Chapter One

Ty sat at the all-night diner near his apartment and read the file for the fourteenth time as he poked at his bacon and eggs. The papers had greasy fingerprints on them, and a few smudges that weren't identifiable, but Ty didn't notice. What he was seeing were the facts of the case. It was one of the most fascinating cases he'd ever read about, much less been involved in. The killer seemed to pick his targets at random; there was no victim type at all. He had no MO to speak of, and he left little to no evidence behind. The current belief was that the little evidence that had been collected was left intentionally, and the scenes where the bodies were found were certainly staged.

Eight murders and counting. The only two that hadn't been positioned after death (or "killed creatively," as Ty thought of it) were the two FBI agents who had been investigating the murders. Two trained agents, both with military backgrounds, shot point-blank in their hotel room before either man could even fire a weapon. And the only reason the Bureau attributed their deaths to the killer was because they were working on his case, and the FBI didn't believe in coincidences.

Tyshook hisheadandsighed, glancing athiswatch withablink. "Fuck,"hegroaned,digginginhispocketformoneytoleaveonthetableas hegatheredhishighlyclassifiedinformationandunceremoniously stuffedit underhisjacket.Hehadthingstodotomorrow—today,really—beforehe had to fly out early Monday morning.

Zanesatathisdining room table, awhole stack ofcopied filesspread outin front of him. Case details, reports, autopsy recalls, scene photographs, forensic evidence... therewassomuchtoreadthrough, somanydetails. Detailsthatcaughtandfilteredthrough Zane'sanalyticalmind.He'dbeen sifting through notes for hours trying to identify patterns, not in the case itself, but inthe standard structure ofinvestigation: where itwasfollowed precisely, where itdiffered, where thereweregapsintheinvestigation, where therewas too much useless information. There'd been somany people onthis job that it was already a mess.

Allofthat,hethought, asheshifted totakeabiteofalateSunday dinnerofchickenandgrapesalad,waseasyenoughtotrack.He'dalready decided togiveafewspecialtyagents acalltoaskquestions; maybeSerena Scott in New York's BehaviorAnalysisUnit could help. She looked at murders allthe time, and although this case was driving them crazy, she could explain some things for Zane. Murder wasn't exactly his forte. Plus, she owed him a favor.

Amandidn'tworkattheFBIfornearlytwentyyearsandnotcollect favors.

Sighing,hepushedawaythecoroner's reportscomparison charthe'd madeandcarried hisbowl tothekitchen sink,washing itoutcarefully before wiping the counter down. He glanced at the clock on the wall, straightenedhis shoulders, andcracked hisneck.He'dhavetoleaveextraearlytogetfrom Arlington toDullesby0530tocatchtheplane.Andhe'dneedeverybitof patience andfortitude hecouldscrapeuptogetthrough whatheknewwas coming.

Itwasacommercial flight,andtheticketswerewaitingforthematthe airline's frontdesk.Tyrolledhisheadfromsidetosideandloosened histie, grumblingunhappilyashewalkedinthehazypredawnthroughtheparking lot.Hehadhissuitjacketover onearmandtwoduffel bags ofclothing and gearslungoverhisshoulder.Hecarriedabeatenandscarredleathersatchel byastrapacrosshischestashewalked.Hewasrunningjustalittlelate,but hewasn't exactly worried about it.When hegotinside, histieaskew andhis suitcoatwrinkled, hefinallypulledthesatcheloverhisheadandplunked everythingdowntoshrugintothejacket.Hethenheftedeverythingagain, repositionedthe bags, and made his way to the check-in desk.

"I knew you'd be late," Zane commentedas Ty walked past him.

"And Iknew you'd stillhave that stick upyour ass," Tyresponded with a shake of his head, not slowing as Zane spoke to him.

Ty's smart-ass response didn't rate a reply. Zane waited for him to get histicketand check hisbags before fallinginbeside him towalk tosecurity. They'd metatotaloftwotimesnow, andZane hadthesamefleeting impression: Tywasanassholewho'dbeenluckyenoughintheredzoneto make itthisfar.AndtheBureau wanted him tobelucky somemore, butthey didn'twanttoriskanything going wrong (because Tywassoveryobviously insane), andthatwaswhytheveryefficient ZaneGarrett wascharged with holding his leash.

It made Zane tired just thinking about it.

Theyshowedtheiridentification andwerewavedthroughsecurity afterabriefcheck.StillthinkingaboutTy'sshit-for-attitude,Zaneamused himself bythinking about whatTymusthavehadtodotopassmuster. All agentswentthroughtheacademy's sixteen-week NewAgentsTrainingUnit, andthentheywerefarmedoutandspecialized. Becauseofhisbackground, Zaneexcelledinthefinerpointsofthelaw.Layersofinformation. Patterns. Details.Puzzles.ItsurprisedpeoplethatZanehadabraintogowithhis brawn, and he'd used it to his benefit many times.

Way back when, the Bureau assigned him to the Criminal Investigation DivisionoftheCriminalInvestigations Branch,workingon financial crime. Ashegotmorecasesunderhisbelt,heshifted toorganized crimeandinformant matters, which put himintoabriefstintinundercover work.Severalpersonalandprofessional swervesandwilddiveslater,hewas moved out of the CID and into the Cyber Division, digging up and dusting off thoseoldpatternanddetailskillstoreestablishhimselfandhopefullypolish his very tarnished reputation. He tried not to think about that tarnish often.

Hewasstarting tosuspect TyGrady possessed acompletely different setofspecializations, andZanewasabsolutelysurethattheywouldn'tmesh withhisown.Lookingoverhisnewpartner,Zanedecidedimmediatelythat Tyobviously wouldn't haveanytroublewiththephysicalsideofthejob.He was an inch or two shorter than Zane, but his muscle weight probably equaled Zane'sown.Hewasphysicallyimpressive, nodoubt,andtogethertheywere clearly intimidatingas they walked through the terminal.

Itwasthemental aspects ofTy'sabilitiesthatZanepondered almost gleefully astheymoved. Zanewondered ifTywouldevenbeabletohandle anyofit,orifthatwaswhyZanehadbeenpartnered withtheguy;tobethe brains of the operation, so to speak.

"Listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once," Ty muttered as they walked to their gate. "I don't talk when I fly. I sleep. And I don't listen when I eat, understand?I don't wanna be buddies. I don't wanna chat," he said with a sarcastic lilttotheword."Idon'twannaknowabout yourchildhood orhow your momma whipped youwitharubber glove orhowmuch therapy you had togothrough'causeyouflunkedoutofpreschool. Idon'twanna hearabout howyouwanttobeDirector someday orhowmanycollars yougotchasin' thoseInternet freaksorhowproud youareofyourbowelmovements. Idon't wannagoshoppingatBarneyswithyou,andI'mnotgonnahelpyoupick out your tiestomatch your socks and, Iswear toGod, ifyou get meshot, I'll kill you."

As he followed the other agent onto the plane and found his seat, stoic demeanorin place, Zane couldn't decide whether to be offended, upset, or just sad.Punching hisnewpartnerwouldlikelynotbecondoned, andhewasn't sureGradywouldn't giveasgoodashegotjusttocauseascene.Butwhata miserable life the man must have. Well, he wasn't the only one who had had it hard. Zane tried hard to sublimate the anger that line of thought caused, but so far,Tyjustmade him wanttoreach outandthrottle theshitoutofhim. Wouldn'tthe Bureau just love that?

Hedecideditwasbest—forallpartiesinvolved—to ignoretheman beside him. He went ahead and pulled out the comparative chart he'd made of thecoroner's information withnotesalloveritinhistiny,crablike handwriting.At least some of the time could be well-spent.

Ty sighed heavily as he flopped into his seat and shook his head ashe dugouttheseatbelt. Hisbrand-newpartner hadfailed thefirsttest.Anyone whowould quietlytakethevitriol hehadjustspewed without somuch asa "fuckyou"inreturnwasnothingbutabrown-nosing ladder-climber who should have beenriding adeskorworking inthecivilian market. Atleasthis last partner had given as good as he got, he thought with a wince.

Zane heard the annoyed exhalation and ignored it.He gritted his teeth andwished therewassomewaytogetoutofthisassignment. Itwasgoingto be an utter debacle, and helikelywouldn't be able to do anything about it.He wonderedwhatninthlevelofclerkinghellhewouldbedemotedtoifthis wentwrong,orwhattypeofcivilianjobhecouldgetafterhewaskickedout oftheBureau.Thatupsethimmorethananything, thinking ofalltheyears going to waste.

Theflightwasonlyaboutanhourlong,andTyplannedtositthere and sleep the entire fucking way. The kid kicking the seat behind him was the onlythingkeepinghimawakeastheplanetaxieddowntherunway.He turned around andpeered through thecoach seats, hishazeleyespiercing the kid as he narrowed them.

"Kickitonemoretime,andI'llripyourtoesoffandeat'em,"he promised.

"Have some decency,"Zane chastised as his head turned to the side to check the situation. "He's gotta be three. He doesn't know any better."

"Hedoesnow,"Tycounteredasheturnedbackaroundandsettled intohisseatcontentedly.Behindhimahorrifiedyoungmotherwasholding her son's toes and gaping, wide-eyed and speechless.

"Youhaveabsolutely nopeopleskills,"Zanemuttered, shaking his head. "No wonder you're sinking fast in the Bureau."

"Yeah, I'm areal anchor," Ty drawled as he leaned his head back and smiled. "I hear no one else will work with you."

Zane's lipspressed together slightly andhedidn'tlookupfrom his paperwork."You should have your hearing checked," he said flatly.

"Myhearing's justfine,Skippy.Youwere‘promoted,' right?"Ty askedsarcastically, givingthewordquotations withhisfingerswithout openinghiseyes."Hatetotellyou,Sport,butbeingtransferredtoanother divisioninthesamelevelain'tapromotion. It'scalledshuffling the unwanted."

"Reliableinformation,I'msure,fromsomeoneonalandslidedown the ladder."

"We both seem tobeonthe slip 'n'slide tothe gutter, Shuffleboard," Tyobserved happily."Difference is,Idon'tgiveashit,"heofferedashe reached up and turned off the overhead light and adjusted the cool air blowing down on him.

Zanedidn't reply,instead closing hiseyesforamoment toswallow downontheflareofannoyance.Itwastrue.Tydidn'tgiveashit.ButZane did,whichmeanttheyweredestinedtobeateachother'sthroatsthewhole time they were forced to work together.

Tymerelysnickered quietly, knowing hehadhitachord.Thiscould provide someamusement afterall,hedecided, eveniftheydidendupkilling each other.

Zane focused again onthenotes. The restoftheflight passed in silence.Detailsabout the deathsbouncedaroundin his head, not really settling into anysortofpattern yet.Hewould digthephotos outandstudy them once they got settled. Maybe he could get a feeling for each victim.

He glanced up when the seat-belt light went on, and he looked over at Tyunhappily. Theother manhaddozed lightly inexpectation ofthelongday ahead,andZanedecided thatTysleeping washimathismostcharming. But now he had to wake him up.

"Grady," he muttered, voice clipped.

"Notagain,sugar,m'tired," Tymuttered asheflopped ontohisside and jostled them both in the cramped seats.

Unamused,Zanepushedagainsttheotherman."Grady,"hesaid more insistently."Wake up."

Tyhuffed andopened hiseyesslowly, looking around sleepily. "Hmm?"

Zane looked down athim,mildly surprised bythe momentary drop in the rough attitude. "We're getting ready to land," he murmured.

Tygroanedsoftlyandrolledontohisbackagain.Hestretchedhis armshighoverhishead,yawning asheturned hisbodyslightly andreached one arm way out into the aisle. The air hostess who was making her last check down theaislewalked rightintohishandandgasped ashegrabbed her.Ty droppedhisarmsandtwistedto lookupat her."Sorry,sweetheart,"he offered with a small, unrepentantsmile.

Shehuffedslightlyandgavehimawrysmileassheturnedinthe aisle."I'vehadworse," shemurmured inresponse asshebentandslowly buckledhisseatbeltforhim."Putyourselfintheuprightposition,please," shesaidtohimsoftlybeforemovingaway.Tyraisedhisseatobediently and grinned, watching herwithacontented smirkassheturnedandcontinued on down the aisle.

While Zane silently envied Ty's free attitude and behavior, in the end, hejustcouldn'tbelievetheman'sgall."Howdidyoubecomesuchatotal ass?" he asked, morbidly curious.

Tycocked hisheadandwatched thewoman untilshetookherseat, thenturnedtolookatZane."Ididn'tmeanto,"heinsistedinnocently."C cups can get in the way."

Zane'slookwaspatentlydisbelieving. "Ithinkyoudecidewhata perfectlypolitepersonwoulddoandthendotheabsoluteopposite.It'slike it's your life's goal to be the Antichrist."

"TheAntichrist," Tyechoed,laughing asheshookhishead."Yeah.I bet you were head of the Drama Club in school, weren't you?"

"You didn't deny it."

"And Lord knows Imeaneverything Isay," Tyresponded with mock sincerity, pressing his hand to his heart and leaning closer to Zane earnestly.

"You just have that look," Zane confirmed,face stilled to passivity.

Tychuckled andturnedtolookbackatthefrontoftheplaneasthe wheelssquealedonthetarmacandtheplanedecelerated rapidly."You're gonna have to dislodge that stick up your ass pretty damn quick if we're going tobeworking together," headdedastheplanetaxiedtotheirgate.He unbuckledbefore the seat-belt light went off and rolled his neck.

"What's thematter?Afraidit'scatching?" Zaneasked.Hispatience wasalready wearing thin. Hedidn't havethetimeortheluxury todealwith Ty's antics.

"No, I'm not afraid of turning into you," Ty answered wryly, laughing softlyasheshook hishead.Heleaned closer toZane,almost close enough totouchhischeek withhisnose."YousmelllikeFeeb," heexplained inalow,seriousvoice.HewasprobablyoneoftheonlyFBIagentswho wouldactually utterthederogatory termotheragencies usedwhentalking about them.

When Zane turned hisgazeontheother agent, hiseyes glinted dangerously.His voice was frigid. "I bet you get off on it."

Tysmiledslowly,hiseyesglitteringmischievously. "IfIdid,would you change?" he asked.

Zanemerely shook hishead asifhefeltsorryfor theother man, deciding nottocomment ashestood.Thewordsonhistongue werecertainly ungracious and unbecoming, and he couldn't afford itbeing reported. Not that his would rival Ty's behavior.

Tyshrugged andstretchedtoretrieve hissatchelfromtheoverhead bin.Hedidn'tsayanotherwordashefollowedtheshortlinetothefrontof the plane and the exit. The stewardess stood there, smiling and saying goodbyetoeachpassenger,andwhenTycameuptoher,hegrinnedwidely and nodded at her cheekily.

"You have anice stayinNewYork, sir," she saidtohim asshe reachedoutandtookhishand,discreetlypressingapieceofpaperintohis palm.

"Oh,it'sgettingniceralready," Tyresponded brightlyashelingered there for a moment, looking her over rakishly, and then moved on to the exit.

"Andjusthowisyourimagesupposed torepresent theBureau better than mine?" Zane asked under his breath as they walked toward the concourse.

"It'snot,"Tyansweredoverhisshoulder."That'sthewholedamn point, Shuffleboard."

Withhislonglegs,Zaneeasilycaught uptowalkalongside him."So why the hell work for the Bureau at all if you don't give a damn?"

"'Cause I ain't in it for the status," Ty answered blithely.

Zanestopped inhistracks, looking atTy's backwithrealhatred. The implication thattheglorywasZane'sreasonforworking attheBureauwas way the hell over the line. He watched him walk away and seriously, seriously considered callingBurnsandaccepting whatever fuckingdemotion itwould taketonothavetodealwiththisbastard. Histemperwasalready roiling, and thatwasnotgood.Notgoodatall.Hishandclenched onhisbriefcase fora longmoment ashestamped down ontheanger,watching Tywalk toward the exit.

TyknewZanehadfallenaway, buthedidn't stopwalking. Ifthe dickhead wanted to sulk his way into being latefor their meeting, thatwas his business. Ty was looking out for Number One. As always.

He also had a slightly more personal interest in this particular case.

Zane finally exited the main terminal and stepped out into the cool air asTywasclimbingintoablackgovernment Tahoe.Withinaminute,hewas seated inside as well, and the truck leftthe curb and pulled out into the airport traffic.

Tyslumpedintheback seat,tryingtoshakeoffthegrogginessand think upnew ways toannoyhis new partner. Helooked atthe driver inthe rearview mirror, seeing brown eyes and high cheekbones and short, curly hair. This guywastoopretty tobeanagent. And helooked likehe wasabout fifteen.Thelight-hairedmaninthepassengerseatlookedevenyounger. "What are you two, the Hardy Boys?" he asked them with a huff.

Eyesflickering forward, Zanetookinthetwoagentsinfrontofthem and frowned.

"That'sverycleverofyou,sir,"thedriverresponded drylywithout taking hiseyes offtheroad. "Icould point outthatwe're tooyoung toknow who theHardy Boys areandmake you feel very old," headded ashisbrown eyesglancedtotherearviewmirrorandlookedbackatTy."ButIwould never do that, sir."

Zane'slipstwitched, buthedidn'tcomment. Hiseyesdisplayed his amusementasheglancedalittlemorecarefullyoverthetwoyoungmen. Theywerebothveryyoung,butZaneknewthatexperienced agentswere practically being churned out of preschoolsthese days.

"Welcome to New York, Special Agent Garrett, Special Agent Grady,"thepassengergreetedasheturnedslightlyinhisseat."I'mAgent Mark Morrison, this is Agent Tim Henninger," he went on. His voice changed slightly toaddahintofsarcasm. "We're thelollipop boys sent totake careof you."

Tynarrowed hiseyesandexamined Morrison andthenHenninger slowly. Heturned hisheadandglanced atZanecritically."Ithinkthatwas supposed tobeacultural reference ofsomesort,"heexplained tohispartner. "I don't get it," he huffed.

Zane snorted. "Big surprise," he murmured,almost under his breath.

Morrison leaned around theseattolookbackatthem. "We'll beyour escortsandNewYorkFieldOfficecontactswhileyou'rehere.We'reonthe waytotheofficenowtomeettheAssistantDirectorinCharge.Canwestop anywhereon the way? Food? Drink?"

"What,youdidn'tpackyourlunch?" Tyaskedsarcastically ashe shifted around intheseatandwedged himself against thedoor. Hekicked a foot up and propped it on the console between the two front seats.

"Sure,inmySpongeBob SquarePants lunchbox.Ihavethethermos too," Morrison shot right back.

Zanekepthismouth shut,eyesmoving between thetwomen,and occasionallyback to the driver, who was casually paying attention.

Tystared atthekidandnarrowed hiseyes further. "Sponge-what?"he asked flatly.

Zanedidn'teventrytoholdbackthechucklewhenMorrisonlooked at Ty like he'd lost his mind.

"Sponge-wha... you're yanking mychain, aren't you?"Morrison said. "Henny, he's yanking my chain."

"Yeah,well,that'swhatyougettingforwavingitinhisface,"the driver answered reasonably.

"WhatthehellisaSpongeBob?" TyaskedZanequietlyinthe back seat.

Zane turned his chin, taking amoment togauge ifTywas serious and ifhe'dslamZaneforanswering."It'sacartooncharacterpopularrecently," heanswered, voicelow.Hecouldseethedriver's eyesintherearview mirror again, watching them. Examiningthem.

TystaredatZaneincredulously foramomentandthenlookedaway with a shake of his head.

"Perhaps you prefer Scooby-Doo?" Henningeroffered politely.

"More like the Dark Knight," Zane muttered without thinking first.

Tysmirked andglanced overattheman."Does thatmean Icancall you Robin from now on?" he asked with an amused glint in his eyes.

"That'sBoyWondertoyou,"Zaneansweredflatly,turningtolook out the window as Morrison stared at them both.

"Ugh,"Tygruntedashelookedawayagainandproppedhisother foot up on the center console. "You're too easy," he grumbled disconsolately.

Zanebarelyrestraineda snickeras Morrisonblinked.Theyoung agent looked athis partner. "Well, we gotthe right two guys," hesaid grimly. Heturnedtolookbackatthetwooldermensuspiciously. "Theytoldusthis wasyour first timeworking together, andthat you'd probably not betoofond of each other."

"They were right," Ty and Zane both answered,practically in unison.

"Shut up," Ty huffed at him.