Chapter Four

The first thing Ty noticed was that it was hot. The air he inhaled, whatever he was sprawled on, what was thrown over him—including a heavy body that lay against him; it was all stiflingly hot. To add insult to injury, when he cautiously cracked one eye open, it was bright and sunny, because the blinds were only half-drawn.

His head felt like it was full of cotton, and his limbs were heavy and uncooperative. He groaned and began pushing at the covers and the dead weight against him. It shifted almost immediately and rolled away.

"You okay?" Zane said, voice rough with sleep.

"Hot," Ty grunted accusingly. He pushed at Zane again and winced with the pressure on his sore body.

Zane scooted back, and the heat radiating from him faded. He also pushed the blanket down, leaving only the thin cotton sheet over Ty's lower body. Ty kicked one leg out and rolled flat, closing his eyes and lifting his chin, sprawling as the cool air hit him.

"Better," he muttered, though his ears seemed to be buzzing like he was hungover.

Zane shifted around, moving the mattress slightly. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," Ty answered plaintively.

"You said a tank, actually." The bed shifted again, and Zane was off the mattress and moving. "Hurting?"

Ty opened his eyes to follow Zane around the room. "A little, yeah," he admitted. He tried to sit up slowly but gave up on it and eased himself back down with a groan. "A lot. Hungover."

Zane stopped at his side. "What can I get you?" He was watching Ty in clear concern.

Ty waved him off and shook his head, then winced. He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers across his forehead slowly, massaging and trying to make the cotton feeling go away. It was rare that he felt so crappy he didn't even think about groping Zane when he woke up next to him. "What time is it?"

"About nine."

Ty sat up quickly, instantly regretting it even as he kicked what remained of the sheets away and tried to get out of bed. "I'm gonna be late!"

"Late for what? It's Sunday morning," Zane said, stepping back to get out of Ty's way.

"The game! Yesterday was just the first round of that stupid Goodwill tournament." Ty took a step and stopped short as the room wobbled around him. "Whoa."

Zane was suddenly there, hands under his elbows to help him regain his balance. "You're going to go back and play after getting hurt last night?" He didn't sound incredulous or even questioning. More like he wanted to be sure he understood correctly.

Ty shook his head and blinked rapidly, then focused on Zane and nodded as he steadied himself. "I'm not hurt bad."

"I remember hearing the words ‘cracked rib.'"

"They'll just stick me in right field or something."

"Your throwing hand is injured."

"So I'll use a leftie," Ty tossed back.

Zane dipped his chin to try to catch Ty's eyes. "It's not the being hurt I'm worried about."

"What?"

"You're a little shaky," Zane pointed out. "Even for right field." He straightened and let his hands slide from Ty's arms. "But if you want to go, I'll take you over there."

Ty had to agree he probably wasn't in any shape to drive just then, but a few minutes of moving around and being awake would help. He wasn't sure a softball game was really Zane's scene. He knew the skepticism was obvious in his eyes even as he nodded. "The games last a few hours."

"I do like to watch sports, Ty." Then Zane winked and gave a slight smile. "Especially the uniform pants."

Ty rolled his eyes and pointed at Zane as he moved toward the bedroom door. "No ogling in front of co-workers," he warned. He turned and grimaced as his entire body protested. He groaned and leaned against the doorjamb, hanging his head for a moment. "Christ, I'm sore," he muttered.

"If you take the Vicodin, you'll be seriously looped," Zane said helpfully.

Ty winced and looked down at his finger, his other hand settling on his sore ribs.

"Ty, look at me," Zane requested.

Ty looked up at him obediently, unable to wipe the frown off his face.

"If you're hurting, take the pills. You don't stress over drinking beer in front of me anymore. Why stress over this?" He was using logic, and he didn't sound upset.

"Are you sure?" Ty asked anyway. He didn't feel right waving prescription drugs in Zane's face. "Maybe I can just sit the game out. It's not like the world will end if I don't play or anything."

"Like that'll happen." Zane shook his head as he chuckled. He snagged a pair of jeans that lay folded on the dresser and walked over to stand in front of him. They were Ty's favorite pair, stolen from their last UC operation. They would fit Zane okay; his two to three inches of extra height were mostly in the torso anyway. After a smile, he leaned down to kiss the corner of Ty's mouth. "Thank you. For caring enough to worry about it. Now go take the damn pill. Or half of it. A whole will put you back on your ass. They're on the bathroom counter."

Ty muttered as he turned and headed for the bathroom. If he took a half now and another half in a few hours, that would get him through the game, and then he'd have the rest of the day to sleep it off before work Monday morning. If he didn't take them, he might be able to gut out the game, but his bruised ribcage was already screaming just from rolling out of bed.

He stood looking at the little packet indecisively for a long moment before reaching for the pills and pouring them out into his hand. He plucked one from the pile, scooped the rest back up in the packet, and then pulled at the pill to try to break it in half. He cursed when he couldn't get the thing to snap in two like it was supposed to, and he pulled out another one and tried to snap it instead.

After trying each of the pills and failing to snap any of them on the line, he growled quietly and cursed. His fingers weren't working like they were supposed to.

Instead of asking Zane to deal with it, he popped a whole pill into his mouth and swallowed with a wince at the bitter taste. One every six hours was the same as a half every three, right?

Not really, but it would do.

He continued to mumble to himself as he hurried to get ready for the game. After a few more minutes, he joined Zane downstairs.

"Need any help?" Zane asked.

"You think you can find my cleats?" Ty requested as he buttoned the gray Feds jersey with fingers that felt too thick.

"Sure," Zane said amiably, and he headed for the front door.

Ty was still tucking the jersey in and adjusting the Under Armour shirt he wore beneath it when Zane brought his dirty cleats to him. Ty could feel that pill beginning to work already. Now he questioned the wisdom of taking it, and he wondered if it was too late to go throw it back up. They usually took longer to hit him.

Zane looked him up and down with a small smirk before gesturing with one finger for Ty to turn in a circle.

"What?" Ty frowned at him suspiciously, but he held his hands out to his sides and turned in a slow circle as requested. When he completed the movement to face Zane again, he saw Zane watching him, biting his lower lip.

"Well, it'll do for a ballgame," Zane murmured as he stood.

Ty huffed at him and inexplicably found himself blushing under the scrutiny. "You're a dick, Garrett," he muttered as he moved to grab his cleats.

"So says the ass in very tight pants," Zane said, half laughing as he grabbed his wallet and keys. "C'mon. Food, then ball field."

The SUV idled near First Maryland Bank. Pierce checked his watch. The first game was set to start in ten minutes. If he had planned it right, and he had, the explosion would take out at least half of the crowd and players. He smiled. Most of them were cops, and any of the others— firefighters, EMTs, or regular spectators—were just collateral damage. It served them right for playing with the pigs or buying into that spectacle. Besides, the more deaths there were, the less likely it was anyone would pay attention to the bank robbery on the other side of town. He hoped someone stepped on the plate during the national anthem. Chaos, panic, disorder, all of the above.

It would be brilliant. He turned up the police band radio, waiting for the inevitable calls for ambulances, fire trucks, and bomb squads. He only wished he could be there to see it explode.

The number of vehicles clogging the parking lots, streets, and even browned grassy areas around the playing fields surprised Zane. Sure, it was a softball tournament on a Sunday afternoon, but wow. There were people everywhere, in various states of winter dress. It reminded him of a county fair with all the fund-raising vendors set up. He almost expected to smell barbecue, but that would have been Texas. Here in Baltimore it would be the sweet scent of fried crabcakes.

"Where'd you leave the Bronco?" Zane asked.

"In the far corner over there," Ty answered immediately, pointing toward the edge of the lot where several large trees with spindly bare branches loomed over the cars parked on the crunchy dormant grass.

Zane tried to find a space near it but ended up going in the opposite direction to park closer to the field so Ty wouldn't have to walk so far. "Let me guess. She's away from the foul balls."

Ty looked across the lot at the Ford affectionately. Zane had never seen anything special about the old SUV except for the fact that Ty loved her, and Ty was adamant that the vehicle was a her. She was an ‘88 Ford Bronco, green with a tan underbelly, and every inch of her was lovingly cared for, if not pristine. From what Ty's brother, Deuce, had told Zane, Ty'd had the Bronco since he was in high school. He'd rescued it from a scrap yard and rebuilt it himself. The front windshield was scarred with the sticky remains of old entry decals, some of them retaining the shape of their former stickers from the Marine base at Camp Lejeune. Decals littered the edges of the back and side windows. Zane had never taken the time to stop and look at them all, but he guessed that there were dozens altogether.

There was one very prominent white sticker in the rear window that said "Semper Fidelis" beneath the USMC eagle, globe, and anchor. There were several smaller decals scattered around that commemorated certain stretches of the Appalachian Trail. A yellow square with a familiar curled snake and the words "Don't Tread On Me." An old peeling sticker that had seen better days was what Zane had been told was a nautical star. There was a Smith Zane turned in place to look at his partner. Ty's hazel eyes were shining in the sunlight, and he smiled crookedly as he let his hand slide away from Zane's arm. "Thanks for bringing me, Zane," he said with an affectionate pat to Zane's belly, and then he turned away and jogged back toward the dugout on the other side of the field without waiting for Zane to respond.

Zane stared after him, rooted to the spot, and it wasn't even Ty's fine ass in those pants that had his attention. No, it was that flash of light in Ty's eyes that struck Zane right in the gut and made his breath catch. He had to try twice to swallow, and his face felt hot in the brisk air. He blinked hard before he realized he was gaping and made himself turn toward the bleachers and sit down about four rows up.

Occasional actions like that totally convinced Zane that Ty was telling the truth about loving him. It bowled Zane over, and he felt a rush of giddiness. Zane closed his eyes tight and opened them again, and Ty came into focus on the other side of the fence—Zane had zeroed in on him without consciously looking.

A young girl, elementary school age probably, abruptly skipped into his line of sight, climbed up the bleachers deftly, and sat down right beside him as if she belonged there. She gave him a cheerful smile. "Hi!"

Zane did a double take between her and Ty before settling his gaze on her. "Hi," he said, a little surprised. He wasn't the type of guy kids just waltzed up to. Quite tall, broad in the shoulders, muscled, dark hair and eyes, heavy leather jacket and boots, sort of imposing. But it didn't seem to faze her.

"I'm Elaina," she said as she stuck her little hand out to shake his. "Are you a friend of Ty's?"

His hand engulfed hers as he shook it gently. "I'm Zane. Ty's partner. Nice to meet you, Elaina."

"Nice to meet you!" she said enthusiastically. She scooted around on the hard, cold metal bleacher seat to settle primly beside him, looking out at the field like she owned it. "Mommy told me to find someone who had FBI on their clothes. Then I saw you talking to Ty, so I knew you would be safe. He and Mommy used to date," she told Zane with all the tact of an eight-year-old.

Zane stifled a chuckle as he watched her, intrigued. "And who is Mommy?"

"She plays second base. Number five." Elaina pointed toward the field, where the FBI team was filtering out, beginning to warm up. Five was an attractive brunette, athletic and tan and smiling. The nickname on her uniform was "Lefty." She was throwing right-handed, though. Zane didn't have any trouble picturing her with Ty.

"You come to all the games?" Zane asked, opting for small talk.

"Oh yeah. We're the best team here," the little girl announced proudly. "Well, maybe tied for the best. But the firemen play dirty."

"Of course," Zane agreed. He ducked down out of the way as a woman carrying a tray of food climbed up the bleachers next to them. "I'll have to start following the scores."

Zane caught sight of Ty standing in front of the chain-link dugout, bent over and strapping his shin guards on, slowed down by his wrapped fingers, as the rest of the catcher's gear sat in the grass next to him. Zane smiled fondly. Ty was so methodical with some things. He wore his Kevlar religiously and nagged Zane about his when they went out on assignment because Zane hated wearing the vest. Ty cleaned his gun every other day whether it needed it or not. And every tie and strap and buckle on his gear had to be just so—if Zane didn't adjust a strap for him first—if he had even close to the time to fix it. It seemed he treated his recreational gear the same way.

Zane shook his head but didn't look away. Ty Grady was a study in contrasts, and the puzzle-like appeal of it was impossible for Zane to resist.

Zane wasn't sure why Ty was suiting up to catch, though. He definitely shouldn't have been, not with a bum throwing hand. But Ty was obviously under the impression that he could throw with his left hand and catch with his right, instead of the other way around. Zane knew he could shoot a gun, throw darts, and shoot pool, all with both hands. Zane had even seen him hurriedly scribble with both hands, though you could never read the end result, no matter which hand Ty used. Maybe he was truly ambidextrous, another fact Zane was somewhat embarrassed about not knowing, if it was true.

Ty was still fussing with the strap to the chest protector as he and Alston walked up to home plate to meet with the umpires and the other team's captains. Zane couldn't hear them, but he could see Ty and Alston muttering to each other as Ty tried and failed several times to hook the strap at his side while using his hurt hand. Finally, Alston reached out and yanked Ty's helmet from under his arm, swatted his hands away from the strap, and bent to clasp it for him as the others gathered at home plate tried not to laugh. Zane shook his head as he watched. As irascible as Ty could be, he sure had a lot of friends, people who seemed to see right through the fa?ade that had so confounded Zane when he first met Ty Grady.

The gathered men all shook hands where they stood in the batter's boxes. They'd step closer as they shook hands, kicking red dirt on the pristine white plate. Zane watched in amusement as Ty carefully avoided the white chalk lines and home plate. The meeting lasted a few minutes as they went over the ground rules, the men scuffing the dirt in the boxes with their cleats, smoothing out the uneven ridges of dirt. Then they parted and went back to their respective dugouts. Ty took pains to step over the white chalk lines on the field as they walked, but it was hard to tell if it was to avoid them or because that pill was hitting him.

Elaina leaned closer to Zane. "Mommy says Ty's very superstitious," she confided in a whisper. "He wears the same socks every game."

Zane turned his chin to look at her. "Does he wash them?" he joked. He tried to remember if Ty had put on the same socks Zane had stripped off of him last night.

"Mommy tried once, but he saved them and made her promise not to. He locked himself in the bathroom."

Zane laughed and glanced back at Ty. "That sounds like him."

"He also taught me that you never cross your bats in the dugout, you never touch the lines or home plate before a game starts, and only pansies wear batting gloves."

Zane laughed again. "I guess he would know," he said with a shrug. "I never played baseball. Or softball."

Elaina looked at him askance.

"I can play football though," Zane offered in a conciliatory attempt.

She shrugged off that news and looked back out at the field excitedly as the FBI team took the field to a smattering of applause, boos, and catcalls from the crowd. Zane joined in the clapping as most of the players jogged to their positions, but Ty and Alston, who was pitching, both waltzed out as if they had all the time in the world.

Ty had his head down, his glove in one hand and his mask in the other, and somehow he'd already gotten his face and short hair dirty. It wasn't easy for him to saunter in the bulky gear, but he managed to pull off the attitude anyway. The gear fit his frame well, and it only added to the illusion that he was larger than he really was. Zane knew that in most rec league softball games, the catcher didn't bother to wear gear. But this wasn't your average slow-pitch softball league. The pitchers threw overhand, and they played with a regulation-size baseball. The women who were involved were athletes, not out there for show, and there was certainly no one drinking beer in right field.

Ty had sent Zane a text one night earlier in the month, joking that it was srius bizness.

As Ty got closer to home plate, he looked up into the bleachers, his eyes almost immediately settling on Zane.

Zane felt his heart beat hard a couple of times, and he had to draw a breath, because for a second, he was short on air. Then Ty smiled that half smile of his, the laugh lines at his eyes and mouth appearing, before he gave a quick wink. Then he ducked his head and slid his mask on, turning his back on the crowd as he stopped behind home plate.

Zane swallowed hard. That wink had been for him.

Crystal-clear revelation struck Zane like a bolt of summer lightning sizzling through the chill February air.

He wanted Ty with him, wanted him badly. Needed him as a partner, and not just at work. Craved him as a lover more than he'd ever jonesed over heroin. Connected with him in so many ways that Zane couldn't see a way to untangle himself and didn't even want to try.

Ty loved him. Zane believed it. Zane had also believed he didn't have it in himself to love Ty like he deserved. It wasn't Ty's fault. There was so much pain connecting Zane to the past, a tenuous lingering link between Zane and Becky, his wife years gone now, that Zane had skipped right over the obvious signs. He'd been too busy grappling with letting go of what was gone and wondering if he had any right to grab hold of what was in front of him.

It was important to Zane to understand when craving Ty had become needing him, and when needing him had become caring for him, and if it was possible for that caring to truly become even more. Because Ty deserved nothing less.

Zane could see it now. The craving he worried about wasn't an addiction. It was far more wrenching. Something significant enough that Zane was changing his entire life to be worthy of it, and there just wasn't any other possible explanation.

He loved Ty Grady with all there was to give of his heart, and in the end, all it had taken was one wink for Zane to finally come to terms with it.

As he sat dealing with the sudden realization, the world continued on without him. The players continued warming up. Alston had taken just one warm-up pitch, feeding into the cocksure, evil empire image the Feds team cultivated. The fans in the stands around him continued talking and eating and fussing with their various seating options, and Elaina jabbered on beside him.

Ty stood talking with the umpire, his body language clearly saying he was joking around with the man. He was loose and at ease, having battled past the painkiller and his natural inability to be still. Another moment later he stepped away from the umpire and knelt behind home plate as the first batter of the game approached the batter's box. But Ty wasn't there for more than a heartbeat before he raised a hand to call time and stood back up.

A collective groan ran through both teams and the crowd.

"Oh, good grief," Elaina said as she rested her chin in her hand. Zane shook himself out of his thoughts and looked to Elaina before turning his eyes back to Ty. "What?"

"He does this every game," Elaina complained. "He says the plate's crooked!"

A woman sitting behind them laughed. "He says it's latent OCD." Zane frowned. Ty's shoulders were straight and stiff, in total contrast to the loose relaxation he'd exhibited just a couple minutes before. That wasn't OCD. Zane leaned to the side to try to get a better look at what was going on.

Ty and the batter were standing together, Ty pointing down at the plate as the batter nodded. The umpire was shaking his head, holding his mask in his hand and frowning. It was anyone's guess what they were saying to each other, but whatever Ty was saying, he was adamant. Finally, he yanked his mask off and knelt over the plate, pointing to something Zane couldn't see.

"It's not the freaking major leagues, Grady! It doesn't have to be perfect!" someone shouted from the visitor's dugout.

Zane shifted on the metal bleachers as he watched. "Something's wrong," he murmured.

The batter stepped closer and took his bat off his shoulder, pointing it at the plate. Ty reached out and grabbed the end of it quickly to stop him from poking it, then stood and held up both hands impatiently, like he was begging them to listen to him.

He turned to scan the bleachers, his eyes finding Zane quickly. Zane recognized the look on his partner's face and was moving even before Ty started toward the fence backstop and waved to him.

He met Ty at the fence, reaching up to twine his fingers through the chain-link. "What's wrong?"

"The plate's wrong," Ty said under his breath. "It's not crooked anymore."

"Maybe someone fixed it?" Zane asked. He had no doubt that Ty would notice if it was sitting differently than usual. He just didn't know if it was something worth stopping the game over.

"I've been bitching about it for weeks, and they finally fixed it in the middle of the night last night?" Ty muttered as he looked over the crowd restlessly. His eyes met Zane's. Looking at him this close, it was easy to see what the painkillers were doing to him. "It's too high."

The plate was not the only thing that was too high. But what Ty was saying made it sound like someone had wedged something under it. "You really think it's trouble?" Zane asked quietly. "There's plenty of cops around."

"That's what I'm worried about," Ty told him as several people shouted at them in annoyance. Ty ignored them like only he could. "Do you have your phone on you?"

Zane pulled it out of his back pocket and offered it to him. They struggled almost comically to get it through the chain-link as those around them became more vocal with their displeasure.

"Why don't we just take it up and adjust it?" the hitter asked Ty curiously.

Ty finally pulled the phone through and glanced over his shoulder at the man as he flipped Zane's phone open.

"Who are you calling?" the umpire asked, obviously perturbed. "Bomb squad," Ty answered gruffly.

Zane's fingers clenched on the fence. Ty wouldn't joke about something like that. "Better start telling people to clear out," he told the ump evenly. He'd back Ty up no matter how stoned on painkillers his partner was. "Is there a field announcer?"

"Are you shitting me?" the umpire said incredulously. Other players were beginning to drift closer, obviously realizing that something was wrong beyond the crooked plate and Ty's supposed OCD.

Alston came jogging up to them from the mound, and Ty took a quick step and pointed at him. "Stop!" he shouted urgently before Alston could get to home plate.

The tone of his voice seemed to do the trick. They all knew Ty didn't screw around, and he sounded truly scared.

"I'll get the announcer going," the umpire mumbled as he hurried toward the wooden tower near the dugout.

Zane watched silently as Ty quickly gave information over the phone while the players on the field came in to the dugouts to wait. Word hadn't gotten around yet. Zane glanced over his shoulder at the stands. Lots of families and kids were here. His eyes fell on Elaina. She looked incredibly small and innocent sitting there.

The chain-link rattling near his head drew his attention back to Ty. Ty's fingers gripped the fence, and he looked through it to the bleachers.

"Do me a favor, Zane?" he whispered.

Ty looked really worried, which didn't do much for Zane's peace of mind. "Yeah."

"Grab the kid and don't let her out of your sight, okay?" Ty requested as he looked at Zane finally. "As soon as people hear "bomb', they're gonna panic and scatter."

Zane nodded slowly. There was a story there somewhere related to the "he and Mommy used to date" comment. But it didn't matter. "Yeah, I'll do it. Be careful."

Ty merely nodded and reached up to touch Zane's fingers through the fence before turning away. He picked up his helmet, then jogged toward the home dugout as the speakers blared on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we ask you to please move in an orderly fashion toward the south field."

Zane took a couple of careful steps backward, still watching Ty, before he turned to the stands to find Elaina. With just a few strides, he was next to her. "C'mon, Elaina," he said, holding out his hand.

"What about Mommy?" Elaina asked as she climbed down the bleachers.

"Ty will get her and the rest of the team," Zane said as she slid her hand into his, and he started walking, almost immediately hitching his steps shorter because his legs were so long compared to hers.

They were almost across the parking lot when the cute brunette from second base caught up to them and took Elaina's other hand. "Are you Garrett?" she asked Zane breathlessly.

"Yes, ma'am," Zane responded automatically. He looked at Elaina and noted the strong resemblance. Dark-brown hair, large eyes so brown they were nearly black. "You must be Mommy."

She laughed slightly and nodded. "I'm Shannon." She didn't offer her hand, though, instead reaching down and picking Elaina up so they could move faster. "Is this for real, or is Ty going off the deep end?"

Zane glanced at her, surprised. "I'd say it's for real." He pointed at the dugout on the far side of the next field. The lower part of it was made of wooden planks, the upper part more chain-link. "That ought to be a good place to hunker down. We're far enough away."

"God, I was hoping he'd just had too many painkillers," the woman said under her breath. She pulled her daughter higher on her hip and quickened her pace. Zane heard sirens in the distance as they reached the other field.

Zane stopped at the steps to let Shannon get into the dugout first, and then he waited as several other people passed by, distractedly offering an arm to help them clamber down the concrete steps, watching for Ty as fire trucks pulled up at the field. He hated being back here doing nothing.

He finally spotted Ty, standing next to the blue bomb squad truck and speaking with one of the techs. He was gesticulating erratically, obviously worked up, and the tech seemed to be trying to reason with him. Finally, two firemen came up to join the conversation, and one began leading Ty away, toward the dugouts. The fireman was larger than Ty by quite a bit, a true hulk, and though Ty didn't appear happy with the arrangement, he went along without fussing until they reached the dugout where Zane stood.

"Does this belong to you?" the fireman asked Zane in a deep, booming voice, scruffing Ty by his jersey collar like a stray dog.

Zane raised a brow at the phrasing but nodded anyway. "Should have made sure he was wearing his tags, I guess," he answered as he tried to judge Ty's condition.

Ty rolled his eyes and shifted his jaw in annoyance. "They don't believe me," he told Zane under his breath. "This is Tank, by the way. He runs people over."

The big fireman laughed heartily and shook his head. His teeth gleamed bright against his black skin. "Gotta lead with the shoulder when a big dawg is blocking the plate. You know that."

"Yeah, shoulder, not front bumper," Ty shot back.

Tank looked to Zane. "Shape he was in last time I saw him, I'm not surprised he's like this."

"You sure knocked him for a loop," Zane confirmed before asking Ty, "Are they checking it out?"

Ty pressed his lips tightly together and nodded, looking at Zane sideways like he knew he'd be in trouble. Tank spoke up when Ty didn't. "He told them if they didn't, he'd go on record saying he put it there himself so they'd have to check it out."

Zane snorted. "Jesus, Ty," he muttered, shaking his head. "There were tool marks!" Ty insisted.

"Take it easy, Bulldog," Tank said as he turned and patted Ty on the back hard enough to send him stumbling forward into Zane, who reacted automatically and raised his arms to grab hold of him.

He still had on the catcher's gear, but as Ty wrapped one arm around Zane's waist to keep his balance, it was clear the pill he'd taken had finally gotten the best of him. His body was loose and relaxed, his movements not as controlled as usual.

Ty muttered obstinately as he turned to look at the scene behind them, his body still brushing against Zane's as they stood together. He obviously felt certain he was right about the threat. But it was entirely possible they'd just evacuated a few hundred people in front of the local news because Ty was high. Zane sighed and kept his arm discreetly around Ty's waist. Most of their co-workers would figure Zane was holding him back anyway.

The bomb squad techs directed a small robot down a ramp from the back of their truck, and another member of the team pulled out a bullhorn to address the crowd as the robot chugged away at a snail's pace toward home plate. Besides that, it was hard to see what was happening on the field.

Ty cleared his throat and turned his head to look at Zane. He leaned closer and spoke quietly. "Where are Shannon and Elaina? They safe?"

"They're in here somewhere," Zane murmured. He splayed his hand flat on Ty's lower back against the fabric. "You don't look so good."

"Shut up," Ty muttered as he turned and looked further into the dugout. He kept one hand on Zane's arm to hold himself steady.

Zane sighed and resisted the urge to lay his forehead against Ty's in a bid for support and comfort. This definitely wasn't the place, or the time, no matter how much Zane's instincts were screaming at him to drag Ty away from here to somewhere safe so he could take care of him. He'd have to deal with that—and the fallout of the other momentous realizations of the morning—later.

A voice blared over the bullhorn, and Ty startled against Zane before turning to look at the field as the announcer warned people to stay where they were and cover their heads.

"Tyler, get down here before you fall over!" Shannon shouted. She stepped out and grabbed the strap of Ty's chest protector. "What were you thinking, taking something before you came out here?"

"I was thinking, "Wow, my ribs hurt,'" Ty answered as he stumbled sideways.

Zane released him as Shannon took charge and pulled Ty down into the dugout. "He really wanted to be here."

"Not getting what he wants won't kill him," Shannon informed them both. She shoved at Ty's chest, and he fell back onto the old, scarred wooden bench with a thump and a rattle of protective gear. She pointed her finger in his face and waved it. "Something had better damn well blow up out there," she warned.

"Mommy, I think you need a time-out," Elaina observed, her young voice wry and amused.

Ty merely nodded as he looked up at her with wide eyes. It was kind of funny, really. Zane had never seen Ty act like that around a woman, except maybe his mama. Usually he was all charm and charismatic quips. Zane had to cover his smile with one hand and turn away. When he did, he saw one of the bomb squad team jogging their way. When he got to them, he leaned against the back fence of the dugout to speak to Ty through the chain-link.

"There's definitely something down there," the man told them quietly. "Looks like a pressure switch of some sort."

Ty turned his head, and the man kept talking to him in lower tones for a moment before standing abruptly and jogging back toward his truck. Zane stepped down into the dugout to stand next to Ty.

"Well?"

Ty looked up at him and licked his lips uneasily. "They think it's a pressure switch," Ty repeated for the people around them. "Bouncing Betty type thing. Bomb squad's going to get one of those kamikaze robots out there to poke it," he told Zane in a lower voice.

Zane sat down next to him. "The games were here yesterday, right? So this had to have been done overnight?"

"Had to be. I was practically laying on the damn thing last night," Ty muttered. "And it was crooked."

"Jesus, Grady," someone from close by said. "I'm never making fun of your superstitions again."

"Told you touching home plate before the first pitch was bad luck," Ty responded under his breath, looking away from Zane as he spoke.

Zane propped his elbows on his knees as he listened to the circus of bomb squad, firemen, news cameras, and cops circling the other ballfield. He didn't want to think about how close Ty had been to bodily harm. He could wish Ty had been in the outfield, but he wouldn't lay odds on someone else noticing the problem with the plate. He sighed and dropped his head, shaking it.

Ty's shoulder brushed his, and Zane could feel him thrumming with nervous energy.

"Are we safe here?" someone asked. "Should we get further away?"

"We're good," Ty assured them curtly. "If it does blow before they can disarm it, they say it's not packed, so there won't be any shrapnel. Unless it blows the arm off the robot or something."

"I've seen that happen," an unfamiliar voice said from further down the dugout.

"Bullshit," someone else responded with a laugh.

"God's honest truth. Arm flew through the air and landed like a damn lawn dart."

"Would it reach us if that happened?" a worried voice asked.

"The robot is made to blow shit up," Ty answered in an annoyed voice. "The articulating parts don't blow off," he snapped. On the surface, his tone of voice said he was talking to a civilian who was getting on his nerves, but underneath that Zane recognized his partner was badly shaken. Zane straightened and leaned back, and when he scooted—not a big deal, since people were crammed onto the bench anyway—he slid enough so their legs touched from hip to knee.

"Everybody down!" someone called from somewhere behind Zane.

Ty's hands were immediately on Zane, tugging at him and pulling him down with everyone else onto the packed dirt. Zane hit the ground hard on his knees, shifting his weight back just in time to avoid falling straight forward onto his face. Ty pulled Shannon and her daughter closer and huddled them all together, wrapping his arm over Zane and pressing him down into the dirt. His chest protector dug into Zane's side as he tried to shield all three of them from the coming blast that supposedly wouldn't reach them.

Sirens blared across the parking lot, and someone shouted into a bullhorn to make certain the area was clear. The scene had to be easier to handle than most, considering everyone there was involved with the city and knew emergency procedures in some fashion. Hell, half of them probably would have been working the scene if they'd been on duty.

It was a long, drawn-out ten seconds of what seemed like pure silence before the explosion sounded. Obviously disarming it hadn't gone well.

Zane winced. It was really, really loud for a bomb little enough to fit under home plate.

A whoosh of dirt and small pieces of trash filtered through the chain-link to flutter over them, and Ty curled above him protectively as the air wafted past. He waited a long moment, his fingers digging into Zane's shoulder as he held him, his breaths harsh in Zane's ear. Zane closed his eyes, thankful that Ty was here next to him rather than across the field. He slowly started to sit up.

Ty pushed himself up when he felt Zane moving, and he raised his head and looked around to survey the damage. People around them were coughing and scrabbling around on the ground of the dugout, everyone trying to gain their feet at the same time. Ty pulled himself up unsteadily and looked through the fence as he offered his hand to help Zane or Shannon up.

"Oh God," he said suddenly, his hand going limp at his side as he pulled his face closer to the chain-link.

Zane got to his feet next to him and looked out across the field with a frown. "What?"

"Garrett," Ty practically whined as he grabbed at Zane's shoulder. "The Bronco!"

The green Bronco rocked as the robotic arm of the bomb robot rolled slowly off the hood. The dent it left behind was massive, giving the distinct impression that the grill was scowling.

"Ouch," Zane breathed.

"My truck," Ty whimpered.

"Oh, Ty," Shannon said sympathetically as she stood and peered out into the parking lot.

Someone else down the dugout gave a low whistle, and several of the other agents began laughing. "The articulating parts don't blow off, huh?" someone asked in a teasing voice.

"My truck," Ty repeated pitifully.

"I'm sure that'll... buff out, man," one of them told Ty in a voice that was attempting to be consoling but only managing to waver as the man tried not to laugh.

"In three years, nothing has ever landed there!" Ty cried suddenly. Everyone in the dugout began to laugh.

Zane moved slowly, deciding that turning to face Ty and standing between him and the dugout exit was probably not a bad idea. With Ty's state of mind, he was liable to run out there and lay himself out over the truck to protect it. After another look at Ty, Zane took hold of his forearm. Just in case.

"Who the hell thinks that shit's funny?" Ty shouted at everyone. "Where's my gun?" he demanded with all seriousness as he began to pat himself down.

"Who are you gonna shoot? The robot?" Zane asked with a sigh. He saw one of the bomb squad men give the all clear sign, and he tugged at Ty's arm. Reporters began to crowd toward the cordoned-off area as people began to stir. "Come on. We'll go check the damage."

Ty swung out of the dugout and began stalking toward the Bronco, muttering angrily as he started shedding his catcher's gear. Zane jogged after him, dodging the shin guards and chest protector as they bounced to the ground.

"I can't fucking believe this," Ty exclaimed. "What's the likelihood of that shit, huh?"

"Special Agent Grady!" a reporter called out, and Zane turned to see her running after them in an impressive pair of stilettos.

Ty turned to her and flopped his hands. "Seriously?" he shouted angrily.

"Is that your car, Agent Grady?" she yelled after him, microphone out as she and her cameraman continued hurrying toward them, trying to catch up from twenty yards behind. Zane wondered how she knew Ty's name.

Ty turned to look at the Bronco, waving his hand at it. "Yes, it's mine! Look at it!"

He took one more step toward the frowning Bronco, and the hood blasted upward, belching flames. The sound followed, a scream of metal and machinery, like a terrified mechanical plea for help, and the old Bronco jumped into the air, flame and heat blasting out of it as the gas tank exploded. The concussion of the explosion knocked Ty and Zane backward and to the ground, heat whooshing over them with what Zane would have sworn was a pained groan from the vehicle.

The dying breath of Ty's beloved Bronco.

Ty rose slowly, looking with absolute horror at the flames that licked at the tree branches above. He suddenly pushed himself up and made to run toward the wreckage. Zane grabbed for him, tripping him up and then tackling him to the ground. Zane had no doubt Ty would try to put the flames out himself and probably go down in a fiery blaze of glory trying to save the damn thing.

"She's burning, Zane!" Ty yelled, in a panic, voice full of anguish as he tried to squirm out of Zane's grasp.

The sound broke Zane's heart. He had to wrap both arms around his partner and put all his weight into him to keep Ty from lashing out blindly as firemen ran past them. "Ty, stop," he said firmly.

Ty tensed like he was going to lunge again, but then he relaxed beneath Zane as if someone had let the air out of him. He didn't make a sound, and he seemed to be holding his breath as he craned his neck, staring at the crackling flames and pillar of black smoke.

The cameraman skidded to a stop beside them, filming the burning Bronco, filming the firemen trying to stem the flames with extinguishers, and filming them as Ty lay beneath Zane and watched his oldest friend burn.