Haunted Destiny

  “We need more on the history of our suspects,” Jude said. “On any relationship to the war in Italy, or to museums and auction houses that bought or sold the medals.”

  “I’ll ask Angela.” Jackson typed something into his phone and then looked up. “I believe I’m going to go see a rehearsal for Les Miz now.”

  “And I hear Billy Joel calling my name,” Jude said.

  “We need sharp eyes tonight,” Jackson told him. “We may be heading into one hell of a storm.”

  “In more ways than one,” Jude added.

  * * *

  Alexi was still staring at her list when she heard a tap on the door. “It’s me, Alexi,” Jude said from the hallway.

  When she opened the door, he smiled at her. “Showtime?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said with a nod. “Clara should be ready, too.”

  “Jackson’s going to the rehearsal with her,” Jude told her.

  “Oh.”

  She was glad to hear that Clara was protected; at the same time, she was worried about the fact that both Jackson and Jude seemed to believe she and Clara were intended victims.

  “Well, that’s good,” she said.

  “So tonight your friends Ralph, Simon and Larry will all be in rehearsal. That means they won’t be at the piano bar?”

  “No, they may show up later. And, of course, Clara will go straight back to her cabin, if that’s what Jackson suggests,” Alexi replied.

  “Glad to hear it,” Jude said. “Since it’s always easier to protect people who want to be protected.”

  “So, you do see Clara and me as the Archangel’s targets?”

  “We can’t know that for sure. There are other entertainers on board and we’re doing our best, with David Beach’s help, to see that everyone stays safe.”

  The ship lurched suddenly. This time Alexi steadied herself by clutching at the wall.

  “Rocky tonight,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” Jude was quiet for a minute. “Might be rocky the rest of the way, too, and we could be taking a number of detours. No one knows what this system is doing yet.”

  “We’ll be fine. We had to skirt around a hurricane once before. And, actually, Xavier Thorne was the captain during that sailing, too. He’s very good.”

  “Of course he is,” Jude agreed. He smiled, and this time she wasn’t convinced it was a real smile.

  At the Algiers Saloon, he sat with her on the piano bench while she arranged her sheet music for the evening.

  She found it disturbing to have him so close.

  And exciting at the same time. She hadn’t felt like this in years. A little nervous. Breathless—not good when she had to sing.

  A little hot; a little flushed.

  But as a crowd began to appear, many of them imbibing the spirits available at the bar, he moved to a cocktail table.

  Roger Antrim made an appearance—minus his wife that night.

  Hank Osprey showed up, as well. He, too, was solo. Alexi didn’t know how Jude managed it, but he got both men to join him at his cocktail table.

  In the middle of a Patsy Cline number she was doing herself, she felt a presence. Minnie was next to her and began singing along. Blake leaned against one of the support pillars in the lounge, watching her with love and pride. “I Fall to Pieces” wasn’t a song from Minnie’s era, but she’d picked it up from Alexi’s performances.

  Alexi tried to remember that she had a large audience; she smiled at her ghosts but paid them no more heed. Next, she began a popular Carrie Underwood song.

  Then she saw Byron Grant again. At last. He was standing behind Blake, near the pillar. And he must’ve said something because Blake turned. He seemed to greet him warmly.

  “Alexi, Alexi! Keep going! Finish the country song. I love country!” Hank called out.

  She was startled by his remark.

  She was accustomed to her ghosts; she never faltered. What was different now? Was it Byron’s presence? Or Jude’s?

  “What, you want more songs about pickup trucks, pit bulls, shotguns and lost love?”

  “You bet!” someone else cried.

  “Are you a Texan?” Alexi asked.

  “A New Yorker...who wishes he was a Texan!” the man called back.

  “Oh, come on!” she teased, singing a few lines of “New York, New York” and then sliding back into the Carrie Underwood number.

  She glanced up. Jude McCoy was watching her. He inclined his head slightly; she knew that meant he’d seen Minnie and Blake—and the ghost of Byron Grant.

  He rose after a minute, excusing himself to Hank and Roger, and apparently saying he’d be back soon.

  Thankfully, a guest was eager to sing. Alexi played and kept an eye on Jude and the ghost as they moved down the hall.

  About ten minutes later he returned.

  A couple of people asked if she knew anything about the explosion at the restaurant in Cozumel, and she fended them off easily. “Just that no one was killed. Thank God!” she said seriously.

  Someone else asked about the storm as he walked clumsily toward the piano to take the mic for a song.

  “Captain Xavier Thorne is the best,” she said. “And so is the Destiny!”

  The young man started to sing, “Oh, they built the ship Titanic...”

  “Hey, not to worry. You went to your lifeboat drill, right?” she asked. There was laughter in the room.

  A woman cried out, “Wuss! I’ve sailed in much worse.”

  “Children, children!” Alexi said, and sang some lines from the song “I Think We’re Alone Now.”

  Much of the audience joined in for the rest of it.

  Clara arrived with Jackson Crow toward the end of the evening. None of the other players from Les Miz came in that night. Finally, the crowd dwindled.

  Hank walked to the piano and gave Alexi a kiss on the cheek, thanking her for “another wonderful evening.”

  Roger Antrim waved. “I’m going to tell Lorna she missed a fun night. I’m meeting her at the casino!” A last table of young men moved on, and Alexi was left with Clara at her side and Jackson and Jude waiting for them.

  “Any news from Mexico?” Alexi asked. “About the explosion or...”

  “Nothing yet. But Cozumel’s getting battered pretty hard, which is hampering their investigation,” Jackson replied.

  Once they reached the hallway, they all went to Clara’s door.

  Then Jackson and Jude accompanied Alexi to her cabin.

  Jackson said good-night. Jude stayed where he was. He didn’t speak at all.

  After a moment Alexi thanked him and closed her door.

  Sitting at her small dressing table, she couldn’t help staring at her list again. But as she sat there, she heard footsteps in the hall. And then a door opened—and she heard Clara’s voice.

  She didn’t think; she just reacted.

  Jumping to her feet and throwing open her door, she raced the short distance to Clara’s cabin.

  Larry Hepburn was standing by the open door. Clara stood beside him, frowning.

  Jude and Jackson had both left their cabins and were hurrying down the hall to Clara’s. Larry looked at them all in complete confusion. “What?” he demanded. “I came to rehearse a scene with Clara!”

  “Larry, I said we needed to run through the scene a few times, but not tonight!” Clara said.

  Larry didn’t seem to hear her. Then another door opened, and Ralph Martini stepped out into the hall. He didn’t seem to notice the others. Just Larry.

  “Larry?” He, too, sounded confused—and hurt.

  “Oh, Lord!” Larry said. “What is this? Big Brother spying on me? I heard Clara come in, so I knew she was still awake. We were really rough tonight and she
told me she was concerned. Ralph...no! It’s not what you’re thinking!”

  Alexi realized then that Ralph and Larry were having an affair. She didn’t understand why they’d been hiding it, since all their friends knew they were gay.

  “Go ahead!” Larry said, turning to Jackson. “Tell the other muckety-mucks that I’m gay. It’s not something I’m ashamed of. I just never considered it anyone else’s business.”

  Jude shrugged. “I don’t see why anyone would care, either. Your personal life should be your own. We came out here simply because we all got a little worried. Too much going on—the Archangel in New Orleans, an explosion in Cozumel, the storm.”

  “Larry, it’s really too late to rehearse. Soon as I wake up, I’ll call your room.”

  Larry smiled, looking around at them. “No one really cares?”

  “Why would we? Why would anyone care? If you two are happy, that’s great,” Alexi said. She’d spoken quickly, but she was sure she spoke for everyone. Their nods and smiles told her she had.

  “It’s hard for anyone to find the right person and be happy. The best to you both,” Jude said. “And now it’s late as hell, so—”

  The ship suddenly pitched again.

  “The storm’s growing worse,” Jackson muttered.

  “Call me in Ralph’s cabin,” Larry told Alexi, then followed the older, shorter man.

  “See you in the morning!” Clara said cheerfully. “I’d have you all over for coffee, but honestly, these cabins aren’t big enough.”

  Alexi grinned and turned away. “Good night, everyone!” She heard Jackson’s door close. Jude walked with her and waited until she’d entered her cabin. She knew he’d wait until the door closed and he heard it lock.

  She opened her door and he was there. So close... She looked at him intently and thought about the way he made her feel—alive again, cherished. But she didn’t want to analyze her feelings anymore, or worry about complications or careers.

  She wanted to think of some clever comment. “Hey, I’d be safer if you didn’t leave at all.” Or maybe, “Is there a ghost of a chance you’d want to come in?”

  Oh, that was bad! Thank God she hadn’t said it out loud.

  He was still there, and he smiled slowly, as if he was waiting. Not for the door to lock, but for the invitation. She inhaled a deep breath and stepped forward so they were almost touching. Trembling, she decided that at the very least, she’d place a hand on his chest and thank him for his vigilance.

  But when she moved, he moved, too, and once again, his eyes, those beautiful cool green eyes with the brown streaks, were on hers. She moved into his arms. And he kissed her. It was a burst of something wet and hot and sweet, something she’d never expected to feel again. But the past was gone, and this was now, and she found herself wanting him with a fever that was new. As they kissed, she forgot that they were standing in the hallway.

  It was a beautiful kiss. Long, deep, hungry.

  Then he broke away and they both took in several ragged breaths.

  They still didn’t speak. They both went into the cabin, with Jude locking the door behind him. Then they were in each other’s arms again, and although Alexi had thought she’d be awkward and that she wouldn’t even know what she was doing anymore... Memory brought it all back. More than memory, it was a fusion of the past and the present.

  He shed his jacket and holster and gun while their lips were still locked together. And then they paused and gazed into each other’s eyes. He kissed her, more slowly this time. She felt his fingers on her back, working the zipper on her red cocktail dress, and she shimmied out of it until it fell in a puddle at her feet. She kicked off her shoes and continued kissing him, her hands on the buckle of his belt.

  They were naked before they hit her bunk, heedless of the little towel animal that Nolan Perkins, the crew steward, had left there.

  They were touching...

  And kissing. More and more kissing. Their lips traveling each other’s bodies. He knew where to touch her and when. Instinct kicked in, and she stroked and teased him as he did her, all of it spontaneous, natural...and so arousing.

  He stopped for a moment, reaching for a condom in the pocket of his discarded pants. “I was hoping...” he whispered.

  She nodded as he put it on, and was startled seconds later to realize that she’d crawled on top of him, taken him inside her and begun to move. Pure sensation was so strong it seemed to eclipse the world. They moved and rocked with the waves. Every brush of his fingers, every movement he made, seemed to heighten the hunger building in her. When they did climax, his lips were locked with hers, and he held her as if their trembling was some great force that swept around them both. But he was there for her, solid and strong. When he broke the kiss, easing onto his side, pulling her close, she smiled. She should speak; they should speak. But for those first moments, she just lay there, grateful for that time with him. Life was fleeting—she knew that all too well.

  Times like this needed to be savored.

  He stroked her hair. “It might be rude to say so, but...I think I’ve wanted this since I first set eyes on you.”

  She laughed softly. “You thought I was a freak, an alarmist, a liar creating fantastic tales.”

  “That didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be with you.” She curled against him, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I can’t say it was the first thing on my mind. But you do grow on people.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he said, and there was humor in his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “And bad, maybe. I shouldn’t be here. I’m on a case. You’re...a rather strange witness in that case.”

  “And I might be a target,” she said flatly. “St. Cecilia, you know. Patron saint of musicians and singers.”

  He nodded slowly.

  He still seemed lost in thought, but then she felt him shrug and he turned back to her. “This is an excellent way to keep an eye on you. I know exactly where you are. I don’t have to worry about you racing out into the hall. At least, I don’t think you run naked into the hall very often.”

  “Not often, no,” she said. “Earlier, it was because I heard Clara. And,” she added, “I wasn’t naked!”

  “Yes, but Jackson and I are just a couple of doors away from you—and Clara. You have to let us be the ones to run out into the hall.”

  “Stark naked?”

  “Hopefully not. Besides, at least I’d have a gun,” he told her, pulling her close. “I’ve seen this killer’s handiwork, Alexi. He’s quick. You know that from what Byron told us. The Archangel takes his victims by surprise and they’re dying before they realize what he’s done. He’s adept with a knife. Kat Sokolov—our Krewe medical examiner—believes he’s used different weapons, depending on what he can get his hands on. We know that Elizabeth Williams was killed with a knife from her own kitchen.” He paused. “And yes,” he said quietly. “There are three medallions in that set we haven’t found on victims yet. Medallions for chefs or cooks, actors—and musicians.”

  “I don’t remember saying that I minded being watched so closely,” she whispered.

  “That’s great. Makes it all much easier.”

  “Just easier?”

  “And much more pleasant.”

  “Pleasant?”

  “Hot and exciting?”

  “I think that’s better than pleasant,” Alexi teased.

  He rose up on one elbow and shook his head slightly. “How about, ‘more wonderful than I imagined anything could be’?” She should have let it go; lie or not, it was nice. But they weren’t lying to each other.

  “You were married,” she pointed out.

  That glaze of pain she’d seen before touched his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He was quiet for a
long time. Then he said, “We lost a child. Lily. She was three.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry.”

  “Kathy is a good person. We just drifted apart. Maybe we were drifting before we found out that Lily was sick. She was premature, and then her heart didn’t...didn’t grow the way it should have. We weren’t unkind to each other, we just couldn’t stay together. Lily had become our only common ground. When we lost our little girl, we had nothing.” He stroked her cheek. “And I don’t think I’ve really had anything since.”

  Alexi couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing a child. A little girl, just three years old.

  “I am so sorry,” she said again. There was nothing else to say.

  “Thank you. I think I grew cynical about my so-called psychic ability or whatever you want to call it. If I did have a talent, I should’ve been able to...tell her it would be okay. That there was something beautiful she’d go to. I had this terrible helpless feeling. I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect her from...her damaged heart.”

  Alexi touched his face gently. “You didn’t see her because you loved her, because she was young and innocent—and there is something better and that’s where she is.”

  “I like to believe that,” he said. “I have to believe it.”

  “You know it’s true,” Alexi said. “You know, because you’ve met those who aren’t ready to go yet. And if they’re here...”

  He sat up suddenly. “Someone in the hall,” he said.

  He bounded cleanly from the bed, hopping over her.

  He did go to the door naked—and with his gun.

  But he returned the gun to its holster on her dressing table, then lifted the bedcovers and crawled in beside her.

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  “One of David Beach’s security men. Doing his job,” he said. “Enough sadness.” He looked as if he wanted to say more.