“So what did you believe in the end?” Liam asked him.

“Let’s see…one woman told me that alien monsters lived in the Bermuda Triangle and that they rose from the depths to kill. But that’s not what I believe. I believe that the most logical answer is that Carlos Roca killed the actor—Travis—and came back to camp and behaved normally. Then he left with the girl, killed her, came back and staged the scene—and disappeared himself. It might have been hard for him at first. But there are a lot of places where you can go by boat, and I don’t care how any government or law-enforcement group tries—there are just miles and miles and miles of coast around here, along Florida and in the Caribbean. It’s possible to disappear. And after a few years, he could establish a new name, and eventually, people would forget to look for him.”

“What about the others on the island?” Sean persisted. Jimena frowned, having answered the question once.

“We’re working with what was left of that crew now. I’d like to know what you thought of all of them—and if you think it was possible that whoever carried out those murders had an accomplice,” Sean explained.

Jimena arched his brows. “Well…I suppose it’s possible. It seemed to me that they were all in reach of one another, but…I suppose you’d have to ask them all if they’re really certain they were all together at the times when it occurred. I know that when the investigations took place, no one suspected the survivors of being guilty.”

“That doesn’t mean that they weren’t,” David said quietly.

“Well, no, of course not. All I can tell you is that it was…clean, if that makes sense. There were no mounds of drying blood. There were no footprints, no fingerprints, and there wasn’t a murder weapon to be found, and they had to have been chopped to pieces. We searched for the boat and never found it. If you’re out with that crew and you’re the least bit suspicious, well—I’d keep one hell of a good eye on them.” Solid, experienced man that Jimena was, he shuddered. “That was one hell of a scene on Haunt Island. One hell of a scene.”

Soon after, they left Jimena, thanking him for his help.

“I think there’s something we should start doing,” Sean said as he, David and Liam headed back.

Liam looked at him sharply.

“I’ve charted a number of recent disappearances. I think we might want to make another chart and do some comparisons. You’re the only one with the contacts to do it, Liam,” Sean told him.

“All right. What am I doing?” Liam asked.

Sean explained.

“Vanessa! Vanessa!”

It was natural, of course, that the others ran after her.

She ignored them at first, running as fast as she could to the path, and then frantically searching the smaller trails among the foliage, hoping against hope that she would find Carlos, that he would be alive and real, and ready to tell her the truth about what had happened—including the fact that he was innocent.

But Carlos was nowhere to be found, and she was left on a path, frustrated and breathless.

A twig snapped behind her and she jumped, suddenly aware that the sun had fallen, she was in the midst of bushes—and she was supposed to be careful and wary.

She spun around.

It was Jay.

He was angry.

He held the camera at his side. It slapped against his leg.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

He took a step toward her. In her life, she had never been afraid of Jay. She reminded herself that she had known him forever. He was the little kid her own age who lived down the street.

But she stepped back.

Jay started to lift the camera. She had the bizarre fear that he was about to crash it down on her head.

But Zoe came running down the path, crashing into Jay’s back. And Jake was right behind Zoe.

“Hey!” Jake said, trying to defuse the situation. Apparently, Jake realized that Jay was really angry.

“Vanessa!” Zoe gasped.

Katie came running from the other direction. She was armed.

She held a giant stick in her hand.

“Vanessa, oh, thank God!” Katie breathed.

“What in hell were you doing?” Jay demanded, still angry.

She opened her mouth. She didn’t want to tell anyone about Carlos. Especially not Jay. Not at that moment.

“I was imagining things,” she said. “Silly. Ridiculous. I—I thought I saw Dona Isabella standing here.”

“What?” Jay exclaimed.

Zoe gasped. “What?”

“It’s ridiculous. I’m a little unnerved, I guess. Finding a corpse, finding out the corpse was stolen. I’m sorry, guys, really, I saw a lady standing here and thought it was Dona Isabella. Actually, I scared the poor woman half to death. She was a young Cuban woman, strikingly beautiful, just like Dona Isabella,” Vanessa said. The lying was coming too easily, but then, she had thought once that she’d seen Dona Isabella, or she did see her often, her face carved as a figurehead, in her dreams… Maybe reality and imagination were blending so that the line was barely there anymore, this lie was coming so easily.

“Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!” Zoe exclaimed, horrified.

Maybe she should have said that she’d seen Carlos Roca. Jay was staring at her as if she was crazy, and Zoe looked terrified.

“Look, I’m sorry, I ruined your brilliant idea. It’s getting really dark, they must be about to send the rangers in to close this place, and I want to get back to the boats,” she said.

Jay looked at her and then sighed. “Well, the first take was good. And when you took off, I wound up with some fantastic shots of the sky. But get a grip, girl!”

“Dammit, Jay, just give me a break, okay?” Vanessa asked. She cursed herself. Surely she could have thought of a different lie! One that wasn’t—supernatural.

“Oh, God, oh, God!” Zoe said.

“Hey, there’s a cute little restaurant bar just down from Dinner Key marina—we’ll go and indulge in big stiff drinks and feel better all the way around!” Jake suggested.

Vanessa didn’t want a drink. She wanted to be away from all of them. Except for Katie.

But Katie wanted peace and happiness all the way round. “One big stiff drink apiece,” she said. “We’ll have a long day tomorrow. One big friendly drink.”

“And Vanessa will start seeing little green people, aliens in the Bermuda Triangle,” Jay said.

Jake punched Jay in the arm—not hard, but soundly. “Jay, stop!”

Jay stared at Jake. He had a superior, angry look in his eyes for a moment. The look seemed to say Hey, I’m a director/producer, I’m the boss.

But Jay wasn’t a producer/director on this shoot.

He let out a breath suddenly. “Jake, thanks—I needed that,” he said with a laugh. “Vanessa, I’m sorry. I was just— You looked so beautiful there, your hair kind of floating in the breeze, with the lights and the bridge and the foliage. And it was forlorn, it had…oh, well. I’m a great editor. I’ll make it work, and Sean and David will love it.”

He was Jay again. The Jay she had known forever. She felt silly, being afraid of him.

“Let’s get that drink,” she said.

They had fun. Vanessa was pleased that she hadn’t insisted she was going back.

The bar was composed of a small number of tables with palm-frond shelters over them, their waitress was nice, and a single guitarist played and sang.

When they returned to the boat, Marty was on deck, taking his guard duty very seriously.

“Ahoy, who goes there?” he demanded.

“It’s us—we’re back,” Vanessa told him. She was capable of jumping down to the deck, as were Zoe and Jay, but Marty rose, ever the gentleman, to help them on board.

“Are the guys back yet, Marty?” Vanessa asked.

“Jaden and Ted came back half an hour ago, and they’re both in bed. Sean, Liam and David are still out, but they’ll be along soon, I warrant,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be right here, right here on deck, if you need me, though.”

“Thanks, Marty,” she told him. “I guess I am calling it a night. Good night, Jay.”

“Good night, Vanessa,” Jay said. “I’ll hang out here with Marty a bit, I guess.” He was silent, looking at her. “Good night,” he said again, and then, his back to Marty, he mouthed, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

She smiled and nodded. “See you in the morning.”

In the master’s cabin, she started. Bartholomew was next to the bed, one ghostly buckle-shoe foot upon it as he stood in a Captain Morgan stance. He gave her a start, and she thought again that she was having trouble with reality and fiction or imagination.

He was a ghost, he was real. As real as a ghost could be. Others saw him.

He was glaring at her.

“What?” she murmured.

He shook his head, and then wagged a finger at her.

“I followed you today,” he said.

“You did? Well, that was…nice of you? Or nosy of you?” she asked.

He sighed, set his foot on the floor and walked to her. It was odd. She could feel him. At first, she had thought that he was cold. A cold breeze.

But now she thought that he offered a strange warmth. She saw his eyes, and he was concerned. Bartholomew liked her. She was glad.

She would have liked him.

“Vanessa, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you have to tell Sean the truth,” Bartholomew said. “What truth?”

“That Carlos Roca was in the park, following you. At least, I think that’s who it is. And he was in Key West, too, at the pirate festivities. He’s been watching you—and following you,” Bartholomew said.

Vanessa gasped. She sank down on the bed in the cabin, and Bartholomew sank down beside her.

“He’s real,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Bartholomew said.