Chapter Fourteen

"This is WBAL TV 11 News at 6, and I'm Alicia Harrison. Good evening."

A mugshot of a rather attractive young blonde woman with a neat bob haircut appeared over the reporter's shoulder. "Baltimore FBI Special Agent Lydia Reeves has died at age twenty-seven. Reeves was one of six law enforcement agents injured in the first shopping- complex bomb at the Inner Harbor just over a week ago. After eight days in a coma in the University of Maryland Medical Center ICU, she passed away last night as a result of her injuries. She is survived by her husband."

The video cut to a shot of a somber-looking man in a brown suit. The titles labeled him as FBI Spokesman. "Agent Reeves was a fine example of the FBI and law enforcement," the man said with a flash of bright white teeth. "Her service to the city is to be commended, and she will be greatly missed."

The reporter reappeared. "Reeves is the third death in the as-of- yet unexplained string of bombings terrorizing Baltimore. Police now suspect that a recent, unsuccessful bank robbery may be related to the bombings."

The shot changed to display the Baltimore police chief. "We are pursuing all leads, and the possibility of the perps using divide and conquer tactics won't be ruled out."

"So the recent rash of bank robberies and the bombings might be connected?" the reporter asked.

"We're not ruling anything out at this time," the chief repeated with worn patience. "Contingency plans for emergency response remain in place."

"What do you mean by divide and conquer tactics?"

"It's quite simple," the police chief replied. "By dividing our response, they're hoping to get away with their crimes."

The video returned to the studio shot. "Following this most recent tragedy, local, state, and federal officials announced that every available resource is being diverted to find the source of the bombs."

The FBI spokesman appeared again. "We're doing everything we can to protect all the men, women, and children of Baltimore by stopping this threat. And we won't rest until we do. We owe that to Baltimore, and we owe that to Lydia Reeves."

The final shot of the reporter displayed an American flag flying over her shoulder. "The funeral for fallen FBI agent Lydia Reeves is at noon tomorrow at Green Mount Cemetery. It will be closed to the public."

With a soft grunt of frustration, Zane undid the tie he was trying to knot for the third time and started over. He'd been a little off all morning, but he wasn't surprised he was shaky, shaky enough that he'd simply trimmed up his beard and mustache instead of getting rid of it altogether. Funerals did that to people, even when you weren't close to the deceased. In his case, it resurrected memories he wished would stay buried, memories of another woman's funeral in the unseasonably cold and wet Texas fall. The fact this morning had dawned cool and gloomy, with the potential bite of sleet or snow in the air, definitely didn't help. Lydia Reeves' funeral was in two hours, and it would be a long, uncomfortable, emotional day.

Zane gave up on the tie when he heard a steady knock and walked out of the small bathroom and through the living room. He picked up his Glock from the bookshelf before opening the door. They still didn't know how the note writer had found him.

A Marine stood on the stoop. A white cover with a black brim bearing the golden eagle, globe, and anchor shadowed his eyes. Bright- red piping on the high-necked midnight-blue blouse stood out against clean-shaven skin, and round gold buttons ran down the front seam. A stack of ribbons hung over his heart, and a red patch on each of his arms displayed three gold chevrons and one rocker above two hash marks. He wore pristine white gloves that disappeared into the long jacket sleeves. The jacket extended to hip length, close-fitted and cinched by a spotless white belt with a gold buckle bearing the branch insignia. The trousers' brighter blue, a royal blue, contrasted with a long scarlet stripe down the outside of his legs, and his black shoes showed a high shine.

Zane stared for all he was worth. Ty Grady in dress blues was a glorious sight to behold.

"Damn," Zane said in sincere appreciation.

Ty cocked his head, the barest smirk twitching his lips. "Morning," he offered, his eyes taking in the mangled knot of Zane's tie.

Zane's gaze followed his, and with a huff he yanked the tie off and stepped back, waving Ty inside.

"Need some help?" Ty asked as he stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind himself. He swept the cover off his head and tucked it under one arm, a motion Zane had seen many times before but never appreciated to its fullest until now.

"Apparently," Zane agreed as he shut the door. "But not with this one." He meant to turn to the second bedroom to get another tie, but he couldn't make himself look away just yet. The last time Zane had seen dress blues had been on the groom at his sister's wedding. He knew enough about chevrons and rockers to identify Ty's rank as Staff Sergeant, but he didn't know what any of the impressive stack of ribbons stood for aside from the recognizable Purple Heart ribbon on the top row. Zane reached up to cautiously ghost his fingers over it.

Ty smiled gently, letting him touch. "Flashy, aren't they?" he said wryly. He didn't sound like he was boasting.

"No medals?" Zane asked. He knew most of the ribbons had corresponding medals, though not why servicemen wore one or the other or both.

"They're at home. The ribbons don't clink."

Zane nodded. "Looking sharp, Marine," he complimented with a small smile. "Any rules about getting kissed in uniform?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Ty answered, smiling wider.

Zane chuckled and leaned down to kiss Ty carefully, not wanting to get snagged on the ribbons or buttons. He could feel Ty smiling against his lips, and Ty pulled him closer. Zane hummed in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Ty loosely. The wool of the jacket was smooth under Zane's fingers, the embroidery of the patches less so, but Ty's lips were still warm and soft against his.

"You look pretty good yourself," Ty murmured against his lips.

Zane kissed him again as a thank-you. It was just a nice suit, but one he didn't wear often, being an intense black—so much so it almost picked up a midnight blue or indigo sheen in the right light—and more closely tailored than he preferred for work. He'd chosen a soft gray dress shirt and had been messing with an understated silver tie.

Ty smoothed his hand over Zane's chest and hummed. "I know which one will work." He handed Zane his cover and stepped aside, heading for Zane's bedroom.

Zane spun the cover between his hands as he watched Ty move into the next room. He walked differently, Zane noted. Taller, his shoulders more squared, steps more measured, with a gravity Ty normally shrugged off. It was more than a subtle change, one that oddly seemed to suit him.

Some people were born to be Marines. Ty was one of them. Suddenly it struck Zane as a tragedy that Ty was no longer in the Corps. The hint of melancholy he had noticed in Ty's eyes upon occasion made perfect sense now, and the realization settled unhappily in the pit of Zane's stomach. Ty had been happy in the Marines. He had to miss it.

Ty came back a moment later, holding a narrow black tie with silver squares and charcoal gray lines between them. It was one of Ty's, and the corners of Zane's mouth curled up, because he probably had ten or twelve different ties of his own in the drawer. At least one a month got ruined between work and Ty's lack of patience at the end of a long workday. "Okay," he agreed, holding out one hand.

Ty shook his head, sliding his fingers down the expensive silk of the tie. Ty didn't dress to impress all that often, but when he did, he went for broke. He raised the tie and wrapped it around Zane's neck, looking him in the eye with a smile. "Turn around. I'll tie it."

Zane half rolled his eyes but turned around as instructed, facing the island countertop. He loved it when Ty did this. Ty slid his hands under Zane's arms, having to press hard against his back to reach the tie. His fingers were quick and sure as he tied it, and Zane could feel his nose and chin pressing down against the back of his shoulder. When he had it tied, he stepped back and tugged at Zane to turn, then smoothed the tie out and straightened it. Finally he gave a nod of satisfaction.

"Do I pass inspection?" Zane asked.

"It'll do," Ty answered as he looked Zane up and down. He took his cover from Zane and tucked it back under his arm. "You ready?"

"No," Zane said honestly. "But it's time to go anyway."

Ty patted his cheek sympathetically. The entire department was in mourning, but Zane had been the last person to see Reeves conscious, in the store just before the bomb went off. It had left Zane shaken once he'd remembered.

The funeral was going to be a huge public spectacle: the big Bureau and law enforcement turnout, the irresistible PR opportunity, and—because there was no realistic way to keep the press out— cameras everywhere. Zane was trying not to think too much about the very real possibility of the funeral itself being a target.

"Let's get this over with, then," Ty muttered. His eyes were a deep green, trending toward blue today, and though the uniform seemed to do something spectacular to his bearing, the air around him felt worn thin and stretched. Not for the first time, Zane found himself worrying about Ty's general well-being.

His partner wasn't right, and Zane didn't know what to do to help him.

He turned and headed for the door while Zane shrugged into his heavy woolen coat. Zane double-checked his wallet, badge, phone, and firearm, and followed Ty out.

The gravesite lay beneath a copse of giant oak trees. It would be well shaded in the summer, but for now the bare branches reached up to the heavily clouded sky. Green Mount was a beautiful cemetery of great historical significance, filled with monuments and mausoleums that lent a solemn air to that beauty. Even now, in the dead of winter, the grass was green and wet, shining dully against the uneven paths of gray pavers. Tombstones and statues too numerous to count stood vigil over the graves, marble and weathered rock figures that peopled the cemetery when no other living soul was present.

The pallbearers moved silently into the crowd after carefully setting Lydia Reeves' flag-draped casket just so, and the minister began speaking. Zane noted distantly that the man had a good speaking voice; it carried out over the tidy gravesite to the family under the green awning as well as the crowd standing in small clusters amidst the other headstones and monuments. He estimated at least a hundred present, many from the Bureau, and then assorted friends and family who gathered closer to the family for the service. The press had been surprisingly considerate so far, not approaching the family or any attendees, standing to the side, only a couple of digital video cameras running silently.

The minister didn't speak long. He nodded to a woman standing nearby, she read the twenty-third Psalm, and then the gathered lowered their heads for a final prayer. At the amen, the bagpipes, positioned discreetly to the far side of the crowd, wheezed to life, and Zane couldn't repress a shiver as the player began the traditional "Amazing Grace." Two servicemen in dress uniforms, agents Zane recognized from work, moved to lift and fold the American flag.

Movement from Ty drew Zane's eyes, and when he glanced to his side at Ty, a sudden and unexpected thrill ran through him. Ty had come to attention, body taut in a smart salute. His jaw was tight and his eyes were unreadable, staring ahead from the shadow of his white cover. He stood straight and tall, every ounce of him perfect and rigid, the bright colors and harsh white of his uniform in sharp contrast to the washed-out sepia of the day. Zane didn't think he'd ever seen anything more incredible and heart-wrenching than Ty right then. The bagpipes played on, a soundtrack to the very picture of self-sacrifice and loyalty.

Zane's thoughts inexplicably landed on Elias Sanchez, a man he'd never met, a member of Ty's Marine Recon team who had also joined the Bureau. Sanchez had died in the line of duty, murdered by a fellow agent turned serial killer. Sanchez would have had a funeral like this, with the honor guard and the gun salute, with men and women in pristine uniforms standing in silent respect for the dead. As Ty stood now. How many times had Ty done this, said goodbye to a fallen comrade in that uniform?

Zane dropped his gaze, giving his partner what modicum of privacy was possible. He didn't need to continue staring. The sight would be forever burned in his memory.

He blinked when movement from his far right caught his attention. He'd been without his sight long enough that he was still overreacting to quick, unexpected movements. This was out of place, hurried, and he turned his chin to look.

A young man, late teens, Zane suspected, with messily styled blond hair, was pushing his way through the crowd, obviously searching for someone in particular. The music covered any noise he was making. The kid stopped to speak to a woman, who looked around, made eye contact with Zane, and pointed right at him. Zane blinked as the kid made a beeline for him. He was fairly sure he'd never seen the young man before.

Zane was aware of a change in Ty, as if he'd sensed Zane's attention, but he didn't move, still saluting the flag as it was folded. Zane glanced at him, then watched the kid fumble toward them.

He walked right up to Zane like he knew him. Zane had to lean over a little to hear him over the bagpipes and the people who had started singing. "You have to get everyone out of here. Pierce is crazy," the kid said, practically hyperventilating, "and he's coming with a bomb."

Zane stared at him hard for a few heartbeats, then turned to see if Ty had heard. Ty met his eyes, hand dropping as if in slow motion, body already tensing and gears already turning—he was trying to decide the best way to sound the alarm without causing a mass panic, and Zane wasn't sure it would be possible.

"Do you know where he is?" Zane asked the boy. If this kid knew Zane and had a connection to Pierce, the chance of this being legit was way too high.

"No, I got out just before him. I couldn't let him do it." The kid looked about to break into tears. "But I couldn't stop him. I was afraid." Zane grasped his shoulder for a moment before turning to Ty.

"The families?" Zane bit off, noting that the agents gathered around them had focused on the disturbance.

Ty turned and whispered to the man beside him, then moved to speak to another, trying to get word around quickly. Then a commotion broke out on the other side of the crowd.

"It's him," the kid said, pointing, voice high with terror.

With his height, Zane saw over crowds better than most, and he zeroed in on a person pushing through the civilians gathered by the family under the awning. Zane didn't wait.

"Bomb! Down!" he yelled harshly, trying to shove through the crowd while pulling his Glock and focusing on the young man he recognized as Pierce Sutton.

His words were met with complete stasis. For crucial seconds, no one moved. No one seemed to comprehend. Then time kicked into fast forward, and the panic and comprehension crashed through the crowd on a wave as agents pulled their weapons and people hit the ground.

Zane stopped and raised his gun. Pierce bulled his way toward the casket, clambered up on the side rail to snatch the tightly folded American flag in one hand, and he waved it around, his face twisted into a snarl, before throwing it to the ground and jumping off the casket to land on it with two booted feet.

"Son of a bitch!" Ty growled from beside Zane.

Zane saw his chance as Pierce deliberately reached into his trenchcoat: the civilians had cleared out, the minister ducked behind a nearby oak tree, and he had a few seconds for a clear shot.

He wasn't the only one who took it.

A volley of bullets tore into Pierce Sutton before he could utter a word, sending his body jerking like a puppet on slashed strings to the ground.

Time slowed. Silence reigned again. Several heartbeats, and then the frozen tableau broke. Civilians milled about in confusion, and Bureau agents fanned out and around the gravesite, checking for further threats as the family gathered together, most of them sobbing angrily.

As another agent needlessly checked for a pulse, Zane stopped to stand next to the body of the young man who had masterminded bank robberies amounting to hundreds of thousands of dollars in losses, deliberately promoted ill will and hatred in the city, and caused tens of millions of dollars in damages and destroyed property in four separate bombings that had also resulted in scores of injuries and three deaths.

When Lydia Reeves had died, Pierce Sutton had become a dead man walking.

Zane holstered his gun as people started drifting closer. The cacophony that utterly destroyed the quiet peace of the cemetery was giving him a headache. He'd noticed that being blind had by necessity sharpened his hearing, and now he was paying for it. Children sobbing, raised and nervous voices chattering, law enforcement vehicles arriving with sirens on, Bureau agents yelling out perimeter checks, and to top it off, an unexpected boom of thunder echoing from the roiling clouds overhead.

Ty stopped beside him, then bent down to pluck the flag from under the dead kid's foot.

"Crime scene, Grady," someone reminded breathlessly.

"Don't care," Ty shot back as he saved the flag.

Zane was pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the pain, when he heard a nagging sound that didn't fit. Frowning, he looked around for a cart or machine nearby. He wasn't wearing a watch. But he could just barely hear a measured clicking.

Zane's chest seized, and he looked down at the body as Ty rescued the flag. A flash of metal mostly covered by the trenchcoat caught his eye, and a streak of pure fear burned through him as he saw a wireless timing mechanism with a tiny red blinking light in Pierce's lifeless hand.

Ticking. Zane could hear ticking.

He dropped to one knee, yanked at the coat to uncover the hand holding the timer, then hurriedly patted down the trench until his fingers hit something hard, a bulge at the waistband. He jerked the thick sweatshirt up. For once, Zane didn't stop to consider his options or think through scenarios or figure the percentages.

He grabbed the ticking bomb, yanking it from its duct tape, and ran.

People and tombstones alike created an obstacle course as Zane tried to get away from the gravesite, weaving through the gathered, shoving some aside, almost ramming into a monument taller and wider than he was as he dodged a small child. There, maybe thirty yards away, stood an ancient mausoleum, its stone walls heavy and thick, hopefully enough to contain the blast from the welded and duct tape- wrapped box he clutched against his chest. Finally he broke free of the crowd and, distantly aware of people calling after him, charged the mausoleum doors, ramming into one with his shoulder. He practically slid inside on the pavers smoothed by almost two centuries of foot traffic.

Zane didn't know how much time he had. But as he ran through the deeply shadowed building, past marble crypts and statues, he spared a prayer of thanks that he had at least gotten away from the families and children.

He skidded to a stop and turned into a small room at the back of the mausoleum. Without any traction, he thudded painfully into a wall, but he shoved the box behind the last stone coffin and turned on his heel, his heart thundering in his ears as he slung himself through the doorway and ran.

The dim gray light seeping in from the front doors beckoned to him, and he was a few rooms away—a bare thirty yards—when a shadow rammed into him from the side, sending him sprawling painfully hard into a marble sarcophagus and down to the floor.

Ty grunted his name and held up the flashing red device, then began dragging Zane by his collar across the smooth stone floor until they huddled behind a substantial stone vault. Ty shook against him, adrenaline obviously fueling him, and he held the flashing thing up again.

0:01.

0:00.

Zane covered his head and Ty's as the explosion echoed through the mausoleum. It wasn't a loud, crashing cacophony. It was more a thud deep in their chests and a rush of fetid air from the depths of the mausoleum. The air reverberated with the blast; then all was silent.

Ty raised his head and looked around. "That wasn't so bad," he gasped out.

A deep rumbling answered his words. From the back of the mausoleum came another rush of air, and all around them, the structure trembled and groaned. A stone lintel crashed to the floor, followed by another. Then another.

Zane grabbed Ty's arm and pulled him down again, covering their heads as the collapse sent broken stone flying and blew out the archways, showering them with a hard rain of driving sand and jagged chunks of marble. The light was snuffed out as the ancient building foundered and collapsed around them.

Ty kept his eyes closed for a long time after the deafening roar of collapsing stone had ended. It was stiflingly silent, the only sounds being Zane's harsh breaths and the occasional shift and trickle of rocks.

Ty opened his eyes and lifted his head. He'd expected pitch black, or at least a pretty angel with a harp telling him he was in the wrong place. But there was light coming from somewhere, and the stone vault they'd hidden behind had provided some reprieve from the fallen stone walls that hemmed them in. He looked down at his partner.

"You okay?"

Zane groaned and pushed himself up, but there wasn't much room for him to move. Part of a stone wall had fallen right next to him, shifted to the side by the vault that sheltered them. Otherwise Zane might have been under that wall. "Yeah, I think so."

Ty jabbed him hard in the stomach, unable to put any more force behind it due to the confined space. "Stupid jackass!"

Zane yelped, hissed in pain, and swatted at his hand. "What the hell?"

"Exactly, what the hell! You see a ticking bomb, so your first instinct is grab it and fucking run?" A miniature avalanche of pebbles and rocky debris slid down the shelf of stone above them.

"It was me run or try to get a hundred people to run," Zane bit off as he held up a hand to protect his face. There was already a thin dark line of blood wending down his cheek from a cut below his eye.

Ty continued to mutter and curse under his breath, trying to move his body off Zane's in the tight space. "You're a dick, you know that? Scared the shit out of me. Made me run. Got me dirty. I lost my cover! Now I'm trapped in a crypt with a dumbass."

"I'm sorry," Zane muttered. He even sounded sincere.

Ty could only manage to slide off him and sit in the rubble next to him, legs drawn up against his chest. He had to hunch his shoulders and duck his head. He could still hear the rock shifting and groaning ominously as it settled. One thing was obvious: Zane never would have made it out alive if he'd still been running for the door. The entire structure had collapsed in on itself, save for the areas where stone slabs from the ceilings and walls had fallen against the stone sarcophagi in the corners.

"Fuck, Garrett."

"Maybe later."

Ty looked around at the heavy stone bearing down on them both. He swallowed hard as he recognized a cold panic beginning to form in his gut. The stone was too close, too thick. "Might be our last chance," he replied, trying to sound wry but falling flat.

Zane shifted, turning enough to put his back to the fallen wall so he faced Ty. "We'll get out of here. Too many people saw me—us— run in for them not to dig us out."

Ty shook his head as he peered at Zane in the dim light. He could just make out Zane's outline, and he was only three feet away. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking... get the bomb away from the kids."

Ty sighed heavily. He couldn't bitch at Zane for that. He could feel the stone brushing the top of his head as he sat, and he could only just stretch his legs out in front of him. If he turned the other way, he could lie flat, which didn't go a long way toward calming him. He could feel the stone looming overhead, feel the press of the darkness and the swell of burgeoning panic. His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, and his fingers still trembled from the adrenaline of his headlong flight across the cemetery after his partner.

He'd watched Zane take off, understanding taking a few seconds to settle in, and he'd grabbed the device from the dead kid's hand, recognizing it for what it was. It was counting down the seconds until that bomb went off. Then he'd run after his stupid fucking partner so he could save his sorry ass before he got blown up. Again.

"Well. What now?"

Zane dug into his jacket pocket, pulled out his cell phone, then cursed under his breath. "Screen's busted. Maybe if we—"

Without warning, the stone groaned again, and Ty pushed himself back against the shelter of the vault as another wall fell toward them and shattered, sending stone fragments cascading across them. Ty heard a last, loud crunch, and when he carefully opened his eyes, it was to complete darkness.

"Oh God," Ty groaned. The panic began to billow. He couldn't take enclosed spaces. He just couldn't do it. The air in their little pocket of space was growing warmer.

"Ty." Zane's low voice was followed by the touch of his hand and a firm tug that shifted Ty closer to his partner, and after another tug, Zane pulled Ty practically onto his lap and against his chest, then wrapped his arms around him securely. "I've got you, baby. I'm here."

Ty struggled against the cuddling. "Quit touching me, Zane," he hissed stubbornly.

"Stop it," Zane said firmly, though his arms loosened enough to led Ty slide down. "Stop it and close your eyes. Listen to my voice."

Ty put both hands over his face and rested his head in Zane's lap. His breaths were shallow and erratic against his hands. "I should have just let you get squished."

"You'd never do that, baby, and we both know it." Zane's hand settled on Ty's head, stroking gently. "Who else would pun you to death?"

"At least I'd finally be taller than you."

"I thought you liked me being taller than you."

Ty tried to answer, but the thought of being tall enough to brush his head on the ceiling while sitting made his stomach turn, and he managed only a ragged breath. The panic was sharp and overwhelming, filling his limbs with a tingling sensation as his gut churned.

"Ty." Zane's voice sharpened. "Stay with me. Come on. Talk."

"Shut up. If I could go anywhere, I'd leave you here in a heartbeat," Ty managed to strangle out. He reached up, horrified when his fingertips brushed cold stone. He'd been trapped in small dark places before, which was why he had such a negative reaction to them now. But the very real knowledge that the walls were closing in, literally and not just in his mind, made him want to cry.

All the while, Zane's fingers carded gently through his hair. "I know what it's like to be totally in the dark," he said, his voice calm. "But I wouldn't go anywhere even if I could. I'd rather be here with you than somewhere else alone."

Ty reached up and gripped his hand, trying to grasp a thread to keep him from truly panicking. He would hurt them both if he lost control. Zane's fingers curled around his in a firm grip.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked Zane, voice low and threadbare.

"Yeah."

"You ever get gut feelings? Like you see something and you just know?" Ty asked, feeling stupid but not caring. He felt Zane squeeze his hand. "First time I saw you, after I got over hating you, I knew... I knew we'd die together. I could just feel it deep down. Never felt that before."

Zane exhaled heavily. "Not today. And not tomorrow. And not for a long time to come, Ty Grady. You hear me? A hell of a long time."

Ty nodded jerkily. "Do me a favor?" He reached out and grabbed at Zane's other hand in the pitch black. He shoved it upward, trying to get Zane to raise his arm. "Hold up the ceiling, okay?"

Zane let Ty move his hand to touch the stone, which inexplicably made Ty feel a modicum better, but he kept his other linked with Ty's. Several heartbeats of quiet passed before Zane spoke. "First time I saw you, after I got over hating you, I knew," he said, echoing Ty's words, "I knew I'd fall in love with you."

Ty shivered all over, torn between the comforting warmth of Zane's words and the cold terror of impending crush injuries. He couldn't get in any air to speak.

"I laughed at myself," Zane continued, a hint of pleading in his voice, "and then I denied it, and then I did everything I could to prove myself wrong, but it didn't work."

"I know, Zane," Ty whispered, though he had to admit the words brought a certain level of relief he hadn't realized he'd needed.

"Ty." Zane's even, soothing tones finally broke on the short gasp of his name. "I love you and I'm scared I'll lose you. Please don't leave me alone in the dark."

Ty closed his eyes, trying to push back the weight of the tons and tons of stone that sat precariously above them. He smiled weakly with Zane's words. "Now was that really so hard to say?" he tried to tease, but it came out sounding desperate.

"Yes?" Zane answered, forlorn. "Jesus, Ty, come here, please."

Just the thought of moving made Ty begin to tremble. He squeezed his eyes closed, gritted his teeth. He reached blindly for Zane, his hand glancing off Zane's shoulder, and Zane did the rest, moving close enough to embrace him in the tight space.

Zane lifted one hand to cup Ty's face. "Do you have any idea how brave you are?" he asked, the sounds ragged and perhaps even a little choked.

"Tell me when I'm not about to freak out, okay?" Ty requested hollowly. The trembles skittered through his body and into Zane's.

"Tell me about the ribbons," Zane requested abruptly, his voice again calm and soothing.

Ty knew what he was doing, trying to take Ty's mind off their impending doom any way he could. He shook his head. "The two on top are the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart," he started breathlessly.

"Bronze Star?" Zane repeated, sounding surprised.

"The country's fourth highest medal," Ty rattled off desperately, trying to find distraction from the realization that he couldn't breathe. He was about to have a full-fledged panic attack. "Awarded to any person who, while serving in any capacity with the Armed Forces of the United States, distinguishes him or herself by heroic or meritorious achievement or service while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States, in military operations involving conflict with an opposing foreign force, or while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in an armed conflict against an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party."

"Damn, Ty, are you reciting military guidelines?" Zane asked, sounding both impressed and horrified.

"Yes, shut up. It's helping. Accomplishment or performance of duty above that normally expected, and sufficient to distinguish the individual among those performing comparable duties is required."

Zane snorted softly. "What'd you do to earn it?"

Ty breathed in deeply, the air shuddering out of him just as quickly. "I killed a whole lot of people."

Zane was silent for a moment, then shifted against Ty to hold him more securely. "Tell me about the rest."

Ty shook his head and strained his eyes to find light. When he could make out nothing in the blackness, he reached up for the ceiling. If Zane wouldn't hold it up, maybe he could.

He touched the cold stone, and he felt Zane raise his arms to help.

"I'll hold up my end, if you'll hold up yours," Zane said.

"Don't humor me, Garrett. Just hold up the ceiling for me, okay?" Ty snapped, but he was laughing at his own words.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Zane said smartly.

A deep rumble and a shiver in the stones interrupted Ty's stinging retort, and Zane grabbed him and yanked him down, covering his head as the stones started to shift and fall again. The shrieking of the rock shearing filled Ty's ears, and just as he thought his heart might stop, just as everything around them shook violently, several large stones behind Zane toppled in the opposite direction, giving them a little more room and letting in shockingly bright dull-gray light.

Ty stared at the shaft of light as if he could actually use it to pull them out of hell. His arms tightened around Zane, fingers digging in reflexively as he fought down the stark terror. It wasn't something he could really control; it was ingrained in him to fear the darkness and spaces that closed in when he couldn't see. Even this hint of light and Zane's arms around him couldn't fight back the impending panic attack for much longer. He was surprised he'd staved it off for this long. He firmly believed it was Zane's doing, him saying the right things at the right time.

Another stone fell away, then another, and as the hole got bigger, Zane literally dragged Ty over his lap and shoved him toward the opening. Voices started to echo around them, their names bouncing off the stone as people called.

Ty crouched at the narrow opening, trying to fight through the haze of panic to judge if he could make it through. He didn't think he could, and forcing the wrong stone to shift could bring the whole thing down. He didn't try it, instead calling out to the rescuers and sliding back into the darkness to sit with Zane. His hand trembled, but he reached for Zane's and gripped it hard anyway as he met his lover's eyes. "You asked me not to leave you alone in the dark."

Zane didn't reply, but he pulled Ty's hand close and pressed his lips gently to Ty's knuckles.

"You two look like shit."

Zane stopped on the threshold to Dan McCoy's office and scowled as Ty pushed past him. "Worse than that," Zane disagreed. His headache still raged, his eyes still felt swollen and full of the rock particle dust that had been kicked up into his face numerous times, and he could just feel the bruises coming up all over.

Better than the alternative.

"You okay?" McCoy asked, looking back and forth between the two partners.

Zane still wore his ruined suit, now almost gray from the sand and stone ground into the fabric and boasting a few split seams, and several red scrapes scored one side of his face. Ty's dress blues had suffered as well, but Ty had insisted on changing immediately, even when that meant into the spare running shorts and T-shirt stuffed in his locker downstairs. It was a scarlet-red T-shirt, with a dancing rock, a quivering piece of paper, and an awkward pair of scissors standing in a rough circle, all with guns in both hands and aiming at each other.

Despite their ordeal, Ty had managed to come out looking like an action hero at the end of the movie, hair perfectly mussed, a delicate smudge on one cheek, the appropriate amount of dirt to make him look rugged instead of a wreck. Zane sort of wanted to hate him.

"You ever been buried under several metric tons of stone, Mac? Well, I have. Three times now!" Ty snapped as he eased himself into one of the chairs in front of McCoy's desk.

McCoy frowned but didn't take the bait, for which Zane was grateful. If they could get through this, he and Ty could get out of here.

"All right, Garrett, you sit too. You did your debriefs, so you know we found your truck intact. We'll get it back to you in a few days. Go ahead and check out a car for the rest of the week. You can drive your partner around, since his truck is toast."

"About that—"

"It's being filed with Bureau insurance as a work-related personal property casualty," McCoy said, talking right over Ty. "I'm sure there will be all kinds of paperwork for you."

Ty grimaced but didn't say anything. Zane figured he was still grieving for the valiant Bronco.

"I'll be reviewing all the intel later this week as we deconstruct the case," McCoy announced as he handed each of them a file folder. "But in the meantime, I thought you'd at least like a few answers.

"His name was Walter Pierson Sutton, son of Clarence and Mitzi Sutton," McCoy began. "Father's a doctor; mother's in interior design."

"Upper crust, huh?" Ty muttered distractedly as he licked his thumb and scrubbed at a spot on his arm, checking to see if it was a bruise or dirt.

"The Suttons live in Roland Park, lots of money flowing. Pierce attended the Gilman School." He paused to check for comprehension. Zane was still new to Baltimore and shrugged.

"More-money-than-sense type of place, patches on the uniform, schoolgirl socks," Ty said tiredly.

"It's a boys-only school," McCoy specified. Ty shrugged as if that didn't matter.

"That's where Sutton met Ross Tanger and, through Gilman's elective program, Hannah Myles at Bryn Mawr School and Graham Lewis at Mount Saint Joseph," McCoy explained.

"So they basically all went to school together. White-bread kids with access to money and nothing to do," Zane concluded.

"On the nose," McCoy said with a nod. "The Suttons gave that kid anything and everything he wanted. The other kids had reasons for wanting money that didn't come from Mommy and Daddy. Not good ones, but reasons nonetheless: oppressive stepmother, forced responsibilities, boredom."

"So what went wrong?" Zane asked, turning the pages in the file as he skimmed.

"There's no way to really know what set him off," McCoy said, sounding frustrated as he leaned back in his chair and dragged both hands through his thinning hair. "What we've been able to discover so far is he had a recent fascination with anti-authoritarianism, anarchy, and misplaced social rebellion. The principal at Gilman said he had a terrible attitude with authority figures. And although he didn't have to work, Pierce drifted through several jobs at places in the Inner Harbor—including the aquarium—over the course of the past two years."

"Doing recon," Ty said, almost under his breath. The false alarm at the aquarium suddenly made sense.

McCoy nodded soberly. "Now we can see it as groundwork laid. We've got a warrant to get at his personal effects, computer, and phone, but now that he's out of the picture..." He shrugged. The case was closed. More research would be academic.

"He was an angry kid who just... decided to kill people," Zane said, having a hard time believing it could happen even though it had come within mere seconds of killing him.

"The banks weren't the goal. They were the diversion," Ty murmured sadly.

"This was one pissed-off young man," McCoy said. His exhaustion was clear in the deep lines and shadows on his face. "Initial profile says that by Sutton's reckoning, the world needed to crash and burn and be rebuilt. And the other kids have told interrogators that he zeroed in on Grady after the aquarium. Called you his white whale."

"That . . . makes no sense," Ty muttered.

"He's talking about Moby Dick," Zane said.

"I know what it means, Garrett!" Ty snapped.

Zane shrugged and looked at his partner askance, but he didn't pick up the looming argument. He closed the file and let it fall to his lap, then reached up to rub the back of his neck as it twinged painfully.

"What about the others?" Ty asked abruptly. Zane suspected he wanted to know about Hannah Myles.

"It's clear from interviews with the other three kids that Sutton became increasingly unstable over the past year. Erratic, angry, hateful, but at the same time extravagant and wild. They didn't want him to take his temper out on them, so they went along with his plans," McCoy concluded.

"What's the US District Attorney going to do?" Zane asked quietly, thinking about the sheer terror on Graham's face.

"They'll likely go with our recommendations," McCoy said. "Probably extended time in a minimum-security jail for Ross Tanger, assignment to a low-security women's facility for Hannah Myles, and possibly just probation for Graham Lewis, considering his choice to turn Sutton in and the fact he wasn't personally involved in any robberies."

"So it's over," Zane said slowly.

McCoy raised one shoulder. "For now. This time."

"I'm going to go get drunk," Ty stated, pushing himself up out of his chair.

Zane stood as well, tapping the file folder on his other palm. "You coming to the wake, Mac?"

"I'll drop by," McCoy said. "At least make an appearance and then bow out so the real drinking can begin. You two go on. And you, Garrett, have a drink yourself. That was a dumbshit thing to do, but you're the hero of the hour."

"Yeah, he's a real fucking hero," Ty grumbled as he walked out of the office, but Zane could hear the undertone of pride in his voice.

Then Zane grimaced. "I'm going to be on TV again, aren't I," he said, dread building.

"Running for the end zone," McCoy confirmed. "We're going to have a talk about your newfound popularity next week. But for now, go on. Get out of here. I'll see you two later."

"I've got Garrett's first drink," Perrimore announced as Zane walked into the pub the Bureau had taken over for the night. "He's damn well earned it." Applause broke out, and Zane felt his cheeks heat—he was glad he'd decided not to shave off the beard. He hadn't planned to be a hero.

"He's also our DD, so make it a Coke," Clancy answered as she pulled Zane by the elbow around some tables to join the rest of the crew.

"Hell, I'll buy whatever drinks Garrett wants all night if it means I don't have to drive home," Alston said, toasting Zane with his bottle of beer.

Zane shrugged out of his jacket and sat down next to Lassiter, who bumped their shoulders together companionably.

"Good one, Zane," Lassiter said seriously, holding out his hand.

"Thanks, Harry," Zane replied as he shook it.

"Where's your partner, Garrett?" Alston asked.

"Went home to change," Zane said, frowning a little. "I figured he'd beat me here. He was more than ready for a drink after this afternoon."

"Amen to that," Perrimore added as he set a tall glass bottle of Coke in front of Zane.

Zane smiled his thanks. "They practically had to cuff him to a chair to keep him still long enough to debrief."

Everyone who had ever tried to keep Ty focused on something in the office for more than an hour laughed, and the table dissolved into meaningless chatter. They talked about work, mostly, because to a group of FBI agents, there wasn't much else, and because they'd all worked with Lydia Reeves in some way. But they also talked about softball, their kids, their spouses, their exes, the Ravens winning and the Orioles losing, about the weird smell that had been emanating from the third-floor supply room for a week now, and anything else that would fill the companionable silence.

They were on their second round when Alston sat up straighter and waved at someone who'd just come into the crowded bar. When Zane turned, he saw Ty making his way through the standing-room- only floor toward them. Ty smiled and nodded as he pardoned his way past people, sliding his hand down one woman's arm as he squeezed by her, patting someone on the shoulder and smiling like he knew the guy as he slipped past.

He waved two fingers at the bartender he probably did know very well, since they were just a block or two from his house, and he stepped up to the table to put his arms around Alston and Clancy.

"What'd I miss?"

"You're two rounds behind, Grady," Alston announced.

"What took you so long?" Clancy asked practically on top of Alston's words. "And why didn't you keep the uniform on?"

Zane just watched his partner, again feeling the rush of thankfulness for being able to see. Ty was, as the cliché went, a sight for sore eyes, and Zane wished they were anywhere but a bar crowded with their friends and co-workers. He swallowed hard, feeling his pulse pick up as the same thoughts that had been racing in circles in his head the past few hours started right back up again.

He'd told Ty that he loved him, no ifs, ands, or buts. There was no going back now, and Zane wouldn't if he had the chance. But damn, they had to call some kind of moratorium on important declarations during life-threatening situations.

Ty gave them all his trademark crooked grin, either oblivious to Zane's gaze on him or ignoring it like he often did when they were together in a crowd. "I had to change and take everything to the cleaners before the burnt smell settled in," Ty told them just as the bartender called out his name.

Ty turned and stretched across the bar to take the two beers he'd ordered. He stood right there at the bar and gulped down one bottle as the others heckled him. He slammed the empty on the bar, nodded to the girl cheekily, and then brought his other bottle to the table with him. He sat on the edge of Clancy's stool, the two of them using each other as backrests. Ty's knee brushed Zane's as he settled in, and when Zane caught himself watching his partner, he was glad it was fairly dark in the pub's interior but for the colored light of the beer signs and the several LCD TVs mounted on the walls.

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.