But if her grandfather had been a victim of the same killer, was he surprised by him in the tunnel to the point of having a heart attack? Or perhaps forced to move quickly in an attempt to escape and that had brought it on?
She looked up. Malachi had reappeared. He’d evidently taken a shower because his dark hair was damp and slicked back. She noted the clean scent that emanated from him and the color of his eyes and the way he stood. And, as she’d told herself before, he could certainly appear intimidating.
He was wearing jeans, a tailored shirt and a lightweight taupe jacket. She saw that he wore a shoulder holster and suspected that he was seldom without his weapon. She was without hers. Pirate wenches didn’t run around with Glocks. But in the days to come, she had to remember that she was an agent, which meant having her weapon available at all times. She’d asked for help that had turned out to be Malachi, and if she wanted to carry her weight, she had to behave like an agent.
He could disguise himself, too. First, he’d caught her unaware from out of the shadows. Then she’d spoken to him on the ship and not even known who he was!
“Ready,” he said lightly. “I’m assuming you might want to change? But maybe not. That pirate garb is quite fetching.”
She took a last sip of her tea and rose. She was glad she was fairly tall; in the pirate boots, she didn’t feel short against his height. Abby wasn’t sure why that mattered. But it did, probably because she felt that she’d been taken in by him a few times. Of course, maybe he really hadn’t meant to make her feel like a fool. Maybe he’d just accomplished the feat by accident.
“I think I will give up the pirate attire for now,” she said. “Shall we go back to the Dragonslayer?”
During the short drive, Malachi asked Abby if she’d seen anything in the files to draw her attention. She told him what she’d read, and then realized that he must have known the cause of death—and the fact that the women had engaged in sex, which was most likely not consensual. He would also know that the man had not been molested. After all, he’d spent an hour with his detective friend.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“If there are two killers?” Malachi asked, glancing over at her. “I don’t know. My guess is that the murders are being done by the same person. The disposal of the bodies is what makes me think so.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Abby said thoughtfully. “And cause of death—drowning—is the same in each case.”
When they arrived at the Dragonslayer, Dirk Johansen was at the bar with Bootsie and Aldous. He’d obviously had a drink to calm his nerves.
Macy met her at the door. “He’s pretty upset,” she murmured. “But then, from what I understand, you found the body. And it might be Helen Long!”
“I don’t think it’s Helen,” Abby said softly. She saw that Macy was studying Malachi. “Hello, there. You were at the funeral, right?”
Abby made the introductions. “Macy, this is Malachi Gordon. Malachi, Macy Sterling.”
“How do you do, and yes, I was here yesterday,” Malachi told her. “I’m a friend of a friend of Abby’s at the agency.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” Macy said. “A fed.”
“Technically, I’m more of a fed than he is,” Abby couldn’t resist pointing out. A smile of amusement glimmered on Malachi’s face. He didn’t say a word. She sensed that he wasn’t being polite, he really didn’t care if he was an agent or a detective or an investigator. He was interested in the job, not the title.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” Macy said, shaking his hand. Macy liked him, Abby thought. Or, at least, admired his appearance. She had that look she wore when she found a man attractive.
“Thank you,” Malachi said, bowing slightly.
“I’m going up to change,” Abby announced. “Malachi, come on up and you can wait in Gus’s office.”
“It’s your office now,” Macy said.
“It will always be Gus’s office,” Abby said. Macy seemed a little stricken and Abby quickly added with a smile, “Okay, let’s call it Gus’s and my office. How about that?”
Macy smiled.
Abby strode over to the bar. Aldous glanced at her and nodded at Dirk, who was staring down into his drink, then shook his head sadly. Abby set a hand on Dirk’s shoulder. “Dirk?”
Dirk looked up at her. “That could be Helen,” he said. “That could be Helen. That blond hair... Helen has blond hair that streams around her like that.”
“Dirk, you couldn’t really tell if the hair was blond or not,” Abby told him. “The woman we found was light-haired, but...I know Helen, Dirk. I don’t think it was her. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“I’ve been trying to contact her family,” he said. “The police have been trying.... I have no idea what to say to them, but I’ve got a reprieve. They’re on safari in Kenya. It’ll be another week before they can be reached. Oh, Lord—I pray we find her, alive, before then.”
Malachi’s phone rang and he excused himself to answer it.