Ty didn"t respond, and when Zane glanced over at him, he saw that his partner was already asleep, face relaxed, breathing evenly. Zane sighed in exasperation. Ty had the same ability as a lot of people who"d ever served in the military: he could sleep on command whenever and wherever. Zane envied the ability. He carefully turned onto his side and scooted up against him, slid his arm over Ty"s waist, and laid his head on the pillow, bracing his cheekbone on Ty"s shoulder. It was easy to let his eyes close, and he briefly entertained the thought of Ty as his own personal teddy bear as he fell asleep.
THEIR personalized itineraries for each day, printed and slid under the door the night before, came in a fussy green folder tied with a red ribbon and supposedly matched the more general overviews McCoy had given them that morning. Although they had reviewed the summary documents briefly, Ty intended to go through them again as they ate dinner, just to assure himself there weren"t any surprises.
He sat at the small marble-topped dining table in their cabin, knee bouncing as he perused Del Porter"s scheduled activities. “I swear to God, if they have me down for another massage I"m diving overboard,”
he mumbled as he rubbed at his sore shoulder. The masseuse had warned him he"d be achy for a few days, but this was ridiculous. He"d fallen out of helicopters and not been this sore afterward.
Zane forked up some salad as he looked at Corbin"s list. “Some vacation,” he commented. “Two scheduled activities a day plus meals, some extra excursions while in ports. Although evenings are pretty clear, looks like.”
Ty nodded. It was easy to build a profile of the two men they were impersonating just by the activities they"d paid for. Rock climbing, waterskiing, cliff diving, scuba diving, a fairly tame “zip-line adventure over the jungles of Puerto Rico,” and several other activities in the same vein. Adrenaline junkies. Or suicidal, depending. Ty raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. “I"m beginning to like these guys.”
“I"m going to guess that Corbin"s the adventurer and Del tags along. Although he did look like he worked out,” Zane commented.
“Are there any differences in the itineraries?”
Ty slid his folder closer and peered at Zane"s, comparing them side-by-side. “Looks like Corbin has a few nights reserved at the private-game poker tables. High stakes.” Ty whistled low. “A hundred thousand buy-in? Hope you"re not playing with government money, partner,” he teased.
Zane pointed at a note starred to one side of his itinerary. “The Porters" account has been preloaded with the ship"s bursar. It doesn"t say how much, though.”
“Do you play poker?” Ty asked as he sat back and studied Zane.
He had a feeling Zane would be good at it. He had one hell of a poker face.
“Yes,” Zane said absently, taking another bite of salad as he read through the activities list. “Did a lot of gambling in Miami.” He glanced up with a smile. “Poker is all about statistics and luck.”
“Uh huh,” Ty responded dubiously. “But I"m talking gambling with money, papi, not your life,” he said with a pat of Zane"s knee. He knew all he wanted to know about what Zane had done in Miami.
Zane"s smile widened as he set down his fork. “I"m good at both.
But I"ll stick to money this time. Especially since it"s not mine.”
“I appreciate the assurance,” Ty mumbled, privately thinking he"d believe that when he saw it.
“I don"t diss you and your guns. Don"t diss me and my numbers,”
Zane said mildly as he went back to his dinner.
Ty glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. He"d been thinking more along the lines of Zane sticking to gambling with money and not life and limb, but apparently Zane was still self-conscious when it came to his what bordered on idiot savant levels of number-crunching ability.
Ty didn"t really envy the ability, but he did respect it. Ty saw things in a jumbled mess, like a jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed onto a table. He could piece that puzzle together without turning over the pieces to see what was on the other side, simply going on instinct and what felt right. But Zane"s mind instead took those jumbled pieces and categorized them, turned them all right side up, top to bottom, labeled them by category ranging from color to the name of the dude who cut them out at the factory, and then methodically snapped them into place.
The differences in methods made them a mostly compatible, daunting team, if not occasionally at odds.
Zane glanced up from his plate and raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting on Ty"s retort that hadn"t come. Ty frowned at him, looking to turn the conversation another direction. “What"s wrong with my guns?”
Zane chuckled. “There"s nothing wrong with your guns. And speaking of, we"ll have to see if they got mine in the luggage too. I don"t like being unarmed.” He reached for the breadbasket, then took a fluffy yeast roll and offered it to Ty.
Ty shook his head, smiling slightly. It was so easy to distract Zane sometimes it was shameful. “You"re going to have to carry mine most of the time anyway,” he said. “The only thing I have to wear that"s thick enough to conceal a gun is that tux.” He nodded toward the garment bags in the closet. He plucked at the shirt he was wearing.
Aside from the shirts being just a little tight at the seams around his shoulders, he found that he kind of liked Del Porter"s wardrobe. Most of the clothing was made of fine linen or light muslin or cotton, appropriate for tropical locales. But there was no hiding a .38 in the clinging folds.
“There is that, at least. Corbin"s got high-fashion taste, and that means long sleeves, even if they are silk shirts. I might get away with one blade.” Zane shrugged. “Silk is hot,” he tacked on.
Ty nodded and looked back down at his folder before Zane could see the smile on his lips. Silk also stuck to skin like glue. He"d spent a few very sweaty nights on silk sheets that he didn"t remember fondly.
Mainly because the owner of those silk sheets had tried to kill him later….
Anyway, he also didn"t consider silk shirts high fashion, unless you were a guido and liked lots of bling, too, but he wasn"t going to get into that with Mr. Walking Shorts.
“Corbin has a manicure five days in,” Zane said as he pushed his plate slightly away, most of the food he"d spooned onto it gone. “Does Del have any salon appointments?”