Divide & Conquer

by Madeleine Urban

  “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands and picking at the medical tape around his fingers.

  “It’s not just you, Ty,” Alston said, sounding surprisingly reassuring. “We’ve locked down Waller and Carmichael, too, and, well, you know about Garrett. We know you’re a target. Your face has been all over the news. They’re still running that sound bite of yours, and those bastards went after your truck. Now we need to figure out if Garrett was a target as well, and we want you off the field of play. You’ll also have a skeleton crew checking on you, just in case.” He sighed. “I’ll call you as soon as we answer some of the metric ton of questions, okay?”

  Ty just nodded and stood. “Are we done?” he asked tiredly. “Or am I due for a full rectal exam today too?”

  “Go on. You’re looking rough, even for you,” Alston said. “Nice suit though.”

  “Shut up.”

  Alston smiled. “We’ll hold down the fort. Let me know how Garrett’s doing when you hear from him, would you?”

  “Yeah.” Ty turned and practically trudged toward the elevators. Intellectually he knew why he was being sent away. It still didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t used to being shooed away to safety when things got too hot. He told himself to look at it as some much-needed time off from work to be with his lover, but even that held a sour note. He tried not to think about Zane’s sight and when or if it would return. He told himself not to think of anything as he rode the elevator down.

  Zen, Ty, Zen.

  ZANE heard a key in the lock, and the door complained loudly as it was opened. “Honey, I’m home,” Ty called out in a less-than-enthusiastic voice.

  His eyes closed against the utter darkness, Zane could see it: the battered metal-core door opening and Ty stepping inside from the stoop, short hair ruffled from the cold wind Zane could feel sweeping in behind him, dressed in a dark wool overcoat, that incredible blue suit, holster at his right side, badge clipped on his belt, displayed whenever Ty set his hand on his left hip in a gesture of mild annoyance. From the sound of his voice, Ty was frustrated now, which meant the tie would be askew—if it was still on at all—and first thing, his jacket would be off, maybe even his shirtsleeves rolled up. Ty had long muscled forearms sprinkled with fine dark hair, and surprisingly trim wrists. Zane had more than once closed his hand all the way around one of those wrists. And Ty’s fingers were snub-ended but nimble, for all that several were various amounts of crooked from all the breaks.

  He wondered if Ty was frowning. It furrowed his forehead, two lines darting between dark eyebrows, and his usually bright hazel eyes would be somewhat shadowed, trending to brown or dark green. When his full lips pressed into a firm line, it caused dimples to appear in his perpetually tanned cheeks. Zane had caught himself several times in the office looking at Ty’s mouth. It got his pulse up when Ty chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip.

  “Garrett?” Ty said in a flat voice. “You still in there?” He put his hand on Zane’s chest, leaning over the back of the couch to do it.

  Zane actually startled out of his imagining with a sharp inhale. “Oh, sorry,” he said, lifting one hand to cover Ty’s. “Are you frowning?”

  “What? I am now—what the hell kind of question is that?” Ty muttered as he pulled his hand away.

  Zane could hear him continuing to mutter as he moved away. “You sound frustrated. What happened at the office?”

  “Benched,” Ty groused. “Didn’t tell me shit except that I was to go home until they’re sure we’re not targets. We’ll also have a protection crew tailing us.”

  Zane frowned and sat up. Ty sounded almost angry. “Hey, come here,” he requested quietly. Something heavy, probably Ty’s overcoat, flopped onto the back of the couch. He felt Ty’s weight on the couch beside him, and soon Ty’s hand ran into his hair affectionately, carefully avoiding the small crooked line of stitches along the back of his skull.

  Zane relaxed and leaned into the hand, moving his own to bump against and slide up Ty’s thigh. It was reassuring, having him this close, and if Zane needed anything right now, it was peace of mind. He turned his head to press his cheek against Ty’s palm, and Ty’s lips touched his gently. Only bare seconds passed before the hip that leaned against Zane’s body began to ding and vibrate, but Ty ignored the cell phone in his pocket in favor of the kiss. It warmed Zane, something so insignificant as Ty choosing him over a cell phone call. Silly, maybe, but he was taking all the feel-good karma he could get at the moment. Wanting to be a little closer, he slid one hand to cup lightly around the back of Ty’s neck as he gave under Ty’s lips.

  Ty sat up after the phone went quiet, running his hand through Zane’s hair again as he leaned against him on the edge of the couch. “They gave me the rest of the week off,” he announced suddenly. “I’m probably a target. They want me to lay low, not come back ’til Monday.”

  “The likelihood of us being targets is really damn small,” Zane murmured, rubbing Ty’s back with one hand. “Even with the bomb in the Bronco, it was the only car there overnight. Small chance anyone could know it was yours. And down at the shopping complex? We weren’t even supposed to be there, really. We got sent last minute to help out. More likely they want you out of their hair.”

  “Mac doesn’t have any hair left. He pulled it all out,” Ty muttered unhappily. “I got to check this,” he added, and Zane could feel him pulling his phone out of his pocket. Zane relaxed back, keeping his hands on Ty, just for that connection. Despite the encouragement from talking to Deuce, Zane still felt pretty damn pitiful and lost.

  Ty snorted at whatever he was reading on his phone, and Zane heard him snap the phone shut a moment later.

  “What’s up?” Zane asked.

  “It’s just my buddy Nick,” Ty said as he leaned against Zane again. “He’s a cop, on the last hour of an eighteen-hour shift, and he’s trying to stay awake by driving me fucking crazy.”

  “So he’s the one who texts you all hours of the day and night?” Zane asked as he rubbed at his temple. The raging headache he’d had in the hospital was still hanging on as a dull ache.

  “Mostly, yeah. Why, does that bother you?” Ty asked with a hint of concern. He took Zane’s hand as he spoke, his fingers rubbing at the base of Zane’s thumb until he found the pressure point between the fingers and squeezed hard.

  Zane groaned as the headache began to dull. If Ty knew one thing, it was how to use and abuse a pressure point. “No, it doesn’t bother me.” He scrunched up his nose on purpose. “You haven’t texted me since you got caught with your girlfriend,” he lamented, but then he ruined it with a little laugh.

  “I still owe you for that,” Ty told him wryly. He let off on the pressure point just a little, and the throbbing ache in Zane’s head began to subside almost to the point of being gone. “You’re right here next to me. I don’t need to text you.”

  “Still.”

  “You want to hear some of the crap he sends me? Then you won’t be jealous.”

  Zane smiled slightly. He suspected Ty kind of liked that he might be jealous. “Sure,” he said amiably as he slid his arm between Ty’s back and the couch to pull him closer.

  Ty shifted around to reach his phone again, and Zane heard him flip it open to find some example texts to read out loud. “The one he sent me on the way home said, ‘at my funeral it’ll be your job to throw yourself on my casket and weep.’ And the one he just sent me, he says, ‘false alarm, still invincible.’ No idea what he was doing that he thought he might die. The one before that was ‘for future reference a lint roller appears to be the best way to get glitter out of a beard.’”

  Zane chuckled. “That’s some quality conversation there. Is Nick one of the Recon guys? The one I talked to on the phone in New York?”

  “The one you talked to on the phone?” Ty repeated in obvious confusion. “Oh! Yeah, the one that called and cussed me out for getting blown up. Yeah, that was Nick. He was Recon, but he was also with me pretty much f
rom the bus to Parris Island.”

  “So you two go way back,” Zane murmured, lifting his hand to rub Ty’s belly through the soft dress shirt. Zane idly wondered what color it was.

  “Yeah. Tried to get him to join the Bureau with me and Sanchez, but he was being stubborn and disillusioned with The Man. Went home instead. We sort of fell out of touch for a while, when I was undercover. But ever since New York, he’s called or sent me a text almost every day.”

  “He’s not around here, then,” Zane concluded. “Else you’d be barhopping with him.”

  Ty laughed softly. “You have that low an opinion of me, huh? Barhopping,” he joked in a warm voice as he leaned more against Zane. “He’s in Boston.”

  Zane grinned. “Would he have gone barmaid hopping with you?”

  “He has in the past.”

  Zane poked at Ty’s ribs gently.

  Ty flinched and jabbed back at him. “Quit that,” he hissed. Zane could feel him rubbing at his ribs as if it had tickled, but he belatedly remembered Ty’s run-in with Tank and the bruising his ribcage had taken.

  Zane patted Ty’s thigh in apology. “That’s great, still in touch with a friend from that far back.”

  “I’m thinking you’d probably hate him,” Ty said thoughtfully, and then he laughed. “About as much as you hated me at first.”

  “And that was a lot,” Zane agreed. “He’d probably hate me too.”

  Ty made a dismissive noise and stood, taking a step away from the couch. “Are you hungry? I’m going to start fidgeting if I don’t find something to do soon.”

  “I could eat,” Zane answered, feeling the cool rush in after the warmth of Ty’s body disappeared. “There’s not much here, though.”

  “You want to go out?” Ty suggested, his voice so even that Zane couldn’t determine Ty’s preference from it. Zane had always thought Ty’s emotions were easy to read. But obviously all those cues came from his body language. “Might do you some good. You pick. I’ll take you there.”

  “How about Chiapparelli’s? The food’s really good.”

  “That the Italian place you’re always going to?” Ty asked.

  Zane nodded. “They’ve got a pretty good selection, and you’ve seen my lunches. The people there are really nice. It’s a family business.”

  “And I guess you’ll know the layout since you’re there a lot, huh? Well, you look good enough. Let’s go eat.”

  Zane got up and self-consciously patted his hair after Ty riffled it in passing. He carefully edged along the couch and around it, then took one step to the bookshelf along the wall and touched the books, trailing his fingers along the spines until he reached the shelf with the dish where he left his wallet and keys. “I need a jacket,” he said.

  “How far is it? Can we walk?” Ty asked.

  “Go out the front door, turn right, cross the street, go to the end of the block, turn right, and it’s on the right at the end of the block,” Zane rattled off.

  “All righty, let’s go, then,” Ty said.

  Chapter Eight

  “THERE are a few steps up just inside,” Zane said as they stopped outside a full plate-glass door under a blue awning hanging off a red brick building. “Four, maybe? It’s not like I’ve counted before.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, baby. I can see them,” Ty reminded gently.

  Ty pulled the door open and guided Zane through. They went up the steps slowly, and Ty cast a critical eye around the restaurant. He’d never been there, but Zane was always producing leftovers in brown paper bags and seemed to enjoy the food.

  It was definitely an old building: exposed brick walls had been kept intact inside. The carpet was brown and red and sort of ornate floral in a vintage Italian style. There was a dining room full of patrons in front of them and another to the right. The furniture was dark, heavy wood, including a full wine case directly in front of them where an array of takeout menus, business cards, and a bowl of mints sat. The waiting area was quite small; maybe a dozen people could stand around, and it would be tight. Even the five people already there waiting made it difficult to look around.

  An older woman, slight and gray-haired, dressed in the black waitstaff uniform, walked out of the dining room to the right. “Good evening, gentlemen. Two for dinner?” Then Zane turned toward her, and she added, “Oh, Mr. Garrett, lovely to see you again.” She had a thick accent.

  “I wish I could say the same, Leticia,” Zane murmured with a vague wave at his eyes.

  She broke out with a sharp question in a language that Ty definitely recognized as Italian. It made him flinch like one of Pavlov’s dogs waiting to be hit with an ostrich leather hobo bag.

  Zane shrugged in answer to her. She tut-tutted him and turned to Ty. “This way, please. I have a table for you now,” she said, ignoring the other customers waiting who had been there first.

  Ty looked after her, then turned to frown at Zane. “You speak Italian now?” he asked dangerously. It was still a touchy topic, even almost three months after the cruise ship assignment where not knowing Italian had almost gotten him killed.

  “I have no idea what she said,” Zane said under his breath. “But it didn’t sound good, now did it?”

  “I was about to smack you,” Ty grumbled. He kept a loose hold on Zane’s elbow as the woman led them to one of the tables near a wide window. They didn’t even have to weave around many tables to get to it.

  Ty glanced around the dining room as he took off his jacket. It was an okay place, but the food had to be spectacular for Zane to eat here three times a week. Ty much preferred his pub; it had character. And a bottle of Grand Marnier with his name on it behind glass over the bar. One-Eyed Mike’s was four blocks from his house and almost halfway between his house and Zane’s apartment. Much less classy and much more comfortable. He shook his head as he slid into one of the seats.

  Zane tentatively reached out to his side, and his fingertips brushed the glass window. “Okay, I know where I am,” he said, sounding satisfied as he shrugged out of his jacket.

  Leticia whisked by again, dropping off glasses of ice water, a basket of what looked like fresh-baked bread, a dish of real butter pats, and two large single-sheet menus printed on heavyweight paper. After a pause, she took Zane’s menu back and patted him on the shoulder. “Ryan will be right out,” she announced before leaving.

  “Well. I guess it’s pretty obvious I can’t see, huh?” Zane commented.

  Ty looked up from the menu. He narrowed his eyes, leaned forward to look at Zane closer, then reached out slowly and waved his hand in front of Zane’s face. Zane didn’t even blink. “It’s… pretty obvious,” he said apologetically. He sighed and looked down at the menu again. When he and his brother had been little and gone to visit their great-grandparents, they had amused themselves by blindfolding each other and attempting to navigate various obstacles, just to see how Grandmother Griffin had done it.

  But there was a difference between closing your eyes and being blind. Even with a blindfold, there were still variances in light that could give you hints as to where you were and what was going on.

  Complete and total darkness—blindness—could be a lonely and frightening thing. Zane was taking it pretty well, considering.

  Ty returned his attention to the menu full of Italian dishes and grimaced. “You come here three days a week? Every week?”

  Zane edged a shoulder up. “It’s right here by my place, and I love Italian food. There’s plenty of choices if you don’t want traditional red sauce. Sometimes I just get the Baltimore salad.”

  Ty looked up at him dubiously. “I don’t get what’s so special about….” He trailed off as he saw a waiter come around the corner and head for their table.

  The man was dressed all in black like the others, and he was impressively fit. The black T-shirt might as well have been painted over well-defined muscles. His shoulders were broad, and he was trim through the waist. He had dusky skin and sharp, defined facial features, a
nd his hair would have been dark if it hadn’t been shorn down practically to the scalp. It made him look sleek.

  “Oh,” Ty muttered dejectedly.

  “Hmm?” Zane asked as he messed with his napkin. Ty shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh.

  The waiter stopped at another table briefly, then hurried over to them. His lips were pulled into a worried frown. “Zane,” the man said as he took the last couple of steps to the table. “Leticia told me something had happened.” When he stopped, he put a hand on Zane’s shoulder.

  To Ty’s mild surprise, Zane didn’t flinch away. “You could say that,” he replied as he waved a hand at his eyes. “Work hazard. Got caught a little too close to the explosion at the shopping complex,” he added in a very short explanation.

  Ty watched Zane and the handsome waiter converse, knowing he had one eyebrow raised and his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t help it.

  “That’s terrible!” the man exclaimed. “You can’t see anything?”

  Zane shook his head. “Nothing at all. So I have to have help to get around.” He gestured across the table at Ty. “Ryan, this is my partner, Ty Grady. Ty, this is Ryan Morelli.”

  “Hi,” Ty said unenthusiastically.

  “Welcome to Chiapparelli’s,” Ryan said with a pleasant smile. “Thanks for bringing Zane by. If I don’t see him every few days, I wonder if he’s sitting at home starving.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Zane muttered.

  “That’s… that’s… nice,” Ty managed to get out. He cleared his throat and reached for his napkin.

  Ryan laughed and pushed at Zane’s shoulder. “I’ve seen that kitchen. It’s a travesty. Mine is much better. Now, what can I get you gentlemen for dinner? Zane, we’ve got the gnocchi today,” he said, clearly trying to tempt him.

  “So it’s either sit at home and starve or eat here and spend an extra hour at the gym every night to work off the calories,” Zane said ruefully. “Yes, the gnocchi sounds good. And some fried provolone to start.”