Page 3 of Ship Happens
“Right. I just have to play the part of a bad guy and remember whatever I see.”
“Exactly.”
“And the killer?”
“The killer will be required to board as a guest. Their job is to get as close to Jim Madigan as possible.”
“And kill people.”
“If that’s even required. We don’t know that it will be.”
Castle scoffs and folds his hefty arms over his chest. “Oh, it will be. Do you really think these sick assholes are out for a normal vacation?”
I shrug. “Maybe not for the past retreats, but they’ve done something different this time.”
“Right. Theotherguests.”
He’s referring to the fact that not everyone on this cruise is thought to be a notorious killer. Slots were opened to the general public, which is a first, if the rumors are to be believed. We just don’t know enough right now, but that will change.
Soon, we’ll know everything.
“So what’ll it be, Castle? We need to make a decision.”
He mulls over the options that aren’t really options at all. Looking at us now, I don’t know how I ever thought it could be the other way around. He looks like a criminal and I...don’t. It’s shitty that society has placed a stereotype on the mere appearance of a person, but here we are.
“Why the sudden change of heart, though?” he asks, and it’s a valid question. We don’t really know the people we work with, after all. He doesn’t even know my real name, nor do I know his.
I lean against the alcove wall and shrug. “Just pick whichever position you feel you’d do best with, and I’ll take what’s left over. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there are no ulterior motives. I just want to get on with the job.”
A voice crackles through an overhead speaker, letting everyone know that boarding is about to begin. We’re taking separate planes, and the time for debating our decisions has passed.
“That’s the criminal’s plane,” I say. “If you want that position, you’d better move those stubby fucking legs.”
He hesitates before cursing beneath his breath and hurrying off. And just like that, it’s decided. For the next week, I’m no longer Frankie Grant the Ghost.
I’m a serial killer.
Chapter Two
Maverick
The limo pulls against the curb, and I hurry to open the back door for the special guest of the evening. Eve emerges from the shadowy depths, wearing a flashy purple top and flowing pants the color of a night sky. She’s traded the box braids for a more relaxed look, allowing her thick curls to shine.
I offer her my arm. “How will the girls get any tips tonight when the entire room will be looking at you?”
“Not the entire room. Shit,I’llbe looking at the girls.” She slides her arm into mine and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s get inside. I wanna see some titties.”
Since the winter retreat, Eve and I have become best friends. She even moved in with me about a month ago, though neither of us is home very often. We’re both workaholics...and killers.
“How was your flight back from Milan?” I ask as we hurry to the side entrance. As a celebrity, Eve rarely comes in through the front door. “Better yet, how was Milan?”
She blows out a breath. “Too rainy for my taste, and sort of cold. Beautiful as always, but the weather wouldn’t cooperate for the show. We had to move it indoors, which sort of ruined the effect. I mean, we were supposed to embody Mother Earth.”
I shudder when I recall Eve’s outfit. She sent me pictures, and I’ve never seen a woman look so proud while wearing what equated to a ghillie suit. I wish I could say she still pulled it off, but I’m not sure anyone can pull off wet weeds.
Opening the side door, I usher her into the club before someone recognizes her. She turns to look at me as we step into a dark hallway.
“I’m a high-fashion model, Maverick, not a fucking pop star. You don’t have to worry about me getting mobbed at a strip club.”
