Krewe Of Hunters: Haunted Destiny Part 24

"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 s.h.i.+p, 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, your friend sees me. She walks by me and always says h.e.l.lo. I don't think she knows I'm dead."

"She may not," Alexi said. "I a.s.sume 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, h.e.l.l, 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 Seora Maria's restaurant, while Mrs. Antrim was shopping. The woman's a pa.s.senger. 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

The s.h.i.+p 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 prost.i.tute, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sengers are staying in their cabins. The captain hasn't closed down the s.h.i.+p's activities yet, although he's stopped the functions at the pool and a.s.signed 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.