by Abigail Roux
Ty slid off the desk. He reached across it to gather his keys and coat. Zane’s mind flashed back to the photograph of them in bed together and suddenly it was important for him to say something. He stood up and stepped around the desk to stand close, catching Ty’s elbow with one hand. “Hey.”
They were close enough that Ty couldn’t even turn to face Zane. He tried to, brushing his cheek against Zane’s nose. Zane whispered in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”
Ty smiled, crow’s feet appearing briefly. He was staring at Zane’s hand on his arm. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Zane said, even though it didn’t feel like the subject was resolved at all. He watched Ty for a moment, wondering if it was something they’d need to bring up later or if the melancholy Ty had admitted to would pass naturally. That’s how Ty usually handled these things.
“C’mon. I’ve got a hotel room all lined up for something dirty. I also have cake,” Zane growled as he stepped back to pick up the napkin-covered plate Alston had given him when he’d cleaned up. He dropped his voice to a near-whisper and grinned. “I’ll feed it to you.”
Ty laughed breathily and turned toward the elevators, shaking his head.
Zane glanced at the framed certificate and decided to leave it on his desk. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about at home. In the reflection, he caught sight of a figure moving down the hallway. They weren’t alone, after all. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw Richard Burns stepping into the stairwell. The door shut behind him, not making a sound. Zane stared for a moment, then hurried to catch up with Ty.
“I didn’t see Director Burns here during the party, did you?”
Ty shook his head and pushed the button on the elevator. “No, why?”
“He was here.”
Ty turned and glanced past Zane at the empty floor. “Pretty sure he wasn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure he was. I just saw him,” Zane said with another look at the stairwell. “We can probably catch him if the elevator hurries.”
But Ty shook his head. “Why would Dick be here?”
“You’re the one who said he called you.”
“I just used his name ’cause I knew you wouldn’t argue when I said we had to come here.”
Zane searched Ty’s eyes for any hint of a lie, but saw nothing to indicate one. He gave the stairwell door another hard glare. He knew what he’d seen. Why the hell was Richard Burns in Baltimore on a Friday night? And why wouldn’t he come say hello? What was brewing? The elevator dinged and Ty stepped in, holding the door.
“Zane?”
Zane nodded, eyes still on the stairwell as an uneasiness began to settle in his chest.
Ty began to laugh when the Valkyrie turned toward the waterfront instead of the row house.
“He’s actually going back to the hotel,” Ty muttered, following in his old Mustang.
By the time Ty found a spot for the car, Zane had already disappeared inside. Ty gave the front of the car a pat as he walked by. He’d intended to spend the Easter weekend working on her, since he’d only managed to restore the mechanical and interior parts so far, but he had a feeling Zane had other plans. Ty strolled into the lobby, expecting Zane to be waiting for him, but he didn’t catch sight of his partner anywhere.
“Special Agent Grady?” a woman asked from the front desk.
Ty walked over, still grinning.
“Your partner said to give this to you,” the young woman said with a polite smile. She handed him a room key.
“Thank you.” Ty turned toward the elevators as he searched for the room number on the envelope. He’d gotten a suite. “Jesus, Zane. You go all out, don’t you?”
He hadn’t even gotten through the door of the suite when he was grabbed and shoved against the wall. Hands found their way under his tailored suit and lips pressed against his.
“Zane,” Ty gasped.
“You better hope it is,” Zane growled. “You ready to be fed cake?”
Ty grinned, looking into Zane’s nearly black eyes. He dragged his fingers over Zane’s shoulder, tugging at his dress shirt, enjoying the way Zane’s eyes were drawn to his lips when he licked them.
Zane’s voice dropped. “And some cream too?”
“Bad pun penalty,” Ty announced in the deep tones of a sportscaster as he held up an imaginary red card.
Zane grabbed his wrist and pressed it against the wall. “Oh, punish me,” he said as he started unbuttoning his shirt with his other hand.
“I think I’m the one being punished.” They both laughed.
Ty tugged Zane’s shirt out of his pants and ran his hand up Zane’s belly. Zane pressed against him and dragged his lips over Ty’s. His grip tightened on Ty’s wrist and Ty’s heart sped up. This first round was going to be hard and messy, he could tell that much.
“Let’s get to the bed,” he managed to grumble. “Last time we did this against a wall, my calves cramped for a week. And my back has been killing me the last couple days.”
Zane chuckled and nodded. He put his lips against Ty’s ear, then cupped Ty through his trousers. “Tell me where you disappeared to tonight.”
Ty huffed against Zane’s cheek. “You think you can torture me for information?”
“Yeah I do.” He nipped at Ty’s ear, and a shiver ran all the way to Ty’s toes.
Ty tried to laugh, but it came out as a gasp as Zane squeezed him again. “I had to get your orchid from the car.”
Zane turned his head to brush his nose against Ty’s cheek. He was humming, as if trying to decide whether to accept Ty’s explanation. He finally chuckled, then ran his hand up and down Ty’s torso and kissed him.
“You’re lying.” Zane’s harsh whisper broke the kiss. Ty groaned. “What were you up to?”
Ty slung his free arm over Zane’s shoulder, holding on tight. “You always know.”
“You have a tell.”
Ty laughed, then sighed. “If I tell you now, you promise to still fuck me?”
“Depends,” Zane growled.
“Mac pulled me aside. He said we’re going to have to start looking at options that don’t involve undercover work soon.”
Zane took a small step back, his grip on Ty’s wrist loosening. “Well, we knew that’d be coming soon. We’ve had too much exposure.”
Ty nodded. “He said we have until November when those calendars hit the shelves. Then we’re off UC work and into strictly investigative stuff.”
Zane chewed on his lower lip, a frown creasing his brow briefly before it passed and his fingers tightened against Ty’s wrist again. “Maybe we can start talking about the afterlife then.”
A grin stole over Ty’s lips and he nodded. The afterlife. Their plans for when work no longer called them, for when they could come out and truly build a life together. That familiar warmth began to seep through Ty as he stared into Zane’s eyes. It wasn’t the blinding flare of consuming heat it had once been. The flash and bang were gone, but the desire had grown into something less glitzy and more intense. Ty would never get tired of feeling that way when Zane was close.
“I love you,” Ty said, a hint of longing in his voice that he was surprised to hear. He didn’t want to have to wait for that afterlife; he wanted it now.
Zane took Ty’s face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ty’s stomach flipped at the mere thought, but he nodded.
Zane huffed, then he was against Ty again, kissing his neck, holding him against the wall and murmuring into his ear. “I have something for you. Something I need to ask you.”
“Ask me anything,” Ty whispered.
Zane wrapped an arm around him. Ty could feel him trembling. His hand delved into his pocket, searching for something as he gave Ty a slow, sensual kiss. The moment held a sudden weight, something intense enough to push aside Ty’s odd sense of impending trouble.
His instincts were proven right when his phone began to ring.
“Don’t ans
wer it this time,” Zane murmured. His lips dragged against Ty’s. “Please.”
Ty shook his head. They both knew he had to. He always answered his phone, no matter the time of day or what he was doing. Deuce was constantly complaining about Ty answering his calls during sex.
Zane stepped away with a growl. His hand was still in his pocket. “Better not be work.”
Ty’s eyes stayed on Zane as he stalked toward the large window of the suite. “Grady,” he answered, voice still hoarse.
“Ty,” Nick O’Flaherty said in a low voice, small and distorted over the phone.
“Nick?” Ty cleared his throat. It hadn’t been one of the ring tones Ty associated with the man.
“I need your help.”
The simple phrase hit Ty hard, and his stomach tumbled. “Why, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Ty demanded as he trailed after Zane. Zane returned to his side and placed his hand on the small of Ty’s back, leaning close to listen in.
“I’m in New Orleans,” Nick answered, his voice still pitched low. “I need you to come down here.”
“Why, what happened?”
“I’ve been arrested. They’re going to charge me with murder, Ty.”
Ty stood in stunned silence for a few moments before looking up and turning to meet Zane’s eyes. “What?”
Zane gestured for him to hit the speaker button, and Ty did.
“I’m in jail in New Orleans,” Nick said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “They think I killed somebody, Ty. You’ve got to help me, man.”
“What do you want me to do, come bust you out?”
“Ty, you were assigned here for almost two years!” Someone yelled something unintelligible in the background, and when Nick spoke again his voice was lower. “I’m not asking you to come get me out of jail. I’m asking you to come down here and find the real killer!”
Ty looked down at the phone and shook his head.
“They’re not looking for anyone else,” Nick insisted.
“Who did you kill?”
“Nobody!”
Ty winced. “I mean, who do they think you killed?”
“I don’t even know. But Digger and I have been together since I landed.”
“Where’s Digger?”
“He’s in the fucking cell next to me, Grady!” Nick shouted. He regained control and whispered his next words. “Ty, please. They find out I’m a cop, I’m as good as dead down here.”
Ty narrowed his eyes. “Is this like the time you called me from Panama and said—”
“Ty!”
“Because the ‘I’ve been arrested for murder’ gag only flies so many times,” Ty warned.
“Ty.”
“I mean, one day I’m going to stop coming.”
“Ty!” Nick shouted, attempting to be calm and serious but clearly losing his patience. Another shout in the background caused him to hesitate. “Please. You’re the only person we know to call.”
Ty swallowed with difficulty and frowned at Zane. Zane nodded. “We’ll be on the next flight out.”
“Thank you, Six,” Nick whispered, and the nickname caused the hairs on Ty’s arms to rise.
Another voice told Nick that his time was up and the call ended abruptly, leaving Ty staring at his phone.
Zane had to say his name twice before Ty looked up at him. “Let’s get moving. I’ll go book the tickets. Should we call Mac?”
Ty shook his head. “We’ll try to fix this before we go back Tuesday. Maybe we won’t miss work.”
Better to ask forgiveness than permission. That had become their motto.
Zane grimaced as he turned to get his phone.
“Hey, what did you want to ask me?”
Zane shrugged and gave him a small smile as they headed for the door. “It’ll wait.”
It was well past midnight when Ty and Zane walked through Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. The shops and restaurants were all closed and barred up, and very few people were walking the concourses.
Ty kept his head down, not speaking at all. He’d said maybe ten words the entire flight from Baltimore, and his barely controlled need to fidget during the 45-minute layover in Charlotte had been like watching a chimpanzee trying to figure out how to pick the lock on its cage. Zane knew all the things that had to be swirling through his partner’s mind. Nick and Digger—two of his oldest, dearest friends, brothers in arms—were in trouble down here. Trouble that Ty might not be able to help them out of.
Zane also knew Ty was concerned about showing his face in New Orleans. He’d spent almost two years in a deep undercover operation down here, and he hadn’t left on his own terms. Simply being seen by someone he’d known then could put him in a bad spot.
It spoke to Ty’s loyalty and love of his friends that he was braving the city at all. Zane couldn’t think of many people he’d head back into Miami for.
Ty was holding all of that in, though, keeping his worries to himself and storing them in the tightness of his jaw and shoulders.
They retrieved their one checked bag, which held a few changes of clothing and two hard cases with their service weapons in them, but Ty was too eager to get to the police station to take the time to get the guns out and strap them on.
“We’ll get them out in the cab,” Ty reasoned. Zane trailed after him, pulling the suitcase along.
When they stepped out of the glass doors and headed for the line of black and white United taxis awaiting fares, the humidity and warmth hit Zane like a physical blow after the long winter in Baltimore.
Ty mumbled under his breath as they walked toward the curb. “Ugh, late April. Never come here after May,” he told Zane. “October to April. Place is uninhabitable otherwise.”
“Good to know.”
The sound of screeching tires drew their attention to the end of the roadway, and a white van came tearing up the loading zone lane. The few people in the crosswalk leaped out of its way as it screamed past the line of taxis.
Ty took a step toward the curb, reaching under his suit coat where his gun usually was as the van’s brakes squealed. It rocked to a halt right in front of them.
Someone hit Zane from behind, wrapping his head up in a black cloth and restraining his arms as he was shoved forward. He could hear Ty shouting as he struggled with his attackers, but they were both overpowered and shoved into the back of the unmarked van.
The van pulled away from the curb as the sliding door slammed shut.
“Stop struggling,” a voice ordered Zane as his hands and feet were held down against a seat that smelled like Febreze. “We’ll be there soon,” the kidnapper promised with a sadistic laugh.
“Garrett, don’t kill anyone,” Ty muttered from another row seat. He sounded calm, and Zane forced himself not to thrash and struggle. They’d have a better chance of escape once the van stopped moving.
Roughly fifteen minutes and a lot of traffic later, the van came to a jarring stop. The door opened, and Zane was dragged out and put on his feet. The hood was yanked off, and Zane blinked a few times as he found himself standing in what was unmistakably the French Quarter. He saw a lamppost with black street signs for Bourbon and St. Philip. The building in front of them was ancient, with timbers and stacked brick showing through the cracking plaster. The second story had no balcony or gallery like most of the French Quarter architecture, just a few dormer windows with light shining through their shutters.
An old wooden plank sign that said Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop was hanging over one of the many open doors. And there were people everywhere. The van pulled away, leaving them standing in the middle of St. Philip with their kidnappers and dozens of drunk revelers staring at them.
The men who’d snatched them were laughing and patting him on the shoulder. He glared at them, recognizing one of the four as he finally got a good look.
Nick O’Flaherty. “You fall for it every time, man,” he said to Ty, a hand on his shoulder as Ty glared at him. If Nick was here, then Zane cou
ld only assume the identities of the other three. Their faces matched those of the photos on Ty’s walls. Sidewinder.
“Asshole,” Ty said, voice flat.
Nick grinned and pulled Ty into a hug. “You’re an asshole too,” Ty said to Digger, who gave Ty’s back a pat and stepped away.
Ty was smiling, though he was trying not to, as each of the other men greeted him in turn. Kelly Abbott was there, and Zane was surprised to see Owen Johns present. The last time he’d heard anything about Owen was after Ty had come out to his recon team and Owen had stormed off.
“Zane,” Nick greeted. He held his hand out to Zane. “Sorry about that,” he added, smiling widely.
“You’re an incredible asshole,” Zane said. “What the hell is this?”
Ty glanced at him and shook his head, starting to grin wider. “I can only assume this is a birthday party.”
“For a psychopath?”
Ty gave him a sad smile and nodded.
“Elias Sanchez,” Nick answered, and with the name, the five Marines grew more somber.
Zane inclined his head. Sanchez had lost his life not in battle, but to a serial killer in New York City. The same killer who’d almost taken Ty from them as well, the same one Zane had killed.
“Tomorrow would have been his fortieth birthday,” Kelly offered.
“No it wouldn’t,” Ty said.
“But tomorrow’s his birthday.”
“Kelly, man, he was the same age as me and Nick,” Ty said with an exasperated wave of his hand. Nick covered his mouth.
Kelly frowned and glanced around. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
Digger pursed his lips. “Anyway. Tomorrow’s Sanchez’s birthday. Ty’s always refused to come party in NOLA, so we knew we’d have to bait-and-switch you down here.”
“Wow,” Zane grunted. He had a feeling the Recon boys had no idea why Ty refused to come to New Orleans. They didn’t know luring him here could have put him in danger, and knowing Ty, he wouldn’t tell them now. Zane decided to keep his mouth shut.
Digger leaned toward Ty, raising his eyebrows. “And we can’t celebrate anywhere else because why?”
