by Abigail Roux
“Push the button, scan the document,” Ty answered obediently.
“And no using it as a club. It’s not built for violence,” Knight admonished.
“I only did that one time!” Ty argued. “And to be fair I’m pretty sure it was already—”
“Can it, Grady. No more using sensitive tech gear to maim, understood?” McCoy interrupted.
“Yes, sir,” Ty said in a disgruntled voice. Zane wasn’t even trying to stifle his quiet laughter.
Knight continued. “We tried to devise some way for the two of you to communicate by radio, but we have nothing inconspicuous enough on such short notice. You’ll be on your own as far as that goes.”
“Cell phones?” Zane asked dubiously.
“They’re not reliable at sea, even if the cruise line claims they are. Not worth the risk of issuing you any, and you can’t take your own. You’ll have the Porters’ phones, with all their contacts. But I’d be careful answering them if I were you,” Knight rambled.
Ty looked between the two men. No reliable way to communicate with his partner or with the rest of the team while aboard ship. Great. Zane didn’t look too happy either.
“You’ll be reporting back to us by secure server, but the only access will be on the public terminals. You will go by the codenames Punch and Judy.”
“Punch and Judy,” Zane repeated, voice devoid of emotion.
“Hilarious,” Ty commented acerbically.
“I amuse myself. Get over it,” McCoy shot back. “The computers are public, so remember you’ll have to be careful and clever when accessing the server.”
Ty pointed at Zane. “His job.” Zane shrugged.
“Right.” McCoy handed them both thick folders. “And these are your itineraries.”
“Our what?” Ty blurted in alarm. They hadn’t been told about any itineraries yesterday. That was pretty high up on the list of shit they needed to know about.
“How heavily are we scheduled?” Zane asked, not sounding surprised. Ty looked at him sideways, but Zane was studying the papers and paying him no attention.
“They’re pretty firm,” McCoy told them apologetically. “They found them in one of the Porters’ bags as they were searching them for intel.”
“How much planning have you put into this case, exactly?” Ty asked critically.
“The ink is still drying,” McCoy told him wryly. He held up a hand to curtail any further protests. “Listen, this opportunity practically dropped into our laps. We’ve managed to keep a lid on the arrest of the Porters. There are half a dozen agencies that should be notified that haven’t been. Interpol, Europol, Scotland Yard, and the Italian Guardia di Finanza, to name a few. Every one of those will be screaming to get their fingers in the pot, and you both know what happens when a case becomes a jurisdictional war. The only way to keep that lid on is to go in silent and go in fast.”
“Which also means there’s a very real chance of you being arrested for trading in stolen antiquities if you run into an agent of any of those organizations,” Knight told them with a hint of childish glee.
Ty shot him a dirty look, and Zane sat forward as he asked, “And if we run into one of those other agencies—”
McCoy cut him off loudly, calling their attention back to him. “Your goal is to gather intel, understood? Do not attempt to apprehend, detain, capture, curtail, restrict, inhibit, or otherwise prevent the activities of any of the criminals. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Ty and Zane answered in unison, Ty not bothering to hide how unimpressed he was with the inventory.
“Porter has two partners: an Italian by the name of Lorenzo Bianchi and a Turk named Vartan Armen. Bianchi is the face of the ring, the only one who surfaces. He does the buying. Stolen antiquities, art, priceless relics, you name it.”
“Where’s this intel coming from?” Ty asked.
“Italy. They’ve had a bead on Bianchi for a few years now but no way to get a foot in the door. Everything about him on paper is legit. That’s where Armen and Porter come in. Armen targets and handles acquisitions; Porter arranges transport and storage. There is absolutely no information in the wind about Armen. We don’t even have a picture of him. Yet.”
Ty lifted the camera glasses and cheekily saluted his boss with them.
“How’d you catch up to Porter?” Zane asked curiously.
“Traffic violation,” McCoy said with a pleased smirk.
“And you’re damn sure these men have never met in person?” Ty demanded.
“Sure enough to risk your lives on it,” McCoy assured them. “Each man has a carefully planned itinerary meant to coincide at intervals with the others’. That’s how they plan to do their communicating. Or so we understand.”
“So we have to stick to these like glue,” Ty concluded as he waved the file in his hand.
“Yes. Your objectives are simple. Get pictures of Vartan Armen. Glean as much information as you can about their operations. And don’t get killed.”
ZANE stood at the foot of the circular California king with its fancy linen and coverlet, hands on his hips, looking down at the three open suitcases: one his, two Ty’s. Correction: One Corbin’s, two Del’s. There were already clothes hanging in the closet that had arrived in garment bags. He wrinkled his nose and looked down at all the stuff and shook his head.
They’d been greeted by a note from the maid on the foot of their bed, telling them the room had been cleaned by Stella and they could be assured there were no bugs in it. Apparently someone on their team was posing as a maid and had swept the room for electronic listening devices. It gave them a little freedom, anyway, and considering the entire ship was closed-circuit recorded, they’d take what small amount of privacy they could get.
Ty stood not far away, beyond the partitions that divided the lavishly decorated Owner’s Suite into bedroom and living areas, contemplating their surroundings. Their suite was one of only six like it on the entire ship, with over five hundred square feet of space. It had to have cost the Porters a pretty penny.
It was also completely decked out for the holidays. A miniature Christmas tree stood in one corner near the balcony doors, and a fruit basket of festive treats sat on the dresser opposite the bed. The entire ship was decorated in similar fashion. Much of the crew wore red Santa hats and ridiculous smiles. Christmas trees in pots and sprigs of mistletoe and white twinkle lights bedecked every area of the ship.
Zane had been sort of shocked to find that Ty loved the holiday theme. He’d complained all morning about missing Christmas with his family, but he’d been distracted by the luxurious appointments they’d found when they entered the cabin.
“Well, it’s better than the berth on the last cruise I took,” Ty told Zane with a slight smirk as he turned to face him.
Zane chuckled. “Bunks aboard an LST?” he joked.
“We had to share, sleep in shifts,” Ty answered wryly. He waved at the cabin full of ebony wood and Persian rugs on the floor. His eyes were shining as he moved toward Zane. “Now I get an upgrade, and I still have to share a bed. A freaking round one.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, there’s plenty of room on that huge couch to stretch out,” Zane teased, turning to face him with one hand on his hip. Ty looked so strange with that blond hair, but Zane was seeing past it now. He focused on how Ty moved, on the color of his eyes, the timbre of his voice, and how it all still made his pulse speed up a little.
“You’d cry if I really did that,” Ty told him with a laugh. He turned away from Zane again, heading for the light streaming through the balcony doors.
“Well, pout maybe,” Zane drawled, following along behind him through the stateroom. It was almost the same size as his apartment, actually. He shook his head over the extravagance. While certainly entertaining to have one of the largest staterooms on the entire cruise ship, it was a hell of a waste of money when all they’d be doing was sleeping there. But it wasn’t their money, so Zane shrugged it off.
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sp; “If you’re over four, you’re not allowed to pout,” Ty claimed absently. He pushed through the double glass doors that led to their private balcony and let in a rush of cold ocean air. It was the middle of December on the eastern seaboard. It was cold. But Ty inhaled deeply, putting his head back and smiling as he did so.
Zane leaned against the door frame and just watched. While the dark ocean was gorgeous in the crisp December air, it was Ty who held his attention. Zane didn’t even want a cigarette, which was a normal craving that hit him courtesy of fresh air and stress. Ty was distracting like that, diverting in thought, word, and deed for better or for worse, and that had made it easier for Zane to altogether quit smoking—again—a few weeks ago. Zane sighed silently. For better or for worse. Being “married” again was making him… sappy.
For a couple of months now, he’d been content to have Ty near, but Zane was waiting for Ty to get antsy. Ty wasn’t the type of guy you were supposed to get attached to, because Ty couldn’t, or wouldn’t, settle down. In fact, Zane was in awe of the fact that their fooling around was still holding Ty’s interest at all.
Ty must have sensed his eyes on him, and he turned to look over at Zane as his smile faded. “What?” he asked with a flop of his hand. “We’re not ten minutes into this, and you’ve already got that look like you left the stove on.”
Zane smiled slightly and shook his head, lifting one hand to absently rub at the new earring. “Just wondering what we’re in for.”
Ty met his eyes for a long moment, his expression telegraphing his desire to perhaps say something with sincerity. The look faded though, and Ty smiled slowly. “We’ll be in for the night,” he quipped suggestively.
Zane wondered what he’d been about to say, but what had come out was interesting enough. “There is room service,” Zane drawled. It was an all-inclusive high-dollar cruise ship program, so they could have literally anything they wanted, as long as it was available. They’d taken the five-cent tour upon their arrival and had a quick-service lunch, but they’d wanted to get to their suite quickly to head off anyone who might try to get there first and bug the place. It was just past one, and their first scheduled event wasn’t for twenty-four hours.
“At least with room service I don’t have to eat with a British accent,” Ty said, tongue-in-cheek as he tried not to smile. He leaned against the doorframe as the wind brushed at his thin cotton shirt.
Zane watched goose bumps rise on Ty’s skin and took the two small steps to stand right before him, their chests practically brushing as Zane ran his hands up Ty’s arms. “Aren’t you cold out here in the wind?”
“That’s the worst come-on line I’ve ever heard, Zane,” Ty admonished blandly. He hooked a finger into one of Zane’s belt loops. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty or you’d never get laid.”
“Pretty?” Zane echoed in surprise. Ty merely laughed, the wide smile highlighting the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, lines Zane saw all too rarely. He shook his head and said, “I have never in my life been called ‘pretty’. And come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever had to use a come-on line, either.”
“The latter is because you’re pretty,” Ty claimed with a huff of air that brushed Zane’s cheek. Zane had to chuckle as he bowed his head. It was just too silly to think of himself that way, with a twice-broken nose healed a little crooked, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a hell of a lot of scars. Ty turned his head and pressed a kiss to Zane’s cheek, and then he put both hands on Zane’s chest and pushed him away. “Let’s get those bags straightened out. I want to see how many weapons they managed to slip in with us.”
Zane reluctantly let go and followed him over to the ridiculous round bed. Choosing one of the suitcases, he picked up a heavy, zipped dopp kit. “I’m almost afraid to look,” Zane murmured before opening it. It was an old-fashioned shaving kit with a marble bowl, horsehair brush, and two straight-edge razors. Among other toiletries, there were also two long whetstones with elastic around them, and when Zane turned them over, he found one of his knives strapped to each heavy stone. “Resourceful,” he said with a raised brow. “Although I’m not sure how I’ll wear them with walking shorts and a polo.”
Ty glanced over to see what Zane was doing and nodded when he looked at the shaving kit. “Hopefully they got more than just your pig stickers in,” he muttered as he poked his finger through one of the neatly packed suitcases. “What the hell are walking shorts? You’re such a geek, man. I guess we can use the straight-edge razors if we want to make a horror show of it.”
He pulled out a plain leather toiletry bag and unzipped it, peering in for a second before merely letting it go.
It dropped to the mattress with a clatter of its contents as Ty stood frozen, his head turned away, eyes closed, his hands still out in front of him like he might be traumatized.
Zane glanced up, and when he saw the mess, he choked on a laugh. “Ah….” He cleared his throat as he looked at the variety of sex toys spilled across the duvet: three different dildos, a set of metal cock rings, a scattering of clamps, a bottle of toy cleaner, a few silk scarves, and a couple of long boxes with clasps. He picked one of the boxes up and opened it. Inside was an implement even Zane wasn’t familiar with displayed on a slide of velvet. When he pulled up the small board, Zane found pieces of a disassembled gun inside.
“Like I said,” Zane continued, though now he was trying not to laugh, “resourceful. I wonder who laughed their asses off while packing this up.”
“That’s my gun,” Ty said in an offended voice. “They hid my gun in the sex toys? That’s not right, man.” He shook his head and continued muttering to himself as he began pulling out pieces of clothing and toiletries, carefully examining them for anything else that might have been hidden for them.
“Good hiding place, if you ask me,” Zane said as he picked up a jeweled dog collar and glanced toward Ty’s neck, visually estimating the possibility of a fit and deciding it just wouldn’t look right. “What security guy is going to take apart a vibrator to check for a slide barrel?”
Ty didn’t respond, merely looking askance at the collar and the appraising look in Zane’s eyes. He snorted at him and then pulled another small bag toward him, Del’s designer satchel, unzipping it with a hint of dread. He looked in warily, like more rubber dongs might jump out at him, but then dumped the contents onto the bed. There was an iPod, a set of headphones, a few puzzle books, two ear wigs, and three wireless listening devices. Ty looked up at Zane and shrugged.
“My question would be ‘are they theirs or ours?’,” Zane said as he opened a small drawstring bag and looked down into it. After a moment, he simply pulled the strings to close it and dropped it on the bed. The fabric didn’t muffle the soft clinking noise.
“What’s that?” Ty asked as he nodded at the bag.
Zane picked the bag back up and pulled out a set of heavy-duty handcuffs. “These may be useful if I can’t get you to sit still,” he said, dangling them on one finger.
Ty shook his head and pointed one long finger at Zane warningly. “You try it and I’ll freak out,” he said seriously.
“Freak out?” Zane asked, brow furrowing. “Why?” He didn’t think he’d ever seen Ty tied up, except for when Zane had found him in that dark catacomb in New York City, almost suffocated…. “Oh. Okay.” He dropped the cuffs back into the bag and tossed it aside.
Ty pressed his lips tightly together and looked down at the bag again. “Maybe we can use them if we make an arrest,” he finally decided wryly before pulling more clothing out of the suitcase. There was a small stack of briefs and soft T-shirts, and he set them aside, in front of Zane. They’d been allowed to bring their own underwear, at least.
“I’ve not really thought about buying stuff like this,” Zane said slowly, dropping another small box labeled Vacheron Constantin after opening it and finding a very expensive watch. Other boxes held cuff links, old-fashioned tie clips, and various other high-dollar accouterments.<
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“On our salary, you can’t afford to look at stuff like this.” Ty licked his lips and looked over at Zane with a frown. “These guys are way out of my league,” he declared as he looked back down at everything they’d spread across the bed.
Zane turned and sat down on the edge of the thick mattress so he could look at Ty. Money wasn’t something they’d ever talked about, and considering how Ty was reacting to their pricey surroundings, Zane wasn’t sure if now was a good time to broach the subject, even in jest. “It’s just for show. Having expensive things doesn’t determine who you are.”
Ty shrugged. “Not unless you’re an ass,” he answered carelessly. He looked around the luxuriously appointed cabin. “I’ve just never known anyone who lived like this. Not sure if I can pull it off.”
Zane looked around and shrugged. He’d had pricey clothes with designer labels once upon a time, and he’d lived in ritzy places before. He preferred his ratty sweats and apartment, or better, Ty’s row house. “It’s no big deal. Just window dressing. Nobody needs to live like this. They just want to be pampered. Money makes it easy to be lazy.” Ty looked at him with a tiny frown, and Zane sighed inwardly and shrugged. “Personal experience,” he murmured, leaning back on one elbow.
“With being lazy?” Ty asked with a slight smile.
Zane shook his head slowly. “You know me better than that.”
Ty smiled wider, but then it faded back into a confused frown. He clearly wanted to inquire further, but they were still at a stage where asking about each other’s pasts was an uncomfortable venture. Zane watched the emotions cross Ty’s face and decided an answer was in order. “My family has money,” he admitted. “Ranching operations for several generations now.”
Ty’s only reaction was to arch an eyebrow. Zane knew his normally expressive partner well enough to know that an expression of so little emotion was hiding a more natural response. Ty’s poker face was impressive unless you knew him well. “How much?” Ty finally asked, exposing his curiosity.