Darkest Journey by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

have to change planes in New Orleans.”
    Jackson grinned. “Report in to me as soon as you have a feel for what’s going on. Jude and I can join you early if you think we can help. That plane goes back and forth whenever we want it to.”
    Ethan took the folder and headed out of the office.
    Within an hour he was on the private plane provided by Adam Harrison.
    As he flew, he read the dossiers on the dead men.
    Then he looked out the window and gave himself up to memories of Charlie Moreau.
    * * *
    â€œIt’s going to be all right, Charlie—really. This situation has nothing to do with you or Brad or the movie. You stumbled on something very bad that someone else did. You can’t go letting it affect your life. In fact, you should be glad you found the poor man, because now the police can try to find some justice for him.”
    Jonathan Moreau set his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and hugged her gently.
    She was sitting with her father on a bluff high above the Mississippi. It was a short distance from Grace Church and the place where she’d found the body of a man who’d been identified as Farrell Hickory dressed in his Confederate cavalry uniform.
    That area still had crime-scene tape around it.
    From her perch atop the bluff she could see the people she assumed were forensic investigators searching the area. The police had told her that they hoped to finish by that evening. Meanwhile, Brad had rearranged the shooting schedule until they were free to use the fields again.
    Since then she’d spent a lot of time on the phone in a three-way conversation with Clara Avery and Alexi Cromwell, good friends she’d worked with a number of times in the past. They were now working with the FBI and knew a number of agents, including Ethan.
    â€œYou can’t let it get to you, Charlie,” her father said.
    She knew he was right. The murder had nothing to do with her or the film crew. A vicious killer had murdered Farrell Hickory, and it was likely that the same person had murdered Albion Corley, as well. He’d been of mixed African and Caucasian descent, and had been wearing a replica Union uniform when he’d been killed.
    Not long before Albion’s death, he and Farrell Hickory had performed with a number of other reenactors on the same riverboat, the Journey , where her father worked, as part of an in-depth Civil War–themed cruise.
    Charlie turned to her father and asked, “Why, Dad? Why them? This is nuts! I mean, one victim was half black and one was white, one was reenacting the Confederate side and the other the Union side. What was the killer thinking?”
    â€œMaybe he’s just someone who hates war,” her father said.
    â€œThat doesn’t make any sense. He hates war, so he commits cold-blooded murder instead?”
    â€œCharlie,” her father said, “if you ask me, murder never makes sense. Taking another man’s—or woman’s—life is brutal, cruel and ultimately senseless. But the police are investigating, so leave it to them. You’re an actress, and a darned good one. You’re not a cop. You...” He paused, looking off into the distance.
    Charlie loved her father. Her mom had died suddenly the summer after her first year of college. It had been an aneurysm—one day a minor headache she laughed off, the next day...gone. She and her dad had been devastated. Her father was a handsome man, fifty-four years old. But he still hadn’t even gone on a date. When she’d actually tried to get him to go out with one of the entertainers on the riverboat, he’d just smiled and told her, “Maybe one day I’ll be ready for someone, but let’s face it—in my heart and mind, no one can begin to live up to your mom.”
    She’d decided to let him be. When he was ready, she would be ready, too. She knew that—right or wrong—if he’d gotten involved with another woman