Haunted Destiny (16 page)

Then he left the piano bar.

Jude saw the ghost of Byron Grant following him...

Hank asked for a final number; Alexi obliged. Then, with effusive thanks, he turned to leave. Jude cut him off when he would've headed into the hall.

He frowned at Jude before managing a smile.

“What can I do for you, Mr. McCoy?”

“Just wanted to ask about your friend Ginny. Is she okay?”

“Sure. She wasn't feeling well. Lots of people are down with seasickness, you know?” Hank held his head at an angle. “What? The two beauties at the bench aren't enough for you, sir? You're trying to corner every cutie on the ship?”

He asked it lightly, as if he and Jude were just two guys discussing the merits of certain women.

“I was making sure she's doing okay. And that you are, too,” he added.

“Ah,” Hank Osprey said, assessing Jude. “She's fine. And so am I. She's in her own cabin, by the way. You don't rush a good thing. Well, maybe
you
do. Maybe you can. I can't—I'm rich. That's my asset. I guess you've got a few others. Anyway, like I said, she's fine. And I intend to see she stays that way—and stays in love with me. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that she's using me. But I don't believe it. Not this time.”

“I hope you both continue to do well throughout the voyage,” Jude said. “And afterward.”

“You'd have to say that, huh? Being with Celtic American and all.”

“No. I'm saying it because I mean it.”

“Well, I hope you do okay, too. And...hey. Look after Alexi. Everyone knows there's something going on between you. She's special. I guess I always hoped that one day she'd see me,
really
see me. Not just be kind to me because it's her job and part of her nature, but...” He paused and shrugged. “I'd have married her in a wink. She might've changed everything for me.”

“But you're in love with Ginny.”

“That's right, I am! But you have a woman I lusted after for many a long night.”

“I wish you and Ginny the best,” Jude said simply, ready to wrap up the conversation.

“I wish the best for all of us. This storm is really bad. They say Cozumel is a mess. Some ships were smashed to pieces. They couldn't get out. They're expecting a high death toll once the hurricane moves on. Guess we got out just in time. Makes that explosion seem like nothing, right?”

“As far as the storm goes, we'll be fine.”

“Well, then, good night. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow. You ought to sing, Mr. McCoy. This is a piano bar, after all.”

“I'll think about it,” Jude said, then watched as Hank Osprey walked out of the saloon and down the hall to the elevators.

“Mr. McCoy?”

He turned. Roger Antrim was just behind him. Smiling.

“Roger,” Jude said, nodding.

“I shouldn't have stayed out so long. Poor Lorna... But being like this has made her pretty cranky. I was trying not to be a terrible husband,
and
trying not to get on her nerves. See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yes, see you then. Is Lorna doing any better? Was the ship's doctor able to give her anything that helped?”

“Yes, I think so. She was doing better, just very tired. Well, I'm going to go back up to see her. Maybe she'll be asleep,” he said, sounding—to Jude's ears—rather hopeful.

When Jude returned to his seat, he saw that Alexi, Clara, Ralph, Larry and Simon were all singing together. The number was “Closing Time.”

As they sang, Jackson Crow came along and waited in the hallway.

When Alexi finished, Jackson entered the Algiers.

“Time for all good little boys and girls to go to bed, I take it,” Ralph Martini said.

“So it is,” Jackson said, greeting them with a casual salute.

“And we appreciate having two G-men—or should that be
he
-men?—walking us to our rooms,” Simon said. “Alexi, you need any help?”

“Nope, just throwing the music in the bench and the cover over the piano,” Alexi said. “Let's go down.” Easily said, but not as easily done. As they reached the elevators, the ship pitched severely. Ralph crashed into Jackson; Simon fell against the wall, and Alexi and Simon almost tumbled onto the ground.

They all laughed, regaining their balance.

“This is getting serious,” Ralph murmured.

“Hopefully, if it gets any worse, they'll ask us all to stay in our cabins—and be ready to climb into our lifeboats,” Larry said.

“Hopefully, it
won't
get any worse,” Clara said mildly. “Anyone for taking the stairs? I'd just as soon not be stuck in an elevator.”

“I say we take the stairs,” Jude agreed.

“And I'll add that everyone should use the banisters,” Jackson said.

So, they proceeded down the stairs. And Jude and Jackson made sure that, one by one, they all got into their rooms until only Jackson, Alexi and Jude stood in the hall.

“I'll see you in the office in the morning?” Jackson asked Jude.

“Anything new?”

Jackson shook his head, glancing at Alexi. Even to Jackson, Jude thought, she was one of them.

After all, she'd been the one to bring them Byron Grant.

“I've asked Angela to check into Ms. Virginia ‘Ginny' Monk,” he said. “We're still trying to regain contact with the police in Cozumel. Then we'll be able to learn if they found...anything in the churches. So for now, good night.”

Alexi opened the door to her cabin, and Jude closed and locked it. As he did, the ship rolled again. He wasn't quick enough, and they both tumbled backward.

Luckily, they wound up on her bed together, laughing.

“We could be in real trouble, like we were saying, and here we are, laughing.”

“Yes.” Jude was careful to lift his weight off her. “But worrying about the storm isn't going to change the weather.

“I hope they'll ask everyone to stick to their cabins,” Alexi said.

“Maybe they will.” Jude looked at her as she lay there beside him, eyes wide, hair floating around her. He stroked her arm, marveling at the softness of her skin. She reached out and touched his cheek.

“I wouldn't mind staying here,” she said, and added softly, “with you.”

He kissed her. She tasted sweetly of mint. At first his kiss was gentle and then it deepened and, as it did, he felt his muscles tighten. His fingers found the zipper to her gown. She stood up to remove it and fell back on the bed. He helped her take it off before awkwardly struggling to remove his own jacket, holster and gun.

They managed to get their shoes off.

He unclasped her bra and nuzzled her breasts. Then he felt her fingers at his belt buckle. Felt his erection swell. Felt her touch.

Their lips met again. Bit by bit, they threw off the rest of their clothing.

The ship continued its wild pitching and swaying.

And somehow, that seemed to enhance every brush of their fingers, every kiss, every caress.

Desire became overwhelming. After a moment's pause to deal with protection, he quickly slid inside her, embraced by her warmth, Alexi meeting his every movement with a writhing motion that drove them both to climax. They were barely breathing regularly before they were moving again, touching...

More slowly this time. Each of them seemed determined to know the other completely. Jude felt that she was part of life itself; that her scent was part of breathing, her warmth part of his existence.

They made love, accepting the rise and fall of the waves beyond the porthole, clutching each other as if it was the two of them against the world.

At last they lay together, naked, panting, still holding on.

“I'm pretty sure that by tomorrow, Captain Thorne will ask for limited movement around the ship,” she said. “He'll batten down the hatches, so to speak. And he'll get us to the closest safe port as fast as possible.”

“And you mean we won't catch our killer on board?” he asked.

“I just pray that the killer won't have a chance to strike again.”

“We'll stay on it—with greater resources,” Jude said. “We've eliminated a number of suspects. And we're watching everyone still on our list. We've also got the help of agents back in the offices who are researching the histories and recent movements of—”

“What if they don't believe that the killer is actually on the ship?” Alexi broke in. “We're going on the word of a ghost. Will the powers that be even believe you?”

He could see her eyes in the ship's dim light.

And all he wanted was to make port.

For her to be safe.

And yet, when they left the ship...

“Jackson will stay on it, with his Krewe of Hunters. Because, in his unit, the bosses believe in the words of a ghost.”

She settled closely against him. “And what about you?” she whispered.

I just want to keep holding you.

“I imagine I'll stay on the case. It's Crow's case now and I think he wants me to continue.”

She nodded. “I hope we reach port soon,” she said, echoing his own thought. “And I hope they cancel the next sailing. They'll probably need some repairs, anyway.”

“Yes,” he said simply, and he held her even tighter, wanting to feel her next to him. Making love with her was beyond the physical; lying here with her felt...

Peaceful. It gave him a sense of peace. Something he hadn't felt in years.

He moved her gently so that they were face-to-face.

“Other than the fact that I want you all safely off this ship, I don't ever want to leave this bed, this cabin,” he said.

He loved the look that appeared on her face, the smile that was so subtle on her lips, so full as it touched her eyes.

“If only,” she said, grinning.

And so they lay together.

They finally slept.

When morning came he would've risen and quietly slipped back to his own cabin to shower and change, but she moved against him, half awake and half asleep, and yet...

Seductive.

Moving against him and then touching him, her fingers trailing down his chest and past his hips...

They made love again. When he finally got out of bed, she was smiling and her hair was like a glorious sunset all around her. Her eyes were closed. She might fall back to sleep.

“Don't leave without me,” he whispered.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” she whispered back.

When he left her, he made certain that her door was locked.

It was time to meet with Jackson Crow. Time to begin the day.

And while he prayed that no one on the
Destiny
would be murdered, and that they'd weather the storm and did make port, he also prayed they'd catch the killer before that.

Because if they didn't...

More were destined to die.

11

I
t probably wasn't the best idea to be reading about serial killers when there might be one on board, Alexi thought.

Reading about men who'd terrified the world was unsettling, to say the least.

There'd been far too many. From Ted Bundy to John Wayne Gacy, BTK and Jeffrey Dahmer and many more.

And there were some who'd never been caught, like Jack the Ripper. There were also other names Alexi didn't know; crimes committed by those who might never be named.

She sat back from her computer.

What did the medallions have to do with the murders? Could the killer have been alive during World War II?
She doubted that, although it was possible. Had he been traumatized as a child? Was he fighting his own views of religion?

Or was it all just a ploy—something to confuse the police?

She thought about their remaining suspects. She couldn't imagine Simon Green was the killer, and yet, based on what she'd learned from Jude and Jackson, Simon hadn't been cleared yet. Their perky cruise director, Jensen Hardy, was still on the list, too. And her piano bar regulars, Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey. Three of the four were too young to have had fathers or mothers who'd served in World War II. Perhaps, in Roger's case, he'd grown up knowing about the medallions and perhaps he'd even been to the little Italian church where they'd been crafted.

But did World War II have anything to do with it? Or was it just the medallions? And if so, what was their purpose?

Were any of the men religious?

Maybe she could draw them out, persuade them to speak about it. Once again she looked at photographs of the saints' medallions online.

She heard a sound at her door; it wasn't exactly a knock. Then she heard a voice—at least, she heard the words in her head.

“Alexi, it's me. Byron.”

She stood up to open the door, wondering if she needed to do that for a ghost.

She didn't; he said, “I can come in. I'd like your permission, that's all.”

A very polite ghost.

“Yes, of course, Byron.”

A moment later he'd entered her cabin and had begun to take on form. “How are you doing?” she asked as he reappeared, now in his entirety.

Stupid question! How was he doing?
How
could
he be doing? He was dead!

But he responded cheerfully. “Very well, Alexi. I'm learning to find form when I need to. I've met some of your friends. Blake and Minnie are great. What a lovely couple. I've been up to the infirmary, too. I've met Barbara Leon, the nurse, and the servicemen, Jimmy and Frank, and they've all been helpful and nothing but kind. Oh, by the way, your friend sees me. She walks by me and always says hello. I don't think she knows I'm dead.”

“She may not,” Alexi said. “I assume you're talking about Clara. Clara Avery, the blonde singer? She's with the cast of
Les Miz.
”

“Yes, that's who I mean.”

“Maybe...” Alexi murmured, wondering if she should try to tell Clara that she was seeing ghosts. Clara seemed very intuitive. And she'd certainly pegged Jude and Jackson pretty fast.

“Anyway, I thought I'd tell you what I'd seen.”

“Thanks, Byron. But you should tell Jude and Jackson, too.”

He gave her an awkward smile. “I'm becoming a better ghost, but not a perfect one. Not yet. I can reach you fairly easily, it seems, so...”

“Okay, that's great. You know you're more than welcome to talk to me, and I sincerely appreciate your coming to me, helping us.”

“I want—oh, hell, it's not justice. I want
revenge
. They took my love and my life.”

“I understand.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, I still don't know
who
did it. But this is what I've observed. Roger Antrim and his wife are having problems. I figure it's because Roger was with a woman in Mexico, hanging out with her at a bar about half a block from Señora Maria's restaurant, while Mrs. Antrim was shopping. The woman's a passenger. Her stateroom is on the St. Charles Deck, and she's often at the bar in the Algiers Saloon when you're playing. An affair? I don't know. I realize security men have been watching Roger, but I believe that Mrs. Antrim might
think
it's an affair.”

“We can look into that,” Alexi told him, smiling inwardly, mocking herself for the way she'd said
we
.

She wasn't with the FBI. But in a sense, on this ship, she was.

“There's more,” he said. “Well, there's an observation I've made that might help.”

“What's that?”

“Jensen Hardy has a crush on you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It's the way he watches you. The way a man watches something he wants. Almost like a great cat stalks, not leaping idiotically, but watching—and then, when the time is right, making that lethal pounce.”

She'd never thought of Jensen Hardy as a pouncing tiger, that was for sure.

Maybe a smitten kitten...but a pouncing tiger?

“Thank you,” Alexi said, determined to take Byron's words as a serious warning.

How well did she really know Jensen, anyway?

Byron seemed pleased with himself. Casual and happy. He leaned against her door and shut his eyes. “We're getting close. I can feel it. We're going to catch this bastard.”

The ship swayed again, and Alexi fell backward, onto her bed.

Byron's eyes flew open and he appeared to bounce away from the door. He seemed to fade, reappear and fade again.

“I'm watching, Alexi, I swear, always watching. I will
not
let him get near you.”

“You mean Jensen Hardy?”

“Him—or any of the others. Whoever the killer turns out to be.”

She smiled, righting herself.

She was grateful to have Byron watching over her.

* * *

In their
office
, Jude and Jackson were able to make contact with Angela for five minutes or so before the satellite went down. Angela told them that their investigation still hadn't proved—or disproved—anything about the suspects' movements at the various “murder ports.”

They were trying to figure out what the medallions might signify.

“I don't think what the medallions themselves mean really matters,” Angela said. “I think it's what they mean to the Archangel. We're working on that angle, tracing family histories, schooling and so on, for each of the men who were in the cities at the times the murders occurred.

“How are you doing there?” she asked when Jude and Jackson had thanked her.

“We're noticing some interesting behavior. Trouble in rich folks' paradise, between Roger and Lorna Antrim,” Jackson said.

“And we also need to know if you've learned anything about Virginia Monk,” Jude added.

“She's currently a student at Loyola. She's been working on a bachelor's for several years and we're not clear on where her money's coming from. She makes a lot of cash deposits on her bank account.”

“Stripper, I understand?” Jude asked.

“Could be,” Angela replied. “Which means there might not be any traceable income. We've learned she has an apartment in Metairie and lives alone. She doesn't have a criminal record. She hasn't sailed before, as far as we can tell. She booked through a travel agent and we're checking on that agent now. Thing is, when you deal strictly in cash, you make it hard for anyone to follow your movements. If she
has
been working as a stripper or even a prostitute, someone has to have seen her. As soon as—”

Angela never got the rest out. The connection turned to static.

“Interesting,” Jackson murmured.

“You bet,” Jude agreed. “I'm not sure yet whether to be afraid for Ginny Monk—or for our dot-com millionaire.”

“So far, according to ship security, she goes back to her own cabin every night.”

“You said we've got a meeting with Beach and some of his people?”

Jackson glanced at his watch. “We do,” he said. “They're due here right about now.”

During the meeting a few minutes later, Beach's security men confirmed that there was, indeed, trouble in mega-rich paradise.

“Mrs. Antrim has spent a great deal of time in the infirmary and in their cabin by herself. On the other hand, quite a few passengers are staying in their cabins. The captain hasn't closed down the ship's activities yet, although he's stopped the functions at the pool and assigned Jensen Hardy to create more bingo contests and the like in the main ballroom. As you requested, we've followed Roger Antrim religiously and discovered that he's been seeing a lot of a Mrs. Flora Winters, cabin 615, on the Promenade Deck.”

Beach kept his face straight as he spoke.

“He's been
seeing
her? Doing what?” Jackson asked.

“Nothing overt,” Beach said. Three of his men who weren't following a suspect at the moment were in the meeting, as well. They all nodded.

“Is he especially...friendly?” Jackson asked.

“He's not holding her hand or anything like that. He
is
signing her drinks to his tab and they've engaged in what looks like deep conversation,” Beach said. “None of us knows what they've been talking about.”

“We'll see if we can get a little closer,” Jude said. “Anything to report on anyone else?”

“Simon Green's spent most of his free time in his cabin. When he's not there, he's at rehearsals or in the employee cafeteria. We've kept a tight watch on the employee cabins. Nothing unusual,” Beach said and cleared his throat. He turned to Jude. “If we were just going by behavior, Special Agent McCoy, you'd be the most suspicious.”

Jude nodded. “Yes. I suppose I would be.”

“We've seen all the suspects return to their own rooms. Oh, except for one instance,” he said, checking his notes. “Jensen Hardy's room is more toward the forward section of the cabins, and he was seen walking down to the central area where you and a number of the actors and musicians are staying.”

“What did he do there?” Jackson asked.

One of Beach's men stepped forward and introduced himself. “Ben Eckles, sir.” Then he described what he'd seen. “Hardy just stood there and looked at the doors, and then...nothing. Oh, we also followed him late one evening. He went up to the chapel. He tried the door but it was locked.”

“We need you to keep a close eye on him,” Jude said.

“Yes, sir.” Eckles nodded vigorously. “Mark Naughton is following him, but Hardy's running a bingo game in the Egyptian Room.”

“Is that it?” Beach asked, turning back to the agents.

“Yes. Thank you,” Jackson replied. “We all know you're not convinced that we're right about this. We want you all to know how much we appreciate your diligence.”

Beach acknowledged Jackson's words.

Beach and his men trailed out of the office cabin, and Jackson glanced at Jude.

“Well?”

Jude sat there thoughtfully for a moment. “I don't like Jensen Hardy,” he finally said. “I'm trying to discount that. But I've seen the way he looks at Alexi, and that scares me. And Roger Antrim—is he just going through a middle-age crisis and flirting to feel better about himself? Or is he lining up a victim?”

“When we get hold of Angela again, we'll have to find out what we can about the woman he's seeing.”

“What do you think about Ginny Monk?” Jude asked.

“She may have planned this trip in order to meet Osprey,” Jackson said.

“If she did some research on him, she might have found out that he usually sails alone, without a bevy of assistants or advisers. And, if so, she might've realized that this would be a prime opportunity to get to know the man—and seduce him.”

“I agree,” Jackson said. He gestured at the computer screen with disgust. “The ship's going onto emergency status pretty soon,” he said. “May be good, may be bad. If everyone's in his or her cabin except for the necessary crew, at least the women aboard will be safe.”

“Let's hope.” Jude got to his feet. “I'm going to see what I can find out from Lorna. I went in to see how she was doing at the infirmary yesterday. I've got a bit of a connection with her—I think. I'll see what she can tell me.”

Jackson nodded. “And I'll see if I can engage Ginny in a discussion while you're at it.” He opened the desk and produced a square black object. “Walkie-talkie,” he told Jude. “Computers are down, and that means the cell phones will be out. These are clunky and awkward, but they'll work.”

* * *

Alexi grew restless.

She couldn't work on her computer; nothing was coming in.

She tried calling Jude; there was no cell phone reception.

She bathed, washed and dried her hair and paced the cabin.

Byron Grant was gone, and she doubted he'd reappear for a while.

Clara hadn't come to Alexi's room, because they were supposed to stay in their own, orders of Jude McCoy. The captain hadn't put the ship in lockdown yet, but Alexi felt as though it had already happened.

Finally, so much time had passed and Alexi was so on edge that she cracked open the door to her cabin. She looked both ways down the hall and saw no one.

Just when she was about to step out, Jude came walking down the hallway.

He was frowning at her. “Alexi, I told you not to open the door!” he said.

“I'm sorry, but you didn't come back. And I'm worried about Clara. And isn't there supposed to be a security man assigned to this hall? That means I should be safe enough checking on Clara!”

“Don't you understand the risks?” he shouted. “Death. You might face a terrible bloody death!”

“I do understand that, but if you expect me not to worry about a friend in the same situation, you're flat-out crazy,” she told him angrily. “Have some faith in me! I was just stepping into the hall—where there should be a security man!—to check on my friend.”