Page 13 of Fire and Ice Cruise

I trip over something.

Ransom stumbles, trying to catch me, and we both go down in a tangle of limbs. We land on something soft but oddly firm, and my hand touches fabric. Expensive fabric.

I freeze.

Ransom does too.

We both look down at the same time.

A face stares up at us. Blank eyes. Slack jaw. That exquisite paisley scarf is still wrapped around his neck—tightly—extremely tightly.

Gideon won’t have to worry about his second act anymore.

Gideon Vale is dead.

CHAPTER 5

Ascream rips from my throat—not my most dignified moment, but finding a corpse tends to short-circuit the social graces.

Ransom yanks me to my feet with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other. He drops to his knees beside Gideon’s body, pressing two fingers against the man’s neck.

The corridor smells like expensive cologne and something distinctly like death that makes my stomach turn. Somewhere beyond the walls, the muffled cheer of the bon voyage party is still going strong, which feels like the universe’s idea of a cruel joke.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only seconds, Ransom shakes his head at me before lifting his phone to his ear.

“This is Ransom Baxter. We have a deceased passenger on Deck Twelve, corridor inside the Opaline Royale Lounge. Send security and the ship’s doctor immediately.”

That last one won’t do any good, but I suppose someone has to pronounce him dead.

He stands and wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. My heart hammers so hard I’m worried it might actually crack a rib, both mine and his.

I’ve found bodies before—more than I’d care to admit—but it never gets easier. Especially when you literally trip over them while making out with your husband.

As it turns out, romance is dead.

And so is Gideon Vale.

“Well, well, well.” Nettie’s voice cuts through my panic as she and Bess round the corner. “Looks like we caught you two in the middle of some serious hanky-panky for two!”

Bess squints into the dim corridor. “You mean three? Is that a man on the floor?”

She takes another step forward, and I watch in slow motion as her eyes land on the scarf wrapped around Gideon’s neck—that paisley scarf now twisted tight enough to leave deep purple grooves in his skin. His eyes gaze skyward—and, well, they’re staring at nothing.

Both Bess and Nettie scream at decibels that could probably be heard in Norway.

“Ladies!” Wes appears out of nowhere, running full tilt down the corridor. He skids to a stop, takes one look at the deceased, and groans. “Please tell me that’s not a body.”

“Wish I could,” Ransom says.

“Geez—” Wes groans, and I’ve never seen him look so defeated. He closes his eyes for exactly three seconds, which for him is basically a complete breakdown.

A crowd materializes behind us—because apparently, screaming is the universal signal for come see what disaster Trixie’s stumbled into now. The music from the lounge still plays, some cheerful instrumental number about sailing away to paradise, which feels deeply inappropriate given the strangled man at our feet.

Nettie shakes her head at the poor man. “What do you think happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Bess swats her over the arm. “He met up with the working end of his own scarf.”

“Death by fashion choices.” Nettie nods as if she’s familiar with the concept. “It gives new meaning to the phrase dressed to kill.”