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?”