“But that still doesn’t explain why you decided to search for that particular name.”
Priscilla stiffened at Mac’s tone. She was beginning to think there was more to Luc’s search of her than he had revealed, and she wasn’t sure she was going to like his answers.
“The thing is, I had been looking for Priscilla for a while and getting nowhere.” Luc clasped his hands together as he rested his elbows on his knees.
Priscilla frowned. “Why would you be looking for me?”
“Because we know—well, knew—each other.” Luc’s eyes bored into hers. “And we have unfinished business.”
Priscilla searched his face, noting the strong jawline with its slight stubble, the thick golden hair, the vivid blue eyes, the broad shoulders. All of which were very pleasing to look at but brought no spark of remembrance to mind. Surely if she knew him, she would have some memory of him. Only the hours prior to the murders had been blanked from her memory. Doctors called it “selective amnesia” brought on by the traumatic event of Culvert executing three people practically right in front of her. “We did? When? Where?”
Luc’s gaze intensified, almost as if he was willing her to recall their acquaintance. “Las Vegas.”
“Vegas?” She blinked. “Where?” She tried to puzzle out how she might have known him, sifting through her acquaintances, but coming up short.
“The most recent time was at the Last Chance Casino.”
She sucked in a breath. “I worked there once, as a cocktail waitress.” That she remembered quite clearly. She’d spent long hours working as a cocktail waitress at the busy Last Chance Casino on the Vegas Strip, trying to save enough to finish her bachelor’s degree. Unfortunately, she’d had to leave that part of her life unfinished when she’d entered WITSEC. Since she’d always been interested in hairstyling, the witness protection program had paid for her beautician’s license under her new name.
“We met when I went there for a bachelor party for someone I’d known in college. My fiancée had broken up with me over Christmas—we had talked about getting married that summer—so I thought it would help take my mind off my failed engagement.” A faint blush stole over his cheeks. “Vegas wouldn’t have been my choice, but Brian, the groom, wanted to gamble, drink and flirt with pretty girls—not necessarily in that order—before he got hitched. His words, not mine.”
Priscilla shook her head. “I still don’t remember you.” She frowned in an effort to recall Luc. “There were a lot of bachelor parties.”
“Popular place.” Luc looked down at his shoes, then up at her. “But you might remember our group because one of our party was the reason you were fired.”
Her stomach clenched. She had lost her job the night of the shooting.
“When was this trip of yours?” Mac interjected.
Priscilla had nearly forgotten Mac was listening, her attention laser focused on Luc.
Luc leaned forward. “Seven years ago.”
She struggled not to panic. “What day?”
Luc didn’t waver his gaze from her face. “June 20.”
She closed her eyes and mentally did a free fall into time spent working at the casino. An image of a killer calmly shooting two men and a woman at point-blank range as they pleaded for their lives assailed her. She opened her eyes, blinking back tears.
“I didn’t see you.” She turned to Mac, her eyes wide. “He wasn’t there.” Priscilla pointed a trembling finger at Luc. “You weren’t in the kitchen, not when that man shot those people!”
“That’s enough, Priscilla.” Mac touched her arm. “Don’t say anything more.”
Priscilla swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue, recognizing Mac’s warning glare. She had come close to blurting out details that would make it clear that she knew a lot more than anyone outside of a small group of federal marshals and one US attorney had reason to suspect. Her identity had been a close-kept secret, and she had nearly blown her cover in her shock at Luc’s words. But how did he recall with such clarity one day over seven years ago?
“I didn’t see anyone shoot anyone.” Luc’s voice held bewilderment. “Who was shot?”
“That’s not important right now.” Mac snapped out the statement. “Right now, you’re telling us how you know Priscilla.”
The tension in the room rose along with the hackles on Priscilla’s neck. Mac was on edge, maybe because of Luc and his sudden appearance into her life. She had a feeling that Luc could fill in some of the gaps in her memory of that night. Priscilla refocused on ferreting out that information. “You’re telling me I served you and your bachelor friends drinks, right?”
Luc kept his attention squarely on Priscilla. The pleading in his eyes tugged at her to remember him.
“Why would that make you search for Priscilla all these years later?” Mac voiced the very question swimming in her own mind.
“Because there’s more to the story than my interest in a pretty waitress.” Luc drew in a deep breath, and Priscilla braced herself for what was to come. It couldn’t be good news, not with this big buildup. What would make a man search for a woman he’d met seven years ago? Then again, she’d known of another cocktail waitress who received a huge tip days after a gambler won the jackpot. The gambler had explained the waitress brought him good luck. But seven years was an awfully long time to hunt someone down to tip.
“I found you crying after your manager fired you.” Luc spoke rapidly, as if he had to get everything out at once. “You told me everything—about your needing money to finish school and how your boss threatened to blackball you from all the casinos on the Strip. By the end of your story, I wanted to help you any way I could.”
Surely he wasn’t saying he’d fallen in love with her. Priscilla had no time for love, not when her every fiber concentrated on staying alive. Shoving that aside to examine when she wasn’t running for her life, she instead concentrated on trying to recall the events he talked about, but the shootings had blasted the previous day’s memories out of her mind entirely. She didn’t remember why she’d been fired. Only a handful of people knew she actually didn’t remember the shooting with great detail—just an impression of shots and the shooter’s gray eyes devoid of any emotion at all. If he’d seen her in her hiding place underneath a room-service cart, she would have been dead. She had been able to describe his height because of where he stood as he shot the three people, and she would never forget his voice, low, calm, deadly. But she couldn’t admit that nearly the entire twenty-four hours preceding the murders were very hazy. “I don’t remember much about that night.”
Luc frowned. “You’re saying that you don’t remember anything prior to the shooting?”
“Everything’s murky. I have impressions of serving drinks, talking to people, but it’s as if it happened behind a gauzy curtain.”
Luc sighed. “That explains a lot, and makes this much more difficult than I imagined.”
“What’s more difficult?”
“I don’t know how to say this, so straight out seems the best way.” Luc straightened. “I’m your husband.”
Priscilla jerked back, shock radiating throughout her body. She surged to her feet. “You’re my what?”
Luc stood as well. “Your husband. We’re married.”
“No, no, no.” She shook her head vigorously. “That can’t possibly be true.” She turned to Mac, who had risen as well. “Mac, how can he say such things?”
“I can assure you that it’s true.” Luc intervened before Mac could answer her. “I’m sure Mac will find out easily enough that I’m telling the