was a huge man.
“Knock yourself out, Mr. Agent McCoy, or whatever your title may be. You’re chasing a dead man. Period. And therefore, I’m not afraid of your ridiculous threats in the least!”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he asked softly.
He barely had to move to open the door to her cabin, but when he did, he turned back. “I hope you’re right, actually. I hope this man isn’t the killer—and that he isn’t baiting you. I’ve seen one of the Archangel’s victims. I’d hate to see you in that condition.”
Sincerity at last. Something in his words, something about his voice, caused a cold flash of dread to sweep through her.
She didn’t have to reply, because he was already gone.
She made sure that her cabin door was locked behind him.
She hugged her arms around herself, shivering uncontrollably.
She’d been glad the dead man had finally sat down beside her, and that he’d tried to talk to her. She still didn’t know his name or exactly who he was or why he was there, but she understood.
He’d wanted to lead the FBI men to the ship.
Because he believed there was a killer on board.
The Archangel.
* * *
It was ridiculously late, but Jude headed down the hallway straight to Jackson Crow’s cabin.
But he hesitated before knocking on the door. He wondered if what he’d read about the paranormal angle to Crow’s “elite” unit was true—that agents were hand-selected to work in the “special” department known as the “Krewe.”
He was on board with nothing except the few toiletries and articles of clothing he’d purchased at one of the ship’s stores. His phone, however, was the next best thing to his computer, and that was in his pocket.
Rumors abounded. But research into the Krewe didn’t give him much other than the knowledge that whatever they did, they were damned good at it. Looking up newspaper reports of the cases they’d solved gave him a little more. Jackson Crow was indeed familiar with New Orleans; he’d solved a case in the city that involved the death of a politician’s wife in one of the city’s “haunted” houses.
As he went on, he even found more information on the Krewe’s cases, many speculating that the Krewe of Hunters had an uncanny ability to deal with situations of unusual scope.
He buried his face in his hands for a moment as he stood outside Jackson’s door.
Great.
He was on a ship chasing a killer, and he was working with a man who believed they could question a ghost.
Did Crow think they were chasing a dead man? It was all too crazy.
Jude had to assume Crow saw the dead, and he based that on the Krewe’s reputation as much as anything.
It was time to confront Jackson Crow with what he’d learned.
Jude tapped at his door. In the silent hallway, the sound reverberated loudly. Or it seemed to.
The door opened immediately. “You’ve got something?” Jackson asked.
“A ghost,” Jude told him.
“Come in.” Once again, Jude found himself sitting on a chair in front of a tiny dressing table built into the cabin wall. Crow settled on the narrow bunk.
“You talked to a ghost?” His voice was calm, reserved, and Jude couldn’t tell if he was being mocked.
“I didn’t,” he said. “But the piano bar hostess claims that the man she was talking to—the man we followed on the ship—is dead. And yes, that she was talking to him.”
Crow took that in. Once more, his expression revealed nothing.
“The man escaped you again?” Crow asked.
Jude leaned forward. “I saw him, clear as day, sitting at the piano bench with her. I saw him—clear as day—jump up and run. I couldn’t stop him. Ms. Cromwell stopped me instead and then insisted I come to her cabin so she could tell me that he’s a dead man.”
“What information did she say she got from him?”
“Not much. Apparently, my arrival interrupted him. She said he wanted us to follow him onto this ship—because he believes the killer’s on board.”
“What do you think of this young woman?” Jackson asked him.
“What do I think of her? I don’t know. She’s either delusional—or this guy’s as real as you and me, and she’s helping him in some way. And if she is, well, then, God help her,” Jude said.
“But she seems sane to you?”
“I have to admit, I’ve been through plenty of behavioral classes, and yet I can’t come up with a reliable definition of sane. She seems to be sincere. So yeah, maybe she’s just delusional. Maybe this guy has her fooled, but she might also come from some crazy family that believes in all kinds of weirdness.” He watched Jackson for a moment. “But what the hell. I’ve read a few strange things about your unit, too.”
He thought Jackson gave him the hint of a smile.
“I haven’t apprehended a murdering ghost yet,” he assured Jude. “But then again, we don’t discount anything on heaven or earth or anything in between.”
“But...ghosts?” Jude asked.
Jackson shrugged. “Let’s see if we can find this man. Tomorrow is a day at sea. We have the ship’s security forces and we have ourselves. By tomorrow morning I’ll have a full manifest of anyone on board who could possibly have committed the murders. We believe—every profiler out there believes—that this is the work of one killer and we assume that he’s male. That said, I’ll have reports by tomorrow that should tell us who could and couldn’t have been in the cities where the other murders took place. Of course,” he added with a dry smile, “it would be nice if Ms. Cromwell’s ghost happens to know who the killer might be.”
“Her damn ghost just might be our killer,” Jude muttered.
“Since the killer struck in several cities and we’re going to learn who, on the Destiny, was in those cities at the relevant times, we’ll be able to concentrate on those particular people.” He looked at Jude, studying him. “Good call on the ship. Makes perfect sense. Ships contract crew and entertainment for specified periods of time. Crew and entertainers might work on other ships, too. A great way to get around port cities—and kill.” Jude rose; Jackson hadn’t given him any kind of satisfactory answer regarding Alexi Cromwell.
“Stay close to Ms. Cromwell,” Jackson told him. “She might be our key.”
Key to insanity! Jude thought. But there was no point in saying anything else.
He’d been dismissed.
“Good
