Fish & Chips (4 page)

Zane blinked and turned his chin toward McCoy, who was grinning.

WHEN Zane and McCoy stepped back into the observation room of Del Porter"s interrogation suite, Zane had almost expected Ty to still be there, tying himself to the table and begging not to be taken to the salon.

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But it was just Special Agent Lassiter, who had been joined by Special Agent Perrimore. They were standing at the glass, looking in at the prisoner with their heads cocked to the sides, like they were studying an animal in the zoo.

Zane peered through the glass as well. Ty was in there, sitting opposite Del, relaxed into the seat with his back to them, his legs crossed and his elbow resting on the table, almost like Corbin Porter had been. But Ty made it seem casual and easy, where Corbin had given off nothing but contempt and hostility. There was something different in Ty"s manner, too, but Zane couldn"t put a finger on it. He was too surprised to see Ty in there at all. He wasn"t the only one.

“What the hell is he doing?” McCoy asked in alarm.

“He said he wanted to talk to him,” Lassiter answered.

McCoy reached over and flipped the speaker switch.

“He told us not to listen in,” Lassiter told McCoy.

“Fuck that,” McCoy responded unthinkingly. “The guy"s actually talking—we might get something from him.”

“Not like we can use it in court,” Lassiter murmured under his breath, and he and Perrimore murmured quietly before snickering over the circumstances of the undercover case again. Zane ignored them in favor of watching Ty as the speakers tuned in.

“How long have you been married?” Ty was asking Del, who sat hunched and defensive, looking at Ty suspiciously.

Del didn"t answer; he merely looked down at his hands, probably studying his wedding ring. Zane resisted the urge to look down at his own. He knew, without a doubt, what sort of thoughts were running through Del"s mind. Zane squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before focusing on the scene again.

“Did you do it here in the States or did you go somewhere else?”

Ty asked, his voice conveying what sounded like genuine interest.

“What the hell does Ty care?” Perrimore asked incredulously.

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“He doesn"t. He"s building rapport, idiot,” Lassiter answered idly as he watched Ty closely. “We used to use him to prep suspects all the time. He"s charming.”

“You two will make a cute couple,” Perrimore drawled.

“Shut up. He also has a knack for giving off that dumb as a brick vibe, leaves them off guard.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ty continued, undeterred when Del still didn"t answer his queries.

“My husband and I, we went to Boston,” Ty went on, picking up his hand and flashing the silver ring on his finger casually. The lie came shockingly easily to him. Del"s eyes flickered up to him, obviously surprised.

Everyone in the room turned to look at Zane.

“Ah, yes,” he drawled wryly as he felt their eyes on him. “He"s a sucker for red roses and opera.”

Perrimore and Lassiter snorted at him while McCoy chuckled and shook his head. “If there was baseball and Guinness involved, I"d half believe it,” McCoy muttered.

Zane rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window.

“Lots of history up there,” Ty was saying with a tilt of his head.

In the room, Del sat up straighter. “I didn"t think they liked that sort of thing in the FBI,” he said with a slight curl of his lip. Zane was surprised to hear him speak with a British accent.

Ty shrugged. “You"re thinking military. Feds don"t have any problems with it. I do my job like anyone else,” he said with another wave of his hand. Zane couldn"t place what Ty was doing differently with his body, but it made him look… gentler. Not feminine, but… not as masculine as he was apt to be. Zane couldn"t really describe the effect other than to think that Ty looked less alpha. He realized suddenly, as Ty rolled his shoulders, that he was subtly mimicking the man sitting across from him.

It hit Zane right then what Ty was really doing in there. He had no intention of interrogating Del Porter. He was studying him.

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Del nodded carefully. “How long have you been with him?” he asked, his tone tentative.

“Long enough to know better,” Ty answered with a smile. All of his answers were vague. White lies that wouldn"t test Ty"s conscience, Zane knew.

Del gave him a half smile and nodded, then looked back down at his hands.

Ty was silent, watching him. From his vantage point behind the glass, Zane could see what Ty was seeing. Fading bruises around the man"s wrists, a few on his upper arms.

“He treat you right?” Ty asked suddenly.

Del glanced up at him almost defiantly and nodded again. He held up his hands to display his wrists. “I like it rough,” he told Ty with a smirk.

McCoy had to clear his throat, and Zane turned a glare on him.

Ty chuckled and nodded. “I hear ya,” he responded neutrally. He continued to examine Del Porter, and the man watched him and waited almost curiously. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he was still wary.

Zane shook his head as he watched through the glass.

“The little hamster in Ty"s head is probably bored,” Perrimore observed.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Porter,” Ty said abruptly as he nodded, as if having satisfied himself. He unfolded his legs and stood, heading for the door.

Del watched him go in surprise. “That"s it?” he asked in confusion. “You"re leaving?”

Ty stopped at the door and turned to look back at the man, his hand on the door handle. “I"m sorry. Did you need something else?” he asked with what seemed like honest surprise.

“You didn"t even ask me anything.”

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Ty laughed and shook his head. “That ain"t my job, man,” he told Del dismissively before stepping out of the interrogation room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Del Porter stared at the door and then looked at the mirrored glass incredulously.

“Somebody get Grady to the damn spa,” McCoy ordered under his breath as he stalked out of the room.

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Chapter 2

LOOKING over his reflection in the mirror, Zane wondered how such little changes could make him look so different. When he"d gone undercover before, he"d either been in tailored suits in Wall Street financial company offices, or he"d gone messier and dirtier in denim, leather, and sweat. This high-class pizzazz was new.

McCoy had scheduled him for a “gentleman"s” treatment at a spa, where he"d been soaked and massaged, had his unruly hair cut in a more refined style so he could use this funky paste to slick it back, had his eyebrows waxed and plucked, of all things, and even had a deep-cleansing facial, where the woman had poked and prodded at his skin with a little metal tool for what had seemed like hours. It had been one of the weirdest and most painful things Zane could have imagined. It would be, he figured, a great interrogation tool.

And the ear piercing had stung like a bitch.

Now he was
sleek
. Polished. He"d had a manicure, so his hands looked neater, less experienced in brawling. And a pedicure, which had actually felt pretty damn good. But the biggest change wasn"t immediately visible. Zane turned around so his back was to the mirror and looked over his shoulder, lifting his shirttails and pushing down the waistband of his dress pants to expose skin.

A graceful twisted vine tattoo spread across his lower back from hip to hip, just below his waist, dipping down to the crack of his ass in an inverted triangle of stark black, simple, striking lines. It wasn"t real, of course, but the effect was still the same. He wondered what Ty would think about it. Ty seemed to love his own tattoo, but the leering Fish & Chips | 23

Marine bulldog with its smoking guns was definitely more Ty"s style than this more graceful design.

Sighing, Zane let his shirt fall. It was already open down the front, unbuttoned, exposing his chest. He hadn"t bothered to put his undershirt back on after the massage at the spa. He"d been in the process of getting ready for bed when he"d been arrested by the strange sight of himself in the mirror. He started to pull the shirt off his shoulders, but he heard a key in the front door and moved out into the hallway on bare feet, listening as someone entered the apartment. It could only be Ty; he was the only person Zane had ever given a key, and Zane never left a door unlocked. When Zane peered around the corner, though, a stranger stood there. It took him a little too long to realize it was Ty after all, and Zane was glad he didn"t have his gun in hand.

“Don"t shoot me,” Ty said in a flat, tired voice, obviously thinking exactly the same thing Zane had been. He began to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt as he walked closer, tossing pieces of his clothing haphazardly to the floor and furniture as he approached Zane.

“Are you just getting done with the—”

“Yes,” Ty muttered as he yanked his tie off. His shirt fell open as he bent and pulled off his shoes.

Zane looked over the long, tan body before him, his brows rising slowly the more he took in. The people at the spa had done the works on his normally scruffy partner. He was Ty, but… not. He was clean-shaven for the first time in months, and his short hair had been bleached an unnatural white-blond. It stood straight up, as if offended by its new color. Ty"s entire body looked retouched, his tanned skin shinier, smoother—and likely softer—than it had ever been. His well-defined chest was devoid of its usual dusting of dark hair, and the effect made him sleeker.

Zane wasn"t sure what he thought of the hair, but the rest of Ty was a walking wet dream.

Which was… hysterical, really. Zane blinked several times and pressed his lips together hard.

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“Go ahead. Get it out of your system,” Ty invited as he tossed his dress shirt at the couch. He waved his hand at his newly waxed chest.

Zane let the smile loose. “You look….” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Different,” he settled on, trying to not laugh outright.

“Yeah? Well, you look sleazy,” Ty told him with a smirk as he looked Zane up and down critically. He took a few slow steps, circling Zane as he sized him up.

Tipping his head to one side as Ty walked around him, Zane lifted one shoulder in a defensive shrug. “It"s the gel they put in my hair.”

Ty shook his head, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he tried not to smirk. “No,” he drew out. “Something else.”

Zane waited, sure that Ty would enlighten him. “You look airbrushed,” he observed once Ty stopped in front of him. “Like in a skin mag.”

Ty lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, looking Zane in the eye as he mulled over a response. “Yeah,” he finally said slowly. His lips curved into a wicked grin. His hazel eyes seemed almost neon-green with the platinum-blond hair accenting them. “But I make this shit look good.”

Zane raised an eyebrow as he pointed at Ty and twirled his finger.

Ty clucked his tongue. He raised both arms to the sides, holding them out as he turned in a slow half-circle. The muscles of his shoulders and back were, as always, well-defined as he stood with his arms raised. The flex of Ty"s bicep drew Zane"s attention to the unblemished skin. It was odd not seeing the tattoo on Ty"s shoulder, but Zane was too distracted by the rest of him to ask about it. Ty turned his chin to look over his shoulder at Zane, and Zane could see a smirk on his lips. Ty never flaunted himself, not that Zane had ever seen anyway, but the man had a mirror. He wasn"t immune to a little cockiness, not when it was well-deserved.

“The word that comes to mind is „beefcake",” Zane drawled, looking Ty over, appreciating the view.

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“Mission accomplished, then!” Ty said happily as he turned to face Zane again. He frowned suddenly. “Is beefcake one word or two?”

Zane laughed. “Who cares when you"ve got a great ass?”

Ty narrowed his eyes. “I"m not used to you being the brains of the operation,” he murmured. “You know what I think we need? I think we need some practice.”

“I wonder if I should be insulted,” Zane posed, narrowing his eyes as he set his hands on his hips. “I"m the one with a degree in statistics,” he reminded.

“You"d seriously rather argue credentials than fuck me?” Ty asked with an incredulous laugh.

“Well, if you"d said
that
,” Zane said as he took a couple of steps closer to Ty.