Haunted Destiny. Heather Graham
the guard, and added softly, “Upper echelon, Celtic American!”
“Oh?” The man seemed skeptical. Jude had been ready to whip out his manufactured credentials, but Alexi was continuing as if she’d bought his story about being a Celtic American official. Even if she didn’t really believe it...
“I’m so sorry we disturbed you. We haven’t seen each other in a while and I got carried away talking about a movie I saw while I was off!” she said.
Jude decided he’d wait to see what this woman had to say. In any case, she had nowhere to go. But his quarry was definitely gone.
“Well, Alexi, keep it down, huh? Most of the ship’s asleep.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“And just between us, we’re on the lookout for men who’re acting badly. Bothering women and such.”
“Oh?” That really seemed to surprise Alexi. “Was someone...bothered?”
He shrugged. “We’re supposed to be extra-vigilant. So, you’re absolutely sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, thank you, Johnny.” Johnny the security guard nodded at both of them and went back in the direction from which he’d come.
Alexi Cromwell looked at him, her eyes grave and troubled. “We can’t talk here. You can...you can come to my cabin.”
When his day had begun—or when the previous day, actually had begun—the last thing he’d expected was that he’d wind up standing in a deserted hallway on a slumbering ship, a stunning woman in front of him, inviting him to her cabin.
And yet, he knew instantly that it wasn’t a sexual overture.
“Ms. Cromwell,” he warned her. “You’d better have an explanation.”
She stepped away, assessing him. “Right. You’re no Celtic American bigwig. I’m assuming you’re some kind of law enforcement.”
“FBI,” he told her.
She nodded. “FBI. Well, you’re also what we call a magic man.”
“Magic man?”
“You see the dead. Magic man—it’s an old term in my family. I think it originated with a grandmother who lived on the bayou. Please, just come with me. I’ll do my best to explain.”
Jude McCoy, FBI man, entered Alexi’s cabin, not saying a word until they were seated in her tiny quarters. Alexi perched on the bed, McCoy sat in the one chair, which faced the dressing table built into the wall.
“Dead?” McCoy said, turning the chair toward her. “You mean our suspect? And yet he was running around the city of New Orleans and now the ship.”
His skepticism was blatant. “Ms. Cromwell, I saw that man at a murder scene in New Orleans. We chased him to this ship. He snagged a ride with some poor bastard on the street who thought he was about to get killed. Oh, by the way, I believe that poor guy’s in the hospital with a heart attack. Now the suspect’s on the ship. I saw him.”
“Yes,” she said. “Whether you accept it or not, you see the dead. Trust me.”
“You’re telling me you’re aiding and abetting a dead man we chased from the scene of a horrific crime?”
“Yes. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him. He led you here on purpose.”
“A dead man led me here?”
He didn’t raise his voice. But the sharp look he gave her suggested he’d be good in an interrogation room. If she’d done something, she thought, she’d admit it quickly. He was still, calm, and while his voice had a strange power, he kept it low and intense.
“I didn’t get to hear the whole story,” she said. “I gather you came after him.”
“If he’s dead, why is he afraid of me?”
“I don’t really know the answer to that,” Alexi replied. “I didn’t get enough time to talk to him. All I know is that he believes the killer’s on this ship. Yes, you saw him at the crime scene. He saw you there—and he saw that you were aware of him. He planned on coming on the ship. Look, I see the dead. It doesn’t mean I understand them any more than I understand the living.”
He leaned toward her. “I saw a man at a crime scene. The older guy driving the car saw him. I’m pretty sure a girl in a bar saw him, and I know my partner on this ship did, too. So, what—we all see the dead? Everybody does?”
“No, but more people do than you probably realize.” Alexi lowered her head. There was a reason she didn’t admit to seeing ghosts on the ship. Sometimes, others saw them, too, but, like this man, they had no idea they were seeing the dead. She assumed that, in the world at large, there were many people with this ability. Some sensed the dead, like her mom. Perhaps their fear kept them from really seeing. Some just didn’t understand what they saw.
But judging by the way this man was looking at her...
It reinforced her decision to keep silent most of the time. “I can try to find him or I can hope he comes back to find me, and then maybe you can get your answers,” Alexi said.
The fact that Agent Jude McCoy was such an attractive man didn’t make the situation any easier. His presence seemed to fill the tiny space of her cabin. She felt she could almost hear the steady beat of his heart—and feel the waves of ridicule coming from him.
He rose abruptly. “Ms. Cromwell,” he said, “Please know that I’ll be watching you, and that I’ll report our conversation to my partner. And when I find this so-called dead man, if you’ve helped hide him in any way, I will see that criminal charges are pressed against you.”
She stood, as well, suddenly angry. His height was imposing—but then again, she’d stared down David Beach a few times and he was a huge man.
“Knock yourself out, Mr. Agent McCoy, or whatever your title may be. You’re chasing a dead man. Period. And therefore, I’m not afraid of your ridiculous threats in the least!”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he asked softly.
He barely had to move to open the door to her cabin, but when he did, he turned back. “I hope you’re right, actually. I hope this man isn’t the killer—and that he isn’t baiting you. I’ve seen one of the Archangel’s victims. I’d hate to see you in that condition.”
Sincerity at last. Something in his words, something about his voice, caused a cold flash of dread to sweep through her.
She didn’t have to reply, because he was already gone.
She made sure that her cabin door was locked behind him.
She hugged her arms around herself, shivering uncontrollably.
She’d been glad the dead man had finally sat down beside her, and that he’d tried to talk to her. She still didn’t know his name or exactly who he was or why he was there, but she understood.
He’d wanted to lead the FBI men to the ship.
Because he believed there was a killer on board.
The Archangel.
* * *
It was ridiculously late, but Jude headed down the hallway straight to Jackson Crow’s cabin.
But he hesitated before knocking on the door. He wondered if what he’d read about the paranormal angle to Crow’s “elite” unit was true—that agents were hand-selected to work in the “special” department known as the “Krewe.”
He was on board with nothing except the few toiletries and articles of clothing he’d purchased at one of the ship’s stores. His phone, however,