Page 42 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

She gives a quiet laugh.

Then her gaze shifts toward the technology founder, who catches my eye from across the room and lifts his glass in acknowledgment.

“You know a surprising number of people here for someone with such a limited public profile.”

“I know enough people.”

“But not everyone you need to know.”

I let half a second pass before answering. “No one does.”

Celeste studies me.

I could steer harder. Drop Rooke’s name. Give her enough clues that she understands exactly why I came. But that would tell her Maxwell Shaw boarded this yacht targeting her, so I don’t. Instead, I say, “I spent a long time in freight logistics. You learn quickly that most obstacles aren’t actually logistical. They’re human.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s always a person who can make the problem disappear. The difficult part is finding the person who knows that person.”

Something changes in her expression. Barely. But there’s interest there. “An introduction.”

“Sometimes.”

“And what kind of introduction are you looking for now?”

I smile. “If I were willing to answer that three minutes after meeting someone, I probably wouldn’t need someone discreet enough to arrange it.”

Her laugh this time is real. “Fair.”

Across the room, a staff member announces that the private gaming salon will open in ten minutes.

Celeste sets her empty glass onto a passing tray. “Perhaps you know enough people after all, Mr. Shaw.”

She walks away before I can respond.

Nora is silent for two seconds before asking, “Was that good?”

“Maybe. She’s interested.”

Ledger’s voice comes through. “In Maxwell or his monogrammed bathrobes?”

“You’re just jealous that Lachlan Shaw can’t pull off a monogram.”

“Lachlan owns a robe that has to be dry-cleaned in Monaco. It has pockets specifically designed for holding grudges.”

“Nora, can you mute him?”

“No. I’m enjoying myself.”

When the private casino opens, twelve of us take the curved staircase to the upper salon. There are only six chairs around the green felt table, though, and no one explains how those six players will be chosen. The black bracelet got me upstairs. It did not get me a seat.

Vale takes one immediately.

Celeste sits to his right without asking.

Anton Reznik, the owner of a European freight company with suspected ties to arms smugglers, claims another. Anton has been on our radar all week for a different reason than Celeste. Emerson found enough recent contact between the two of them to establish that Anton has been trying to get something from her. One intelligence report goes a step further and suggests that what he wants is access to one of Rooke’s introductions. If that’s true, Celeste hasn’t given it to him. Yet.

Most of the remaining guests compare importance, each of them looking like they’ve spent their lives assuming the best place belongs to them. Ledger is doing the same, even though I know he has no intention of claiming a seat. The mission is for me to take it.