He laughed. “You told Grant. That’s like posting something on Facebook. And the one guy, Malachi Gordon, introduced himself to us the other day.”
Abby laughed. “I didn’t exactly bring in a bunch of FBI. Malachi Gordon showed up because of Gus’s funeral,” she said. That was true. Let them think he was a representative of the agency, there to show his respects. “But, Sullivan, four bodies have been found—three, and then the one today. At least two of the victims were from other states. One was a college girl. And we don’t know about the last.”
“That’s really sad, Abby. What do you think is going on? What did they teach you at FBI school?”
“I’d have the same suspicions now whether I’d gone to the academy or not,” Abby said. She wasn’t giving anything away by stating the obvious. “I suspect there’s a serial killer in Savannah.”
“Yeah?” He stopped what he was doing and rested his elbows on the bar. “I don’t get it, though. Three women, one man. And...”
“And?”
“You went crazy when you found him,” he said gently. “If there’s a serial killer, why would he go after Gus—and how did he get into the tunnel?”
“I have no idea, Sullivan. Maybe I was a little crazy. Gus was everything to me,” Abby said.
One thing she’d learned: an agent shouldn’t share thoughts or information with anyone other than those also working the case, unless someone was at risk. Information in the wrong hands could be dangerous.
Not that she considered Sullivan a suspect. It would’ve been impossible for the man to slink through the restaurant, since he was always behind the bar.
“I’m so sorry, Abby. You know we all loved him,” he was saying.
“Thanks. I do know that.”
He touched her cheek, a brotherly gesture. “Be careful, okay?” he said huskily.
“I am careful. And guess what? I excelled in marksmanship. I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sullivan.”
He backed away, looking toward the door. “Hmm. Your FBI man is back—with a suitcase.”
“Yeah, he’s going to be staying here.”
“Oh?” Sullivan said. A smile twitched his lips.
“No oh,” she told him. “Helen Long was last seen here, and we’re near the river, that’s all.”
“Now that’s a shame,” Sullivan teased. “That it’s just business, I mean.”
“Sullivan,” she warned.
“Tall, dark and handsome. Has a nice aura about him, full of confidence. You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know. Hmm. You have done worse.”
“Hey!”
“Just sayin’. You always dated pretty boys. Not up to par. And from what I’ve seen in the past few years, you date someone for a few months, then you’re bored.”
“That’s not true! I’ve been focused on my career, that’s all.”
Malachi was coming to join her at the bar. She frowned fiercely at Sullivan.
“Well, then, just jump his bones. Everybody’s life is better with some hot sex in it,” Sullivan told her.
“Stop it!”
He made a show of buttoning his lips. Malachi slid his suitcase up beside his bar stool. “I’m...back,” he said a little lamely. “Everything okay here?”
“Right as rain,” Sullivan said before she could respond.
“Come on up. I’ll show you Gus’s room.” Abby smiled sweetly at her bartender.
“Yep, and don’t worry about anything,” Sullivan said. “Grant and I will see that the place is locked up tight.”
“Thanks,” Abby said.
Malachi smiled at Sullivan, got his bag and followed her up the stairs. She flicked on the light as she opened the door to the apartment. “I talked to Roger English. We’re all set to meet him in the morning.”
“Good,” Malachi said absently. He stepped into the apartment and glanced around. “Nice.” He walked in, noted the little coffee nook and moved into the center of the living room area. He went straight to the balcony. “Do you mind if I look out?” he asked her.
“Of course not.”
He opened the door and stepped onto the balcony. Leaning, he looked to the left. She followed him.
“So you grew up here?” he asked.
“Here, and at our family’s house on Chippewa Square,” she said. “When my parents died—my mom and then my dad—I spent my time here with Gus. And my grandmother, of course, when she was still with us.”
“It’s hard to lose family,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
A moment later, he gave his attention to the view. “You can see the river from here.”
“You can,” Abby agreed. “Of course, if they build up anymore, it’ll block the view.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “And made sense for old pirates.”
“And maybe new pirates?”
He turned and looked at her. “You’re worried that this place is somehow being used. But because a woman was last seen here doesn’t mean the Dragonslayer has anything to do with what’s going on.”