“How’d you sleep?” Luc asked, breaking the silence between them. He sat down beside her, propping his sock feet up on the coffee table.
His body language helped to put her at ease, and some of her anxiety about the kiss melted away when he turned his warm gaze on her. “I slept okay.” She lowered her voice. “Despite Laura’s snoring.”
Luc laughed. “I see I got the better end of the deal. Myers had no such unwelcome habits. I slept like a baby.”
His cheerful admission irked her. Had she been the only one awake half the night thinking about their kiss? This was why she should stay far away from any hint of romantic entanglements—she would only make a fool of herself. She focused her attention on her coffee.
He moved closer and leaned in, his lips next to her ear. “Don’t you know that babies wake up frequently during the night?” He winked, then straightened.
His admission made her laugh, relief easing the tension that had been building in her shoulders. “It wasn’t as peaceful a night’s rest as you would have me believe.”
He sipped his coffee. “Not in the least. Are you surprised?”
Before she could respond, Aldrich arrived with bagels and cream cheese. Myers dragged the kitchen chairs to a small sitting area, and the three agents and Dr. Devins joined Luc and Priscilla for an impromptu breakfast.
Smearing cream cheese on an everything bagel, Myers took the lead. “Mac wanted us to go over the timeline again. We’re overlooking something.”
Luc selected a jalapeño bagel. “Like how Culvert knows exactly where to find Priscilla. That’s bugged me all along.”
“You found her.” Aldrich took a bite out of his bagel.
“Yes, but it took me several years and a lot of digging,” Luc said.
“Walk us through how you did it,” Laura requested.
Priscilla munched on a blueberry bagel slathered with strawberry cream cheese as Luc relayed the twists and turns of hunting for her. Since she had heard his story already, she focused on the timelines. Prior to his capture, Culvert had had years to find her and kill her. Granted, Culvert might not have been aware of her as a witness until his defense attorney received notification of her existence during the discovery period. But even then, her identity had remained cloaked for security.
She licked a bit of cream cheese off her finger and took another bite. Culvert also had years to kill Grammar, who eschewed protection. Culvert’s trial was scheduled for December 13, only weeks away now. That could be the impetus for his targeting witnesses.
But Culvert had been incarcerated for eighteen months without any escape attempts. His appendicitis hadn’t been faked—it was a true emergency situation. Maybe Culvert had acted because the opportunity presented itself when he was hospitalized. But why not simply disappear? A man with his resources certainly had enough shady contacts to leave the country with falsified papers.
Then there were the attempts on her life. From all she’d heard—and seen—Culvert meticulously planned his assassinations. It was one of his hallmarks and the reason for his long, successful career. In contrast, the attempts on her life were amateurish in execution.
The niggling feeling that if Culvert wanted her dead, she would be dead, wouldn’t go away.
Her focus shifted to dredging up all her memories of the Las Vegas shooting. Culvert had remained calm throughout the entire event, even picking up the shell casings with gloved hands on his way out. While she had been anything but calm—her body shaking in its hiding place under a room-service cart’s thick skirting—Culvert moved stealthily through the room, making certain to leave nothing behind that would incriminate him.
She closed her eyes, her half-eaten bagel resting on a napkin in her lap. She’d stayed put for several long minutes after the kitchen door swung shut following Culvert’s departure. Just when she started to part the heavy fabric to escape, the door opened. A tall man with dark hair wearing a navy blue suit entered, his outline hazy as if she viewed his form through a film.
Then the image vanished.