Chapter Seven

Bianchiwasin highspirits when he joinedZane, Armen,anda few other players in theprivate lounge.Healsocarriedhighspirits—literally.Hehada hinged woodenbox, and once he setit down, he pulled outan ornate blue and silver bottle and cradled itin the crook of his arm.

"Gentlemen!" Bianchi greeted expansively. "Icome bearinga gift, bought specially with our American friend here in mind."

Zane looked from Bianchi to the bottle and back,and his stomach turned. "Agiftfor me?" heasked, forcing pleasantsurprise into his voice.

"YouhavetoldmehowyousoenjoythepremiumChivas,yes? So I have brought you your own bottle of Regal Royal Salute—althoughIshallinsistyoushare,"Bianchisaid,clearlyverypleased with himself.

Zanesilently swallowedontheupsetwelling inhisthroat,trying hardtodeny hewasfeelingeventheslightestbitpanicked.Apparently Corbin Porter had a penchant for fine Scotch whiskey, and damn, ChivasRegalRoyalSalute?Thatwasfifty-fucking-year-oldScotch, andonly aseriously limitednumberofbottleshadevenbeenmade. Bianchihadtohavepaidafortuneforit... orhe'dacquireditin another style of business transaction altogether."That is such a kind gesture, Signor Bianchi.ButI can'tpossibly—"

"Ofcourseyoucan,andyouwill!I insist.Weare here toenjoy ourselvesand celebrateour acquaintance,"Bianchi said. The lookin Bianchi'seyestoldZanethatCorbinPorterwouldneverdeclinesuch anoffer.ThesinkingfeelingintensifiedasZanementally flailedforan exit.Therehadtobeagraciousway tobowout,butashelookedatthe other players, all smiling and appreciative,Zane knew there wasn't.

A waiter arriveda few momentslater withempty tumblersfor all the players atthe table. Bianchifilled the glassesgenerously, andwhen hepersonally heldoneouttoZane,Zaneknewhewastrapped.There wasnowaytoavoidthis,shortblowinghiscover—andTy's—over a glass of whiskey.

HegaveBianchiCorbin'sbestfull-of-shit grinandraisedhis 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 satonthebalconyoftheirsuitestaringoutattherollingocean, feettwitching ashe hummed a tune he waspretty sure wasactually two orthreedifferentsongs.Hewasbored.Itwasonlythefourthdayof cruising, but other thanalmostfalling off the rock wall the morning before,nothinghadhappened,and Ty wasn't inapositiontomake anything happen.

He'dspentalmosttheentireday doing nothing.Hesupposedthat waswhatsomeconsideredavacation,butitjustmadehimtwitchy and nervous.

Heunderstoodthenecessityforfollowingtheitineraries,buthe wasreally beginningtohatethosedamnthings.Afterdinnerlastnight, Zane hadgone off to a high-stakes pokergamewith Bianchi, Armen, andseveralotherhighrollers,hopingtogleaninformationthatcould proveuseful. Ty wasn'tneededthere,andhispresenceprobably would have made the other men wonder. They'd decidedit wasn't worththe riskfor himto tag along,andthesameappliedtonight.Andevenif they'dbeenabletocontactthem,noneoftheotherAWOL team members could be there for backup, either, sinceit was a private game. Which was another thing that made Ty restless ashell.

It sort of reminded him of his last float before he'd left the Corps. Knowing there was action elsewhere but stuck insick bay, useless, with abulletholeinhisshoulder.Then,atleast,hischesthadn't itched where all the hair had been ripped out by organicscented wax.

Heknewitwasaself-imposedboredomthistime,ofcourse. They wereonacruiseship.Itwas, by definition,afloatingfunhouse. OnlyTywasn'thavingfun,andhewasn'twillingtogotoofarwhere he couldn't be found if there was trouble. The four-man supportteam that was supposedly out there somewhere wasn'treally 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 thereasafallback,alast-ditchemergency response team if everything went tits up. Still, Ty would have felt better ifthey'dbeengivensomeway tocontactthemotherthangoingouton 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 trustwhat he didn't know.

He satthere for barely five more minutesbeforehe lostthe will to be bored. He hefted himself out of the lounger and turned to head back intothecabin,determinedtofindsomething tokeephismindbusy 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 belongingsany more than heliked being Del. Granted, they'd already made a cursory searchof 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,whichshockedTy,sincetheguy wasn'texactly supposedtobe the intellectual type. Hereached 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 somethingtodo,anyway.

He'dbeenavoidingtheship'sfitnessareas simply becausehedidn'tlikethecrowds,buthewoulddoafewlaps aroundthedesignatedjoggingtrackifallelsefailed.Ifhecouldfind music,he'dbebetteroff.HerememberedseeinganMP3playerinone of these bags.

He set the books besidehimon the bed andlooked backinto the satchel. There wasa small, pale green iPod and a set of matching earphones,astickofdeodorant,apairofreadingglassesinaGucci case, and not muchelse.

TypickeduptheiPodwithapleasedsmile.Hepluggedinthe earphonesand put one bud in his ear as he turnedthe device onto 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 openedthe case outof curiosity,wondering ifthey really were readingglasses.He wasalmostsurprised whenhefound they were,and he heldthe stylishframesuptolookthemover.They were rectangular wireframeswiththick,flatlegs.NotexactlywhatTy wouldhave chosen if he hadto wearglasses,and they had probably costmore than he made in a month.

The mostinteresting thing about these reading glasseswas that whenheheldthemupandlookedthroughthem,theydidn'talterhis visionatall.Ty frownedatthemandslidthemonastheiPodbeganto play a spoken word trackin a language Ty wasn'tsure of.

Thereadingglassesweremerelyglass,andtheywereheavier thanthey shouldhavebeen,slightlyreminiscentofthesunglasseshe'd beengiven to take pictures. He took them offand turned them over, bending the legsexperimentally.Hecouldn'tconcentrate withthe foreignwordsinhisear,though,andhepickeduptheiPodtopeerat the trackname.He'dthought it was anaudiobook track, butit was labeledasasonghe'dneverheardof.Ty huffedandthumbedoverto the next song,butit, too, wasa spoken wordtrack thatwaslabeled incorrectly.

Tystaredatit,listeningtothewordsinhisear.Hecouldcatch certain words and phrases of the garbledrecording, enough to pinpoint the language asItalian andenoughto recognizeit asa conversation,not a lecture or bookbeing read. He alsorecognizedthat itwasn'ta studio recording.Itsoundedverymuchliketheresultofabugplacedcloseto a person speaking.

Ty's body went cold as he realized what he'd found.

"Shit,"hedrewoutslowly.Hestoppedthetrackandpulledthe earbud out of hisear. These were wiretaps. These were professional-grade wiretaps onDelPorter's iPod.How didthe office miss this?He turnedtheglassesoverinhishandagainandsnappedoneofthelegs off, notreally surprisedwhenhefound a thinwire snaking throughthe plastic.Heshookthehollowarmandaflatreceiverroughlythesizeof a dime fell into his palm.

"Shit," he said again.

He squinted at the mechanism. He didn't recognize the model, which meant it wasn't American, Russian, or British.

"Shit, shit, shit."

DelPorterwasn'twhothey thoughthewas.TheBureauhad nabbedsomebody else'sinformant.AndwhoeverwasbehindDel Porter's spying probably knew Ty and Zane's secret as well.

Ty steppedintotheornatecasinoroomandlookedaroundquickly, searching outZane or any of the other members of the teamwho might have been hanging around. Where the hellwereallthe nosy support personnelwhentheywereneeded?Tystillhadn'tspottedasingleone of them.

He movedthrough thecrowd slowly,seeking hispartneramid the throng ofgamblers,buthe knewthepokergamewouldn'tbe outhere. The ship-run games andtables were a joke, so the high rollers who had cometoplay hadclaimedaprivateroomforhostingtheirownevening "tournaments." Ty scannedthebackwallsoverthegaming tables, finally seeing adoorbehindastrategically placeddecorativescreen.It waspossiblyastaffentrance,butmorethanlikelyitwastheprivate room that played host to all the whales.

He made hisway towardit,the little iPodheldtightly in hishand, hiddeninsidehispocket.Zanehadtheironlygun,andTyhadn't even grabbed a knife for fearof notbeing able to concealthe weaponwell, and he felt naked as he moved through the crowd.

Hesteppedbehindthescreentofindanintimate, richly decorated room with a private bar and sixdraped tables. He stoppedat the entrance, looking forZane eagerly.If they couldgetwhatwason that iPod to someone who could speak the language,it might be enough for themtoendthisassignmenttonight.Notonly that,butthepossibility thatDelwasaninformantmightbeenoughtomaketheFBI pullhim andZanecompletely offthisgoatrope.They couldbescrewingaround inaforeignentity'sinvestigation,andtheBureauhatedsticky political messes.

Mostof all,though, Ty was concernedthat whoever Delwas reporting tomightbeonboardwiththemand may havealready made him and Zane as frauds.

He spottedZane, sitting with his back to theentrance at one of the closertables. Ty shookhishead.Zanemusthavebeenthelastoneto arrivetosettleforsittingthere,facingthewall.Ty movedslowly, circling around a little so Zane would see him approach in his peripheral vision.

Zane wassitting back,relaxedin his chair,mostly sidewaysto the table, legs crossed primly as he'd taken to doing when acting as Corbin. There was the faintestof cold smiles on his lips,but his dark eyeswere hoodedandblank.Thelookwasintensifiedbyhisnowstandardall-black suitensemble. He helda snifter of something that was a rich caramelcolor in the hand away fromthetable—the other menhad glassesaswell,andthebottlewasthereonthetable.Therewasa decentamountofchipsstackedinfrontofhim.IfhesawTy,Zane gavenosignofitashewatchedVartanArmen,whowasconsidering his own cards.

Ty slowed,lookingaroundthetable.He'dneverhadoccasionto play pokerwithZane,buthecouldimaginehispartnerwasgoodatit. He was a hard man to read and almostobsessively observant of small details.He continuedtomovecloser,carefully coming uponZane, hoping he looked suitably embarrassed to be interrupting.

He put a hand onZane'sshoulder, letting it slide up to hisneck as he bent next to him. Both Armen andBianchi looked up at him, as did the two other men at the table, but Zane didn'tacknowledge him.

Tywaitedamoment,watchingtheotherplayers.Armenfrowned abitunderZane's scrutinyandlookedatthestacksofchipsinthe center of the table.Eachchip waslabeledas$1,000—and there were a lot of chips out there. Armen smiled, set down his cards, and added two more even stacks of chips to the pile.

Ty watchedthegamebriefly.IfithadbeenZane'smoney,he might have waited, butit wasn't, and Ty's hairwas blond until they couldget outof here.He put his mouthcloser toZane's earand whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Zane'sattention had transferred to the next man around the table, who had justas mucha pokerfaceasZane. "Not now, doll," Zane drawled as he set down his glass in front of him.

Ty blinkedathiminsurprise.Helookeddownatthecardsinhis hand and then overat theother men at the table. He had a fair hand, but nothing worth writing home about.His eyes strayedto the glass on the table near Zane's chips. It was nearly empty, and Zane certainly smelledofalcohol.Ty lethishandslideoverthebackofZane'sneck, looking up at him as he put his other hand on Zane's thigh and squeezed.

"It's important," he insisted, the accentfeeling strange on his tongue as he tried to convey just how important this might be.

"I'm sure it's not,"Zanereplied easily, nodding as the man across the table folded.The next gentleman, an olderman wearing a finely tailoredsmokingjacket,tappedhischipsonthetableidly ashe considered hiscards.Zane would be next, ifhe hadn't started the betting.

Ty didn'tcareaboutthegame,though.HestaredatZane,willing himtolookup.Inhispocketwaspossibly theirplanetickethome,or moreprobablyabull's-eye paintedonTy's back,andZanewouldn't evenlookathim?Ty foughtnottogrithisteethashedughisfingers harder intoZane's thigh.

"Darling," he saidpointedly,hating the politeaccentandthe fact thatevencursingmadehimsoundlikehewassittingatteawiththe Queen.

Zane's head tipped to one side, and he laid his cards on the table face down. "Excuse me, gentlemen.I'll be right back," he said pleasantly.Andhewasoutofthechair,yankingTyupbyhisupper arm and marching him the fifteenfeet over to thedoor.

"Don't tellmeyou've runacrosssomethingyoucan't handle," Zane growled, a clear note of annoyance in his voice.

"Not exactly, but—"

"Thengohandle it. Armen, Bianchi,andI aretalking business betweenrounds,andIwon't bedistracted.I'll dealwithyoulater." With that, he gave Ty's arm a slight shove, turned his back, straightened hisjacket,and strolledback to the table, retaking hisseat smoothly withoutaglanceback.Themenathis tablesimilarly ignored Ty.

Ty watchedhispartnergo,struckspeechlessby hiscareless dismissal.He thoughtbriefly aboutfollowing himback to the tableand kicking hisass,or atleastannouncingthe cardsZane heldin hishand, but the urge passedashe convinced himself their cover was more important.

Ashestaredatthetable,hesawArmenthrowdownhiscards with a sniff andZane rake in the chips, stacking them as he toasted the table with hisglass before taking a drink. Bianchilaughed merrily, wagginghisfingeratArmenbeforeliftingthebottleandstartingto refill the glasses.

Ty clenchedhisjaw,angerwellinginsidehimatthesightofthe expensive bottle of Scotch. He turned on his heel to leave the room before he gotany angrier. He didn't need hispartner's helpto get something doneon thisfuckingship.Allhe had to do washeadto the computer center and a nice private corner to tap into the secure server, callitin,andinformsomeonebackhomeofwhathe'd found.He'd haveatranslationofthewiretapsbymorning,andwhenZanecame stumbling in from his poker party, Ty would tell him all about it then.

He stalkedthrough thecasino,pushing through the crowd ashe muttered to himself in the British accent he was beginning to hate. He'd justbarelysteppedoutofthecasinointothecausewaywhenhewas grabbedfromthesideandpushedwithahandthatgrippedhiselbow tightly.

Another man came up on his other side as the two strangers flanked him, marching himtoward one of the doors that would lead to an outside deck.

Tydidn't protest.Heremainedcalmandforcedhimselftowait until the situation clarified itself. The moment he saw a weapon he'd be breaking bones, though.

"Tacievieniconnoi,"oneofthemensaidtohimunderhis breath.

MoreItalian. Ty didn'tunderstandit,buthewasfairlycertainthe man had just toldhimto keep hismouth shutandmove. The tone was pretty much universal.

They pushedthrough theexitdoors and outontothe deck, where thesprayfromtheseaandthewindassaultedtheirsensesandblew theirtiesintotheirfaces.Ty almosttooktheopportunity tobreakaway from them. He even flinched in preparation of the attempt, but he stopped himself.Whatever thiswas, ithad todo withDelPorter,and thatwaswho Ty wasrightthen.DelPorterwouldn'tleavethesemen bleeding on the decks,and Ty wouldn'teither, if he could help it.

Thegriponhisarmstightened,andthetwomenledhimtothe left, toward one of the lesser-traveled causeways on that deck.

They finally releasedhimoncetherewasreally nowheretorun, shovinghimtowardtherailing.Tystumbledtowardit,grippingthe slick wood before turning around to look at them warily.

"Che cazzo stai facendo?" one of them demanded.

Ty leanedforwardslightly,asiflisteningclosermightactually make himunderstand the foreign language.Itwas definitely Italian. Which was fucking awesome,because Ty stilldidn'tspeakItalian. DolceandGabbanaherecouldthreatenhimallday long.Hestill wouldn't understand what they were saying.

"I don't..." Ty shook his head helplessly, just barely remembering his own fake accent.

"Donotplaystupidwithus,"thesecondmansaidirritably.He hadthinbrownhairandasickly complexion,as iftheseadidn'tagree withhim.Ty hadseenitbefore."Whydidyoumissthemeeting?" Gabbana demanded.

Ty blinkedathimrapidly,hismind whirringas he triedtodecide howtoplay this.Hehadnoideawhothey wereorwhattheywere talkingabout,and sometimesthebestthingtodowasjust... play dumb.

The firstmanrolled his eyes andreached into his cheapsuit, extracting a smallBeretta andstepping forwardto shove it intoTy's stomach. His other hand held Ty's shoulder as he spoke to him in low tones. "You will not fuck around with us, chiaro?"

"I understand,"Tyansweredhoarsely withajerky nod.The muzzle of the gun dug further into his rib cage,and he winced as his handsgrippedtherailingbehindhim.Thewindwasmuchstronger here by the edge,and itwhippedatDolce'sblackhair and tugged atthe sleeves of Ty's thin shirt.

"Where is the informationyou were to bring us?" Gabbanaasked in a bored voice.

"Information," Ty repeatedasheshookhishead.Ofcoursethey wantedinformation.Thiswasexactly what Ty hadbeenworriedabout: Del'shandlerscoming tocollect.Atleastthey didn'tseemto know Del Porter personally. Ty wasn't sure if thatwasa good thing or a badthing for him.

The man with thegun pushed into Ty hard, using the leverage and the heightof the railingto lift Ty's feetoff the deck and pushhim backward. Ty gaspedand grippedthe railing harder,reaching withhis other to grab onto the lapel of Dolce's suit.

He was beginning to think his cover wasn't worththe effort.

"The tapes,frocio,"Dolce whispered into hisear. Whateverthat word meant, Ty knew he didn't like the connotation.

"Tapes,"Tyrepeatedbreathlessly.Histoesjustbarelybrushed the wood of the deck, and his fingers wound into Dolce's tie.If he went overtheedge,hewouldn't goalone.HebrieflywonderedifItalian loafers could be used asflotation devices, but then the man put more pressureagainsthisribs,shovinghimevenfartherbackward,andTy grippedthepolyestertie tightly. "Tapes," he said againquickly. They had to be talking about the recordings he'd heardon the iPod. "They're in our cabin," he told them quickly.If he didn't get his feet on the groundsoon,hewasgoingtotearthembothapart,coverbedamned. He wasgetting seasick.

Gabbana reached out and backhanded him, hard enough that Ty feltbloodtrickle downhischinfromhisnewly splitlip, and then the manpulledagunandblatantly shoveditat Ty'sface. Ty felthisheart ratepickupevenmore,theadrenalinemakinghimalittlelightheaded ashisupperbody hungoutovertheopenseabelow.Ofcourse,ifthe guyshothimintheface,itwouldn't reallymatterhowfarthedrop was.

Gabbana'sgunpressedagainsthischeek,andTy didn'ttry to regulate hisreaction,hisbreathing becoming harsher. DelPorter would bescaredshitless,right?Well,Ty figuredhewasdoingthatprettywell rightaboutnow.Twogunswerehardtocontestnomatterhowmuch assyou could kick.

"You had better hope they are closer thanyourcabin," Gabbana said quietly. His gun moved until it was in Ty's mouth, scraping againsthis teethand sending a horrible shiver up and down hisspine, like nailson a chalkboard.The man'sdeadfisheyesdidn'tgivemuch away, and Ty believed he just might pull that trigger. He nodded against the gun,and the man pulled it back just enough for Ty to speak.

"In my pocket,"hesaid,cursinghimselfforhandingovertheone pieceofinformationthatmighthavebeenworthanythingtothemso far.

Dolce released his shoulder, and Ty felt himself waver. The railing wasthickenoughtostophim, though,andhisfeethitthedeck with a thump asthe mandug into his pocket for the iPod. When Dolce pulled it out, the two men backed away, letting Ty's kneesgo weak. Again.

"Do not forgetwhoyouare working for," Gabbana said as he slid hisweaponbackintothefoldsofhiscoat.Tyresistedtheurgetoask the man to remind him.

"We shall be intouch," Dolce saidalmostcordially, andthen the two men turned and lefthim alone, slumped at the railing and breathing hard. Heput hishand tohislip,wiped bloodaway from it, and looked down at it on his fingers.

"I hate this fucking case," he murmured to himself.

AgoodtwohoursafterTy'sinterruption,Zanetuckedacreditslip foramodestamountofmoney intotheinsidepocketofhissuitjacket. He'dprettymuchbrokenevenatthetablewithArmen,Bianchi,and two other highrollers on vacation, staying enough to the positive that he'd not been able to shoehorn in an excuse to leave until now.

He'dusedthetimetostudy hissupposedbusinesspartners, lookingfortellsandnervoustwitches,trackinghowmuchtheywon andhowmuchthey lost.Bianchiwaseternallyjovialandcontent,a personalityquirkthatalmosttookitstollonZane's patience.Armen was quite the opposite,approaching somber,evenafterwinning a hand. He was not delightful company.

Zane knew Armen hadbeen watching himcarefully;he'd been particularly attentive when Ty had shown up. Zane had been ona roll at the point, having won three hands in a row, and a whining spouse seeking attention simply wouldn't register as important to a highroller.

Despite his show otherwise, the problemhad registered withZane afterthefact. Ty justdidn'tgetthatagitatedwithoutreason.ButZane had not been concerneduntil after he'd summarily dismissed Ty. At the time,he'dbeenmorefocusedonthejob,ongettingBianchiorArmen totalkaboutthemselvesortheirmutualbusinessthanhehadbeenon his partner's state of mind.

So now he walked out of the casino,forcing himself to make his waycasuallybacktotheircabinashegrewmoreandmoreworried. The warmth of the expensive Scotch lapped through him, making everything around himfalse and bright.Zane hadnursed the firstglass aslong ashe could, butthere hadbeena second,and a third, andthen it hadbeentoolate.Hecouldstilltasteitnow,theburnoftheultra-premium liquor on his tongue and at the back of his throat.

Seeing Ty hadgottenZane'sattention,andhe'dconsciously stopped emptying hisglass. Butit had been longenough since hislast fall fromgrace thathis tolerance hadsuffered.He knewhow tooperate under the influence in the line of duty; it just couldn't be avoided in the alcohol-soakedunderworld.He'dalready slippedintothatcoldand detachedstateofmindbefore Ty hadarrived,andZanehadn'teven recognized it.Itwas like sliding on an old, comfortable disguise, and remembering Ty's earlier wordsabouthisdrinking,Zane wasworried now.

Even through theworry, Zanefelt thereliefand succor of the alcohol, the allure that welcomed him, called to him. In the past, alcoholhadgivenhimanedge,anditstillburnedinhim,allowedhim to slough off the nerves and distractions and brought the most important things into focus. Zane knew himselfwhen he was deep into thedrinkwhileundercover.He'dspenttoomany yearslivingitnotto appreciate it. He'd alsolearned how destructive it could be. How destructive he could be under the influence.

TheconcernforTyateathimasheleftthepromenade,rodeup theelevator,andenteredthehallway leadingtotheirstateroom.Zane hadthoughtatthetimehewashandlingthesituationtherightway; now he wasn't so sure.

When Zane entered their cabin, he found the place entirely upended.Hisheartskippedafewbeats,andinstinctively hedug under hisshirtatthesmallofhisbackanddrewhisgun.Heshutthedoor withoutasoundandsilently madehisway intothedimly litroom. Suitcaseslay turnedupsidedownandemptied,theirpossessions scatteredallover thefloor. The mattress was hanging off the bedand still cocked sideways, the bedcovers a shambles.The pillows of the coucheslitteredthefloor,andthedoorstothebalcony stoodopen. EitherTy hadthrownatempertantrum,orthey hadaproblemthey hadn'texpected.ZanewasinclinedtochooseoptionA,remembering the look on Ty'sface when Zane had turned his back on him.

Zane winced.

Hemovedonthroughthebedroomtocheckthebalcony andthen walked to the bathroom,where the door was ajarand one of the sinks was running.

Ty wasbentoverthesink,shirtless,lettingthewaterrunintothe palmof hishandand thenrepeatedly splashing hisface. Relieved,Zane looked him over: Ty's face was pale and drawn, and the shirt he'd been wearing whenhe'd come to seeZaneat the poker tablewas on the marble counter beside him, a single drop of blood on the collar clearly visible.

Ty abruptly jumpedback,hishandgoingto theknifeonthe countertop. He jerked to a stop, his back againstthe marble tile of the bathroom wall, weapon in hand, breathing hard ashe stared at Zane.

Zaneletoutthebreathhe'd beenholdingandlookedTyover whileslowly loweringhisgun.Hefelthisfocussnapintoplace:onTy now, rather than Bianchi and Armen like before. "What happened?Are you all right?"

Ty loweredhisheadslightly,glaring atZaneashishazeleyes flashed with anger."Had a party," he answeredin a deceptively calm voice ashe straightenedup andstepped back overto the sink to turn off the water."Sorry you missed it," he addedas he set down the knife, picked up a washrag, and dabbed at his lip gingerly.

"I shouldhavebeenhere,"Zanesaidashereachedouttolightly touch Ty's chin and turn his head so he could lookat the split lip.

Ty flinchedaway fromhimandsmackedhishandaway,snarling wordlessly athim.Thecalmfa?adewasgonejustas quickly as it had come.HeshovedZaneawayfromhimandfollowedtoshovehim again,rightoutofthebathroom.Heballedhisfistasifpreparingto take a swing, but then he gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, snortingloudly.ItalwaystookTy alotofefforttoreininhistemper once he'd lost it, and he visibly struggled with it now.

NowZaneknewwhathadhappenedwasserious.Hetriedto study Ty moreclosely toseeifhewashidinganinjury.Heappearedto beunharmedasidefromthebloody lip."Whathappened?"Zaneasked him again.

"Fucking Italians!" Ty blurted with a wave of his hands, launchingintoanotherthreateningtempertantrum,andZaneactually leanedbackinsurprise.Ty'snextwordswereshouted."They triedto toss me over the railing! I don't speak Italian, Garrett!"

"The railing," Zane repeated blankly. Then it clicked. "The railing?Asinintotheoceanrailing?Whatdidthey want?" Scenarios beganplayingoutinZane'shead,everyoneofthemendingbadly... becausehewasn'tthere.Zanefeltill,allthatlovelyScotchsuddenly threatening to make an appearance.

Ty justseemedtogrowangrierinthefaceofZane'sbelated concern.He stoodfairly trembling as he balledhisfistsathissides, trying to calm himself. That was an exercise in futility, in Zane's learned opinion, but no way was he voicing that now.

"They didn'tsay anything togiveyou an idea ofwho they were?" Zane asked carefully.

"I thinkthey wereGuardiadiFinanza," Ty saidthroughclenched teeth, theItalianwordsrolling off histongueas if he did speak the language."EvenItaliancopswearcheapsuits.Delwassupposedto meetwiththem,andwhenI missedit,they camelookingforme."He wavedhisragatthetrashedstateroom."TheytookthefuckingwiretapsI found.I'mguessing they flippedtheplace,thencameafter me when they didn't find them here."

"The wiretaps were with you," Zane concluded. He inhaled deeplyandnodded,believingTymusthavehadahellofascarefor himto be thislivid.Staying in characterwouldhave made himfairly helpless,andZanefeltastronger pang ofworry thathe tried toquash. "That was whatyou came to tell me about," he said, though hewasn't sure what he'd have been able to do about it.

"Not that it matters now," Ty snarled.

"It'sdone,Grady.Letitgo.We'llfindthewiretaps,"Zanesaid ashewalkedovertothedesk,putdownthegun,andstartedtopick through the contents scattered across the top ofit. Hewas having enoughtroublefocusingonanythingbesideshispartnertoworry about thepastnow.Tywassilent,andwhenZaneglancedoverathim,he foundTystillstandinginthedoorwaytothebathroom,watchinghim withamixtureofangerandwhatmighthavebeenpain.Itwassimilar to the look he'd givenZane at the poker table.

For a moment,Zane wasglad he'd enjoyedso much whiskey.If it weren'tforthecalmandcoolitgavehim,he'deitherbereally upset over Ty's near-death experience, so quickly on the heels of the climbing wall"accident," or he'd begiving Ty asmack upside the head right now, damn the repercussions. Instead, he waited for Ty to continue.

"Doyouhaveanyideawhatwelosttonight?"Tyaskedhimin barely controlledanger.

Zane swept the mess of papers into the desk drawer before leaning bothhandson the deskand looking atTy,feeling exasperated. "No. Butwhatever itwasthey hungyou over a railing for, Ty,itwasn't worthyour life," he said,trying to reason withhimthough hewas growingmoreupsetbyhispartner'slackofcontrol.Itwaswreaking havoc with his own, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He wasn't feelingthebuzzmuchanymore,anditwasstartingtoaffect him. "So forgive me ifI'm a little less concernedabout some information than aboutyou standing here."

Ty watchedhimsilently for a moment."Youdon'treally seemall too concerned about that," he accused finally.

"Whatdoyouwantmetodo?Fallon my kneesatyourfeetand thankGodyou'restillbreathing?You'dlaugh,"Zaneretortedwitha wave of his hand.

TheheatedemotioninTy's eyesfinally drainedaway asZane watchedhim."Yeah,I guessI would," he saidfinally.He turnedand tossed hisrag intothebathroomin disgust,thenmoved into thecabin andbenttobegingathering thescatteredcontentsof their bagswithout another word.

Zaneresistedtheurgetorollhiseyes.Ty wasinasnitandwould have to sleep it off, and Zane didn't feel charitable enough to play peacekeeper while coming offa buzz.Maybe hegave in toomuch as it was. Shaking hishead, he took off his jacketand started picking up clothes as well.

They'd thrownmost everything in the casesand drawerswhen Zanedecidedhedidn'twanttostay therewhileTy wassilentand moody. First heconsideredgoing back to the casino; odds were good Bianchiand hisScotchwhiskey would stillbe atthe table.Itwas tempting. Very tempting. But after a long minute's thought, Zane instead grabbed his swimsuit and kicked off his shoes. A swim would be just the thing to work off the annoyance crowding his head.

Ty waskneelingbesidethebed,goingthroughapileofjewelry that had been upended. He had picked up one of Corbin's cuff links and was looking atit with a deep frown, turning itover and over like he'd never seen one before.WhenZane moved, Ty looked upathim. "You're going for a swim?" he asked incredulously.

"Wouldyou rather we walk the halls looking for the men who attackedyou?That would certainly be restful," Zane answered shortly.

Tystoodslowly,lookingathimasifhewasjustseeinghimfor the first time. "Are you always like this whenyou're drunk?" he asked with disdain.

Zanefrowned.NowTysoundedliketheassholehe'd firstmet, distrustful and superior,and he was making a judgmentcallwhile overemotional. Typical."Like ‘this'?" he askedas he unbuttoned his dress shirt.

"Not giving a shit," Ty provided sadly.

ZanestoodandtookafewstepstowardTy asrealangersparked histemper."YouthinkIdon'tgiveashitaboutyou?"heaskedwith precision. "Just what kind of response are you expecting from me here?"

"Idon'tknow,Zane,"Tyanswered.Hisvoicewasflatandtired. "I expectyoutobe my partner.I expecttobeabletotrustyou.I expect youtostay atleastmoderately sober,andIexpectyoutolistenwhenI tellyou it's important," he rattled off, his voice getting sharper.

"If it had been life or death,you'd have gottenyour point across," Zane said,theanger flaring intheface of Ty'scoldcomposure,and Zanejustletitloose. "Iamdoing my job,andIamhandlingthedrink just fine."

"Ohyeah?"Ty asked,clearly unimpressed."Allright,then,"he said as he looked down at the cuff link in his hand. He held it up. "Tell me about Bianchi's cuff links."

Zanenarrowedhiseyes,settinghishandsonhiships."Whatis this, some kind of test?"

"You'readetailguy,right?"Ty askedhiminacasualtone.He still held Corbin's cuff link between his thumb and forefinger."You were doingyour job.Playing poker.Examiningyour opponents. Looking for tells, details that could give you clues to their personalities," he said. "What did Bianchi's cuff links look like?"

Zane opened his mouth to answer and found himself grasping. He could see Bianchi's face. His black tuxedo jacket, the white sleeve fastened by... He frowned.

Ty watchedhimexpressionlessly,finally loweringhishandashe pressedhislipstogetherandnodded."That'swhatI thought," he muttered, and he tossed the cuff link to Zane.

Zane caught it awkwardly, still preoccupied. He should have known that detail;he was sure he'd seen those cuff links. He looked at the one in hishand,turning itover, feeling a resurgenceof annoyance. "So tell me why cuff links are important to notice at a poker game."

"Other than the fact thathe rubs his finger overthem when he's nervous?"Ty askedquietly.HepointedattheoneinZane'shand."It's abug.AndfromwhatIlearnedtonight,I'd betBianchi's aretoo. Armen wasn't wearing any."

Zaneglanceddownatthejewelry,suspicious,andskimmedhis memory forseeingBianchidothat.Ty couldn'thavebeentherefor morethanthreeminutes,andhe'd noticedthat?ConcernZanedidn't wanttofeelprickleddownhisspine,andhehatedit."Soit'sabug. That'snogoodtousifwe'renottheoneslistening,"hesaid,tossing the cuff link onto the bed.

Ty shook his head and turned away.

"You'renotseriouslygoingtotellmethatI'mnegligentbecause I don't remember what his cuff links looked like," Zane said coldly.

"We'll talkabout thiswhenyou're sober,"Ty told himwith finality ashekneltbackdowntocontinue goingthroughthepileof trinkets on the floor.

"IfI'vecommitted such a terriblemistake thatyou're this upset aboutit,I shouldprobably know,"Zane said,eventhough he couldfeel his control over his emotions slipping.

Tystoppedandremainedstillasheknelt,hisheaddown.When helookedup,hisentirebody wastense."I neededyourhelp,Zane,"he saidsoftly.HelookedoveratZaneandstood."Yourpartnerneeded you.Ihadthekey tothecasein myfuckingpocket,"hesaidin frustration,holdingouthishand."YouthinkI don'tknowhow important what you were doing was? You think I would have interruptedyou if it hadn't been something huge?"

Zane struggled to parseTy'sreply, his ownannoyanceand doubt and now arevived nausea throwing himoff-kilter.He swallowedhard, tryingtopullittogether,tryingtorefocusandfindthatcoldspace again. Ty wasgreatatgivingguilttrips."Allright,"hesaid.Fuck,he needed a cigarette and a drink.

"All right," Ty echoed. "That's allyou have to say?All right?"

Zane was sickfrom themixture of frustration and upset that Ty's accusationscaused.Itwasgiving hima headache."There's nopoint, is there?I was wrong.You've madeyour point very clear." He pushed his shirt off his shoulders and dropped it on the bed.

Ty watchedtheshirthitthebed,thenlookedupatZane. Something in hiseyes sparked suddenly, and hemoved towardZane quickly."You wantto go for a swim?" he asked ashe moved on Zane and grabbed him,taking hisforearm and pulling and turning it, jerking Zanearound toface theoppositedirection.Hisfingers dug intoZane's shoulder from behindashe heldhis otherarmandshovedat him, using the twisted armtoguide him toward the door. "Let'sgo for a fucking swim,"Ty snarledasheslammedZane'schestandfaceagainstthe cabin'sdoor.Heheldhimtherewiththeweightofhisbody ashe reached for the door handle.

The unexpected suddenspin made Zane dizzy,and hewasso shocked by Ty's abrupt manhandling and his head thumping hard againstthedoorthathecouldn't evenpullhimselftogethertothrow himoff. Ty wasn'tgentleashepushedhimdownthecorridorthatled out to the outer deck.He didn't mind running Zane into walls or doorwaysanytimeZanegatheredhimselfenoughtoresist,andTy kept wrenchingthetwistedarmpainfullytokeepZanefrombeingableto struggle.Whenthey burstoutside,thecooleveningairhitthem;the brisk wind carried the smell of the sea. Even along theFlorida coast,it was cool enough on a December night out on theocean that the decks were virtually empty,save for the bravestor mostinebriated ofguests. The pool itself was deserted,even under theglass roof,glowing a peacefulblue-greeninthenightasalowmistofsteamhoveredover the warm water.

Tyshovedhimtowardit,mutteringabouthimbeingadrunken idiot. Something finally clicked asthe past halfhour flashedthrough Zane's head.Thiscouldbebad.Verybad.Astheyapproachedthe pool,hestartedtostrugglealittle,buthewasalready off-balance,and Ty justtwisted his arm alittle more. He'd certainly shed the submissive personality of Del Porter,danger be damned, apparently.

Ty forcedhimtothe edge of the pool,snarlinginhisear. "I'llbe goddamnedifIgetkilled'cause you'retoodrunktocare."Andwith that,hehookedhisfootaroundthefrontofZane's shinsandshoved him from behind, pushing him into the pool.

Even withthe warning,Zane barely gota breathin before he hit thewaterintheshallowendofthepoolwithanoisysplash.Hiship and shoulder painfully struck bottom in thefour feet ofwater, stunning him,andhe gasped outwhatbreathhe hadbeforesurfacing tolookfor Ty.He'djustbarelygotteninsomeairwhenherealized Ty wasinthe pool with him, right beside him.

TyreachedforZane's headandforcedhimunderwateragain with another sweep of his legs to knockZane off his feet.Zanereached tocover Ty'shands,topry themloose,but Ty'sfingerstwistedinhis hair,andZanecouldn't evenstrugglemuch.HelashedoutatTy's torso, but the water slowed him too much for it to have any effect.

Despite Zane thrashing onhiskneeson thebottomof the pool,Ty held him under water until Zane's lungs were onfire, andthen hewas violentlyyankedupoutofthewater.Typuttheirfacesclosetogether asZanespluttered,tryingtobreatheandtalkatthesametime.Their noses almost brushed asTy snapped at him.

"You wanna deal with me now,Zane?" he asked throughgritted teeth,echoing whatZanehad toldhimashe'ddismissed himfrom the poker room.

BeforeZanehada chancetoanswer, Ty dunkedhimunder again, holding himthere for justa few secondsthistime before pulling him backup.Zanecoughedoutwaterandchokeddesperatelyforbreath, one hand gripping Ty'sforearm, blinking hiseyes hard againstthe stinging saline. Thecombination of it all brokeZane out of thealcohol-induced mindset, and he lost what detachment he'd been clinging to.

"Stop," he gasped out between coughs."Wait—"

Ty shookhisheadandvehemently forcedZane'sfaceunderthe wateragain.Asplit-secondlaterhepulledhimbackup,grippinghis chinwithhisotherhandashecontinuedtoholdZane by hishair.Zane chokedhard,dizzy nowfromthelackofair,thedunkingupanddown, and the buzzburning off.Itallbroughtthe whole evening crashing down on him like a leaden weight.

"I'm sorry," he got out in a hoarse, panicky garble."I'm sorry!"

Tywasbreathinghardfromtheeffortofmanhandlinghim,his breathsgusting acrossZane's wet face in thecold air. The hand in his hairloosened,slidingdowntohisnecktokeepZane's headabove water.Ty'sotherhandletgoofZane'schinandwrappedaroundhis waistasZanetriedtogethisfeetunderhim.Tyheldhimupinthe water and rested his forehead againstZane's. For the moment, it was all Zane could do to weakly grasp at Ty's arms. Despite the water being relatively warm, they were both shivering as Ty held Zane close to him.

"Damn you, Zane," Ty panted finally as the disturbed water lapped at their bare chests.

Zane coughed andchoked again as he tried toget in air, breaths hitchingas thedelayedpanic setin, andhishandsshook visibly as he tried to holdon.His legswouldn'tcooperate.Itwasallhe coulddo to nod.

Tystoodupstraight,waterstreamingoffhisarmsashepulled Zaneupwithhim."Comeon," Ty muttered,histeethchatteringashe gotZane'sarmoverhisshoulderstohelphimoutoftheheatedpool. He began leading Zanetoward the wide steps. Off-balance,Zane waveredalittleevenwithTyhelpinghimalong,andwhentheygot out,he was shaking hard fromthe adrenalineand shock andwas shivering from the cold.

The cold air outside the pool's dome hit Zane like a sledgehammer,thelaststrawbreakingany buzz,any pride,andany confidence Zane had in himself.

Tykepthisarmaroundhimasheledhimtowardtheentrance that would take them to their cabin. The effort seemed to have takenall thesteamoutofhimaswell,becausehewassedateandsilentuntil they gotbackto their stateroom.He madesurethe door waslocked behind him; then he pushed Zane gently toward the bathroom.

"Get in the shower," Ty ordered tiredly."Get warm."

Zane nodded and laid a hand on the wall as he took a few wavering steps, but whena waveof dizziness threatened, heconsidered kneeling down there andbeing miserable for a while.The argumentshe remembered without even the faltering filter of intoxication left him feelingashamedandunworthy.Hefeltsickthinkingaboutthevery first glass of whiskey.

Ty movedaroundhim,strugglingoutofhiswettrousersand leavingthemandhissoakedbriefsinapuddleonthebathroomfloor. Hegrabbedanartfully rolledtowelfromthebasketonthecounterand began wiping himselfoff. Heglancedover atZane as he finished up, looking himupand down withclear contempt.He tossed thetowelat the floor in front of him. "Goodnight, Corbin," he muttered as he walkedpasthim,hisshoulderbrushingZane's nonetoogentlyashe moved toward the bed.

Zanesqueezed his eyes shut foramoment beforehe walked slowly tothebathroom,steppedinside,andshutthedoorbehindhim. He got the shower started, turnedit up hot,climbed in, andslumped against the wall. His eyes burned, irritatedfrom the saline used in the pool.Betweenthatandtheshowerspray,itwaseasytoexplainaway the tears scattering down his cheeks.