The Unspoken

AN AIRLESS TOMB. AN UNSPOKEN CURSE

1898: Bound for Chicago, the freighter Jerry McGuen goes down in Lake Michigan, taking with it every man aboard. But what other fate could befall a vessel carrying the ill-gotten sarcophagus of an Egyptian sorcerer? Because a curse unspoken is no less deadly.

Now: A veteran diver and “ghost ship” expert is exploring the legendary wreck for a documentary. He dies inexplicably inside the freighter’s main saloon. Then another diver is killed and panicked rumors rise like bubbles from the lake: ancient demons have awakened below!

The expedition’s beleaguered financier calls paranormal investigator Katya Sokolov to Chicago to save the film—and perhaps some innocent lives. Along with media forensics guru Will Chan, Kat plumbs the depths of an evil that may date back to the time of the Pharaohs. But some secrets are best drowned in the seas of the past.…

Praise for the novels of Heather Graham

“Graham wields a deftly sexy and convincing pen.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A fast-paced and suspenseful read that will give readers chills while keeping them guessing until the end.”

—RT Book Reviews on Ghost Moon

“If you like mixing a bit of the creepy with a dash of sinister and spine-chilling reading with your romance, be sure to read Heather Graham’s latest.”

—Miami Herald on Unhallowed Ground

“The Keepers is original and exciting. Constant tension—both dangerous and sexual—will keep readers on the edge of their seats.“

—RT Book Reviews

“The paranormal elements are integral to the unrelentingly suspenseful plot, the characters are likable, the romance convincing and…Graham’s atmospheric depiction of a lost city is especially poignant.”

—Booklist on Ghost Walk

“Graham’s rich, balanced thriller sizzles with equal parts suspense, romance and the paranormal—all of it nail-biting.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Vision

“Great writing and excellent characters make Wicked a terrific read.... The undercurrent of mystery and suspense will keep readers riveted.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Graham’s tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and when to tease...will keep fans turning the pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Picture Me Dead

The Unspoken

Heather

Graham

www.mirabooks.co.uk

In loving and grateful memory of my mom, Violet, who came from Dublin to the amazing city of Chicago.

And for Aunt Amy, Katie and my Irish side of the family, especially my great-grandmother who, when watching my sister and me, would warn us that the banshees “be gettin’ us in the outhouse” if we didn’t behave. (She issued this threat so well, we were teenagers before realizing we didn’t have an outhouse!) Granny, however, had a touch of magic about her, and told wonderful stories. She, my mom and all those who believed in (or pretended they believed in!) banshees, leprechauns, pixies, ghosties and all else gave me my love for what might be in the darkness or in realms we have yet to discover—and for reading.

A book, they taught me, could give me a new world or adventure to explore every day of my life.

What a gift to give a child. I am grateful to them all.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

The Unspoken is the latest book in a series that includes The Unseen and The Unholy. These books follow the activities of the special FBI units known as the Krewe of Hunters.

The Krewe also appears in Phantom Evil, Heart of Evil, Sacred Evil and The Evil Inside. Featuring a mix of the real and the paranormal, these books also contain strong mystery elements.

The Krewe’s origins lie in Adam Harrison, an elderly gentleman first seen in Haunted, who recognizes those who possess a sixth sense—whether they admit it or not. Having worked with the government several times, Adam is asked to form small and distinctive FBI units, to be sent in when traditional methods of investigation need a little boost.

The Unspoken takes the Texas Krewe away from their home state to Chicago, where a newly discovered shipwreck has taken the life of the first diver to see her since she sank at the end of the nineteenth century. But the Jerry McGuen was no ordinary ship… She had carried precious cargo from Egypt—including the mummy of an ancient Egyptian priest. Naturally, the mummy comes with a curse….

The Krewe is out to discover the truth. Can a curse be real? Can it transcend the ages? Or is it the evil in men’s hearts that continues to wreak havoc throughout time?

Texas Krewe member Kat Sokolov—a medical examiner by trade—is sent to work the case. She’s paired with Will Chan, an original member of the Krewe of Hunters and an agent well-versed in the art of illusion. Between them, they must find out what really happened to the diver—and to the ship—if they’re to keep the body count from rising.

I hope you’ll join their investigation and enjoy the adventure!

Heather Graham

A Note from the Editor

I can truly say that Heather Graham has found—or rather, created—a unique niche in contemporary romantic suspense. Her Harlequin MIRA books include mysteries, investigators with “unusual” abilities and…dead people. Yes, ghosts. Her novels have a classic flair; after all, people have been telling ghost stories for millennia. And these books invariably feature interesting, appealing characters, intense romance that’s always an integral part of the suspense plot and fascinating backgrounds.

Each of these stories is set in a great American city—San Antonio (The Unseen), Los Angeles (The Unholy), Chicago (The Unspoken) and Philadelphia (The Uninvited). They’re all places Heather knows well and describes both appreciatively and atmospherically. And, needless to say, they’re all cities that have their share of ghosts and hauntings!

I want to point out that the books can, of course, be read independently; they definitely stand alone. But I’ll bet you can’t read just one! Each story focuses on a particular member or members of the Krewe, but you’ll also meet characters you’ve encountered over the course of the series.

I also want to tell you that in 2013, the Krewe will return with stories set in brand-new (that is to say, old!) American towns and cities, like Tombstone, Arizona, and Savannah, Georgia.

But right now I invite you to come to the great city of Chicago, go diving in Lake Michigan, explore a shipwreck and discover the truth about some ancient Egyptian artifacts…and fall in love!

Paula Eykelhof

Executive Editor, Harlequin MIRA Books

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue

The midnight hour

Austin Miller loved his comfortable home. Built by his grandfather in 1872, after the ravages of the Great Chicago Fire of October 10, 1871, it had the grace—and even opulence—of the mid-Victorian era. The staircase was carpeted in deep crimson, a shade picked up in the period furniture. Swirling drapes in black and cream adorned the parlor, and the windows were etched glass. He had changed little since his grandfather’s day.

It boasted a true gentleman’s den with bookshelves that lined the walls, filled with wonderful tomes, old and new. It also boasted some of his fabulous collections, the most impressive of which was his collection of Egyptian artifacts. They were legally obtained, since Austin’s grandfather had been on the dig when Tut’s tomb was discovered; he had lived much of his life prowling the sands of the Sahara in pursuit of discoveries. Canopic jars were kept in a temperature-controlled display case, along with funerary statuettes that were gilded and bejeweled. A real sarcophagus—that of a king’s illegitimate son, of little import to Egyptians at the time—stood open in a corner of the room. It had been arranged in a display case of its own, built by his grandfather in the mid-1930s. He’d exhibited his collection of mummified snakes and cats behind glass, as well. On one side of Austin’s beautiful desk was an exquisitely crafted statue of the god Horus, adorned with gold paint and fine jewels. On the other side was a carafe, where he kept his finest brandy and glasses for when the need arose.

Yes, Austin loved his den. He held his most important meetings here, with business associates and with fellow members of the Egyptian Sand Diggers, the Society of Chicago and scholars who loved and appreciated all things Egyptian.

He felt the need for a brandy arise at that moment. Tonight, he was happy. So happy. After more than a century of being at the bottom of Lake Michigan and her shifting sands, the Jerry McGuen might well be on her way to twenty-first-century discovery!

He knew he should go to sleep. His doctor had warned him that he had to rest and that he had to avoid sleeping aids, that he needed to take his heart and blood pressure medications and stick to a healthful regimen. He was, after all, eighty-three years old.

But…

They were on the brink of knowledge. Nothing had hit the papers yet, but come morning, divers and documentarians would, at long last, discover the Jerry McGuen.

And, with the ship, untold treasure.

His cat, Bastet, a beautifully marked Egyptian Mau, also seemed restless that night. Bastet meowed and sidled along his leg.

“Tomorrow, Bastet, tomorrow!” He had changed for bed and wore his pajamas and a smoking robe, although he’d long ago given up the cigars he’d once enjoyed so much.

But a little brandy wasn’t a bad thing.

He poured himself a snifter and rolled the tawny liquor against the sides of the glass, smelled it and finally sipped. He let out a soft sigh. “Tomorrow, Bastet, tomorrow,” he said again.

But the cat leaped atop his desk with a screech that was frightening.

“Bastet!” He frowned. He tried to stroke the cat, but Bastet vaulted from the desk and disappeared behind the standing sarcophagus. What could be bothering the creature? Mrs. Hodgkins, his housekeeper, was long gone for the day.

The massive grandfather clock behind him began to toll the midnight hour.

He swallowed another sip of his brandy.

A cool breeze blew from the patio beyond the den; the curtains wafted.

The clock chimed three times, four, five.

And then…

He saw it. Moving in from the patio.

He sat completely still and blinked. He had to be seeing things. But, as if compelled by his vision, he rose, swallowing down the rest of the brandy. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t scream, but somewhere in his mind he knew that even if he could, no one would hear.

The clocked chimed six times, seven, eight.

It was coming…coming…coming for him.

His heart! Instinctively, he clutched his chest and felt the thundering of his heart. He groped in his pocket for his nitroglycerin pills, but just as he reached them, it reached him. The pills were knocked from his hand.

The clock chimed nine times, ten, eleven.

He felt as if he’d been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was overwhelming. The thing before him was enveloped in the black of his vision.

The clock chimed the hour of midnight.

And he fell down dead.

The wee hours

Kat Sokolov slept deeply, and in that sleep, she dreamed. It was a lovely dream. She was sailing somewhere. She stood on the deck looking out at the darkness of the water and watched the stunning display in the sky overhead. The moon was full, but clouds drifted in and out, and the world seemed beautiful.

She listened to the music from the ship’s grand salon, where someone was playing a Viennese waltz. Attracted to the sweet sound of the music, she turned. She wore a gown as elegant as those she saw around her. Silk and velvet, it swept gracefully as she moved. There was a celebration going on, and she could hear delighted laughter along with the enchanting strains from the piano. At the doors to the grand salon, she felt the breeze and pulled her fur stole more closely around her shoulders. It couldn’t be about to snow! The moon had been too bright, too visible. The breeze had seemed so gentle….

But now it touched her like a blast of ice. When she opened the door to the salon, she felt the wind snatch it from her. It banged hard against the wall, and she was embarrassed for losing it and creating such an awful sound. But before she could apologize to anyone, the ship suddenly pitched and rolled. Glass shattered; people screamed. She thought she heard the blast of a horn, or a high, loud whistle. Then people were shouting, screaming. A voice of authority boomed out, warning people that a storm had come in, that they needed to go to their cabins immediately.

A couple pushed past Kat as if she wasn’t even there. “It’s cursed! The ship is cursed!” the man said to the young woman at his side. “Oh, God! What they should do is cast out the cargo, clear us of the curse!”

“You’re scaring me!” the young woman cried.

“I’m so sorry, my darling!” the man said.

Then the woman seemed to see her. She looked at her with wide, desperate eyes. “It’s the curse,” she said. “It’s the curse!”

“No, no, it’s a storm, that’s all,” Kat heard herself say reassuringly. She smiled at the young woman. But then she turned. There appeared to be something out on the water. Something huge coming toward them.

She felt another blast of cold. Wet cold. The lovely night had become treacherous. It wasn’t snow rushing at her; it was ice. They had sailed into an ice storm.

And still, that thing was out there, mammoth, a dark shadow that couldn’t quite take shape because of the raging elements.

The wind picked up again and seemed to strike her in the face.

Then she awoke, frozen.

Kat blinked. She was still in her room in the lovely California hotel where her Krewe was staying.

She almost laughed aloud. She was cold because she’d kicked away her covers. Jumping up quickly, she hurried over to the thermostat. Somehow, sometime, either she or the maid had set the temperature down to the fifties.

She reset the thermostat to eighty-five.

She was much fonder of heat than cold.

That done, she dragged the extra blanket from the closet, grabbed all her covers again and curled back into bed. She’d practically forgotten the dream, she’d been so cold.

As she lay down, she thought it had been quite absurd. But then, of course, dreams often were.

Next morning

9:00 a.m.

The water of Lake Michigan was eerie, with different shades of gray shadows and darkness, as Brady Laurie plunged into the chilly depths. Only near the surface could anything that resembled natural light or warmth be found; the lake had always been a place of darkness and secrets. Motes seemed to dance before his eyes as the dive light on his head illuminated his journey, ever deeper into the water. Tiny bits of grasses, sand, orts from the meals of the lake’s denizens swirled like dust particles, shimmering as his light hit them.

It was a world of silence down here, making every little noise sharp. The sound of his breathing and the throb of his regulator, the expulsion of his air bubbles, the very pulse of his heart.

It was a world he loved, but today he was on a mission.

He was so anxious. He shouldn’t have been diving alone; he knew that. It was against every rule of scuba and salvage, but people often did it, anyway. In fact, he’d met enough he-man types so sure of their own prowess that they ignored the rule all the time. He didn’t usually—just today.

He knew exactly what he was looking for, and the sonar on his boat seemed to have proven his theories and calculations right.

At long last, he’d found the sunken ship—the Jerry McGuen.

He believed in his heart that he’d found her, the freighter that had carried sixty men and women to their graves, doomed along with the treasures they’d brought from Egypt. The ship had sailed faultlessly all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and up the Saint Lawrence River, only to be lost on December 15, 1898, a day before the journey’s end, battered and buffeted by a sudden, fierce storm. She had disappeared so close to her destination, just east-northeast of Chicago.

People had speculated then, as they still did, that a curse had lain upon the ship. The explorer who’d made the Egyptian discovery, Gregory Hudson, had been aboard. And, of course, there’d been a threat, etched into the stones of the tomb, warning that any man who disturbed the final resting place of Amun Mopat would soon know misery and death. Surely the passengers and crew of the Jerry McGuen had known both—almost able to see Chicago, but storm-tossed in violent, winter-frigid waters, finally succumbing to the brutality of the lake and disappearing.

Yes, the ship had disappeared, never to be seen again.

Until today. He would see her again. He, Brady Laurie, would see her again!

Salvage crews had hunted for her soon after she’d sunk—to no avail. And through the years, time after time, historians and divers had sought her, but like many a ship lost in the murky waters of the massive lake, she was simply not to be found.

Brady had been certain all his life that she had to be there. And he’d excitedly put forth his theory to his coworkers that, following their recent wicked summer storm, there was a chance she could now be discovered. Violent storms altered a lake bed, just as they could alter the seabed in the Atlantic. He had seen what storms could do. A ship sunk in Florida had gone down on her side; one of the storms that had torn apart the Florida Straits had set her up perfectly again. He believed the same strength and force of that phenomenon was going to reveal the Jerry McGuen.

Storms moved sand and dirt. Storms had tremendous power—enough power to right a multi-ton ship. Even one lost for more than a century, a true shipwreck. His calculations had been off, but not by much. Not if what the sonar had shown him was true.

Through the dark, mystic water of the lake, he saw her.

There she was. The Jerry McGuen!

She lay at an angle, starboard hull lodged into the lake bed, as majestic and visible in the glow of his dive light as if she were at dock.

His heart beat fast, and pride surged through him.

They’d done it! They’d found her.

No—he’d found her!

His theory was sound, his calculations making adjustments for time, weather conditions, the power of the recent storm and the earth’s rotations. It couldn’t account for the various unknowns, but he’d been so close. And now, as he saw it looming before him, his time had come. While that kind of storm usually sank ships, this one had removed layers of sand and almost righted the Jerry McGuen.

Yes, there she was, her massive hull tempting and seductive…

Even righted as she was, she had suddenly seemed to loom before him. The lake bed made the water so dark at eighty feet.

Just eighty feet! She’d been there all along, so damned close to Chicago!

He didn’t feel any cold through his dive suit, but he was numb. A shiver of excitement reverberated through his limbs. All around him, the water danced in the wavy shadows of the eighty-foot depths, and he became intensely aware of the sound of his own breathing again, the pump and flow of his regulator. He wanted to shout with happiness and share his discovery with the world. Of course, he would do that soon enough, and if any of his team had followed him out today, they’d already know that he’d been right. Everyone would know that he’d been right, including every salvage diver who had ever dreamed of finding her.

He laughed inwardly, smiling around his regulator. He was pretty sure someone had been behind him. Not that everyone on Lake Michigan had to be following him, but he thought he’d seen a research vessel in the distance when he’d come down.

His coworkers might be angry that he’d jumped the gun, but Amanda had already sold the story of their search to a film producer, who was going to document and finance their historic discovery. He’d supplied money for the search based on Brady’s theory. Now they could begin to chart out and rope off the ship and show the world the remains of the Jerry McGuen. Others interested in pursuits far less esoteric than theirs would be stopped at the gate. No more worries about Landry Salvage or Simonton’s Sea Search beating them to the punch!

He could imagine the treasures in the hold. Priceless Egyptian artifacts, the still-sealed coffin of the high priest known as the Sorcerer of Giza, the sarcophagi, the army of golden figures, the canopic jars, the ancient stones…

Underwater for more than a century, he reminded himself.

But even the Egyptologists of the nineteenth century had known about preservation. Sure, they hadn’t reckoned on toxins and gases, but they knew all about waterproofing—gunpowder and the pursuit of war had certainly furthered man’s knowledge of that!

Of course, the hold might have been compromised, a zillion things might have happened and still…what they might find!

He—they—didn’t seek treasure or the fortune it could bring. The treasures they discovered always went to museums, and he felt a thrill rush through him as he imagined the headlines when they returned the jeweled sarcophagus of Amun Mopat to the Egyptian people. Amun Mopat would be back where he rightfully belonged, and the name Brady Laurie would be revered in Cairo’s museum. Yes, yes, yes!

The Jerry McGuen.

She lay there—exposed! He was so elated his heart seemed to stop.

He checked his air gauge. He had at least another ten minutes to take a quick look at his momentous discovery, another ten minutes to explore, and then time to decompress at thirty-three feet and safely reach his research vessel on the surface.

The Jerry McGuen appeared huge, her forward section still pitched slightly into the lake bed, as if she’d taken a dive while sinking. Parts of the hull were broken, exposing staterooms and a passenger lobby, and what had been the purser’s office. Brady knew the ship; he had studied her plans time and time again. She was a steel-hulled ship, built by the American Stuart Company of Chicago and launched on October 2, 1888. One hundred and eighty-six feet long, thirty-two feet wide, and twelve feet in depth. Her gross tonnage was four hundred and eighty-six, and when she sailed the seas, she’d been powered by a triple-expansion steam engine and two Scotch boilers. There had been fifty-two cabins for guests, captain’s quarters, first mate’s quarters, four cabins for officers and a bunk room, down in the hold, for crew. The ship, chartered by the very rich Gregory Hudson, had been a state-of-the-art beauty.

Her ballast for the trip had been stones—great stones taken from the tomb of Amun Mopat. Before Howard Carter’s discovery of King Tut’s tomb, the discovery of Amun Mopat’s tomb right in the Valley of the Kings had been one of the most important events in the annals of Egyptology. But the treasures had come aboard the Jerry McGuen, and just a few months after that, those treasures and their history had been lost to the ages. They were soon forgotten by the world at large as new findings occurred and the age of Egyptology moved on.