Page 20 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“I still don’t understand what’s wrong with your current place.”

Nothing’s wrong with it. Toby could see himself still there a year from now, maybe even having bought some actual furniture that didn’t come with the lease—and that’s the problem right there.

“It’s just time to move on,” he says, instead of sounding vaguely neurotic.

Because Liu knows when to let sleeping dogs lie, he shoots Toby another skeptical look, but doesn’t comment. Liu is first through the rotating doors, which gives Toby another second to compose himself. Christ, why did this take him by surprise? He knew Mike would show up; he just didn’t know when. The apparent answer is: now. Get the fuck over it.

Toby grits his teeth. Okay, this is fine. Mike is just a guy that Toby had sex with once, that’s all. As far as Toby is concerned, that night in Nouakchott never happened. Move along, nothing to see here.

He follows Liu inside.

“Mr. Redding!” he hears as he enters. Liu’s tone is all smooth businessman, his casual air left outside the doors. “Glad you made it.”

Mike turns and straightens out of his slouch, just enough that he doesn’t appear disrespectful. “Mike, please.”

“Mike.” Liu nods. “I didn’t expect to see you in already. Thought you’d take a couple days looking for an apartment, like we suggested.”

An apartment. Mike will take an apartment here—there’s a chance that Toby will run into him when grocery shopping. That’s fine, that’s cool, no problem. Behind Liu, Toby tries to look collected and welcoming, but not too much so.

“I’m staying at a hotel, for now.” Mike’s gaze slides past Liu and settles on Toby, a careful smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “Toby. I see you’ve escaped the collective gratitude of Paul and Nathan with all your limbs attached.”

“Theirs, and that of their families. You should have seen the welcome committee at the airport.” It had been a little embarrassing to be the center of so much grateful attention—wives and siblings and a couple of friends, drawing him into their circle before he could make a clean getaway. “If we’re ever in Brooklyn, we’re invited for lunch, dinner, breakfast, anything. Emphatically invited, as a matter of fact. Apparently, Nathan is a great cook.” Who always leaves the kitchen a mess, according to his wife, and why does Toby even know this about people he’ll never meet again?

“That’s nice. We could do that.” Mike sounds earnest about it, and, uh.

Jesy, catching sight of Toby’s expression, snorts out a laugh before her gaze slides to Liu. Dear sweet God, not another one. To Toby’s surprise, Liu gives her a smile that softens his entire face. Most interesting.

And none of Toby’s business.

“It would be nice,” Mike insists. “They’re idiots to go hiking in a country that’s unsafe, yeah, but I’m sure they won’t do that again.”

No, Toby is pretty certain that even if Paul and Nathan were to put their brains on standby and plan another trip like that, their families would lock them in the basement with three regular meals a day until the madness passes. That’s not Toby’s point.

“I’m never opposed to a good, home-cooked meal—not like I get a lot of those.” He draws his shoulders back and, for the first time today, meets Mike’s eyes. “But I was trained to do the job, leave minimal evidence, get out. Dropping by for dinner doesn’t fit the MO.”

“Then maybe your MO could do with a revision.” Mike’s tone is light, but there’s a hint of something darker underneath.

“It’s kept me alive so far,” Toby tells him. With that, he nods at Liu. “Thanks for lunch, always a pleasure. Unless you need me for something, I’ll head on up—lab said they’d give me a call.” He’s overly aware of Mike’s presence, and since this actually concerns the guy too, he turns back to explain, “Remember our communication devices from the last op? I sent them in for analysis. It’s a good system, never had any problems before, so I want to know what went wrong to have them just cut off like that.”

A man who over-explains is a man with something to hide.

It’s something that Toby’s psychology lecturer liked to say. Fittingly referred to as Peppermint Peppy, Mr. Jones had a balding head, a protruding belly thanks to halting all physical exercise once he’d retired from the field without adjusting his diet accordingly, and he always smelled of mint liqueur. Damn good teacher, though. Either way, Toby doesn’t think he’s over-explaining to, say, hide an itch to be elsewhere—this information is relevant to Mike. So.

“Let me know how it goes,” is all Mike says.

“Of course, partner.” Toby needs to stop talking. Unbidden, his eyes fix on a glimpse of bare skin where Mike’s shirt gapes open at the throat. “Have a good start, let me know if you need anything.” Whatever you need. Christ, he definitely needs to stop talking. His ears feel a little hot.

“Thanks,” Mike says smoothly, easily.

“Okay.”

Toby raises a hand, smiles, and is about to turn away when Jesy asks, “We still on for squash on Thursday?”

Damn, doesn’t she know Toby is trying to beat a hasty retreat around here?

He focuses on her—anything but the thoughtful consideration in Mike’s eyes. “Sure, if you want to go down badly.”

Jesy’s grin is all predator. “Not a chance in hell, Brown.”

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