Haunted Destiny Read online

“Gorgeous, huh? Simply gorgeous.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  Hardy turned back and studied Jude and raised the glass to him next. “Well, kudos to you, sir. Kudos. I tried to become...friends with Alexi many times. I guess she seemed all the more beautiful because she was so untouchable, so tragic. I guess you’ve managed to break through that wall of ice.”

  “She’s been helping me,” Jude said.

  Hardy broke into laughter. “Helping you, huh? That’s what you call it?”

  Jude smiled. “I need to know people on the ship. She’s introduced me, taken me around, shown me how things work.”

  “They work well for you, huh?” Hardy asked, sounding bitter. Then he shrugged. “Sorry. Sour grapes. Anyway, sir, once again, kudos to you. I guess Clara is helping you, too?”

  Jude pictured himself giving the man a sharp blow to the jaw.

  Instead, he smiled again. He’d long ago learned that his job required him to maintain his temper—and he learned that he could.

  “You’ve tried to befriend Clara, too, huh?” he asked.

  Jensen Hardy flushed a dark shade of red. “She’s another ice queen. Apparently, she joined the cast after a bad breakup. She’s primarily interested in her career. Her friends are all the actors and performers on board. I could be an actor, you know. I was an actor. Hell, I am an actor. Acting pleasant all the time is worthy of an Emmy, I can tell you that.” He winced. “Sorry, don’t take offense. I need my job. And I’m an idiot, talking to you like this. Because you can get me fired, right?”

  “You’re not going to be fired,” Jude told him again. “Not through me, anyway.”

  “Well, here’s hoping!” Hardy said. He stared at the piano bench and the two young women smiling as they sang another duet. He gulped the rest of his drink, set down his glass and said, “Thanks for the drink...Jude.”

  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

  It 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, yo
ur 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.”