The Night Is Alive

5

“It’s not Helen. It’s not Helen,” Dirk repeated. He’d said the words dozens of times during the drive back to the Dragonslayer.

“No, Dirk, it’s not Helen,” Abby assured him.

“Oh, my God! Did you see her face?”

They reached the parking lot and Abby put the car in Park. Malachi was out of the backseat, opening the door for Dirk. When Dirk stood in front of him, he steadied the man with a hand at his elbow. “Not Helen, Dirk. So if you can think of anything at all that might help us find her, it could save her life.”

“What if he’s doing that to her—to Helen—right now?” Dirk asked.

“Dirk, the poor girl looks so bad because of what the creatures in the river did to her. Helen could be alive. She’s a bright girl, and if anyone can manage to stay alive, she can. I’ll tell you what might help. You let the police do a thorough search of the Black Swan,” Malachi said.

“A search?” Dirk asked blankly.

By then, Abby had come around the car. “If they search the Black Swan, Dirk, they might find something Helen left on the ship. A note, a scrap of paper, a card—something.”

She watched Dirk carefully—although she couldn’t believe anything evil of him, not in a thousand years.

His expression didn’t change. “If it’ll help, hell, yeah, search the ship.”

Malachi might have been surprised by Dirk’s easy agreement; if he was, he didn’t show it.

“That’s fine, Dirk, thank you. I’m going to call my buddy David back and ask him to get a team in there, okay? You’ll have to give David official permission.”

Dirk nodded. “Anything that’ll help,” he said. He looked back at Abby. “It will help, right?”

“It will,” she said.

“Call him. That detective. Tell him I’ll sign anything he needs.”

“Thank you,” Abby said.

Dirk left the two of them, striding for the bar. He stopped and turned back. “You two just saw all that and don’t need a drink?” he demanded.

“We’re coming,” Abby said.

She looked at Malachi. “Honestly, it can’t be Dirk. You figure someone’s kidnapping people, taking them on a pirate ship. With the women, he’s making them behave like captives—forcing them to have sex as if they’d been seized by pirates. And because he has a pirate ship, you’re thinking Dirk.”

He shrugged. “Abby, yes, obviously, I’m thinking Dirk. Helen worked for him, Helen is gone. And he runs a pirate ship.”

“If someone is going to search the Black Swan, shouldn’t it be us?” Abby asked him.

“Get permission from your friend,” he told her.

Abby whirled around and ran, catching up with Dirk just before he got to the door. He seemed perplexed but told her she was welcome on the ship anytime, any day. He handed her his keys; the gate down at the dock where the Black Swan berthed would be locked.

She ran back to Malachi. “Let’s go!” She dashed by him.

“Hey!” he called after her.

“Faster to walk than to find a parking place on the river. Come on!”

It was only a matter of blocks to the marina. Abby used the key Dirk had given her to open the gate. She waited for Malachi, and tried not to remember how she’d seen the body here earlier. There was no crime scene tape; it wouldn’t have served much purpose. She assumed the techs had looked for anything they possibly could, considering that the body had floated in the river for a day or two.

Malachi entered behind her. “Relock it,” he warned.

She did. They hurried on down the dock. Malachi passed by her and jumped onto the deck of the Black Swan. The little gangplank that tourists used to board was on the ship, taken up at night to discourage anyone who might make it onto the dock.

Malachi stretched out his hand. She hesitated only briefly and accepted it to join him on board the ship.

Dock lights lit up the main part of the forecastle and performance area. Abby hurried on to the restaurant area and the restrooms. Employee lockers were in an anteroom. She turned on lights as she went in and heard Malachi behind her, searching the snack stand and environs.

She found Helen’s locker, which was open. But on inspection of its contents yielded nothing except for a sweater, a makeup bag, a brush and Helen’s costume.

Frustrated, Abby closed the locker.

The others were open and she decided to search them, as well. She felt awkward—as if she were sticking her nose where she really had no right—but Blake Stewart and Jack Winston worked with Helen. They were friends, and Blake had been in love with Helen. It had to be done.

But their lockers yielded nothing, either. There was a small costume and prop area next to them. She went through the swords and guns used by the players, touching each one. None was real. The blades were plastic, although they’d been artfully created to appear real.

She left the lockers, disappointed, and discovered that Malachi was no longer in the snack shop.

“Malachi?”

“Down in the magazine!” he called to her.

She hurried to the below deck and found him by one of the hammocks against the inner hull, placed there for the use of the cast and crew.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Maybe.” He handed her a folded pamphlet.

“It’s a tour map,” she said. “Actually, this particular map is printed and put out by a friend of mine. You might have met him at the Dragonslayer yesterday. I went to high school with him—he was a major player in our drama department and a huge history buff. He does ghost tours here in the city and they’re supposed to be some of the best.”

“Roger English,” Malachi said.

“Yes. You did meet him, then.”

“No. His name is on the map. It’s advertising for his tours.”

“And you think Helen might have had it? The map, I mean.”

He nodded. “I do. Because this looks like a woman’s handwriting—small, neat, lots of curlicues. I know there’s a young woman working on the crew, but the probability that it’s Helen’s is high. And she’s marked something. Here.” He pointed at a location on the map.

“Let me see it, please.”

Abby took the map from him. It had real streets and real places, but they were sketched out cartoon-style. There was a checkmark on the map and in the border was written, “Meet here.”

“What do you think?”

Abby shook her head. “That isn’t any particular place, but there’s an old church nearby. It was deconsecrated years ago and was a restaurant and nightclub for a while. Right now, it’s just empty. A private restoration group bought it about a year ago, but they haven’t started working on it yet.”

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“But you thought people were being snatched on the river,” Abby said.

“I do believe the victims are being taken out to the river. But...we have nothing that tells us where they’re being taken from. They’re dying on it, yes—but how are they getting there?”

“Rupert Holloway was supposed to be meeting friends right here at the riverfront,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but no one saw him here. Or, even if he was taken down here, it doesn’t mean the women were kidnapped on the river. Can we go there? You know this part of the city.”

“Of course we can go there. But that precise area is just the sidewalk,” Abby said. “Except that...well, I could talk to Roger. He knows Savannah even better than I do. Maybe he can see something that I’m not seeing.”

“Tell me more about Roger.”

“Like I said, he’s a friend from high school. I’m positive he’s not a suspect. If he were going to kill anyone, it would be over a prime role in a pirate movie or in an argument on the history of Savannah. Roger, well, I’ve known him all my life. And I can’t see him taking any...any physical trophies. He passed out at school when we were donating blood during an emergency blood drive.”

Malachi’s phone rang, and he answered it. “David,” he told her.

“Yes,” he went on, “we’re down in the magazine. Coming up. We’ll leave it to your fine crew now, my friend.” He ended the call.

“Investigators are here. They can finish. I think we might have found something useful. He folded the map and put it in his pocket.

“You’re not going to give it to the cops?” she asked him.

“I’ll tell David the location, and he can send a car to check it out. I say we leave the rest of this to the experts and head back. I might have a surprise for you,” he added.

“You know, I’m not really in the mood for surprises. I have had the longest two days in history.”

He smiled slowly. Abby realized she was getting to like that smile; she was even coming to understand his strange ways. He could be unerringly polite, especially when someone else was acting like an idiot, and manage to get what he needed. He gave information out, but held on to what he felt he needed. Close to him, alone down in the magazine, she was aware of how attractive he was. Old-fashioned courtesy, combined with rugged masculinity, would make him appealing to most women.

Maybe she was one of them.

She stepped back. She tried to remind herself that he’d made a fool of her a few times, and yet...he’d seemed so puzzled that she’d felt that way.

“I’ll talk to David as we leave. Let’s get back to the Dragonslayer.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after nine now. I’m ready for that drink Dirk suggested. And I won’t be driving to my hotel. I can easily walk, but I won’t have to. I’m sure I can catch a ride.”

“Malachi!”

They heard his name shouted. He stepped past her and hurried up to the deck. As she followed him, he turned back for her, helping her make the hop-over to the dock. David was at the gate with a five-man crew of investigators, and they walked down to meet him, opening the gate to allow them all entrance before handing him the key.

“Anything?” David asked.

“No blood or guts,” Malachi said, waiting until David’s team went by.

When they had, he said, “We found a map. May or may not have been Helen’s.” He produced it and showed David. “You might want a man or two to check out the area.”

“That’s the middle of a sidewalk.”

“So Abby told me. But it is marked on the map,” Malachi said. “Okay if I hang on to this?” When David nodded, he folded it, returning it to his pocket.

“There may be something in the area—a restaurant, someplace Helen might’ve gone to meet someone,” Abby explained. “And, actually, it could have been anyone’s map, but since we’re grasping at straws here...”

She let her voice fade. David shook his head, lowering it. “Yeah. We are grasping at straws, but we need to grasp quickly.”

“That’s why I suggested searching the Black Swan—tonight,” Malachi said.

“But then you beat me to it.”

“We haven’t got the forensic talents to find what your crew might,” Malachi told him. “We just did a run-through. After all, we already spent hours on the ship.”

“Hmm. I’m reconsidering the map. How about handing it over?” David asked.

Malachi smiled serenely. “What map? Do you have a map, Abby? Did I mention a map? Lousy memory,” he said.

David looked at Abby. She looked at Malachi, who guilelessly returned her stare.

“I don’t have a map,” she said.

David groaned. “Yeah, okay. You hold on to it, Malachi. See what vibes or whatever it gives you.” He wagged a finger. “You should be grateful, my freelancing friend, that I’ve seen you in action before and that I’m willing to turn a blind eye to the way you ignore procedure. So, X marks the spot. I’ll send a car tonight. And they’ll call me and say that I sent them to stare at the middle of a sidewalk.”

“Probably. But it’s worth a shot, right? Call me if there’s anything.”

“Yes, I will,” David said. “And you do the same.”

“Let’s go back to the Dragonslayer, Abby,” Malachi suggested. “Let the detective get on with his work.”

As they headed to the tavern, David called after him. “Don’t forget. Call if you discover anything!”

“You know it,” Malachi called back.

He kept walking; he had long strides, but Abby kept up with him. “Are you running for that drink you said you need?” she asked.

“What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Yes?”

“We should call your friend. The tour-guide-slash-mapmaker, Roger English. It’s his map Helen had.”

“You can pick up that map at any souvenir store in the city.”

“Still, it’s his map. We’ll have him show us around the city.”

“I know the city!”

“You said you didn’t know it like he does.”

“True,” she agreed. “Roger’s always been a fanatic, obsessed with the city.” She smiled. “Gus occasionally let him stay at the Dragonslayer, just because he loved it so much.”

“Can you call him?”

“Of course, but I might not need to. He hangs around the Dragonslayer after his tours sometimes. They end around nine.”

“Good.”

Malachi opened the door to the tavern for her. Once they’d stepped inside, he walked up to Grant Green, on duty at the host stand as night manager. Trying to keep an eye on him, Abby went to the bar where Dirk was, as usual, seated between his two old friends, Bootsie and Aldous.

“Anything?” he asked her anxiously.

“Not that we could find, Dirk, but the police are there now.”

“Yes, I told Detective Caswell that I was happy for him to search,” Dirk said.

“I keep telling him we’re going to find her.” Bootsie yawned. “Hate to leave you, my friend, but I am old.”

“I’m fine,” Dirk told him.

“I can stay a bit longer,” Aldous said. “Hell, twenty years ago, I could’ve sat up all night.”

“Good, you have another drink with him, Aldous. I need to get some sleep. Good night, all.” Bootsie left, his peg leg making a little thump with every other step.

Dirk should have been bleary-eyed, considering the amount of time he’d spent in the bar that day, but he seemed to be all right. Abby cast a glance at Sullivan and raised her brows. Sullivan inclined his head with a secretive smile; that was his way of telling her that he’d promised Dirk the Dragonslayer would be picking up his drinks that day—and then Sullivan had watered them down to keep Dirk from keeling off his bar stool.

She smiled her thanks, then patted Aldous and Dirk on the back. “Take it easy, you two.”

“We’re okay. We’ll stumble home together soon,” Aldous assured her.

She nodded. Aldous sipped his drinks slowly and looked after his friends. He and Dirk both lived nearby, a few blocks from the Dragonslayer.

She turned, but Malachi was no longer there. Grant Green was giving directions to a couple who wanted to see the Colonial Park Cemetery, in the heart of the old town. They wanted to visit it the following day. She smiled and thanked them for coming to the Dragonslayer as they left, then asked Grant, “Where did Malachi go?”

Grant pointed to the dining room, where a group sat at one of the large round tables near the grate to the tunnel and the image of Blue Anderson. Malachi had taken a seat with them. There was an empty chair beside him.

As if he sensed her watching him, Malachi rose and beckoned her over.

She approached the table. All four of the people there—two men and two women—stood, too. The women were blonde, one petite and one tall. The men were both dark-haired, slim, handsome. They looked like a who’s who of beautiful people.

Malachi smiled broadly as she reached the group. “I told you I had a surprise for you. One I thought you’d like. And these lovely people are it. The blonde across from you is Katya Sokolov. To your left is Angela Hawkins. Next to her, we have our illusionist and magician extraordinaire, Will Chan, and here, by me, Jackson Crow.”

She was startled and told herself she should have recognized him from the pictures she’d seen of him, and now, of course, she did. Crow.

A surprise.

And she was surprised. Jackson Crow himself, now a legend in the agency, had arrived.

He was a striking man with his evident mixture of heritage. She shook his hand, and then met Angela, Will and Kat. She sat down in the chair held for her between Malachi and Jackson Crow, and the others sat, as well.

“You came,” she said, staring at Jackson Crow. She’d never met him. She just knew his name, had seen his picture. Everyone at Quantico knew who he was. They whispered about him, sometimes in a teasing fashion, and sometimes with awe. Either way, his record spoke for itself.

“Malachi said this is a situation that warrants some extra help,” Crow told her. “I figured we’d put Will to work with the pirates, since he’s an excellent actor and magician. Kat is a pathologist. She’ll see if anything’s missing as far as the autopsies are concerned. Angela and I will work the computer angles and interview those who were last seen with the victims, leaving you and Malachi free to delve into the city. You’re the expert on Savannah. I’ve got a meeting first thing tomorrow with Detective Caswell and the task force to give them some idea of what we think we’re looking at—and who we might be looking for. And then we’ll all buckle down to try to locate the missing girl.”

Abby nodded. “I’m glad. So glad. Her life has got to be the priority right now.”

“Of course.” Angela spoke quietly.

“I’m grateful that you came in force!” Abby said.

“Agent Anderson, there have been a number of bodies found. Only a fool wouldn’t think that warranted serious attention,” Jackson Crow told her.

“But do you believe what I was trying to explain—that my grandfather was murdered?” Abby asked.

Crow nodded. “With the message he sent you, and his death right before your arrival? Yes, I do. Something is going on here. We’ll do everything in our power to find out what. And I don’t expect our hands to be tied. Two of the victims were from other states, which gives us jurisdiction—although I hate to step in uninvited. But because Malachi has a good relationship with the detective in charge, I believe an invite is in the works.”

Across the table, Angela Hawkins leaned in. “The Dragonslayer is incredible. What a wonderful place—and what a fascinating history.”

“The food is excellent, too,” Kat Sokolov added.

“Thank you. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,” Abby said.

“We have,” Jackson said. “For now, however, we’re going to get the check. There’s a girl out there—and she might still be alive. Everyone will be starting early.” He glanced around, as if looking for the waitress.

Abby shook her head. “Dinner is on the house,” she insisted.

“This is your business, Agent Anderson. We don’t take advantage,” Jackson Crow told her.

“Please! You’ve come here. Let me offer what I can. Which, by the way, is a house,” she said.

“We do have rooms booked,” Jackson responded. “But thank you.”

“Jackson,” Will said. “It might be wise to accept. We’ll have space and privacy.”

“Yes, you can cancel your hotel rooms,” Abby urged.

“We don’t want to put you out. We only need two rooms—except that I thought we should assign someone here, too,” he said.

“I’ve been staying at the Dragonslayer since I came back,” Abby said. “And not to worry. I’m fine. I’ve spent time here all my life. But I also have a home—a family home—on Chippewa Square.” She shrugged. “It happens to be available. And there’s no reason to incur taxpayer expenses that don’t need to be incurred.” Abby realized that Malachi had remained quiet; he’d been watching her all the while. He didn’t appear angry, just bemused.

“We don’t take chances,” Jackson said. “Malachi, do you want to stay here? I’m sure Agent Anderson has a couch somewhere. And, if you really don’t mind, Agent Anderson, we will take you up on your offer. We do, as a group and as individuals, tend to prefer the historic and the private—places with plenty of room to meet, without probing eyes. Detective Caswell will set us up with a room at the police station, but we still like having some private space—when we can get it.”

“I’m fine on a couch. Or a floor,” Malachi said.

“And you are sure you want to offer this invitation?” Crow asked Abby.

They were leaving Malachi here?

Maybe that made sense. Malachi had already seen Blue. And she hadn’t seen him since he’d led her to her grandfather’s corpse.

“Um, yes, of course.” Abby turned to look at Malachi. “You don’t have to sleep on a floor or a couch,” she told him. “I can give you my grandfather’s room.”

“That certainly sounds more comfortable,” Malachi said. He still appeared a bit bemused. Of course he did. Now that Jackson Crow had arrived, she was all hospitality. “I’ve been staying a few blocks away at a hotel on the riverfront, so moving over will take ten minutes.” He spoke softly to Jackson. “We have a lead. At least, I think it’s a lead. We found a map with an X. Abby has a friend who’s a city expert, and we’re meeting up with him in the morning to see what we can find.”

“I’ll be speaking with the task force,” Jackson Crow said, “and we’ll compare notes later.”

Abby got a piece of paper and wrote down the address of her house on the square. “There are a few things there—coffee in the freezer, dry creamer, but not much else. I went over one day last week, checking up on the place, and everything’s in order.” She hesitated, looking at the group. “I was thinking I’d rent it out again when I leave here to get my assignment.”

“The rest of your family is gone?” Angela asked her.

Abby nodded. “Yes, it was Gus and me for a while there,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” Angela didn’t add that her grandfather had been old, and Abby was glad of it.

“All right, then,” Jackson said, rising. “We’ll go to your house now.”

“I haven’t stayed at the house in years, and it’s been empty for a while. Oh, it won’t be terrible—no moldy sheets or anything like that. They’re in the hall closet in sealed bags. I can come with you, to get you in, but—”

“No need,” Malachi said. “You need to see if your tour-guide buddy is here.”

Abby retrieved her house keys and handed them to Jackson.

“We’ll see you both tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll keep in contact on our cell phones,” he instructed. “And, like I said, we’re careful in this unit. That’s why we check out a situation, and then work in numbers when warranted. We’ll say good-night now.” Jackson Crow left a tip on the table. Abby started to dispute, to assure him she’d handle it.

“Ah, well, the least we can do is reward our excellent server,” Jackson said.

Abby nodded, and the group walked to the door. Malachi told her he’d pick up his bags at the hotel while the restaurant was still in full swing.

When they were gone, she realized that Grant Green was standing right at her back. “Okay, give!” he said.

“Give?”

“A cool-looking, authoritative...mysterious group of people! So, who are they?”

She couldn’t see any reason to lie to him. “FBI.”

“I knew it!” he said. “I knew it.” Then he grew serious. “So they’re here to help? Thank God. I mean, bodies don’t usually pop up like that in this city. We have our criminal element, but who doesn’t? I’m glad they’ve— Oh, man, is it true? Do cops and FBI agents really not get along? Do the cops get resentful when the FBI is called in?”

She smiled. “Grant, I have no idea. I’ve never been with a group that’s been called in. Actually, I haven’t been with a group at all. I was ready to be given an assignment...but then, well, Gus. And my superior back in Virginia told me to check in when I’d taken care of my family affairs.”

“Keep me posted!” he told her.

“I will,” she promised. “Hey, Roger doesn’t happen to be in here, huh? I don’t see him at the bar.”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Grant lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s with a date.”

“A date? Impressive.”

“They’re in the far dining room.”

“Should I interrupt?” Abby wondered.

“It’s your place. You can just wander by and ask if everything’s all right. By the way, are you having the actors do the reenactment this Saturday? I’ll need to call them.”

“Grant, you and Macy manage the place,” she reminded him. “You decide.”

“Still have to know the new owner’s mind,” Grant told her.

“I’m an absentee owner, and I think you two do a great job managing the place.”

He gave her a hug. “Macy and I get along well, and we’ll make sure you’re never disappointed.” She hugged him back, and then disentangled herself. “I’m going to swing over and say hello to Roger.”

Roger was in a little nook in the far dining room. He was leaning over the table, close to his date, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and a sweet gamine face.

The girl saw Abby first and indicated to Roger that someone was coming. He pulled back, said, “Hi, Abby,” and started to get up.

“Sit, Roger, I’m just stopping by to see how everything’s going,” she said.

“Fabulous.” He widened his eyes at her. “Abby Anderson, this is Bianca Salzburg. Bianca, Abby, who owns this place.”

“Pleased to meet you. And it’s wonderful,” Bianca said.

“Thanks. I’m glad to hear that. Do you two need anything?”

“Nope. You hire the best. Which includes me,” he told his date. “You’ll see when I play Blue Anderson on Saturday.” He looked at Abby. “Am I playing Blue on Saturday?”

“Of course,” she said. “Grant will confirm with you. Oh, I wanted to ask you something, too. I have a friend in town—well, friends. One of the guys wants a tour of Savannah from someone who really knows it.”

“Well, that would be you,” Roger said.

She shook her head. “I don’t know it the way you do. Can I book a private tour tomorrow?”

“For you?” he asked, perplexed, curious—and, she thought, a little flattered.

“Yes, for me. And the friend I mentioned. You might’ve met him, since he’s been hanging around here. His name is Malachi Gordon. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. If you can do it.”

“Sure. Anything for you, kid. It’ll be fun.” He smiled and glanced at his date. “Abby and I used to love exploring places—especially places we weren’t really supposed to go. Gus dragged us out of that tunnel time and time again. We liked to play pirate. Except Abby never wanted to play captive—she always had to be a pirate herself. Like Anne Bonney.”

“Wow. That was a lot of years ago!” Abby said. “So tomorrow. Nine. Ten?”

“Ten works better for me.”

“Thanks, Roger.”

“I’ll see you here.”

“Okay.” Abby nodded. “Bianca, it was very nice to meet you. You’re new to the area?”

“I’m here to find an apartment. I work for a delivery company, and I’m being transferred from Chicago.”

“Well, then, welcome to Savannah.” Abby made her way back to the bar. Grant was going over the following day’s reservations at the host stand. Aldous and Dirk were gone. “Aldous left with Dirk, didn’t he?” she asked.

“Yeah, they were kind of cute as they went out, big pirate-kind-of-guy leaning on bald, gold-earringed guy. Don’t worry, Aldous said he’d walk Dirk straight to his house.”

“Thank you, Grant.” Abby went to the bar and took a seat. There were no more customers and Sullivan was sterilizing the bar glasses, then hanging them on the wooden racks.

“You okay?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

“So, you’ve brought in a bunch of FBI agents?”

Surprised, she frowned at him.

He laughed. “You told Grant. That’s like posting something on Facebook. And the one guy, Malachi Gordon, introduced himself to us the other day.”

Abby laughed. “I didn’t exactly bring in a bunch of FBI. Malachi Gordon showed up because of Gus’s funeral,” she said. That was true. Let them think he was a representative of the agency, there to show his respects. “But, Sullivan, four bodies have been found—three, and then the one today. At least two of the victims were from other states. One was a college girl. And we don’t know about the last.”

“That’s really sad, Abby. What do you think is going on? What did they teach you at FBI school?”

“I’d have the same suspicions now whether I’d gone to the academy or not,” Abby said. She wasn’t giving anything away by stating the obvious. “I suspect there’s a serial killer in Savannah.”

“Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing and rested his elbows on the bar. “I don’t get it, though. Three women, one man. And...”

“And?”

“You went crazy when you found him,” he said gently. “If there’s a serial killer, why would he go after Gus—and how did he get into the tunnel?”

“I have no idea, Sullivan. Maybe I was a little crazy. Gus was everything to me,” Abby said.

One thing she’d learned: an agent shouldn’t share thoughts or information with anyone other than those also working the case, unless someone was at risk. Information in the wrong hands could be dangerous.

Not that she considered Sullivan a suspect. It would’ve been impossible for the man to slink through the restaurant, since he was always behind the bar.

“I’m so sorry, Abby. You know we all loved him,” he was saying.

“Thanks. I do know that.”

He touched her cheek, a brotherly gesture. “Be careful, okay?” he said huskily.

“I am careful. And guess what? I excelled in marksmanship. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sullivan.”

He backed away, looking toward the door. “Hmm. Your FBI man is back—with a suitcase.”

“Yeah, he’s going to be staying here.”

“Oh?” Sullivan said. A smile twitched his lips.

“No oh,” she told him. “Helen Long was last seen here, and we’re near the river, that’s all.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Sullivan teased. “That it’s just business, I mean.”

“Sullivan,” she warned.

“Tall, dark and handsome. Has a nice aura about him, full of confidence. You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know. Hmm. You have done worse.”

“Hey!”

“Just sayin’. You always dated pretty boys. Not up to par. And from what I’ve seen in the past few years, you date someone for a few months, then you’re bored.”

“That’s not true! I’ve been focused on my career, that’s all.”

Malachi was coming to join her at the bar. She frowned fiercely at Sullivan.

“Well, then, just jump his bones. Everybody’s life is better with some hot sex in it,” Sullivan told her.

“Stop it!”

He made a show of buttoning his lips. Malachi slid his suitcase up beside his bar stool. “I’m...back,” he said a little lamely. “Everything okay here?”

“Right as rain,” Sullivan said before she could respond.

“Come on up. I’ll show you Gus’s room.” Abby smiled sweetly at her bartender.

“Yep, and don’t worry about anything,” Sullivan said. “Grant and I will see that the place is locked up tight.”

“Thanks,” Abby said.

Malachi smiled at Sullivan, got his bag and followed her up the stairs. She flicked on the light as she opened the door to the apartment. “I talked to Roger English. We’re all set to meet him in the morning.”

“Good,” Malachi said absently. He stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “Nice.” He walked in, noted the little coffee nook and moved into the center of the living room area. He went straight to the balcony. “Do you mind if I look out?” he asked her.

“Of course not.”

He opened the door and stepped onto the balcony. Leaning, he looked to the left. She followed him.

“So you grew up here?” he asked.

“Here, and at our family’s house on Chippewa Square,” she said. “When my parents died—my mom and then my dad—I spent my time here with Gus. And my grandmother, of course, when she was still with us.”

“It’s hard to lose family,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.

A moment later, he gave his attention to the view. “You can see the river from here.”

“You can,” Abby agreed. “Of course, if they build up anymore, it’ll block the view.”

“It’s pretty,” he said. “And made sense for old pirates.”

“And maybe new pirates?”

He turned and looked at her. “You’re worried that this place is somehow being used. But because a woman was last seen here doesn’t mean the Dragonslayer has anything to do with what’s going on.”

“What about Gus?” she asked.

He was thoughtful for a minute and then said, “Kat will go over the M.E.’s records for Gus. I believe he did die of a heart attack—but the heart attack might have been brought on when he accosted someone or vice versa. Whatever happened, it won’t happen again. With your blessing, Will Chan will set up a camera system in the tunnel. No one will get down there by any means without being seen. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She hesitated. “How did you wind up on this case? You said you’re not an agent, that you’re a consultant.”

He shrugged. “I was recently part of a high-profile case in Virginia. Then Jackson Crow, Logan Raintree and a man named Adam Harrison—you probably know he started the whole Krewe of Hunters branch—came to see me. I told you, this is on a trial basis. And...” He paused, lowering his head, smiling slightly. “I’d been working alone since I left New Orleans because I got tired telling fellow workers that I’m not a psychic. Most people want to lock you away when you tell them you came up with some of your deductive reasoning because of a ghost—and therefore you don’t tell them. Jackson apparently knew what I was doing because he’d studied the work I’d done. After I got to spend time with him, Logan and the other agents, I felt right at home. As if I’d found my people, so to speak. Jackson sent me down here to see what’s going on, and I let him know what I’ve learned. They work in groups, which is why the others have joined us.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “Did you leave New Orleans because you lost your partner—David Caswell?”

He looked back out at the night.

“No. I left New Orleans when my wife died. It was her home and I always saw it through her eyes. When she was gone, I couldn’t stay anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

He turned to her. “It was a long time ago now. We all lose people, and we learn to go on. That’s life—and death. So, show me Gus’s room. I’ll get that bag put away. And maybe we should try to grab a couple of hours’ sleep, because during those few hours in between shifts when this place is empty, I’m going to want a private tour. If you’re up to it...? Maybe old Blue will let himself be known when it’s just you and me.”

“Definitely. Gus’s room is over here.”

She led him down the little hall within the apartment to the first door. Stepping inside, she switched on the light. The old captain’s bed was just as it had been. She’d spent some time in the week since he’d died cleaning up, gathering up his clothes and donating them to the Salvation Army. Gus had been almost fanatically clean, but she’d given the room a once-over, too. It was decorated with ships’ lamps, a whaling harpoon and other memorabilia from the sea. The walls were paneled, very much like a ship’s cabin.

Malachi nodded approvingly. He set his suitcase on the floor and said, “I guess you accept that I’m more or less legitimate now?”

“Yes, I do.”

He studied her for a minute, and offered her a smile. “I think you’re legitimate, too, you know.”

“Thanks.” She felt strange, looking at him there, feeling that subtle smile of his as if it were a caress.

And liking it.

She stepped back into the hallway. Tall, dark and very handsome.

He was suddenly far too appealing.

“Okay, then...see you in a few hours,” she told him.

She turned and walked the few steps down the hall that led to her own bedroom. She quickly walked in, leaned against the door and realized she was shaking. And she knew then that she was impossibly attracted to him.

Sleep. Oh, hell, yeah. Sure thing.

“Blue, you’re supposed to come when we need help!” she whispered aloud. “And, Blue, I definitely need some help now!”