Page 26 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

Toby glances at the gentle curve of Mike’s spine, the way it flows into a tight butt. “Ready.”

“Expect me back in an hour,” Mike tells him, grinning with anticipation. Their Mauritanian adventure has clearly not changed him too much: he’s still the kind of guy who runs headfirst into any action he can find. “If you get bored, feel free to think of a way for us to crack the jackpot in Monte Carlo.”

“Ha fucking ha.” Although now Toby is wondering if they could—just theoretically, of course. Would they have what it takes? Fucking Mike. “Less talk, more action, please.”

Mike pauses to shoot Toby a smug grin. Then he turns, takes a few steps, and executes a smooth header. He submerges with a soft splash of water that won’t carry far. “Show-off,” Toby mutters even though Mike can’t hear him.

Toby knows what to look for, or he never would have spotted those minor disturbances of the water that hint at a body moving below. Mike resurfaces right next to the Liberty, hugging the hull so he won’t be seen from above. The rope finds its target on the first try, and then he swings himself up, quick and efficient, while Toby keeps the rifle trained on where Mike is about to come up—just in case.

Mike glides onto the deck unseen, and ducks under a set of stairs to change into his suit. Barely three minutes have passed when he activates the comm link, and he isn’t even out of breath.

Fuck, he’s good.

“I’m in,” Mike murmurs. The technical equipment makes it sound close and intimate.

“I can see that.” Toby bites the inside of his cheek as he does a quick sweep of Mike’s surroundings. “All right. Continue up the stairs. There’s a group of party guests on the next deck, you’ll fit right in.”

“Copy that.” Mike steps into full view, his suit well-tailored with the jacket gaping open, two of its three buttons undone. He cleans up nice.

While Mike ascends the stairs, Toby sends the drone on its merry way. He alternates between the footage on his laptop and the binoculars to identify any obstacles before they can pose a problem. Clear. Clear. Two guards off to the side, keeping an eye on a group that has hit the booze hard, all sloppy gestures and exaggerated laughter. Should be fine.

Toby brings the binoculars up to Jeannot’s room just in time to catch movement behind the dark windows. He adjusts the position of the drone, then curses quietly.

Mike hums in his ear—a question.

“Someone just entered Jeannot’s room,” Toby says. “Take it slow while I find out what’s going on.”

Mike doesn’t reply, but when Toby checks on him, he finds him ascending the stairs like he’s got all the time in the world. Toby focuses back on the room.

When a lamp switches on, he catches a glimpse of long, dark hair and a petite figure, then the woman disappears from view once more. Moments later, the warm lamplight is joined by the blue glow of a TV.

Well, shit.

“It’s Audrey Jeannot. Looks like she’s settling in for a nice evening in front of the TV.” Toby exhales through his nose, ignoring the background noises transmitted by Mike’s microphone as he recalls the gist of information they received on Jeannot’s daughter: just turned twenty-five, a young, modern woman who’s been raised as daddy’s little princess and is unfamiliar with the word ‘no’. She’s rumored to be a party girl, even now, so her father’s covert, rabbit-hole slide into the embrace of a radical imam must have come at a time when she was old enough to stand her ground.

It seems her father’s business colleagues don’t appeal.

Mike will.

Toby locates him in the vicinity of the drunken group. He’s leaning against the railing, gazing out at the sea with a drink loosely clasped in one hand and his jacket fully unbuttoned. A paper lantern outlines the angles of his face. If there is any truth to the rumors, Audrey won’t turn him away.

What next, though?

Sleeping pills? Didn’t bring any; they didn’t expect anyone to cozy up in Jeannot’s room smack in the middle of a party. Medicine cabinet? Unlikely—Imam Sadart never released a specific fatwah on the topic, not like he did on Victoria’s Secret, secular democracies and beer, but they still fall under the general prohibition of mind-altering substances. Jeannot might be playing the game right now, serving his guests whatever alcohol their little hearts desire, but he would have adapted the medicine cabinet in his bathroom to suit his beliefs. Even if he hadn’t, they wouldn’t want Audrey waking up asking about a good-looking stranger; where did he go, daddy?

They need to get her out of the room.

“Mike. You listening?”

Mike hums, lips curving around the rim of his drink.

“Audrey is still there. We need to get her out.” Toby checks on her: she’s scrolling through her phone even though the TV is on. Her lipstick is very red. Daddy won’t approve. “You need to get her out.”

“Honey trap?” Mike murmurs, easily mistaken for a drunken mumble stolen by the wind.

“Won’t be your first, I assume?”

“No.”

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