Haunted Destiny. Heather Graham
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he would have his Minnie back.
Minnie had been singing an impromptu number in the piano bar. Also known as the Algiers Saloon, it was located exactly where it was now. Her previous lover, Allan Snow, had leaped to his feet after one of her numbers and declared his devotion. Minnie had claimed her eternal devotion, as well—to Blake.
So Allan Snow had pulled out a gun and shot Blake, who’d jumped in front of Minnie to be her protector. Then he’d shot Minnie and himself.
The ghost of Allan Snow didn’t seem to be aboard. Minnie told Alexi that she’d never seen him and she’d figured that God had been good, allowing her and Blake a different way to be together. She’d smiled and said their love was eternal.
Alexi figured it was natural that they’d haunt the piano bar.
She turned and hugged her pillow. Since Zach had been in the service and deployed overseas, they’d talked about the possibility of his death. She’d promised that if it happened, she’d always remember him—and she’d go on with her life, be happy.
She wasn’t suicidal, never had been. She was willing to find a new purpose, a new role, a new way of being. Just as she’d promised. Happy was more difficult.
What worried her now was the fact that he was slipping away. She thought about him often, with love. Sometimes she was happy now. She laughed at the antics of passengers and enjoyed meeting them. She’d even roamed various ports with friends she made aboard. She knew she shouldn’t feel guilty, and yet she did.
She reached into the gloomy air of her cabin, as if she could touch him.
“I just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” she murmured aloud.
Then she was startled out of her reflections when it seemed that something slammed against her door.
She jumped up and hurried to open it.
A man stood there, tall, dark-haired and...bizarre.
He was wearing a gray sweatshirt and blue jeans and strange prosthetic makeup. The man who’d raced through the piano bar!
He looked at her with beseeching eyes.
“I must speak with you. I must!” he said.
She frowned. Was he new in the entertainment department?
There was a commotion at the aft end of the hallway, and Alexi peered in that direction.
More men were coming along the hallway, men she’d never seen down in the entertainment area before, but they were accompanied by Nolan Perkins, one of the stewards.
“Sir,” she began, turning back to the man who had knocked at her door.
He was gone. She thought she saw him disappear around a corner that led to midship. She looked in the other direction.
“Hey, Alexi,” Nolan said.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m just showing these gentlemen the ship,” Nolan said. He lowered his voice. “They’re bigwigs with Celtic American,” he told her, then cleared his throat. “Alexi Cromwell, meet Jackson Crow and Jude McCoy.”
“How do you do?” the first man said, smiling as he reached for her hand. He was tall, good-looking and obviously had Native American ancestry. His dark hair and light eyes made for a striking contrast.
“Ms. Cromwell,” said the other. He was equally tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired. His eyes were unusual—blue and green with flecks of brown. His features were clean-cut, his jaw hard and square. Very attractive, in a rugged, austere manner.
He looked at her oddly.
As if he knew her? Or thought he did?
Or worse—thought she was guilty of something!
Both men wore tailored shirts and pants, not the usual tourist apparel. But then, they weren’t tourists. They were bigwigs with Celtic American.
“Nice to meet you,” Alexi said.
“Have you seen a man?” Nolan asked her.
That made her laugh. “A man? Nolan, I’ve seen hundreds of men. It’s a cruise ship.”
She understood exactly what he meant. And yet, for some reason, she was loath to tell him that yes, a man—a strange-looking man—had just gone by. She wondered why company VIPs were so interested in him.
“He’s tall, bizarre makeup of some kind, sweat shirt and jeans,” Jude McCoy said.
She lifted her shoulders. “I believe I did see him earlier,” she admitted, “running through the piano bar when the passengers were boarding.”
She had seen that same man again, just minutes ago. And she wasn’t telling these men. Why? Instinct? Pity?
But there’d been something even more peculiar about him than the prosthetic makeup or whatever it was he had on his face. A sense of anguish, perhaps.
She hesitated. She shouldn’t lie to these people. But the young man had seemed so desperate. In her heart, she felt that he’d come to her for help.
Still...
“Actually,” she said, “I think he was in this hallway. He ran in that direction. But where he is right now, I couldn’t say.”
That was mostly the truth. She didn’t know where he was. He’d run.
“Well, thank you, Ms. Cromwell. If you should see him again, can you report him to us, please? We’re in staterooms 312 and 314,” Jackson Crow said. “It’s imperative that we find him,” he added quietly. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
As they walked down the hall, she was more suspicious than ever.
Why were company bigwigs staying down in the bowels of the ship with the crew? The larger rooms—staterooms with balconies, the suites—were on the upper decks.
She was about to return to her cabin when Clara came running down the hallway, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. “Alexi! Did you have the news on?”
“The news? No, why?”
“Thank God we’re leaving! That guy, that horrible killer!” She gasped for more breath. “The Archangel—he murdered a woman in New Orleans!”
It wasn’t until the Destiny was far out into the Gulf of Mexico that Jackson Crow and Jude had a chance to meet with Captain Xavier Thorne and his head of security, David Beach. Their first business on board after walking every deck, including the holds and areas passengers never saw, was to go through the ship’s passenger and crew screening. There was a page for every passenger and crew member on board, including a photograph and information regarding citizenship and means of identification. A ship-issued ID was required anytime anyone, passenger or employee, boarded or left the Destiny.
In other words, no one, including crew, could get on or off the ship without that ID.
Jude and Jackson hadn’t seen their man in the thousands of passenger screening documents—but then, even if they’d seen him, they might not have known him.
This suspect could have ditched his makeup anytime after he’d boarded. Or certainly, after he’d been seen by Alexi Cromwell.
It was time to explain to Thorne and Beach just what they were doing there.
Xavier Thorne was fifty-five, according to the information they had, a veteran of many sailings. He’d served in the United States Navy before becoming a civilian employee in the pleasure business; he’d worked as a captain for smaller yachts doing private charters and for a number of the major lines before he’d settled in at Celtic American fifteen years