“In my opinion, they’ve got more money than sense,” Zane said with a small shrug. “I don’t really know.”
“That’s probably a lot then,” Ty concluded, a hint of ill-concealed discomfort in his voice.
“Probably,” Zane allowed. “I’m not exactly much a part of the family anymore.” The old pain of it twinged a little, and he pushed himself to sit up again. “So it’s not something I deal with.”
Ty turned his head to watch Zane, but he didn’t take a step back or move away to give him space. It was an oddly intimate inaction. “So… what, you got cut off?”
Zane shook his head. “We just don’t get along.” He didn’t really want to get into a rehash of Dallas—too much potential for messy emotions he tried to keep buried with the rest of his past, not to mention the dreaded wailing violin section. He forced a smile and looked up at Ty. “I like your family a lot better.”
“They’re that bad?” Ty asked disbelievingly.
Zane had to laugh. “There’s no way to compare, really. You’ve got your family baggage, right? Well, I’ve got mine. And you know me and baggage,” he tried to joke, but it came out flat to his ear.
Ty’s eyes strayed to the array of bags and belongings on the bed; then he looked back at Zane and nodded somberly. “If you ever want to talk about it,” he offered slowly, a smile forming as he finished, “you’ve got Deacon’s number, right?”
Warmth stole through Zane’s chest, and it was easy to return the smile. Comments like that did a lot to remind Zane that Ty really did care about him. Even if Ty was shoving him off on his psychiatrist brother. “Yeah.” Then he looked down at the mess littering the bed. “So. Don’t worry about this shit. It doesn’t mean anything. And you don’t need to act any differently to deal with it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ty muttered as he turned away and ran a hand through his bleached-blond hair. He moved away from Zane and the bed and began walking toward the balcony again. He stared out the open door for a long moment, apparently trying to settle himself and find the right mentality to be Del Porter instead of Ty Grady.
As Zane watched him, he saw the set of Ty’s shoulders change, saw the tension melt off him, saw his gait alter as he paced toward the doors, and by the time his partner got to the balcony and turned around, Ty seemed comfortable in his surroundings and in his new skin. It was a subtle change, just like the one in Zane’s bed last night. Ty seemed to be able to slide into a new persona quickly; he just didn’t seem to be able to maintain it for very long.
He gave Zane a crooked smile. “I still need some practice,” he said, assuming Del Porter’s lyrical accent. It changed the tone of his voice, the pitch. Even the hint of mountain gravel and growling quality Zane had grown fond of was gone, replaced by the smooth British tones.
The ability again impressed Zane, though he immediately missed Ty’s natural voice. But if Ty wanted to play the game here in the cabin from time to time to help them stay in character, he’d go along with it. It couldn’t hurt. The best way to stay safely undercover was to live it, but he seriously doubted they needed to go that far on this case, and Zane would much rather be with Ty than Del.
“And just what do you suggest?” he asked in the haughty tone he used for Corbin.
Ty moved toward him, smiling as he walked up to stand in front of him and put one finger on Zane’s shoulder. He let it slide up to Zane’s neck teasingly and gave him a chaste kiss. Then he said in his normal voice, “I want a nap. And then food.”
“Easy enough. Shove this crap off the bed, and we have nap time. Then there are six full-service restaurants on board, two on the luxury level,” Zane pointed out as he settled his hands on Ty’s hips. “That doesn’t count room service and all the other buffet and counter-service places.”
“Room service. We’ll go over our game plan. But first, let’s ‘shove all this crap off the bed’,” Ty parroted with a smirk as he stood and hauled Zane off the bed, then hooked a foot around Zane’s ankle and shoved him ever-so-gently to the floor.
“Hey!” Zane objected, but he laughed as he thumped lightly on the carpet. He drew his knees up and balanced his forearms on them as he looked up at his partner. “Gee, I feel so loved. Thrown on the floor with the rest of the crap,” he teased.
Ty nodded, pleased with himself. He reached over and swept the rest of the stuff off the bed as well, sending it off the edge to land behind Zane on the floor. Then he climbed into the round bed, and Zane heard him flop down heavily. Zane huffed and shifted to his knees so he could crawl up onto the bed and right over top of Ty. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
“Damn right,” Ty agreed with a cocky smirk as he stretched like a cat and made himself comfortable on his back.
Zane chuckled before shifting and lying down next to Ty. He looked from side to side. For such a big bed, it was actually pretty narrow once you took into account the round mattress and how tall and broad they both were. He shrugged slightly and folded his hands over his waist. “I don’t know if I’ll sleep,” Zane murmured, although he was a little tired. While he slept much better now than a couple months ago, a late night, a really early morning, and new stress didn’t necessarily offset his edginess on the job and strange surroundings.
Ty didn’t respond, and when Zane glanced over at him, he saw that his partner was already asleep, face relaxed, breathing evenly. Zane sighed in exasperation. Ty had the same ability as a lot of people who’d ever served in the military: he could sleep on command whenever and wherever. Zane envied the ability. He carefully turned onto his side and scooted up against him, slid his arm over Ty’s waist, and laid his head on the pillow, bracing his cheekbone on Ty’s shoulder. It was easy to let his eyes close, and he briefly entertained the thought of Ty as his own personal teddy bear as he fell asleep.
THEIR personalized itineraries for each day, printed and slid under the door the night before, came in a fussy green folder tied with a red ribbon and supposedly matched the more general overviews McCoy had given them that morning. Although they had reviewed the summary documents briefly, Ty intended to go through them again as they ate dinner, just to assure himself there weren’t any surprises.
He sat at the small marble-topped dining table in their cabin, knee bouncing as he perused Del Porter’s scheduled activities. “I swear to God, if they have me down for another massage I’m diving overboard,” he mumbled as he rubbed at his sore shoulder. The masseuse had warned him he’d be achy for a few days, but this was ridiculous. He’d fallen out of helicopters and not been this sore afterward.
Zane forked up some salad as he looked at Corbin’s list. “Some vacation,” he commented. “Two scheduled activities a day plus meals, some extra excursions while in ports. Although evenings are pretty clear, looks like.”
Ty nodded. It was easy to build a profile of the two men they were impersonating just by the activities they’d paid for. Rock climbing, waterskiing, cliff diving, scuba diving, a fairly tame “zip-line adventure over the jungles of Puerto Rico,” and several other activities in the same vein. Adrenaline junkies. Or suicidal, depending. Ty raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I’m beginning to like these guys.”
“I’m going to guess that Corbin’s the adventurer and Del tags along. Although he did look like he worked out,” Zane commented. “Are there any differences in the itineraries?”
Ty slid his folder closer and peered at Zane’s, comparing them side-by-side. “Looks like Corbin has a few nights reserved at the private-game poker tables. High stakes.” Ty whistled low. “A hundred thousand buy-in? Hope you’re not playing with government money, partner,” he teased.
Zane pointed at a note starred to one side of his itinerary. “The Porters’ account has been preloaded with the ship’s bursar. It doesn’t say how much, though.”
“Do you play poker?” Ty asked as he sat back and studied Zane. He had a feeling Zane would be good at it. He had one hell of a poker face.
“Yes,” Zane said absently, tak
ing another bite of salad as he read through the activities list. “Did a lot of gambling in Miami.” He glanced up with a smile. “Poker is all about statistics and luck.”
“Uh huh,” Ty responded dubiously. “But I’m talking gambling with money, papi, not your life,” he said with a pat of Zane’s knee. He knew all he wanted to know about what Zane had done in Miami.
Zane’s smile widened as he set down his fork. “I’m good at both. But I’ll stick to money this time. Especially since it’s not mine.”
“I appreciate the assurance,” Ty mumbled, privately thinking he’d believe that when he saw it.
“I don’t diss you and your guns. Don’t diss me and my numbers,” Zane said mildly as he went back to his dinner.
Ty glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. He’d been thinking more along the lines of Zane sticking to gambling with money and not life and limb, but apparently Zane was still self-conscious when it came to his what bordered on idiot savant levels of number-crunching ability.
Ty didn’t really envy the ability, but he did respect it. Ty saw things in a jumbled mess, like a jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed onto a table. He could piece that puzzle together without turning over the pieces to see what was on the other side, simply going on instinct and what felt right. But Zane’s mind instead took those jumbled pieces and categorized them, turned them all right side up, top to bottom, labeled them by category ranging from color to the name of the dude who cut them out at the factory, and then methodically snapped them into place.
The differences in methods made them a mostly compatible, daunting team, if not occasionally at odds.
Zane glanced up from his plate and raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting on Ty’s retort that hadn’t come. Ty frowned at him, looking to turn the conversation another direction. “What’s wrong with my guns?”
Zane chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with your guns. And speaking of, we’ll have to see if they got mine in the luggage too. I don’t like being unarmed.” He reached for the breadbasket, then took a fluffy yeast roll and offered it to Ty.
Ty shook his head, smiling slightly. It was so easy to distract Zane sometimes it was shameful. “You’re going to have to carry mine most of the time anyway,” he said. “The only thing I have to wear that’s thick enough to conceal a gun is that tux.” He nodded toward the garment bags in the closet. He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. Aside from the shirts being just a little tight at the seams around his shoulders, he found that he kind of liked Del Porter’s wardrobe. Most of the clothing was made of fine linen or light muslin or cotton, appropriate for tropical locales. But there was no hiding a .38 in the clinging folds.
“There is that, at least. Corbin’s got high-fashion taste, and that means long sleeves, even if they are silk shirts. I might get away with one blade.” Zane shrugged. “Silk is hot,” he tacked on.
Ty nodded and looked back down at his folder before Zane could see the smile on his lips. Silk also stuck to skin like glue. He’d spent a few very sweaty nights on silk sheets that he didn’t remember fondly. Mainly because the owner of those silk sheets had tried to kill him later….
Anyway, he also didn’t consider silk shirts high fashion, unless you were a guido and liked lots of bling, too, but he wasn’t going to get into that with Mr. Walking Shorts.
“Corbin has a manicure five days in,” Zane said as he pushed his plate slightly away, most of the food he’d spooned onto it gone. “Does Del have any salon appointments?”
Ty flipped through the itinerary quickly, wincing as he caught sight of the hot stone massage. He rolled his shoulders unconsciously, trying to ease the throbbing ache in them.
“If you’re already hurting, just tell them you want something different,” Zane said.
“It’s just up around my shoulders. I guess that’s where all the knots were,” Ty muttered as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. He flipped the page. The massage and sauna time on day five were the only spa treatments scheduled. Thank Christ. “Are you dive certified?” he asked abruptly as he looked over the details of their scuba diving session.
“No. I’ve never been scuba diving. Doesn’t matter, though. Corbin’s certified. Where is that?” Zane pulled his itinerary closer and ran his finger down the list.
“St. Maarten,” Ty grumbled. He was watching Zane thoughtfully, unhappy with the fact that even after all the months they’d been partnered, he’d had to ask Zane about so small a fact. How well did he really know his partner, a man he was fairly sure he was falling in love with? He’d been pondering that ever since Zane revealed his family was apparently very wealthy. Ty had never suspected, never even been particularly curious about Zane’s family or why he never spoke of them. Could he really be in love with someone he was afraid to ask about his past?
Zane flipped through the folder of materials and pulled out the activities booklet. Ty had already glanced at it, but he’d set it aside in favor of what they actually had scheduled. The booklet included descriptions of all the events, event length, how much exercise it included, and prices. Zane paged through the booklet before stopping and reading. “Says beginner to advanced level can be accommodated. I should be okay, right?” His nose wrinkled. “Scuba diving,” he said in a speculative tone.
Ty sat back in his chair, bottle of water in hand, as he continued to watch Zane while his partner was distracted. It had taken him a while, but he’d finally overcome the embarrassment when Zane occasionally caught him watching. He still preferred to be covert about it merely because it was more entertaining. Zane was intriguing when he wasn’t aware of it. Such as now. His attention appeared to be completely focused on the booklet as he looked up their various activities. He murmured to himself, sometimes frowning, his long fingers wrapped around a slim ink pen as he made notes. Brow furrowed, black eyes intent.
Ty kind of wanted to jump him. He smiled and took a long drink of water to curtail the urge. He cocked his head to one side as he watched Zane go still and frown deeply. Now he wanted to jump him ever more. But instead he made himself ask, “What’s wrong?”
Zane’s facial expression morphed into one of disbelief. “Cliff diving?”
“I gather you’ve never been cliff diving either?” Ty asked wryly.
“Or waterskiing.” Zane turned up his nose. “Maybe I’ll be sick on cliff diving day.”
“Maybe we won’t have to keep it up that long,” Ty offered kindly.
“If we’re done early, think the Bureau will have us go back before the end of the cruise?” Zane asked as he leaned back in his chair.
Ty shrugged negligently. “Probably not. Too costly to come get us. Why, you looking for another vacation so soon?” he asked with a wicked glint to his eyes.
Zane’s eyes widened. “You bite your tongue or—”
Ty laughed at Zane’s predictably horrified reaction. He pushed his chair back to balance on its back legs, grinning widely. “That never gets old.”
Zane made an aggrieved sound as he tossed the itinerary back on the table. “We’re not close enough to a decent hospital for any nonsense like a… stretch of several days with no work,” he improvised awkwardly. “There’s no telling what kind of medical facilities these islands have.”
Ty let his chair thump back down and stood in one graceful motion. He bent and kissed Zane soundly, smiling even as their lips met. He felt Zane relax under his touch, and his lips opened under Ty’s. Ty lingered over the kiss, enjoying the down time while they had the opportunity. When he finally pulled away, he pressed his nose to Zane’s cheek, still grinning as he mumbled, “You’re so easy to rile.”
Zane turned his head, seeking Ty’s lips again as he lifted his hands to hold on to Ty rather than the chair. “I could start hiding it again, but you seem to enjoy seeing it so much,” he said between kisses.
“I do,” Ty allowed, dragging his lips over Zane’s before kissing him one last time and standing.
A long sigh preceded Zane’s words. “So, if Corbin
and Del are doing all this stuff, it’s a good bet the others are doing some of it. And according to the ship’s map, all the staterooms at this level are right on the end of this deck. There’s not too many of them, though I don’t know what it matters. This entire ship is high-class.”
“Six of them, in fact,” Ty said as he sat down heavily. “Plus a few family suites and one big-ass Royal Suite, all of which are crowded here at the stern on Deck Eight. It’s a damn good bet our quarry is across the hall or next door.”
Zane glanced toward the bedroom area with a frown. “I wonder how well soundproofed these walls are,” he muttered.
“I haven’t heard any idle conversation through them since we’ve been here,” Ty offered. And he had indeed been listening, paying attention for that very reason. He smiled slowly. “It wouldn’t hurt to give them a passionate scream or two at night, though. To sell our cover, of course,” he said with false sincerity.
“Hope you brought cough drops, then, ’cause you’re gonna be hoarse,” Zane drawled.
Ty’s smile warmed, and he winked at Zane cheekily. His little experiment last night had obviously gone over very well with the guinea pig. Ty had liked it as well, though it had definitely been a step out of his comfort zone. “Don’t know if I could handle that every night,” he admitted with unusual candor. He was still sore from what Zane had done to him, but mostly in pleasant ways. Ty didn’t bottom often, for reasons he had never actually contemplated. He enjoyed it quite a bit.
“I don’t think it will matter which of us is yelling,” Zane said as he shifted in his chair.
Ty cocked his head playfully. “Statements like that make me wonder if you’ve been doing it right,” he teased.
Zane groaned and let his head fall back so he was looking at the ceiling. “Don’t tempt me with that challenge. We have work to do.”
“Okay,” Ty murmured, holding up both hands apologetically. He pulled his folder back toward him and flipped the page over, trying to concentrate again. “What the hell is the Queen of the Mediterranean doing cruising the Caribbean, anyway?”