Page 7 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“Nothing my ass,” Toby says. “You insult me; I let you walk straight into a trap. That’s how this partnership works.”

Mike blows air through his nose, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve got an interesting concept of partnerships.”

“Did you listen when Liu called me one of his best?”

There’s some rustling, Mike’s answer delayed by the time it takes to snap a few pictures. When he comes back in, it’s with, “Hearing and believing are two different things.”

“Straight into a trap,” Toby repeats, and finds that he’s grinning even as he says it.

A moment of silence follows, then a quick intake of breath and a soft, barely audible thump that suggests Mike just jumped out through the window and landed on rubber soles. He should be just slightly to the left of the nearest camera; Toby can’t detect even a hint of his presence.

Another rustle of movement. Out here in the open, Mike won’t be able to talk until he’s covered the stretch to the fence, which requires a couple of detours to avoid the cameras. Too bad for Mike: he’ll just have to listen to Toby talk, then.

“Hey.” Absently, Toby cycles through the feeds—the guards from before on their routine path, the second pair on the other side of the premises, the third approaching, but still at a safe distance. “I’m tired of rice. It’s bland and sticky, and its only flavor is second-hand because it soaks up everything it can get its grabby little hands on.” That made more sense in his head. “Let’s get pizza.”

Several seconds pass before there’s another muted thud. Then Mike says, voice almost at a normal level, “Pizza’s fine.”

“Fine?” Toby leans back, crossing his legs at the ankle. “It’s chewy, Mike. Chewy, cheesy, thoroughly unhealthy. It’s certainly more than fine.”

“Does” —a car honks on Mike’s end, echoed by another, so he’s definitely back outside— “your obsession with pizza rival your obsession with coffee?”

Toby sniffs. “I prefer cultured appreciation, thank you.”

Mike’s low chuckle hums in Toby’s blood in a way it absolutely shouldn’t. As soon as he gets home, Toby will a) wash the dye out of his hair and remove the goatee, b) get drunk, and c) laid. Easy.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Mike puts in, and Toby needs a moment to remember what he’s referring to: cultured appreciation, right.

“I will,” he says with dignity. He’s about to add more when a knock interrupts him. Short, short, long, short. Mike must have jogged some of the way because clearly, he’s a lunatic, and he’s not even breathing hard. Bastard.

Toby closes the laptop and gets out of his chair, navigating the cramped space to the door. He opens it to find Mike waiting with a pleased expression, bright-eyed with lingering adrenaline and the satisfaction of a smoothly executed mission. At the sight of him, Toby relaxes, all tension draining away—it’s the price of waiting, limited control while your partner’s in danger.

“Pizza,” Mike says, like it’s the codeword for a party. As far as Toby is concerned, it might as well be.

***

As they review the mission, tucked into the furthest corner of a place that promises authentic Italian and Lebanese cuisine, Toby can’t help but notice Mike’s faint disappointment at how smoothly things went. He also can’t help but notice that Mike orders his pizza with pineapples. It invites the following conclusions:

Mike is indeed an adrenaline junkie. This is a problem.

Fruit on pizza is unnatural, and unless ordering a pizza Hawaii sparks a sense of nostalgia, Mike’s got no excuse.

(Not that Hawaiians actually ingest more pizza Hawaii than the rest of the world; it’s all in the pineapple brand. Useless trivia courtesy of educating one’s niece is a thing.)

On that note, Hawaii would explain Mike’s tan.

Hawaii would also explain the softened, almost nonexistent traces of an accent Toby can’t quite place.

Toby is too fascinated with an agent he might be partnered with just this once, or for a while.

This is not a problem as such.

But it might become one.

***

They part ways at Indira Gandhi Airport with a handshake and no set date for a second mission.

Pretending to fiddle with his baggage, Toby uses the reflection in a glass pane to watch as the crowd swallows Mike up. He’s done this a hundred times before, with a string of different partners. It’s just part of the job: being thrown into a short but intense situation with a stranger, only to return alone, unpack his suitcase in an apartment that isn’t supposed to feel like home. At some point, Toby will tire of it, but it’s his life right now, and he’s fine with it.

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