by Abigail Roux
“Is that really what you think?” Ty asked, unable to help himself.
Zane’s brow creased a little. “Yes. Everyone reacts to alcohol differently, just like drugs, just like injuries. Depends on how you handle it, what you let it do to you. Why?”
Ty realized he was staring at Zane slightly agape, and he quickly pressed his lips together. He shook his head sadly. The reasoning seemed very… self-serving for an alcoholic. He didn’t want to argue with Zane just then, so he nodded and looked away, determined to let the thread of conversation die a natural death. He moved toward the bed, pulling his damp shirt over his head and casting it aside as he sat in the general location of the end of the bed. He examined the scar on his hand. His ring finger was beginning to swell even more. He was never going to get the damn ring off. He might actually need to have it cut off soon.
“I’m sitting here trying to think of a creative way to yell at you for scaring the shit out of me, and nothing’s really coming to mind other than fucking you against the shower wall until we both feel better,” Zane said from behind him, his tone calm and conversational.
Ty nodded distractedly. “I do need a shower,” he commented in a voice to match.
Zane shifted his weight to climb off the bed and moved toward him, reaching out one hand. When he glanced up, Ty was surprised to see the intense look in Zane’s eyes. His fingers brushed over Ty’s skin, but they flinched after a firm rap on the stateroom door.
Ty looked up at Zane and smiled gamely. Zane glanced to the door and back to Ty, clearly considering ignoring it until there was a second knock, louder than the first. Zane huffed and stalked across the room to unbolt the door and open it just enough to look out.
Ty watched tensely, hands loose near the gun he’d stashed under the mattress earlier, and hunched over so he could grab it quickly. He couldn’t see or hear their guest, but he wouldn’t put it past Zane to growl at them to go away so they could proceed to the shower as planned.
“Unless you’re hiding a cart with cold beer and cookies, go away,” Zane growled at whoever was out there.
Ty laughed softly and shook his head. He lay back, leaving the gun safely under the mattress, rolled on the bed, and stretched out on his stomach, surprised by the adrenaline still coursing through him. He hadn’t almost died in a while. He wasn’t handling it well.
Zane exchanged a few more words with the person on the other side of the door before shutting it firmly and shooting the bolt. “We are now top of the treat list,” he said wryly as he walked back to the bed. “The ship, if not the world, is ours on a platter.”
“Great,” Ty replied without enthusiasm. “What else is on that damned itinerary?”
“Too many other extreme sports for my liking,” Zane muttered as he sat on the edge of the mattress and started rubbing Ty’s neck with one hand.
“What would be the point in disabling Del or Corbin at this stage?” Ty posed as he stared listlessly at the balcony doors.
“Nothing other than removing them from the equation,” Zane answered, twisting a little to use both hands to knead Ty’s shoulders carefully.
“Thank you, Sherlock,” Ty said with a small smile. “I meant why. Have we stumbled into a business takeover, do you think?”
Zane stayed quiet for a minute as he massaged, his fingers firm on Ty’s skin. “You mean Armen trying to take over.”
“Or Bianchi,” Ty said with a nod.
“I suppose it could be us—the Porters—trying to take over, and one of the others is simply striking first,” Zane suggested as he kept up the massage, moving more to Ty’s shoulders and upper arms.
“You’re much better at that than the last lady,” Ty mumbled distractedly.
The warm hands squeezing and rubbing kept moving in smooth circles and slides. “Porter does seem the type to try a takeover,” Zane mentioned, continuing the conversation as if Ty hadn’t said anything. “An enterprising thug. Bianchi… well, my first impression isn’t one of aggression. Armen is dangerous.”
“Right.” Ty sighed heavily, closing his eyes and concentrating more on Zane’s hands. He had long fingers on big hands, and he spread them across Ty’s skin expertly as he massaged the muscles bunching with tension. First the fingers would dig in and knead until it was almost painful, but then Zane would let up and start soothing the area with long swipes of the heels of his hands, gently shooing the discomfort away.
Ty realized he was letting Zane divert him from the slightly more important issue they now faced. He raised his head and turned it, resting it again so he was facing Zane. “You’re getting distracted,” he accused.
The corners of Zane’s mouth pulled up slowly, and the smile echoed in his eyes. “Am I, now?” he drawled, dragging his fingertips down Ty’s back.
Ty shivered violently, then rolled and reached up to knock Zane’s hand away. He miscalculated where he was on the circular bed, though, and his shoulder hit the edge of the mattress and he went toppling over the edge with a flail of his arms and an abbreviated yip.
There was silence for a brief moment, and then Zane’s head appeared to look down at him.
“Haven’t you had enough of that for one day?” He didn’t sound particularly amused. Ty sat up, rubbing the back of his head and glaring up at his lover balefully, as if it had been Zane’s doing. “Don’t look at me,” Zane said as he shifted in place, still up on the bed. “This one you did to yourself, dumbass.”
“I hate this bed,” Ty muttered as he sat on the floor dejectedly and examined his abused hands. He couldn’t be bothered to get off the floor.
“Come back up—” Another knock interrupted Zane. He climbed off the bed with a grunt, trudged to the door, and opened it much the same as before.
Only this time he immediately pulled the door further open so the room service cart could be pushed in to their table. The staffer made herself scarce—no telling if she’d heard about the crazy morning—and Zane locked the door behind her.
Ty had to stretch his neck to watch him over the edge of the bed. Zane busied himself with the tray, smiling down at the plates he uncovered. “Hey, get your Tylenol and come eat,” he said. “Then I have liquid relaxation for you.”
“Garrett, come over here,” Ty requested quietly.
Zane turned his chin to look at him, his brow furrowing slightly, but he walked over to where Ty still sat on the floor and stopped, waiting with a questioning look.
“This floor is surprisingly clean,” Ty told him pointedly as he gestured to the lush carpet at Zane’s feet.
“Should I interpret that as ‘bring me a sandwich and a beer’, or as ‘get down here and kiss me’?” Zane asked as he crossed his arms and looked down at his partner.
Ty just smiled wistfully, a part of him wishing he didn’t have to beg Zane to get down there and kiss him. He held out a hand. “Help me up,” he muttered instead. Zane took his hand and pulled him up obligingly. Ty patted him on the arm and moved past him, toward the cart and the array of food and drinks. He’d only just picked up a bottle of beer when they heard another knock on the door.
“Oh, this is just getting ridiculous,” Zane muttered.
Ty shook his head and popped the top on the beer anyway. “I got it,” he said as he waved Zane off and shuffled barefoot to the door. He opened the door wide, assuming that whoever had tried to kill Del was sneakier than a gun to the face in the doorway of his suite.
He was right, but what greeted him was almost as alarming. Norina Bianchi flung herself into Ty’s arms as soon as he’d opened the door, accompanied by a rush of foreign babble and her smiling husband. After a tight hug, she leaned back, patted both his cheeks, and then hugged him again. She sounded worried, and Ty gathered the pair had learned of his mishap on the rock wall.
“Yes, I’m fine. Come in,” he invited, flustered as he tried to gently extricate himself from the woman’s arms without spilling beer on her.
He heard Zane’s voice from behind them. “Signor Bianchi,
please come in. I’m going to guess your lovely wife heard about Del’s grand adventure this morning.”
“Ah, yes,” Bianchi said as he shooed Norina out of the doorway so they could all get inside and shut the door. “Here she comes, flying into the cabin to go on about a big excitement in the sporting center.”
Norina was still talking rapidly to Ty, her beautiful face undergoing a dramatic series of frowns and worried expressions. Ty was pretty good with languages and could upon occasion pick up what someone was saying from knowledge of similar languages or even the meanings of root words he recognized. But trying to decipher any of what she said when she spoke it at Mach 7 was impossible.
He smiled in amusement, suddenly finding the situation incredibly funny. He reached out and took one of her delicate hands in both of his and patted it. “Slowly please,” he requested with a glance at Zane and a wink. “Corbin doesn’t speak the language nearly so well as he pretends.”
“Oh!” Norina exclaimed as she looked at Zane with wide, dark eyes. “I must apologize! In my excitement I forget myself.”
Ty practically sighed in relief. She spoke English. Now he just needed to convince her to continue to do so even when his fake husband wasn’t around.
“No apology needed, Signora,” Zane said pleasantly. “Won’t you come in and sit down? We just ordered refreshments for the afternoon.”
“I told my Norina you would be… comforting each other,” Bianchi said knowingly. “After such a harrowing experience. But no, she needed to see your Del for herself.”
“They said you had fallen,” she told Ty as she put both hands on his chest and gazed up at him. Ty didn’t know if it was because she was Italian, because she knew he was gay and therefore “safe” to grope, or if she was just the touchy-feely type, but he really wished she’d stop touching him quite so freely.
“It was a minor accident, not nearly as bad as the rumors, I’m sure,” Ty assured her as he plucked her hands off his chest and steered her toward the sitting area and the other two men.
“As you see,” Zane said as he filled glasses from the bar with ice, “Del is up and about, doing just fine.”
“Yes,” Bianchi commented, looking over the cart from room service. “And you ordered a drink from room service to settle your own heart, no?” he said, indicating the shot of whiskey.
Ty raised one eyebrow at Zane. He’d forgotten about the glass. He wasn’t fond of whiskey, but he didn’t think Zane knew that. However, Ty didn’t know if Zane had ordered the shot for Ty or for himself.
Zane waved a nonchalant hand at it as he poured tea. “Would you like some tea? Or there’s beer, and I believe we have a selection of sodas in the bar fridge and a couple bottles of wine besides.”
“We had wine with lunch,” Norina said, stepping back from Ty slightly but moving to hold his arm as they walked to join Bianchi and Zane at the table. “I will have tea, please.”
“Tea. Bah. I will have the beer if it is not American,” Bianchi said as he pulled out a chair, looking ready to make himself at home.
Ty had to hold back a sigh. No more massage for him. But this was why they were here, he told himself, to get information from these people. Not to get laid repeatedly by his partner in a luxury suite. No matter how much that appealed.
Chapter 7
BIANCHI was in high spirits when he joined Zane, Armen, and a few other players in the private lounge. He also carried high spirits—literally. He had a hinged wooden box, and once he set it down, he pulled out an ornate blue and silver bottle and cradled it in the crook of his arm.
“Gentlemen!” Bianchi greeted expansively. “I come bearing a gift, bought specially with our American friend here in mind.”
Zane looked from Bianchi to the bottle and back, and his stomach turned. “A gift for me?” he asked, forcing pleasant surprise into his voice.
“You have told me how you so enjoy the premium Chivas, yes? So I have brought you your own bottle of Regal Royal Salute—although I shall insist you share,” Bianchi said, clearly very pleased with himself.
Zane silently swallowed on the upset welling in his throat, trying hard to deny he was feeling even the slightest bit panicked. Apparently Corbin Porter had a penchant for fine Scotch whiskey, and damn, Chivas Regal Royal Salute? That was fifty-fucking-year-old Scotch, and only a seriously limited number of bottles had even been made. Bianchi had to have paid a fortune for it… or he’d acquired it in another style of business transaction altogether. “That is such a kind gesture, Signor Bianchi. But I can’t possibly—”
“Of course you can, and you will! I insist. We are here to enjoy ourselves and celebrate our acquaintance,” Bianchi said. The look in Bianchi’s eyes told Zane that Corbin Porter would never decline such an offer. The sinking feeling intensified as Zane mentally flailed for an exit. There had to be a gracious way to bow out, but as he looked at the other players, all smiling and appreciative, Zane knew there wasn’t.
A waiter arrived a few moments later with empty tumblers for all the players at the table. Bianchi filled the glasses generously, and when he personally held one out to Zane, Zane knew he was trapped. There was no way to avoid this, short blowing his cover—and Ty’s—over a glass of whiskey.
He gave Bianchi Corbin’s best full-of-shit grin and raised his glass for the toast to their health even as his stomach roiled.
Zane hadn’t had a drink, any drink, in almost ten months.
The first taste of the very expensive Chivas was, well, intoxicating.
TY SAT on the balcony of their suite staring out at the rolling ocean, feet twitching as he hummed a tune he was pretty sure was actually two or three different songs. He was bored. It was only the fourth day of cruising, but other than almost falling off the rock wall the morning before, nothing had happened, and Ty wasn’t in a position to make anything happen.
He’d spent almost the entire day doing nothing. He supposed that was what some considered a vacation, but it just made him twitchy and nervous.
He understood the necessity for following the itineraries, but he was really beginning to hate those damn things. After dinner last night, Zane had gone off to a high-stakes poker game with Bianchi, Armen, and several other high rollers, hoping to glean information that could prove useful. Ty wasn’t needed there, and his presence probably would have made the other men wonder. They’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk for him to tag along, and the same applied tonight. And even if they’d been able to contact them, none of the other AWOL team members could be there for backup, either, since it was a private game. Which was another thing that made Ty restless as hell.
It sort of reminded him of his last float before he’d left the Corps. Knowing there was action elsewhere but stuck in sick bay, useless, with a bullet hole in his shoulder. Then, at least, his chest hadn’t itched where all the hair had been ripped out by organic scented wax.
He knew it was a self-imposed boredom this time, of course. They were on a cruise ship. It was, by definition, a floating fun house. Only Ty wasn’t having fun, and he wasn’t willing to go too far where he couldn’t be found if there was trouble. The four-man support team that was supposedly out there somewhere wasn’t really a lot of help. Ty hadn’t seen hide or hair of any of them. He knew it was out of necessity; they were merely there as a fallback, a last-ditch emergency response team if everything went tits up. Still, Ty would have felt better if they’d been given some way to contact them other than going out on the deck and waving their arms, hoping one of them was watching.
None of that would have made him feel better anyway. He didn’t know any of the other agents, and he didn’t trust what he didn’t know.
He sat there for barely five more minutes before he lost the will to be bored. He hefted himself out of the lounger and turned to head back into the cabin, determined to find something to keep his mind busy that didn’t involve disaster scenarios.
He went to Del Porter’s leather satchel, opened it, and peered inside with a
twinge of guilt. He didn’t like going through Del’s personal belongings any more than he liked being Del. Granted, they’d already made a cursory search of all the luggage, including this bag, but Ty had tried not to delve too deep.
Now, though, he was desperate.
Inside the satchel were a few Sudoku and crossword puzzle books, which shocked Ty, since the guy wasn’t exactly supposed to be the intellectual type. He reached in and pulled a few of the books out, flipping through them to find them almost entirely filled in.
He groaned in disappointment. That would have given him something to do, anyway. He’d been avoiding the ship’s fitness areas simply because he didn’t like the crowds, but he would do a few laps around the designated jogging track if all else failed. If he could find music, he’d be better off. He remembered seeing an MP3 player in one of these bags.
He set the books beside him on the bed and looked back into the satchel. There was a small, pale green iPod and a set of matching earphones, a stick of deodorant, a pair of reading glasses in a Gucci case, and not much else.
Ty picked up the iPod with a pleased smile. He plugged in the earphones and put one bud in his ear as he turned the device on to make sure it would work before he got ready for a run. He set it to shuffle and put it on his knee as he reached for the Gucci eyeglass case.
He opened the case out of curiosity, wondering if they really were reading glasses. He was almost surprised when he found they were, and he held the stylish frames up to look them over. They were rectangular wire frames with thick, flat legs. Not exactly what Ty would have chosen if he had to wear glasses, and they had probably cost more than he made in a month.
The most interesting thing about these reading glasses was that when he held them up and looked through them, they didn’t alter his vision at all. Ty frowned at them and slid them on as the iPod began to play a spoken word track in a language Ty wasn’t sure of.
The reading glasses were merely glass, and they were heavier than they should have been, slightly reminiscent of the sunglasses he’d been given to take pictures. He took them off and turned them over, bending the legs experimentally. He couldn’t concentrate with the foreign words in his ear, though, and he picked up the iPod to peer at the track name. He’d thought it was an audiobook track, but it was labeled as a song he’d never heard of. Ty huffed and thumbed over to the next song, but it, too, was a spoken word track that was labeled incorrectly.
