Fish & Chips (19 page)

118 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

“I told you what I think about free fall,” Zane finally said. “And staying calm isn"t enough. You up there joking? You weren"t doing it for yourself, were you?” It wasn"t so much a question as a conclusion.

“Well, you know how amusing I find myself.”

“Yeah, right. You were about to fall thirty feet, and you were more worried about me than you were about yourself.” Zane stood and reached to place a hand on each side of Ty"s face, holding him still.

“Are you okay? I couldn"t do anything but stand and watch before, but I could do something to help now.”

“Yeah, you can,” Ty murmured somberly, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked over Zane"s sincere face. “You can get me some Tylenol. And ice. And a drink. And possibly a nice gentle massage,

"cause I"m not going to be able to move my arms in an hour.”

Zane leaned to kiss him, just a soft press of the lips, probably to halt Ty"s litany of demands. “You can have anything you want, baby.”

Ty almost gave in to the gentle sentiment, but he closed his eyes and shook his head obstinately. “Quit it!” he demanded, barely keeping himself from stomping his foot in a petulant fit. He wanted Zane back to being his normal indignant self, not this weird quixotic version of his lover and partner. “Snap out of it and… I don"t know… yell at me for almost dying or something!”

“All right, all right,” Zane said, smiling a little and straightening his shoulders, giving himself a slight shake. “Next time you do something like that, I"m going to smack the hell out of you, okay?” He stole one more kiss and sighed, then padded over to the phone. In the next moment, he was talking to the butler service. “What do you want to drink?” he directed at Ty, his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

“A lot,” Ty answered grimly.

Zane ordered a six-pack of Guinness and large pitcher of iced tea, a shot of their best whiskey, a bucket of ice, some cold sandwiches and chips, and a cookie platter in quick succession before hanging up.

“Cookies?” Ty asked with a smile he didn"t try to restrain.

“Comfort food. You get beer; I get cookies,” Zane explained as he kicked off his cross trainers and walked back over to the bed.

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Ty watched him move, seriously considering tackling him and relieving some stress in a more favorable manner than a shower or cookies. But he decided against such a tack, considering how distressed Zane seemed and how important the morning"s events might be to the grand scheme of things. “So,” he said quietly. “Do we think someone is trying to kill Del, or do we think someone"s figured out we"re not the Porters and they"re trying to kill me? Or us, I guess, since there was no way of knowing which of us would go first.”

He watched as Zane studied him silently for a moment and then advanced on him. “There"s not been enough exposure for our cover to be blown unless there"s a wild card in play who actually knows the Porters. We have no reason to think that,” Zane said. He stopped right in front of Ty, looking down at him. “Take off those shoes.”

The firm tone of voice alone made Ty shiver slightly, and it took him a moment to realize he was still wearing the climbing shoes supplied by the staff at the rock wall. Ty looked down at them in surprise. He felt himself flush at the absentmindedness, and he yanked them off one at a time, tossing them toward the sofa. “So why try to hurt one of the Porters?” he posed as he did so. “A fall like that wouldn"t necessarily kill. Especially since cutting halfway through a rope isn"t exactly a precise method. Whoever did it had no idea when it would rip. And since I doubt Del or Corbin are better climbers than me, it"s likely they"d have been lower when it did go.”

Zane grunted in comment as he walked around the edge of the bed. He sat and pulled up his legs, leaning against the headboard and crossing his legs at the ankle. “It"s awfully imprecise. We could have skipped our appointment or been late and it could have been someone else up there.” His voice was steadier now, almost back to normal.

“Which proves two things,” Ty said with a frown. “Whoever did it isn"t in a hurry to kill us—them—whoever they"re trying to kill. And they"re not afraid to hurt innocent bystanders doing it. My bet"s on Armen. Anyone who likes to drink as much as the Italian can"t be sober often enough to plan ahead.”

“Not necessarily. If you"ve got tolerance, alcohol might sharpen your attention, not blunt it.”

120 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

The comment brought Ty up short. He"d been joking about Lorenzo Bianchi and his love of wine, an off-handed comment he probably shouldn"t have made. But Zane"s sincere belief in the words he"d just uttered disturbed Ty enough that he wasn"t able to keep the surprise and concern out of his expression. Zane just offered a shrug and a rueful smile.

“Is that really what you think?” Ty asked, unable to help himself.

Zane"s brow creased a little. “Yes. Everyone reacts to alcohol differently, just like drugs, just like injuries. Depends on how you handle it, what you let it do to you. Why?”

Ty realized he was staring at Zane slightly agape, and he quickly pressed his lips together. He shook his head sadly. The reasoning seemed very… self-serving for an alcoholic. He didn"t want to argue with Zane just then, so he nodded and looked away, determined to let the thread of conversation die a natural death. He moved toward the bed, pulling his damp shirt over his head and casting it aside as he sat in the general location of the end of the bed. He examined the scar on his hand. His ring finger was beginning to swell even more. He was never going to get the damn ring off. He might actually need to have it cut off soon.

“I"m sitting here trying to think of a creative way to yell at you for scaring the shit out of me, and nothing"s really coming to mind other than fucking you against the shower wall until we both feel better,” Zane said from behind him, his tone calm and conversational.

Ty nodded distractedly. “I do need a shower,” he commented in a voice to match.

Zane shifted his weight to climb off the bed and moved toward him, reaching out one hand. When he glanced up, Ty was surprised to see the intense look in Zane"s eyes. His fingers brushed over Ty"s skin, but they flinched after a firm rap on the stateroom door.

Ty looked up at Zane and smiled gamely. Zane glanced to the door and back to Ty, clearly considering ignoring it until there was a second knock, louder than the first. Zane huffed and stalked across the room to unbolt the door and open it just enough to look out.

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Ty watched tensely, hands loose near the gun he"d stashed under the mattress earlier, and hunched over so he could grab it quickly. He couldn"t see or hear their guest, but he wouldn"t put it past Zane to growl at them to go away so they could proceed to the shower as planned.

“Unless you"re hiding a cart with cold beer and cookies, go away,” Zane growled at whoever was out there.

Ty laughed softly and shook his head. He lay back, leaving the gun safely under the mattress, rolled on the bed, and stretched out on his stomach, surprised by the adrenaline still coursing through him. He hadn"t almost died in a while. He wasn"t handling it well.

Zane exchanged a few more words with the person on the other side of the door before shutting it firmly and shooting the bolt. “We are now top of the treat list,” he said wryly as he walked back to the bed.

“The ship, if not the world, is ours on a platter.”

“Great,” Ty replied without enthusiasm. “What else is on that damned itinerary?”

“Too many other extreme sports for my liking,” Zane muttered as he sat on the edge of the mattress and started rubbing Ty"s neck with one hand.

“What would be the point in disabling Del or Corbin at this stage?” Ty posed as he stared listlessly at the balcony doors.

“Nothing other than removing them from the equation,” Zane answered, twisting a little to use both hands to knead Ty"s shoulders carefully.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Ty said with a small smile. “I meant
why
.

Have we stumbled into a business takeover, do you think?”

Zane stayed quiet for a minute as he massaged, his fingers firm on Ty"s skin. “You mean Armen trying to take over.”

“Or Bianchi,” Ty said with a nod.

“I suppose it could be us—the Porters—trying to take over, and one of the others is simply striking first,” Zane suggested as he kept up the massage, moving more to Ty"s shoulders and upper arms.

122 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

“You"re much better at that than the last lady,” Ty mumbled distractedly.

The warm hands squeezing and rubbing kept moving in smooth circles and slides. “Porter does seem the type to try a takeover,” Zane mentioned, continuing the conversation as if Ty hadn"t said anything.

“An enterprising thug. Bianchi… well, my first impression isn"t one of aggression. Armen is dangerous.”

“Right.” Ty sighed heavily, closing his eyes and concentrating more on Zane"s hands. He had long fingers on big hands, and he spread them across Ty"s skin expertly as he massaged the muscles bunching with tension. First the fingers would dig in and knead until it was almost painful, but then Zane would let up and start soothing the area with long swipes of the heels of his hands, gently shooing the discomfort away.

Ty realized he was letting Zane divert him from the slightly more important issue they now faced. He raised his head and turned it, resting it again so he was facing Zane. “You"re getting distracted,” he accused.

The corners of Zane"s mouth pulled up slowly, and the smile echoed in his eyes. “Am I, now?” he drawled, dragging his fingertips down Ty"s back.

Ty shivered violently, then rolled and reached up to knock Zane"s hand away. He miscalculated where he was on the circular bed, though, and his shoulder hit the edge of the mattress and he went toppling over the edge with a flail of his arms and an abbreviated yip.

There was silence for a brief moment, and then Zane"s head appeared to look down at him.

“Haven"t you had enough of that for one day?” He didn"t sound particularly amused. Ty sat up, rubbing the back of his head and glaring up at his lover balefully, as if it had been Zane"s doing. “Don"t look at me,” Zane said as he shifted in place, still up on the bed. “This one you did to yourself, dumbass.”

“I hate this bed,” Ty muttered as he sat on the floor dejectedly and examined his abused hands. He couldn"t be bothered to get off the floor.

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“Come back up—” Another knock interrupted Zane. He climbed off the bed with a grunt, trudged to the door, and opened it much the same as before.

Only this time he immediately pulled the door further open so the room service cart could be pushed in to their table. The staffer made herself scarce—no telling if she"d heard about the crazy morning—and Zane locked the door behind her.

Ty had to stretch his neck to watch him over the edge of the bed.

Zane busied himself with the tray, smiling down at the plates he uncovered. “Hey, get your Tylenol and come eat,” he said. “Then I have liquid relaxation for you.”

“Garrett, come over here,” Ty requested quietly.

Zane turned his chin to look at him, his brow furrowing slightly, but he walked over to where Ty still sat on the floor and stopped, waiting with a questioning look.

“This floor is surprisingly clean,” Ty told him pointedly as he gestured to the lush carpet at Zane"s feet.

“Should I interpret that as „bring me a sandwich and a beer", or as

„get down here and kiss me"?” Zane asked as he crossed his arms and looked down at his partner.

Ty just smiled wistfully, a part of him wishing he didn"t have to beg Zane to get down there and kiss him. He held out a hand. “Help me up,” he muttered instead. Zane took his hand and pulled him up obligingly. Ty patted him on the arm and moved past him, toward the cart and the array of food and drinks. He"d only just picked up a bottle of beer when they heard another knock on the door.

“Oh, this is just getting ridiculous,” Zane muttered.

Ty shook his head and popped the top on the beer anyway. “I got it,” he said as he waved Zane off and shuffled barefoot to the door. He opened the door wide, assuming that whoever had tried to kill Del was sneakier than a gun to the face in the doorway of his suite.

He was right, but what greeted him was almost as alarming.

Norina Bianchi flung herself into Ty"s arms as soon as he"d opened the door, accompanied by a rush of foreign babble and her smiling 124 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

husband. After a tight hug, she leaned back, patted both his cheeks, and then hugged him again. She sounded worried, and Ty gathered the pair had learned of his mishap on the rock wall.

“Yes, I"m fine. Come in,” he invited, flustered as he tried to gently extricate himself from the woman"s arms without spilling beer on her.

He heard Zane"s voice from behind them. “Signor Bianchi, please come in. I"m going to guess your lovely wife heard about Del"s grand adventure this morning.”

“Ah, yes,” Bianchi said as he shooed Norina out of the doorway so they could all get inside and shut the door. “Here she comes, flying into the cabin to go on about a big excitement in the sporting center.”

Norina was still talking rapidly to Ty, her beautiful face undergoing a dramatic series of frowns and worried expressions. Ty was pretty good with languages and could upon occasion pick up what someone was saying from knowledge of similar languages or even the meanings of root words he recognized. But trying to decipher any of what she said when she spoke it at Mach 7 was impossible.