Zane could see how very tired Ty was in every move he made, when he’d stare blankly at nothing and then shake it off, how he was so still. He’d been through the emotional wringer today, and the whole past week certainly hadn’t been a cakewalk. Zane was even more concerned now than he had been earlier.
When they’d spoken briefly before leaving the office, Zane had honestly thought Ty might drop on the spot, and he’d suggested they just skip the wake. But Ty had insisted he wanted to go, so Zane had relented. They’d stay until the party started to break up; then Zane would drive people home and take Ty home with him. Maybe now, finally, they’d be able to sleep one night in peace, without dreading the coming day. More than anything else, he wanted to hold Ty through the night and know he’d be there in the morning, safe and sound.
“We thought Mac locked you up somewhere,” Alston said. “They about had Garrett shackled to the table all evening for the debrief.”
Ty had his bottle to his mouth. He looked from Alston to Zane and nodded, still drinking. After he set the bottle down, he reached out and patted Zane’s knee. “My partner did all the heavy lifting. They didn’t have too many questions for me, just the basics. Do you like risking your life for your stupid partner, do you have suicidal tendencies, does the dark still make you piss yourself?”
“Oh, par for the course, then,” Perrimore egged.
Zane didn’t try to hold back the chuckle. “Now, now, Freddy, don’t get him all riled up when we finally get to relax.”
Ty just gave him a raspberry and continued drinking his beer, wearing a decent enough approximation of a smile. The whole table laughed, and Zane soaked in the unusual feeling of camaraderie as the group fell into casual talk again.
The chatter was interrupted when one of the assistant SAICs stood on a chair and yelled to get everyone’s attention. The whole pub calmed, and Dan McCoy stood up, drink in hand.
“Okay, I think everybody’s here who’s coming. It’s been an absolute hell of a day, more for some than others, and I want to tell you how proud I am that you all stuck with it through this mess. It would have been way too easy to knuckle under when the public turned on us and the bombs kept coming. But we all did our jobs, even when we knew we’d get nothing but shit for it.” McCoy lifted his bottle. “To Lydia Reeves, who died in the line of duty. God bless her memory.”
“Hear, hear,” Alston said, just loud enough for the table to catch. Zane and the others echoed the sentiment as everyone raised their drinks in a toast to their fallen comrade.
A few moments of expectant silence later, the hairs on Zane’s arms rose as Ty began to sing the first few lines to “Amazing Grace.” When he reached the second verse, no one joined in with him, all of them either too stunned or too entranced by his voice to do anything but listen as they mourned.
SUNLIGHT glowed buttery yellow as it beamed through the open curtains in Zane’s bedroom. His eyes just barely open, he sleepily admired the light, soaking it in, a quiet joy filling him simply because he could see it. He lay still in the mussed bed for long minutes, waking up slowly and savoring it.
Finally he yawned and shifted in the sheets, smiling despite the impressive array of aches and pains from the bruising all over his body. Ty hadn’t added to the bruises last night. They’d both been so tired that all they could do was strip and collapse into bed, where Ty had burrowed into Zane’s arms, wrapped around him like a limpet, and kissed him gently over and over between their whispers of achingly tender words that were so difficult to say in the light of day, until they’d drifted off to sleep.
Zane hummed and rolled to his back, reaching out for Ty only to feel cool sheets. Frowning, Zane sat up, and as the sheet pooled across his lap, he heard a soft crinkle. He picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it to read two short lines written in Ty’s messy scrawl that brought Zane’s happy morning crashing down around him.
I’m sorry. Walls are closing in and I need to go.
Love you.
Check out this exclusive sneak peek at the sequel to Divide & Conquer
ARMED &
DANGEROUS
By Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
“WE SHOULD be getting close,” Zane said as the cab cut through the architectural jungle of downtown.
“How do you want to play it? Go in soft or heavy? Good cop, bad cop? Shoot first and ask questions later?” Ty asked with a hint of sarcastic amusement.
Zane shrugged. He slid his hand into his new jacket out of long habit to check his weapon. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“From this guy? Almost certainly,” Ty confirmed. “I’m also expecting him to not actually be at this address. If he was this easy to find, he wouldn’t be Batman.”
“If he’s there, it would be novel for it to go so smoothly,” Zane agreed, pulling on his gloves as the cab came to a stop in front of an old building converted into condos.
Ty checked his gun and got out as Zane paid the driver, who didn’t even blink at the weapons, and he clucked his tongue, trying his best not to smile as Zane joined him. Ty’d been told not long ago that he shouldn’t enjoy the almost-getting-killed part of his job as much as he did. Zane didn’t know who had said it, but Ty had been making a concerted effort ever since to hide his unholy glee during melees. It was still pretty clear to Zane, though.
He surveyed the light traffic passing by on the side street. It was evening, and there weren’t many people out and about. Hopefully that would work in their favor.
“Ready?” he asked Ty.
Ty glanced up and down the street, then nodded and stepped up to the double glass doors of the building. They would have to be buzzed in, which never helped the element of surprise. Ty stared at the panel for a moment, obviously contemplating how to go about it. He glanced back at Zane and shrugged one shoulder, then pushed the number they’d been given.
After a short pause, the small speaker clicked. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jimbo!” Ty practically shouted, actually startling Zane. Ty’s words slurred as he leaned toward the speaker. “Dude. You should not have left early tonight.”
There was a short pause. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”
“Come on, man, don’t be like that! I swear I didn’t know you were into her! I left my good pants on your couch. If I go in to work hungover in my boxers again, they’ll can me for sure,” Ty whined. “Four strikes and you’re out, brother!” He bit his lip to keep from laughing as he turned his head away from the speaker box. Zane grinned and shook his head, covering his mouth and reminding himself that they were trained federal agents. Professionals. In theory.
“You’ve got the wrong apartment. There’s no Jimbo here.”
“Oh,” Ty drew out. “Shit, man, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to go buzzing you so early in the morning.” The last glance at his watch had told Zane it was nearing seven in the evening. “But hey, do you know Jimmy, man? Could you grab my pants for me?”
There was a longer pause, long enough that Zane thought the man on the other end of the speaker had abandoned the conversation. But then the box clicked again.
“There’s no Jimmy here. Buzz somebody else.” The words ended with some ring of finality.
Ty clucked his tongue again and shrugged at Zane. “Worth a try,” he told his partner with a smirk. He reached out and hit another button. A moment later a woman answered. “Delivery,” Ty chirped.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said brusquely, and that was that. Four more tries later—one no answer, two immediate denials, and a bizarre conversation with a stoner about the phases of the moon during which Ty had way too much to offer, in Zane’s opinion—Ty huffed in frustration.
“How many more are you going to try?” Zane asked. They didn’t really have the time to call the field office and ask for a warrant. Not to mention that would go over really well with Burns, who obviously wanted them to keep this as low as it could go. Was this the kind of thing that Ty was always doing for Burns?
&n
bsp; Ty glanced at him stubbornly and pushed a button at random. Zane rolled his eyes. As soon as there was an answer, he stepped closer to the speaker and said, “Federal agents, ma’am.”
“Nice try, asshole,” the woman said smugly, and then the speaker box clicked off.
Ty growled dangerously. “I hate this town,” he muttered as he took his gun out from under his coat.
Zane straightened in mild alarm. “What are you doing?”
Ty yanked a glove off one hand and wrapped it around the butt of his gun, then turned smoothly and rammed the handle into the glass door. The mottled glass cracked and shattered noisily, but there was mesh wire embedded inside it that kept it from falling in. Ty used the butt of his gun to clear out the window, ripping through the wire, raining pieces all over the sidewalk and Ty’s feet. He reached through the iron bars and pushed the handle, opening the door and holding it open for Zane with a gallant wave of his hand.
“Why, thank you, sir,” Zane drawled as he walked through the mess, already thinking of ways to make sure Ty would be the one writing up the report for this trip.
“Assholes,” Ty muttered as he looked up at the floor display above the elevators. He stopped in front of the fire alarm and looked at it for just a moment too long for Zane’s comfort. Zane cleared his throat pointedly.
Ty looked at him almost guiltily and then followed him toward the stairwell. Zane didn’t know if there was any sort of alarm on the door, but they needed to move a little more quickly regardless.
The condo they had targeted was on the second floor, not nearly a long enough hike up the steps to pacify Ty’s annoyance, which manifested in muttering. Zane pushed past him and started checking doors until they found the number they’d been provided. He glanced at his partner, knocked on the door, and listened to what sounded like a rush of feet that immediately retreated. Zane frowned and reached out to rap on the door again, but someone approached from the other side and stopped. Zane figured the man was looking out the peephole, so he held up his badge. Behind him, Ty did the same. “Federal agents.”
A bolt slid and the door opened just a bit, blocked by the chain, and a slim, wholly average-looking man peered out.
“Cameron Jacobs? I’m Special Agent Zane Garrett, and this is Special Agent Ty Grady. We’re looking for Julian Cross.”
CAMERON stared through the four-inch gap as he studied the two tall, capable-looking men holding out badges that looked pretty official. They could be federal agents. Or not. With Julian’s past business, there honestly was no telling who might come looking for him. It was the “or not” that was scaring Cameron right now, and his hand gripped the doorjamb so tightly that it hurt. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Perhaps you know him better as Julian Bailey?” the man called Special Agent Grady said dryly. “Or Sir? Maybe even Boss?”
Cameron frowned as he shook his head. Surely federal agents would be nicer than this. He looked them up and down. And better dressed. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong….” He frowned harder as he remembered the last time he had said those words, maybe fifteen minutes ago. “Was that you on the speaker?” he asked in outrage.
The man who had introduced them smiled slowly. To Cameron, it was like a dangerous animal showing its teeth. He frowned, looking over the man’s windblown, slightly curly hair, piercing eyes with crow’s feet at the corners, and a crooked nose that had probably been broken at least twice. The smile was probably meant to put him at ease.
Special Agent Grady flipped over the badge he’d been holding and pulled aside his jacket to slide it into an inner pocket. The move revealed a fairly large weapon in a holster under his arm. Whether he did it on purpose didn’t really matter; his point was made.
“Would you mind opening the door so we can have a word, Mr. Jacobs?” Special Agent Garrett asked in a businesslike tone. “Or you can just point us toward Cross and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“I do mind,” Cameron objected, his back straightening as he pulled his hand back to slam the door shut.
Grady’s hand shot out in a flash, stopping the door from closing. He stepped closer and lowered his head, as if he might be about to share a secret. Everything about him screamed military at Cameron, from his gruff tone to his quick reflexes to his impressive athletic build. “Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to fix a chain that’s been ripped off a doorjamb?” Special Agent Grady asked calmly. “Or how much it hurts my shoulder to put it through a solid oak door?”
Cameron pushed hard against the door, and it made no difference at all. He glanced at Special Agent Garrett, who was taller, darker, and not offering any sympathy. This was not looking good. Not at all. So Cameron nodded jerkily and reached to unhook the chain, aware that Julian would read him the riot act for this.
Of course, Julian would yell at him for opening the door in the first place. But only a little bit.
Chain undone, Cameron took several steps back and gathered himself to reach for his phone and Julian’s speed-dial emergency number as he watched his four calf-high white Westies charge the strangers entering the apartment.
Special Agent Grady moved in slowly, his body turned almost sideways as his eyes scanned the room. His hand was on his weapon. Cameron had seen Julian enter rooms in a similar fashion, and it set off even more warning bells. The man looked down at the four dogs and balked, side-stepping and gesturing for his partner to come in.
It was Cameron’s chance. Cameron reached into his pocket for his cell phone and fumbled with it, trying to be inconspicuous about it. He hoped that he managed to hit the key combination for the pre-written text he needed to send.
Special Agent Garrett shut the door gently, and the strangers moved steadily into Cameron’s condo. The more he watched the agents, the more they reminded him of Julian. They were on guard but confident. “I don’t know who you’re looking for. There’s no one else here.”
“We know,” Grady told him. He smiled and nodded to the pocket Cameron still had his hand stuffed into. “He’ll be here soon, though. Take a load off, kid. It won’t be so bad.” He stretched out broad muscles and rolled his neck, the movement shifting his trench coat, revealing jeans and a specialty tee. Grady turned to look down at the yipping dogs in distaste, and then he looked up at his partner.
Special Agent Garrett tipped his head to one side before focusing on Cameron. From twelve feet away, his eyes appeared to be flat black, and Cameron felt like he was pinned in place.
“How do you know Mr. Cross, Mr. Jacobs?” he asked. His voice was calmer than Special Agent Grady’s, more polite, if still a bit cool.
Cameron pressed his lips together in a bid for silence. At least this was one of the possible scenarios Julian had outlined for him when they had set up the alert system. Despite Cameron’s protests, his dangerous lover had insisted he’d rather come here to protect him and eliminate the problem than staying away in dubious safety.
Movement caught his eye, and Cameron glanced up to see one of Julian’s large orange cats sinuously padding around the screen that sectioned off the bedroom. It was Smith, followed closely by Wesson. The two very big cats stopped mid-stride upon seeing the strangers, and Cameron could have sworn he heard one of them growl.
“Now see, that’s what I’m talking about,” the churlish agent said as he pointed at the cats. “Those are guard dogs, Zane. Pound for pound the most effective killing machine in the world.”
“So you say, Meow Mix,” Zane answered. He sounded like he was humoring his partner. Zane Garrett, Cameron remembered from the door. And Ty Grady, he reminded himself. Garrett & Grady. It sounded like some obnoxious men’s clothing store. Zane pointed at Ty. “You keep your hands off the wildlife.”
“Shove it, Garrett,” Ty said with a huff. He moved around the couch and knelt several feet away from Smith and Wesson. He reached out his hand. “What are they, Maine Coons?” he asked Cameron with what seemed like genuine interest.
Cameron watched as the man put
himself well within range of a serious tangle with pain. He swallowed and glanced at the digital clock next to the television. It had been three minutes. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Ty, I said keep your damn hands to yourself,” Zane snapped. “We don’t have time for a field trip to the hospital if that cat decides it wants a taste of you.”
Ty blithely ignored his partner, still holding out one hand and talking to Smith and Wesson in a low voice, a smile on his face. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Zane. “If the big one didn’t eat me, I think I can deal with two little ones.”
Smith and Wesson sat side by side, watching him in the way only a cat could watch an inferior being. Cameron figured he himself looked like he was watching Ty like the man was an idiot. He also wondered what cat the man could possibly have tangled with that was bigger than Smith or Wesson.
Zane gave an aggrieved sigh and walked a little farther into the room, though Cameron noticed he kept both the front door and him in sight. “We’re not going to bite, Mr. Jacobs,” Zane said, trying to placate him, Cameron could tell. Zane’s lips twitched. “No more than the cats, anyway.”
“The last stranger who messed with them ended up with stitches from temple to lip,” Cameron mentioned to Ty.
Ty merely made a clicking sound with his tongue, not moving as he continued to hold his hand out to the cats. Wesson began to move slowly, slinking toward him. “Come on, handsome,” Ty crooned to the cat. Smith lowered his head, his tail twitching as he watched, but Wesson continued to move toward him. He sat and graciously allowed the man to rub one finger under his chin.
Cameron’s jaw dropped. Those stupid cats wouldn’t even let him touch them, and he’d been living with Julian for more than a year now. He swallowed on the feeling of dread. If this guy got ahold of Wesson and hurt him, Julian would maim him, and that would be a mess. A moment later, Ty had gathered the big cat into his arms and was standing again, holding him over his shoulder, rubbing his ear gently. He turned to grin at his partner. “Like playing the bagpipes,” he joked about the large feline.
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