“I know.” Ty finally looked up. “It’s his.”
Nick said nothing. He wasn’t going to touch that one.
“He outplayed me.”
“This wasn’t a game, Ty,” Zane said.
“Sure it was. Liam wasn’t freelancing here. He works for the NIA.”
“How do you know?” Zane asked.
“Because I didn’t miss. I don’t miss. He was here as an NIA agent. And what is the NIA?”
“The brand new, ultra-militarized arm of the CIA,” Kelly recited.
“With broad purpose but small, precious resources,” Ty added.
“You’re saying you think Liam and the NIA engineered all of this?” Zane asked. “Why?”
“To do exactly what we did.”
“Clean out a rat’s nest?” Nick asked.
“You’re saying NIA pitted a retired Recon team against a Colombian cartel?” Owen asked. “On purpose?”
Ty shrugged. “It was a perfect storm. We cleared out a dozen of the cartel’s men, plus a high-ranking dirty cop who controls a busy port city. They lose no assets. Don’t take the heat.”
“How do you figure?” Digger asked.
Ty held up his hand. He slowly extended his thumb. “He knew Sanchez. Knew he was dead, knew his birthday, knew we’d all gather. He knew Digger was confined to the state. That leaves one place and time we’d all be. And to know all that, he had to have CIA sources.” He pointed his index finger, counting off his reasons. “The cartel came by boat, which means they left Miami before we did. He didn’t see us and then call them. They knew to be here because he told them to be here.” He flipped up another finger. “He knew my past here. You think it was coincidence I hit Gaudet’s radar as soon as I landed? He effectively boxed us in, forced us to act.”
“I don’t know, Ty,” Nick finally said. “I don’t trust the bastard either, but . . . I’m just not comfortable thinking he’s that many steps ahead.”
Ty shrugged. “Neither am I.”
“If that is what happened, why would he try to kill you?” Owen asked. “Do you really think he just mixed those bullets up?”
Ty stared at the voodoo doll, long enough the silence became uncomfortable. “He’s a scorpion and I’m a turtle,” Ty finally answered.
“Are you hallucinating again?” Zane asked.
Nick cleared his throat. “It’s a fable. The scorpion asks the turtle to take him across the river. The turtle says no because he’s afraid the scorpion will sting him. Scorpion tells Turtle he won’t sting him because they’ll both drown. But halfway across the river, the scorpion strikes. As they’re sinking, Turtle asks him why, and Scorpion replies, ‘It’s just my nature.’”
Zane’s worried eyes moved to Ty, who was studying the voodoo doll again. “That’s not good enough.”
“Maybe he knows Ty’s the only one who can catch him,” Kelly rasped.
Ty stood carefully without another word, then took a step toward Kelly. Kelly lifted a hand and Ty took it, squeezing it gently. “I’ll be back, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Ty petted him on the head, then turned to shuffle out of the room.
The rest of them began to stand, giving Kelly their own goodbyes before they all filed out.
Nick stood at the doorway, watching the others walk away.
Digger put his arm over Owen’s shoulders. “Care for a few cocktails?”
“It’s barely noon, man.”
“So? This is Nawlins!”
They laughed as they headed for the elevator. Ty and Zane followed, walking side by side but not saying anything. Nick shook his head as he watched them go.
“They gonna be okay?” Kelly asked from the bed.
Nick pondered them. “Oh, you know Ty,” he finally said, injecting some cheer into his voice. “He can squirm out of anything.”
Ty was silent as Zane hailed a cab for them. Digger and Owen had cavorted off into the French Quarter as if nothing had happened that morning, but Zane was finding it a bit more difficult to brush off.
He and Ty climbed into the cab, directing it to the Bourbon Orleans, where they still had a room under Nick’s name. What remained of their belongings had been taken there earlier.
Zane glanced sideways at Ty. His neck was stained with remnants of Digger’s fake blood and his real blood, and his face was ashen, but Zane had seen him look worse. “I can’t believe we both came out of this without anything other than scratches,” Zane tried.
Ty bobbed his head distractedly.
“Do you still have the gris-gris bag?”
That caused Ty to raise his head. He licked his lips. “Yeah. Gotta figure out how to cleanse it.”
“How?”
“There used to be a priestess on Rampart. Probably still there.”
Zane studied him, wishing the distance between them hadn’t grown so full of thorns. He worked hard to swallow past the tightness in his throat.
The taxi came to a stop and Zane paid the driver as Ty trudged to the hotel entrance. Zane jogged to catch up with him. “Hey,” he called, frustration growing as he followed Ty through the lobby. “Are we going to talk about . . . anything?”
Ty punched the button on the elevator. He nodded, not meeting Zane’s eyes. The doors opened and Ty stepped in, turning to face Zane. “Do you love me, Zane?”
The simple question, asked with so little emotion in Ty’s eyes, hit Zane like a hammer in the chest, stealing his breath, making his knees go weak. He stumbled into the elevator before the doors could close on them.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Ty nodded. “And I love you.”
Zane released the breath he’d been holding. He was relieved to hear that confirmation after all that had happened, after all they’d said and done to each other. “So . . . what do we do?”
“Well.” Ty swallowed, looking a little sick. “I can’t . . . I can’t sit on your pedestal.”
“Ty.”
“No. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Zane. I’m not. We’ve both known from the start the only reason you got clean was because I begged you to. You hang on by your fingernails because I expect you to. It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to me. I can’t be the reason you’re sober, Zane.”
Zane’s breath came out harsh and shaky.
“Because I’m not perfect, and the next time I let you down, it can’t be me you’re leaning on. You have to be strong enough to stay off the bottle. For you. Not me.”