Inside was only marginally better—at least the ceiling and walls didn’t have gaping holes or wood rot. The entire structure had a cold dampness that had penetrated her bones within minutes. But the one room had only a small kerosene heater. She hadn’t seen a working kerosene heater in ages, as most people viewed them as dangerous. But she didn’t care as long as it warmed her up. The lantern provided enough light to drive the shadows back into the corners.
A crate with dry and canned goods and a sleeping bag and mat in one corner with a stack of books on the floor indicated Culvert must have been using the cabin as base for a few days. Somehow, seeing the books made the man seem more human and less of a monster. She couldn’t puzzle out why he hadn’t killed her outright. If he was behind all the recent attempts on her life, why hadn’t he simply killed her in the SUV or dragged her into the woods to shoot her, then bury her body?
Worry about Luc gnawed at her. Please, Lord, let him be okay. Let Mac and the other marshals be okay too.
Culvert moved to the front window, maneuvering one of the boards to peer outside. When he let go of the wood, it swung back in place. He angled a camping chair to have eyes on the front door and couch, then pulled out his smartphone.
Priscilla studied the cold-blooded killer as he sat with his head tilted down, his attention on the phone screen. His appearance mirrored the man she’d seen murder those three people in the kitchen of the Last Chance Hotel in Las Vegas seven years ago. When giving her testimony to an FBI agent in the aftermath of the shooting, she had learned that all three had been involved in numerous criminal activities that included blackmail and skimming from the casino. The victims hadn’t been without fault, but that didn’t make killing them any less of a crime.
While her body felt only bruised from the crash, she couldn’t seem to shake the coldness. She leaned closer to the heater, rubbing her hands together and staring into the yellow-orange flame. Gradually, as her body temperature rose with the room’s, her heart rate settled down to normal.
Fear still nibbled at the edges, but anger at her situation fueled her thoughts. If she was going to die, she wanted some answers. She would simply ask Culvert her most pressing questions. What was the worst he could do to her? She had spent years on the run, and she was tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, of watching every word that came out of her mouth, of holding people at arm’s length. She wanted her life back—or she didn’t want a life at all.
She shot a quick prayer heavenward. Lord, please help me.
Taking a deep breath, she took the plunge. “Why didn’t you just shoot me?” Her words cracked across the cabin, breaking the silence.
Culvert’s head snapped up. He fixed steely gray eyes on hers with an intensity that made her wish she hadn’t voiced the question.
When he didn’t answer, she swallowed hard but refused to back down. In for a penny, in for a pound, as her grandmother used to say. “Why did you kidnap me instead of killing me?”
“Why would I want to kill you?” Culvert’s lips twisted into a menacing smile that turned her insides to jelly.
She blinked several times in rapid succession, then blurted, “But you’ve been trying to kill me for the past four days.”
“Have I?” His enigmatic smile lingered, now infuriating her rather than frightening her.
If he was going to claim innocence—which no one would believe, given his history—then she would enlighten him to all the times she’d nearly been killed this week. “It started Monday at the hair salon, where you tried to shoot me and ended up grazing Luc’s upper arm.”
“Ah, the missing and found husband.” Culvert fiddled with his phone, somersaulting it end over end on his crossed leg. “Go on.”
Amusement colored his tone, jacking up her annoyance. “You nearly ran us off the road in that pickup truck parked outside this very cabin.” She ticked off the incidents on her fingers. “On Monday night, you set fire to the safe house where we were staying, then knocked me out at the clinic. Followed by shooting at us at the second safe house, with one marshal killed.”