The most prominent pictures on the walls were of Nick in uniform, surrounded by smiling Marines. Very similar to Ty’s photos at home. Zane stopped and stared at one when he caught sight of a younger Ty. There were six men, all in various stages of dress, some standing, some kneeling, looking as if they had been roughhousing or playing during downtime while deployed on a carrier. Ty and Nick were front and center, wearing only pants and combat boots, both tanned from hours in the sun and salt air, their dog tags prominent on bare chests. All six men were grinning, arms around each other. Ty was holding a football, balancing it on the tip of his fingers as he displayed it for the camera.
Zane could hear Ty filling Nick in on the basics of what had happened, giving him the condensed version in typical Ty fashion. He turned toward the head before he could let himself get sucked into that vortex of uncertainty again. Ty may have looked happy in old pictures, but Zane knew Ty was happy now too.
When he returned, Nick and Ty were still discussing what needed to be done. Cameron was sitting in a corner booth that was tucked into the other side of the pilothouse, and Julian was looking askance at the low ceilings as if he might hit his head when he took a step.
“How long will it take us to get to DC?” Ty was asking Nick.
“A day, two if we can only travel at night.”
“No, we need to keep a regular schedule. Travel by day, anchor at night.”
“You sure?”
Ty nodded as he rubbed his hand over his face.
“Have you dumped your cells?” Nick asked.
“Cell phones, a few cars, credit cards, badges, guns, my watch. Everything we could think of that might have been bugged or can be tracked electronically.”
“At least you’re not wearing tinfoil hats yet.”
“Only when we sleep,” Ty muttered.
“You told me on the phone that you called Digger. Was that true, or were you trying to give me a message?”
“It was true. I told him that we were coming to him so whoever was listening could overhear, and then let him know that it was a decoy.”
“Coconuts?
“Yeah.”
“So, somewhere in the bayou, Digger is preparing for the arrival of an unfriendly?”
“In theory.”
Nick glanced at Julian and Zane and then rubbed his hand over his mouth. “God help the poor bastard that shows up on his doorstep,” he muttered.
Ty huffed a laugh. “We tried to lay low a couple places, but they kept finding us. I finally realized they were pinging the receiver in my watch. We headed to Philly, but… I can’t risk Deacon.”
“Understood.”
Zane wondered if Nick had any qualms about Ty risking him. He didn’t let on if he did.
“I pulled out the limit from every ATM I passed while I was on duty, so I’ve got a couple thousand for you. That’s the best I can do, but I can give you my card when we make port.”
“Thank you,” Ty whispered.
Nick nodded and then glanced at the rest of them. “You all look like half-eaten sushi.”
Zane found himself fighting back a smile, and he nodded instead.
“You’re a police officer?” Cameron asked Nick, who nodded. “Isn’t there something you can do? Someone you can call to help us?”
Nick looked at him for a moment with a sympathetic frown, and then he glanced at Ty.
“The CIA is slightly out of his reach, love,” Julian murmured. He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder and squeezed, trying to comfort him.
“I’m sorry,” Nick said, sounding sincere.
Ty met Zane’s eyes, and Zane knew exactly what he was thinking. They were going to get Cameron out of this alive even if it killed them.
“These two need a bed together,” Ty murmured to Nick as he waved a hand at Julian and Cameron.
Nick raised an eyebrow but nodded without commenting. “You can take my cabin,” he told Julian. He stood, making sure Ty had the wheel first, and then he gestured for them to follow as he ducked down the stairs. Julian and Cameron followed with murmured good-nights to Ty and Zane.
Zane moved to sit in the booth near Ty. He wasn’t sure what Ty wanted to do, though he expected visiting with Nick to be high on the list tonight. Zane didn’t really want to visit with Nick, though, and he sure as hell didn’t want Ty doing it. It bothered him enough that Ty knew his way around Nick’s boat. But he had to trust Ty, and it had to start somewhere, so why not here?
“You okay?” Ty asked as he fiddled with the controls of the yacht.
Zane pursed his lips. “Every time I look at him I want to knock his lights out.”
Ty shrugged as he kept his hand on the wheel and then glanced down the stairwell. “So do it.”
“What?”
“Do it, Zane. If it’ll make you feel better, slug him.”
Zane took in a deep breath, truly contemplating it. But he knew it wouldn’t make anything better in the end, and he was suspicious of Ty’s easy agreement.
Nick returned a few moments later.
“VIP cabin’s all set up,” he told them as he stepped into the galley and opened the refrigerator. He still had his gun stuffed in the small of his back. “Clean sheets and everything.”
“Improvement over last time,” Ty muttered.
“You had a sheet last time. And it was sort of clean.”
“Yeah, on top of a pool float that was anchored to the flybridge,” Ty said as he pointed up.
“You were on a pool float because it squeaked when you moved; we had to make sure you were still breathing!”
Ty gave a dismissive grunt and wave as he put the boat through its paces, apparently preparing to set it at anchor.
“Few years in a suit and Princess is suddenly too good for a pool float,” Nick whispered to Zane with a smirk as he handed them each a water bottle. “I’ve got food, beer, sodas, and water in the fridge. Garrett, help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Zane said, half laughing, wondering how often Nick got away with calling Ty a princess. He resented that Nick was a likable guy. He really wanted to hate him and be rude to him.
“Go on and sleep,” Nick told them. “I’ll get us settled for the night and keep watch.”
Ty left the wheel and stood. He looked from Nick to Zane, as if waiting to see if Zane was going to deck Nick. When Zane didn’t move, Ty took a few steps toward Nick and took his forearm instead of his hand, gripping it hard. “Thanks, Irish.”
“You know it,” Nick said, and then he nodded at Zane and turned to slip into the pilot’s seat.