nodded. “Pretty positive.”
“Pretty positive.”
Annoyance shot through her like a bolt. “Look, I’m not an agent. I’m not a cop. I don’t even like horror movies. I live alone. I like musicals and The Big Bang Theory and reruns of Friends and Frasier and I Love Lucy. I never even watched shows like Gotcha. I don’t think I knew it existed. I was scared out of my wits and I ran, pretty darned certain that I’d heard someone and that if I didn’t want to be minced meat, too, I needed to run and pray for help.”
“We haven’t found anyone on the island so far,” he told her.
“Well, you don’t think that I paused in running from the house to chop a sweet stranger in half, do you?” she demanded, her temper flaring.
“I thought you knew Miss Carson.”
“I met her once. Yesterday. The first time I was out here on the island. I met with Natalie Fontaine and Amelia Carson at the Mansion and then Tommy Marchant—their cameraman—gave me a tour of the island in a snowmobile thing that seats two. I knew where the Mansion was in relation to the Alaska Hut. I know now where there are heavily forested sections of the island and where there’s ice down to the water. I know the dock. That’s what I know. To the best of my knowledge, you can reach this place by private boat and ferry and that’s it. I’m not a regular at wild parties here, Agent. I sure as hell don’t know what more you want from me!”
“Cooperation!” he exploded.
He leaned back in the office chair, hands gripping the sides. If he’d had longer hair, been wearing furs, and maybe had an Irish wolfhound at his side, he’d have looked like a conquering Viking.
“Miss Avery, as you might have noticed, there’s a heinous killer at work here. Two people you knew were brutally murdered. I’d like every bit of help you can give me—if I’m not keeping you from an episode of Friends for too long!”
She stiffened as if she’d been hit by lightning.
“I’m trying to help! And don’t you give me this holier-than-thou speech! I know how to cooperate. I’ve worked with the FBI, real FBI, good FBI agents! They were all there when the Archangel came on the Destiny and—”
“What?” He leaned forward suddenly, staring at her as if he was convinced that she had suddenly announced that she was the Archangel herself.
She foundered. “I was last supposed to be performing on Celtic American Cruise Line’s Destiny. We never did do the show. There was a storm at sea and a killer on the ship and, thankfully, Special Agents Crow and McCoy and...”
Her voice trailed off. He was still staring at her.
“Look. I’m sorry. I know I’m being rude. I’m sure you’re an excellent agent.” She stopped speaking again. She was afraid she’d spill out something like So, you see, I do know how agents should act! You think you’re tough, huh. Yeah. You’ve got the look. You could be an actor. You’d make an excellent Viking. I could totally see you in The 13th Warrior. And you’d have been great in Thor, given Chris Hemsworth a run for his money—move over, Stellan Skarsgård.
Thankfully, she managed not to speak.
They were both still staring at each other when there was a rap at the door and it opened a shade.
“Thor?”
Clara knew the voice; she knew it because she had depended on Jackson Crow as if he were a lifeline when she’d been on the Destiny.
The man in front of her blinked. He stood, recognizing the new arrival, as well.
“Jackson,” he said.
Clara leaned back for a minute, just breathing. Then she, too, rose to her feet and turned to the door.
Jackson Crow had arrived. He was busy shedding a huge parka. He hadn’t taken note of her yet; he walked across the room.
She’d expected that maybe such manly agents greeted one another with stiff handshakes, but she was mistaken. The two embraced in a fierce hug instead.
“How the hell are you?” Crow demanded.
“Pretty good—until this morning,” Thor Erikson said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Crow said, and Clara was startled by the timbre of emotion in his voice.
She didn’t know what was going on. Surely, neither of these men had known the victims.
They spoke quickly for a moment in a conversation that meant little to her—but seemed to make perfect sense to the two of them.
Crow first. “You heard, then.”
“Didn’t believe it. How the hell...?” Erikson responded.
“It’s the system. Criminals who are incarcerated will find a way out.”
“Damn, someone out there should have known—should have watched him better.”
“Should have. But this isn’t—”
“The same. No. I’ve seen the remains.”
And then, it was as if they both realized she was in the room. They were an intriguing pair, both so tall, the one dark, the other so light. And while they were perplexed, there was also something solid and reassuring about them together—as if they were godlike sentinels of old.
Jackson Crow saw her then. “Clara, poor Clara!” He walked toward her.
She hurried to him and he encompassed her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Crow told her.
Agent Erikson cleared his throat. “I’m just beginning to get the gist of this. You were all aboard the Destiny when the Archangel was caught.”
“Myself and Jude McCoy, Miss Avery and her actor friends out there,” Jackson Crow told him. Clara realized she was still clinging to Crow like a lifeline. She managed to straighten herself. Agent Erikson was looking from one of them to the other. He shook his head and sank back in his chair.
“Miss Avery found the second body,” he said.
Jackson Crow looked at her. “Clara, Lord, how horrible. I’m sure you came up here to get away from what happened in the Caribbean.”
Clara shrugged uneasily, aware that Erikson was looking at her as if she somehow brought bad things with her wherever she went, like an unlucky penny.
Jackson Crow looked over at Thor Erikson. “What else did you need from her?”
“Anything, everything. When you met with Ms. Fontaine and Ms. Carson, Miss Avery, were they nervous in any way? Did they make any comments of being afraid of anyone in Alaska? Did they suggest that they had received any threats?”
Clara shook her head. “We met. Natalie made sure I was aware that Celtic American was wholeheartedly for the cast joining her show for the segment—it would be wonderful publicity for them. I’d already signed
