Page 78 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“Then you can wait while we figure this out.”

“THAT’S RUDE!”

It takes twenty minutes, a very patient Finnish fortress employee, and eventually a call to the local fire department to get anywhere at all. Somewhere around minute twelve, Nettie’s voice floats out of the barrel with a request. “TELL THE TALL ONE I’M SINGLE!” The tall one pretends not to speak English, which I suspect is a survival skill and not a language barrier.

By minute eighteen, they’ve tried butter from the café, a rope, and words of encouragement in two languages, and Nettie hasn’t budged an inch. So the fire crew makes a decision I can only describe as bold. They grip the barrel and rock it, gently at first, then with the enthusiasm of men who would very much like their afternoon back.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?” Nettie hollers from inside.

“Progress!” the tall one calls back. Turns out he speaks English after all.

The cannon tilts. Something gives with a deep, groaning pop, part suction and part surrender, and Nettie shoots out of that barrel like a champagne cork in a muumuu.

She sails a solid eight feet through the crisp Finnish air, arms spread wide, as if she choreographed every second of it.

And Ransom catches her.

He doesn’t stagger or blink. He takes one step to his left and receives an airborne octogenarian the way other men receive a memo.

My husband, ladies and gentlemen.

Somewhere in his FBI training, there must have been a module for this.

“MY HERO!” Nettie throws her arms around his neck. “I felt the earth move. Did you feel the earth move?”

“That was the cannon,” Ransom says.

“Agree to disagree.”

He sets her on her feet with the same care he’d use returning evidence, and she wobbles once, covered in dust and what might be two-hundred-year-old gunpowder residue, looking nothing short of triumphant about it.

The crowd bursts into applause. Nettie curtsies, because she’s a lady, and blows a kiss to the fire crew.

Bess appears at my side, watching her best friend take a bow. “In all the years I’ve known her,” she says, “this isn’t even in the top five insane messes she’s gotten herself into.”

Poppy sidles up next to me as we’re herding everyone back toward the ferry. She looks genuinely concerned for Nettie’s welfare. Her golden hair catches the light and glows like a halo.

“Trixie, is your friend going to be all right?” She clutches at her neck as she watches Nettie trying to dust herself off. To be honest, it looks more like she’s giving herself a spanking.

“She’s going to be just fine,” I say with a wince. Mostly because Nettie’s definition of just fine is vastly different from that of most people.

“Is Sienna okay?” she asks quietly. “I saw you two talking.”

“I think so.” I glance over at the crowd of women clustering near the ferries. “She’s dealing with a lot.”

“She is.” Poppy’s expression softens as she glances that way as well. “Her daughter’s situation is devastating. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to raise three grandchildren while your own child is...” She trails off delicately. “Well. In such a horrible place.”

“She mentioned that.”

“Did she tell you what Astrid was planning to do? About exposing everything at the costume gala?”

Exposing everything.

“Bits and pieces,” I say, keeping the rest tucked safely in my pocket. Sienna’s secrets took years and a fortress wall to come out of her, and I’m not about to hand them over on a ferry dock.

But it does raise a question I’ll be chewing on all the way back to the ship. Sienna never told a soul, and yet here’s Poppy, fluent in the whole gala plot. For a woman who guarded her secrets with an iron fist, Astrid sure ran a leaky operation.

Astrid was going to expose Freya and Sienna both? I can’t fathom what a busy night that would have been.