Page 41 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

Toby wakes up just as the exit sign for Quito flashes by. The eastern edge of the sky is flooded with light, morning traffic in full swing. Sitting up, Toby rubs at his eyes, trying to clear some of the sleepy haze. “Good morning. You drove straight past the exit.”

Mike glances over, his smile easy. His fingers are tight around the wheel, though. “Yeah.”

“Oh, good. Glad we discussed it, weighed our options, and came to a decision we can both support.” Toby frowns at Mike and counts to three, to four, to five.

No explanation is forthcoming.

Groaning, Toby leans forward, both elbows on the dashboard as he tries to get a clear view of Mike’s face. “Fine, I’ll bite. Is this a kidnapping? Are you taking me somewhere to dump the body? Because” —he waves a vague hand— “I’m armed and perfectly capable of defending myself. Also, this would have been way easier back at the hacienda. Collateral damage is your friend.”

Mike looks over just long enough to confirm that he looks wide awake, his eyes clear. “I thought we could head to Costa Rica for a couple of days. There’s a direct flight from Guayaquil to Liberia—that’s in Guanacaste, northwestern region.”

Mike just randomly decided that they should take a vacation. Sure. Toby hopes that his blank stare conveys how utterly unimpressed he is with this explanation. “How long a drive to that Guawhatever place?”

“‘Round seven hours.”

Seven fucking hours trapped in closed quarters? Mike must really want this.

“I’ll pay,” Mike adds, before Toby can put that thought into a question. “Obviously. I wasn’t planning to put it on expenses.”

Toby doesn’t avert his eyes. “Why?”

“Why what?” Mike is staring at the road as if it might collapse under them—not an invalid concern about the Pan-American, broadly speaking, but around Quito, it is relatively well-tended and broad, with two lanes in each direction instead of one.

“We can make this hard.” Toby leans back and clasps his hands behind his head. “Or we can make it easy. So, why the sudden need to go to Costa Rica?” Hmm. Or maybe not that sudden: Mike may have been mulling this over since Liu briefed them.

“There’s this village, Samara Beach.” Mike is still staring straight ahead. “From what I remember, it’s beautiful.”

“Listen, friend. Here’s how conversations work.” Toby pauses as a taxi in front of them performs a clean U-turn on the highway, the car hobbling through the ditch that separates the two directions, nearly pulling to a halt on the opposite lane before the driver hits the gas and manages to get moving before another car hits him from behind. “Relative of yours?” Toby asks.

Mike doesn’t miss a beat. “Think I’ve got a cousin who emigrated to Ecuador.”

“That’s what I thought.” Toby pulls his mind back to the issue at hand. “Now, listen, here’s how conversations work: when a person asks you a question, you reply with relevant information.” He lifts one hand to tick off his fingers. “So. One: why do you want to go there? Two: why now—you can take a trip there any time, make it two weeks instead of a couple days, take some time to work on your tan. Well, more of a tan.” He drops his hand and twists his entire upper body to face Mike. “So, at the risk of repeating myself: why?”

“Is there a chance you can just accept it for what it is? A free getaway trip to a nice beach village; all you have to do is nod and say thank you.”

Toby doesn’t dignify that with an answer, and after a moment, Mike sighs. He checks the rearview mirror, then pulls onto the left lane and shoots Toby a sideways glance that Toby meets evenly.

“Right. Never mind.” One corner of Mike’s mouth lifts. “How about this: let’s go, and I promise I will explain.”

Toby is willing to bet that Mike is not in the habit of asking for anything, from anyone. It’s why he hesitates. “You will explain.”

“I will.” Mike nods. “Promise.”

Agents are supposed to get in, fulfill their task, and get out; slightly extended stays might be tolerated if they happen outside the Agency’s budget and are well within reason. Toby has never taken advantage of that wiggle room.

He studies Mike’s face—the clean angles of his features, the subtle tension hiding in the corners of his mouth. It’d be just a couple of days, just the two of them in some beach village without a job that justifies the time they spend together.

Toby clears his throat. “No records. And Liu is not to learn of this—maybe we had to track down a terrorist who saw our faces, and it took us a little longer than planned to get back.”

Mike glances over, the tension around his mouth fading. “Okay.”

“And I want a decent meal out of it too.” Toby isn’t sure why he’s still talking except if he doesn’t, there’d be silence in the car, and he’s not sure he’s ready for that right now. “In fact, make that a rib eye steak the size of a crêpe, and just as thin.”

Mike’s lips curve upwards—not quite a smile, but well on its way. “You take bribes, then.”

“Fortune is a whore and everyone has a price, babe.” Right after it’s out, Toby bites down on the inside of his cheek and exhales, doesn’t inhale for a few seconds. It’s just playing around, but he can’t afford to let his guard down quite like that.

Mike doesn’t react in any obvious way. “I’ll remember that. And no problem for the steak; we’ll find you one.”

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