Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(104)

She turned and hugged her pillow. Since Zach had been in the service and deployed overseas, they’d talked about the possibility of his death. She’d promised that if it happened, she’d always remember him—and she’d go on with her life, be happy.

She wasn’t suicidal, never had been. She was willing to find a new purpose, a new role, a new way of being. Just as she’d promised. Happy was more difficult.

What worried her now was the fact that he was slipping away. She thought about him often, with love. Sometimes she was happy now. She laughed at the antics of passengers and enjoyed meeting them. She’d even roamed various ports with friends she made aboard. She knew she shouldn’t feel guilty, and yet she did.

She reached into the gloomy air of her cabin, as if she could touch him.

“I just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” she murmured aloud.

Then she was startled out of her reflections when it seemed that something slammed against her door.

She jumped up and hurried to open it.

A man stood there, tall, dark-haired and...bizarre.

He was wearing a gray sweatshirt and blue jeans and strange prosthetic makeup. The man who’d raced through the piano bar!

He looked at her with beseeching eyes.

“I must speak with you. I must!” he said.

She frowned. Was he new in the entertainment department?

There was a commotion at the aft end of the hallway, and Alexi peered in that direction.

More men were coming along the hallway, men she’d never seen down in the entertainment area before, but they were accompanied by Nolan Perkins, one of the stewards.

“Sir,” she began, turning back to the man who had knocked at her door.

He was gone. She thought she saw him disappear around a corner that led to midship. She looked in the other direction.

“Hey, Alexi,” Nolan said.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m just showing these gentlemen the ship,” Nolan said. He lowered his voice. “They’re bigwigs with Celtic American,” he told her, then cleared his throat. “Alexi Cromwell, meet Jackson Crow and Jude McCoy.”

“How do you do?” the first man said, smiling as he reached for her hand. He was tall, good-looking and obviously had Native American ancestry. His dark hair and light eyes made for a striking contrast.

“Ms. Cromwell,” said the other. He was equally tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired. His eyes were unusual—blue and green with flecks of brown. His features were clean-cut, his jaw hard and square. Very attractive, in a rugged, austere manner.

He looked at her oddly.

As if he knew her? Or thought he did?

Or worse—thought she was guilty of something!

Both men wore tailored shirts and pants, not the usual tourist apparel. But then, they weren’t tourists. They were bigwigs with Celtic American.

“Nice to meet you,” Alexi said.

“Have you seen a man?” Nolan asked her.

That made her laugh. “A man? Nolan, I’ve seen hundreds of men. It’s a cruise ship.”

She understood exactly what he meant. And yet, for some reason, she was loath to tell him that yes, a man—a strange-looking man—had just gone by. She wondered why company VIPs were so interested in him.

“He’s tall, bizarre makeup of some kind, sweat shirt and jeans,” Jude McCoy said.

She lifted her shoulders. “I believe I did see him earlier,” she admitted, “running through the piano bar when the passengers were boarding.”

She had seen that same man again, just minutes ago. And she wasn’t telling these men. Why? Instinct? Pity?

But there’d been something even more peculiar about him than the prosthetic makeup or whatever it was he had on his face. A sense of anguish, perhaps.

She hesitated. She shouldn’t lie to these people. But the young man had seemed so desperate. In her heart, she felt that he’d come to her for help.

Still...

“Actually,” she said, “I think he was in this hallway. He ran in that direction. But where he is right now, I couldn’t say.”

That was mostly the truth. She didn’t know where he was. He’d run.

“Well, thank you, Ms. Cromwell. If you should see him again, can you report him to us, please? We’re in staterooms 312 and 314,” Jackson Crow said. “It’s imperative that we find him,” he added quietly. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

As they walked down the hall, she was more suspicious than ever.

Why were company bigwigs staying down in the bowels of the ship with the crew? The larger rooms—staterooms with balconies, the suites—were on the upper decks.

She was about to return to her cabin when Clara came running down the hallway, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. “Alexi! Did you have the news on?”

“The news? No, why?”

“Thank God we’re leaving! That guy, that horrible killer!” She gasped for more breath. “The Archangel—he murdered a woman in New Orleans!”