Sam glanced at Carla's motorcycle. The woman was heading inside, and Sam estimated he had less than a minute before Mike made his exit. Didn't leave much of a window.

He got out the car the moment Carla got inside, walking quickly but not hurried towards her parking spot, fingers wrapped around the tracker. His blue Hawaiian shirt stood out from the suits of the others coming and going, and Sam leaned into it, adopting the slightly lost look of a Florida tourist who took a wrong turn. If you couldn't pull off acting like you belonged somewhere, acting like there was no reason for you not to be there wasn't a terrible option. He made a few pauses to stare up at the building or around the area before reaching the bike, where he causally attached the tracker with one hand before continuing on and looping back around to the car.

He'd just gotten resettled in the driver's seat when Mike came out of the building at a jog.

And Sam wondered if maybe he'd oversold it because no one was even glancing at Mike's hurried pace. But Mike was also wearing a suit and fit the feel of people who should be there. He cut off the train of thought as Mike got in the car.

"Good news, Mikey. I just planted a tracker on Carla's bike."

"You had a tracker on you?"

"'Always be prepared,' Navy SEAL motto." Sam held up his hand in the three-finger gesture. Admittedly, he'd brought the tracker thinking he might have to use it to track down Mike, depending on how things went in there. He might've said Mike had taken a dive in a shark pit, but sharks at least could be reasoned with, he wasn't so sure about Carla and her lot. There was no telling what or who was in the building, all they had was an address, a copied keycard, and the knowledge that there was a sniper's perch somewhere on the fourth floor. There hadn't been a zero chance that he wouldn't have been caught and brought somewhere more private, and Sam had wanted to be prepared to put a tracker on the car if it came to that. If he got a chance.

He knew if it had come to that, there was a high probability he would've had to do the tracking the old fashioned way.

"That's Boy Scouts."

Sam shrugged. It might have been, but he'd learned in the SEALs. That had to count for something. "Mike, are you gonna argue with the man who just planted a tracker on your handler?"

Mike finally took his eyes off the building. "Sam, I could kiss you."

It was the kind of teasing comment Sam had made several times over the years towards Mike, not something to be taken at all seriously, yet Sam's fingers still fumbled the key in the ignition at the thought. It was the first time that Mike had made such a comment at him. He recovered quickly, getting the engine started. "How about a raincheck, Mikey."

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Sam managed to track Carla back to her hotel.

It took more money than he would've liked to grease the right hands to not only get him a room but one off the books. If nothing else, it confirmed that trying to rent an actually nice hotel room to get out of Maddie's while looking for somewhere more permanent wasn't an option.

He leaned against the next to the large window overlooking the pool--and damn if looking at it didn't fill him with longing to take a dive, it'd been too long since he'd last properly been in water--and sipped a room service delivered mojito. It was decent enough to make up for some of the cash he'd had to fork over, but Mikey still better be willing to pay him back after all this. Especially since he was stuck in the room to keep tabs on her for the foreseeable future.

He'd already called Maddie to let her know he might not be home tonight. Even if the surveillance didn't take that long, he fully planned on staying in the room overnight, but it was more likely to take a few days. He'd definitely been on longer stakeouts in his career.

With nothing to do but watch, he got out his cell phone and started making calls. If there was one thing he was beyond good at, it was networking. Do a few favors here and there, go out of your way for the right people, and sooner or later those contacts will come in handy. Either they can do it directly or they'll have their own contact that can make things happen. 'Course, when he was doing those things, he wasn't expecting to call in most of those favors, he was just doing what he felt was right at the time. He especially didn't think he'd be calling in so many on behalf of Mike. Though, he rarely said they were for Mike. These guys would do things for him, doing them for a burnt spy might come back on them. If he didn't mention it, they at least had plausible deniably if all this blew back in their faces.

Of course, all the contacts in the world aren't enough if the intel you need doesn't exist in the first place. Such as the passenger lists for a ferry that'd be right in the line of sight of a fourth floor conference room that a sniper had his eyes on.

Eventually, Sam gave up on the phone. He kept watch of Carla going in and out of the water until she settled down in one of the lounge chairs, stretched out and looking ready for a nap in the sun before leaving his post.

It said something about the state of the world that it was cheaper to buy Carla's room number from a bored employee than it was to get them to keep their mouths shut about a Mer staying there, but Sam was too used to it to think hard on the fact.

His snooping around outside her room was cut short by what looked like hotel security doing a sweep. No one he'd paid said anything about her buying off the security, she must be working as under the table as he was or they were actually her security team trying to keep a low profile, without a list of the hotel personnel, it was hard to say.

Either way, the guy didn't stick around long.

Sam went back to his room for more Carla watching. Mike stopped by for a short debrief and to give him some cash for the expenses. And more Carla watching.

He sighed, absently snacking on some breadsticks from room service. There were few things more boring than lone surveillance. It was still boring with a partner but at least there was someone to talk to or have a comfortable silence with as you bonded over the mind-numbing boredom.

As it was, the only person he had to talk to was the room-service guy, when he brought up drinks or food, and the maid service, when they stopped to see if he needed anything.

But there were upsides to giving generous tips and getting the staff to hang around for a few minutes of casual conversation. Be nice, be friendly, and they were more willing to let things slip. Like an overheard conversation or two about meetings that were going to put Carla out of the hotel for several hours. A perfect opening for Mike to get into her room.

He just had to find a way to get him in there.

It didn't take much to learn she had a facial-recognition computer on the door, but Robert, his room service guy of the last day, was authorized, and getting a photo was easy. Maybe in a decade or so, technology would advance enough that a flat image wouldn't be able to trick it, but Sam dreaded the thought. It would make his job so much harder.

Then he realized he was genuinely considering that this burn notice crap might still be going on in a decade and was repulsed. If he was honest, he wanted Mike to give up on it and stick around, the way he always imagined he would when he, eventually, willingly left the CIA and retired from that life. But he wanted it to be Mike's choice, not something forced on him, otherwise, he wouldn't be going to such lengths to help him. He'd just hold an intervention or something with Fi and Maddie and try to get the idea to move on with his life drilled into Mike's stubborn head.

They'd probably fail, but it'd be worth a shot.

Getting a master key was the harder part of the operation. The obvious target to get it from was the housekeeping manager. And a little slip up from the maid service let him know it wouldn't be impossible.

Sam downed several shots before even trying. It'd take several bottles of hard liquor to get him drunk--it was a mix of having built up an alcohol tolerance over the decades and having a naturally effective liver that filtered it out faster than it would be in humans--but it'd give him enough of a temporary buzz for this.

He'd only brought a few changes of clothes, but he fixed himself up in the nicest shirt he'd brought, styled his hair, and briefly considered shaving off the stubble before changing his mind.

When he approached the housekeeping manager, he made sure his shirt collar was folded in a way that would allow someone standing directly in front of him to get a glimpse of his gills and made sure to put as much swagger into his walk as he could manage without tripping himself.

He was just glad the tip about the man's weakness for Mer porn was accurate as he was pulled into an empty hotel room five minutes later, a wandering hand already snaking under his shirt. Let the man strip him at his leisure, rough kisses, and hands fisted in his hair, and reminded himself he was doing this for Mike as he gave himself over.

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Sam managed to pick up a little more info on Carla's upcoming meetings with the directional mike. It was ninety-nine percent small talk out in the open, but he managed to catch her in the hall outside of the room, speaking a little more freely. Enough to give him a lead on when those meetings would be and how much time Mike would have to get in and out, and to make a few more calls. It was easier to find sources when you had an idea of what to poke at.

He took a moment to organize his notes while Mike watched Carla out the hotel room window. He joined him. "Whatever Carla's up to, Mike, it's something big. Lots of meetings, international types, nobody we know." He'd tracked down a name or two, nothing useful. "If you want to get in her room, now would be the time."

"Sure, I'll just, uh, teleport myself over there. Or do you have a better suggestion?"

Sam let the sarcasm roll off him. He'd been stuck here two days, Mike should know he had all this planned out already. He dug the key out of his notes folder to dangle in front of him. "You could use this master key. I cozied up to the housekeeping manager. Mike, the stuff I had to do to get that... you don't even want to know."

Maybe it was wrong, but he wanted Mike to ask. It didn't matter, they'd all done worse to get what they needed in the past, but it'd be nice to have Mike acknowledge just how far he was willing to go for him.

But Mike just pulled his eyes away from the window to look at the key. "Whatever you had to do, it was worth it." And then he was asking about her security, and Sam pressed down any selfish longings for recognition as he gave him everything he'd learned.

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In hindsight, they should've known someone as good as Carla would've known they were watching her.

Not long after Mike found Carla's file on the operation, minus the sniper's target, she went on the move. A distraction. Get them focused on her so the sniper could move without their noticing.

They knew who the sniper was, they knew where he lived. If luck was on their side, Sam would make it there before he left. Even if he could only slow him down, it would buy Mike enough time to get the access code and confront him at the building.

Sam was still a few blocks away when he saw the smoke. He slowed the car as he neared, not to draw attention from the first responders on the street. There were enough people rubbernecking that one more would go unnoticed.

Most of the damage looked to be around the front door, and he could see the body.

Sam pulled out his cell phone, dialing Mike.

"Yeah, Sam? I'm home. Did you make it to the sniper's house?"

"Yeah, I got some news, Mikey." If this was Carla cleaning up her mess because they caught on, she was even more dangerous than they'd been anticipating. "The sniper's dead."

"Dead? Why would anyone...?" He trailed off, and Sam wondered if he was coming to the same conclusion.

"I don't know, but it's pretty nasty." But the Carla angle didn't make sense. She was the only suspect they had, but she was confident. She shouldn't have turned on her asset just because they were getting close. It didn't feel like her style. "Something is very wrong, they went to a lot of trouble to put this guy in place." It just didn't make sense.

"Just tell me, what happened, Sam? How?"

He looked over the scene again. "Someone booby-trapped his front door, Mike. They blew him up." There was a sharp inhale over the line that had Sam snapping to attention. "Mike?" A resounding boom carrying over the phone was his only answer, and Sam's blood ran cold.

Sam threw himself back into the driver's seat, phone still pressed against his ear. "Mike? Mike!" There was nothing there. Whatever happened, Mike's phone was probably in pieces.

The question was if Mike was in pieces with it.

He wouldn't think about that. He couldn't. As he forced himself not to speed away from the scene. He itched to stomp down on the gas, but getting pulled over because somebody thought he fleeing the scene wouldn't help Mike. He tossed the phone aside.

The inhale. He had to have known before it happened. It was only a few seconds but Mike was sharp, fast, he could've done something. He must have. Mike couldn't be dead.

He couldn't bring himself to even imagine having to deliver that news to Madeline. Or Nate. He'd just seen Mike's brother a few hours ago when he took a break from surveillance to help them with a job. Nate had looked so happy at being allowed to help, wanting so badly to make Mike proud. Sam couldn't--

He could see the smoke, a single grey trail reaching above the roof of the loft and disappearing.

Sam sped up, thankful that there wasn't much traffic in this area this early.

He parked on the street. The front door was gone, but he didn't see any flames--he be surprised if he did, concrete didn't burn and an outwards explosion shouldn't have lit up any future inside. Mike had left the gate open. The stolen motorcycle parked just inside behind the Charger and... there was Mike.

Sam couched, fingers going for a pulse. And his own heart slipped back into a normal rhythm at finding it strong and steady. Not blown up, just singed and bruised. "Mike?" His hand moved to his shoulder. "C'mon, Mike!"

Mike's eyes cracked open, and Sam never felt so relieved to see that brilliant blue. Even if they were a little glassy and dazed. He started to roll over onto his side, Sam stopped him with a hand.

"Don't try it. Don't try that. You just took a pretty bad fall." He let his gaze rise up towards the door. Must've jumped the railing but still gotten caught in the range of the blast. "Uh, make that a very bad fall." He knew Mike liked to patch up his own injuries--or have him and Fi or even Nate do it, if it was somewhere he couldn't reach--over going to a hospital, but this was screaming for a real doctor. Someone who could find out if there was any internal damage to worry about, most he could do was feel around for broken bones once it got beyond visible injuries.

But that meant moving Mike. Sam lifted him enough to get an arm under him, "Come here, brother," got him sitting and holding onto his shoulders as they stood together. "Easy, Mikey." He gave him a minute to get his feet under him and make sure he was stable. If it came down it to, he didn't doubt he could carry Mike--he'd done it before--it was just a question of if Mike would let him. His eyes went to the Charger, wondering if that might be an easier solution since it was right next to them.

The roof was completely dented in. That had to hurt, but it was more giving than concrete.

"I think your car saved your life, Mike."

"Not the first time." Mike started walking, limping, and Sam him set their pace.

"You've been out for about twenty minutes. I got here as soon as I could." And not soon enough. He squeezed Mike's hand before letting go to open the Buick's door and guiding him in. "Watch your head."

"Sam--"

"Hold that thought, Mikey." He closed the door and ran around to the other side.

There was a parked black car in the rearview mirror. Possibly Carla's men or whoever did this. He didn't like either option. "Either someone's very interested in waterfront storage containers or they're here to pay you a visit." As his spurred by his words, the car started pulling forward.

"Get your seatbelt on, Mikey."

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One high speed chase, a totaled Buick, and an uncooperative Mike later, Sam growing more than a little annoyed.

Watching Mike sway for the fifth time in as in twice as many minutes, Sam reached out to stabilize him, letting his hand stay on his shoulder as they stopped. "You seem a little unsteady."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." Unsteady or not, Mike still managed to stare him down, daring him to mention going to the hospital again.

And he got it. He did. If someone wanted Mike dead, it was better to keep moving until they had a better grasp on the situation than be somewhere locatable that could be turned into a trap. But he wasn't sure how logically Mike was thinking right now. "So, Mike, who do you think was in those cars?"

"Probably Carla's guys."

Well, that matched up with his take. It was too many cars, too many guys, and not enough aiming to kill driving during the chase to be whoever planted the bomb.

"Whatever's going on, my guess is she needs to talk to me. She had Nate arrested."

"What? Are you serious?" When had that happened? Why was it just coming up now? Jesus, Maddie must be freaking out. He hoped she wouldn't stop by the loft looking for Mike before they could contact her.

"I got a call from my mom right before I talked to you." He suddenly froze, staring off down the sidewalk. After the first couple of times of him doing that, Sam had stopped trying to figure out if he was staring at something or just zoning out for a few seconds. It was concerning, but he couldn't exactly drag Mike to a doctor, even if his life wasn't being actively threatened.

"Mike?"

"Hold it." And, no, he was looking at something this time.

Sam tried to see what. "Surveillance?" If it was, Carla was showing her upper hand again. She shouldn't have had the resources to locate them this fast on the street.

"Not surveillance, Sam."

"What--" Sam broke off as Mike ran past him, limp barely slowing him down as he ran straight into oncoming traffic. There was just enough time for him to regret not going the forceful route before he saw the man already in the way of traffic.

Fleshly blown up, and he already had to go and play the damn hero.