by Abigail Roux
Ty convinced Norina not to help him dry off, instead taking her napkin with thanks and then turning narrowed eyes on Zane, as if it had been his fault. “Excuse me, won’t you?” he said to the rest of the table through gritted teeth. “Order me fish, darling. I’ll be back,” he snapped at Zane as he turned and made his way out of the dining room quickly.
Only after he was out of sight did Zane realize Ty had probably taken advantage of the heavy tuxedo to hide a weapon on himself for the first time all week. He couldn’t take the jacket off—they’d see his gun.
Ty wouldn’t let this go without payback, and Zane resigned himself to his fate with a small smirk. It had been worth it.
Chapter 12
TY DIDN’T bother changing once he got to their cabin. He did take off his coat and toss it on the couch as he moved past it. After a moment’s thought, he also regretfully pulled their one gun out of his waistband and set it down on a side table. He didn’t have a holster to carry it safely, and if he had the bad luck to get caught in Armen’s room, having a weapon would only increase his chances of being shot.
Muttering, he dug into their luggage and found the portable scanner Knight had outfitted them with before they’d left Baltimore. He shoved it into one of the deep pockets of his satin-lined tuxedo trousers and headed for the balcony. He tried not to think about just how badly it would hurt to smack into the water so many stories below as he hoisted himself up onto the slippery railing. His knuckles were white as he gripped the thick partition that he would need to swing around to reach Armen’s balcony.
He was beginning to wish Zane had objected to this plan.
Ty took a deep breath, dug his fingers under the slight lip at the edge of the partition, and swung his foot out over open air. He threw the weight of his body with it, knowing the railing on that side would be just as slippery and damp as his side was and hoping to propel himself over it rather than bouncing off of it and toppling into the sea.
The strategy worked, sort of.
It wasn’t nearly as difficult as he’d imagined it would be, and he went sailing over the balcony and landed in an ungraceful heap on the deck.
He popped to his feet and looked around, straightening his shirt and nodding. “I’m okay,” he said to the deck chairs. He cleared his throat and tried not to laugh at himself, glad that this was a solo mission. Zane would never have let him live it down if he’d seen that nimble bit of action.
He headed for the glass doors of the balcony, confident that they’d be unlocked. No one ever locked their balcony doors, trusting in gravity to keep intruders out. So he was nonplussed when he found the glass sliding door not only locked but barred with a piece of wood.
“Son of a….” He looked around for something to counter the low-tech obstacle. He didn’t want to leave evidence of his being here, so throwing a piece of furniture through the door was not a good idea. He slipped out his knife and knelt in front of the door, sliding it through the crack and easily tripping the lock. He was able to get the door open an inch or so, but then the piece of wood stopped it. It appeared to be a thick cord of balsa wood, most likely taken from a piece of decorative furniture in the suite. Ty slipped his hand through the crack and pushed with all his strength, levering himself against the wall. Nothing budged for a moment, save for perhaps a tendon or two in his elbow that wasn’t supposed to stretch that way, but then the wood gave in to the pressure. It didn’t so much snap as it imploded, bursting into little shreds and causing the door to fly open. Ty pitched forward as soon as the door was no longer there to take his weight and fell face-first into the deck. Again.
He pushed himself up with a grumbled “I hate this case” and crawled into the stateroom.
ZANE settled back into his seat after a small smile at Norina and reached for his water glass. Bianchi waved down a waiter, who promised to bring more drinks immediately, as well as their salads. Zane wondered if he’d have to come up with any sort of ploy to keep Armen here, since they were literally starting dinner.
“Mr. Porter, could I trouble you a moment?” Armen’s voice broke into Bianchi’s ongoing monologue about the relative benefits of wine and a middle-aged man’s health.
Zane glanced at Armen, curious. “Sure.”
“If you’re not going to enjoy that Scotch, it’s a shame for it to go to waste,” Armen said. He sounded a little harried.
With a small shrug, Zane waved a hand at it. “Be my guest.”
Armen nodded his thanks and picked up the lowball glass from in front of Zane, immediately taking a strong slug out of the glass. Zane watched, somewhat intrigued. He didn’t remember ever seeing Armen drink, even during the poker games.
When he set the glass down, he actually smiled wanly at Zane. “Such business often causes me undue stress,” he explained, almost embarrassed to admit it. Zane blinked at him but offered him a benign smile.
Their salads arrived a few minutes later; ten minutes had passed since Ty left. Zane joined in a new conversation as Norina talked about upcoming dance classes on board, but he kept an eye on Armen, who started fidgeting slightly. And it had to be a trick of the subtle lighting in the restaurant, because when Armen abruptly dropped his salad fork, Zane would have sworn the man was pale and sweating.
“Mr. Armen, are you all right?” Zane asked with a frown.
Armen cleared his throat twice before pushing back from the table. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. Please… excuse me,” he said softly, and even as Zane said, “Wait,” he was up and moving woodenly out of the restaurant.
“I hope he is not seasick,” Norina said.
Zane shook his head. It had only been about twenty minutes. Not enough time. Now Armen and his two trailing bodyguards were on their way back to his cabin, and Zane had no way to warn Ty.
“I think I’m going to go check on Del before the entrees arrive,” Zane murmured, placing his napkin next to his nearly untouched salad as he stood.
“Hurry back. You do not want your dinner to get cold. And bring my Del back with you!” Norina bid him. Zane nodded as he walked away, hoping he could catch up enough to follow Armen back to his stateroom—Zane could shoulder his way in past the bodyguards if he had to.
If Ty needed him, he would be there.
TY SAT behind the large desk in one part of the suite, flipping through documents and reading over them quickly. He was using the portable scanner to make copies of some of the papers, but he knew he didn’t have time to copy every one. He was trying to glean critical information and determine which ones might be pertinent while keeping an ear toward the front of the suite.
His head jerked up when he heard a scratching at the door, then the distinctive sound of the key card being swiped. He glanced around the stateroom furtively, looking for a place to hide. There was no way he’d get out the door and around the balcony partition in time without being seen.
He ducked behind the desk and cursed inwardly when he realized there was no back to the damn thing. He saw a pair of legs enter the stateroom and several more in the hallway. Armen and his bodyguards.
Ty turned and put his back to the side of the desk, momentarily out of sight. But as they moved around the room, they would quickly catch sight of him. He peered around the corner and counted three men. Armen was yanking at his tie in obvious displeasure. Maybe he hated wearing tuxedos as much as Ty did.
“It is stuffy,” Armen muttered to one of his bodyguards, and the man went over to the thermostat to adjust the temperature accordingly.
“You seem ill,” one of the men commented, but his accent was so thick Ty wasn’t quite sure if that was what he said or not. The thug began to walk around the sofa, bringing him alarmingly close to Ty’s hiding place. Ty ducked away, commando crawling behind the desk and peering around the other side. Armen sat on the side of his round bed, the side that didn’t look like the end of the bed, anyway, and he was facing away from Ty. One of the bodyguards had disappeared into the bathroom, and the other was facing aw
ay as well, apparently giving his boss some modicum of privacy. Ty took the chance and crawled across the floor to the bed, intending to slide under it before he remembered that the damn thing was on a solid pedestal. He resisted the urge to curse and hugged to the expensive carpet, rolling as close as he could to the side of the bed as he heard one of the three men begin to move around the stateroom.
The comforter almost covered him, but he was still just some dude sprawled on the floor if any of the men decided to walk around to that side of the bed.
He held his breath, waiting.
“I am overtired. Perhaps the expensive Scotch Mr. Porter shared does not agree with me,” Armen muttered finally. “All is well. Please leave me,” he ordered in the same monotone voice he’d always spoken in.
Ty frowned. Mr. Porter was Zane. He had shared his Scotch with Armen? Ty didn’t even try to ponder that one. He listened as the two men muttered obediently, and Ty counted to ten before he heard the door shut behind them.
He remained where he was, frowning heavily and breathing shallowly, straining his ears so he could hear Armen’s movements.
But the man wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even shifting around on the bed. Ty made a slow count of ten again; then he pushed himself up and raised his head over the bed. Armen was still sitting where he’d been, shoulders slumped, head down. As Ty watched, he raised his head and took in a deep, seemingly painful breath.
What the hell was wrong with him?
His breathing became more labored, and he pressed a hand to his chest just before his body seemed to collapse inward and he toppled forward to the floor. Ty shot up and slid over the bed before he thought better of it, landing next to Armen’s prone form on the other side of the bed.
“Armen?” Ty whispered as he put a hand to Armen’s neck.
The man merely gurgled in response.
Ty quickly rolled him over and stretched his arms above his head, taking note of how wrong his body felt. He was completely limp, devoid of any muscular control. Ty gripped his hand, and his fingers were icy cold to the touch. He blinked rapidly up at Ty, but then even the blinking stopped. There were no facial tics or movements, nothing to indicate the man was still alive. His eyes were so dilated that the normally coffee-colored irises were completely black. His entire body was soaked in sweat. Ty bent his head to listen and could hear faltering, rasping breaths. The pulse at his neck was thready, and even as he checked for it, Armen’s body began to twitch all over, the muscles jumping.
Ty certainly wasn’t an expert, but he knew poison when he saw it. Syncope and paralysis, respiratory distress, dilation of the pupils, profuse perspiration. And one last stuttering breath before the body went completely still.
Ty winced and shook his head as he sat down hard and looked down at Armen’s body helplessly. Ty was familiar with poisons and silent ways of killing. He was almost certain he’d used this one himself a time or two. The culprit was probably a Calabar bean, a native of Africa. Half a bean would be lethal, but to act so quickly it had to have been several, ground up and slipped into something to hide the subtle taste.
Fear gripped him suddenly, so strong it nearly made him sick. Armen had shared a glass of Scotch with Zane.
Ty left Armen where he’d fallen, knowing the man was past help. He shot out the balcony door, barely thinking to close it behind him, and he didn’t take as much care as he probably should have as he stood on the railing of the balcony to Armen’s stateroom and swung himself around the partition. But he couldn’t afford to be careful when Zane might already be dying from the same poison that had killed Vartan Armen. It could be treated with atropine with varying success, but the best thing to do was vomit it up. Violently. He had to get to Zane now if he’d had as big a dose as Armen.
He might already be too late.
He landed on the floor of the balcony with a heavy thump, and he barged in through the balcony doors. Luckily they weren’t latched, or he would have merely gone through the glass to get inside.
“Ty!”
There was Zane, striding toward him, looking intent and upset, but breathing and not yet paralyzed. Ty didn’t think, he merely pounced on Zane and hugged him tightly as his heart pounded from fear and adrenaline. He closed his eyes and let himself just soak in the warmth and the scent of Zane’s body next to his. He’d been so panicked he’d almost unconsciously convinced himself he’d never be able to do this again. Zane’s arms were just as tight around him, and after a long moment, he realized Zane was actually talking to him.
“…was no way I could let you know to get out of there,” Zane was saying, lips moving against Ty’s ear and hair.
Ty pulled his head back and looked at Zane almost frantically. “What? No, shut up—stop talking. Did you drink anything?”
“What? Drink anything? We all had drinks with dinner,” Zane said as he clasped Ty’s upper arms. “Why? You’re practically freaking out.”
“Did you drink your drink, Zane?” Ty nearly shouted, grabbing Zane in the same manner and shaking him violently.
“Jesus! No! What the fuck? I told you I wouldn’t drink anymore if I didn’t absolutely have to!” Zane exclaimed, hurt clear in his voice.
Ty took Zane’s face in his hands and shook his head, struck speechless with relief. He allowed a moment to calm himself before trying to explain, and finally he just came out with, “Armen’s dead.”
Zane’s confusion was clear, but he didn’t snap at Ty about it. “How?” He stepped back enough to look Ty up and down. “You’re okay?”
Ty shook his head. “I didn’t kill him! He came back from dinner before I got out, talking about not feeling well and having shared your Scotch. Then he dropped dead in his room. Classic poisoning. I thought… are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t even have a sip?”
Zane cupped one of Ty’s cheeks in his palm. “Not even a sip. Came close, but there was a very distracting attraction out on the dance floor.” Ty hugged him again in relief. Zane huffed quietly but pulled him close for several deep breaths before starting to relax. “As great as this is, we’ve got problems, baby.”
“Big problems,” Ty agreed without letting Zane go. “Armen’s dead because he drank your drink. So not only was he not the one trying to kill us, but someone’s still fucking trying to kill us!” He pulled back and looked Zane over yet again to assure himself that he was fine. He nodded grimly. Zane was right: they had work to do. “And the Bianchis are either guilty, or they’re in danger too.”
“Or dead on the goddamn dining room floor,” Zane said, his voice rough. “Bianchi drinks like a fucking fish.” Then he crossed his arms. “Wait. If Armen drank my drink, and it was the one that was poisoned, then Bianchi would already be down,” he said, looking at his watch. “We had those drinks almost from the time we sat down, and Armen didn’t take mine until a good ten minutes after you left. But he took off really quickly after you. Call it… five minutes onset, maybe fifteen minutes to death?”
Ty closed his eyes and waved his hands through the air. “Stop doing math!” he shouted as he grabbed his jacket and moved around Zane to head for the door. “Come on, we have to find them.”
“I left them in the dining room waiting on the entrees,” Zane said as they practically ran out of the stateroom.
ZANE didn’t even think to slow down as he and Ty ran through the promenade, skidding around Christmas trees and dodging through groups of people. He knew Ty was beside him, and they both knew what had to be done: find the Bianchis. As he swung around the last corner before the restaurant, Zane found himself hoping Lorenzo and Norina were both breathing and innocent. For criminals, they were pleasant company, rather unusual in Zane’s hardcore Miami drug scene experience.
Neither he nor Ty stopped moving when they entered the restaurant. After noting the absence of screaming, EMTs, or any other unusual excitement, Zane immediately scoped out the left side of the restaurant from where he stood inside the door, spotted Bianchi at the bar without any trouble, an
d cut past the hostess. Zane sensed Ty heading off in the other direction; he knew without asking that he was going after Norina.
Zane reached the bar and set a hand on Bianchi’s shoulder. “Signor Bianchi?”
Bianchi turned, a wide smile on his face. “Ah, Mr. Porter, you must have hurried to return to us so quickly from checking on your Del. Scotch?” he asked, holding up a bottle.
“Not yet, thank you,” Zane said smoothly as he reached out to take the proffered flask. He watched Bianchi carefully, looking for a tell. Was the man trying to poison him? “I’ll wait for dessert, I think.”
“A sound idea,” Bianchi said, sounding approving. “Bring it to the table, and we’ll all finish the bottle off.”
Zane nodded slowly, and movement over Bianchi’s shoulder caught his attention. He glanced up to see two men in ill-fitted suits walking along the bar toward them. The men were totally focused on him and Bianchi, and Zane’s instincts went on alert. He’d have to take a risk.
“Listen to me. Armen is dead.”
Bianchi’s eyes instantly went comically wide—it was about as natural a reaction as Zane had ever seen. “Dead?” he asked, aghast.
“Yes. Poisoned,” Zane said, nodding to the bottle.
Bianchi yanked his hand back from it like it had burned him. “But… but we ordered our drinks from the bar, all of us!” Then Bianchi flinched. “What about my Norina?” he said urgently, sliding off the bar stool and standing. “She had drinks as well!”
Zane took his arm to keep him from hurrying off. “To your right, do you know those men?”
“Men? What men? What do I care about men? My Norina!” Bianchi babbled. It was pretty damn clear to Zane that the man wasn’t involved in any poisoning.
“Del is with her. Lorenzo,” Zane said, trying to hold the man’s attention as the two men drew closer. To Zane’s eye, they looked like some kind of law enforcement. “The men behind you.”