Cut & Run 05 - Armed & Dangerous (6 page)

Ty’s exodus had done him good, more than he’d expected when he’d gotten up that morning last week in a panic and bolted. He no longer felt heavy, no longer felt burdened by the past or the future, no longer felt the impending doom of walls closing in on his mind. It had been a good move on his part regardless of the backlash. A mental health break.

And to top off his improved mood, he and Zane were together in a city halfway across the country from anyone who knew them. Ty could feel the weight of the compass rose around his neck, and it was one burden he was happy to bear. He gave in to the impulse and reached out to slide his gloved fingers into Zane’s bare hand. Zane’s chin snapped around, and Ty could see his eyes widened in surprise, but Zane didn’t pull away. Instead, he curled their hands together and gave a gentle squeeze. Ty’s feeling of elation was borderline ridiculous.

Ty brushed his shoulder against Zane’s as they walked along Michigan Avenue. “I figure we’re tourists for a few hours. We can do whatever we feel like.”
Zane smiled and his shoulders relaxed. “That sounds great.” “First thing is to find you some new threads. We can eat a late

lunch, do the tourist thing while we have the chance.”
“How long do we have?”
Ty shrugged. “We move when Dick calls.”
They walked along the bustling avenue, passing high-end stores

that included Disney, Apple, Cartier, Crate & Barrel, and Saks Fifth Avenue. After a quick meal, they went into several stores, Ty picking out clothing he claimed appropriate for the job and Zane shooting it all down as being made for a teenage hipster.

Ty was on the verge of getting frustrated when he found a pair of jeans he liked, forced Zane to try them on, and paid for them before Zane could argue or even take them off. He threw in a vintage burgundy Henley that cost a solid hundred dollars, a brown leather and suede jacket that would have bought him new tires if he had his Bronco back, and a pair of boots he thought he might end up stealing. He and Zane could share shoes and shirts as long as the shirts weren’t tailored. Zane’s height was the only thing that precluded them from sharing pants as well. It was a shame, because Zane’s casual wardrobe could use a little help.

Ty eyed the finished product with a very real desire to get Zane back to the hotel and take it all off again.
Hands on his hips, he pushed at the back of his upper teeth with his tongue as he looked Zane over. “I don’t think I’ve ever been gayer than I am right now.”
Zane boggled at him, and Ty couldn’t help but laugh. Zane shook his head and looked down at the clothes, then up at Ty with narrowed eyes. He tipped his head to one side and pulled up the collar on the jacket, ran his hand through his hair to ruffle it, and reached out to pluck Ty’s aviators off his collar and slide them on. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and raised an impertinent eyebrow toward Ty.
“Oh God. Okay,” Ty muttered, rolling his eyes and turning to leave. “Now you’re just embarrassing yourself.” He smirked and glanced back, though, because Zane made embarrassing look pretty damn good.
Zane grinned as he followed, carrying his suit over his shoulder in a bag. “I used to dress like this a lot in Miami, you know.”
Ty hummed as he pictured all the many forms he’d seen Zane’s style take in the past. His Miami attire had probably involved mesh shirts, snakeskin pants, and Thai silk. Aside from his partner knowing what walking shorts were, he seemed to be competent about dressing himself at home. Ty had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He reached out to take Zane’s hand again, angling them toward Navy Pier and the waterfront.
“If you like these jeans that much, maybe I should get some new clothes for at home. Been a while since I’ve bought anything but suits for work,” Zane said, assuming an idle tone, though Ty knew full well it was meant to needle him.
“Agreed,” Ty said, adding a nod to emphasize that, yeah, Zane needed an all new wardrobe, preferably one that showed off his incredible shoulders and back, because Ty had to admit, that was his favorite part of Zane. He glanced sideways at Zane and smirked. “We’re going to Navy Pier now. There’s something you should see.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Always.”
They walked several blocks south, then cut east past Pritzker Military Library to make for the lake. From the circle where cabs were coming and going, picking up and dropping off, they could look down the length of the ordered chaos that was Chicago’s Navy Pier. The Ferris wheel and other rides, the yachts and touring boats moored at the docks, the seemingly endless array of shops and restaurants, extending as far as the eye could see from where he and Zane stood together.
“What is Navy Pier?” Zane asked as he followed Ty through a red metal arch bearing those words.
“It’s… I don’t know. It’s got a Ferris wheel,” Ty said with a careless shrug. “It’s like the Field Museum and Wrigley Field. You have to go do it if you go to Chicago.”
“Everything I know about Chicago I learned from
The Blues Brothers
,” Zane said, distracted as they walked past small booths and ticket stands.
“Jesus, Zane,” Ty muttered. “So I came here last night very briefly because I needed a drink. You need to see this.” He gave Zane’s hand a tug, leading him inside the shopping area and wending through the mass of people, shops, and mobile vendors. When he stopped, they were standing in front of Garrett Popcorn Shop. Ty waved a hand at it with pride, as if it were somehow his doing.
Zane pulled off the aviators and laughed. “That’s great,” he said as he looked in the window.
Ty put his hand on the small of Zane’s back and ushered him in, pointing to the far wall where the shop had several T-shirts hanging. The white one in the middle, the same one Ty had bought yesterday and stowed in his bag, had yellow-orange cheddar cheese and goldenbrown caramel handprints on the chest and the slogan “Love Can Be Messy” above the word Garrett and the shop’s logo. It had been too perfect for Ty to pass up.
Zane’s lips pressed together into a thin line, and when he glanced at Ty, Ty could see the amusement in Zane’s eyes. It made them shine, the dark brown warm and inviting. Ty’s chest tightened as he looked at his lover. Why the hell couldn’t every day be like this?
“That’s pretty good. I ought to get one,” Zane said, plucking at the sleeve.
Ty stepped up behind him, letting his hand linger on Zane’s back, soaking up the feeling of being with him again. “You can borrow mine,” he murmured, smiling.
Zane turned his head, letting his nose brush Ty’s cheek.
Ty closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the moment. “Come on,” he said after a few seconds of content silence. “Let’s go see the sights for a few hours. Pretend it’s real.”
Zane’s brow wrinkled. “Pretend what’s real?”
Ty slid his hand down Zane’s arm and linked their fingers again. “That I can hold your hand without worrying about being recognized,” he said with a smile. He tugged at Zane’s hand, wanting to get out of the shops and back onto the pier to see the water and the view.
Zane’s smile reappeared and he nodded. “Anytime you want.”
Ty gave him a melancholy smile, squeezing his hand. It was a shame they didn’t get to go out and hold hands like this at home. A crying shame. But they couldn’t risk being recognized and outed at work. As soon as they both retired, though, Ty intended to hold Zane’s hand everywhere they went.

“WHAT are you going to tell them?” Randall Jonas asked as Burns dialed the number for his man in Chicago.

“As little as possible,” Burns answered. He was silent as he waited for an answer, and when he spoke he was using some sort of code that Jonas didn’t begin trying to decipher. “Your father says hello,” Burns told his agent. It must have been some sort of activator.

Jonas watched him as he exchanged a few more seemingly mundane pleasantries; then he broke the code and just outright said the information he’d intended to pass on. “Consider your mark armed and extremely dangerous. He’s a federal informant who’s gone off the grid, and we need him here, in my office.”

Jonas frowned, confused by Burns’ methods. But then, Burns had never had regular methods to begin with.
“I don’t care how you do it, just get him here. In one piece. Don’t ‘yes, sir’ me, you little shit, just don’t get dead.” He hung up and looked at Jonas with a worried frown.
“Can your men really bring in Cross without any backup?” Jonas asked.
Burns pursed his lips. “Yes. I’d put these two against any of your spooks, any day of the week.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow, and he couldn’t help but smile at his old friend’s confidence. “Them’s fightin’ words.”
“Bring it, old man.”

Chapter 4

 

“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. “Are you expecting trouble?” Out of long habit, he slid his hand into his new jacket to check his weapon.
“From this guy? Almost certainly,” Ty said. “Dick talked about him like he was Batman.”
“How so?”
“Long list of connections to the CIA, organized crime, a laundry list of arms dealers and mercs, foreign and domestic.”
“Why does Burns want him? And why us?”
Ty was silent for a moment. “I’ve learned not to ask those questions,” he said as he looked at Zane with a smile to mitigate the harshness of the words.
Zane nodded. He looked at Ty with warmth he probably shouldn’t have been feeling while officially on the job. Ty seemed closer than he had been just a moment ago, close enough for Zane to smell him, the unusual musk of sandalwood that was so unlike Ty and the more familiar combination of Tide, gun oil, leather, and sweat that turned him on like crazy. But Zane felt a pang of yearning for a whiff of Old Spice.
“I’m also expecting him to not actually be at this address. If he was this easy to find, he wouldn’t be Batman,” Ty said, drawing Zane out of his reverie.
“If he’s there, it would be novel for it to go so smoothly,” Zane said 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 nodded when Zane told him to wait. Ty clucked his tongue, trying his best not to smile as Zane joined him on the curb. Ty had 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 ever since, Ty had been making a concerted effort 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, Jimmy!” Ty practically shouted, 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. Four strikes and you’re out, brother!” Ty 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 Jimmy 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 six 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.”
“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 Chicago 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?
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; 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, but there was mesh wire embedded inside that kept it from falling in. Ty used the muzzle 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 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 were 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. 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.”