Haunted Destiny (9 page)

“You could've taken a tour today,” Alexi told him.

“Ah, but I wanted to bond with the cool people,” he said.

“I just want a cold beer,” Ralph muttered. “So, are we cantina-hopping or picking one place?”

They decided to cantina-hop. Their first stop was The Three Amigos
.
Ralph loved the nachos there.

Second stop, Señor Frogs
.
It was Clara's favorite for appetizers.

“Now, for the new place,” Ralph announced.

“New place? There's a new place?” Clara asked.

“Right behind that row of kiosks, across the street,” Ralph said. “Señora Maria's
.
It's getting a zillion stars all over those tour sites online.”

“You still read up on Cozumel on the tour sites?” Alexi asked him, smiling. “After visiting
how
many times?”

“I know about Señora Maria's—and you don't!” he replied, grinning back at her. “I rest my case.”

“Okay! I concede,” Alexi said. She glanced at her watch. Despite the tourists from a dozen ships, the local populace and the visitor population, they'd managed to travel quickly. It was barely noon. They'd probably wander back right after eating—which would be the third stage of their meal, after the nachos and appetizers they'd already had. That would give them hours to laze around in their cabins or on the deck chairs before any of them were called to work or rehearsal. “Señora Maria's
sounds excellent.
Andiamo!
” she said.

“I think that's Italian. We're in Mexico,” Ralph informed her in a mock-officious voice.

“Oh, yes, sorry.
Vamos.
”

“Sí, señorita!”

As they headed to the new restaurant, Alexi wondered if she was seeing more uniformed officers in the street than usual or if they'd always been there.

And as she noticed men moving alone through the crowds, she wondered if they were undercover law enforcement.

Or killers.

No, according to Jude and Jackson, she'd know the killer.

He was someone traveling with them, on the
Destiny
.

“See? See?” Roger asked as they stepped into the restaurant.

It really was impressive. The owners had done an excellent job with decor; reproduction Mayan artifacts were displayed in glass cases, while the paneled walls were decorated with objects such as huge Mexican hats, maracas and paintings of blazing suns and majestic mountains. The hostess greeted them and led them to a table; their waiter appeared immediately.

Alexi thanked him after placing her order and he blew her a kiss.

“Americans! I love them. And American dollars, too,” he admitted with a grin.

They all laughed at his honesty.

“Seriously,” the waiter told them, “you'll be happy to throw your tourist dollars at me. Our cook! She is the best. She is Señora Maria. It's her restaurant. Well, of course, she doesn't do all the cooking, but she is always in the kitchen. And her food... You'll find that it is excellent
. Delicioso!
”

Ralph excused himself to go to the restroom. When he returned, grinning, he said, “You guys all gotta go!”

“Um, actually, sorry. I don't,” Simon said. Ralph groaned. “No, I mean go see. Coolest restrooms ever. There's a big room with sinks and the doors to the male and female stalls on either side. But in the sink area, you walk by the mirrors, and Aztecs and Mayans and conquistadors all suddenly appear.”

They all stood.

“No, no. I'm not going to the bathroom in a group!” Larry protested.

“You go first, and then we'll take turns, one by one,” Clara suggested. “Except I don't care if Alexi and I walk in together.”

Larry went in while the others explained to the waiter, who delivered their juice and beer, that they were going to check out the restrooms.

“The coolest, huh?” the waiter asked.

That was, apparently, the description in any language.

When Simon came back, Clara and Alexi walked into the large unisex “sink room” and admired the artistry.

“I told you,” Ralph said when they returned. “You have to read the tourist sites!”

As they waited for their food, Ralph whined about the fact that he had to be back early for a quickie afternoon songfest, one that encouraged passengers to enjoy the shows and other entertainment.

Clara complained about the way the shows were abridged; there was only so much time that passengers who were especially fond of the casino could be diverted from spending their time and money there.

Alexi listened idly to the conversation around her and then sat up straight. She saw that Jude McCoy was exiting the kitchen—and heading directly for their table.

She also saw him nod to a man in a horrible tourist shirt who'd been sitting near them; she realized that she and her group had been under guard the entire day.

It was a good feeling.

“Hey, look who's here,” Larry murmured.

“Mr. Tall, Blond and Handsome!” Simon said.

“What? Is this man an appendage now?” Ralph asked.

“Company bigwig,” Clara said lightly. “Be nice, Ralph.”

“I'm always nice.”

“Hmm. That's debatable,” Alexi teased.

“Mind if I join you?” Jude asked, arriving at their table.

He was wearing khaki beach shorts that day. Alexi didn't think, however, that even being in Cozumel could bring the man to wear any kind of bizarre tourist shirt. He had on a green, short-sleeved tailored shirt that seemed to pick up the intense color of his eyes.

He smiled as he joined them, pulling up a chair.

“So,” Ralph said. “I saw you coming out of the kitchen. Maria's a celebrity chef, a really big deal around here. How did you manage that?”

Jude shrugged. “I went in and asked if I could see the kitchen and meet Maria. You probably know she has a TV show, too. It recently started on a cooking channel in the US.”

“You're a cook?” Simon asked him.

“No, I just like food,” Jude said.

“Do you always talk to the cooks or want to see the kitchen?” Simon asked next.

Jude laughed. “I'm going to put the food in my mouth, right? Never hurts to see a kitchen. And like you said, Maria's a celebrity.”

After that, he deftly turned the conversation from himself, questioning Ralph about plays he'd been in, talking to Simon about starting out in the theater and complimenting all of them.

As plates of enchiladas and tacos were served, Alexi realized Jude had the ability to smoothly insert himself into a group. The fact that she knew what he was doing didn't exactly make her happy; she didn't believe for a second that anyone in
their
group was a killer. Clara had him pegged, as well.

Clara was ready to give him every bit of assistance. Alexi was, too, of course...

And yet, she couldn't help feeling a new sense of tension...

She was enjoying the last bite of a nacho when the room was suddenly racked by an explosion.

A burst of fire, like a roar of dragon's breath, flared out from the kitchen.

And there was chaos.

6

J
ude flew to his feet, instinctively throwing the table over, preventing any surge of fire from reaching the group gathered there. He'd accidentally knocked Alexi down, and he reached out a hand to help her up. “Out to the street!” he ordered.

She saw that Clara and Simon were already moving toward the door. Larry looked as if he was in a trance. “Larry!” Alexi snapped, grabbing him by his shoulders. She was strong; she got him to his feet. Ralph was dazed, and Jude reached for him, again ordering, “Get out to the street! Stay close to the police. I'll be back.”

He rushed toward the kitchen, clutching a metal tray like a shield. Men and women were staggering out, screaming, as the fire still blazed. A woman caught hold of Jude's shirtsleeve, speaking rapidly in Spanish and pointing. He wasn't sure of everything she'd said, but realized someone had to be in trouble. He nodded and hurried past her.

He found a young woman on the floor, pinned underneath a wooden rack that was burning and about to collapse. The sprinkler system suddenly sprang into action, soaking Jude, but not quenching the fire overhead.

The woman was Señora Maria. He'd been speaking with her just moments before, warning her that he was afraid they might have brought an American killer into her realm—and that she just might be a target.

He dragged her from under the rack, trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. Thankfully, the Mexican authorities were right there, and medics rushed in.

There were more people in the kitchen.

Jude made two additional trips, finding a man lying in front of a food preparation table and another by the freezer. As he half dragged and half carried them out, one at a time, sirens continued to blare, and more emergency personnel was arriving.

Filthy and smudged with grime, he ran into Capitan Suarez himself on-site. “You warned me about a murder, not an explosion.
Madre de Dios!
The fire inspectors will come and I hope they can tell what caused this mess. An accident, grease...a burner...gas? Or not
one
murder, but an attempt at mass murder?” Suarez demanded.

“There was an explosion. One explosion. A massive fireball. It seemed to come from the kitchen. That's what I saw. Then people were running out of the kitchen. There were people down in there. I concentrated on getting them out, and others were doing the same,” Jude told him. He was quiet for a minute. “I was watching,” he said. “I'd just been in the damn kitchen.”

“Did you see anyone behaving suspiciously?”

Jude shook his head in disgust. “No. But then, we have no idea what caused this yet. So what would be
suspicious
? Was someone paid to start this? Pour some grease on an open fire, rig a stove—who the hell knows? And why?”

This sure wasn't how the Archangel usually operated. But Jude had been afraid for Señora Maria. She was an attractive woman in her early forties, older than the Archangel's typical victims. She was pleasant and cheerful in the kitchen, and her staff had apparently loved her.

Had
she been the target here?

“We will get to the bottom of this,” Suarez said, tight-lipped. “I thank you,” he added a little stiffly. “My officers told me you were responsible for getting many people out. They owe you their lives.”

“Suarez, we do what we're trained to do. No thanks necessary,” Jude said. “I have to wonder if this was set to go off to create chaos in the area. To distract from whatever the real plan was. Which may have involved Maria...”

“You think this has to do with your murderer?” Suarez asked skeptically.

“One way or another,” Jude replied.

“I am completely willing to cooperate, but it's not possible to rush this investigation. Our inspectors will need time. You don't have to worry that we are corrupt or shoddy workers. You may ask your own people. We are the best,” Suarez insisted.

“I never suggested you were anything less,” Jude began. “But—”

“Accidental. This had to be accidental,” Suarez said. “The inspectors will prove it. You have to be wrong. I've studied in your country, studied with your behavioral scientists. This isn't in line with something a man who stalks a woman in the dark and kills her with a knife would do.”

“You know what else our behavioral scientists have discovered?” Jude asked.

“What is that?”

“No matter what they know about the stereotypical serial killer, another one will come along and do everything differently.”

* * *

Alexi never understood how she and her group got separated. They'd tried to exit the restaurant together. In fact, she'd been holding Larry by the sleeve.

But it had felt like being in the middle of a herd of cattle, all trying to get out.

People pushing and shoving and screaming—with the authorities attempting to keep them from stampeding, from trampling one another.

Crime scene tape was strung around the establishment, as ambulance sirens wailed and the injured were carried out.

The police wanted to talk to anyone who'd been in the restaurant. An officer stopped her as she moved along the sidewalk near the entry to the Celtic American terminal. “Miss, you were in there, yes?”

She told him she had been. She gave him her name and produced her employee card, then described what she'd seen—not much. Just the explosion and then the flash of fire, as if a dragon had released a mighty breath.

He let her go.

She combed the area, feeling more and more desperate when she couldn't find Clara. What if she was by herself like Alexi was? What if she, too, had been separated from the group?

Ralph, Simon and Larry would be fine. She had to find Clara!

She headed toward the building filled with shops and restaurants next to the terminal itself. As she did, she barely held back a scream as a man, covered in soot and grime, stepped in front of her.

Then she sighed in relief.

Jude McCoy.

“Alexi!” He whispered her name. “You're safe!” A little shudder swept through her.

She tried to smile, tried to shake off the sizzle of warmth.

“McCoy?” she burst out. “Wow! Wow, you found me. In all this. You're—a mess. God, what am I saying? What difference does it make? Are
you
all right? The people in the kitchen... I can't find Clara.”

“It's okay,” he told her. “Jackson found her.”

“I don't understand. We were all together,” she explained. “Then people were pushing and shoving, and it's really lucky no one fell. Once I cleared the doorway...”

“It's okay,” he repeated. She saw him smile beneath the grime. “Clara's fine. Believe me, with everything that happened, I'd say we had a miracle. I just got a report from Jackson. No deaths. A few people, mostly kitchen staff, in serious condition, but no one even critical.”

“How the hell did that
happen
?” Alexi asked. She inhaled in a gasp. “Terrorism?”

Jude shook his head. “The Mexican police captain wants it to be an accident. I doubt it, but... If it was terrorism, trust me, most of us would be dead. And someone or some group would've taken credit by now.”

“Maybe a poorly trained terrorist?”

“I think it was something else,” he said. “Anyway, may I escort you back to the ship?”

“Yes, thanks. But where's Clara?”

“On the ship. Jackson took her there himself. He's back at the explosion site now.”

“I was with Ralph, Simon and Larry, too,” she said. “But you know that.”

He nodded. “Will you trust me if I tell you that excellent officers are searching for them now, and that I'm positive they'll return safely?”

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. “So I can rest assured. Because they're on your suspect list and therefore, you'll find them right away.”

He shrugged. “May I see you back to your cabin? I really need a shower. I mean, in my own cabin, of course,” he added quickly.

She was absurdly tempted to tell him that he was more than welcome to shower in her cabin. She managed to refrain.

“Let's go in.

They walked by stores selling leather goods and jewelry, liquor, cigarettes and cologne, and they passed mariachi bands that continued to play—or perhaps played harder—against the confusion in the streets.

People all around them were huddled in groups.

Talking.

Speculating.

Alexi and Jude were on the concrete docks that led to the ship. The waters of the Caribbean still glittered like diamonds.

The breeze blew.

There was no residue here of the acrid smell of smoke.

People were staring at Jude, naturally enough. He looked like a walking burnt-out tree. Many asked if he was all right.

Jude told them that he was.

Security at the ship's boarding station stopped them to ask how the fire had started. “They don't know yet,” Jude said. “An explosion—and a burst of fire. But the cops are on it,” he assured them.

Once they reached Alexi's cabin, he made a point of waiting until she stepped inside. Then he asked politely, “May I escort you to work this evening? Or perhaps for dinner first?” Checking his watch, he said, “It's just four o'clock. We can do whatever you'd like. Whatever your pleasure.”

Whatever her pleasure.
Nothing suggestive in his tone. She was creating scenes in her mind, and she should've felt guilty—no, of course, she shouldn't feel guilty! She'd lost the man she'd adored, but not a soul in the world believed she should give up on life or love or...

Sex.

But Jude wasn't hitting on her. No, she was the one imagining what he'd be like in bed.

“If you're hungry, I'll be happy to go to the employee cafeteria with you,” she said. “I don't have to set up before nine. The last tours get back to the docks around seven and port days make things a bit later. I'll just shower and get ready for the evening myself and you can let me know...whatever
your
pleasure is,” she told him.

Oh, God, did that sound as if I was hitting on
him
?

If so, he was polite enough not to react. “Thanks. Don't leave until I'm back, okay? Feeling a little skittish.”

She nodded and he left.

His presence seemed to linger, and she couldn't help wondering what would've happened if she'd asked him to stay.

* * *

Jude checked in with Jackson again before heading into the shower; Jackson was on board, and Agent Boulder was handling things from the American agency sector on land. Jackson reported that there was nothing new. No matter how much they wanted information quickly, the fire marshal still had to do his job.

Jude turned on the water. Then, just as he'd worked up a good lather, he heard his phone ring. He stepped out, dripping, to get it.

Suarez was calling him.

“You've found something?” Jude asked.

“No. Our fire marshal is still investigating. He seems to believe the cause was one of the gas jets or one of their giant ovens and an overflow of grease, which, of course, has greatly relieved Maria Sanchez. It makes the appliance company liable. Not that we sue here in Mexico the way you do in the States—doesn't pay here. But that's another matter. A few of the people in the kitchen received serious burns, as I think you know. Three have been hospitalized,” Suarez told him, “but will be released within the week.”

“Well, that's good news,” Jude said. “We want to thank you for your cooperation in assisting us.”

“I cannot say, sir, that I am not pleased you are leaving,” Suarez muttered.

“That's understandable.”

“Of course, we remain grateful for the lives you saved, Agent McCoy, pulling people out of the kitchen.”

“I'm assuming a few of them might be the ones remaining in the hospital?” Jude asked.

Suarez chuckled. “Believe it or not, no. The two men you got out of the kitchen are well. Ricardo Martinez was treated on the scene and went home, and Javier Valiente just returned to his family. Maria Sanchez, too, was simply treated at the scene. She called me when my men had escorted her safely to her home. She lives a quarter mile from the Celtic American dock. A truly lovely woman. She called me from her whirlpool tub, saying she's fine and that you are a wonderful man.”

“I'm pleased to hear this,” Jude said. “And relieved that she's safe. You'll still—”

“Keep you apprised of the situation, Special Agent McCoy. Yes. It is a vow.”

Jude hung up and finished his shower.

He put the final touches on his evening attire—grateful that he and Jackson had managed to outfit themselves at a cost that wouldn't prove a huge burden to the agency, thanks to the “captain's discount” they'd received at the onboard clothing store. Dressed, he decided to go to Jackson's cabin to catch up, but as he opened his door, he saw that Jackson had the same idea and was about to knock on his door.

“I just spoke with Suarez.”

Jackson nodded. “I talked with him, as well. Thing is, we don't really know if anything happened here in Mexico or not.”

“No, and we won't, not until someone checks the local churches.”

“The Archangel has, so far, anyway, displayed the bodies at his leisure.”

“But if he killed in Mexico and came aboard the
Destiny
again, he'd have to display his victim quickly,” Jude said.

“I'll get hold of Suarez and Boulder and tell them to check all the churches near the cruise terminal,” Jackson said. “Because of that explosion, we do have another problem.”

“Yeah, we don't know where our suspects were while that was going on.”

“I was following Roger Antrim, who came ashore without his wife. I admit I lost him in my efforts to reach the restaurant. Boulder was watching Hank Osprey, who was having a drink with his young companion of last night. They were at a bar across from the restaurant. Her name's Ginny Monk, by the way—part-time student and part-time stripper at a joint on Bourbon.”