Page 70 of Terminal Voyage

"And during that time, do you ever remember seeing an attractive redhead aboard? Stylish hair that hung just above her shoulders. Classic features, emerald eyes."

Pete looked uncomfortable. "You’ve asked me this before.”

“I’m asking again.”

“I'm not really supposed to talk about passengers.”

"Right. Nondisclosure agreement.”

"It's in all of our contracts.”

"What about crew matching that description?”

He lifted his hands, helpless. "I can't tell anybody anything about what happens aboard this boat, who comes on the boat, and what they do.”

"You take that seriously, don't you?"

"I like my job. Besides, when I give somebody my word, I stick to it.”

"That's admirable.” I paused for a moment. "I don't want you to do anything that could get you in trouble. But let's say I kept pressing the issue. And you actually do recall someone who matches that description. Somebody who had been aboard this boat in the last six months. You'd probably say good night and walk away before you compromised your oath."

Pete hesitated for a moment. “Ah, see now you’ve put me in a really awkward position. I’m going to say good night eventually, and you’re going to wonder.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He sucked his lips again. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night. Whoops! See, there, I said it.”

Pete walked off, and I wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction.

I leaned against the gunwale, looking out over the sea. Moonlight glowed the water. The wind blew across the deckand rustled the pages of a fashion magazine that Sophia had left on a chair. She had been reading it before dinner.

I moved across the deck and picked it up. I figured I'd give it back to her or leave it at her door on the way back. The page just happened to be open to an ad with a gorgeous model wearing a designer gown. Diamonds sparkled her elegant décolletage. She wore long, elbow-length gloves and had dark smoky eyeshadow. She looked like a Hollywood movie star of old. I did a double-take.

The model was Kate.

I was sure of it.

Both the model and photographer were credited in the small print of the advertisement.

Kate Moreau.

I wasn't crazy at all. This was the woman I had seen. The woman I’d had a conversation with.

I hurried back to my stateroom. I wanted to tell someone. Everyone. But it was late. I thought about calling Tyson in Coconut Key, but I didn't want to disturb him at this hour.

Back in my cabin, I searched the Internet on my phone and tried to learn everything I could about Kate Moreau.

What I found chilled me to the bone.

35

The headline read:Missing model feared dead.

The article went on to detail Kate’s last known contact with anyone. According to cellular records, the last text she sent was to her agent in Miami. I desperately wanted to know the contents of that text.

Corazón Bay was a beautiful port city with luxury hotels and fine dining, but also high crime. Kate wouldn’t have been the first American to vanish in the city. It was easy for people to write off her disappearance as misfortune. Just another victim of the bad element in a corrupt Caribbean city.

According to the article, Kate had been missing for over a month.