Page 50 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Vale cocks his head, studying me.

“Who are you?”

“Currently? The person telling you how not to explode.”

That is enough.

The crowd begins moving.

I look at my watch—two minutes, forty seconds. Ledger and I race toward the stern. Through the glass doors, I see a sleek black speedboat dropping from its cradle toward the water. Anton is aboard, and so are three of his men.

And Celeste. One man has a hand clamped around her upper arm. Her gun is gone, and there’s blood along one side of her face.

She sees me through the glass, and her gaze drops immediately to my jacket. The chip.

Anton follows her gaze and sees me, too. His face hardens as he lifts a small black remote. The second charge.

We race toward them as their platform begins retracting.

“One minute fifty,” Ledger says.

If Anton gets far enough away to trigger the hull charge, the first explosion won’t be the yacht’s biggest problem.

A smaller motorboat remains secured on the opposite side. We hurry to it and lower it into the water, then half-fall and half-jump aboard.

Ledger takes the controls.

The engine roars to life, and he turns sharply, sending me into the railing, then drives straight toward the fleeing boat.

“Try not to lose the ring,” I tell him.

“Try not to lose the chip.”

In the moonlight, we see Anton’s driver veer around a channel marker. Ledger follows, cutting inside the turn.

I look back at the Aurelia. Guests are crowding the forward decks. Forty-eight seconds.

One of Anton’s men turns and fires. We duck, but Ledger doesn’t slow. The shot strikes the windshield, glass cracking outward in a white web.

I brace one foot against the side and fire back—not at the men, but at the speedboat’s rear engine cowling. My first shot misses. The second strikes metal. The third makes the engine sputter. The boat keeps moving, but not as fast.

Anton raises the remote. Behind us, the timer on the engine-room charge has twenty-one seconds left.

Ledger pulls alongside them. “What are you doing?” I shout.

“What I’m best at.”

He rams their boat. The impact throws all of us sideways, and Anton slams into the railing, knocking the remote from his hand. Celeste drives her elbow into the man holding her and tears herself free.

I leap.

For one suspended second, there is nothing beneath me but black water. Then I hit the other deck shoulder-first, slide into a bench, and catch the remote inches before it disappears beneath the stern railing.

Anton grabs me from behind. I drive my head backward into his face. He swears and tightens his grip.

Across the deck, Celeste knees one of his men hard enough to fold him in half, grabs the railing, and kicks his gun overboard.

“I’m beginning to understand why you declined him,” I tell her.