Krewe of Hunters 7 The Unspoken
Read Krewe of Hunters 7 The Unspoken Online
Authors: Heather Graham
AN AIRLESS TOMB. AN UNSPOKEN CURSE
1898:
Bound for Chicago, the freighter Jerry McGuen goes down in Lake Michigan, taking with it every man aboard. But what other fate could befall a vessel carrying the ill-gotten sarcophagus of an Egyptian sorcerer? Because a curse unspoken is no less deadly.
Now:
A veteran diver and “ghost ship” expert is exploring the legendary wreck for a documentary. He dies inexplicably inside the freighter’s main saloon. Then another diver is killed and panicked rumors rise like bubbles from the lake: ancient demons have awakened below!
The expedition’s beleaguered financier calls paranormal investigator Katya Sokolov to Chicago to save the film—and perhaps some innocent lives. Along with media forensics guru Will Chan, Kat plumbs the depths of an evil that may date back to the time of the Pharaohs. But some secrets are best drowned in the seas of the past.…
Praise for the novels of Heather Graham
“Graham wields a deftly sexy and convincing pen.”
âPublishers Weekly
“A fast-paced and suspenseful read that will give readers
chills while keeping them guessing until the end.”
â
RT Book Reviews
on
Ghost Moon
“If you like mixing a bit of the creepy with a dash of sinister
and spine-chilling reading with your romance, be sure to read Heather Graham's
latest.”
â
Miami
Herald
on
Unhallowed Ground
“
The Keepers
is original and
exciting. Constant tensionâboth dangerous and sexualâwill keep readers on the
edge of their seats.“
â
RT Book Reviews
“The paranormal elements are integral to the unrelentingly
suspenseful plot, the characters are likable, the romance convincing
andâ¦Graham's atmospheric depiction of a lost city is especially poignant.”
â
Booklist
on
Ghost Walk
“Graham's rich, balanced thriller sizzles with equal parts
suspense, romance and the paranormalâall of it nail-biting.”
â
Publishers Weekly
on
The Vision
“Great writing and excellent characters make
Wicked
a terrific read.... The undercurrent of mystery
and suspense will keep readers riveted.”
â
Romance Reviews Today
“Graham's tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and
when to tease...will keep fans turning the pages.”
â
Publishers Weekly
on
Picture Me
Dead
Also by HEATHER GRAHAM
THE DEATH DEALER
THE LAST NOEL
THE SÃANCE
BLOOD
RED
THE DEAD ROOM
KISS OF DARKNESS
THE VISION
THE
ISLAND
GHOST WALK
KILLING KELLY
THE PRESENCE
DEAD ON THE
DANCE FLOOR
PICTURE ME DEAD
HAUNTED
HURRICANE BAY
A SEASON
OF MIRACLES
NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD
NEVER SLEEP WITH
STRANGERS
EYES OF FIRE
SLOW BURN
NIGHT HEAT
THE
UNHOLY
THE UNSEEN
AN ANGEL FOR CHRISTMAS
THE EVIL
INSIDE
SACRED EVIL
HEART OF EVIL
PHANTOM EVIL
NIGHT OF THE
VAMPIRES
THE KEEPERS
GHOST MOON
GHOST NIGHT
GHOST
SHADOW
THE KILLING EDGE
NIGHT OF THE WOLVES
HOME IN TIME FOR
CHRISTMAS
UNHALLOWED GROUND
DUST TO DUST
NIGHTWALKER
DEADLY
GIFT
DEADLY HARVEST
DEADLY NIGHT
* * * * *
Look for Heather Graham's next novel
The
Uninvited
Available from Harlequin MIRA in September 2012.
In loving and grateful memory of my mom, Violet, who came from Dublin to the amazing city of Chicago.
And for Aunt Amy, Katie and my Irish side of the family, especially my great-grandmother who, when watching my sister and me, would warn us that the banshees “be gettin' us in the outhouse” if we didn't behave. (She issued this threat so well, we were teenagers before realizing we didn't
have
an outhouse!) Granny, however, had a touch of magic about her, and told wonderful stories. She, my mom and all those who believed in (or pretended they believed in!) banshees, leprechauns, pixies, ghosties and all else gave me my love for what might be in the darkness or in realms we have yet to discoverâand for reading.
A book, they taught me, could give me a new world or adventure to explore every day of my life.
What a gift to give a child. I am grateful to them all.
A Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
The Unspoken
is the latest book in a series that includes
The Unseen
and
The Unholy.
These books follow the activities of the special FBI units known as the Krewe of Hunters.
The Krewe also appears in
Phantom Evil
,
Heart of Evil
,
Sacred Evil
and
The Evil Inside.
Featuring a mix of the real and the paranormal, these books also contain strong mystery elements.
The Krewe’s origins lie in Adam Harrison, an elderly gentleman first seen in
Haunted,
who recognizes those who possess a sixth sense—whether they admit it or not. Having worked with the government several times, Adam is asked to form small and distinctive FBI units, to be sent in when traditional methods of investigation need a little boost.
The Unspoken
takes the Texas Krewe away from their home state to Chicago, where a newly discovered shipwreck has taken the life of the first diver to see her since she sank at the end of the nineteenth century. But the
Jerry McGuen
was no ordinary ship… She had carried precious cargo from Egypt—including the mummy of an ancient Egyptian priest. Naturally, the mummy comes with a curse….
The Krewe is out to discover the truth. Can a curse be real? Can it transcend the ages? Or is it the evil in men’s hearts that continues to wreak havoc throughout time?
Texas Krewe member Kat Sokolov—a medical examiner by trade—is sent to work the case. She’s paired with Will Chan, an original member of the Krewe of Hunters and an agent well-versed in the art of illusion. Between them, they must find out what really happened to the diver—and to the ship—if they’re to keep the body count from rising.
I hope you’ll join their investigation and enjoy the adventure!
Heather Graham
A Note from the Editor
I can truly say that Heather Graham has found—or rather, created—a unique niche in contemporary romantic suspense. Her Harlequin MIRA books include mysteries, investigators with “unusual” abilities and…dead people. Yes, ghosts. Her novels have a classic flair; after all, people have been telling ghost stories for millennia. And these books invariably feature interesting, appealing characters, intense romance that’s always an integral part of the suspense plot
and
fascinating backgrounds.
Each of these stories is set in a great American city—San Antonio (
The Unseen)
, Los Angeles (
The Unholy)
, Chicago (
The Unspoken)
and Philadelphia (
The Uninvited)
. They’re all places Heather knows well and describes both appreciatively and atmospherically. And, needless to say, they’re all cities that have their share of ghosts and hauntings!
I want to point out that the books can, of course, be read independently; they definitely stand alone. But I’ll bet you can’t read just one! Each story focuses on a particular member or members of the Krewe, but you’ll also meet characters you’ve encountered over the course of the series.
I also want to tell you that in 2013, the Krewe will return with stories set in brand-new (that is to say, old!) American towns and cities, like Tombstone, Arizona, and Savannah, Georgia.
But right now I invite you to come to the great city of Chicago, go diving in Lake Michigan, explore a shipwreck and discover the truth about some ancient Egyptian artifacts…and fall in love!
Paula Eykelhof
Executive Editor, Harlequin MIRA Books
Prologue
The midnight hour
A
ustin Miller loved his comfortable home. Built by his grandfather in 1872, after the ravages of the Great Chicago Fire of October 10, 1871, it had the graceâand even opulenceâof the mid-Victorian era. The staircase was carpeted in deep crimson, a shade picked up in the period furniture. Swirling drapes in black and cream adorned the parlor, and the windows were etched glass. He had changed little since his grandfather's day.
It boasted a true gentleman's den with bookshelves that lined the walls, filled with wonderful tomes, old and new. It also boasted some of his fabulous collections, the most impressive of which was his collection of Egyptian artifacts. They were legally obtained, since Austin's grandfather had been on the dig when Tut's tomb was discovered; he had lived much of his life prowling the sands of the Sahara in pursuit of discoveries. Canopic jars were kept in a temperature-controlled display case, along with funerary statuettes that were gilded and bejeweled. A real sarcophagusâthat of a king's illegitimate son, of little import to Egyptians at the timeâstood open in a corner of the room. It had been arranged in a display case of its own, built by his grandfather in the mid-1930s. He'd exhibited his collection of mummified snakes and cats behind glass, as well. On one side of Austin's beautiful desk was an exquisitely crafted statue of the god Horus, adorned with gold paint and fine jewels. On the other side was a carafe, where he kept his finest brandy and glasses for when the need arose.
Yes, Austin loved his den. He held his most important meetings here, with business associates and with fellow members of the Egyptian Sand Diggers, the Society of Chicago and scholars who loved and appreciated all things Egyptian.
He felt the need for a brandy arise at that moment. Tonight, he was happy. So happy. After more than a century of being at the bottom of Lake Michigan and her shifting sands, the
Jerry McGuen
might well be on her way to twenty-first-century discovery!
He knew he should go to sleep. His doctor had warned him that he had to rest and that he had to avoid sleeping aids, that he needed to take his heart and blood pressure medications and stick to a healthful regimen. He was, after all, eighty-three years old.
Butâ¦
They were on the brink of knowledge. Nothing had hit the papers yet, but come morning, divers and documentarians would, at long last, discover the
Jerry McGuen.
And, with the ship, untold treasure.
His cat, Bastet, a beautifully marked Egyptian Mau, also seemed restless that night. Bastet meowed and sidled along his leg.
“Tomorrow, Bastet, tomorrow!” He had changed for bed and wore his pajamas and a smoking robe, although he'd long ago given up the cigars he'd once enjoyed so much.
But a little brandy wasn't a bad thing.
He poured himself a snifter and rolled the tawny liquor against the sides of the glass, smelled it and finally sipped. He let out a soft sigh. “Tomorrow, Bastet, tomorrow,” he said again.
But the cat leaped atop his desk with a screech that was frightening.
“Bastet!” He frowned. He tried to stroke the cat, but Bastet vaulted from the desk and disappeared behind the standing sarcophagus. What could be bothering the creature? Mrs. Hodgkins, his housekeeper, was long gone for the day.
The massive grandfather clock behind him began to toll the midnight hour.
He swallowed another sip of his brandy.
A cool breeze blew from the patio beyond the den; the curtains wafted.
The clock chimed three times, four, five.
And thenâ¦
He saw it. Moving in from the patio.
He sat completely still and blinked. He had to be seeing things. But, as if compelled by his vision, he rose, swallowing down the rest of the brandy. He wanted to scream. He
couldn't
scream, but somewhere in his mind he knew that even if he could, no one would hear.
The clocked chimed six times, seven, eight.
It was comingâ¦comingâ¦coming for him.
His heart! Instinctively, he clutched his chest and felt the thundering of his heart. He groped in his pocket for his nitroglycerin pills, but just as he reached them,
it
reached him. The pills were knocked from his hand.
The clock chimed nine times, ten, eleven.
He felt as if he'd been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was overwhelming. The
thing
before him was enveloped in the black of his vision.
The clock chimed the hour of midnight.
And he fell down dead.
The wee hours
Kat Sokolov slept deeply, and in that sleep, she dreamed. It was a lovely dream. She was sailing somewhere. She stood on the deck looking out at the darkness of the water and watched the stunning display in the sky overhead. The moon was full, but clouds drifted in and out, and the world seemed beautiful.
She listened to the music from the ship's grand salon, where someone was playing a Viennese waltz. Attracted to the sweet sound of the music, she turned. She wore a gown as elegant as those she saw around her. Silk and velvet, it swept gracefully as she moved. There was a celebration going on, and she could hear delighted laughter along with the enchanting strains from the piano. At the doors to the grand salon, she felt the breeze and pulled her fur stole more closely around her shoulders. It couldn't be about to snow! The moon had been too bright, too visible. The breeze had seemed so gentleâ¦.
But now it touched her like a blast of ice. When she opened the door to the salon, she felt the wind snatch it from her. It banged hard against the wall, and she was embarrassed for losing it and creating such an awful sound. But before she could apologize to anyone, the ship suddenly pitched and rolled. Glass shattered; people screamed. She thought she heard the blast of a horn, or a high, loud whistle. Then people were shouting, screaming. A voice of authority boomed out, warning people that a storm had come in, that they needed to go to their cabins immediately.
A couple pushed past Kat as if she wasn't even there. “It's cursed! The ship is cursed!” the man said to the young woman at his side. “Oh, God! What they should do is cast out the cargo, clear us of the curse!”
“You're scaring me!” the young woman cried.
“I'm so sorry, my darling!” the man said.
Then the woman seemed to see her. She looked at her with wide, desperate eyes. “It's the curse,” she said. “It's the curse!”
“No, no, it's a storm, that's all,” Kat heard herself say reassuringly. She smiled at the young woman. But then she turned. There appeared to be something out on the water. Something huge coming toward them.
She felt another blast of cold. Wet cold. The lovely night had become treacherous. It wasn't snow rushing at her; it was ice. They had sailed into an ice storm.
And still, that thing was out there, mammoth, a dark shadow that couldn't quite take shape because of the raging elements.
The wind picked up again and seemed to strike her in the face.
Then she awoke, frozen.
Kat blinked. She was still in her room in the lovely California hotel where her Krewe was staying.
She almost laughed aloud. She was cold because she'd kicked away her covers. Jumping up quickly, she hurried over to the thermostat. Somehow, sometime, either she or the maid had set the temperature down to the fifties.
She reset the thermostat to eighty-five.
She was much fonder of heat than cold.
That done, she dragged the extra blanket from the closet, grabbed all her covers again and curled back into bed. She'd practically forgotten the dream, she'd been so cold.
As she lay down, she thought it had been quite absurd. But then, of course, dreams often were.
Next morning
9:00 a.m.
The water of Lake Michigan was eerie, with different shades of gray shadows and darkness, as Brady Laurie plunged into the chilly depths. Only near the surface could anything that resembled natural light or warmth be found; the lake had always been a place of darkness and secrets. Motes seemed to dance before his eyes as the dive light on his head illuminated his journey, ever deeper into the water. Tiny bits of grasses, sand, orts from the meals of the lake's denizens swirled like dust particles, shimmering as his light hit them.
It was a world of silence down here, making every little noise sharp. The sound of his breathing and the throb of his regulator, the expulsion of his air bubbles, the very pulse of his heart.
It was a world he loved, but today he was on a mission.
He was so anxious. He shouldn't have been diving alone; he knew that. It was against every rule of scuba and salvage, but people often did it, anyway. In fact, he'd met enough he-man types so sure of their own prowess that they ignored the rule all the time. He didn't usuallyâjust today.
He knew exactly what he was looking for, and the sonar on his boat seemed to have proven his theories and calculations right.
At long last, he'd found the sunken shipâthe
Jerry McGuen.
He believed in his heart that he'd found her, the freighter that had carried sixty men and women to their graves, doomed along with the treasures they'd brought from Egypt. The ship had sailed faultlessly all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and up the Saint Lawrence River, only to be lost on December 15, 1898, a day before the journey's end, battered and buffeted by a sudden, fierce storm. She had disappeared so close to her destination, just east-northeast of Chicago.
People had speculated then, as they still did, that a curse had lain upon the ship. The explorer who'd made the Egyptian discovery, Gregory Hudson, had been aboard. And, of course, there'd been a threat, etched into the stones of the tomb, warning that any man who disturbed the final resting place of Amun Mopat would soon know misery and death. Surely the passengers and crew of the
Jerry McGuen
had known bothâalmost able to see Chicago, but storm-tossed in violent, winter-frigid waters, finally succumbing to the brutality of the lake and disappearing.
Yes, the ship had disappeared, never to be seen again.
Until today. He would see her again. He, Brady Laurie, would see her again!
Salvage crews had hunted for her soon after she'd sunkâto no avail. And through the years, time after time, historians and divers had sought her, but like many a ship lost in the murky waters of the massive lake, she was simply not to be found.
Brady had been certain all his life that she had to be there. And he'd excitedly put forth his theory to his coworkers that, following their recent wicked summer storm, there was a chance she could now be discovered. Violent storms altered a lake bed, just as they could alter the seabed in the Atlantic. He had seen what storms could do. A ship sunk in Florida had gone down on her side; one of the storms that had torn apart the Florida Straits had set her up perfectly again. He believed the same strength and force of that phenomenon was going to reveal the
Jerry McGuen
.
Storms moved sand and dirt. Storms had tremendous powerâenough power to right a multi-ton ship. Even one lost for more than a century, a true shipwreck. His calculations had been off, but not by much. Not if what the sonar had shown him was true.
Through the dark, mystic water of the lake, he saw her.
There she was. The
Jerry McGuen!
She lay at an angle, starboard hull lodged into the lake bed, as majestic and visible in the glow of his dive light as if she were at dock.
His heart beat fast, and pride surged through him.
They'd done it! They'd found her.
Noâ
he'd
found her!
His theory was sound, his calculations making adjustments for time, weather conditions, the power of the recent storm and the earth's rotations. It couldn't account for the various unknowns, but he'd been so close. And now, as he saw it looming before him, his time had come. While that kind of storm usually sank ships, this one had removed layers of sand and almost righted the
Jerry McGuen.
Yes, there she was, her massive hull tempting and seductiveâ¦
Even righted as she was, she had
suddenly
seemed to loom before him. The lake bed made the water so dark at eighty feet.
Just eighty feet! She'd been there all along, so damned close to Chicago!
He didn't feel any cold through his dive suit, but he was numb. A shiver of excitement reverberated through his limbs. All around him, the water danced in the wavy shadows of the eighty-foot depths, and he became intensely aware of the sound of his own breathing again, the pump and flow of his regulator. He wanted to shout with happiness and share his discovery with the world. Of course, he would do that soon enough, and if any of his team had followed him out today, they'd already know that he'd been right.
Everyone
would know that he'd been right, including every salvage diver who had ever dreamed of finding her.
He laughed inwardly, smiling around his regulator. He was pretty sure
someone
had been behind him. Not that everyone on Lake Michigan had to be following him, but he thought he'd seen a research vessel in the distance when he'd come down.
His coworkers might be angry that he'd jumped the gun, but Amanda had already sold the story of their search to a film producer, who was going to document and
finance
their historic discovery. He'd supplied money for the search based on Brady's theory. Now they could begin to chart out and rope off the ship and show the world the remains of the
Jerry McGuen.
Others interested in pursuits far less esoteric than theirs would be stopped at the gate. No more worries about Landry Salvage or Simonton's Sea Search beating them to the punch!
He could imagine the treasures in the hold. Priceless Egyptian artifacts, the still-sealed coffin of the high priest known as the Sorcerer of Giza, the sarcophagi, the army of golden figures, the canopic jars, the ancient stonesâ¦