“Ladies.” Ransom gives a slight bow. “You all look stunning.” He lands a heated kiss on my lips as if to drive the point home.
Speaking of being stunned, Ransom looks absolutely devastating in his dark suit. The phraselicensed to killcomes to mind, though in his case, it’s morelicensed to make my knees weak.
Next to him, Wes makes an equally lethal impression in his formal naval captain’s uniform, with enough brass to start a band and enough medals to set off airport security systems worldwide.
“So, what do you think?” Wes asks as he fans an arm out at thelively crowd, laughing and chattering away as if there had never been a dead body on this ship.
“It looks amazing,” I say and mean it. “I half expect someone to slap me and reveal they’re my evil twin.”
“The night is young,” Ransom replies with a look that says he’s ready for anything.
“The ice sculpture is a bit much, don’t you think?” Bess remarks, eyeing the frozen Madison-Marlie hybrid. “But I guess it’s appropriate—both women were certainly cold enough in real life.” She gasps and ducks. “Marlie didn’t hear me say that, did she?”
“Nope,” I tell her. “I won’t tell her you said it, either. But Madison and Marlie aren’t the only ones with cold hearts in this room.”
Dramatic music stuns the room into submission, and we all turn collectively to the entrance to see three of the most decorated divas in the northern hemisphere.
Across the room, the trophy wives make their entrances with a level of drama that reeks of Emmy gold. Val arrives in a scarlet gown cut so low that there is no mystery as to what bra size she wears—or more importantly, doesn’t wear. Beth floats in wearing a pale pink number that emphasizes her delicate features, though her nervous fidgeting with her Hermès bracelets undercuts the serene image. She really should cut back on the coffee.
Harper makes the most dramatic entrance in a conservative black dress with ruby jewelry that matches her precisely painted lips, looking like she’s auditioning for the role of gorgeous villain in a spy thriller—or an art dealer who deals in forgeries. She’s not showing an ounce of flesh, and yet that makes the men leer all that much more.
“They all clean up nice for a bunch of potential killers,” Bess whispers my way.
“Speaking of cleaning up nice,” comes a voice from behind asTinsley approaches, looking resplendent in an emerald green gown that matches both the ship’s name and her greedy ambitions. Her chestnut hair is swept up into an elaborate updo that probably required copious amounts of shellac, and her makeup is flawless. “I’m surprised you found time to get dressed with all the bodies you’ve been finding lately, Trixie.”
I can’t help but frown at her. “Murder investigations pair surprisingly well with formal wear,” I reply smoothly. “How’s your evening going? Making any headway with our illustrious producer? Or is Elodie still getting in your way?”
Tinsley’s face lights up with triumph. “Let’s just say I’m going to land that plane tonight.” She glances over her shoulder to where Boomer stands directing camera operators, his tuxedo slightly too tight across the shoulders. “He’s finally seeing that I’m the whole package—cruise director, potential reality star, and woman who knows exactly what she wants. Namely him.”
“Landing the plane, you say?” Nettie waggles her brows. “Make sure your runway is properly illuminated. Men his age need help with the approach.”
“And check your landing gear,” Bess adds. “Nothing ruins the mood like equipment failure.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure I know what that meant, or if I want to.”
“What?” Bess looks innocent. “I’m just offering aviation advice.”
“You might want to reconsider your flight plan,” Wes interjects. He sounds casual enough, but his eyes are dead serious. “We still don’t know who the killer is. Getting too close to anyone connected to this production could be dangerous.”
Tinsley waves off the idea of a killer. “Please. You’re just worried he’ll steal your thunder as the ship’s most eligible bachelor.” She taps his chest with one perfectly manicured finger. “Too late, Captain. I’ve set my navigation to a new destination.”
It’s true. Tinsley had the hots for both Ransom and Wes long before I ever entered the picture.
Before Wes can respond, Quinn appears at our little gathering, the only person in the room not dressed formally. Her security uniform looks almost severe amongst the evening wear, but her expression is what catches my attention—focused, urgent, professional, and darn right mean.
“Ransom,” she says without preamble. “We need to talk.”
He nods, immediately shifting into chief of security mode. He leans my way and lands a quick kiss to my cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble?” I ask innocently. “I don’t know her.”
Some might say I am her, but that’s neither here nor there.
He raises a brow, and it speaks volumes. “Wes, I charge you to watch over my wife,” he says to the captain, only half-joking.
“I won’t let her out of my arms,” Wes replies with a grin.
“I didn’t say touch,” Ransom counters.
