Haunted Destiny (12 page)

She didn't think; she just reacted.

Jumping to her feet and throwing open her door, she raced the short distance to Clara's cabin.

Larry Hepburn was standing by the open door. Clara stood beside him, frowning.

Jude and Jackson had both left their cabins and were hurrying down the hall to Clara's. Larry looked at them all in complete confusion. “What?” he demanded. “I came to rehearse a scene with Clara!”

“Larry, I said we needed to run through the scene a few times, but not
tonight
!” Clara said.

Larry didn't seem to hear her. Then another door opened, and Ralph Martini stepped out into the hall. He didn't seem to notice the others. Just Larry.

“Larry?” He, too, sounded confused—and hurt.

“Oh, Lord!” Larry said. “What is this? Big Brother spying on me? I heard Clara come in, so I knew she was still awake. We were really rough tonight and she told me she was concerned. Ralph...no! It's not what you're thinking!”

Alexi realized then that Ralph and Larry were having an affair. She didn't understand why they'd been hiding it, since all their friends knew they were gay.

“Go ahead!” Larry said, turning to Jackson. “Tell the other muckety-mucks that I'm gay. It's not something I'm ashamed of. I just never considered it anyone else's business.”

Jude shrugged. “I don't see why anyone would care, either. Your personal life should be your own. We came out here simply because we all got a little worried. Too much going on—the Archangel in New Orleans, an explosion in Cozumel, the storm.”

“Larry, it's really too late to rehearse. Soon as I wake up, I'll call your room.”

Larry smiled, looking around at them. “No one really cares?”

“Why would we? Why would anyone care? If you two are happy, that's great,” Alexi said. She'd spoken quickly, but she was sure she spoke for everyone. Their nods and smiles told her she had.

“It's hard for anyone to find the right person and be happy. The best to you both,” Jude said. “And now it's late as hell, so—”

The ship suddenly pitched again.

“The storm's growing worse,” Jackson muttered.

“Call me in Ralph's cabin,” Larry told Alexi, then followed the older, shorter man.

“See you in the morning!” Clara said cheerfully. “I'd have you all over for coffee, but honestly, these cabins aren't big enough.”

Alexi grinned and turned away. “Good night, everyone!” She heard Jackson's door close. Jude walked with her and waited until she'd entered her cabin. She knew he'd wait until the door closed and he heard it lock.

She opened her door and he was there. So close... She looked at him intently and thought about the way he made her feel—alive again, cherished. But she didn't want to analyze her feelings anymore, or worry about complications or careers.

She wanted to think of some clever comment. “Hey, I'd be safer if you didn't leave at all.” Or maybe, “Is there a ghost of a chance you'd want to come in?”

Oh, that was bad! Thank God she hadn't said it out loud.

He was still there, and he smiled slowly, as if he was waiting. Not for the door to lock, but for the invitation. She inhaled a deep breath and stepped forward so they were almost touching. Trembling, she decided that at the very least, she'd place a hand on his chest and thank him for his vigilance.

But when she moved, he moved, too, and once again, his eyes, those beautiful cool green eyes with the brown streaks, were on hers. She moved into his arms. And he kissed her. It was a burst of something wet and hot and sweet, something she'd never expected to feel again. But the past was gone, and this was
now
, and she found herself wanting him with a fever that was
new. As they kissed, she forgot that they were standing in the hallway.

It was a beautiful kiss. Long, deep, hungry.

Then he broke away and they both took in several ragged breaths.

They still didn't speak. They both went into the cabin, with Jude locking the door behind him. Then they were in each other's arms again, and although Alexi had thought she'd be awkward and that she wouldn't even know what she was doing anymore... Memory brought it all back. More than memory, it was a fusion of the past and the present.

He shed his jacket and holster and gun while their lips were still locked together. And then they paused and gazed into each other's eyes. He kissed her, more slowly this time. She felt his fingers on her back, working the zipper on her red cocktail dress, and she shimmied out of it until it fell in a puddle at her feet. She kicked off her shoes and continued kissing him, her hands on the buckle of his belt.

They were naked before they hit her bunk, heedless of the little towel animal that Nolan Perkins, the crew steward, had left there.

They were touching...

And kissing. More and more kissing. Their lips traveling each other's bodies. He knew where to touch her and when. Instinct kicked in, and she stroked and teased him as he did her, all of it spontaneous, natural...and so arousing.

He stopped for a moment, reaching for a condom in the pocket of his discarded pants. “I was hoping...” he whispered.

She nodded as he put it on, and was startled seconds later to realize that she'd crawled on top of him, taken him inside her and begun to move. Pure sensation was so strong it seemed to eclipse the world. They moved and rocked with the waves. Every brush of his fingers, every movement he made, seemed to heighten the hunger building in her. When they did climax, his lips were locked with hers, and he held her as if their trembling was some great force that swept around them both. But he was there for her, solid and strong. When he broke the kiss, easing onto his side, pulling her close, she smiled. She should speak;
they
should speak. But for those first moments, she just lay there, grateful for that time with him. Life was fleeting—she knew that all too well.

Times like this needed to be savored.

He stroked her hair. “It might be rude to say so, but...I think I've wanted this since I first set eyes on you.”

She laughed softly. “You thought I was a freak, an alarmist, a liar creating fantastic tales.”

“That didn't mean that I didn't want to be with you.” She curled against him, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I can't say it was the first thing on my mind. But you do grow on people.”

“That's good to hear,” he said, and there was humor in his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “And bad, maybe. I shouldn't be here. I'm on a case. You're...a rather strange witness in that case.”

“And I might be a target,” she said flatly. “St. Cecilia, you know. Patron saint of musicians and singers.”

He nodded slowly.

He still seemed lost in thought, but then she felt him shrug and he turned back to her. “This is an excellent way to keep an eye on you. I know exactly where you are. I don't have to worry about you racing out into the hall. At least, I don't think you run naked into the hall very often.”

“Not often, no,” she said. “Earlier, it was because I heard Clara. And,” she added, “I wasn't naked!”

“Yes, but Jackson and I are just a couple of doors away from you—and Clara. You have to let
us
be the ones to run out into the hall.”

“Stark naked?”

“Hopefully not. Besides, at least I'd have a gun,” he told her, pulling her close. “I've seen this killer's handiwork, Alexi. He's quick. You know that from what Byron told us. The Archangel takes his victims by surprise and they're dying before they realize what he's done. He's adept with a knife. Kat Sokolov—our Krewe medical examiner—believes he's used different weapons, depending on what he can get his hands on. We know that Elizabeth Williams was killed with a knife from her own kitchen.” He paused. “And yes,” he said quietly. “There are three medallions in that set we haven't found on victims yet. Medallions for chefs or cooks, actors—and musicians.”

“I don't remember saying that I minded being watched so closely,” she whispered.

“That's great. Makes it all much easier.”

“Just easier?”

“And much more pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Hot and exciting?”

“I think that's better than pleasant,” Alexi teased.

He rose up on one elbow and shook his head slightly. “How about, ‘more wonderful than I imagined anything could be'?” She should have let it go; lie or not, it was nice. But they weren't lying to each other.

“You were married,” she pointed out.

That glaze of pain she'd seen before touched his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “We lost a child. Lily. She was three.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Kathy is a good person. We just drifted apart. Maybe we were drifting before we found out that Lily was sick. She was premature, and then her heart didn't...didn't grow the way it should have. We weren't unkind to each other, we just couldn't stay together. Lily had become our only common ground. When we lost our little girl, we had nothing.” He stroked her cheek. “And I don't think I've really had anything since.”

Alexi couldn't begin to imagine the pain of losing a child. A little girl, just three years old.

“I am so sorry,” she said again. There was nothing else to say.

“Thank you. I think I grew cynical about my so-called psychic ability or whatever you want to call it. If I did have a talent, I should've been able to...tell her it would be okay. That there was something beautiful she'd go to. I had this terrible helpless feeling. I couldn't protect her. I couldn't protect her from...her damaged heart.”

Alexi touched his face gently. “You didn't see her
because
you loved her, because she was young and innocent—and there
is
something better and that's where she is.”

“I like to believe that,” he said. “I have to believe it.”

“You know it's true,” Alexi said. “You know, because you've met those who aren't ready to go yet. And if they're here...”

He sat up suddenly. “Someone in the hall,” he said.

He bounded cleanly from the bed, hopping over her.

He did go to the door naked—and with his gun.

But he returned the gun to its holster on her dressing table, then lifted the bedcovers and crawled in beside her.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“One of David Beach's security men. Doing his job,” he said. “Enough sadness.” He looked as if he wanted to say more.

He didn't.

Instead, he kissed her.

And then...they made love again.

8

J
ust before 8 a.m., Jude entered the office he and Jackson had been assigned. Not many hours' sleep, but he felt as if he could face the world.

He'd left Alexi sleeping peacefully.

He'd been happy just watching her sleep. She was beautiful with her dark red hair curling over the sheets, a slight smile on her face even as she slept. But he knew it was much more that had drawn her to him. She had charm, evident when she worked, but there was something far deeper than that, as well. Maybe it had been her determination in tracking him down to try to convince him he'd been chasing a ghost. She fought for what she believed was right. She had the sense to be afraid—and yet sprang into action—maybe a little too easily when she thought a friend was in danger.

Part of it might have been their shared
talent
, or even the losses they'd experienced in their lives. And then, of course, who knew why, in a world of possibilities, certain people were simply attracted to certain others. He felt he'd been lucky enough to meet an exceptional young woman and that, for these moments at least, he'd been blessed.

He booted up the computer he'd been given for this detail and immediately heard a beeping sound.

Incoming computer call.

He answered it quickly and saw Angela Hawkins, Jackson's lovely coworker and wife, pop onto his screen.

“Good morning,” he said. “Jackson should be in shortly.”

“That's fine,” she told him. “I tried just now. Apparently, weather down in the Caribbean is getting rougher. If you have a chance, look up the ‘cones of probability' as to where the storm might go.”

“Okay, yeah, haven't had a chance yet,” Jude said. “I understand that Captain Thorne is supposed to have led ships through bad storms before, so I think we're okay there.”

“Yes, he has an exceptional record,” she agreed. “We've investigated him, too, of course.”

Jude smiled. “Of course.”

“The thing is, they're ordering him to stall where he is. Those cones I was telling you about are all over the map. One has this system—Dinah, which reached tropical storm status at 5 a.m.—heading straight for Southwest Florida. Another has it moving toward New Orleans, and one had it going at a southwesterly angle toward Belize and Central America. Anyway, communication could get harder, so if I see one of you face-to-face, I'll know all my information's gotten through to you.”

“Do you have anything new?”

“Just one significant piece of information that should help you. We've cleared Ralph Martini. He was on a ship that made port in Miami at the time the murders were committed there, but we tracked down the driver who brought him straight from the ship to the airport—and have him on a puddle jumper down to Key West. While it would theoretically have been possible to drive back up to Miami during that time, we have a ‘fan cam' video of him performing at a karaoke club there, and we have room service bills and bank and traffic cameras showing him in Key West. The hotel where he stays also has cameras at the entry. In other words, he could not have committed the murders in either Miami or Fort Lauderdale. Oh, we also talked to the driver who picked him up from MIA to bring him back to the port. Ralph's definitely not our man.”

“How are you doing with the others?” Jude asked. “In particular, Larry Hepburn.”

“We have agents in the Miami office tracking down his friends and acquaintances. He kept his residence on the ship while he was in port there. So far, we know he went to a rock concert, a ball game—Marlins vs. the Phillies—and a party. He was back on the ship soon after each event, and it's highly unlikely he had enough time in Miami to commit the murders there. Not only that, he probably couldn't have attended these events
and
gotten up to Fort Lauderdale.”

“It's only about thirty miles, right?”

“Of endless traffic,” Angela said. “But, there's a slim possibility that Hepburn could have carried out the murders.
Very
slim.”

“And the rest of them?” Jude asked. “How are we doing?”

“It's more difficult to tell with Hank Osprey and Roger Antrim. People with money can whisk themselves away. They both have homes in the Miami area, and they were both there—as well as in the other locations. But their expenses are checking out as regular expenses. Gas stations, restaurants. I've looked into their histories of attending auctions. However, it's quite possible that someone bought those medallions at a flea market and that's painstaking to trace. But we're doing our best.”

“You know anything more about Jensen Hardy, our eternally cheerful cruise director?”

“Just that he's eternally cheerful?” Angela said drily. “We're tracking his movements. He was in the ports where the murders took place at the relevant times, but we can't prove or disprove his possible involvement. He was at the ports legitimately, working on two different ships for the Celtic American line.”

Jude was writing on his scratch pad as he listened to her. He knew that the teams in the field would be thorough, and he was sure that in Jackson's Krewe of Hunters offices, every method of tracing suspects was being used.

It wasn't part of “seeing ghosts” and had nothing to do with technology, but last night he'd had the gut feeling that Ralph and Larry were just what they appeared to be—entertainers who liked to keep their private lives private. The world might be a more accepting place these days, but he respected their right to privacy regarding their feelings for each other, since prejudice still existed in many forms.

So...

Roger Antrim.

Hank Osprey.

Simon Green.

Jensen Hardy.

David Beach, eliminated. Ralph and Larry, eliminated. Bradley Wilcox. A mean bastard and an idiot, but...eliminated.

They were down to four men.

“Thank you, Angela,” he said.

“I wish I was there with you,” she said. “I won't be able to join you, though, not with this storm.”

“We're doing all right on our own,” he told her. “Well, with your help we are because of the way you're narrowing things down for us. We're watching four people now, and that's a hell of a lot easier than the whole ship at first, and then eight.”

Jackson walked into the office and Jude brought him up to speed, informed him that he was going to check out the events at the pool and stepped out of their
office
cabin.

He'd give the two of them a few minutes of privacy, even if it was over the internet.

He stopped by his cabin to change into appropriate poolside attire. After, he knocked lightly on Alexi's cabin door. It opened instantly.

“Hey,” he reproved her. “You just opened that door!”

“I knew it was you,” she said. “I looked.”

“Ah.”

“You're going swimming?” she asked.

“Are you allowed—going by the company rules—to be at the pool?”

Alexi nodded. “As long as I'm not taking a lounger a guest might want.”

“I don't think the pool area will be full.”

“I don't think anything's going to be full, other than the ship's infirmary. I don't usually get seasick, but I'm willing to bet the nurses and doctors are busy today,” Alexi said.

He didn't tend to get seasick, either, or suffer any kind of motion sickness. But he was sure a lot of people would be looking a little green today.

“I want to see what's going on poolside. Care to join me?” he asked.

“Okay. Give me a minute to change,” Alexi said.

“I'll wait here.”

He probably should've been feeling guilt and remorse about their relationship; being with Alexi last night certainly wasn't commendable under the circumstances.

But he didn't feel guilty. He felt
right
—for the first time in a very long while.

She emerged in a matter of minutes, a lace cover-up over her suit, a straw bag under her arm and sandals on her feet.

“No big-brimmed hat?” he asked her as they walked to the elevators.

“No sun,” she told him, grinning. “There's never any sun at the pool. On the
Destiny
, the pool's covered. She was originally an ocean liner and when she traveled the northern Atlantic, the weather would often have been chilly. So...they built a pool inside,” she said. “And while the ship may be sailing the Caribbean now and not the Atlantic, it's lucky for anyone who wants to swim today that the pool's on an inside deck. Oh, I tried to get more information on the storm. Apparently, it's just sitting over Cozumel. They're in worse shape there than we are on the ship.”

“I haven't heard from Capitan Suarez,” Jude told her. “They must be battling harsh circumstances while they're trying to investigate. This storm swept up so fast there was no time to prepare.”

“Are you from New Orleans?” she asked.

“I am. I grew up a block off Frenchman Street,” Jude replied.

“Then you should know that storms can whip up—and despite all the hard work by the world's best meteorologists, they aren't predictable. They can stall, move, stall. And they go wherever they choose. Apparently, the storms aren't always aware of the cones of probability.”

“Good point.” She searched his eyes. “What are you expecting to hear from Capitan Suarez? There are dozens of possibilities. The explosion and fire might have been an accident. Human error. Faulty equipment. Or maybe someone had a grudge against the owner. What could any of that have to do with the Archangel?”

“Chaos,” Jude said.

“Chaos?”

“No one knows where anyone else was during that time. Look at how easily you got separated from your friends. I was certainly distracted by the explosion. All over the area, people were distracted. And every one of our suspects managed to disappear for several hours.”

“You think that the explosion was a ploy by the killer—because he knows he's being watched? But I thought you'd heard that Señora Maria made it home fine.”

“Yes. I'd like to reach Suarez and find out if she's still fine—and if he's had a chance to search the local churches.”

“I'm sure they've been doing that—”

“And I'm equally sure that an American agent asking them to go through the various churches in the midst of being continually pummeled by a tropical storm is not high on their list of things to do.”

Alexi nodded solemnly. “No, I guess not.”

They'd arrived at the elevators. There was still no one around them, but Jude lowered his voice anyway as he asked her, “How well do you know Jensen Hardy?”

“Ah, so we're watching Jensen today.”

“How well do you know him?” he repeated patiently.

“Not that well. He's always nice. I like him but I don't think I could spend a lot of time with him because he's always cheerful.”

“How terrible!” Jude said.

She laughed. “No, just exhausting. But I have to admit he's excellent at his job. No matter where the storm goes, Jensen makes sure he keeps everyone on board occupied. You don't have any special information on the storm, do you? Like a bureau insider tip?”

“No. Apparently no one, including the experts in various government agencies, has any real idea where it's going right now,” Jude told her. “I do know the captain's holding on the outskirts, waiting for instructions, I assume, from Celtic American headquarters.”

The pool wasn't on the Sun Deck, where it might have been on another ship. Jude actually knew where it was, but he let Alexi lead him. The pool was forward on the Promenade Deck in a special section of the ship entered through a double set of doors. This grand, old-fashioned part of the
Destiny
also offered dressing rooms and a sweeping staircase with carved banners that went up to a second deck of lounge chairs and a bar.

When they got there the ship's pitching had the water in the pool moving as if it was a very modern wave pool.

There were still quite a few people around—pretty girls in bikinis who weren't going to have their Caribbean vacations ruined, families with children and groups of young adults, all of whom had to be entertained, and couples who were ready to relax.

Jude saw that Jensen Hardy was at the shallow end, near the dressing tables. He was busy explaining the rules of a chicken fight in the pool. The lighter person sat on the heavier person's shoulders. There was to be no hair-pulling or punching, but the “supporting” person was supposed to unbalance the other one. Despite the rock and roll of the ship, he had a number of people clamoring around him, eager to enter the contest. The winner earned a hundred dollars in ship credits that could be used in all the shops, cafés, as well as the casino.

In the middle of speaking, Jensen set eyes on Alexi. He beamed.

“Hey! Welcome to our piano bar hostess!” he called out. “For those of you who haven't been to the Algiers Saloon on the St. Charles Deck yet, this is Alexi! She runs a great show. And if she doesn't know your song, she'll find it. Hi, Alexi!”

“Hi, Jensen!” she called back, waving.

“Want to show them all how to play chicken, Alexi?” Jensen asked.

“No!” Alexi's stricken expression brought a roar of laughter from the crowd.

“Alexi!” he said, gesturing at the group of mostly young people who'd gathered around him. “Help me, Alexi!” Her name became a chant, and Jensen left his position to come over to her.

Then he noticed Jude. He'd obviously homed in on Alexi right away—and hadn't seen Jude.

Something flashed in his eyes.
Dislike? Dismay?

“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were together,” Jensen said.

By then, the chant had grown louder. “Alexi! Alexi!”

She gave in. “Jude, do you mind?”

“Of course not,” he said, glancing at Jensen.