Ship Happens (Slaycation #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Frankie

M y mother thinks this is a terrible idea. She’s seated on the couch in her living room. The space is clinical—all-white everything—which is at odds with my mother’s warm nature.

Yes, that was sarcasm. The woman is about as warm as a penguin’s asshole, but she’s my mother. It’s just her way.

She worries her nails, not gnawing them off but running them through her teeth. Such a nasty habit, but I won’t scold her this time. I understand her concern. A couple of agents going into a scenario filled with hardened killers is nothing to sniff at.

“Mama, I’ll be okay,” I say. I take her hands in mine to stop the incessant nail nipping. “I’m pushing forty, and I’ve finally been given a job in the field. Can’t you be happy for me?”

She shakes her head, sending her gray hair into a flurry around her head. “Couldn’t they send you to North Korea? Frankie, I don’t want you dealing with serial killers.” She shudders.

My mother and I are in similar lines of work, though her dealings have been more on the documented side. The general American public hears about her accomplishments, especially after she studied some of the most notorious killers up close. My dealings, however...

I’m a ghost. Well, figuratively, and mostly from my office computer. I get in, I get out, and I try to leave as little trace of my existence as possible. There are no accolades, no public ceremonies to celebrate which dictator or crime lord I’ve toppled. It all happens beyond the public scope.

But it hasn’t been enough. I’ve wanted to go into the field, just like my mother, since the day I got the job. I haven’t been afforded this opportunity.

Until now.

“World leaders wield power and money,” my mother continues. “You won’t be swayed by that, but the killers, Frankie? They wield charisma, and that’s a far more powerful weapon.”

Another daughter would smirk at this, maybe even roll her eyes and tell her mother to stop being silly. But my mother speaks from experience, and I am the direct product of a difficult lesson learned.

“I’ll be careful, Mama.” I place my hand over hers, then rise to stand. “My meeting with Castle is soon, though, so I need to head out. I thought we could have dinner before I leave, but the plans have been moved up.”

“This is all happening so fast,” she says. Her hand rises toward her mouth again, and I lean down to place it back in her lap.

I pat her hand once more. “I’ll be gone for two weeks. The first week is the mission, and the second week is the debrief. Maybe longer if I discover something substantial.”

“If you come back at all.”

Now I roll my eyes. “I’ll be back in three weeks at the most. Just plan to take me to dinner when I return. I want to eat at the Italian manor.”

“Deluca’s?”

“That’s the one.” I squeeze her shoulder and stand. “Make a reservation for the nineteenth at seven. I’m sure to be back by then.”

“You wouldn’t miss a dinner at Deluca’s for the world,” she says as her shoulders finally relax.

“Exactly, so you know I’ll be back.”

My mother relents with a nod, though she won’t meet my eyes.

She still isn’t happy about this mission, but I don’t blame her for her fears.

I don’t know many mothers who would want their daughter to plant themselves in a situation that puts them within a serial killer’s grasp, let alone an entire ship full of them.

But that’s exactly what I’ll be doing, and Castle will join me. It’s the first time our agency has required we work as a team, which means they want to hedge their bets. They expect to lose at least one of us, so they sent the second as an insurance policy.

Hi. I’m the insurance policy.

Castle was none too pleased when he learned I’d be accompanying him.

He was supposed to head this mission alone.

It’s simple enough on the surface. Break into a rumored serial-killer retreat, then get evidence that can take down the suspected kingpin: none other than Jim Madigan, the Siesta Killer.

He’s been on our radar for years, but he’s always one step ahead of us.

If we can take him down, his entire murdery empire will go with him.

“The nineteenth at seven!” I shout as I open the front door. “Don’t forget!”

“Don’t fall in love!” she shouts back.

I scoff and shake my head with a smile. Not, Don’t die , or, Don’t get hurt . With the serial killers, she’s most concerned about my heart.

No worries there. My contract demands I remain a lone wolf, and my job means more to me than a meaningful connection with a human being. If I have urges, I can handle them myself. I’ve never gotten off with any help from a man, anyway, so I’m not missing out on much.

As I slide into the driver’s seat of my red sports car, the curtain beside the front door moves, and my mother’s silhouette appears in the window.

She slides the curtain aside and gives me a wave, and I return the motion.

She’s treating this like a goodbye instead of a see-you-later.

The woman has incredible intuition, but she’s wrong this time. I’ll be back.

I’m like Ross Perot in the eighties. I always come back.

I adjust the rearview mirror and apply a bit of lipstick.

Castle is intimidated by pretty women, and I just so happen to be both pretty and a woman.

I’m no supermodel by any standard, but with my dark hair and blue eyes, I stand out in a crowd.

My eye color came from my mother, but I can only assume the dark hair was passed down from my father. I’ve never met the man.

Spring sunshine blasts through my windshield as I pick up speed on a back road.

My phone rings in the cupholder, and I glance at it.

It’s Castle, probably wanting to know where I am and why I’m nearly late.

He’s an uptight prick, and for that reason, I let it go to voicemail and ease up on the gas.

I take my time and ignore the following three calls as well.

The traffic picks up as I near the airport.

Richmond International is a bit busy today, but we have to fly out of here because Castle “knows a guy.” If we want no record of ourselves or our movements, we have to operate this way.

The right hand of the law doesn’t always need to know what the left hand is doing, after all.

The parking garage eventually slides into view, and I tuck my sleek car into a spot for an extended stay. I hate leaving her exposed like this, but I don’t rideshare. If I’m not in control of the car, I don’t feel safe.

Once my luggage lies in a black pile at my feet, I swipe my hand down my black pantsuit to remove the wrinkles, then snag a quick glance of myself in my car’s reflection.

I’m certain to have Castle quaking in his boots.

A pretty woman in a position of power will unravel him, and I am the picture of power and independence.

I don’t want to overwhelm him for the sake of overwhelming him.

There are two roles up for grabs, and we were told to decide who would best fit each role.

We’ve been fighting about it for weeks, and King—our division’s director—told us we couldn’t board the planes until we come to a decision.

That’s why I’m bringing out the big guns.

I refuse to play the part of a killer at this retreat.

If that’s even what this is. As I said, we’ve heard the rumors.

We know of the whisperings. What we don’t have is hard proof, and that’s what we’ve been tasked with retrieving.

Every attempt has been blocked thus far.

We’ve had agents get as far as booking a place at the retreat, only for the information to completely disappear the next day.

We’ve been good, but they’ve been better.

Until now.

I spot Castle at our terminal inside the airport.

He paces beside the massive window, his phone clutched in his meaty fist as he scowls at the departing planes.

Sunshine blasts through the window and glints off his shining bald head.

Skinny jeans hug his legs, riding a little too high on his ankles.

His shirt is just as tight. Men with that much muscle should really wear looser clothing.

He looks like he’s shrunk all his laundry. What a chode.

I approach him and drop my black leather carry-on bag at my feet. “Been shopping in the toddler section again, I see. Those nut crushers don’t look good on anyone, you realize.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says, jumping right to the meat and potatoes. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized you’d blow our fucking cover if you play the part of a killer. I can do what would need to be done. You’d choke.”

My brain analyzes his words, parsing the potential meanings as quickly as he spits out each sentence. Maybe he’s being serious. Maybe he believes I’ll jeopardize the entire operation because I’m incapable of killing someone if I’m not under duress.

Or maybe he’s playing the same game I’m playing after all.

Just as I’ve used his weaknesses against him—his weakness around pretty women in powerful positions—he could be using the same tactic against me.

By challenging my abilities, he’s hoping I’ll defend my pride by swallowing the bait and demanding the position he’s now requesting. Simple reverse psychology.

“We should let a randomizer decide.” I pull a coin from my pocket. “Heads or tails?”

He licks his thin lips and looks at the coin. His skin is always a little redder than what’s normal for any human being, but now he’s turning maroon. “Let me play the criminal, Ghost.”

I inwardly cringe at the stupid fucking name. By the time I joined their task force, all the chess-piece names had been given out, and I was stuck with a maneuver. Better than En Passant, I guess. Another chode.

“I’m perfectly fine with leaving it up to fate. I mean, unless you think you might choke.” I move the silver dollar through my fingers, flicking the medallion over my knuckles with practiced ease. “Come on, Castle. You scared?”

He grits his teeth and shakes his head. “Fuck you. Flip the coin.”

“Heads, you’re the killer. Tails, I’m the criminal. Deal?”

The dumbass actually nods his head, and that’s when I realize the error of my ways. If he plays the part of the killer, he will definitely blow our cover, but if he plays the part of the stupid criminal, we might actually pull this off. I’ll just have to suck it up and become the thing I hate.

I stuff the coin back into my pocket and shake my head. “Fuck it. You can be the criminal.”

He grins and pumps his fist in the air, but the smile and enthusiasm slide off his face seconds later. “Hang on, why are you giving it up so easily? Do you know something I don’t?”

“We have the same intel, genius, so how would I know more than you?”

“Go over it again. Both sides.”

I look around. There are too many nosy people milling nearby for me to lay out our mission so plainly, so I grip his shirtsleeve and pull him and his tight-ass pants into an alcove.

Once I’m certain we’re well out of earshot, I tell him all the things he should already know and has likely forgotten. The man has the brain of a goldfish.

“The criminal will meet with our operative to be placed inside the ship before the cruise is underway. The mission is to collect intel on how these criminals are housed, subdued, and transported around the retreat. The inner workings of the underpinning, if you will.”

“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. The other guests.”

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.