Page 45 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Either way, mission accomplished.

I slide the chip into the inside pocket of my jacket as if it matters only slightly more than the rest of my winnings. When I look up, Anton is staring at the pocket. His expression is controlled. Almost. But I saw the flash of anger before he buried it. He knows exactly what Celeste gave me.

Which tells me something else. Anton wasn’t hoping Celeste might introduce him to Rooke. He’d been counting on her doing it. And she just chose Maxwell instead.

Celeste calmly gathers her remaining chips.

“Another hand?” Vale asks.

Anton’s gaze shifts from Celeste to me. “I think,” he says quietly, “the evening has just become considerably more interesting.”

Then every light on the yacht goes out.

CHAPTER 11

HOW TO NOT EXPLODE

NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

Afew people gasp as the music below us stops and the engines change pitch beneath my feet. The emergency lights flicker on almost immediately, bathing the salon in a dim red glow.

“Please remain seated,” one of the attendants says. His voice is controlled, but his right hand has moved beneath his jacket.

Okay, so not an attendant.

Across the table, Celeste notices it at the same time I do. Her posture barely changes, but every trace of amusement disappears from her face.

Ledger is still near the bar, his stance unchanged.

“Nora?” I murmur.

“The yacht just altered course,” she says in my ear. Her voice is tight and fast. “You’re turning east. Communications on the lower decks went dark two seconds before the power interruption. I’m losing access to—” Static cuts through the line, then nothing.

Someone planned this.

Anton’s gaze goes straight to the inside pocket of my jacket—the one holding the black token. Then he looks at Celeste.

And suddenly I have a pretty good idea who.

The armed attendant pulls a gun from inside his jacket just as Anton rises from his chair, facing me. “Give it to me.”

I give him Maxwell’s most offended expression. “You’ve hijacked a yacht because you lost at poker?”

“The token.”

“I’m starting to think you took that hand more personally than I realized.”

Celeste’s voice comes from my right, cool and sharp. “Anton.” When he turns toward her, she says, “You’ve misunderstood our arrangement.”

“No.” His expression hardens. “I understood it perfectly. I spent eight months giving you every reason to make that introduction.”

Eight months. Well. That clears up a few things.

“And I declined,” Celeste says.

“Then you handed it to a stranger.”

Her eyes flick toward me. “Apparently, I have better instincts than I gave myself credit for.”