Page 52 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Static crackles in my ear. Then Nora’s voice cuts through. We must be far enough from their signal jammers. “Miles? Ledger? Report.”

I give her the details as quickly as I can.

“Anton Reznik orchestrated the takeover. Multiple compromised crew members or hired personnel aboard. Two explosive devices in the engine compartment. One detonated after we isolated the fuel supply. The second device is still armed, and I have its remote. Guests are at the bow. Anton is on the damaged speedboat with two men still mobile. Jonah is a crew member who cooperated and can identify some of the others.”

“And Celeste?” Nora asks.

“Alive. She’s on one of the response vessels getting medical attention.”

“Understood. Coast Guard and marine units are securing the scene now. Explosive-ordnance technicians and medical teams are deploying to the Aurelia.”

Ledger looks back toward the yacht. “I’m counting that as a successful bomb defusal.”

“We didn’t defuse anything.”

“We made it significantly less explosive.”

Within minutes, Anton and the remaining men are in custody.

Beside me, Ledger immediately checks the inside pocket holding the ring.

“You’re more worried about that than your ribs,” I say.

“My ribs aren’t proposing to Zoe tomorrow.”

“Your ribs might want a vote, though.”

He presses a hand to his side, winces, and smiles anyway. “She’s going to say yes.”

He’s not being arrogant. He’s just that certain. Because she knows him, and she chooses him.

I look back at the Aurelia, smoke rising into the night and emergency lights flashing across the water.

Reese would love this story. Not the shooting. Or the bomb. Probably not the part where I leapt between moving boats, although she’d have several opinions about my technique despite having no experience leaping between moving boats herself.

But she’d love Jonah. She’d want to know if he was okay. She’d make up an entire background for Danielle and decide Vale secretly owns a miniature poodle that he spoils.

She’d ask whether the casino chips were organized by color or denomination. She’d listen to every detail, interrupt constantly, and somehow understand the people better than the intelligence report would.

And I can’t tell her about any of it.

By the time Ledger and I return to the CSA’s headquarters, the sky is beginning to lighten at the edges. My tuxedo is torn at one shoulder, my ribs hurt, and dried saltwater has made my hair feel like it belongs to someone who lives beneath a pier.

Emerson meets us in the analysis room with Charlie and my mother. No one jokes about our appearance, which is how I know it’s bad.

I place Celeste’s black token inside a shielded examination tray, and Charlie immediately starts scanning it.

“Passive near-field hardware, encrypted identifier, tamper protection.” She turns the tray slowly beneath one of the scanners. “Very little actual information stored locally.”

“Meaning?” Ledger asks.

“Meaning Rooke isn’t stupid enough to put his criminal client directory inside a poker chip.”

Emerson gives him a flat look. “Disappointing, I know.”

“I had hopes.”

Charlie studies another readout. “The token appears to be a key, not a container. It authenticates itself as a credential belonging to one of Rooke’s authorized sponsors. It doesn’t prove the sponsor intended to give it to you.”