Haunted Destiny

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!”

2 (#u7ba54b30-7122-55db-b6f3-c59570f883a6)

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 ago. He was a serious man, but still capable of smiling.

Jude had wanted to stop the ship from going out, which had proved to be impossible. Not even the powers that existed behind Jackson Crow had been able to make that happen. Neither he nor Crow knew for sure if the man they’d chased was a killer. And, despite Ms. Cromwell’s sighting, they couldn’t verify that he was on the ship. At least his new partner/supervisor seemed to believe him. He’d not only put Jude on the ship, he’d also accompanied him. So now, at five that afternoon, they met with the captain and Beach.

David Beach was an ox of a man, almost six and a half feet tall. Jude, at six-three, felt dwarfed by him. Beach also had stellar credentials, having served with the NYPD and Homeland Security before retiring at fifty to enter the civilian sector and take the job with the Celtic American line.

They knew all this because they’d accessed Jackson Crow’s home office to receive dossiers on every member of the crew.

Now they sat in the captain’s office to speak and while the space was large enough, it felt small. David Beach, Jude thought, could make just about anyone—short of Shaquille O’Neal, no pun intended—seem small and any space seem close and crowded.

Beach remained quiet after Jackson had spoken, and Captain Thorne frowned as he weighed his response.

“You believe you’ve chased a serial killer onto my ship?” he finally asked.

“Yes, Captain,” Jude replied. “We believe that the killer’s been using cruise ports and ships to track and murder his victims—and that we followed him onto the Destiny.”

The captain shook his head. “I don’t see how you could know this. I heard about that terrible business at the church in the Treme district and I don’t think anyone, anywhere in the world, has missed the news about the fear this man is creating, but...this was the killer’s first strike in New Orleans.”

“You don’t really even know if the man you followed onto the ship was responsible for the heinous act at the church,” David Beach added.

“Captain, we followed a man who behaved suspiciously at the crime scene. I’m aware of both your backgrounds,” Crow told them. “Mr. Beach, you’ve certainly been through seminars on the psychology of killers like this. The man’s behavior was the kind we consider exceptionally suspicious.”

“So they sent the troops out on a ship because of a man behaving suspiciously at a crime scene?” Captain Thorne asked. “Seems to me it would’ve made more sense to prowl the streets of New Orleans, tracing hard evidence.”

“Trust me, Captain, there are many law enforcement officers doing just that,” Jude said.

“Of course. I assume every law enforcement officer in the States is on the lookout, but—”

“We don’t intend to be intrusive,” Crow assured him.

“Frankly, whether you are or not, I have no real power over this.” Thorne glanced over at Beach. “Word’s come down from on high at Celtic American. We are to give you every assistance you require. However, I’d hate to put an entire ship full of people into a state of panic because you chased a man for behaving in a manner you describe as suspicious and you think he’s on this ship.”

“We don’t want a panic, either,” Jude said. “What we do want is to advise you that this man may be on board and may be dangerous. I would imagine,” he went on, and he could hear his voice harden as he spoke, “that you’d be concerned. You have several thousand passengers, not to mention a large crew, any of whom could be in danger. Granted, most of the so-called Archangel’s victims have been women but he’s killed at least one man. We’d like you to make a speech warning everyone to take extreme care, to lock their cabins and watch out for their personal safety.”

“Every cruise company in the world has guidelines warning passengers that while all precautions are taken, crime can still happen,” Beach told them.

“I don’t usually make announcements like that,” Thorne murmured.

“You can make it friendly,” Crow said. “As well as serious.”

“And of course, you need to alert your crew, and, most important, Mr. Beach, every one of your security officers,” Jude put in. “I doubt this man is still dressed the same. He’d have his own clothing or he’d have stolen a change of clothing by now.”

“Can you give me a description of his face?” Beach asked.

“Tragedy,” Jude said, recalling the strange prosthetic makeup he’d seen on the man.

“What?”

“He was wearing theatrical makeup when we saw him,” Jude explained. “He’s probably gotten rid of it, cleaned up, by now.”

Thorne raised his salt-and-pepper brows beneath his captain’s hat and looked over at Beach. Then he stared hard from Jackson Crow to Jude.

“Gentlemen—”

“Assistant Director Jackson Crow and Special Agent Jude McCoy,” Crow interrupted. He smiled, appearing polite, ready to be friendly and helpful, while ensuring that their purpose was noted.

Captain Thorne nodded. “But you need to realize that you’re asking me to put a security crew and every one of almost a thousand crew members on guard and warn over two thousand passengers—many on the vacation of a lifetime—that there may be a killer on board. ‘Enjoy the crystal beauty of the Caribbean! Ah, but be aware. The FBI believes there might be a homicidal maniac on board. Apparently, he was wearing makeup and God knows what he’s wearing now. Watch out for him, though!’” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Agents. But on this ship I’m like the president, the grand high master, the great pooh-bah, what have you. I can’t scare them all half to death.”

“We haven’t asked you to do that,” Jude said flatly. “Captain, don’t you want this man caught? Don’t you want your passengers safe?”