Page 28 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

Abort the thought.

Toby unclenches his hand just as Audrey agrees to meet Mike in ten minutes, in her own room that comes with a door and a lock. Mike will never show, of course—with some luck, Audrey will be too embarrassed to ask around for the hot stranger who stood her up. Toby doesn’t feel so much as a shred of pity; she doesn’t know Mike, so it matters very little if there’s this one tiny thing she can’t have.

Not that Toby knows Mike.

Oh, he knows what Mike sounds like when he comes; that Mike is incapable of sitting still on a plane; that Mike puts himself in the line of fire for strangers without a second thought. But Toby doesn’t know Mike.

He needs to remember that.

***

Audrey leaves first.

Mike leaves some five minutes later, collects his bag and takes a header off the Liberty. Shortly after, he resurfaces next to the boat where Toby is already waiting with a towel and some off-handed quip about leaving a lady hanging. He doesn’t linger when Mike peels the wetsuit off, yet can’t help sneaking a glance at Mike’s smooth chest and flat stomach, the faint light of the Liberty bouncing off Mike’s abs.

Damn it all.

Toby swallows and busies his hands by recalling the drone. While Mike is recounting some details about Jeannot’s room and where he hid the bugs, Toby shuts down the laptop, packing up. The sooner they leave, the better his chance of escaping with his sanity intact.

***

Stripped down to a pair of boxers, teeth brushed and eyes itching with tiredness, Toby steps out onto the balcony. The night air is warm and dry on his face. He’s feeling calm now, able to appreciate the view below which could have been ripped straight out of a coffee table book: Nice’s port, illuminated by thousands of multi-colored lights that reflect off the sea’s black expanse in streaks of blue and yellow and green, boat masts reaching for the sky like skeleton fingers.

It’s been three days since he last spoke to Matt and Haley. A couple of years ago, that would have been unthinkable, but things have been getting better, much better, to the point where Toby no longer feels guilty each time he leaves for more than a few days. It’s a good sign, the fact that he and Matt rely on each other a little less these days.

When Matt picks up, he’s in a hurry—having dropped Haley off at a friend’s house, he’s on his way to meet a client. Toby wishes him good luck and is about to hang up when Matt stops him.

“Hey, wait. You sound exhausted.” A short pause while Matt seems to check for his train departure. “You okay? What time is it for you right now?”

“Just past eleven.” Toby glances to the right, at the neighboring balcony that’s connected to Mike’s room. The balcony door is ajar. There’s no sign of Mike, but Toby lowers his voice just in case, keeps his answer vague. “And I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all—also missing you guys. Thanks for checking, though.”

“Too tired for words, I take it?” The phone transmits the hustle and bustle of a subway station, while the only sounds that travel up to Toby’s balcony are faint snatches of music from the bars lining the port promenade.

“Not too tired to notice when I’m being mocked.” Setting both elbows on the banister, Toby presses the phone against his ear and closes his eyes. The night smells of salt and cypresses. “Seriously, I’m okay. Let’s do something nice when I get home, though. Take the princess to the fair, let her walk out with a huge pink elephant, that sort of thing.”

“Since when do you refer to Haley as ‘princess’ when she isn’t around?”

Right. Toby had hoped Matt wouldn’t pick up on that. “I’m tired and thus cannot be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth,” he says. “Now good luck with your client, okay? I’ll see you guys in a couple of days.”

“Have a safe trip,” Matt says, and while he doesn’t sound convinced, he knows not to push for more. Most of the time, he seems willfully ignorant of the gaps in Toby’s tales of travel, has long since stopped inquiring about the specifics of Toby’s work.

It’s entirely possible he believes his brother to be a globe-traipsing criminal. If so, he’s chosen to hold his tongue.

V. Chapter Two

A fter a full night of uninterrupted sleep and a leisurely shower, Toby feels ready to face the world, and Mike. He does, however, not expect to face Mike right this very moment, which is why he leaves the bathroom with only a towel slung around his hips, steam billowing behind him as he steps into the hotel room.

Mike is reclining against the headboard of Toby’s bed. What the fuck.

The balcony door wasn’t open when Toby left the room, but now it is. Sunshine is streaming in, and the light paints one half of the room in harsh colors, emphasizing the contrast between Mike’s tan and the white of his shirt. He looks perfectly at ease, like there is nothing unusual about him relaxing in Toby’s room.

He’s studying a picture of Matt and Haley.

Toby’s breath leaves him in a rush. In two big steps, he crosses the room and snatches the photo away from Mike.

“What the actual fuck, man?” he gets out. His chest feels tight, his lungs contracting around his heart. I don’t know you; I don’t know you; what are you doing here?

Mike straightens out of his slouch, his shoulders tense, the line of his spine rigid. “That’s my question.”

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