Chapter Five

Zane jogged down the stairs to the living room and stopped, looking around to find Shannon. She'd given them a ride to Ty's house, since Zane's truck had been behind the cordoned-off safety line. They had decided they needed to get Ty home, away from the television cameras that seemed to love to torment him, where he could fall apart in peace.

He found her sitting in an armchair, and Elaina was crashed out on the couch, so Zane moved to join them.

"How is he?" Shannon asked dubiously. "I know how he felt about that truck."

Zane shook his head as he stripped out of his heavy sweatshirt before sitting down. "He's still in shock. Not pacing or ranting or anything else I would expect out of him. I'm not sure which is better." He glanced up to the ceiling. "He's supposed to be getting in the shower."

"Silent and still is not a good sign," Shannon advised as she straightened and put her hands on her knees. She stood and glanced up at the ceiling as well. "You want a beer? I think we all deserve one after today," she said quietly as she headed for the kitchen.

"Dr Pepper is fine," Zane said. "I was thinking about suggesting we order in some food. I want to keep an eye on him after the reaction he had to the painkillers."

"It's not the painkillers I'm worried about. He talks about that truck like it's a person. He just lost his oldest friend out there."

"I know," Zane said grimly.

"The pills will just make it worse. How many did he take, anyway?" Shannon asked as she rummaged in the refrigerator. She certainly behaved like she'd been there before. Zane had to force himself not to wonder how long it had been. He'd never heard Ty speak of her, and he'd never seen her before.

She let the door swing shut as she moved back toward Zane with a bottle of beer and a can of soda.

"I didn't see him take the pill. After the shape he was in last night, I'd say he took a whole one today, which makes me think I should smack him upside the head," Zane rambled, accepting the Dr Pepper with a quiet thank-you as he thought about how sick Ty would be tomorrow.

Shannon laughed at him quietly and sat down opposite him. "You two are funny," she commented with a shake of her head.

Zane blinked and focused on her, thinking back over what he'd just said and deeming it safe. "Why do you say that?"

"I mean, don't take offense or anything," she said quickly, keeping her voice down as Elaina snored beside her. "You just don't take any of his bull. And seeing him today, he obviously trusts you. It's just... unusual to see him show that much real emotion around anyone."

Zane studied her for a long moment before relaxing back into the chair. "Well. We've been through a lot together."

"So I hear," she acknowledged with a slow nod. She licked her lower lip and looked down at the rug, tapping her finger on her beer bottle uneasily, as if she'd run out of things to say and couldn't seem to decide on a safe new topic.

Zane resisted the urge to smile. She wasn't a field agent; she was too easy to read. "And what have you heard?" he prompted, curious about her. "I'm guessing you're assigned here at the Baltimore office, but I've not seen you before today." He gave her an honest grin. "I'd have remembered."

She snorted at him and smiled wryly. "You can't charm me, Agent Garrett," she warned, pointing upward to where they could hear Ty moving around. "I've been baptized by fire."

"Please, call me Zane," he requested. He was starting to see why Ty had been drawn to her. Not only was she attractive, she was smart and straightforward.

She smiled more and nodded in thanks, then looked down at her hands as she played with the peeling label of her beer. "I'm an analyst focusing on the Middle East. That's how I met Ty. A couple years ago I needed a native speaker for a recording, and someone pointed me to him for help."

Zane continued to watch her. "Elaina told me you and Ty used to date." He glanced up at the ceiling again as he heard the water turn on in the shower upstairs.

She cleared her throat and nodded, gazing at her daughter before looking at Zane. "We were together for a few months. Nothing really serious, more..." She shrugged and shook her head, searching for the right words. "Like duct tape on a window. You know it'll fall apart eventually, but at least you can make interesting patterns in the meantime."

Zane laughed softly. "That's an odd description."

"But apt, isn't it? With Ty? I don't mean it as an insult. He was good to me. He still is. We parted on good terms. And he was like a godsend for Elaina when she really needed someone. He still makes an effort to spend time with her when he can. He's just not the type you bring home to Mom, but he's a good guy," she asserted with a self- conscious laugh.

"One of the best I've met." Zane looked over Elaina and thought about Ty's family. "I'm not surprised he spends time with her. She's adorable."

"Thank you," Shannon said with a smile. The water turned off upstairs with a heavy clank, and she glanced upward. She looked back at Zane, and her smile faltered.

Zane shook his head, wondering what had her anxious. Then it occurred to him. She was waiting for him to excuse himself. "Ah, I don't live far, but it's pretty cold to walk it. I can't leave until I call a cab," he said, hinting at leaving to give her time with Ty. Now to see if she'd take it.

She began shaking her head quickly. "No, there's no need for that, I can take you home. I just... he really shouldn't be alone tonight. But..." She stopped and held her breath for a heartbeat before letting it out in an irritated rush as she smiled and laughed at herself. "When he's all pitiful and drugged like this, I just really shouldn't be around him," she admitted as she blushed furiously. "Could you maybe stay with him?"

Zane didn't even try to hide the grin. Yeah, she was spunky. "Well, that being the case, yes, if you can run me to my truck so we're not stranded." He shrugged and took a drink from the half-empty can in his hand.

"Of course," she agreed gratefully.

They could hear Ty moving around upstairs again, which was an altogether good thing, since he'd been practically catatonic earlier. A few moments later, he thumped heavily down the stairs and padded barefoot into the living room, hair still damp and mussed. He wore a pair of sweatpants and a thin, faded T-shirt that had once had writing on it, and he'd taken the time to tape up his fingers after the shower. He looked awful, like someone had just put his puppy on a spit roast. He glanced at them both sheepishly as he joined them, but then he waved a hand at Shannon's beer and snorted.

"Make yourself at home, sweetheart," he joked quietly.

Shannon huffed back at him. "At least it's real beer and not hard lemonade."

"He's probably got that too," Zane commented before draining his soda can. He pointed at Ty. "But none for you at all."

"What's wrong with hard lemonade?" Ty asked, clearly offended.

Shannon laughed as she stood and set the bottle on the table beside the couch. "Are you okay?"

Ty shrugged uncomfortably, obviously searching for an answer that was somewhat honest. Zane looked between the two, deciding it would be best if he stayed out of this conversation. He'd have his own version with Ty later.

"Well," Shannon murmured, obviously knowing Ty well enough to know that he wasn't okay. She stepped closer and hugged him tight. "I'm going to take Zane back to get his truck, okay? He's going to stay with you tonight to make sure you don't throw yourself off the balcony."

Zane stood and moved away, giving them some space, wondering if Ty was feeling as awkward as he was. Zane had never met one of Ty's old girlfriends. He hadn't realized Ty had old girlfriends.

Ty merely nodded as she let him go. He made an effort to give her a smile, but his heart obviously wasn't in keeping up a fa?ade. It was interesting that he didn't seem to feel the need to bother with her.

Shannon retrieved her purse from the kitchen counter, and Ty glanced over at Zane and met his eyes. Zane tipped his head to the side in question, raising one brow. Ty responded with a helpless gesture that wasn't quite identifiable, other than to say he was indeed uncomfortable and probably heartbroken.

Ty cleared his throat and stepped over to the couch where Elaina still slept peacefully, and he bent and gathered her carefully in his arms before easily lifting her. She murmured sleepily and snuggled up against his shoulder.

"Let's get you to the car," he said, and Shannon watched them with a sad smile as Ty carried the girl toward the door.

She looked to Zane. "Ready?"

Zane nodded, watching Ty closely, but he figured he had to trust Ty to know if he'd trust himself enough to carry the little girl. Seeing him with her, so careful, almost loving... it was a totally different side of Ty, even from what Zane saw in him, and he doubted he would ever see all the sides of the man he called his lover.

Ty sat in his living room with all the lights off and the blinds drawn, staring at the outlines of the furniture in the dark. His head was pounding, but it was from anger and anguish more than the pill he'd taken several hours ago.

Not only was someone trying to kill as many Feds, cops, firemen, EMTs, and civil servants as they could, they were setting bombs in public places where anyone could stumble over them.

And they had bombed his Bronco.

Ty closed his eyes as a wave of nausea passed through him. He knew it was silly to be sitting in the dark mourning a vehicle, but he didn't care. That Bronco had been part of him. He'd had her for half his life. Rescued her from the scrap yard and rebuilt every piece of her with his own two hands. Why the bomb had gone off when it did was anyone's guess, but Ty firmly believed the Bronco had done it—no matter how silly that sounded. She had been a loyal companion, and now she had taken the hit for him. Thrown herself on the grenade.

He knew he had tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care.

She deserved to be mourned.

The scratch of the key in the lock of the front door didn't even faze him. Zane entered in a splash of sunlight and a rush of cold air, quiet besides a rustling of plastic and paper. He closed and locked the door behind him and stayed in place. Probably letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

"I brought some lunch."

"Ugh," Ty responded automatically as the thought of food made his stomach protest.

"Yeah, I figured that would be your reaction." Zane's voice held a hint of amusement. "So I got chicken, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. Plain stuff to settle your stomach." He started moving toward the kitchen bar.

Ty swallowed heavily and watched him go, trying to think of something to say that didn't involve food, bombs, cars, women, or him sitting there by himself in the dark and wiping tears off his face. He watched Zane set a couple of bags on the bar along with his keys, wallet, and badge. After turning on the small work light under the microwave, he came out of his heavy leather jacket, and his gun joined the pile. Then he turned and leaned back against the bar, hands in his pockets, looking toward his partner.

"Vicodin worn off?"

"Oh yeah," Ty answered as his stomach flip-flopped and nerves inexplicably assaulted him. He didn't know why he was nervous. Hell, he hadn't even done anything wrong this time. Much.

Zane watched him for a long moment before walking over and standing in front of him. "Can I get you anything?" He sounded—and looked—honestly concerned.

Ty looked up at him as the vise around his chest eased some. He smiled wanly and reached out to slide his fingers against the back of Zane's hand.

Zane squatted down in front of him, catching his hand and lifting it to kiss his knuckles. He sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. I hate that you're hurting," he added quietly.

The words hit that now-familiar chord in Ty's chest that made it twist and tighten. He shook his head to rid himself of the painful feeling that the attack and subsequent loss had caused and reached out to pat Zane's cheek. "I'm okay. I'll wake up in the morning ready for revenge, and it'll all go back to normal."

The grunt Zane gave in response didn't sound too sure, but he didn't comment. He turned his face to kiss Ty's palm before shifting his weight to stand. "C'mon. At least eat some mashed potatoes for me." He pulled at Ty's hand gently. "Then we'll go to bed, watch movies, and be lazy the rest of the day."

"Okay," Ty said suspiciously as he stood. He knew Zane well enough to know when he was keeping something from him. But he also knew Zane would come out with it in his own sweet time and not before, unless Ty dug hard for it. And he didn't want to dig. He just wanted to sit and cry and have the day be over. "Can we just skip food and go to bed?"

The lines of Zane's face softened visibly. "Yeah. I'll put the food in the fridge. You go on upstairs. I'll bring some water."

Ty nodded as he moved past Zane toward the steps in the center of the narrow row house. He let his hand slide down Zane's forearm and across his belly as he went, then put his head down and climbed to the darkened bedroom on the second floor. He supposed it was normal to feel like something was amiss after nearly being blown up and then watching your oldest companion and most beloved possession go up in smoke as people around you filmed it. Not to mention the fact that he was now officially a target. He'd become the poster child for shit that needed exploding in Baltimore.

It was only a few minutes before he heard Zane's footsteps on the stairs, and then Zane appeared in the doorway, small duffel in one hand, gun in the other, two bottles of water in the crook of his arm. The gun and bottles went on the nightstand, the duffel on the floor next to the dresser. He probably had more clothes stashed in Ty's spare room now than he had at his own apartment. Ty often wondered how it would go down if Zane chickened out and ended it. Would he get to throw all of Zane's shit off the balcony and make a scene? That was really the only thing about the end he looked forward to.

He sat on the bed, frowning at Zane's shoes as he thought about it. Then the mattress dipped next to him.

"Thinking awfully hard for someone who was blitzed on painkillers all morning." It was a gentle tease.

"Don't ever let me take another one of those things." He knew he'd need one in the morning, of course.

"If that's what you want, all right. You can stick to Tylenol and beer," Zane replied.

Ty reached out and patted Zane's knee, letting his hand rest there as he finally forced himself to look up and meet Zane's eyes. "Thank you for believing me today," he said roughly. "No one else did."

"I trust you," Zane said simply.

Ty's hand tightened for a moment, and then he looked away and let his fingers slide off Zane's knee.

"Ty, I..." Zane's voice trailed off, and he took a shaky breath before trying again. "How about you lie down? You look like you're about to fall asleep sitting there."

"Yeah," Ty agreed sedately. He pushed himself back and rolled into the middle of the bed, moving the sheets around and kicking them to the bottom of the bed. "What's on your mind, Zane?"

Zane leaned back on one hand as he turned to look at Ty. His eyes told Ty he didn't plan on answering. Ty let his hand fall to the side, his palm landing against Zane's back just under the shirt. Zane gave him a half smile over his shoulder before pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his scarred back to the light of the lamp in the corner. He got up, kicked out of his shoes and jeans, and was soon crawling into the bed next to Ty in just briefs.

Ty reached out and let his forearm fall across Zane's chest, then turned and slid his other arm around him, pulling him closer and curling against him gratefully. Zane settled on his side, closing his arms around Ty and sighing. Ty felt the words on his tongue and consciously held his breath, warding them off. He knew Zane was uncomfortable with the words "I love you," though he didn't exactly understand why. It wouldn't do either of them to beat it into the ground. Ty knew Zane loved him, in his own way.

And he hoped Zane knew the only thing Ty had loved longer than him was that Bronco.

It felt like Ty was awake for a long time before his mind actually realized it. He was aware of being in bed. He was aware of the very early morning sunlight hitting his face. He was aware of his entire body being sore and borderline painful. He was aware of a solid ache in his heart that was shaped like a green and tan Ford Bronco.

He just couldn't seem to convince himself to move or open his eyes. But finally, he turned his head and cracked an eye open with a soft groan.

Zane lay on his side next to him, his hand extended to rest on Ty's chest. He looked relaxed and deeply asleep, though Ty knew better. Zane still slept lightly, albeit better the few nights a week they slept together.

Ty remained still for a long time, trying to piece together yesterday and trying to decide just how badly he hurt this morning. He felt like he'd been hit by a tank. Again.

Finally, he had to shift and roll. He gasped in surprise as he did so, not expecting the stabbing pain in his side.

Zane's eyes snapped open, and he pushed himself up on one elbow. "Careful, you're bruised as hell."

"Sorry," Ty gasped as he tried to decide which way to move. Because after he settled, he wasn't going to move again. Ever.

"Need to get up? Might be a good idea. I bet you're stiff."

Ty grunted and nodded, pushing himself up carefully. He looked at the tape on his fingers and grimaced as he sat up fully. Zane stayed where he was, watching silently. He was still warm and sleepy, and he looked it too.

"Sorry I woke you," Ty offered pitifully as soon as he was sitting. Zane shrugged and slid back down, pulling his pillow to his chest. "Got any Tylenol?" Ty asked him with a wince. He rubbed gingerly at his ribs.

"Yeah. I've not flushed the Vicodin yet, if you want it," Zane said quietly.

Ty turned and looked at Zane in surprise. Zane raised one brow but didn't say anything else. Ty gave him a grunt and gingerly laid himself back down. He reached out wordlessly with his good hand and slid his fingers into Zane's as he closed his eyes.

Zane remained still after curling his hand around Ty's, and a quiet minute passed before he took a deep breath and let it out loudly before sitting up. "I'm going to get you something. You have to be hurting pretty bad."

Ty didn't argue. He'd had so much worse than this, but in recent years his motto had become something like "why hurt when you don't have to?" He opened his eyes and watched Zane appreciatively but didn't try to sit up again.

Zane smiled, apparently not surprised by the response. "I'll be back." He walked out of the bedroom, disappearing down the hall. When he came back, he set the tiny envelope in Ty's lap before reaching for a bottle of water from the nightstand and offering it to him.

Ty looked at the packet of Vicodin in distaste as he accepted the bottle. "Think it would hurt me any more to take another one?" he asked uncertainly.

"Are you planning on going anywhere? It is Monday, you know," Zane said. "You might at least consider going into work, although..." He shook his head as he looked over all the bruises.

"I have to go into work. I'll catch all sorts of shit if I call in."

Zane shrugged. "Your choice. You can man up, go to work, and be miserable all day, or you can stay here, chill out, and deal with people's shit tomorrow." He started pulling clothes out of the closet. "You're probably all over the news anyway. Again."

Ty sighed and started trying to get out of bed. "When you put it that way," he muttered as he stood up.

Zane picked his duffel up and tossed it on the bed. Then he stopped and looked up at Ty. "Would you at least take the Tylenol? Because you look like shit and it hurts watching you."

Ty cocked his head and grimaced again. "Do I look too bad to go in?" he asked with real concern. "I mean from the drugs, not the bruises." He would be damned if word got around that he was hungover or high this morning, not after the scene he'd made yesterday.

Zane shook his head. "No, you just look like you're really in significant pain. Of course, other people might not recognize that on you and think you're being your normal grumpy self."

"I can deal with that," Ty said with a satisfied nod. He winced once Zane turned away from him and headed for the spare bedroom, where a couple of Zane's suits hung in the closet. "Wear the gray one," he called out on impulse, hoping Zane would do it just to humor him. He loved Zane in that charcoal suit—it made his dark coloring that much more striking. Zane might argue against being pretty, but he was wrong.

"Yeah, fine," Zane called back.

Ty smiled, then sighed as he looked at the pills in his hand. Opening the flap on the packet, he shook the tablets out into his hand and contemplated them sourly. Zane came back down the hall just as he popped a pill and chased it with a few gulps of water.

"Guess I'm driving, then," Zane observed before he turned into the bathroom.

"That's not funny, Zane," Ty shot back at him.

"Wasn't meant to be, Ty."

They got dressed quickly. Ty gave Zane one of his better ties to wear because the one Zane had left there had been ripped off at some point and was mangled beyond repair. Ty preferred the narrower style of ties, and though it looked good on Zane, people might notice it wasn't his. They'd have to deal with it, though. What with all the PR hype, the Bureau had cracked down on the dress code; ties were a must in the office.

Ty stepped out into the hallway carrying his shoes under one arm and picking at the medical tape on his fingers. He pulled it off carefully to check his finger. The joints were blue and swollen, and it hurt like hell to move it. He was beginning to suspect it actually hadn't been fixed properly.

He sighed and balled up the tape. He'd have to raid the first aid kit when he got to the office.

"What do you usually do for breakfast?" he asked Zane in a loud voice. He realized Zane had never actually stayed here for the morning before work. On the weeknights he stayed over, he got up early and went back to his apartment to get ready for work while Ty went for his morning run, and then they met up at the office. It was an odd feeling, having Zane here. Kind of nice.

Zane appeared in his bedroom doorway, working on his tie. "There's a good bakery and deli on the way to the office from my place. I stop and get coffee, at least." He fussed with the knot and then pulled the ends to loosen it and start over as he turned back into the room.

Ty moved toward Zane and reached out to grip his shoulder. Zane relaxed as Ty reached around him to take hold of the tie from behind. He had tried before, but the only way he could fix a tie was if he was wearing it. He tied the knot deftly with his arms wrapped around Zane, and the warmth of Zane allowing the simple action sank deep into him.

When he was done, he placed his hands flat on Zane's chest and hugged him, then backed away before the moment could get too saccharine.

"I'm going to need food or I'll get all... zingy," Ty told him with a frown as he turned away.

"That would go over well in the office," Zane said wryly. "I'd kind of like to see it."

Ty nodded and muttered wordlessly and headed for the stairs, thumping down to the living room to put on his shoes. It was going to be a long day.

Zane parked his truck on the curb next to a government-issue unmarked SUV. "Why don't you stay here? There's an extended team in there already; it's not like I'll be alone."

Ty nodded as he looked out at the array of Baltimore PD uniforms and FBI windbreakers already on the street. They had been called in to investigate a suspicious package reported at an upscale shopping area in the Inner Harbor. Patrons and employees clogged sidewalks that were being barricaded off—the building had already been evacuated as a precaution—and reporters elbowed their way through willy-nilly. A lot of reporters.

"Don't have to tell me twice," he muttered. The morning's brief zing from the Vicodin had worn off quickly, leaving him achy and nauseated and altogether miserable, just as Zane had predicted.

Zane unfastened his seatbelt and offered Ty a half smile. "Take it easy. I'll be back soon, and we'll get an early lunch and I'll take you home." He climbed out and shut the door, walking over to a group of agents as he tugged a matching navy-blue FBI windbreaker over his head. Ty belatedly thought he should have told Zane to put his vest on. He never wore the damn thing unless Ty nagged him about it.

Ty scooted down in his seat and put his sunglasses on so that no one would notice if he went to sleep sitting there. His stomach was unsettled, his head still pounded, and he felt... floaty. He was sure there was another word for it, but that was about as close as he could get to describing the feeling. It was entirely unpleasant. He probably should have called in and just stayed at home. On the plus side, his ribs didn't feel like they were about to snap anymore, so he might be able to flush the rest of those pills when he got home. And Michelle Clancy had taken one look at his finger that morning, grabbed his hand, and yanked the offending digit into place before he could scream for help. It had hurt like a son of a bitch, but now the pain had subsided to a dull throb, and he thought it might be okay.

He watched as Zane walked into the shopping complex with a mixed group of agents and cops, following the bomb-sniffing dogs, and then looked up at the face of the glass-walled building, trying to decide which part they were heading for and wondering why they were going up with the bomb techs at all. Protection detail, maybe? Backup for continued evac? If he remembered correctly, there was shopping on the second and third floors. He'd been in the food court a couple of times.

Ty groaned at the thought of food and shut his eyes. He should have just taken the Tylenol and bitched about being sore all day. If he started throwing up, his ribs would hurt again.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and slumped further in his seat, practically lying flat with his legs extended onto the driver's side dashboard. He watched the building idly, waiting for Zane to come back and drive him home, where he could wallow in misery for the rest of the day.

He zoned out for awhile, drifting in and out, but his eyes were open when all the windows on the far corner of the building's third floor blew out in an explosion that sent flames licking out of the casements.

Ty was moving and out of the truck, feet pounding on the concrete, before he realized what he was doing. He and other agents who'd been loitering around outside ran toward the building as the flames receded back into the windows and alarms began to blare. First through the doors, Ty took off toward the stairs with several others on his heels. He took the stairs two at a time, the other agents falling behind by the time he reached the third-story fire exit.

When Ty pushed through the door, it was face-first into a fine mist the sprinklers spit and sprayed over him, the water working to put out the flames. Smoke choked the shattered concourse; smoldering and dripping debris littered the once-shining marbled floors, and scorch marks blackened the walls.

"Garrett!" Ty called out as he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and moved into the cluttered space.

"Fire and rescue's on the way," an agent told him breathlessly as he came through the door behind Ty.

"How many we got up here?" Ty demanded.

"Ten, at least," the man answered, "not counting BPD." Ty began picking his way down the ruined hall, staying low and watching the ceiling for falling tiles. He heard a dog whining and followed the sound.

"Garrett!" he called out again before coughing.

Thick, ugly smoke billowed through the once-clear hall, drawn by shattered windows acting like a flue, making his eyes sting. Whole walls had been blown out of several ritzy boutiques, sending merchandise flying like the building was an ashy snow globe turned over and shaken violently. The blast pattern fanned so far out—all the way to the exterior walls in places—that it was impossible to tell where their people could have been. Then Ty found two agents in windbreakers leaning on each other, one limping heavily, struggling through the mess.

Ty grabbed one by the shoulder, looking them both over for obvious injuries. He could see a broken arm on one; the other appeared merely bruised and battered. "You okay?" he asked, raising his voice in anticipation of both men being nearly deaf from the concussion of the blast.

One glanced up and nodded, although he grimaced. "Two storefronts that way," he said hoarsely as he pointed. "Some of our guys are down."

Ty took off the way the agent had pointed, moving over the debris with less care than he should have. He clambered over a grisly burnt and melted mannequin and half a wall of shredded clothes blown out of one of the stores. At the sound of a sharp crack, he looked down to see a now-crunched pair of aviator sunglasses. More glass from the storefronts covered the floor like scattered diamonds glinting in the rain still coming down from what sprinklers were intact. Getting around a collapsed metal gate took precious seconds he didn't have, and then he stumbled upon a group of agents with various injuries, some worse than others. A dog hunched over its master, whining mournfully and periodically pacing away as if trying to decide whether to go for help or stay.

An agent turned and waved Ty over. "We need EMTs," the man said, his voice overloud. He pointed down at the woman in an FBI windbreaker. She grimaced, the soot streaks on her face emphasizing how she was white with pain, holding onto her broken leg while another agent tried to splint it to hold it still.

Ty took out his phone, though he was certain paramedics had already been called and were right behind him. He moved toward them as he made the call anyway. Why hadn't he done that first? Or at least told someone else to do it? He wasn't thinking clearly.

"How many?" Ty asked the man, who seemed unharmed.

"Four down here, two unaccounted for. They were in the store, checking the back rooms." The man pointed to a couple of agents frantically laboring to push aside burning debris where some interior walls had collapsed in. "They were closer to it," he said, dread clear in his voice.

Ty moved to help and ended up ordering one of them to head toward the exit because his head was split open and bleeding.

His training was kicking in, so he wasn't panicking about Zane just yet. He knew that later, when the adrenaline wore off, he would be sick no matter what happened.

They moved chunks of plaster and torn wood, tossing them to the side as they dug around. "Garrett!" Ty called again as soon as they'd made a dent in it. Later, he wouldn't remember how much time had passed.

Some of the plasterboard on the floor shifted further in, and the other guy digging yanked it off to reveal an unconscious agent with terrible burns on her face and hands. He knelt down and checked her neck and back, then swung her into his arms before nodding at Ty to keep going, then heading out of the ruined storefront.

Ty stuck his head into the hole they'd made, but there was nothing else in there but more plaster and cement block.

"Fuck," Ty breathed as he pulled back out and looked around a little wildly. Out in the concourse, the way he had come, he could see two firemen in their bulky yellow suits working their way toward him. It had been at least six minutes, then, counting on standard response time. It seemed like it had been so much longer. A lifetime longer. Ty turned and looked deeper into the store filled with dull smoke and shifting shadows.

"Garrett!" he yelled as he headed that way. It was dark where the lights had all been blown out, and most of the debris was unidentifiable. He ducked under a fallen ceiling support, forced to crawl across the soaked carpet to get under it.

The rubble blocked so much of the floor that he had to climb on it rather than pushing it aside. As he got closer to the back, the smoke cleared, blown by a cold breeze from the outside. And then he saw it: a bright splotch of red against a charred gray wall. The blood streaked in vertical lines like someone had tried to wipe it down the wall, and a thick, scorch-marked metal door lay at an angle under it, blocking the corner.

But one long leg ending in a familiar dress shoe extended out of the mess of splintered particle board into what used to be the entrance to the storeroom.

"Zane," Ty gasped as the feeling in his entire body seeped away. He moved as fast as he could, batting away the light pieces of wallboard and shoving the still-hot metal door over and out of the way. Ty knelt beside him. "Zane?" he whispered. His voice wavered as he ran his hand over Zane's face.

He wasn't cut up or burned; the metal door had saved him from the explosion. One shoe was scorched, but even the laces were still intact. He didn't look like he was injured at all, other than the garish bloodstain on the wall behind him from his impact and slide to the floor under the door that had shielded him from the blast.

But Zane didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't open his eyes when Ty tapped his cheek. Nothing.

Ty's stomach turned. He pressed his fingers to Zane's neck, feeling for a pulse. His other hand ran through Zane's hair as he did so.

The pulse was there. Ty gasped in relief, leaned down, and pressed his lips to Zane's forehead, heedless of who might see, and then he looked back into the store for help. He knew without a doubt he couldn't carry Zane out of there.

"Hey!" he called as he saw a beam of light playing through the swirling smoke. "Man down!" he called to the fireman desperately.

As the fireman came closer, hacking his way through the wreckage to clear a path for his retreat, Ty recognized him just by his size.

"I could kiss you, man," he told the large black man he knew only as Tank. The man handed his axe to the other fireman and knelt down at Zane's other side.

"Not on a first date," Tank answered. He checked Zane over quickly for injuries, then hefted him onto his thick shoulders with a grunt. "You hurt?" he asked. Ty shook his head. "Shake a leg, then, Bulldog. Building's not stable," he said as he turned and carried Zane into the smoke.

Ty stood there, unable to make himself move. His entire body shook as he watched them disappear.

The other fireman gripped his arm. "Come on. We gotta get out of here," he said. "The ceiling's starting to come down."

Ty nodded and forced his feet to move. He followed the man along the path Tank had cut through the devastation.

By the time he got out of the building—wet, filthy, half-blind, and coughing—the ambulances had cleared out and the firemen were trying to put out what was left of the flames.

What remained were the television cameras. Reporters saw him as he emerged, and Ty could see the recognition sweep through them as he wiped the soot off his face. They began shouting questions over the barrier that had been hastily set up.

Ty ignored them and stalked toward the milling emergency workers.

"Hey," Ty called out to a young agent in a pristine windbreaker standing and staring at the building. The kid looked at him with wide eyes, apparently recognizing him. Ty had earned a reputation with the rookies, not necessarily by deed but through word of mouth. They were all too terrified of him to realize most of the stories were exaggerated. Right now Ty didn't care. "Where'd they take the wounded?" he demanded.

"Uh, I—"

"Where?" Ty shouted angrily. "UMMC," the kid stammered.

"You're driving," Ty told him as he pointed at Zane's truck.