Dangerous Christmas Memories. Sarah Hamaker

Please, let us go.

      “It’ll be okay,” Luc reassured her in a quiet voice. “Remember, God is the one in control.”

      She looked at Luc, whose steady gaze held a calmness she didn’t feel. He didn’t know it would be okay, but the reminder of God’s sovereignty and Luc’s composed expression relaxed her agitation.

      The second officer suddenly moved back to his cruiser. Then he straightened to call to the officer still by Mac’s open window. “We’ve got a 401 in progress at the convenience store on Patrick Henry Drive.”

      “Right behind you.” The cop turned back to Mac. “We’re finished here.” The officer walked back to his police cruiser and climbed in before turning on the siren and roaring away down Wilson Boulevard.

      Mac started the SUV, then pulled onto the street. “We’re going to go to a safe house. It’s too dangerous to go back to your apartment. Someone will pack up your things later. Anything you can’t live without at the apartment?”

      Priscilla thought about the sparsely furnished one-bedroom she’d called home for the past five years. While she had accumulated the usual detritus of life—books, DVDs, a few keepsakes from day-trip excursions around the area—there was nothing personal about those things, nothing that couldn’t be easily replaced. “No.”

      Mac must have heard the sadness in that one syllable. “This will be over soon. We will catch the person responsible for this and you will get your life back.”

      “I know.” Priscilla didn’t know what else to say. Mac was doing his job to keep her safe, and in turn she would do hers by obeying his instructions to the letter. The best way to stay alive was to do what the marshals said—she had had that drilled into her during the transition period. With Culvert on the loose again, she wasn’t about to jeopardize her own safety by doing something stupid like branching out on her own.

      Priscilla closed her eyes as the last bit of adrenaline seeped out of her body and in its place a blanket of tiredness took up residence. As the SUV sped toward safety, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had been living an illusion of security that had come crashing down.

       FOUR

      Luc jolted awake when the SUV stopped. He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep. The combination of the shooting, car accident and ibuprofen must have lulled him into catching a few winks. Stretching his back sent a stabbing pain in his arm, which receded to throbbing. Careful not to move his injured limb, he pulled out his phone to check the time. 6:38 p.m. They had been driving for around three hours.

      Mac shifted in the driver’s seat to face the back and spotted Luc’s phone. “You’ll need to give me your phone, Mr. Langsdale.”

      “My phone?” Luc wasn’t about to hand over his smartphone without an explanation. “Why do you need it?”

      “Because you’re now in witness protection along with Priscilla. For security, you can’t contact anyone until we apprehend the man who’s after her. I’d have asked for it earlier, but you were sleeping.”

      Luc shook the last of the cobwebs from his brain, his hand clutching the phone in a tighter grip. “What if I don’t want to go into witness protection? I have a choice, right?”

      Mac exchanged a look with Priscilla, who stayed silent. “To enter the program permanently, you would have to agree to do so. However, this would be temporary. My top priority is keeping Priscilla safe, and right now, you’re along for the ride.”

      “What does that mean?” Luc still kept his phone, not willing to hand over the device so easily.

      “That you’ll need to stay in the safe house with Priscilla for a day or two while we get this sorted out,” Mac replied. “We’ll have marshals on guard around the clock while we figure out where to permanently relocate her. With your being a witness to the salon shooting, you might have noticed something that can help us catch whoever’s behind this.”

      Luc had a hard time digesting that information. But the idea that he’d be able to talk more with Priscilla appealed to him. “Will I be able to at least let my family and employer know I’ll be gone for a couple of days?”

      Mac shook his head. “Tell me who to text or email and what to say, and I’ll send it for you.”

      Luc studied the marshal’s granite jawline. The other man wasn’t going to budge. Luc reluctantly reached over the seat to give Mac the phone. “I’m glad you take keeping Priscilla safe seriously, but I have to ask—do you trust anyone?”

      “I wish I could trust people, but unfortunately, most of them think precautions like not using their smartphone for anything don’t apply to them.” Mac’s face settled into grim lines. “Witnesses can die because someone didn’t follow these rules. Now, who needs to know you’ll be taking a few days off?”

      Luc gave Mac the name of his boss and a message about a family emergency that necessitated his immediate absence from his job with CS Enterprises, a cybersecurity company with government contracts. He also gave Mac a message to give his sister, with whom he was expected for dinner the next evening. He used a sudden trip to work for a client who insisted on no outside phones while working on the company’s highly sensitive computer network.

      Priscilla raised her eyebrows. “Wow, those are really good excuses. Sounds like you’ve had practice in covering your real whereabouts.”

      “Not at all. Just read too many spy thrillers, I guess.” He shrugged. “I just hope those excuses work. I’d hate for anyone to be worried about me or think I’m missing.”

      Mac powered off Luc’s phone and pocketed it. “I’ll make sure you get it back.”

      “Are we waiting for backup?” Priscilla’s left leg started jiggling again. She looked up to see Luc watching her leg and stopped the movement.

      “Yes, should be here soon.” Mac continued to survey their surroundings.

      Luc gazed at the small house tucked into a side street of what appeared to be a quiet neighborhood. Many of the houses had Christmas lights, the bright displays a welcome sight after their harrowing trip. The mild early-December day hadn’t brought anyone outside, although most driveways had cars parked in them.

      Another vehicle pulled parallel with theirs in the gravel driveway and four clean-shaven men in nearly identical suits stepped out. Reinforcements had arrived. Two of the men fanned out to check the house perimeter, while the other pair disappeared inside. After a few minutes, one of the men who had entered the house gave a hand signal to Mac from the front stoop.

      “Mac? Can we get out of the car?” Priscilla sounded tired and scared.

      “Yes, let’s go into the house.” Mac exited the SUV, giving the area a sweep before opening Priscilla’s door. As she got out, Luc opened his own door and eased to a standing position. His whole body ached even though it was his upper arm that had been creased by a bullet.

      He followed the pair into the small Cape Cod–style house with two dormer windows. The avocado-green shag carpet in the living room affirmed the home hadn’t been updated since it was built in the early seventies. A small kitchen with the same color appliances sat to the right and a short hallway led to what Mac said was a bedroom and adjoining bathroom.

      One of the two men who had cleared the house stood in the kitchen doorway. “Mr. Langsdale? If you’ll come through to the kitchen, I’d like to take a closer look at your arm.”

      Luc wasn’t surprised they knew his identity. Mac had likely relayed that information soon after Luc had told Priscilla his real name. What he didn’t know was how deep into his background the marshals would look at first glance. Luc needed to talk with Priscilla first about their wedding, but that would have to wait until he’d had something to eat and some rest. His brain in