"I have to leave, anyway," she said. "You can have my seat."

"Aw, we have to switch you out for Jensen?" Larry teased.

"Yes, for now," Jensen said, sounding stern. "But don't leave right away. I want to remind you all that many of our pa.s.sengers have saved for years to get on this ship. We're on the pricier side, as you know. We're here to see that they're entertained. I overheard you talking-murders are happening in the States, not on this ship. Don't go about discussing your fears or ideas, okay? We're not going to ruin lifetime dreams for hundreds of people, are we?"

"Nope, we're not!" Alexi agreed. She stood, a little too wedged in between Clara and Larry, and she smiled apologetically. "Jensen," she told the cruise director, "I will be the embodiment of good cheer. You all have a great rehearsal. The show is the highlight of the cruise for many people. And yes," she added, smiling at the performers, "I'm delighted when you come to the piano bar-especially since, every once in a while, no one wants to sing, so it's great to have your voices."

Larry moved aside but offered her a come-hither smile as he did. He was used to people liking him. He was definitely hot and studly; it was just that his kind of hot and studly was lost on her. She managed a polite smile. "See you later," she said as she tried not to brush against him. She made her way around him, ready to take her tray to deposit at the receptacle.

"You're the best, Alexi!" Jensen called out.

She widened her smile-and escaped them.

Set for the evening in a feminine tuxedo, she went up to the piano bar, pa.s.sing through the casino, waving or saying h.e.l.lo to some of the hosts and hostesses she'd sailed with before. She crossed the Picture Gallery and one of the night clubs on her way to the piano bar and paused to browse through some of the pictures.

The gallery was always fun to see. Couples smiled and embraced as they were photographed boarding the ship. Large family groups, sometimes all wearing the same T-shirts, grinned and posed for the camera.

Frowning, Alexi went through the first round, the boarding photographs. It wasn't that she really studied every one. But she was pretty sure that at least three travelers had not been captured by the camera.

She didn't see either of the "bigwigs."

Nor did she see the man who'd leaped through the piano bar and shown up at her door.

It was a mystery, but one she didn't intend to pursue at the moment. She went to her piano; seated at the bench, she arranged her music, smiling and telling those who paused to ask that she started at nine.

Her first number would be "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" as she'd promised. That would make Minnie happy.

She actually began a few minutes before nine, welcoming the people already seated at the bar and at the c.o.c.ktail tables scattered around the room. There were children among them. She idly played melodies while she talked to the guests, asked where they were from and made a point of involving them. Parents usually took their kids up by ten or eleven.

Minnie draped herself over the piano and Blake leaned against it.

"Minnie is ready," Blake told her.

Alexi smiled as she looked down at the keys. "Hey, kids! How many of you have seen The Wizard of Oz?"

Some had; some hadn't. A few had seen newer versions of the old cla.s.sic.

She talked about the original movie and the book, and was glad to see one preteen gazing at her with wide eyes.

She hoped they had the book in the ship's library, because she knew the young girl would be asking for it the next day.

"So this, my young friends," she told them, "is the song that Judy Garland sang in the original movie-which is even older than I am!" She sang the song. Minnie, of course, was singing, too, in her high, clear soprano. Blake was watching Minnie, enthralled.

It had taken Alexi a while not to be thrown off by Minnie, but now she kept her ghost performer's voice in a compartment in her mind.

She paused to encourage everyone to join in on the chorus.

A cheerful group did so. Even a grouchy-looking old man urged the kids to sing along. When the song ended, she found the piano surrounded by young fans. She asked them what they liked, and pretty soon she'd begun a round of tunes that encompa.s.sed most of the animated films produced in the past fifty years. Little girls were fond of princess movies, while little boys seemed to like superheroes of all kinds, pirates and robots. At least, that was the case with her young crowd tonight.

She was glad to see she had two seasoned travelers in the piano bar that evening-Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey. They weren't close friends who took trips together, but retired men who often took Celtic American cruises. Roger had been a TV network CEO and he and his wife, Lorna, just hopped on a cruise whenever the whim struck them. They preferred the Caribbean, since they were both fond of heat. Hank was some kind of computer programming whiz who'd sold his first multimillion-dollar company before his thirtieth birthday. He wasn't yet forty, although he was retired and rolling in money. Alexi was surprised that he wasn't married and that he usually sailed alone. He was slender but wiry and while not cla.s.sically handsome, he had warm brown eyes and a pleasant face. He'd told her once that he tended to attract beautiful women-who were usually after his beautiful money. He was looking for a nerdy girl, he'd said. Or a musician, he'd added with a wink, at which point she'd explained that she had a while to go before she was ready to see anyone again.

She'd mused on his comments, thinking that many young women might like the idea of being with someone who had everything-everything material, at least. She liked him just fine; the problem was that she felt absolutely no sense of attraction to him. Hank got on well with kids; he was far easier, more relaxed, with them than he was with adults. So she wasn't surprised that he popped up, asking if he could sing a number from Song of the South.

The ice was broken. Roger came up next, wondering if she knew an old cartoon song, which she fudged. The kids sang some more, and then Roger and Hank sang a few tunes. After that she started getting pa.s.sengers to join her on the choruses, but not performing themselves.

Luckily, Larry Hepburn showed up, just as he'd promised, around ten thirty. She made the kids very happy by doing a few prince/princess duets with him. Then the families began to leave and the more adult crowd moved in. She did some Carole King songs; a regular who was often on the ship sang a couple of Billy Joel numbers and Larry piped in with some Broadway. Someone requested a number by Lady Antebellum, and Larry took a seat at the piano with her to share the song.

Luckily, it was during Larry's part that Alexi noticed the man standing across the hallway from the open bar; he leaned against the clear gla.s.s walls to the Banshee Disco.

It was the man she'd seen earlier. But as she watched him, he began to pull the prosthetic makeup from his face. It fell away in clumps; he seemed oblivious.

He just stared at her-and she stared at him.

Larry nudged her. She realized her fingers had moved over the keys by rote, but she was forgetting to sing.

She corrected her mistake quickly, breaking the song to make a joke and tease a woman who was coming in to take a seat. Then she picked up the song again.

When she looked back, the man was gone.

Why hadn't she told the men she'd met that afternoon, the men from Celtic American's headquarters, more about him? What if he was a weird social predator of some kind?

He wasn't, she thought. He was young, in his early twenties. Not particularly tall or well built, but attractive in a wholesome way. She'd seen that once the makeup was gone.

She was grateful that Clara came in then; she asked her friend to do some Kelly Clarkson songs. Clara smiled and agreed.

Alexi searched the area to see if the young guy had headed toward the gallery or even the casino; she didn't see him, but she did note that one of the "bigwigs" was in the lounge.

She froze, quickly looking from him to her piano keys. It was the man who'd been introduced to her as Jude McCoy.

He looked more as if he belonged on the cruise now, wearing denim jeans and a blue polo shirt. Maybe it was because of the shirt, but it seemed as if his eyes were more blue this time than green. A piercing blue. He seemed to be studying her, but for some reason, she didn't believe he was grading her performance or planning to fire her.

He seemed to be looking for something else.

Perhaps he knew she'd been lying to him earlier.

"Let's do the duet from Wicked!" Clara said.

Clara was leaning on the piano, dangerously close to Minnie. Minnie could have moved; she didn't. Instead, she glared at Clara-as if she saw her as a rival for Blake's affections.

"Come around here," Alexi suggested, and Clara joined her. Once again, Alexi felt strangely hemmed in, seated between Larry Hepburn and Clara. But she smiled, talked about the fact that they'd started the night with "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," which made it fitting that they should move into the popular Broadway play.

She loved the duet and had done it with Clara many times. They were a hit with the crowd, who applauded loudly. When Alexi looked around again, Jude McCoy was gone.

She didn't understand why she felt so miserable. The night was endless. Other members of different entertainment groups on the ship came by and sang. The crowd grew a little more giddy-the many ship's c.o.c.ktails no doubt had something to do with that-and was ready to laugh about anything.

Finally, Clara said good-night and left.

Soon after, Larry, tired of being brilliant and handsome, said good-night, too.

Even Minnie and Blake left the piano bar, holding hands, smiling, waving as they headed out for a "const.i.tutional."

By one o'clock, the crowd had dwindled down to about five. Alexi announced the last song, but even after that people stayed. She made a point of picking up her music books; the c.o.c.ktail waitress made a point of clearing the tables and announcing which lounges were open until two.

At last she was alone. She sat at the piano bench and sighed, closing her eyes, enjoying the moment of peace.

When she opened her eyes, she nearly screamed.

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. G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed him, giddy and laughing as they hurried to their cabin, acknowledging him as they pa.s.sed.

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 gla.s.s 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!"