He didn’t.
Instead, he kissed her.
And then...they made love again.
8
Just 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 relationshi
p; 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.
The man’s smile was back in place.
Alexi left her bag, sandals and cover-up on a lounge chair. “Okay, let’s do this!”
“We got her, folks! We got her!” Jensen cried, and there was a massive round of applause as Alexi took his hand and moved with him to the shallow end.
There were a few catcalls, too. Alexi’s bathing suit was a tank-top one-piece thing, not at all provocative.
Still...
Maybe, Jude thought, he was in...not love, surely not love. Too soon. Impossible... But perhaps a state of enchantment. She appeared far more sensual to him than the young women barely clad in mini-bras and string bottoms.
“Okay, folks, we’re on. You there, sir, with the lovely redhead. You two—a challenge from Alexi and me. If you dare!”
Jude took a seat on one of the lounge chairs halfway between the entry and the pool. And he watched.
The young man accepted the challenge and came closer to stand beside Jensen, one arm around his red-haired companion. Jensen joked with them briefly. They were Maude and Eric Anderson from Milwaukee.
And then the chicken fight was on. Alexi on Jensen’s shoulders, the Milwaukee couple likewise poised to meet them.
Jude could tell that Alexi had helped Jensen out before—and that she knew they were supposed to lose, which they did. Alexi rose from the water, dripping wet and laughing and congratulating the other couple.
Maybe he was falling a little bit in love. She seemed to rise out of the water, shimmering, as if she’d been born from the sea. She was not only beautiful, she was also gracious and charming.
He hadn’t liked Jensen touchi
ng her. Was he just jealous?
Nope.
He hadn’t liked the look in Jensen’s eyes when the man had realized Alexi wasn’t alone—that she was with him. And the guy was a suspect, after all!
The couple won drinks at the pool for a day; to win the big money, they’d have to become the champions, beat all the other contenders. The contest was on.
Alexi climbed out of the pool and stood by Jensen’s side, encouraging the contestants in the water.
Jude felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, followed by a waft of air. He turned. The double doors to the pool were closing, as if someone had just entered.
Someone had.
For a moment he thought that Captain Xavier Thorne had come to watch the antics at the pool.
But it wasn’t Thorne. It was a different man—in a different uniform, a captain’s formal attire from a long-gone age.
He was seeing another of the Destiny’s resident ghosts—Captain McPherson. He was about to stand up, do what the other ghosts on the vessel would consider right, and introduce himself to the captain.
He never had the chance.
The ghost of the old captain shook his head, as though the antics he witnessed were beyond his understanding.
He turned abruptly and left.
The doors seemed to shudder in his wake.
“So, you don’t like Jensen Hardy, either, do you, Captain?” he muttered.
“What?”
He looked up and managed a smile. Alexi, toweling her hair, was standing beside him.
“Seeing ghosts,” he said softly. “It’s really... Well, it’s not good for a man’s reputation. They make you talk to yourself.”
She sat down, her smile wider, and then leaned back on the lounger next to him. “Minnie and Blake think it’s hysterical when they try to make me respond to them while I’m working. But you get accustomed to ignoring them when you need to.” She closed her eyes for a minute and then opened them again. “So?” she asked him. “Did you learn anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Jensen Hardy is not what he appears to be.”
Haunted Destiny Page 14