Mac uttered a soft curse.

“Thompson found his body about thirty seconds before the shot was fired into the house.” Aldrich shifted in his seat. “The shooter took Peters’s weapon and cell phone.”

Priscilla blinked back tears. She hadn’t met Peters, only heard his name as one of the marshals on patrol outside. Now he was dead because of her.

“Walk me through it all.” Mac’s voice had a hard edge to it.

Priscilla leaned her head back as Aldrich, with input from Laura and Myers, recounted what had happened. Priscilla’s body relaxed when she heard Luc was in the second SUV with Marshal Thompson and Dr. Devins. She turned her head to stare blindly out the window at trees, now nearly barren of leaves.

Aldrich touched her arm. “You okay?”

“I guess so.” She gave him a tired smile. “How did he find me?”

The marshal frowned. “We took evasive actions to avoid being followed. We don’t have any answers yet. The FBI will collect any evidence the intruder left behind at the safe house.”

Priscilla drew in a ragged breath. “Did Peters have a family?”

Aldrich nodded. “A wife, who’s expecting their first baby in a few months.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and she made no attempt to brush it off. “I’m so sorry. This is all because of me.”

“Listen to me. Peters knew what he signed up for. We all did. It’s a dangerous job. We’re fully aware that we might not make it home one day.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This is not your fault. It’s Culvert who’s to blame, not you.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, thoughts churning inside her brain like towels tumbling in a dryer. “I don’t get the timing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Culvert had more than five years to track down and eliminate me, but I’ve had a rather quiet existence in WITSEC up until three days ago.”

Aldrich rubbed his jaw. “Why now?”

* * *

Luc ripped open a packet of ketchup and squeezed it onto the paper wrapper. The marshals had reconvened at a Sleepy Time Residence Inn, commandeering two rooms with connecting doors. Each unit had two bedrooms and a kitchenette. Based on the length of time driving and their westerly direction, Luc guessed they were close to the West Virginia–Kentucky border. Right after their arrival, Devins and Aldrich had disappeared, returning to the inn with sacks from a fast-food burger chain.

The marshals then directed Priscilla and Luc to eat at the tiny kitchen table, while they took over the small living room for a private conference. Which was fine by Luc, as he’d welcomed some time alone with Priscilla.

Luc took a sip of his iced tea. “How are you holding up?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that.” She unwrapped a straw and pushed it into the top of her Diet Coke.

“Sorry.” He dunked a french fry into the ketchup before eating it.

She raised her eyebrows. “Come on. Out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “What you’ve been dying to ask me, of course.”

He chuckled. “Am I that transparent?”

Priscilla traced a line of condensation along the side of her plastic cup. “The good news is that I did remember meeting you and spending time with you while on the mission trip when we were teenagers.” She related the events up until her boss fired her.

He bit back his frustration at the brick wall her memories had come up against. At least he wasn’t a total stranger to her any longer—that was progress.

She hesitated. “Would you say a blessing for our lunch?”

Surprised, but pleased, he nodded, then offered a short prayer of thanksgiving for their safety and a petition to catch Culvert soon. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Priscilla chewed a french fry and swallowed. “I’ve been thinking about that night. My memory is like one of those old reel-to-reel films that’s being restored. Sometimes the frames are out of order, but sometimes there are several frames intact together.”

“You’ll get there.” Luc finished his burger. “You’d tried hypnotherapy when you first entered the program, right?”