Seeing Ty had gotten Zane"s attention, and he"d consciously stopped emptying his glass. But it had been long enough since his last fall from grace that his tolerance had suffered. He knew how to operate under the influence in the line of duty; it just couldn"t be avoided in the alcohol-soaked underworld. He"d already slipped into that cold and detached state of mind before Ty had arrived, and Zane hadn"t even recognized it. It was like sliding on an old, comfortable disguise, and remembering Ty"s earlier words about his drinking, Zane was worried now.
Even through the worry, Zane felt the relief and succor of the alcohol, the allure that welcomed him, called to him. In the past, alcohol had given him an edge, and it still burned in him, allowed him to slough off the nerves and distractions and brought the most important things into focus. Zane knew himself when he was deep into the drink while undercover. He"d spent too many years living it not to appreciate it. He"d also learned how destructive it could be. How destructive he could be under the influence.
The concern for Ty ate at him as he left the promenade, rode up the elevator, and entered the hallway leading to their stateroom. Zane had thought at the time he was handling the situation the right way; now he wasn"t so sure.
When Zane entered their cabin, he found the place entirely upended. His heart skipped a few beats, and instinctively he dug under his shirt at the small of his back and drew his gun. He shut the door without a sound and silently made his way into the dimly lit room.
Suitcases lay turned upside down and emptied, their possessions scattered all over the floor. The mattress was hanging off the bed and still cocked sideways, the bedcovers a shambles. The pillows of the couches littered the floor, and the doors to the balcony stood open.
Either Ty had thrown a temper tantrum, or they had a problem they hadn"t expected. Zane was inclined to choose option A, remembering the look on Ty"s face when Zane had turned his back on him.
Zane winced.
He moved on through the bedroom to check the balcony and then walked to the bathroom, where the door was ajar and one of the sinks was running.
Ty was bent over the sink, shirtless, letting the water run into the palm of his hand and then repeatedly splashing his face. Relieved, Zane looked him over: Ty"s face was pale and drawn, and the shirt he"d been wearing when he"d come to see Zane at the poker table was on the marble counter beside him, a single drop of blood on the collar clearly visible.
Ty abruptly jumped back, his hand going to the knife on the countertop. He jerked to a stop, his back against the marble tile of the bathroom wall, weapon in hand, breathing hard as he stared at Zane.
Zane let out the breath he"d been holding and looked Ty over while slowly lowering his gun. He felt his focus snap into place: on Ty now, rather than Bianchi and Armen like before. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Ty lowered his head slightly, glaring at Zane as his hazel eyes flashed with anger. “Had a party,” he answered in a deceptively calm voice as he straightened up and stepped back over to the sink to turn off the water. “Sorry you missed it,” he added as he set down the knife, picked up a washrag, and dabbed at his lip gingerly.
“I should have been here,” Zane said as he reached out to lightly touch Ty"s chin and turn his head so he could look at the split lip.
Ty flinched away from him and smacked his hand away, snarling wordlessly at him. The calm façade was gone just as quickly as it had come. He shoved Zane away from him and followed to shove him again, right out of the bathroom. He balled his fist as if preparing to take a swing, but then he gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, snorting loudly. It always took Ty a lot of effort to rein in his temper once he"d lost it, and he visibly struggled with it now.
Now Zane knew what had happened was serious. He tried to study Ty more closely to see if he was hiding an injury. He appeared to be unharmed aside from the bloody lip. “What happened?” Zane asked him again.
“Fucking Italians!” Ty blurted with a wave of his hands, launching into another threatening temper tantrum, and Zane actually leaned back in surprise. Ty"s next words were shouted. “They tried to toss me over the railing! I don"t speak Italian, Garrett!”
“The railing,” Zane repeated blankly. Then it clicked. “The railing? As in into the ocean railing? What did they want?” Scenarios began playing out in Zane"s head, every one of them ending badly…
because he wasn"t there. Zane felt ill, all that lovely Scotch suddenly threatening to make an appearance.
Ty just seemed to grow angrier in the face of Zane"s belated concern. He stood fairly trembling as he balled his fists at his sides, trying to calm himself. That was an exercise in futility, in Zane"s learned opinion, but no way was he voicing that now.
“They didn"t say anything to give you an idea of who they were?”
Zane asked carefully.
“I think they were Guardia di Finanza,” Ty said through clenched teeth, the Italian words rolling off his tongue as if he did speak the language. “Even Italian cops wear cheap suits. Del was supposed to meet with them, and when I missed it, they came looking for me.” He waved his rag at the trashed stateroom. “They took the f**king wire taps I found. I"m guessing they flipped the place, then came after me when they didn"t find them here.”
“The wire taps were with you,” Zane concluded. He inhaled deeply and nodded, believing Ty must have had a hell of a scare for him to be this livid. Staying in character would have made him fairly helpless, and Zane felt a stronger pang of worry that he tried to quash.
“That was what you came to tell me about,” he said, though he wasn"t sure what he"d have been able to do about it.
“Not that it matters now,” Ty snarled.
“It"s done, Grady. Let it go. We"ll find the wire taps,” Zane said as he walked over to the desk, put down the gun, and started to pick through the contents scattered across the top of it. He was having enough trouble focusing on anything besides his partner to worry about the past now. Ty was silent, and when Zane glanced over at him, he found Ty still standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching him with a mixture of anger and what might have been pain. It was similar to the look he"d given Zane at the poker table.
For a moment, Zane was glad he"d enjoyed so much whiskey. If it weren"t for the calm and cool it gave him, he"d either be really upset over Ty"s near-death experience, so quickly on the heels of the climbing wall “accident,” or he"d be giving Ty a smack upside the head right now, damn the repercussions. Instead, he waited for Ty to continue.