Page 38 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“Both,” I whisper back.

“That makes perfect sense.” Nettie gives a sage nod. “The last man who short-circuited me like that, we didn’t surface for three days. Scooter Springs sent out a search party.”

Bess nods along in solemn agreement. “I organized it. We printed flyers.”

After a divine meal of beef Wellington draped in a red wine demi-glace so good I briefly consider asking for seconds, a twice-baked potato buried under bacon and sharp cheddar until the potato is merely a rumor, and a buttered lobster tail I ordered because the menu offered it and I’m only human, dessert arrives, a trio of delights that includes chocolate lava cake, crème brûlée, and fresh berries with whipped cream. I sample all three because I’m on a cruise and calories don’t count when you’re investigating murder.

I don’t make the rules. I just eat by them.

After dessert, Marina excuses herself to prepare for an event in the casino that she and Tinsley cooked up called Raiders and Wagers, a Viking-themed casino night. And seeing that the lethal book club will be there, you can bet your britches that Bess, Nettie, and I won’t be missing it either.

Wes and Ransom may have forbidden us from investigating, but technically speaking, gambling isn’t investigating. I checked the definition and everything. Twice.

Wes watches Marina all the way to the door, and then he watches the door.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” he says to no one in particular. Possibly to the bud vase.

“She’s something, all right,” Bess agrees pleasantly. “Would you like us to pass her a note in study hall?”

“I could do it,” I offer. “It can say, Check yes or no if you like me. I’ll even draw the boxes.”

“Laugh it up,” Wes says, though the dimples give him away.

Nettie pats his arm. “Captain, in my day, when a man looked at a woman like that, there was a christening within the year.”

“And with that, I’m off to the bridge.” Wes stands and buttons his jacket like he’s about to accept an Oscar. “I’ve got icebergs to avoid. That sort of thing.”

There hasn’t been an iceberg in the Baltic since the last ice age, but not one of us has the heart to stop him. He does pause at the door for a final longing look in the direction Marina disappeared, and I send up a small prayer for the navigational systems. That man is going to sail us across the entire Baltic on autopilot tonight, and I don’t mean the ship’s.

Bess, Nettie, Ransom, and I still have a little time before the event, so we take in a show at the Emerald Theater called Sirens & Silk, a sensual dark circus performance featuring acrobats, contortionists, and dancers far too limber to be entirely human.

Let’s just say I’m taking mental notes to try out with my handsome husband later in our cabin. Here’s hoping I don’t break anything. Or anyone. The ship’s doctor and I are already on a first-name basis, and I’d hate to have to explain this one.

Ransom slides me a look during a particularly impressive aerial silk routine and raises one eyebrow in a silent question.

“I’m memorizing their moves,” I whisper.

“I noticed.” His mouth grazes my ear. “Should I be flattered or should I call ahead to the medical bay?”

“Flattered. Definitely flattered.” I pat his knee. “You might want to hydrate, though.”

His low laugh rumbles against my shoulder. “Duly noted, Mrs. Baxter.”

“That’s Mrs. Baxter, aspiring contortionist, to you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he murmurs.

“Oh, you’ll see it.” I quiver as I say it.

Finally, we step into the casino, and I’m immediately hit with sensory overload, and I mean that as a five-star review. The air is a heady blend of spiced cologne, floral perfume, and something vaguely smoky that’s probably meant to evoke ancient campfires but mostly registers as expensive candles about to burn a house down.

Slot machines chime and ding in chaotic harmony, punctuated by the occasional whoop of victory or groan of defeat. The lighting has been dimmed and replaced with warm amber tones that give everything a torchlit glow, offset by the flashing bulbs that surround us every which way, and Norse-inspired music plays overhead, lots of drums and what might be a lyre or possibly just a very enthusiastic keyboard. The casino has basically been transformed into Valhalla with a two-drink minimum.

Faux fur table runners drape across every gaming surface, managing to be luxurious and slightly ridiculous at the same time. Gold goblets replace the usual plastic cups at the bar. Decorative shields lean against blackjack tables, and there’s an actual longship backdrop positioned behind the roulette wheel, crowned with a carved dragon head that appears to be judging everyone’s gambling choices. Somebody gave that dragon eyebrows, and those eyebrows are disappointed in every last one of us.

Something tells me the dragon and I are going to get along just fine.

The Velvet Viking Book Club has descended upon the casino floor like a well-dressed horde of wenches, all wearing variations of velvet, leather, and enough silver jewelry to sink a longship. They’re clutching leather pouches filled with Viking tokens instead of regular chips, wooden coins stamped with little axes and shields that clatter pleasantly when they move. The entire club jingles. You can hear them coming from three tables away, which I have to imagine defeats the whole purpose of raiding, but here we are.