Ghost Writer(47)

I zipped up my suit and secured my PFD. From neck to toes, my gear kept me warm and dry. However, I hadn't secured the hood tightly enough. Within seconds of stepping on deck my hair was soaked and rivulets of water poured down my face.

The deck was slick and the wind steady. With one hand holding the carafes and the sandwich container tucked under that arm, I was able to hold onto rails. When I got to the exposed steps up to the bridge, I almost had a failure of nerve. Wind whipping tendrils of hair in and out of my eyes, I hesitated. The rail was on the opposite side. I had to shift everything over to my other hand and for a moment I felt like I was going to fall.

I wasn't even close to the edge. I would have had to fly to go overboard, but for a moment, that's what I felt was about to happen.

The ghost of Lieutenant Minton entered me and a different sort of panic rose. I grabbed hold of the rail. Clutching, white knuckled, I dragged myself up the steps. The cold receded, leaving the slightest pressure on my back, like a chilled hand pushing me upward. He wasn't trying to scare me, he was trying to help me.

Franchot almost bowled me over when I reached the top. He was coming out as I was about to go in. He stopped, steadied me and pulled me inside.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“B-bringing c-coffee and s-sandwiches.” I took a deep breath and brought my diction under control, despite the chattering of my teeth. “Lil's taking some below. We wanted to let Cookie rest before he had to get up and start breakfast.”

He stepped forward and relieved me of my burden. “With that kind of thinking, I should invite you to join the crew. I take it you didn't know there is an inside way up to the bridge.”

“Oh.”

I had only ever entered via the forward deck.

He pushed my hair out of my eyes. “I'll have to remember to include that information next time we conduct tours.”

“Why were you going out then?”

“I went to look for you. Gravell just informed us that you were missing.”

“I was in the galley. Then I came here.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You didn't really think I'd gone to the foredeck, did you?”

Franchot blushed. “It was Gravell’s suggestion. I’ll let him know the lost is found.”

“Tell him I'm on my way to my cabin. Maybe you could show me the inside way out of here. I think I've had enough fresh air for tonight.”



Gravell was sitting on Dora's bunk when I entered the cabin. He had dark circles under his eyes, a frown on his face and the phone he gave me in his hand.

I winced at my stupidity. “Oops.”

He stood, towering over me. “Never, ever, leave this behind again. Do you understand, Madame Kirby?”

“Yes, Chief Gravell.”

He took my hand, wrapped it around the phone. “It has a clip. It can be worn on your belt. You can put it in a pocket. Or you can tie a string around it and wear it around your neck, but never, ever leave it behind.”

“Yes, Chief Gravell.”

He nodded and started to leave.

I grabbed his shirt front with my free hand, clipped the phone on my waist band, as suggested, then put my arms around him. He responded cautiously.

“Lil wanted me to give you a hug from her,” I explained, with a forced chuckle.

Nothing.

My fists balled up around handfuls of sweat-damped cloth. My knuckles were pressed into his back. My forehead was pressed against his chest. My voice was shaking again.

“I j-just n-need to hold onto something s-solid and real.”

His palm flattened against my back and he pulled me closer. His other hand held my head against his chest, and I heard the quickened beat of his heart. Gradually both of us calmed.

“I was worried about you too. And I didn't mean to forget the phone. I completely forgot about it and almost everything else in the heat of the moment. I should have taken the journal out of the safe and kept that on my person too. Though, in fairness, I hardly need it anymore.”

He held me at arms' length, forcing me to look up or seem like a wimp. His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips held tightly. It must be disturbing to an intelligence officer to have lines like that just dropped out of the blue. Then his eyes widened and I could tell he had only just noticed that I was dripping wet, even though I had transferred a fair portion of the damp to his sleeves and shirt front.

“Get dry first. Then explain.”





Chapter Twenty-Five ~ Admissions



“I'm being haunted.”

I was warm, dry, and comfortably dressed in a flannel nightshirt. I sat on Dora's bunk with my comforter tucked around me and a hot mug of tea wrapped in my hands.

While I showered and changed, Gravell had acquired tea for two. Now, all our outerwear, including his boots and socks, were drying in the shower stall. His damp shirt was draped over one of the cabin chairs. His t-shirt was stretched taut over tense muscles. He was sitting, elbows on knees, hands wrapped around his tea mug.

“Haunted?”

“Haunted,” I repeated. Though I had only just got comfortable, I started to get up.

“What do you need, Madame Kirby?” Gravell asked, holding up a hand.

“I want to get the journal out of the safe.”

“I'll get it,” he said, going to the small safe hiding in a cupboard over the desk. “Tell me the code.”