“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 truth.”
SIX
The Chinese takeout for dinner earlier had been tasty, but Luc now wished he hadn’t overindulged on the Szechuan chicken. He rolled over on the lumpy twin bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms and a mattress spring gouged his back. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mac assigned the room knowingly. The marshal had to be aware of Luc’s marriage to Priscilla—the other man came across as a by-the-book law-enforcement officer, who would do a thorough background check on anyone getting too close to his witness. Luc had been about to press the matter with the marshal, but the other agent announced dinner had arrived, and Mac suggested the discussion be tabled until later.