted that I learn as well as my sisters. By the time we hit seventh grade, we each had a night to prepare dinner for the family. She made us pick our own recipes too.” He chewed another bite, memories of those times wafting through his thoughts.
To keep Priscilla eating, he continued talking about his family. “My sisters and I used to fight over who got to cook the noodle dish for that week, as my mom only allowed one noodle dish, one rice dish, et cetera, per week.”
Culvert had already gone back for thirds by the time Priscilla finished her first cupful.
“Want some more?” Luc set down his cup to reach for hers.
“Sure. It was quite tasty.” Priscilla smiled as she handed it to him. “The coffee looks darker now.”
Luc spooned more food for Priscilla, then turned off the burner before pouring them each a cup. “Did you see any sugar?”
She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m just glad it’s hot.”
“Me too.” Luc shared a companionable glance with Priscilla.
When they were finished, only a few noodles and black beans remained in the bottom of the pot. Luc found a black garbage bag in the corner that held a few cans, and gathered the meal’s trash.
Luc picked up the coffeepot. “I think there’s enough for a second cup.”
“Not for me.” Culvert crossed to the mantel, his expression hard and his gray eyes cool.
A knock sounded at the door. Luc put the coffeepot down and edged closer to Priscilla.
Culvert removed his gun from his waistband. “You can offer it to our visitor.”