"One," Alina murmured. "Two."
She wasn't looking at him. She was looking past his shoulder, through Orelle's tall front windows, at the dark street outside, counting with the tip of her dessert spoon against the tablecloth.
"We're one camera short of a kiss."
Avery set down his wine glass. "You're counting paparazzi."
"I'm counting *lenses.* The man in the gray hoodie by the bus stop is with *The Halden Wire.* The woman in the parked car with the long lens is freelance. She sells to whoever pays most." Alina tapped the spoon twice. "That's two. Clause One says three."
"And if a third never shows up?"
"Then you'll walk me to the car and shake my hand like a banker."
*He would,* Nimor said mournfully. *He would actually do that. I've seen him shake hands with a man at a funeral. The w
