Page 48 of Dangerous Christmas Memories

Silence.

Priscilla bit back a gasp, panic once again threatening to overwhelm her senses. With a steadying breath, she sent up a prayer. Please, dear God, let Mac be okay. Don’t let someone else die because of me.

* * *

Luc frowned at Priscilla’s pale face across from him at the small kitchen table. She kept picking up her spoon, then setting it down without taking a bite of the tomato soup he’d heated for supper. She had adamantly refused to lie down after the news of the motel explosion. Priscilla had paced the room in shock until they finally heard word from Mac thirty minutes later.

News that they had suffered only minor scratches from the bomb’s detonation brought color back to Priscilla’s face. Mac had said they would all return to the inn as soon as the FBI crime lab finished their initial investigation, but Luc worried this latest explosion might have pushed Priscilla over the edge.

Smith and Jarvis had been in conference in a bedroom with the door ajar. A new set of marshals stood guard outside the suite’s door and another pair roamed the inn’s perimeter.

Priscilla remained uncommunicative, her thoughts tucked deep inside. All attempts to draw her out had been met with an apologetic “I need some time to think.”

“Hey.” He reached across and touched her hand. “It will be okay.”

“Will it?” She snatched her hand away from his. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Being in witness protection all these years hasn’t been too hard. I didn’t have any family left, giving me little temptation to contact anyone from my old life. While I’m sure Culvert knows about the witness protection program, there’s no indication he knew about me.”

“I know it’s been a difficult few days.” Luc remained seated at the table, torn between wanting to wrap his arms around Priscilla and keeping his distance.

She shoved back her chair and stood. “Do you?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she didn’t give him a chance.

Her eyes flashed. “You know, this all started because you decided now would be a great time to walk back into my life.” The tone in her voice shocked him. “Just when did you find me, anyway?”

His heart thudded and his skin prickled. If he answered truthfully, he might sever the bridge they’d started building between them. If he hedged the truth, it would probably make her distrust his motives even more.

“I asked you a question.” The hard edge to her voice belied the tremor that shook her body.

His mother had instilled in him that telling the truth might mean temporary pain—like when he’d confessed to breaking her Dresden shepherdess—but it also brought inner peace. “Three months ago.”

Her jaw dropped. “Three months ago?”

At his nod, confusion flickered in her eyes. “Then why did you wait so long to approach me?”

Again, he chose the truth. “I was praying.”

“Praying?” Her brows furrowed as she parroted the word back to him.

“Yes.” He met her eyes, willing her to see his sincerity. “I didn’t know why you’d left. I had been searching for you. When I found you, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. So I prayed.”

“For three months, you’ve been praying for me.” She blinked back tears.

“Yes. I’ve been praying for you.” A knot in his own throat stopped the rest of what he wanted to say for a moment. He swallowed hard, and softly added, “I’ve been praying about what to do next.”

The front door opened, and Mac, Laura, Aldrich and Myers entered the room. Luc bit back a groan at the interruption.

“Mac!” Priscilla hugged the marshal as Smith and Jarvis came into the room. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She looked at the other three, who wore rumpled suits with dirt streaks and torn fabric.

“Just a few bumps, bruises and scratches.” Laura winced slightly as her husband came out of the other bedroom and embraced her.

“And the witness?” Luc inserted the question into the general greetings from the others.

“Whitehurst is dead, whether from the blast or not, we’re not sure. The medical examiner will have to sort that out.” Mac sank down onto the couch, weariness in every line.

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