Page 78 of The Scarab's Game

But if they found the secret path from the Garden to the Casino?

Thatshe could navigate, then sneak through the Casino during its busiest hours.

My goal inside the Casino was twofold. One, I’d see if the manager would sell the scarab before the auction. A long shot, but possible. The starting bid listed in the catalog was two million euros, which gave me plenty of wiggle room to get up to four million, the purchase limit my team had set.

And two, I was there so the team could ping the GPS in my watch and use me as a target in their exploration. Hopefully, the GPS signal was better than the comms.

The game room at the back housed the higher limit tables, and another small offshoot from the back led to the private gaming salon for the true high rollers. It wasn’t likely full at this hour, but sometimes people went in early.

I slowed to observe a poker hand starting at a table near the back. Not Ultimate. Traditional.

My breath caught in my throat, memories of the last game I played flooding back. My knees were weak, and I shoved my hand into my pocket to grip the old poker chip. The smooth surface grounded me, a lifeline to reality.

Deep breaths, Emmett.

The kidnapping. It was in the past.

Deep breath.There’s no bag over your head.

Someday, I’d sit at a table again. Instead, I stood still for several more minutes, studying the players as they went through hand after hand.

A woman in a V-neck sweaterdress dominated the table. At the end of the third hand, she strung along the last man standing, who was talking himself into a frenzy. He flatteredher, she smiled politely, he insisted she was bluffing, and she returned to a neutral expression.

A husky female voice with a lyrical French accent filled my ear. “Does she have him beat or no?”

I didn’t turn around. The woman speaking to me was the one I’d been looking for. “I’ve only watched a few hands so far, but if I were him, I’d be all in. I don’t think she’s got anything.”

The woman came to my side and threaded her arm around mine. “She’s a former model from Greece who started coming here three years ago. She usually sticks to the high-value tables. Her practiced disinterest fools a lot of men.”

I nodded, keeping my eye on the model’s opponent, who continued to waffle on whether to fold. “I imagine her cleavage has a lot to do with it, too.”

The woman next to me hummed in agreement. “Swimsuit model.”

The man at the table finally folded, and his opponent collected her winnings without revealing her cards. Still agitated, he said, “You’ve got to show me what you had.”

The winner simply shook her head. “What I have is your money.”

I leaned in to kiss the woman on my arm on the cheek. “A pleasure to see you again, Martine.”

“It’s been too long, Emmett.”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

Martine patted my arm. “Fine, fine. It’s been too long, Reginald.”

She was a stunning woman in her mid-60s who’d been working at the Casino Rocher for as long as I’d been coming. My mother had originally put the two of us in touch.

I’d thought they were simply old friends. But now? Was Martine one of Evelyn’s sources from her MI6 days? Did Martineknow her as Evelyn Stone? Was she secretly smiling every time she heard me called Reginald Stone?

This knowledge about my mother changed things. So many things, it was hard to list them all without stepping through my entire life.

I said, “I understand you’re hosting an auction tomorrow.”

Martine used my arm to turn me away from the poker table, where the Greek model and her opponent switched seats, so they sat beside each other. Perhaps she was planning on using the proximity to win more at the table or to win something in the bedroom this evening.

Martine said, “Have you seen the catalog?”

A server approached us with two glasses of champagne on a tray. Martine’s standard. Both of us accepted the glasses but remained arm in arm.