Gayle nodded. “It’s called Plaza de Armas, and it’s the cultural and tourism epicenter of Cuzco. Tons of great eateries and shops, the Janes & Kirtland fountain, of course, and two very famous cathedrals. Maybe the churches are something you would be interesting in seeing before you leave?”

“If we have time, that would be nice,” Nisha said politely.

Jed squirmed, the vulnerability of the location making it difficult to relax. There was simply no “safe” seat at a table on a balcony. Their party was in clear view to everyone in the courtyard outside as well as everyone dining inside. He had no wall to position his back against. Eli had it even worse, having taken a seat on the opposite side of the table with his back to the courtyard. When the hostess had seated them, the two lifelong operators had locked eyes and reached a meeting of the minds—taking opposite sides and opposite corners of the table: I’ll watch your six and you watch mine.

Paranoia . . . this was the operator’s strength and also their curse.

Jed felt Nisha’s gaze.

She’d sat directly across the table from him, and he’d already twice accidently bumped her legs trying to find a comfortable position in the cramped quarters on the balcony with its pushed-together tables and too-small chairs.

“Hi,” he said, greeting her as if they’d not spent the entire day together. She’d been practically catatonic on the flight back, so totally immersed in her own thoughts after what they’d seen. Frankly, he was a little worried about her, but her warm, familiar smile suggested she’d found her way back.

She chuckled. “Hi.”

Maybe I should order wine so Jed can have a glass, relax, and stop fidgeting.

“Sorry, I’m having trouble fitting comfortably,” he said, realizing too late he’d read her thoughts without permission. “Big-guy problem.”

“I know,” she said, and the corner of her mouth curled up in that little Nisha smile thing she did whenever she busted him on anything. “You don’t fit on planes, you don’t fit on minibuses, you don’t fit on tiny chairs on tiny balconies . . . It must be an eternal aggravation to live in a world standardized for bodies three-quarters the size of yours.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry for kicking your shins, like, five times. They really should put me at my own table,” he said. “I’m basically Wreck-It Ralph in real life.”

This comment garnered a laugh from everyone at the table. After several more minutes of small talk, the conversation at the table comfortably turned to what they’d seen on the mountain. Thankfully, Gayle had not invited Campos to join them for dinner, so they could speak openly.