Mac shifted, a flash of pain crossing his features. “You were right.”
“I was?” Luc leaned closer.
“Culvert wasn’t behind the previous attacks on Priscilla.” A coughing fit incapacitated Mac for several long seconds.
Luc wished he had some water to offer Mac.
Mac breathed in and out slowly. “There is someone inside the marshals who’s targeting Priscilla.”
His hunch hadn’t been far off. But Luc had suspected Mac was the one trying to kill Priscilla. If it wasn’t Mac—and Luc couldn’t detect anything disingenuous in the man’s concern or demeanor—then who wanted to silence Priscilla?
“You thought it was me.” Mac’s voice held a tinge of humor.
Luc shrugged. “You seemed adamant that it had to be Culvert acting alone, and, well, that just didn’t add up for me.”
“I couldn’t let the others know I suspected someone in the marshals of being a traitor.” Mac kept his eyes on Luc’s face. “But you were like a dog with a bone—wouldn’t let go of that idea.”
“You tried to discourage me,” Luc filled in.
“I didn’t want Priscilla to lose you. She’s had enough loss in her life. Time for her to have something good, something positive for the future.”
Luc didn’t bother to correct the marshal’s misunderstanding. He had no future with Priscilla. She couldn’t risk a relationship while living in witness protection and he agreed it would be for the best for them to part ways.
Mac touched Luc’s arm. “You have to find her before whoever’s behind these attempts does.”
“If Culvert’s not behind the previous attacks, why did he kidnap Priscilla?” Luc could see Mac was tiring. The EMT hovered a few feet away, while law-enforcement personnel milled about the accident scene.
“Leverage? If Priscilla’s a danger to this person, then perhaps Culvert wants to trade.”
A chill settled around Luc’s heart. “You mean Priscilla’s life for leaving Culvert alone?”
“Perhaps. I’m not sure about that part.”
“And you have no idea who’s the one behind all this?”
“I have an idea. It’s best if you don’t trust anyone except me.” Mac thrust his phone into Luc’s hands. “Take my phone. On my last trip to headquarters, I had our tech gurus install a new app—one that tracks the location of incoming calls.”
Luc didn’t get it at first. Then the implication dawned on him. “You have the last known location of Culvert from his latest phone call.”
“That’s right. He must be near here.” Mac began to cough again, and this time a longer bout racked his body.
The EMT approached the vehicle. “Sir, an ambulance is here to transport you to the hospital.”
“I need one more minute.” Mac’s severe tone prompted the redheaded EMT to step back once more.
“You have sixty seconds. Then we’re loading you up.”
Mac nodded. “I have another cell phone number programmed in there. Let me know when you’ve found Culvert.”
“I will.” Luc’s heart raced. “But I don’t have any wheels. I doubt Culvert’s close enough to walk to his hiding place.”
“Try the dark blue Toyota Camry with a West Virginia license plate XWF 1243 at the far end of the parking lot. The keys will be in the wheel well of the front passenger’s-side tire.” Mac closed his eyes and slid his head back. “I called in a favor from a friend in local law enforcement, and he dropped it off for me this morning. I had a feeling an extra set of wheels might come in handy.”
The EMT shouldered her way past Luc, another pair of emergency technicians with a stretcher right behind her. “Sir, we need to get you ready for transport.”
Luc stepped back, clutching the phone. “I’ll find her, Mac.”
The marshal opened his eyes to meet Luc’s gaze. “Bring her home safe.”
* * *
“Sit down and don’t move.” Culvert shoved Priscilla toward a sagging couch in front of an empty fireplace.
One look at her captor’s scowling face had her sinking onto the scratchy brown sofa without a word. As Culvert lit an ancient camping lantern, she glanced around the cabin. From the outside, it had the look of dereliction with its sagging gutters. While outside the morning sun had been shining, the cabin—tucked into a small clearing in an overgrown forest—had boarded-up windows that allowed only slivers of sunlight to filter inside. The shutters hung like drunken sailors after a night on the town, and if the outside had ever been painted, there was no sign of that now.