“Yeah, Chan, you’re an excellent addition. The Chinese did make good pirates,” Dirk said.

“Actually, I’m Trinidadian, with a real mix of ethnicities,” Will told him.

“Oh, yeah? Well, Trinidadians made great pirates,” Dirk said.

Dirk had a glass of beer, and Bootsie, who was being a bit garrulous, had ordered a fresh one. Will Chan seemed to have the situation in hand. She told him, “I’m going to run upstairs and check on some paperwork. Unless anyone needs me for anything?”

“Ah, Abby, you are a delight!” Bootsie said. “In fact, there’s never been a better descendent of old Blue. Other than Gus, of course. I’m always proud to have you at my side. But we’re pretty used to you being gone now. We’ll carry on—Sullivan over there, Dirk and me. We’ll carry on!”

Abby glanced at Will, who nodded. She had a feeling that someone in the bar was a cop, following Roger. Will was sticking close to Dirk, and he couldn’t possibly follow two men, no matter how good he was.

She rose, curious to find out where Malachi had gone, but when she ran upstairs, he wasn’t in the apartment. She looked into the offices, the employee areas and the storeroom with its long rows of restaurant supplies, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

He’d gone out—without leaving word.

She quickly dialed his number from her cell.

When he answered, she asked, “Where are you?” She tried not to sound anxious.

“Tailing Aldous.”

“Oh. I would’ve come with you. Me showing you the city might have kept you from looking obvious.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t look obvious,” he promised her.

“Okay.” She realized she was a little lost without him, although she was the one who was actually an agent. But Malachi had real-world experience, as a cop and a private investigator, and as one—

As one who could see beyond the surface.

“I’m willing to bet he eventually ends up back at the Dragonslayer,” Malachi said. “But right now, we’re going toward the river. Seems like he’s heading for a yacht. Nice piece of work. Beautiful boat. Looks like it’s about thirty-three feet.”

“That’s his pleasure craft. She’s called the Lady Luck,” Abby told him.

“Okay. I’m trying to keep up. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Abby bit her lip as he ended the call. The police, she knew, had already searched the Lady Luck when Malachi and Jackson insisted the Dragonslayer “barflies” be investigated.

She walked back to her apartment and opened the door. As she did, she discovered that she hadn’t locked it when she’d gone to the storeroom.

As she shut it behind her, she saw someone standing by the windows that opened out onto the balcony.

Instinctively, she set a hand on her Glock.

But the person turned. “Abby,” he said softly. And then, as if testing her name, “Abigail Anderson.”

13

Aldous walked with a determined pace, apparently oblivious, careless of whether anyone watched him or not. He seemed to have purpose and went straight from the Dragonslayer to River Street.

Malachi kept a careful distance as Aldous walked along the river and stopped at the private dock where the Lady Luck was docked.

He used his owner’s key in the slot, as well as his code, to gain entry and only then did he turn around to see who else was nearby. Malachi had ducked behind a handy SUV.

It was still early; people were out in droves. That seemed to please Aldous. He walked onto his yacht, whistling.

Malachi waited to see if he intended to take the vessel out.

He couldn’t tell; Aldous went down into the cabin.

Malachi put a call through to Jackson. Before he could explain what was happening, Jackson sprang some information on him. “They’ve identified the rowboat we brought in last night.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s from the Lafayette—a merchant ship.”

“How did she wind up in the water?”

“No one knows. But we didn’t need a warrant. The captain assured us we could search the ship and of course we did. He also told us she’d already been searched. The cops have been on almost every ship, boat and floating anything on the water.”

“And nothing? So it was just an unconnected accident?”

“Not really. The Lafayette is owned by a giant parent company, and the CEO happens to be one of the Dragonslayer’s main barflies.”

“Aldous Brentwood?”

“Yeah. That’s why it was searched the first time.”

“I’m on the riverfront watching him now. He just went out to his private yacht, the Lady Luck. He locked the gate behind him. I’m going in.”

“Malachi, hold on. There are officers near you. I can be there—”

“I’m taking a dive, Jackson. If he does have her on that yacht, he’s torturing her right now. Get here as fast as you can.”

He hung up before Jackson could argue, then he moved to a public area, shed his jacket and shoes and dove in. He swam around hard and fast to the Lady Luck and caught hold of the mooring rope to swing himself up on deck.

Aldous was nowhere in sight. Malachi tiptoed around the deck to look down into the cabin, but it was a large one and his view was blocked. He had to take the steps.

The yacht was luxurious. The steps led to a galley and dining area, with a captain’s chair and all kinds of electronic gadgets to the left.

Still no sign of Aldous. There was a hallway that stretched toward the aft. He followed it, then quietly opened the first door. The room was a head, complete with shower. The second door opened to an elegantly appointed cabin. Empty. He tried the door across from it. Also empty.

One cabin remained. The master storeroom. He strode the last two feet down the hallway and listened. Logic told him that no woman could be captive there—unless she was dead. If she’d cried out at any time, she’d have been heard by someone on a nearby boat or even someone walking on River Street.

Tap, tap, tap.

Helen’s words still haunted him.

There was no tapping, just the rhythmic lap of water against the hull. He could hear a band playing at a riverfront club, but that wasn’t the noise he was listening for.

He heard the cabin door opening; he skirted back, sliding into the head, cracking the door slightly.

Aldous Brentwood walked down the hallway and went topside. Malachi couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if he’d hopped back onto the dock. He waited a moment longer and hurried down the hall to the aft.

He threw open the cabin door.

* * *

Abby stood still, wondering if she was really seeing what she thought she was. Maybe she wanted to see Blue so badly she’d envisioned him there.

But Malachi saw Blue. In fact, Blue had spoken to him.

And now, he’d actually spoken to her.

“Blue.” She said his name, wondering if he’d disappear. But the image remained. The spirit of the man she’d seen for the first time, years and years ago, when she and her grandparents and the Dragonslayer had been in danger.

He had led her to Gus; he had led her to save Helen.

She walked closer, but not too close.

“You helped me,” she told him.

He inclined his head. “Of course, but there is little I can do when no one sees. You see. Quite remarkable, Miss Abigail,” he said. His voice was like a dry wind. He didn’t speak often, she thought. She suspected it wasn’t easy for him.

“Did you see Gus...die?” she asked him. “And Helen—how did you know? What have you seen? We need your help again, Blue—we so desperately need your help.”

He shook his head and in that motion he seemed to impart great sadness.

“I came upon Gus. I tried to keep watch after I realized someone had opened the grate and knew about the exit by the riverbank. I was too late to realize that the Dragonslayer was being used. I was too late with Gus—but I began watching, walking a vigil around the Dragonslayer, up and down the tunnel, out to the river. I saw—from a distance—something. There was nothing I could do, no boat I could take. But you followed me, and the woman lived.”

She nodded. Hoping he’d be able to give her a name had probably been too optimistic.

“You’re still keeping watch,” she said. “And you saw someone approach the Dragonslayer last night in the middle of the night, when we were out. You scared that person, Blue. You made him leave.”

“I tried to see who it was. He left too quickly.” Blue moved with a flourish of his frock coat; he was evidently indignant. “He wore a cape as I sometimes wore. He pretends to be me!” He looked as if he’d say more, as if he’d unleash a spate of curses but determined not to—not with a great-great-whatever niece standing there. He waved a hand in the air. “The young gentlemen pretend to be me in your theatricals, but I find that quite charming. I appear heroic and honorable, do I not?”

“Very honorable,” Abby assured him.

“To be depicted so is palatable. For a killer such as this coward to take on my persona—that is beyond despicable. To torment and slay young women as he does... This is a monster. A monster, Abigail, and I will help you in every way that I can.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We need you.”

He nodded. “I continue to keep watch here. I watch over you as you sleep. I am here, in this hall, or below.” It sounded as if he attempted to clear his throat. “Times have changed, of course. And yet heinous murder remains heinous murder. And few people are so cruel and brutal as this...this piece of human refuse.”

He seemed to be fading.

“Blue,” she called out. “Why have you never spoken to me before?”

“Because there was no need,” he said. “You knew I was here. And you followed me each time, as I prayed you would. I...I need to rest now. This is...difficult for me. Perhaps one learns... Still, throughout the years, there are not so many who can see me, and fewer still who hear me. But, Abby, I am with you.”