Haunted Destiny

by Heather Graham

  Hank Osprey didn’t make an appearance until almost eleven. He was with a very pretty young woman in a skintight cocktail gown and five-inch heels. They made quite a pair.

  He waved to Alexi as he entered, and she waved back.

  When the Meat Loaf song had ended and the applause for Ralph subsided, she greeted Hank, introducing him as a regular who could croon out a great Tony Bennett. Hank flushed, excused himself to the young woman and came up to take the mic.

  The night went on without incident. Blake and Minnie didn’t reappear. She teased, she joked, kept the passengers singing, and when there was a lull, she sang a few favorite show tunes herself or called on a friend to do so. At one point she saw Bradley Wilcox looking into the room over the small carved wood banister that separated the lounge from the hallway.

  Watching her.

  Judging her.

  Alexi didn’t care. The audience was lively and her confidence soared back. She knew she was good at what she did.

  She smiled at Jensen Hardy, the cruise director, coming down the hall. He loved the piano bar, loved dropping in. He had a pleasant singing voice, but neither his natural talent nor his training was quite up to par, not compared to performers like Ralph and Clara. In the “quickie” bits of music that were done on board, he was always the announcer.

  She assumed he’d come to sing.

  But he wasn’t going to sing that night. Bradley Wilcox stopped him in the hallway, and although Wilcox didn’t move and kept his voice low, Alexi could see that he was reprimanding Jensen Hardy for one thing or another.

  Idiot!

  At the moment there was nothing she could do to help Jensen. Besides, the eternally cheerful Jensen would probably just shake it off.

  Clara sat at the piano bench by Alexi’s side and when she could, she whispered, “I’ll hang out with you until the bitter end, I promise. And don’t tell me I’m being silly. The killer was in New Orleans. New Orleans! You’re not walking to your cabin alone.”

  “It’s okay. You can leave when you’re tired. Get Simon or one of the other guys to take you back, okay?”

  “I don’t want you alone.”

  “I won’t be alone.”

  “Oh?” Clara asked.

  Alexi indicated Jude McCoy. In his evening apparel, he was extremely presentable. He managed to look casual, and yet a little larger than life.

  “Ohhh.” Clara grinned. “Hobnobbing with the higher-ups of the company, huh? I’m so glad. You need to hobnob. You haven’t...hobnobbed in forever. Hobnobbing would be good for you. Hobnobbing is a basic instinct, you know.”

  Alexi felt a flush cover not only her face, but also her whole body from head to toe.

  “It’s just business.”

  Clara laughed at that and Alexi flinched. Yes, her words could have been construed in a different way.

  “No, I mean I’m an entertainment liaison, that’s all.”

  Clara studied Jude McCoy and then turned back to Alexi. “It shouldn’t be just business. Men like him don’t come along every day. And,” she added, “I’m talking about more than his looks.”

  “Hey! I’m working here!” Alexi reminded her. “Right now, as we speak.”

  Clara smiled. “So is the little beauty on the arm of our billionaire, Hank Osprey.” The young woman was, indeed, working it; she leaned against Hank and seemed to be enchanted by his every word.

  And despite the fact that Jude McCoy was engaged in conversation with Roger and Lorna, Alexi could tell that he was also aware of Hank and his young woman.

  Finally, the crowd began to thin.

  When Hank left with his lady friend, Alexi noted that Jude McCoy made a phone call.

  Would Jackson Crow now be following the man?

  Because it was evident that Jude McCoy meant to keep his word. He’d be seeing her back to her cabin.

  Last call was announced.

  Roger and Lorna Antrim thanked her for a great evening and left. Three young women traveling together departed arm in arm.

  A retired couple, charming, older—and obviously still very much in love—came to the piano to tell her what a wonderful time they’d had. The bar was closed.

  Ralph Martini yawned. “Gotta call it a night!” he said.

  “We all need to call it a night,” Simon agreed. “Hey!” he said cheerfully to Jude. “You didn’t sing.”

  “I thought I’d spare you.” Jude gave them a self-deprecating grin, telling the Les Miz cast members that he was looking forward to their final night’s performance.

  He wound up talking theater with them for a while. And then suddenly, he and Ralph were involved in a discussion about sports and New Orleans, and Alexi realized that everyone else was gone, that she was there with Clara, Simon, Ralph—and Agent Jude McCoy.

  “You’re with the cruise line, right?” Ralph asked Jude.

  Jude inclined his head.

  “Why’d they stick you guys down in the dinky cabins?”

  “If they’re good enough for the entertainers, they’re good enough for us. Besides, it’s a full ship, and we came on at the last minute. I’m sure you know that the reputation this ship has for entertainment is stellar. We’re really here to observe what makes it all work so well.”

  “That’s a relief,” Ralph said. “Where else would an old hack like me find acting jobs these days? Getting old in the theater is a bitch, you know? Unless you’re Sean Connery or Alec Guinness. Which, sadly, I’m not.”

  “You are a fine, fine actor, Ralph!” Clara insisted.

  He sighed. “Thank you. But I have an old friend, Siobhan O’Leary—one of the best voices ever to grace Broadway! She ended up playing a singing Easter bunny on a cruise line and it was downhill from there. Still...I need this ship. And at least I haven’t been relegated to singing animal roles.”

  “You’re all fine,” Jude told them. “We’re not here to judge or harass you, just to enjoy your talents.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn, it’s late.” Alexi rose. He wouldn’t leave her until she was safe in her cabin. And, she guessed, there was somewhere else he wanted to be.

  “Shall we all head down to the bowels of the ship?” Simon Green suggested.

  “Let’s do it,” Clara said.

  They walked to the elevators together. Reaching the crew level, they began to break off from the group as they approached their cabins, Simon Green first, then Ralph and then Clara.

  “Hey!” Clara asked, before opening her door, “Are we going into Cozumel for lunch tomorrow? We’re not on call for the Mexican songfest until five and we dock about eight. I was thinking of around eleven?”

  Alexi glanced at Jude McCoy.

  “That’s great,” she said, trying not to make it sound like a question.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Clara told Jude.

  “I just may,” Jude responded. “Thanks.”

  Clara went into her room.

  After that the hallway seemed completely still.

  The ship listed portside, and Alexi nearly raised a hand to steady herself on Jude McCoy’s chest; she managed to place it on the wall instead.

  “Did you learn anything?” she asked him.

  “No. But at least I met both men and had a chance to observe them.”

  “Roger and Lorna are such a tight couple...” she murmured.

  “Mmm.”

  “You’re thinking Hank Osprey?” Alexi asked. “You called your partner, didn’t you? And he followed Hank after he and his...companion left the lounge.”

  He nodded.

  “And?”

  “You’ll be glad to know the young lady is alive and well and back in her cabin for the night,” he told her quietly.

  “Good. But being rich and single doesn’t make a man a
killer,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “Of course not.”

  They’d reached her door, and she slid her key card into the lock, then stepped into her cabin. He seemed ridiculously close. And she felt ridiculously...

  Light-headed. Maybe she was...

  Attracted to him.

  Lord.

  She was afraid she’d blush again. Hobnobbing. She hadn’t hobnobbed in...

  “However,” he went on, “being rich and single doesn’t make a man innocent, either, Ms. Cromwell—Alexi,” he said. “When I leave you, please lock up, and don’t go out again until morning.”

  He didn’t wait for her to agree.

  In his line of work, agreement was probably taken for granted.

  She didn’t even say good-night. He was already turning away.

  She locked her door, got ready to go to sleep and crawled into bed.

  And lay awake.

  Still feeling warm and flushed.

  She’d noticed his hands and wondered what it would feel like if he touched her. She lay awake in misery.

  In some ways it had been easier to be in mourning.

  Easier than feeling this ache and this longing once again.

  * * *

  Jude walked the Destiny, deck by deck. He did it swiftly, nodding at the few crew members he passed along the way. In the wee hours, few were up and about.

  He passed David Beach on the promenade; he recognized Beach long before he got close. Very few people were Beach’s size.

  “Agent,” Beach acknowledged him. “Like I told your partner, we’re on this, so you can get some sleep tonight. I have my men doubling up and adding on to their shifts. We may all be thinking this is a remote possibility, but we’re taking that possibility very seriously,” Beach said. “I have a man patrolling every deck, and I’ll have one on every deck through the day and night, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I need to get some sleep, and you do, too. You won’t be much good to anyone without it.”

  “Of course,” Jude agreed. Beach’s comment might have been tongue in cheek, mocking him. Except that he didn’t think that was the case. There was real pressure on all law enforcement in the States—that pressure had evidently made its way to the ship.

  “Good night, then. Glad to know you’re out here,” Jude said.

  “Good night, Agent McCoy.”

  Jude meant to go straight to his cabin.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he walked over to the chapel, looking in through the mullioned window.

  The chapel was empty.

  He turned and went to bed.

  Earlier, up in their makeshift office, he and Jackson had thoroughly studied the information they had on the passengers and crew, concentrating on their possible suspects.

  But he’d also read up on Alexi Cromwell.

  Her university years and professional career were impressive. She’d majored in music and drama and graduated with top marks. Then she’d worked at some of the most prestigious venues in the country. She’d been engaged.

  Her fiancé had died overseas. Soon after, she’d headed onto a ship.

  Sailing away. One method of escape.

  Work. Work was another. She’d done both.

  It was the same for him. After his experience in the military and then the tragic loss of his daughter, he, too, had found consolation in work. Soon after that, he’d left the military and been accepted by the academy...

  No, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d always known he wanted to be in law enforcement.

  Because of a family heritage dating back to the Battle of New Orleans and relatives still among the military brass, he’d applied to West Point. He’d been in the service when he met Kathy; when they got married, he’d started to ponder resigning. Then Lily had come along.

  And the world had changed.

  He stared out the one small portal in his tiny cabin. The night was eerie, the ship’s lights a weak, yellow glow against the near-black of sea and sky.

  Jude loved the ocean. Especially at night, when the horizon seemed to stretch on forever, when the sky appeared to reach infinity and all things seemed possible.

  He’d actually slept well in the few hours he’d slept, thanks to the rolling of the ship. Despite the money spent to refurbish and maintain the Destiny, she was an old girl, and her stabilizers were nothing compared to those on the new megaliths sailing the seas.

  He closed his eyes and remembered that he could never change the past.

  And that might be why his obsession with work had grown.

  He had, at times, saved lives. That ointment was the balm he needed for the wounds he bore.

  He found himself thinking about the medallions again.

  Medallions, in sets of thirteen, sold at a tiny church near the Vatican, decades ago. Medallions left on the dead.

  Three remaining.

  St. Lawrence, patron saint of cooks. St. Genesius, the patron saint of actors.

  St. Cecilia, patron saint of singers and musicians.

  He tossed and turned.

  Alexi Cromwell was just down the hall from him.

  He’d watched her through the night, admired her easy rapport with others, her ability to smile and laugh and tease. She was never hurtful. She just knew how to draw people into her fold. He’d watched her sing a duet with Clara Avery and he’d felt every nerve of awareness, realizing how much these two young women might appeal to the Archangel.

  A lovely blonde actress...

  A beautiful singer...

  He reminded himself that a cook was still in danger, too, but Jackson had investigated all the kitchen staff that night, warning young women to stay together or with known friends. He and Jackson, all law enforcement, were determined to save everyone who might be at risk. To stop the Archangel.

  And yet...

  He knew he’d grown obsessed.

  With Alexi. He had to protect her.

  * * *

  Capitan Miguel Suarez of the Cozumel police was a large, fit man. Both Jude and Jackson spoke decent Spanish, but Suarez waved off their attempts. “This is Cozumel, gentlemen,” he’d told them. “You’ll hear more English spoken here than you will in parts of Florida and Texas, and so on. Please, sit down. We’ll speak in English.”

  Suarez had been briefed ahead of time. John Boulder, an agent assigned to Cozumel out of the Miami office, was with them, as well. Like Suarez, Boulder immediately seemed intelligent and competent.

  Suarez was, naturally, most interested in the possibility that the Archangel might kill in Mexico. Boulder was intrigued by the fact that Jackson and Jude might have followed the killer onto a ship.

  “There’s been no one else killed in the New Orleans area,” Boulder told them. “But that doesn’t mean anything. The Archangel moves from city to city.”

  “I want to emphasize,” Jude said, “that we have a chance here, the kind of chance we haven’t had before with this killer. We believe we’ve narrowed it down to a small list of suspects, all of them probably on Mexican soil as we speak.”

  “You’re head of the Krewe of Hunters, right?” Boulder asked Jackson Crow.

  “I’m field head of the unit,” Jackson replied.

  “Different kind of unit,” Boulder commented.

  “One that’s solved every single case in which we’ve been involved,” Jackson pointed out.

  “I’ll take that,” Suarez muttered.

  Jude leaned forward. “I believe this killer’s going to strike here, somewhere in Cozumel.” He hesitated. He was terrified by the assumption he was making, but he’d lain awake much of the night going over everything he’d read about the Archangel and his victims. “He’ll go after a cook or som
eone involved in the restaurant industry. We’ve discovered the history behind the medallions left on the victims. The medallions that remain are associated with the patron saints of musicians, actors and cooks.”

  “There are beautiful women playing guitars and dancing and singing all over the streets of Cozumel!” Suarez said.

  Jackson looked at Jude, nodding, and then turned to the other men. “We’re afraid he might have targeted a young actress and a young singer aboard the Destiny already. They’re known to him and they fit his profile. They might be in his sights for that reason. Which leaves a cook. There’s less likelihood that he would’ve become familiar with one of the cooks on the ship.”

  “I’ll have my officers out in the street on high vigilance throughout the day,” Suarez told them.

  “We’ve got officers assigned to watch the men on your list of suspects, as well,” Boulder said. He frowned, studying the paper. “I see that David Beach, head of security, was originally on this list. Now, that’s terrifying. But you’ve taken him off.”

  “Yes,” Jude said. “A study of his movements seems to eliminate him.”

  “Hope so,” Boulder murmured. “If the head of security might be involved, we’re in dangerous territory indeed.”

  Jude wasn’t sure how the territory could get any more dangerous.

  Jackson stepped in. “We have a top-notch medical examiner on our Krewe team, Agent Boulder. She’s gone over the majority of the bodies. Various cuts and bruising would’ve been different, had the killer been a man of Beach’s size. We’re looking for someone between 190 and 225 pounds, between five-nine and, say, six-two.”

  “Here are the men we’re still looking at,” Jude said. “Passengers Hank Osprey, late thirties, billionaire, and Roger Antrim, late fifties, billionaire. Entertainers Simon Green and Larry Hepburn, late twenties, Ralph Martini, middle-aged. Also cruise director Jensen Hardy, who’s in his early thirties.”

  “I’ve sent their photographs out all over the city—and to every tour destination,” Suarez said. “Your men?” he asked Boulder.

  “We’re on it, too.”

  “And David Beach has assigned anyone he can spare,” Jackson told them. He stood up and Jude did the same. “Gentlemen, thank you. Let’s pray we leave Mexico without incident.”