Page 30 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

And if I have any say in it, neither will the killer.

CHAPTER15

While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition

Ahoy, amorous adventurers! Our honeymooners are still reviewing security footage (wink, wink), so let’s tackle another burning question from our mailbag.

Dear Elodie,

I noticed the ship has a couples cooking class. My husband thinks it sounds boring, but I’d love to spice things up in the kitchen. Is it worth it?

Culinary Curious

Oh,my simmering sweetie,

There is nothing boring about playing with food. Trust me, a couple’s cooking class is just foreplay with better props. Think about it—all that kneading, stirring, whisking... It’s like Fifty Shades of Gourmet.

The best part? The kitchen’s marble counters are just the right height for… Let’s just say quality control testing. And don’t get me started on what you can do with that chocolate fountain after hours. Although I do recommend bringing your own apron. Those ship-issued suits of armor can be a bit...restrictive.

Heating things up,

XOXO Elodie

Trixie

The honeymoon suitewraps us in warmth, with its soft golden lighting and plush carpet beneath our feet. Music filters through the speakers—something jazzy and slow that makes my pulse skip in time with the beat.

Ransom’s arms slide around my waist as we sway together in the middle of the room. I must look absolutely ridiculous with this overdone makeup still on my face, but the way he’s looking at me makes me forget everything else—my new rainbow features included.

“You know”—he murmurs as his thumb traces circles on the small of my back—“I’m developing quite an affinity for this colorful side of you.”

A dark laugh rumbles through me as I tighten my arms around him. “Ransom, I’m a walking spectacle, and don’t you dare deny it.”

“Have it your way.” He pauses to brush the hair from my eyes. “But I have a sudden craving for a walking spectacle.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers up that devastating half-smile, making my knees weak. “Particularly beautiful blonde ones with the softest lips I’ve ever kissed.”

“Real smooth, Baxter,” I say, leaning into his kiss and running my fingers through his thick, glossy hair. His mouth is warm and insistent against mine, and I lose myself in the sensation until a thought hits me and I crash back to reality. “Oh! I just remembered something. I need to run down to the boutique. Elodie hijacked my entire wardrobe and I’m relegated to looking like a formal night castoff until we hit England.”

“I thought the closet looked as if a runway show was taking place in it.” Ransom frowns over at the closet. “Elodie does seem to have a talent for wardrobe redistribution.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Although I must say, I’m rather fond of what you’re wearing now.” He gives my furry white stole a quick rub. “And that blue dress brings out the beautiful in your eyes.” He lands a kiss to each of my eyelids as if to drive the point home.

“This old clown costume?” I tease. “It’s designer and costs more than this stateroom. Elodie left all of the price tags on. You have great taste, Mr. Baxter.”

“Only in women,” he shoots back with a wink. “So are we doing a quick trip to the Queen’s Mall?”

“Are you in?” I wince as I ask and he nods without hesitation. “Oh, thank you. I promise, we’ll be in and out in ten minutes, tops, and then we’ll come right back here and continue where we left off,” I say, already heading toward the door, and I’m about to swing it open, but the handle doesn’t budge. I try again, this time putting more muscle into it, but nothing happens. “Uh, Ransom? Either this cabin is having an existential crisis or we’re locked in.”

“What’s going on?” He steps over after retrieving his phone from the dresser. “Having a wrestling match with the door?”

“And losing spectacularly.” I jiggle the handle again as if that might change things. “Something isn’t right. It’s almost as if it’s locked from the outside.”

He gives it a try, but the result is the same.

“That’s odd.” He takes a minute to glare at the door as if that might convince it to open. Shockingly, it doesn’t.

“Should we call engineering?” I suggest, but Ransom is already shaking his head and glaring at his phone with that look in his eye that usually means trouble.

The engineering department here on the ship is usually the one that the staff calls if anything needs to be fixed, adjusted, or set free to live out their days flying in the sky. That last one involved a seagull and Nettie. And there were several activists looking to sue the kaftan right off of a certain gray-headed granny. There was some major cursing and some minor bloodshed involved. Trust me, you don’t want any more details. Just know that both Nettie and the seagull came out the victors.

“I don’t think we need to call engineering.” Ransom’s fingers fly over the screen. “I say we escalate the issue all the way to the captain. I’m going to ask him if he’s the one responsible for this.” And he does just that before hitting send.

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