Chapter Two

It took skill to juggle a small duffel bag, a suit jacket, a large sack of hot food, and a key, especially when standing on a small concrete stoop. But Zane succeeded and pushed the door open with his foot.

"No friendly fire, please," he called out as he crossed the threshold.

The main floor was silent and somewhat dark. Only one light was on downstairs, in the kitchen at the back of Ty's row house. Light streamed down from the upstairs, though, and Zane could hear Ty up there, talking with someone.

"Hold on!" Ty shouted. Then his voice dropped back to a low murmur.

Zane kicked the door shut behind him and flipped on a light switch with his elbow. He walked through the narrow living room and tiny dining area beside the stairs to the kitchen bar, where he dropped his burdens. Hot food on the counter, bag next to it by the wall, suit jacket on the back of a chair, keys in a pocket. Wondering idly who Ty was talking to, Zane moved around the bar into the kitchen to pull plates and glasses out of the cabinet.

He heard Ty's heavy footsteps on the stairs behind him. Not a good sign. The only time he could ever hear Ty moving was when Ty sulked and threw his weight around. Otherwise, Ty was scarily silent.

"No, that'll be just fine," Ty was saying as he came down the stairs, his voice a slightly more professional one than he normally utilized on the phone. "Thank you, sir, we'll be in touch," he said quickly. Then he snapped his phone shut as he reached the bottom step. He spread his arms wide and gave Zane an incredulous look. "What, no blinking neon sex sign to alert the neighbors? Incriminating videos to send to my mother?"

Zane glanced at him sideways as he pulled toasted deli sandwiches and sides out of the bag. "You've gotten caught doing a hell of a lot worse than getting a text message in a meeting," he answered mildly.

"I'll have to stop calling you Lone Star out loud," Ty grumbled as he tossed his phone over his shoulder into the living room. It landed on the couch with a single bounce. "What's for dinner?"

Zane didn't try to hide his smile. Ty sulking could be pretty entertaining if you didn't let him lay a guilt trip on you. "Italian subs. I promised you salami."

"Are they hot?" Ty asked as he rounded the counter and came up to stand beside Zane, pulling the bag of food toward him.

"Yes, dear," Zane placated. "I had them double wrap them in foil."

Ty reached out sideways, throwing his arm against Zane's chest and grabbing him by the shirt front. He shoved him backward until Zane hit the refrigerator, then held him pinned there with his forearm as a dozen or so glass bottles within the refrigerator clanked together noisily.

"So they'll stay warm for a while," Ty said, close enough to Zane that his words were breaths against Zane's lips.

For a wild few seconds, Zane could hardly believe he'd let Ty catch him off guard. Then he caught Ty's familiar scent and the heat of his skin, and the lust that had simmered since the showers that morning started perking toward a boil. "Yeah," he whispered, pulse thrumming as he set his hands at Ty's hips.

The pressure of Ty's arm lessened as he moved his hand across Zane's chest, sliding his palm instead against the side of Zane's neck and gripping him tightly as he kissed him.

It was easy to sag against Ty to try to get closer. Zane wanted those kisses, and he wanted Ty to manhandle him. As incredibly seductive as Ty had been during the undercover case that had ended a couple of weeks ago, playing at being an outwardly docile trophy husband on a cruise ship and taking a devoted ride on the submissive side, Zane couldn't help but crave having Ty take control. It was fucking hot, and Ty did it so well. He moaned into Ty's mouth just thinking about it.

This was why he'd needled Ty all afternoon. It worked almost every time: get Ty just a little annoyed with him and plant a few suggestive comments to give him an outlet.

Ty was still kissing him when he reached up to pull at the knot of Zane's tie. "I can't believe you didn't even crack a smile," he mumbled against Zane's lips. "Babooms, man. That shit's funny."

Zane let out a breathless laugh. "Years of practice," he muttered as he chased Ty's lips with his own.

Ty roughly yanked the tie off, tossing it over his shoulder, then reached for Zane's dress shirt. "You've been practicing the wrong things," he growled as he pulled hard. Zane heard material rip, and several buttons went flying. Ty didn't seem to care. And it just made Zane's pants fit tighter.

"What should I be practicing?" he goaded as he leaned to nip at Ty's earlobe.

Ty shoved him back against the appliance, and the contents rocked inside it again. Something toppled over and clattered.

Then Ty yanked him forward again, into the narrow kitchen. He hooked his foot behind Zane's leg and practically tackled him, sending them both to the floor. Ty used his weight to pin Zane to the bare hardwood as Zane gasped for air. He had Zane's wrists in his hands and was kissing him again, right there in the middle of the floor, and Zane could only whisper Ty's name whenever their lips parted.

Zane's fingers splayed as Ty held his wrists against whatever force Zane tried to bring to bear, but he was well and truly caught. He whimpered against Ty's lips, wordlessly begging for more as he pushed his hips against his lover's.

He could tell Ty'd had a plan when he'd started this, perhaps one devised to torture Zane just a little—well, hell, maybe a lot—at first. But now Ty seemed to have lost the more controlled feeling to him. He loosened his hands from around Zane's wrists and moved one to Zane's body to push the remains of his shirt aside and dip under his belt, sliding his rough fingers against Zane's sensitive skin. Zane groaned happily and shifted under Ty's touch, and he reached for his belt buckle to loosen it.

Ty pushed up to give both their hands room to move, helping him with the belt as he continued to hold Zane's other wrist against the ground.

"Fuck, Zane," he grumbled, finally letting Zane's other hand go and pushing himself to kneel over Zane's thighs. "Why are you always wearing so many clothes?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Zane muttered as he unfastened his pants and folded over the placket. "Am I supposed to strip down anytime I walk in now?" he asked as he sat up enough to pull the ruined dress shirt and thin undershirt over his head and toss them aside. "Or maybe I'm just waiting for you to tell me what to do about it," he prodded as he leaned back on his elbows, hoping it would push Ty back into action. Zane was hard and visibly straining his briefs. Ty in charge did that to him really damn quickly.

"With your track record, you'll come in playing strippergram and I'll be in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner or something," Ty grumbled. He leaned closer to Zane, putting his hands on the floor beside Zane's hips. "Shut up," he added almost as an afterthought, his lips moving just inches away from Zane's. He was on his hands and knees again, still fully clothed even after bitching about Zane's unsatisfactory state of undress, and he looked down at Zane with narrowed eyes.

Zane looked at him innocently. "What? Do I have to come up with some more puns?"

"You really have no concept of how close you are to not getting fucked, do you?" Ty asked darkly. Zane shut his mouth and watched Ty closely for clues. He didn't think he'd pushed too much, but he could have miscalculated. "That's what I thought," Ty growled before roughly kissing Zane again, forcing him flat on the floor, actually sliding him on the hardwood with the force and barely giving him the chance to breathe as he practically devoured him.

Something inside Zane gave a pitifully grateful cry of thanks as he collapsed under Ty's weight, not even caring that his shoulders and skull hit the floor hard. He was dizzy already, and all his nerve endings sparked whenever Ty touched him.

Zane craved this. He needed it, like he needed air.

His reaction only spurred Ty on. Rough hands roamed over Zane's body. Hips ground down against him. Teeth scraped against Zane's lips and tongue and cheek and chin and neck. The day's worth of stubble on Ty's face was almost painful against Zane's skin, but Ty so rarely did this to him that Zane wasn't about to object. He wanted to be overwhelmed; it was a hell of a ride when Ty got it in his head to really drive them to another level.

Zane shuddered as it occurred to him that it really didn't seem like just sex anymore. It was more, more passionate, more emotional, more energizing, more draining... at that moment, he wasn't sure it had ever been just sex between them. He knew Ty loved him, and sometimes he could feel how badly Ty wanted him. Zane moaned and clutched at Ty. "Please," he breathed.

Ty pushed away from him and quickly yanked his T-shirt over his head, revealing the impressive display of muscles Zane had become so familiar with. He tossed the shirt aside as he laid himself back out over Zane and kissed him hungrily, their bare skin catching and pulling as Ty moved.

Zane wrapped his arms around Ty, dragging his fingers down along his spine before spreading his hands and pressing them flat to slide them into the back of Ty's sweatpants. Ty's hand found its way into Zane's hair, one of Ty's favorite handles when he wanted Zane to stay where he put him. His tongue lapped at Zane's, the kiss forceful and overpowering as Zane felt Ty's muscles tense and flex against him. Feeling that remarkable, unbridled power against his body sent another shudder of need through him, and he felt almost smothered by the heat of it.

It was absolute heaven.

"I meant to at least get us up the stairs," Ty gasped with what was probably supposed to be sincerity as he used one hand to push at the sweatpants he wore.

"Fuck me here," Zane begged hoarsely.

Ty's sigh came out harsh. He was obviously arrested by the idea for a brief moment because he stopped moving. Then he bit at Zane's lower lip, licking at it and delving into another breathless kiss. Zane could feel how hard Ty was as he rocked their hips together, could feel the arousal and need coursing through Ty's tense body, like every ounce of him was coiled.

Zane wanted to feel that inside him so badly he could barely stay still. It was like this more and more often, feeling like he just couldn't breathe without Ty.

Ty yanked his head away suddenly, as if he'd just heard Zane's thoughts and was offended by them. "Get up," he practically snarled.

Zane gasped for breath and reached out for help. Ty was pushing himself up almost immediately, and he reached down to grip Zane's forearm and haul him to his feet. He pulled Zane to him and kissed him brutally as he used one hand to push Zane's pants down over his hips. Zane moaned happily against Ty's mouth as he toed out of his shoes and kicked his pants off while sliding a hand up to cup Ty's face to encourage him. He had the distant thought that he'd done an awesome job of planning this for a Friday. He was going to be scratched, bruised, and whisker-burned tomorrow.

Zane didn't give a shit. He tried to pull Ty closer as he gave under the onslaught of Ty's mouth.

Ty pushed him back until Zane hit the countertop, and he didn't stop, levering Zane off his feet as he insinuated himself between Zane's legs. Zane let Ty maneuver him, more interested in groping all the overheated skin and keeping Ty touching him than personal safety. He trusted Ty to keep him from falling. He turned his head and chin, angling for another kiss. He could feel his lips throbbing, already swollen from Ty's ravaging kisses. It was intense and consuming, and Zane was hard-pressed to even remember where they were until Ty swept one hand out on the counter next to them, knocking everything there to the floor in a clatter of knickknacks, junk mail, silverware, and sandwiches. He boosted Zane up to sit on the bar, and Zane wrapped his long legs around Ty's hips and shifted back on his elbows as Ty leaned over him. Ty seemed to have every intention of climbing onto the counter after him and fucking him senseless, but instead he jerked his head up suddenly from the trail of licks and bites he'd been working on making down Zane's torso.

"Do you hear that?" he asked as he cocked his head.

"Huh?" Zane wasn't listening to a goddamn thing but the blood pounding in his ears and Ty's harsh breathing.

Ty looked up at him with a frown, turning his head like a dog trying to hear a strange noise. Then it reached Zane's ears too. Distant laughing, growing louder and louder. Soon it became recognizable as the cackling of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz.

"Fuck, what now?" Ty drew out as he looked toward the couch where he'd tossed his phone.

Zane closed his eyes as he let go of Ty, then reopened them to see the ceiling as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. With a growl he thumped one fist on the countertop. "Damn it. Answer the damn thing so we can get back to this."

"You know who that is, right?" Ty asked breathlessly.

Zane did. He'd heard that ring plenty of times. It always got laughs in the office when Dan McCoy called Ty and the Wicked Witch let her evil laughter loose through the office. "It's like he knows when I'm going to get laid," Ty began to grumble as he worked at extricating himself from Zane's limbs.

Zane stared at him for a few seconds as the fog of intense arousal started to clear, and then he groaned in pain as he let his arms slide down so he flopped to his back on the bar top. "I hate Mac sometimes," he muttered.

"Let me get back to you on that. If he's calling us in, I might kill him," Ty muttered. He pushed away from the counter, his hands sliding down Zane's thighs and away. He headed past the dining table for the couch.

"I wonder how much time we'll have," Zane mused. Whether it would be sex or a blow job or hand job—or, God forbid, nothing— would all depend on what McCoy had to say.

"Son of a bitch," Ty agreed emphatically. He got to the phone before it stopped ringing, and his voice was only slightly hoarse when he answered with his usual curt "Grady."

Zane glared up at the ceiling for another few seconds before carefully sitting up and maneuvering off the kitchen counter. He snorted. On the goddamn kitchen counter. They'd never tried that one before, but he had certainly liked where Ty was going with it. He shook his head in mild disbelief as he got his feet on the floor and adjusted the fit of his briefs. He stood looking down at the sandwiches, unopened mail, pens, a key ring, and a pile of paper napkins strewn haphazardly across the floor and then crouched to rescue dinner as he heard Ty speak.

"Wait, what?" Ty asked with an obvious frown in his tone. "I never got any file. What courier?"

Zane got the wrapped sandwiches back on the bar and glanced in Ty's direction before starting to gather the clothing they'd shed. Once he untangled his dress shirt from the undershirt, he held it up to survey the damage. Ty had pretty much destroyed it: several of the buttons were gone, now underfoot, and the seams at the shoulders had literally been ripped apart. He'd obviously been very intent on getting Zane naked. Zane shivered and looked over at his lover. Ty hadn't even gotten around to taking off his sweats. Zane thought he would have fucked him with the damn things still around his thighs if they'd been able to get that far.

Zane dropped the clothes in a pile and walked over to Ty, sidling up behind him to wrap his arms around Ty's waist and nuzzle just under his hairline. No reason to waste time he could spend touching. It would distract him from the fact that they, or even worse, just Ty, might be leaving, and the latter possibility made Zane's chest tighten uncomfortably. It had become more and more painful, being apart from Ty and not knowing where he was or whether he was safe or how long he'd be gone. Not being able to watch his back. Ty hadn't been called on one of those jobs in a while, not since their ordeal with Ty's family in West Virginia, but Zane still expected a call some random evening.

Zane suspected Ty had gone to Burns to opt out of the odd jobs, but he'd never asked and never planned to. He still held his breath whenever Ty's phone rang, day or night. Zane closed his eyes and rested his chin on Ty's shoulder. He brushed his lips against the warm skin of Ty's neck, and it made him think of the compass rose pendant hidden away at his apartment in the drawer with his T-shirts. He still hadn't found the right time to give it to Ty.

Ty reached his arm behind him to settle his hand on Zane's hip. "I don't understand," Ty said to McCoy in a troubled voice. "No, I'm not being intentionally dense! I just don't get why it has to be us!"

Zane moved one palm over Ty's stomach and started to rub gently, trying to soothe him. After all, it was partly his fault Ty was so keyed up.

Ty turned, pursing his lips into a shushing gesture to tell Zane to be quiet, and then hit the speaker button.

Their boss' voice came out of the speaker and Dan McCoy was audibly annoyed. "...because this is supposed to be good PR, and we need to send agents that people will like."

Zane frowned and mouthed the word "like" to Ty with a questioning look.

Ty was silent for a moment, staring at the phone. "And we're the best you got?" he asked, deadpan.

McCoy laughed. "People do like you, Ty. You're a funny guy. And you know how the ladies like Garrett."

Zane opened his mouth to object, but Ty's hand covered it before he got a sound of protest out.

"Granted," Ty drew out, meeting Zane's eyes and smirking. "If we do this, what do we get out of it?"

"You get to keep your jobs, you worthless hack," McCoy answered without any real heat in it.

Ty's face was nearly expressionless as he held the phone up between them. "Yeah okay."

Zane shook his head, giving Ty an obstinate look. He still didn't know what the hell this was all about, but he had the prickly feeling he wouldn't like it.

Ty turned away from him so he couldn't object again.

"Look," McCoy said, "Garrett gives a great lecture on cyber and criminal connections. I've heard it and didn't even feel the need to shoot myself or him. With all the Internet crime lately, it's a popular topic. And you have enough of a sense of humor to talk about undercover investigations without getting morbid or scary. I know it's short notice, but there's going to be a whole series of these things—"

"A whole series?" Ty broke in, his voice going higher in distress. "Do you remember how many times you've said I'm bad for PR?"

McCoy sighed in disgust.

"Thirty-seven times, Mac."

"You've counted?" McCoy asked without sounding surprised. "Latent OCD," Ty answered, unashamed. Zane pressed his mouth to the back of Ty's shoulder to stifle the laugh that threatened.

"All right, look, here it is straight. You're both personable and competent, but the real kicker is that you're both pretty, and bottom line, it's better to have eye candy in the newspaper than some nondescript drone. Be there at eight, best suit you own. And call Garrett and fill him in for me, will you?"

Ty grunted in outrage, but the phone lit up in his hand, and he pulled it away to look at it. Zane could see the display informing him the call had been ended.

"‘Pretty'," Zane said flatly. It was funny—usually—when Ty teased him about being pretty, but this was too much. "When the hell did we become fashion plates?"

"Eight a.m. on a Saturday, Zane," Ty said through gritted teeth.

"This Saturday? As in tomorrow Saturday? We have to give lectures in twelve hours? We're not prepared for that! I can't just pull a cybercrimes lecture out of my ass!" He could, but it was the principle of the thing.

Ty nodded and dropped the phone to the couch. He looked Zane up and down and narrowed his eyes, a slow smile forming. "But we're still in for the night," he pointed out.

Zane let the momentary annoyance fade into the background. They could bitch about work later. "Sure you still want dessert before dinner?"

"You're not dessert, Zane. You're the main course," Ty informed him in a husky drawl. "And you have about five seconds to take your pick of flat surface before I do it for you."

One thing about working for the FBI was that sometimes time passed and Ty thought it might be going in reverse. Other stretches Ty didn't even notice until months had gone by. He and Zane did their jobs, whether that included the god-awful boring paperwork and research Zane seemed to enjoy or the actual tracking and chasing of criminals that was more to Ty's taste. Unfortunately, working for the FBI consisted of 5 percent chasing and tracking, 90 percent paperwork, and 5 percent getting your ass handed to you by your superior, a reporter, a nurse who insisted you'd tear your stitches, or your mother.

Ty would much rather run down a guy and tackle him into the Inner Harbor than have to sit and fill out forms.

He'd ruined that suit, but it had been a hell of a good day.

Ty's evenings had gone one of four ways through January and into mid-February: most often they'd be out working, which meant no time with Zane away from work. Otherwise Ty was going to softball practice and then home late to Zane, or suffering through another freaking PR presentation. And then home late. To Zane. Ty still wasn't too sure how he felt about all the extra responsibilities that were taking up his free time, so he mostly tried not to think about it and just go with the flow.

Time passed almost unnoticed when it had so much structure to it, so when Ty went to meet his partner for a late Friday night dinner after a particularly harrowing lecture to a group of high school kids who'd only wanted to know if he was single or if he'd ever killed anyone, he hadn't expected the chaotic mess he'd found. He'd arrived at one of their favorite restaurants to find Zane waiting for him in the parking lot.

The lot was full to the brim and overflowing into the lot of the bank next door. A crowd of people waited outside in the cold February night, some holding little buzzers to alert them when their table was ready, some clutching their coats around them and huddling with their sweethearts.

Ty hadn't even been able to find a spot to park his Bronco. He'd driven up to Zane as he sat on his motorcycle—Ty still couldn't believe he rode the damn thing in the dry winter cold—and was met with a sardonic smile. "Valentine's Day" was all the explanation Ty had needed.

Both had completely forgotten about the date and the holiday weekend. They'd just wanted a nice quiet dinner after a stressful few weeks of barely seeing each other. They were still laughing at each other when Ty let them into his row house on North Ann Street. Some romantic couple they were, forgetting about Valentine's Day and being surprised by the crowd.

"We'll just have to make do with what's in the fridge," Ty told Zane as he shut the door against the freezing Baltimore winter.

Zane stopped dead, beaten-up black leather jacket partway unzipped, and turned around. "You think I'd better go to Whole Foods?" he asked. He was probably serious. Ty didn't cook much, and they both knew how he kept his kitchen stocked.

"Give me a little credit, huh?" Ty told him, borderline insulted. "I've got... stuff in there."

Zane raised an eyebrow. "Bacon, eggs, cheese, milk, lunch meat, bread, Dr Pepper, Mike's Hard Lemonade you pretend isn't there, chocolate chip cookie dough..."

Ty tried desperately not to smile, pressing his lips together hard despite knowing it caused his dimples to make an appearance. Zane knew him a little too well. Except for the chocolate chip cookie dough. Zane had bought that for himself and left it here for a snack. He knew full well Ty didn't like chocolate and that it would be safe. "There's also pork chops in there. And there's some emergency canned veggies in the basement," he told Zane with a mischievous smirk. "Next to the bottled water and zombie-piercing rounds."

"Good to know we won't starve when the zombies attack," Zane said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, giving Ty a lazy wink over his shoulder.

"Everyone's a critic," Ty muttered as he watched Zane appreciatively.

Since the awkwardness of New Year's, they'd fallen into a comfortable groove, one Ty was happy to stay in. He'd taken the plunge, literally, and told Zane he loved him. Zane had never said it in so many words, but not long after they'd returned from the cruise ship after Christmas, Ty had noticed Zane hadn't put his real wedding band back on. That was enough for him.

That simple gesture had spoken volumes. Ty knew how much Zane's wife had meant to him and how he'd gone through hell after she died. Zane had still been wearing that ring more than six years after she was gone. Seeing Zane's finger bare warmed Ty in a way few things could. He'd never mentioned it, and they'd never talked about what Ty had said that night in lockup on the ship. They were probably better off keeping it all under wraps, anyway. Zane was happy and relaxed. Ty was happy and... well, still twitchy, but that wasn't Zane's fault. They were happy.

"So, cook me dinner, and I'll repay you with sexual favors."

"Sounds good to me," Zane said as he arched his back and rolled his shoulders to stretch. "Any idea what you want?"

Ty simply smiled. Zane surely knew if Ty had his way he'd skip dinner altogether.

Zane chuckled. "Food, Grady, food. Or you'll have no energy for sex later."

"Well, then, get to it," Ty grunted at him, ushering him through the length of the narrow row house.

In short order, they were both in casual clothes and Ty's kitchen was lit up and warm with activity. Zane didn't cook often, but at some point he'd picked up better than run-of-the-mill cooking skills and was generally willing to fix up a quick dinner if they were too wiped after work to go out. After foraging through Ty's refrigerator, cabinets, and pantry, he'd come up with barbecue pork chops, green beans, a piece of a loaf of asiago bread from the bakery down the street, and now he was making mashed potatoes. From scratch, which tickled Ty to no end. It seemed such a domestic task for his tough-guy partner.

Chops sizzled on one burner, and Zane was pushing a pile of chunked potatoes to the side of the cutting board and starting on another, the knife moving swiftly and efficiently in his hands. A pot of water boiled on a third burner behind him.

Ty devotedly stayed away, mostly because it was a tight fit with both of them trying to move around each other in the narrow row house kitchen. Also because Ty disliked cooking—too many nights in the desert or jungle losing a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors and being forced to go hunt up dinner for the entire Recon team—and he rarely had time to do it even if he'd wanted to. Instead, he hovered around the other side of the bar, watching. Occasionally Zane would glance up at him, apparently just to check that he was still there.

Ty leaned his elbows on the counter and held his chin in his hands, trying to keep himself from fidgeting. Zane finished chopping the second potato and looked up at Ty as he scooped the pieces into his cupped hands.

"You okay?" Zane asked. "You're twitchy."

Ty laughed and held out his hand. "Have you met me?" he asked, teasing.

Zane shrugged one shoulder as he carefully let the pieces fall into the pot of boiling water. "I guess we have been going full tilt since we got back from the cruise, but I figured you would have relaxed a little, at least. Your hair's grown out again, so you don't have that to bitch about anymore. The cat jokes have finally died off at work. And I know you're enjoying the softball practices."

"It's fun. You should come out to one of the games," Ty answered with a careful look up at his partner. They were about to kick off the softball league that had been organized, this weekend, in fact. It had become a big spectacle, and it took a lot of Ty's time. More than he liked.

Zane picked the knife back up and started chopping again, a slight smile curving his lips. "Come out meaning ‘watch', or come out meaning ‘play'?" he asked. "I can do watching. Playing, not so much. Me and sports in high school?" He shook his head.

"I thought you were too busy square dancing," Ty drawled, trying not to smile.

Zane chuckled as he pushed chopped potatoes to the side of the cutting board with the back of one hand. "That too," he admitted. He glanced up at Ty. "I did think about joining the team anyway, you know."

Ty smiled, but his brow furrowed as well. "Why? I didn't think you liked it."

"I don't like making a fool of myself in public, no," Zane agreed, going back to chopping. "But between those damn PR seminars and you at practice, we've been lucky to have a couple of nights a week to ourselves that aren't simply crashing into bed exhausted."

Ty shrugged in agreement, pursing his lips. It was true. And annoying. "You want me to quit?"

Zane's head snapped up, eyes wide with clear surprise. "No, not at all. You enjoy it too much. Just thought I might see about learning something we could both do. But I figured that for now, the AA meetings were more important."

Ty's lips twitched, and he raised one eyebrow as he looked at Zane. He didn't touch the subject of Zane's AA meetings. He never did. "I'll take you to the batting cages one night," he offered instead.

Zane's smile reappeared. "Deal."

Ty hummed and idly watched Zane's hands move. After a few silent moments, he looked down at his own hands, turning them over and frowning at the fading tan line on his finger where the fake wedding ring had been. It had been cut off in the end, but he'd kept the band. It sat upstairs in a box, hidden away with all the other bits and pieces he'd kept from cases. The line would be gone soon.

"I don't suppose if I agreed to go to a game that you'd agree to go dancing," Zane suggested as he scooped more chopped potatoes into the water.

Ty looked up and snorted at him. "I don't mind going dancing. It's just the clubs that make me nervous, too many ways to get killed."

"And strobe lights," Zane added, obviously remembering what Ty had told him when he'd balked at the dance club on the cruise ship. "I'd still have your back," he said, looking up to meet Ty's eyes evenly.

Ty stared back at him, feeling a shiver run up his spine as he looked into Zane's dark eyes. It was frustrating sometimes, how one look in Zane's eyes made Ty want to throw everything else out the window. But mostly it was fun.

The shift of his weight to stalk around the bar and steal a kiss was interrupted when the police-band radio he kept in a little-used corner of the kitchen crackled to life, the voice sounding marginally panicked as it asked for backup and the bomb squad.

"10-79!"

Ty straightened as he looked at the radio. The signal was weak enough that it only picked up on calls from his neighborhood, alerting him to anything in the vicinity he might be able to help with. It rarely came to life.

Zane set the knife down and picked up a towel, drying his hands as he turned to listen, a frown on his face.

"10-79," the radio spat again through the static. "501 East Pratt Street."

Another voice answered, also sounding panicky and out of breath. These people weren't making official police calls; they had to be off- duty.

"Jesus, that's the aquarium," Ty told Zane.

Ty stood and pushed away from the counter as Zane turned off the burners. "What is it? Ten, twelve blocks?" Zane asked as he strode to the couch, plucked up his shoulder holster, shrugged into it in a quick and long-practiced move, and slid his gun into place.

Ty nodded as he jogged toward the coat rack by the door and the small table drawer where he kept his sidearms. He hurried to put the shoulder holster on, getting the straps tangled as he did so and not caring. Zane grabbed his keys and leather jacket.

"We'll get there faster on foot in this kind of traffic," Ty told him as he yanked at the front door.

"I'll drive between cars and on sidewalks if I have to," Zane answered.

Ty stood at the front door, momentarily indecisive. He would gladly ride on the back of Zane's deathtrap Valkyrie if he really thought it'd get them through the Friday night traffic gauntlet of Fell's Point to the Inner Harbor faster than he could hoof it. Maybe.

"You ride. I'll run," he told Zane, completely sincere in his belief that he could get there quicker.

"Meet you there," Zane said as he headed for the bike parked in front of the row house.

Ty slapped his hand down on the badge that lay on the table, sliding the chain it hung from over his head as he pulled the door closed and hopped from the top step of his stoop to the sidewalk. He sprinted toward Fleet Street as Zane started the bike with a quick jump and revved the engine. He knocked back the kickstand and got the Valkyrie moving as he shoved his helmet on without buckling it.

Ty watched him weave into the heavy traffic and followed in Zane's path for half a block, but then he did what only a man on foot could do and parkoured his ass over someone's fence and into the alleyway between two buildings. It wasn't just a matter of getting to the aquarium in time to help now—it was a matter of pride. He'd beat that damn motorcycle even if it killed him to do it.