Haunted Destiny. Heather Graham

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      He was back. The man who’d raced through the lounge today, who’d reappeared in the hallway and then again tonight—standing there, watching her, ripping off his makeup.

      There was no one else near her now.

      The gallery was closed.

      She could hear bells and whistles from the casino, but it seemed far away.

      She glanced over to where he’d been standing earlier and began searching the floor. There was nothing there, no refuse from the prosthetic he’d peeled off his face. His makeup was now as ghostly as he was himself.

      She turned back to him.

      “Please!” he whispered, adding quickly, “Yes, yes, I’m dead. But I need your help. And please believe me—you need mine!”

      * * *

      Jude was tired but he wasn’t giving in to his exhaustion until the last of the guests on the Destiny had cleared the lounges and gone to bed.

      Stupid, maybe. He couldn’t be on every deck, and he and Crow had decided they were going to split the time while they waited for the next reports. Crow had gone to his cabin; he’d get up in an hour or so and cruise the decks. They had no idea what time the Archangel struck. No one really knew, since his victims were discovered by day. In every case, the time of death could only be approximated. It was presumed that he killed at night, making use of the darkness and the shadows. If someone meant to attack a guest, this would be the time. Easy to follow an inebriated or tipsy young woman down a quiet hallway...and slip up behind her.

      The ship, although certainly not mammoth like some sailing the oceans these days, was still big enough. He’d walked from one end to the other, from one deck down to the next, pausing to watch in the various lounges, bars and clubs. He’d enjoyed the piano bar—casual, friendly and engaging. Ms. Alexi Cromwell had deft fingers on the piano keys and she was quick to come up with little routines to entertain the crowd. He’d watched her with professional detachment at first; she was slim and shapely, her hair richly beautiful with its deep mahogany color, and her eyes were the color of amber. Not brown, not green, not hazel, but truly amber. She was both tart and charming and seemed to have no ego. She smiled with delight when her friends joined her and applauded their talent.

      And yet, every once in a while when he looked at her, he thought he saw something infinitely sad. She was a bit of an enigma.

      Of course, any real mystery about her would be easily solved. They were in the process of receiving more detailed information on every member of the crew and guest list. They needed to know who to eliminate so they’d know who to focus on. Of course, he didn’t really need to study her history, since they didn’t suspect the murders had been committed by a woman, although they’d never discounted the possibility that a man and a woman might be working in tandem. God knew it had happened before.

      But he was intrigued. He was more than intrigued. He was attracted to her. He’d barely spent any time with her, and yet he wanted to know everything about her. Where she’d come from, where she saw herself going. More than that, he wanted to touch the deep fire of her hair and...

      Well, more. And he needed to cut his thoughts off right there.

      As he’d traveled the decks, he’d found country-western singers, a DJ spinning away in a disco room, a Latin Lovers lounge with salsa, an upper-crust Sky High club where a lone tenor entertained with old big band songs. He’d found the kids’ “Rock N Roll Ship Shop,” where there’d been games and a dance floor. Then there were the elegant dining rooms, the library, the computer room and more.

      He hadn’t seen the man they’d followed onto the ship. Or had he? If the man had cleaned his face, they’d never know.

      The guy’s movements pegged him as young, Jude thought. Between eighteen and thirty.

      That left them down with about a fifth of the ship.

      As the hour grew later and later, he prowled the hallways. A couple passed him, giddy and laughing as they hurried to their cabin, acknowledging him as they passed.

      He decided he’d check out the ship’s chapel, which was aft on the Promenade Deck.

      It was locked. He was tempted to break it down or call the captain or the chaplain, regardless of the hour. But there was a mullioned glass window to the chapel and he could see through it; there was no one inside.

      No young woman lay there, arms crossed over her chest, a circlet of blood around her throat, and a medallion bearing the image of a long-gone saint.

      When he moved through the central area again, even the casino was quiet. The Picture Gallery was closed for the night.

      The disco was silent, as was the piano bar.

      Except that the piano bar wasn’t empty; Alexi Cromwell was there.

      And she wasn’t alone.

      Jude went completely still, staring at the young woman—and the young man who sat beside her. He wasn’t in any kind of makeup. His face was boyish, his hair medium length, rakishly tousled. He was talking to Alexi, being very earnest.

      He had the same body shape and size as the man he and Crow had witnessed earlier, the man they’d chased, and he was wearing the same hooded sweatshirt and jeans.

      Jude made his move, striding down the length of hallway between them, half running by the time he neared the piano.

      But he wasn’t quick enough. The man at the piano saw him and leaped up—and in a flash he was gone, racing up the steps to the deck above.

      Jude glanced at Alexi Cromwell. She watched him with a confused frown. He shook his head as he looked at her, then took off after the man on the stairs. She followed him, calling out, “Mr. McCoy, wait! Please wait!” She was obviously trying not to shout or attract any attention—except, of course, his.

      He ignored her, intent on his quarry. But the man was gone by the time he reached the next deck. He hurried halfway down the row of shops there and then ran over to the cabin hallways on either side, first one and then the other.

      She kept following him. He came back through the center of the deck with such speed that he plowed right into her.

      “Ms. Cromwell!” he snapped, catching her by the shoulders. “Get out of my way!”

      “But...”

      “I have to find that man!”

      She grasped his shirt as he held her shoulders, trying to move her aside.

      “Wait! You mean you saw him?”

      “Of course I saw him. Will you please move!”

      “I can move, but you won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”

      He stopped, brows knitting furiously as he stared down at her.

      “Are you his accomplice?”

      “His accomplice in what?”

      “You’re hiding him,” he accused her.

      “No!”

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