Seven pairs of eyes were focused on Anjali.
“What is it you wish of me?” the voice asked.
Odina’s eyes flew open. “No one told me she was a medium,” she hissed.
“Wait your turn, Wilder,” Vivica snapped.
“She wasn’t opening herself up,” Scott said. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
Anjali’s body was taut. The muscles in her neck stood out. “The host is unwilling,” the voice said.
Coulter leaned over and looked at Scott. “Shit, what do we do?”
“Keep holding hands. Don’t break the circle,” Scott whispered. “We have to wait until she fights it or the spirit leaves.”
Anjali’s face creased in a smile that was crafty and cunning, wholly foreign to her. “Will you not ask a question?”
“What do you want?” Sly asked.
“My name is Mary and I want this body,” the voice said.
“Mary Chestnut was the actress who killed herself in the bathroom of her suite,” Sly said excitedly.
“Well, duh,” Coulter replied.
“Two mediums may not be present during a séance,” Odina insisted, looking sulky.
Suddenly a tremor passed through Anjali’s body, and she fell back against the seat.
Scott reached out and checked the pulse on the side of her neck. He touched her cheek. “Anjali?”
Her eyes fluttered open. She shuddered. “The presence slipped in.”
“Was it Mary Chestnut?” Sly asked.
“It was definitely a she. Her thoughts were in my head. All I could feel was this violent hate. I think she killed Mary.”
Sly shook his head. “Mary committed suicide. Besides, the spirit said she was Mary.”
“Spirits do lie,” Scott pointed out.
Slowly Vivica clapped her hands. “Well, that was an Oscar-winning performance. Wilder, you’ve trained her well.”
“You saw her face,” Coulter argued. “I’m surprised her head didn’t start spinnin’ around.”
“She was definitely possessed,” Sly agreed.
Vivica smiled at Sly. “Excuse me, but what you know about mediums wouldn’t fit inside of a bumblebee’s ass. Possession is very easily faked. I can vouch for Odina; she’s done a number of séances. What you’ve just seen here is nothing more than trickery.”
In the distance a door slammed, stalling further conversation. The sound of footsteps moved toward them.
Anjali turned to Coulter. “Do you feel that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “A freakish energy or something.”
A moment later, one of Vivica’s minions walked into the room with a man Scott recognized. He couldn’t forget those cold gray eyes.
Hans Morden.
Vivica moved quickly toward them. She and her minion whispered for a few minutes before she turned around. “Odina, I no longer need your services.”
Anjali grabbed Scott’s arm. “He’s telepathic, isn’t he? That man? He’s like me.”
Odina remained seated. “I still get paid, right?”
Vivica nodded at one of her men, who pulled out a check and tossed it in front of Odina.
“But what about my ride?” Odina demanded.
“Get a taxi, you old cow,” Vivica snapped. She swept out of the room with Hans, followed by her team.
“So what’s the plan?” Anjali asked. “No way am I doing another séance.”
Scott spread out a map of the ship on the table. “So we can assume there are two main areas of psychic activity,” Scott said. “The boiler room and the cabin where Mary Chestnut killed herself.”
“You know, I didn’t think this through,” Coulter said. “What are we going to do? Try to run faster than Vivica’s team and clean out these places before she does?”
“Well, they can’t be in two places,” Scott pointed out. “If they’re in the boiler room, then we’ll head for Mary’s cabin.”
“Where is Mary’s cabin?” Anjali asked.
Scott pointed to a spot on the map. “Upper deck, left wing.”
Anjali glanced up and cocked her head to the left. “They’re in the cabin.” Both men turned to face her. “I can feel him, Hans. Can’t you, Coulter?”
“Before, not now.”
Scott watched her, his expression concerned. “Is Hans communicating with you?”
“Not exactly but you know how sometimes you can be really aware of someone? Their very presence can change the energy of a room.”
“I don’t like this,” Scott said. “Hans is unstable. If he starts pushing into your mind…we’ll let Vivica have this case.”
Anjali felt like a baby. Ooh, the creepy psychic is scaring me. “Forget it,” she said. “I can sense him; he can sense me. At least I know where he is and I can avoid him. Let’s take a look at the boiler room.”
She got up, heading for the door, and then stopped. “Umm, where is the boiler room exactly?”
The boiler room was a case of residual haunting.
The spirits of the dead engineers were trapped in the room, reliving their last moments of running up the steps trying to escape.
Anjali went down into the room, stopping on the last step. She could feel the pressure on her chest, the inability to breathe, everything the two men had faced.
She closed her eyes and cleansed the room in a matter of moments.
Coulter was waiting for her at the top. He smiled. “Done?”
“Done. Where’s Scott?”
He shrugged. “Mumbled something about finding Sly. Come on, I want to show you something.” He pointed to a light fixture. “Watch this.” He stared at the bulb. For a second it flickered and then began to grow brighter and brighter until Anjali had to shield her eyes.
“Forget solar power,” she said. “We’ve got a new energy source.”
He grinned. “And I’m one hundred percent environmentally friendly.”
The bulb suddenly exploded, and she jumped. Coulter caught her around the middle and swung her toward him, laughing.
He put her down so her back was against the wall and planted a hand on either side of her, blocking her in.
Well, this was unexpected, she thought.
His hand drifted to her hair, and he lazily curled a lock around his finger. “I think you’re exotic.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. Nothing to do with ghosts. Just hormones. She laughed nervously. “Exotic? Not really. The country is crawling with Indians. We’re pretty mainstream.”
Coulter’s warm breath tickled her ear and his lips grazed the side of her cheek. “Is that right?”
Becoming a professional psychic had certainly done wonders for her love life.
Still.
Beautiful as he was, she wasn’t sure about the timing. Not with crazy Hans lurking in her mind. Not when she’d been so recently possessed by a murderous ghost. Not when…
His mouth moved over hers. A moment later his tongue parted her lips.
Hai Ram.
Someone cleared his throat.
She felt Coulter pull away and opened her eyes. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Scott standing there.
His face was perfectly smooth, composed. “Hans has disappeared.”
“What!” She stepped away from Coulter and reached out with her mind. Nothing. Great, now Hans had gone from lurking in her mind to possibly lurking behind the next corner.
“We’ll continue with the investigation. Unless Hans bothers us, he’s Vivica’s problem,” Scott said. “I’m heading to the upper deck. Meet me there.” He walked off.
Coulter pulled out a cigarette pack and tapped the bottom. “I’ve been dyin’ for one of these.”
Anjali pushed her hair back from her face and straightened her shirt. “That was a little awkward.”
“How so?” He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and began searching through his pockets. “Got a light?”
“No, sorry. Well, awkward because…umm…Scott saw us. We’re supposed to be working here.”
“Who cares? I thought you meant awkward because Wilder’s jealous.” He yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at it. “I wonder if I can light this thing myself.”
“Scott can’t be jealous.”
Coulter quirked a brow. “Didn’t you see his face? Looked like he’d been punched in the gut.”
“It did?” Anjali hadn’t noticed. She suddenly felt very clueless for a psychic.
Coulter leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Aren’t you cute? Tell the boss I’ll meet ya’ll in the dead chick’s room.”
Anjali watched him walk away.
She stood there for a moment until the uneasiness hit. Hans was on the loose and she was all alone.
Which way was the upper deck again? Instead of a sixth sense, why couldn’t she have been born with a directional sense?
She’d barely taken a step when Scott’s voice crashed into her skull, startling her with its strength.
Anjali!
His voice boomed in her head, and the urgency made her run.
She ran down the metal gangplank, trying to zero in on his presence. She started toward a metal door, then backed up and headed down another hallway.
She reached out, focusing. Where are you?
She was in an isolated strip of corridor. On one side was the wall and on the other the railing, beyond that were the bowels of the ship. In front of her was another metal door, and she tried it. Locked.
Anjali.
Scott was here, she could feel him. With a smile of relief she turned around.
But it wasn’t Scott who stood behind her.
It was Hans Morden.