"Yes," the captain agreed.

Beach struggled to speak for a moment before he said, "You and Agent McCoy believe that the Archangel is on board. But the Archangel is a man who kills women. I'm not suggesting all women are weak and vulnerable, not at all, but Nathan is a big guy-broad shoulders, lots of muscle. If I've understood anything about the psychopathic killers, which I'm a.s.suming the Archangel must be, it's that they're often weaklings, cowed by greater strength. How could a man like that have taken my officer?"

"By surprise," Jackson told him. "We'll keep searching, of course. None of us will stop searching. But I'm afraid that we're not going to like the outcome."

Again there was silence.

"We don't even know that this man is really on the ship!" Captain Thorne protested.

"We have reason to believe he is," Jude said flatly.

Captain Thorne turned red. "No, we don't," he retorted. "I have to be in the main dining room. Tonight's the captain's dinner, and, after this, I may well be declaring a state of emergency. The Destiny is one of the most elegant ships sailing the seas, and we will not make a mockery of her tonight. We will continue to cooperate in every way with the FBI, but we'll also a.s.sume the best-and not the worst!-regarding Nathan Freeman. Is that understood?"

"Captain," Jackson said, "it's your ship."

"Yes, and at sea, I am the ultimate law."

"Of course, and we appreciate the cooperation," Jackson said.

Captain Thorne spun around and marched out of the room.

When he'd left, Beach looked at Jackson and Jude, his expression pained. "This part of we believes you, Agents," he said. He spoke to his men. "During the captain's dinner tonight, we have to be more vigilant than ever, stay in closer contact with one another." He looked back at Jude and Jackson again.

"And G.o.d help us, the weather's only going to get worse."

13.

Clara seemed to be in shock at first. Disbelieving.

That was the initial response most people had to seeing-and speaking with-the dead.

But Byron must've been a decent man. He and his Elizabeth had surely been a loving couple, the kind of people who were bound to make the world a better place, Alexi thought sadly, watching him talk to Clara. She admired his earnestness, the way he a.s.sured Clara that he was doing everything he could to see that the murderer was brought to justice.

And by the time Byron had gone through whatever reserves of strength or will or whatever allowed him to appear, Clara in turn was watching him as he vanished before her eyes.

"I see the dead." Clara was staring straight ahead. She looked at Alexi. "I see the dead. You see the dead. You take it so...calmly."

"I've known for years that I see them," she said in a quiet voice. "It's...it's in my family."

"Sure." Clara shrugged with a hint of humor. "Some people inherit blue eyes. Some people inherit the ability to see the dead," Clara said. "And now, now when I'm terrified of a serial killer, I get to see the dead, too. Wow. What a voyage."

"You've been seeing them all along," Alexi told her.

"What?"

"Blake and Minnie. They're always at the piano bar."

Clara flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes. "This isn't real. It can't be. We're getting cabin fever because of the storm. And because...there's a serial killer aboard."

"Clara, seeing the dead is a good thing," Alexi rea.s.sured her.

"Why? Is the ghost going to catch the serial killer?"

"Well, no, but he is looking after us."

"And if he sees someone about to attack us, what's he going to do? Scream for help?"

"Maybe," Alexi said. "Others see him, too."

Clara bolted into a sitting position. "You're going to tell me the FBI men see ghosts?"

"Uh, yes," Alexi mumbled. "These two, anyway."

"No. Oh, no! This can't be true. It can't be."

There was a knock at her cabin door and Alexi hurried over, hoping it was going to be Jude.

It wasn't.

It was Jensen Hardy.

She hesitated, not wanting to open the door. She'd had enough of him that day.

And she wasn't supposed to open her door-except for Jude or Jackson.

"Yes?" she called.

"Hey, all entertainment on deck, dressed and ready to go. Captain Thorne wants all singers and dancers ready for impromptu performances. Captain's dinner!" Jensen announced.

Glancing through the peephole again, Alexi saw that Johnny was still on duty, watching over them. He stood just beyond Jensen.

She opened the door. "Why?" she asked.

"I have the feeling Thorne just wants to get through the dinner," Jensen said. "We'll probably go into emergency mode after that. He'll be asking pa.s.sengers to stay in their cabins and listen to the PA system. So, we're going to entertain at dinner."

"With no plan?" Clara asked, rising. "No rehearsals or anything?"

"Hey, this came down to me from Bradley Wilc.o.x," Jensen said. "A few minutes ago."

"And we have to do it?"

"Only if you want to keep your employment with Celtic American," Jensen said. "Report to the main dining room in an hour, all prettied up and ready to go. Come on. I know you guys helped me out today, but I'm as tired as you are. Think of it this way. You can sleep all day tomorrow if we go into emergency mode. Great sleeping," he added sarcastically, "tossing and turning like we're on a roller coaster."

"Okay, okay! We'll be there," Alexi said, closing the door. Clara wasn't in her usual state of self-control; she seemed ready to throw a pillow or something harder at Jensen.

"d.i.c.khead!" she muttered.

"It not Jensen's fault," Alexi pointed out.

"I meant Bradley Wilc.o.x. But they're both d.i.c.kheads." She stood. "I'd better go clean up and get dressed."

"Are you okay?" Alexi asked, afraid her tone was more anxious than she wanted it to be. If she was going to convince Clara that it was actually a good thing to talk to ghosts, she had to make sure she projected her own comfort with the phenomenon.

"No, I'm feeling p.i.s.sed off, but..." Clara squared her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm not religious, although I've always believed in something beyond this life-and I guess that could include ghosts. Seeing them, hearing them, talking to them. All the philosophical ramifications of this...well, I hope I'll be able to take them in when there isn't a serial killer aboard the ship I'm on. Not to mention a storm named Dinah bearing down on us."

She headed for the cabin door, then turned back.

"They don't just pop in on you unexpectedly, do they?" she asked, sounding worried.

"Byron is very polite," Alexi replied. "he knocks when he comes to visit."

"But you said he's not the only ghost on this ship."

"All our ghosts are very circ.u.mspect," Alexi said.

Clara sighed. "Courteous ghosts. What next?" She set her hand on the cabin door.

"Wait!" Alexi said. "Careful. Let me check that Johnny's still out there."

She looked through the peephole. They were safe. Johnny was there, standing guard. Alexi opened the door and smiled at him. "Could you walk Clara across the hall?"

"Of course," Johnny said with a nod. "My pleasure." Clara had barely been gone two minutes when Alexi heard another tap at her door. She a.s.sumed it was Clara coming back for some reason.

She almost forgot about safety and was on the verge of throwing open her door. But she heard Jude's voice, identifying himself.

Grateful that she hadn't just opened her door, she let him in.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Jude, it went from bingo to trivia. And on to a wet T-shirt contest." She rolled her eyes. "I really tried to draw people out. I had a few minutes with Jensen, who doesn't seem to be the least interested in collectible religious objects. And I saw Hank Osprey. He was there with Ginny, and she wanted to enter the wet T-shirt contest, but he wouldn't let her. Or at least he discouraged her in no uncertain terms. Is that overly possessive? Or is that how a guy might naturally feel? Oh, and I've discovered that Clara sees the dead, too. I'd suspected it, but now I know. I think she's okay with it." Alexi stopped speaking; she felt as though she was babbling. Maybe she was getting tired. Or maybe she was so glad to see Jude she was afraid she was becoming dependent on him.

Maybe she was even wondering what would happen if they survived this journey... She was afraid that her fl.u.s.tered state of mind might repel him.

But it didn't seem to. Although he'd been tense, he smiled and took her gently into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm sorry you were brought into this."

"Nothing to be sorry about," she insisted. She pulled away from him, meeting his eyes, then laid her cheek against his chest. "Byron came to me because he needed help. And, apparently, my life is at risk. I have to be in on this. And despite the geyser of words with which I greeted you, I'm fine."

"Very fine," he whispered.

"Jude, it's so hard! When you're dealing with people who seem to be so normal, how do you begin to figure out who could be a brutal killer?"

He drew in a breath, and she knew he was thinking that there were cases when a killer hadn't been caught, when he terrorized others for years-and perhaps died of natural causes without ever being discovered. And some serial killers had preyed on the unwary for years before being brought to justice.

"We keep engaging them, as you did today, with Jensen and Hank. We wait for them to give themselves away. Sometimes all it takes is a word or mannerism. Sometimes, we can eliminate people if we can determine where they were or weren't at a certain time. And occasionally you talk to someone, and you somehow know. You sense that he's guilty-and then you have to prove it. But in this situation we have to narrow down the possibilities."

"When the computers were still working, I was trying to gather whatever information I could on the saints' medallions," Alexi said.

"Which, as we've all agreed, could be the key." Jude hesitated. "I may have tracked down a set of the medallions."

Alexi sat on the bed and listened while he told about his day, about speaking with Lorna, and then Flora Winters-and learning that her husband had sold a set of the collectible medallions.

She felt there was something he wasn't telling her, though.

"Jude? What is it?"

He shook his head unhappily. "A man's gone missing," he explained. "Nathan Freeman, one of David Beach's security crew. He was scheduled to be in the hallway this morning. He's missing. We've searched the ship for him. Searched everywhere."

"You think...the killer got him?"

"I think it's possible." He changed the subject abruptly. "I'm going to dress for dinner. You're staying with me, and I don't care whether or not we're following staff policy."

"I have to be in the dining room," she told him. "I'm one of the entertainers giving an impromptu performance for the captain's dinner."

"I won't be far away," he promised. "I won't be far from you-at any time."

The tension among the pa.s.sengers on the Destiny seemed palpable.

The ship now had a constant sway, although it seemed to be riding the waves well.

To reach their tables, people had to hold on to the backs of chairs. Once they were seated, waiters took more time than usual delivering drinks; they carried fewer gla.s.ses on a tray in case they lost their balance.

Alexi observed that not everyone had made it down to the captain's dinner.

Clara was with her at the piano. Alexi had been given the task of playing "mood" music while the pa.s.sengers found their seats.

Jude stood near the piano, which was situated on a little dais. It had the added advantage of providing a good view of the dining room.

Hank and Ginny, as well as Roger and Lorna were at the captain's table; Jackson Crow had also secured himself a seat there. So had Flora Winters. The table seated ten, but Jude wasn't familiar with the other four people there. He wasn't surprised to see two of his suspects at the head table, since they were among the richest men in the country and had taken the ship's most expensive suites.

Simon Green was with a group of the performers.

Jude didn't see Jensen Hardy at first and stepped to the side to ask one of the security men to take a look around.

It wasn't long until the man returned; apparently, Jensen was preparing to come out and make announcements when Captain Thorne finished his speech.

Soup and salads were served, and then the main courses.

Alexi played throughout the meal. Jude watched her, admiring her. Her fingers moved with pure elegance over the keys. He loved the ease with which she played, and the way she could speak without missing a beat, sing and harmonize, and do it all as naturally as breathing. He studied her face and her expressions, and he felt a slow tightening in his muscles, wondering how one human being had become the world to him in just a few days.

Because she was ready to risk everything when it mattered?