Cut & Run (39 page)

The receptionist blinked at him as he entered the Assistant Director’s office. “They’re … waiting for you,” she stuttered at him.

Zane offered her a rakish grin before reaching for the knob to open the door.

“And I can assure you the cigars are not cheap,” a voice was saying conversationally on the other side of the door. “The beer is,” the man added,

“but never the cigars.”

“I don’t need to know about those cigars,” Burns responded in a tired voice.

Zane stopped just inside, having caught words in a voice he knew he’d never forget. Instead of focusing on Burns, who looked up at him, Zane focused on the back of the man who sat across from the Assistant Director.

“Garrett. Nice of you to join us. Over half an hour late,” Burns greeted, but he didn’t sound too perturbed.

Ty stiffened in the chair and went still. Slowly, he turned his head to look back at Zane, and the stunned reaction was too instantaneous to conceal.

Zane swallowed hard, looking over Ty’s face. He looked … good.

Really good. Finally, he found the nerve to speak. “Hello, Grady.” The words came out still tinged by an accent.

“Garrett,” Ty greeted in shock as he stood uncertainly. He turned to Burns and asked, “What is this?”

Zane tore his eyes away from Ty and looked to Burns.

“Despite how your last collaboration ended, we need you two in New York again,” Burns answered. His smile faded. “The killer went quiet, without showing so much as a shadow, for about three months after you two were removed from the case. As if he … missed you,” he told them with an odd uncertainty. “Until two weeks ago. Since then there has been one more Cut & Run | 237

murder, and two days ago, the two agents we had on the case were seriously injured in a gas line explosion.”

“You’re putting us back on the Tri-State case?” Ty blurted in shock.

“Together?”

The Assistant Director nodded. “In a way,” he answered vaguely.

“You two are the only ones left who’ve worked the case at all and are around to tell about it. The others might not make it.” He sighed. “And I know it’s important to you both. For many reasons,” he added quietly with a glance at Ty.

Zane took a few steps toward Burns’ desk. “Are we gonna be handcuffed like last time?”

“Handcuffed?” Burns asked in confusion. “What you two do on your own time is none of the Bureau’s concern,” he added with a wink at Ty, who rolled his eyes and sat back down slowly.

“Very funny,” Zane said flatly. He’d just ridden over fifteen hours on a motorcycle to get there and he wasn’t amused. No matter how much he jumped inside at the chance to see Ty again, Zane knew they’d be walking right back into an uncontrolled fire that could too easily torch them both—but it was the best news he had heard in months. “We had a tail up our asses and too many people looking over our shoulders. It didn’t stop that bastard from tracking us down somewhere else.” Zane’s words were clipped and run together, blending his accents. He glanced to Ty, trying to get some feel for him after four months apart.

Ty sat silently, head slightly bowed and body completely still as he watched Burns from under lowered brows. There was no nervous bouncing of his knee or jittery twitching like there had always been before when he was forced to sit still. He was also clean-shaven, and his hair was still closely cropped. The only remnant of his previous wardrobe was the slightly wrinkled white dress shirt he wore beneath his suit coat, untucked and unbuttoned at the collar. He stared at Burns emotionlessly, none of the usual fire in his eyes or features.

“You’ll be sent in unofficially with no other Bureau resources aside from what I have here for you,” Burns answered seriously as he waved a manila envelope. “The two of you have unique experience, you understand.”

Zane was still watching the other agent, seeing the stamp of medical overload and a bureaucratic smackdown all over him. He’d lived it himself, and it was a fucking mess to deal with. He’d wondered, more than once, if he’d have broken the self-enforced conditioning if he hadn’t met Ty. How in 238 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

the hell was Ty supposed to break free of it?

“Grady?” Zane asked abruptly. “Are you in?”

“This is not really a request, gentlemen,” Burns said gently.

Zane barked back something rough in Spanish before catching himself. “Kiss my ass, Burns. After what we went through last time, I think we have some say,” Zane growled.

The Assistant Director narrowed his eyes, but didn’t disagree.

Ty’s eyes moved from Burns to Zane, and he merely nodded in answer.

Zane studied him for a long moment, trying not to get lost in the details. “All right. We’re in. Give me the stuff; I want out of here. We shouldn’t have come in to the office to start with, if we’re supposed to be under the radar. Word will get around.”

Burns slid an envelope across the desk. “Approval for this directive comes from the Director himself. Having a killer on the inside like this is a terrible failure on the part of the system. It has to be corrected.” He looked between them. “I won’t be able to repeat this. You have carte blanche. Those credit cards do not have limits. There are alternate identifications in that envelope, if need be. Just take this bastard out.”

“You don’t want him in jail?” Zane asked sharply.

The Assistant Director turned and walked to the window. “Good luck, gentlemen.”

Ty stood and watched Burns for a moment, then turned to meet Zane’s eyes. He licked his lips uncertainly, unable to think of anything to say.

He just nodded his head at the door and gave Burns one last glance.

Zane picked up the envelope and led the way out, not another word for the Assistant Director. He assumed Ty would follow, but he still stopped in the outer room to wait and get another good look at the man he’d thought about far too much the past four months. Ty did follow, ignoring the batting eyelashes of the secretary who had previously looked at him with such disdain.

Instead, he came to stand beside Zane, not looking him in the eye.

“You’re looking good,” he commented softly.

Zane raised a sardonic eyebrow, not that Ty would see it. He looked like a hell-bent-for-leather biker, with the clothes, the three-day whiskers, and his messy hair. It was an image he’d cultivated for a while now, and one he Cut & Run | 239

was pretty much comfortable in. But Ty….

“You’re looking different,” Zane answered, voice low. “Good. But different.”

“Shut up,” Ty muttered as he began moving slowly to the elevator.

“Glad to hear that wry sense of humor is still in there,” Zane murmured to him.

Ty looked over at him as they walked, a small, slightly sad smile gracing his features. They were both quiet on the elevator as it took them down to the parking deck level.

When the elevator doors opened, Zane asked, “You got a ride?”

“I took a cab,” Ty admitted. “Wasn’t quite sober when I got the call.”

A grin pulled at Zane’s lips as he unzipped his jacket, slid the envelope inside, and zipped it back up. “You can ride with me, then,” he said casually as they left the elevator and stepped out into the parking deck.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s a bad thing?” Ty asked warily as he followed.

Zane’s answer was a low, smug chuckle, and a minute later they stood next to his cobalt blue Honda Valkyrie. Zane held the helmet out to Ty, a dare in his eyes.

“No,” Ty answered immediately. “Hell, no,” he added.

“C’mon, baby, don’t you want to feel this much power purring between your thighs?” Zane drawled.

“No,” Ty answered earnestly with a shake of his head as he patted the seat of the motorcycle apologetically.

Zane pouted. “I suppose I can just meet you somewhere,” he offered, lips twitching. He mounted the bike and turned the key and the motor came to life; a growling, rolling, beautiful purr—just like Zane had said.

“Home,” Ty answered immediately. “I’m going home to get my shit.”

Glancing back to Ty, Zane sat with his legs splayed as he pulled on his gloves. “And where is home?” he asked. “You actually want me there rather than going ahead to get us some rooms somewhere?”

Ty sighed heavily and looked Zane over as he sat on the bike.

“Yeah,” he murmured almost dejectedly. “I want you there,” he said pointedly.

240 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

Zane smiled slowly under Ty’s frank appraisal. Maybe they were still on the same wavelength. “Tell me where,” he requested. “Unless you want to change your mind….” he tilted his head to the seat behind him.

“My dignity and common sense won’t allow it,” Ty answered as he nodded to the entrance of the garage. “Follow,” he said succinctly as he turned and began heading for the daylight.

Chuckling, Zane waited a moment and then coasted the bike behind him. A harrowing ride through DC traffic later and they were in Baltimore, bumping over cobblestone streets as they made their way through the warren of the old city toward Ty’s home. Zane parked in the walkway that led to the row house as Ty paid the hefty cab fare.

Ty stood back and watched the car drive off, then turned slowly to look back at Zane. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as Ty walked closer. “I know that jacket,” he murmured as he stopped right in front of Zane, hands in his pockets.

The leather was broken in and beaten up, well-lived in with a few scuffs here and there, a couple rips, and one gash across his upper arm.

Abused, but loved. “Do you, now?” Zane asked innocently.

“I would have taken better care of it,” Ty responded haughtily as he reached up to finger the gash in the arm that didn’t look near as worn as the other rips and tears. “This new?” he asked seriously.

Zane looked at his arm. “Last night. Didn’t move out of the way fast enough. Even I can’t dodge two bullets at once.”

Ty tutted and shook his head sadly. “Not the man I thought you were, then.” He sighed sorrowfully as he tugged at the slice in the leather and peered in at Zane’s arm. Zane shook his head and obligingly held his arm out.

The white bandage was still there, extending out from under the red T-shirt he wore under the black leather. What he didn’t know was that a few splotches of dark blood colored the gauze. He hadn’t checked it since he had stopped for breakfast about ten hours ago.

“You’re bleeding,” Ty told him matter-of-factly as he tilted his head toward the front door. “Come on. I’ll pour some rubbing alcohol in it and make me feel better,” he offered with a grin.

“You want your eardrums broken, too? You’ll finally get to hear me scream,” Zane muttered, closing his palm over his arm protectively and looking petulant.

“Bonus,” Ty crooned as he took Zane’s good arm and led him Cut & Run | 241

forcefully to the door. Zane grumbled under his breath but didn’t resist as Ty pulled him along. “You look like you’ve been somewhere rough,” Ty observed as he unlocked the door. “They put you undercover?”

“Yeah,” Zane said, just looking at the other man, soaking in his features. He’d thought about him so much the past four months, he still couldn’t quite believe he was here looking at him. “Inner Miami.”

“Explains the accent. It was a waste of your time,” Ty muttered as he pushed the door open and gestured for Zane to go in. “Only thing that’ll fix Miami is a fucking nuke.”

“True,” Zane agreed with a shrug. “Kept me busy and out of Burns’

nonexistent hair, I figure.” He walked into the house and paused a few steps inside the front room. The rooms were immaculate, completely at odds with the façade Ty showed to the world. The furnishings were comfortable and well-kept—not to mention actually matching—and not a single item seemed to be out of place. Framed pictures lined the walls of the little living room, each frame identical to the next. They were all black-and-white prints, and told the story of Ty’s life and career, showing him smiling and laughing with a variety of heavily armed, uniformed individuals in various exotic and not-so-exotic locations. There were several others that Zane felt certain were of Ty’s family.

Ty watched Zane from behind, letting him observe. Zane’s lips pressed together hard. “You sure you got the right house?” he finally asked.

Christ. This was nothing like what he would expect from the man he thought Ty was. The dichotomy of the man he had known had run deeper than he had ever suspected.

Ty frowned at him. “I’m a neat guy,” he pointed out softly.

Zane slanted him a grin. “I’ll have to check the hospital corners on the bed, Jarhead.” He unzipped the jacket and slid it from his shoulders, pinching the bandage.

“You can bounce a quarter off my bed,” Ty boasted as he led the way into the kitchen. He dug under the sink and brought out an antique metal First Aid cabinet. The red cross on the front was faded and scratched, and the metal was dented and scarred. When he opened the door the contents were all modern, though, and he pulled out some gauze, a tin of Rawleigh’s medicated salve, and some medical tape.

Zane tossed his jacket over the bar and pushed up his sleeve as he plopped himself onto a stool. He jerked the bandage off in one go with a grimace and poked at the oozing gouge. It was a good three inches long across 242 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

his upper arm, and had taken out quite a chunk of flesh. He supposed now that a few stitches might not have been a bad idea.

Ty glanced over at it and immediately groaned softly. “What the hell?” he muttered. “I’m not stitching you up in my kitchen,” he insisted.

“That needs a doctor.”

“Just bandage it up,” Zane said stubbornly. “Another scar won’t matter.”

Ty frowned doubtfully, but he cut the tape into strips and stuck them to the side of the counter, then opened the tin and slathered a good deal of the salve inside the wound without waiting to see if Zane would allow him to touch it. He worked quickly and finally pulled the wound together, placed a thin piece of gauze over it, taped the damaged skin as close as he could, and wound it all up without a word. Zane sat there unmoving, gritting his teeth. It hurt. A lot.

“Glass of water?” he requested after Ty was done.