A Cruise to Die For, page 1
Dedication
For Tina Owen, Megan Owen, and Carol Marchese, with so many, many thanks for so many things!
And for Marisa Young, with deepest thanks for the empathy and generosity within her spirit!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
About the Author
Also by New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Now
She could see everything that was happening.
She could hear every little bit of noise around her.
She could smell day-old food, the chemicals in the air-conditioning and almost taste every little nuance in the air.
She could even feel the floor beneath her.
Her senses were vibrantly alive.
What she couldn’t do was move.
She didn’t know if she did or didn’t blink; she could only feel the heaviness of her own body, as if she was frozen in space and time.
But she knew everything that was going on, she could see the horror of what was happening around her.
Her only option was to watch.
Watch and wait.
Because now, the horror that had claimed others, the terror that haunted those on the ship, would eventually come to her.
All she could do was hope, pray and believe that she and Wesley had followed the right steps . . .
And that there just might be a miracle.
Step by step. Her mind was active; she had to think back, back to the very beginning and determine just how she had gotten to be where she was . . .
And how the hell was she going to get out of the situation.
She couldn’t even open her mouth to scream . . .
Or could she?
One
“From every angle, we’re extremely concerned. But we’re hoping that what we have is a lead. Something is going on, and we believe that your investigation on this ship can fathom what it is and perhaps, even more importantly, why. Dead people. Suicide. Murder and suicide. Ridiculous and extreme coincidences? No. Two cars at an intersection at the same time may be a coincidence. But things happening like this? No. It’s gone too far. So, what is happening? Simple greed, and a perpetrator with a personal agenda? Or something far worse? We don’t know. And we’re hoping to God that the two of you can sneak in and find out. All we do know is that every victim of this rash of suicides and murder-suicides has been associated with computers and IT in a big way.”
Chloe McMurray stood quietly, listening as Assistant Director Alonzo spoke.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing there since Alonzo was federal and she was an agent with state law enforcement—and she’d received the message to pack for a cruise ship.
A cruise ship?
On the surface, it didn’t sound like a bad gig!
But she was savvy when it came to cruise ships out of the Port of Miami; they usually sailed to other countries, ports in the Caribbean, perhaps Mexico and perhaps even South America. Maybe they were just heading a wee bit to the north and east, for the Bahamas, Bermuda—still foreign countries—or maybe Puerto Rico, an American territory?
So, why was she, an agent of the state, involved? And why had she been asked to subtly change her appearance, cut her chestnut hair and dye it black?
She was going undercover, of course. And she had so much more to learn about the case. Chloe was just beginning to understand how much was known and suspected—and just how much wasn’t known. What about pictures? Everyone posted everything these days and she might be recognized by someone on social media, even at a distance, if she didn’t shake up her looks a little.
Well, she might be local, but apparently, she was being joined by a federal agent who was with Central and South American bureau “legat” offices. He had a strangely appropriate name for his vocation in law enforcement—that being Wesley Law.
He wasn’t any kind of gigantic bruiser, but decent and probably very well trained. The man was tall enough—six-two or three, she estimated—and yes, with what appeared to be a lean, wiry strength.
Having come into the federal office straight from work himself, she found him strangely dressed on a workday. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a light blue windbreaker. His hair, a dirty blond or light brown, was barely brushed.
Then again, apparently, she was the one off-base in her pantsuit; they had said cruise. Well, she had enough in her go-bag for a cruise. Shorts, halter dresses, T-shirts. She just wished she had a slightly better bathing suit, but that could probably be obtained on the ship. She did love sitting high above the water at the pool of a cruise ship. Generally, she loved cruising.
But she would be “cruising” with a strange federal operative—on an even stranger case.
Coming here, she’d been given the briefest information from her own supervising agent, but she still knew so little. She had been told she’d been specifically requested for the case by the upper echelons at the federal and local level because of her knowledge of and affiliation with cruise ships in general. She’d done her own research on her would-be partner as well—he had been born with the surname and his ancestors went all the way back to the Revolutionary War. And as was often enough the case with those who entered into law enforcement, his father had been a cop.
She didn’t know much more because many of the cases he had worked on were classified as confidential.
And so . . .
There they were, she and the man she had just met in person, in Assistant Director Glen Alonzo’s office in Miami, learning about the strange and convoluted case they’d be working on.
Despite Alonzo’s ramblings, she knew that at the heart of his words was the genuine belief that they were being tasked with something deeply important.
It was strange. Was it even really a case? Yes, in the minds of those above their pay grades, there was definitely a case, or they wouldn’t be there. From what she was learning, when things that were that strange happened, something was going on.
And it all had to do with computer systems, the internet, gaming and, of course, AI. But the world grew savvier day by day when it came to such tech, so if someone was trying to eliminate every brilliant techie they had a long, long way to go.
“The ever-human hunt for more and more,” Alonzo said. “Greed. Power. I’m not seeing any kind of personal vendetta. I’m assuming, as our best minds seem to believe, that people are dying because of what they do, not who they are. But, when you put all the puzzle pieces together, they’ve all attended the same meetings, workshops or conventions around the country at one time or another.”
“They might have met,” Wesley said. “But from what I’m hearing so far, I agree with our best minds. This sounds like a power play—since it is unlikely that this kind of situation could simply occur in what appears to be exactly the same way in different places.”
“There have been many ways to look at this. While there seems to be a consensus on a course of action, an opportunity to infiltrate the community, we certainly can’t guarantee that we know what is going on. The first few episodes initially went unnoticed because they occurred in different jurisdictions—in three different states—and then we were notified by a survivor who read about another death, got frustrated at the local level, and asked us to come in, and thus our current involvement as part of a task force with many agencies involved. As we started piecing the events together, we noticed that there appeared to be a pattern in which people had suddenly started committing suicide or killing others before killing themselves. While it escaped national attention at first, it beats the odds of chance. Naturally, before I spoke to the two of you and your supervising directors—and the director himself—we did the necessary deep dives and research on those involved. It’s crazy. We know why it took a while. When the suicides started, it appeared to be more than possible that some of those who died were in a state of depression or had a self-perceived reason, but . . .”
Assistant Director Glen Alonzo stared at Chloe and Wesley, shaking his head.
“Am I making any sense yet?” Alonzo asked.
“Of course. Sadly,” Chloe said, “people do commit suicide. And I understand with the crime scenes they found, local law enforcement assumed that to be the case.”
“Well, we’re not sending you out blind—you’ve a few hours here to read everything that we’ve got. You must be on the ship by four thirty. It’s just noon now,” he added.
“Um, sir, pardon me,” Chloe said. “I’m still a little blind. I don’t know what cruise we’re going on and why you’re convinced that going on a cruise can help solve—”
He smiled at that. “And you’re right to be curious, eh? Once you’ve studied the situation, I hope you’ll understand—and that our suspicions are on the money. Though, honestly, in my younger days, I’d have jumped at the opportunity to visit a cruise ship instead of the back alley behind a crack den. And we’ve all had a few of those.”
She smiled. “Trust me, sir, I ve nothing against cruises—” Chloe began.
“Of course not!” Alonzo said. He managed to smile. “Special Agent McMurray, I’ve naturally read your service files frontward and backward. We’re well aware you and your last partner, Agent Rodriguez, played it all out and captured the boatyard killer. You know this state and you know this city. You’ve also been on cruise ships since you were a kid.”
The man who would be her partner on the upcoming voyage was studying her.
Had he investigated her background, as well? Of course. Who wouldn’t have done so? When you were suddenly thrown on a case you knew nothing about with a partner who wasn’t even from the same agency, you did your homework.
“Nothing against a cruise,” she repeated.
“All right, then. We’ll start with the bad,” Alonzo said. He pointed across his desk to the large video screen in his office and hit keys on his computer, indicating to them that they needed to take the seats in front of his desk and watch.
They did so.
And Alonzo began, tapping keys on his computer to change the images onscreen as he spoke.
“Jesup, Georgia. Frank Adams, forty, husband and father, technician for Adler Displays. They claim to make the best screens for everything: movies, gaming, you name it. His wife found him with a shotgun between his knees and still in his mouth. No note. But the gun was between his knees. At first accepted as a suicide, case closed. A month later, Cassandra Little and her husband, Hank. Hank was shot dead. Cassandra was found with the Smith and Wesson that killed him—and her—in her hands. They were in Palatka, Florida. An obvious murder-suicide. Oh, they both worked for Brandon Solutions, another tech company, one that’s huge in cybersecurity. Third instance. Randy Templeton, Montgomery, Alabama, found in his bathtub, electrocuted, his electric shaver in the water with him. He worked for the local city government, online data. No note, but neighbors heard him and his wife argue frequently, so they thought that his wife had threatened to walk out and his depression had caught up with him. The wife, Myra Templeton, denied she’d ever said that she was leaving. She said they had fought, yes. All married couples did. She didn’t accept his death as a suicide. But the police became suspicious, through their friendly neighbors, that she might look to be as sweet as candy but have evil inside. Their suspicion—no solid clues, no proof—was that she had murdered him. Not possible. She can be seen on a security video all day at a symposium on mental health. The woman is a therapist. Now she’s the first who came to the Feds when the local police ignored her—and suspected her. She’d found references to the other events in the news. Then we have what happened in Broward County last week. A meeting of enlisted personnel and civilians who worked for the military, a party of six. Five were shot and killed and, you guessed it—as I’m sure you already saw in the news—the sixth person, a young woman named Jane Sewell, was found with her gun—a six-shooter—in her mouth. All planned out so well! And every shot straight through the heart. Was she ever in the military? No, she was a civilian working with the others. Motive? Jealous of those higher up, or was she maybe a home-grown terrorist? Her parents denied it fervently, came to us, too, and we were ready since we’d already started looking into the other odd deaths. Now, we’re pulling legal strategies and exhuming corpses, trying to determine if something had been missed in the autopsies on the deceased that might help us. As you are aware, only certain drugs are tested in such victims in a customary autopsy. Oh, yeah, one more interesting fact, the weapons involved were tested for fingerprints. None whatsoever were there except for those of the person left with the weapon. Our firearms experts say that—especially since a few of the prints appear to be backward—that the condition they were discovered in is, once again, more than ‘questionable.’”
“I can easily see why these are suspicious occurrences, and yes, it does appear that there is, beyond a doubt, something going on. Though on what level, who knows at this point,” Wesley Law said, speaking up. “But these were all on land,” Wesley said, “So—”
“Milestones,” Alonzo told them.
“Milestones?” Chloe murmured.
“Oh, come on. I know you’re field agents, but you do know how to use computers! Milestones is a huge corporation. The company is the next massive step in user-friendly computing and in computers doing just about everything for you, including—according to one ad—brushing your teeth. At any rate, the company is having an employee gratitude trip to celebrate their tenth anniversary on the ship Silver and Sapphire Seas, the newest luxury offering from Surf of the Seven Seas.”
“That’s the company that has luxury restaurants in every state—all offering several different surf and turf options, right?” Wesley asked. “In the cruise business, they’re young, only being around about a decade or so.”
Alonzo smiled. “That is true. And if nothing else, you’ll eat well.”
“So, you believe this killer is specifically after those who are exceptionally talented with computing, or those who—”
“Those who have the money or the management skills to keep the right people working, yes,” Alonzo said. “And why this ship, you ask? It’s not just the fact that it will be hosting so many computer nerds, but then there was this.”
He clicked a key on the computer.
On the screen, they saw two of the bodies from the multi-death incident again, more closely pictured than they had been before.
Near one was a briefcase.
And sticking out of the briefcase was a folder.
Chloe couldn’t see the entire folder, but she could see enough.
It advertised the free computer sessions that would be held onboard, offering classes to other passengers for those who were newbies to more experienced nerds.
Proof. Proof was what they needed.
How many people were supposed to die in this—and yes, the big question, why?
“The conference room is empty. You may take your computers and read everything we have in the police reports, from witnesses and from Myra Templeton—we have her on video when she first came into the local field office. You have a couple of hours. There’s a blue sedan out there for you to take to the cruise port—no official drop-offs or the like. You’re on the cruise as Chloe and Wesley Douglas. You’re on vacation from your specialized tutoring jobs in NYC—the bigger the city, the harder for anyone to discover you’re not who you say you are.”
“And two hours to remember our names and our histories,” Wesley said.
“Sorry, this all came up quickly,” Alonzo said. “And you’ll be given ghost guns, no metal so that they’ll pass through any metal-detecting security, though there are bureau members and offices where your purpose is known—as you know, Wes, there are sixty-two legal attaché offices around the world with another thirty-six sub offices. There are those in each port that you can contact, numbers are in your burner phones under assumed names, but the names won’t matter—emergency only. Got it? Go study your identities—as always, info was kept as close to what’s real so that you’re natural in any conversation—and study up on what you’re looking for.”
Study up?
People were dead. They were all involved in computer and internet expertise in one way or another.
But they had all been staged to look like suicide or murder-suicide.
Chloe looked at her new partner whom she’d just met, Wesley Law. He looked at her in turn, grimacing and arching a brow in question.
She nodded. “Oh, hell. We should go study up.”
“Well, once we know about ourselves and what has been discovered regarding the victims, we should be fine. I know how to make contact if needed, though it’s easy. Then I’ll follow you. You’ll know what we should and shouldn’t do as just folks out on a cruise having a good time, where we should hang out. You are the cruise expert,” he reminded her.
She wasn’t sure why she needed to defend the fact that she was as familiar as she was with cruising—she just did.
“I grew up here—there were always specials out of Miami or Fort Lauderdale. My parents loved the water, my dad was once a navy SEAL. He loved any place where one could go diving and he made sure that his kids could swim—in Florida there’s water everywhere.”
