Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

shifting his hips or rolling his shoulders, was a beautiful thing, Zane reflected, and his body agreed. Ty would look even better dancing. His streamlined body was practically made for it.
    When Ty reached him, he was grinning widely, holding his drink up out of the throng. Bodies moved around them in time with the beat of the music. It had no words that Zane could discern, drowned out by the bass. It was just as well. It made it easier to concentrate on the thump under his feet and deep in his chest, driving up his heart rate, and for now, that was what Zane was interested in. He jerked his head in the direction of the center of the dance floor and raised an eyebrow in question.
    Ty took a long drink from the cup in his hand and moved closer, wrapping an arm around Zane’s neck to pull him close enough to speak to him. It was impossible for them to remain still in the sea of dancing bodies, with the music pumping through the room, and they were moving by default. They didn’t actually have to move closer to the dance floor in order to dance because the mob absorbed them.
    “This is a first for me,” Ty practically shouted in his ear. “Never danced with a guy before. On purpose, anyway.”
    Zane smirked and slid his hands down Ty’s back to spread across his ass and subtly pull him nearer, not that anyone would see it for the crowd. Zane wasn’t missing out on this opportunity. He’d never thought he’d have a chance to dance with Ty at all; he didn’t exactly seem the type for a moonlit sway on the aft deck with the small jazz band they’d seen the night before.
    And they certainly couldn’t do this in Baltimore.
    Ty moved closer, as close as he could get, pressing his body against Zane’s as they moved together. People shifted around them, strangers touching and writhing indiscriminately along with the beat. But Ty’s eyes and hands stayed on Zane and Zane alone.

Chapter 6

     
    T HE line for the rock-climbing wall was a long one, and the wait even longer since there was a necessity to watch and linger for the intended victims. The cold was not a problem, but impatience was. He did not like doing what he considered such menial tasks as wet work.
    The good weather and party-like atmosphere of the ship made his job somewhat easier, though. People were happy and oblivious, and he was able to subtly insert himself just in front of the two men when they arrived. It was a masterpiece of malevolence, making certain he was the one climbing just before them without anyone noticing what he’d done or what he was about to do.
    He carried a small ceramic knife in a bag on his hip, one he’d been able to carry past the low-tech metal detectors, and it was innocuous enough if by some bad luck he was searched by security. It was also easy to ditch if necessary; all he had to do was throw it hard against something solid and it would shatter into a million pieces. On the cruise ship, though, that wasn’t really a problem with weapons. If he was close enough to the edge, he could simply toss it overboard and watch it sink into the dark blue depths.
    He didn’t foresee needing to do that.
    As he climbed the fake wall, he carefully pulled the belay line to him, collecting it at his belly so no one below or above would see what he was doing. When he came to the spot on the rope he thought would do the most damage, he slid the palm-sized knife from his fanny pack and quickly made a cut, almost a third of the way through the nylon line. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable to the naked eye since the knife was so sharp. When given a cursory examination, it wouldn’t be seen. Only when it reached the carabiner above and the weight of a human body was pulling on it would it become apparent.
    After tucking the knife away, he waved to the attendant about three meters above him and slowly began to make his descent. He took care with the rope, mindful not to put too much weight on it and to let it play out at what seemed a natural rate. When his feet touched the padded ground at the base of the wall, he was content in the knowledge that when the rope broke because of too much weight on the compromised line, his quarry would be the one in the harness.
     
     
    Z ANE shook his head and sighed as he stood in the bright sun and crisp winter air, looking up the gray rock wall toward the clear blue sky. He was starting to wish Corbin was a supergeek weasel or an old, portly man who walked with a cane. These things were hell on his