Chapter One

"Hey, Freddy, Scott, you got to check this out," Special Agent Michelle Clancy said as she trotted into the free weights room of the FBI's Baltimore field office gym.

"Busy," Special Agent Fred Perrimore grunted as he strained with the barbell. His biceps bulged as he pressed up; sweat dotted the black skin along his closely shaved hairline.

"Believe me. It's worth it," Clancy told them in a singsong voice. Her ponytail bobbed along behind her as she bounced on the tips of her toes excitedly, the bright red hair clashing with her freckles and the flushed pink of her face.

Special Agent Scott Alston looked up from where he stood spotting Perrimore. "What is it?" he asked impatiently. Clancy was too easily worked up for a five-year veteran, and Perrimore always took too much weight. If he dropped the bar when Alston wasn't paying attention, there would be shit tons of paperwork to fill out.

"Garrett and Grady are beating the shit out of each other," Clancy answered with something resembling relish.

"So?" Perrimore asked in a strained voice. His large arms trembled with the effort to raise the bar and plates. "They're always doing that."

He was right, but Alston's eyes widened with the news. He began to grin even as he helped pull the bar up and hastily settled it into its cradle with a clank. No way did he want to miss this.

"What the hell, man?" Perrimore complained as he sat up and gave them both an exasperated glare. Alston was already following Clancy out of the room when he heard Perrimore protest, "But what's the big deal? They're always doing that!"

Clancy and Alston emerged into the main gym, where several small groups of agents had dropped what they were doing to gather around the center boxing ring. As Clancy and Alston hurried to watch through the ropes, a chorus of groans and cheers went up as one of the men slammed to the mat with an impact that actually shook the entire ring.

"Get up, Grady! You can't take that shit from him!" one of the watching agents called out in amusement.

Alston shook his head and folded his arms, listening as someone nearby filled him in on the events that had led up to this.

The fight had started out as a simple sparring match between partners. Nothing special. Nothing for anyone to pay much attention to. Several people in the main gym had been initially impressed that the newly arrived Special Agent Zane Garrett could hold his own with his temperamental, extremely well-trained partner, but that was about it. Today's event appeared to have started as a training session, with Ty giving Zane pointers and lessons in some particular technique.

If Zane was trying to learn from Ty, he'd gone to the right place. Unfortunately, Ty wasn't exactly mentor material. Everyone in the Baltimore office knew that Special Agent Ty Grady was good for one thing in the ring: embarrassing the hotshot rookies. If you really wanted to spar with him, you had to handicap him somehow. Alston personally preferred the knee-to-the-nuts-in-the-locker-room-prior-to-sparring method. That usually evened up the odds a little. Usually.

Heads began to turn when the gentle sparring, quips, and teasing between partners had become slightly more heated and the jabs had become true punches that caused the combatants to stagger back with each blow. It was common knowledge how difficult it was to work with Ty Grady. It had come as no surprise to anyone when Zane Garrett arrived that they were always at each other's throats, especially when it turned out Zane was about as headstrong as Ty, which was really saying something. There was already a pool on how long the partnership would last.

"Now, come on, Grady. You taught me that move yourself," Zane said as he backed away a couple steps, his wrapped fists still up and ready. His plain gray cotton T-shirt was soaked through with sweat and pulled across well-defined muscles as he shifted his shoulders. Alston had to admit Zane was a big dude and saw how he could be sort of intimidating. Not that it would matter a bit to Ty.

Ty rolled to his side and pushed himself up with a low groan. He wasn't quite as tall or broad-shouldered as his partner, but he was solid from head to toe, still a big man in his own right. Alston was of the opinion that his attitude gave him a more imposing air than his bulk. Every agent here knew Ty Grady through one avenue or another. And everyone knew he was just one twist short of a slinky.

He was wearing a white shirt with a picture of a scarecrow on it accompanied by the words "Outstanding in his field." Not one of the watching agents gave it a second glance. It was, they all knew, his favorite shirt.

Ty looked up at his partner and snarled at him, seemingly unaware of the people watching and now placing bets on who would be the winner. He rolled his shoulders and began to circle again, taped fists up and close to his face. Zane moved in a mirror image, watching Ty intently.

"There's no way Garrett can stay in too long with Grady," Alston predicted. It wasn't that he didn't like Zane. He seemed like an okay guy. Maybe a little dull and straitlaced. But it was Ty he was fighting. The former Marine was on a short fuse on the best of days. When he lost his temper, there was never any telling what would be rigged to blow by the end of the workday.

"He's been in there twenty minutes already," Clancy said, arms crossed as she watched.

"Yeah, but it didn't get serious until a few minutes ago," another agent told them.

"Garrett may surprise you," Fred Perrimore said as he joined them. While he was built heavy and barrel-chested, Alston stood three inches taller than him at six feet, and they both towered over Clancy's petite frame. "He's got some moves."

"Having ‘moves' and being trained to kill by the government are not the same thing," Alston said with a derisive laugh.

As if to emphasize his point, Ty moved in a graceful series of feints, jabs, and an arcing roundhouse kick to send Zane to the mat with a resounding thump. He danced away lightly before Zane could touch him.

"Hands ain't the only things that hit, Garrett," Ty said in a low voice, a slight smirk curling his lips.

Zane rolled into a crouch and twisted as he stood, his heel connecting with the back of Ty's knee, forcing it to collapse as he punched Ty in the kidney.

Clancy winced. "I'm thinking Garrett can kick ass just fine," she murmured.

They watched as Ty fell to his knees with a grunt of anger and pain, and then he just as quickly rolled and struck out, taking Zane's legs out from under him, catching Zane's knees between his two calves like a pair of scissors. The crowd groaned when Zane hit the mat a second time, and Ty pounced on him, getting an arm around his neck and rolling him up between his knees, trying to immobilize him.

"Should we stop this before Ty snaps his neck?" Clancy asked in morbid amusement. She and Alston shared a look, Alston privately thinking that he wouldn't put it past Ty to do it. They shrugged at each other negligently, but then both winced when Zane somehow rocked forward and pulled Ty half over his shoulder before shoving him off to one side. Ty rolled away nimbly and sprang to his feet almost instantly.

"We need walls, partner," Zane sniped as he got to his feet. "Something for you to splat against."

Ty shook his head and reached up to the strap of the protective headgear required in the ring. He yanked at it and ripped the padded helmet off, tossing it over the ropes to land at the feet of several of the agents watching. He didn't say anything to Zane, just held out one taped hand and gestured for him to bring it.

"Oh fuck, we're going to have to fill out paperwork about this too," Alston muttered to himself.

Zane's eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to one side before doing the same, pulling off his own helmet and sending it skidding off the mat to thunk to the floor. "What's wrong, Grady?" he asked ruefully, raising his fists. "Cat got your tongue?"

Everyone watching groaned at the verbal jab. They'd all heard the story of what had happened to Ty and Zane in the mountains of West Virginia. Ty merely smirked without attacking. One of the fists he held up and ready was badly scarred from the cougar bite he'd received several weeks ago and the two subsequent surgeries he'd undergone to fix the damage. Zane's taunt was a low blow.

Without warning, Zane lunged, leading with his left shoulder to shove all his weight into Ty, propelling him toward the ropes. It seemed to be what Ty had been waiting for, though, because he planted a foot and used Zane's momentum to lift him completely off his feet and slam him down into the mat. The entire ring shook again, and a loud groan rippled through the audience.

This time when Zane was down, Ty didn't try to merely immobilize him. He got in four or five rapid punches to the midsection before one wicked left to Zane's unprotected face.

Shouts of protest came from the crowd, but no one moved to stop it. Zane balled up and took the clearly painful hits, and when Ty reared back for a last shot, Zane got one knee pulled back and shoved a foot into Ty's gut, hard, before he started scrambling away from him. Ty stumbled backward, but then he attacked again, too quickly for Zane to get away.

"I think he'sgetting pissed," Alston observed dryly.

"If Ty waspissed,Garrett'dbe deadalready," Perrimorepointed out in a flat voice.

Another round of painedgroans went up from thesmall crowd of watchingagentsasTytackledZaneandstraddledhim,pinninghim with his knees.

"That hurt, damn it!" Ty growledathispartneras he heldhimto the mat by his neck.

"Fuckyou, Meow Mix," Zane hissed back as he got one hand on Ty's shoulder—the armholding him down—having justenough arm lengthto keep Ty fromtotally throttling him.Heballedup hisother fist andpunchedTyinthegut.Everyoneheardthethumpoffisthitting solid muscle, but it didn't dislodge him.

Ty turnedhisshoulder,slamminghiselbowagainstthesideof Zane'sheadbeforegrabbinghim by theneckagainwithonehandand using the other hand to fend off Zane's attempts atretaliation.

Anyone whoknew Ty knew thathewasn'ttrying tokillhis partner, though. Cause brain damage, maybe. Butnot kill him.

"Guys,thisistoomuch,"Clancy finally objectedassheraised both her hands.

"Yougonnagetintheretoseparatethem?" Alstonasked incredulously ashewatchedZanecontinuetofightoffTy'sotherhand while bucking under him, trying to throw him off.

Clancyshookherhead,andtheywatchedinmorbidamusement asZanefinally,somehow,gotsomeleverage. Thetwomenrolled across the mat ina badly orchestratedtumble, eachman toostubbornto release the other as they grappled.

"What the hell isgoing on here?" an irritated voice bellowedfrom the doorway of the maingym.

Thecrowdofagentsscattered. Ty andZanestoppedmid-throttle, lookingupattheirsuperiorliketwokidscaughtroughhousinginthe living room.

Alstonedgedaway towardtheweightroom,stoppingjustbehind thedoorway topeeraroundthecornerwithClancy andtwoother curious agents.

Inthemiddleofthering,TyturnedhisheadtolookatSpecial Agent in Charge Dan McCoy, who wasglowering at them from several yardsaway."Hey,Mac," Ty greeted innocently ashe straddled his bleeding partner."Comedown towork theglutes?" he askedwith a sincere cock of his head.

Zanegasped for airandrappedhis knuckles hard against Ty's chest as he finally priedTy'sfingers from his throat.

"Youtwo, my office,now,"McCoyorderedashepointedhis finger at them. "Ifyou can kick the shit out of each other, thenyou're ready foryour nextassignment,"he mutteredashe turned andstalked away.

AssoonasMcCoywasgone,someonefromsomewhereinthe cavernousworkoutroomwolf-whistledatTyandZaneandproceeded to applaud the performance they'd given.

TystoodandtookabowasZanestalkedofftowardthelocker rooms. Alston snortedand looked down at Perrimore with a shrug. "Better them than us."

"I hear that," Perrimore muttered as he returned to the weights.

Zanelethisheadlollbackandliftedonehand togentlyprodhissplit lip. "Ow."

"Whineaboutit.It'll makeitbetter,"Tyofferedashestoodin front of his locker, his back to Zane, and unwrapped the tape from his hands with jerky, irritated movements.

"Bite me,"Zane mutteredashe dug intohislocker for a towel beforestartinginonthetapeonhisownhands.Hesparedanevil glance for Ty. "Teaching me to advance in a fightis a bad idea."

"Teachingyou tofightat all isan exercisein futility," Ty respondedina matter-of-facttone."Luckily foryou,I enjoy thingslike banging my head against a wall."

"I enjoy bangingyour headagainsta walltoo," Zane repliedashe tossedtheballed-uptapeatanearbytrashcan.Heletasmallsmile quirk his lips as he sat on the bench to unlace his shoes.

"Shutup,"Ty gruntedathim.Buteventhoughhisbackwasstill turned to him, Zane could hear the smile in his voice. "And cut it out with the damn cat jokes,huh?They're starting tocatch on."

"Fine, fine. No reason toget catty about it,"Zanetold hispartner with a barely concealedgrin.

"A for effort," Ty conceded charitably.

Zane kicked his shoes into his locker before pulling his T-shirt over hisheadandinspecting hisabs andribs."You had togoforthe ribs,didn'tyou?"hesaid,hisvoicepained.He'dhadhisribscracked so many times he figuredthey mightas well be superglued at this point. "Bastard,"hetackedonbeforeshuckinghissocksandstandingwith his towel in hand.

"Youleavethemopen,"Tyinformedhim."Becauseyoucover your head and cry like a little girl."

Zane huffed. This wasone of the problemswith being Ty's partner.Whilethey weretryingtolearntolivewitheachotherwithout significantpersonalinjury,thatdidn'tnecessarilycarry overtotheir sparring sessions."I didn't cover once today," heasserted. "Backed off, hellyes. Covered, no."

Ty glancedover hisbareshoulderandsmirked."Granted,"he allowed."ThinkI shouldshowerbeforeMcCoy handsusourasses,or shouldI go in smelling like victory?" he posedgrandly ashe openedup his locker and tossed hissweaty T-shirt into his gym bag.

Zane bit theinside ofhis lip against thefirst answer thatcame to mindashedeliberately lookedhislover upanddown,andhespenta fewsecondsrevisingwhathecouldsay withoutriskinganothersmack upsidethehead. "I don'tbelieveMcCoy wouldappreciateyour... expressionof ‘victory.'"McCoy wouldn'tappreciate Ty'sfinely tuned musculatureorhisasseither,butZanewasmorethanhappy topickup the slack in that area.

"Quitoglingme,sidekick," Ty warnedwithouthavingtoturn around. Hegrabbedfor hisshower caddy anda towel,and withone last smirk and wink at Zane, he headed for the showers.

Zane spareda momentto wish the lockerroomweren't so busy this afternoon. He'd reached a point where Ty's attitude and cockiness weremoreturn-onsthanannoyances.They wereharbingersof Ty's playfulgoodmood,whichmoreoftenthannotledtocopiousamounts of rough, passionate sex.

Zanedecidedhe'd waittoshoweruntilTywasdone.Hecould only deal with so much bodily temptation in one day.

They sat at McCoy's conference table, behaving themselves and attempting to appear abashed.

TyfiguredDanMcCoyknewhimbetterthanthat,though.He wasprobablystillgettingareadonZane,though,justlikeeveryone elseintheBaltimoreoffice.They'donlybeenactively assignedto Baltimore for afew weeksnow. Ty wasathome.Zanewasstillan unknown to most everyone, despite the stories that had filtered through about their past escapades.

McCoy knew enough to know they were up to no good, anyway.

"Ihopeyougotitoutofyoursystems,"McCoyfinallysaidto them in annoyance.

"We were justputting ona demonstration," Ty explainedeasily. "Zanecallsit‘How toGetYourAssKicked.' Itgoesoverrealwell with the rookies," he drawled, overly pleased with himself.

Zane just satthere looking cool andcomfortablein his well-fitted suit.Hehadasmallsmileonhisfaceasheshookhisheadslightlyat his partner.

"Shut up, Grady," McCoy requested flatly.

"Right," Ty muttered.Heshiftedinhisseatandleanedforward. "You saidyou hadan assignment for us?" he asked eagerly. He would takeanythingoverthe"gettinguptospeed"deskworkthey'd been doingthelastthreeweeks.Despiteoneblipupinthemountainsof West Virginia, the lasteight weeks of Ty's lifehad beengod-awful boring.EvenZanecouldn'tkeep Ty'swaveringattentionforvery long unlesshehadsomethingshiny towavearound.Ty neededtobedoing something or he began to go stir-crazy.

McCoy'slipscurvedintoaslow,slightly malicioussmile."Ido," he answered. "Corbinand Del Porter," he said ashe retrieved a file.

"Who?" Ty asked, unimpressed.

McCoy smiledandreachedtothemiddleofthetableforalittle white remote. He turnedslightly and pusheda button, causing a small flat screen toflick on.Apicture ofa largecruiseship appearedon the screen bolted to the wall.

"Oh shit," Ty found himself blurting before he could stop himself.

"This," McCoy continued as if he hadn'theard Ty,"is the Queen of the Mediterranean," he told them with a wave of his fingersat the ship."ItiscurrentlydockedinBaltimore,preparingforafifteen-day cruise to the Caribbean."

"You'renotmakingustakeavacation,areyou?" Ty askedin something close to panic.

Zane'schin snapped up in alarm. "Jesus, Grady,we agreed not to even think that word, much less say it."

"CorbinandDelPorter,"McCoy saidloudly tocurtailany more conversation,"were supposed to beon that ship tomorrow.But we finallygotenoughonthesetwotodetainthem."Heslidafiletoward Ty and leaned back in his seat with a grin. "There's a laundry list of no-noswecanpinonthemwithalittlemoreevidence,andwe'll getit soonenough.Whatwewantfromyouissomethingconcreteonafew of their contacts."

Ty scratchedhisheadabsently ashe lookedoverthe file. The two menwereimplicatedinnumeroushigh-dollarthefts:art,antiquities, rare gems. All stuff that was hard to steal and harder to fence.It was difficultto tellwhether they were collectorsormiddlemen,buteither way,if the FBI leanedonthem,it couldproduce a lotof informationon a lot of different high-end thieves and dealers.

ButTy andZane weren'tleaners. They didn'tinterrogate suspects who weren't part of their own investigations. They didn't know anythingaboutthiscaseandwouldbelostifthey wereaskedtodothe interrogation.Informationwasn't whytheywerehere.Heglancedto hisside,whereZaneshruggedoneshoulder,having obviously cometo the same conclusion.

"I'mnotsureI understandwhywe'rehere," Ty saidinconfusion as he gestured between himself and Zane, still looking down at the file.

"You arehere becauseyoutworoughly match the physical descriptionofthetwomenwenowhaveincustody,"McCoy answered with a wide grin.

Ty lookedupathimsuspiciously.McCoy seemedtobeenjoying himself toomuch for thisto begood news for Ty orZane.Zane leaned forward in his seat, frowning, though he didn't speak up.

"We look like them," Ty reiterated flatly.

"Vaguely," McCoy agreed. "Same build, mostly. Zane's coloring."

Ty glaredatthe man. "I'mnotfollowing," he saidslowly."You want us to assume their identities?How's that gonna work?" he asked.

"Corbin andDel Porter were bookedto leave on that cruise tomorrow," McCoy saidagain."We have iton goodauthority they plan to meet several of their buyers and sellers while on this cruise, taking advantageofsomewhatlaxsecurity andcustomsandwhathaveyouin the Caribbean. Andsince this will bethefirst instance of thetwo of themevershowingthemselvesphysically intheirbusinessdealings, theircontactsonlyhavevirtualinteractionstogoon.They won'tknow you're imposters.We can get alot of informationout of this ifyou two take their places and play your cards right."

"I'mnotsureI likethesoundofthis,"Zanesaid."We'venotgot word one on the caseuntil today, and nowwe're supposed to impersonate these guys?"

"You'll be given a crash course. And you're both professional bullshitartists;you'reperfectforit,"McCoyrepliedcarelessly.Zane frowned at him.

Tyscratchedslowlyathischeek."Okay,"hesaidcarefully.He stilldidn'tunderstandwhy McCoy seemedtobeenjoyingtheprospect so much. There was a catch coming.

"You leaveat nine in the morning. The rest ofyour team has alreadybeenputinplace,"McCoytoldthemashepushedanother stack of files toward the center of the table.

"Ourteam?"Zanerepeated.Tysighedheavilyandclosedhis eyes. There was the catch.

"You know the drill, Garrett, a team. Team leader, two more field agents,andtechsupport.Readthefilessoyoudon'tendupshooting oneofthemwhenyoumeetthem.AndGrady,we'llbeneedingyouto makejustafew... alterations... toyourappearancebeforeyougo,"he said as he studied Ty critically.

"What the hell areyou talking about, McCoy?It'snot like he can gain fifty pounds overnight," Zane saidcrossly.

"Nothing like that. Some hot wax and a little bleach, and he'll be set," McCoy continued,barely keeping himselffrom laughing now.

"Hot wax?" Ty asked in alarm. He heard Zane stifle a snort.

"Del Porter is what you would call... arm candy," McCoy drawled with a smirk.

"Oh hell,"Zane muttered,leaning back,rubbing hishandover his face,andshifting inhischairuncomfortably.Ty glancedathim,not following.

"IseethatGarretthasfigureditout,"McCoysaid,hisvoice nearly bubbly. Ty shookhis head in confusion.

"I didn'tmentionthat?" McCoy asked infeignedinnocenceashe flipped through hisnotes as ifhe needed tocheck his information. "Corbin and Del Porter aren't brothers, gentlemen. They're lovers. Legally married,in fact."He reachedoutand placedtwo silver ringson the desk in front of them."Go ahead and put thoseon," he instructed.

Zanewenttotally still,hiseyeslockedonthejewelry.Thenhis chin rose as his gaze shifted to McCoy. "Are you sure this is necessary?" he asked flatly.

Ty very carefully didn'tsayanythinginresponseashestaredat theshinyrings.He'd wornaweddingringbeforeaspartofacover. But this was different.

"ThePortersareaveryoutgay couple,"McCoy continued, ignoring their reactionsto the news. "Thefactiswell-known toalltheir contacts.It would be an alarm bell if you weren'twearing the rings," he said to Zane. "Corbin is whatyou'd call the brains of the operation. Del is... pretty."

Tystillsatmotionless,staringatMcCoywithachurninginhis gutasherealizedwhattheywerebeingthrowninto.Averyoutgay couple amongst peoplewho wouldexpect them to act as such—including a team of their own people. He slowly reached out and picked up one of the rings,turning itover in hishand.Itwas a simple silver band, flat and wide. He glanced atZane apprehensively.Zane still wore hisowngoldweddingringonhisfinger.Tydidn't knowhowhis partnerwouldreacttoreplacingit,eventemporarily.ButZanedidn't move a muscle, didn't even twitch as he stared at the single ring still there in front of McCoy.

"Nowunderstand:thismay putyoubothinafewuncomfortable situations,"McCoywentonsincerely."Butyou've bothgotUC experience,andI'msureyou'd both rather haveto kiss eachother than be shotat," he joked. Ty clearedhisthroatandtried to restraina smile. McCoy hadnoideahowrighthewas."Thoseringsareallwe'regoing toprovideyouforthisone,"hecontinued."We've appropriatedthe bagsthey'dalready packedfortheircruise,soyou'resetonbeing clothedand otherwise outfitted.Lucky for us,youtwo are evenroughly thesamesizes,"McCoy rambledashestood."Everythingthey needed for thedealsthey weremaking is in thatluggage.You'llhave to smuggle weapons onboard; we'll come upwith some sort of concealment for them in the luggage. The captainand head of security on board have been informed ofyour involvement, butyouare not to breakcoverevenwiththemunlessabsolutely necessary. Ty,ifyoufind yourself in the brig,you stay there until they make port. You'll have the restofyour teamthere ifyougetin trouble, butwhenyou make land, you're shit out of luck."

McCoy stoodattheendofhislittlespeech,looking downatthem witha raised eyebrowanda smile. Ty andZanesatstaringathim,their mouths hanging open as they listened.

DanMcCoy hadbeenagoodfieldagent,andhewasagood SpecialAgentinCharge.Ty hadeven worked ona few caseswithhim beforeMcCoy hadbeenpromoted,andthey'dgottenonwell—which wasprobably why McCoywasenjoyingthissomuchandlettingit show. Ty sort of wanted to hit him.

"Comewithme,"McCoyinvitedwithrelishashesweptoutthe door.

Afewmomentsafterhedisappeared,Zanestoodabruptlywitha sniffandstraightenedhisjacket.Ty sawthathewasgrindinghis teeth. He lowered hishead and looked atthe ring in his hand, notsure whatto doorsay aboutit.HesupposedhewouldjustputhisonandletZane workitouthimself.Heslippeditonhisfingerdiscreetlyashestood up.Itwasalittletight;hehadtoforceitovertheknucklethatwasstill alittleswollenfromthesurgery he'dhadtoremoveapieceofcougar tooth,butonceitgoton,itfitwell.Ty verycarefully didn'tgiveitany extra attention after that.

Zane reachedout and plucked up the other ring, closing itinto the fistof his righthand before turning on hisheelto leave the room. Ty followedthemoutsilently,dreadingthehissy fitthatwouldcomesoon enough.

Theyfollowed McCoy down a few floors to an interrogation room and filed into theobservation half of oneof the suites where an agent, Harry Lassiter,already stoodat theglass. Ty and Zane noddedto themanasMcCoy pointedthroughthetwo-way mirror."Gentlemen, meet Del Porter."

The man sitting at the table was handsome, probably about Ty's heightand build,justalittle slimmer.He hadshort,spiky hair bleached an unnatural platinumblond that contrasted oddly with hisdark tan. He worea sleeveless vest that tied witha simplecordof leatherat thecrest of hisripped chest,andhisentire upper body was well-muscledand toned. He wasalso clean-shaven and completely devoid of body hair.

HelookedtoTy likeheshouldbestandingunderawaterfallina gay porno.

Zane paused in place, eyes a little wide, looking from Del to Ty to Del and back.

Tyblinkedrapidlyattheguy."I'm supposedtobe... him?"he finally asked in a stricken voice.

"Good thingyou're a hell of anactor,"Zane murmured as he continued comparing them.

Tyglaredathimbrieflyandlookedbackatthemanbehindthe glass. "I'll never pull this off," he said to the other men in the room.

Zanetippedhisheadtooneside,openly appraising Ty'sbody."I don'tknow,"hesaiddistractedly. Ty lookedbackathimhatefully, feeling himself blushing under the scrutiny.

"He's not what I'd call stupid. But he sure as hell isn't the brightestbulbinthepack,"McCoy informedthem."Heknowsjust enough to keep his mouth shut. But that and the fact that he's pretty and got himself a rich husband are aboutall he'sgotgoing for him."

"Holy fuck,man," Ty finally muttered. "I'mgonnabethisdude for how long?"

"Relax,Grady.Youhavetheeasyendofthis,"McCoyassured him."Garrett'sguy istherealbrainshere,andnoonewho'sfamiliar withthemwillexpectyoutodoanythingbutlayinthesunandwork onyourtan.Garrett?Inthefield,you'retheleadonthisone.You're calling the shots. Grady is just there as scenery and backup."

Zanesnortedas Ty turnedtolookatMcCoy inoutrage.Backup? They were partners; there was no lead and backup!

"Ty,we've bookedyou an appointment at some spa with a name I can't pronounce," McCoy went on as he handed Ty a slip of paper.

Ty reachedoutwoodenly and tookthecertificate. "I'llgeton board with the haircolor," he bargained pleadingly."You'reseriously gonna make me wax my chest?"

"Youseethatguy inthere?"McCoy counteredwithapointofhis finger at the man in the interrogation room.

Tyswallowedhard.Hehaddonealotofthingshewasn'tproud of in orderto assume identities that weren'this. He'dchangedhis appearance,changedhisbehavior,treateddecentpeoplehorribly to make an impressionon ascumbag, prepared crackcocaine for others to smoke,takenlives,andanynumberofotherthingshedidn't careto remember. He knew howimportanta part the smallestthing couldplay whentrying toconvince astrangerthatyouweresomeonethey thought they already knew.Helookeddownatthesilverringonhisfingerand back up at the man behind the glass with a heavy sigh.

"There's a good man," McCoy said with a pat to Ty's shoulder.

TyglancedatZaneashefelthimselfblushingslowly.Though Zane's face was composed, Ty could see the laughter in his eyes.

"I don't know how they'll get rid of the tattoo, but they've assured me they can," McCoy added with anotherpat to Ty's shoulder.

"What?" Ty cried as he looked at McCoy in outrage.

McCoy justsmiledathim."Thisguywasobviously nevera Marine," he reasoned."Now, Grady,yougetgoing," he ordered before Ty couldhavea meltdown."You'regetting the works,soyou'll probably bethereallfucking day.Garrett,comewithme,"McCoy said as he gestured forZane to follow him. "I'll introduceyou toyourself," he said wryly as they headed out the door.

TyfeltthesuddenurgetobegZanenottoleavehimthere.He couldfeelthe raisedwriting onthe slip of thick, cream-coloredpaper in hishand. Helooked down atit, thinking ofallthe proceduresthe makeover would entail. SalonLáurie... waxing, tanning, bleaching, manicures, lotions, scented mud...

Del Porter said something suddenly,complaining about being left intheroomforso long.Ty turnedtolookathiminshock.Hepointed his finger in outrage and turned to the other agent in the room. "He's British?" Ty cried.

SpecialAgentLassiter,who'dbeenstanding there silently the wholetime,coveredhismouthwithhishandandmerely noddedin answer, unable to keep from laughing any longer.

"Do yourealizewhatkindofshit-fitGrady'sgoingtohaveoverthis whenthisisalldone?"ZaneaskedMcCoyastheywalkeddownthe nondescript hallway of holding and interrogationrooms.

"Oh,I'mlookingforwardtoit,"McCoy saidwithrelish."I want pictures, Garrett. They'llbe greatfor the newsletter."

Zane rolledhis eyes."I hopeyour insurance is up-to-date," he said asthey stoppedatanother door."Grady doesn'tforgetpeoplewho fuck around with him."

"Hegivesasgoodashegets,"McCoy saidgood-naturedly ashe opened a door.Zane grunted and walked in.

The man onthe other side of the two-way glasswas asdifferent fromDelPorterasnightwasfromday.AndMcCoywasright.Zane didhaveageneralresemblanceinheight,build,and coloring. But CorbinPorterwasdefinitelyhigh-class.Orhethoughthewas:finely cuthairslickedback,aruby studinoneear,anexpensivedesignersuit with a high-collared shirtrather than a tie, custom cuff links, manicured hands, andItalian leather on his feet.He held himself like a man accustomed to receiving respect, or possibly groveling.

"I didn'tsay anything toGrady becauseI didn'twanttomitigate hishorror.You'regoingforahaircutandmanicuretoo,"McCoy said with a twist to his lips.

Zane noddeddistractedly as he studied CorbinPorter. The man was... arrogant.ThatwasthewordZanewaslookingfor.Arrogant. Andpossibly vainaswell,butonly tothepointofknowinghewasa fine-looking man.

He was alsoconfident and controlled. He had propped one ankle overtheoppositekneeashesatcasuallyatthetable,oneforearm resting on the edge.Hewasn'tfidgeting or twitching.He wassimply waiting.Whatgavehimawaywastheangersparkinginhiseyesand the tightness around hismouth.

"Doyou want to talk to him?" McCoy asked Zane.

Zane slowly shook his head. "I've met his type before."

"He's hardly a drug runner or a computer hacker," McCoy pointed out.

"He'sa thug,"Zane murmured. "He's dresseduppretty, but he's still just a thug."

"Explains the tattoo they'll be givingyou, then."

Zane blinked and turned his chin toward McCoy, who was grinning.

WhenZaneandMcCoysteppedbackintotheobservationroomof DelPorter'sinterrogationsuite,Zanehadalmostexpected Ty tostillbe there,tyinghimselftothetableandbeggingnottobetakentothe salon.

But it was just SpecialAgentLassiter, whohadbeen joined by SpecialAgentPerrimore.They werestanding attheglass,looking inat the prisoner with their heads cocked to the sides, like they were studying an animal in the zoo.

Zanepeeredthroughtheglassaswell. Ty wasinthere,sitting oppositeDel,relaxedintotheseatwithhisbacktothem,hislegs crossedandhiselbowrestingonthetable,almostlikeCorbinPorter hadbeen.ButTymadeitseemcasualandeasy,whereCorbinhad given off nothing but contempt and hostility.There was something different in Ty's manner, too, but Zanecouldn't put a finger on it. He was too surprised to see Ty in there at all. He wasn't the only one.

"What the hell is he doing?" McCoy asked in alarm. "He said he wanted to talk to him," Lassiter answered. McCoy reached over andflipped the speaker switch. "He told us not to listen in," Lassiter told McCoy.

"Fuckthat,"McCoy respondedunthinkingly."Theguy'sactually talking—we mightget something from him."

"Not like we can use it in court," Lassiter murmured under his breath, and he and Perrimore murmured quietly before snickering over the circumstances of theundercover case again. Zane ignored them in favor of watching Ty as the speakers tuned in.

"Howlonghaveyoubeenmarried?"Ty wasaskingDel,whosat hunched and defensive, looking at Ty suspiciously.

Deldidn'tanswer;he merely lookeddownathishands,probably studying hiswedding ring.Zane resisted the urgeto lookdown athis own. He knew,withouta doubt, what sort ofthoughts were running through Del's mind.Zane squeezed his eyes shutfor a momentbefore focusing on the scene again.

"DidyoudoithereintheStatesordidyougosomewhereelse?" Ty asked, his voice conveying what sounded like genuine interest.

"What the hell does Ty care?" Perrimore asked incredulously.

"He doesn't. He's building rapport, idiot," Lassiter answeredidly ashewatched Ty closely."Weusedtousehimtoprepsuspectsallthe time. He's charming."

"You two will make a cute couple," Perrimore drawled.

"Shut up. He also has a knack forgiving off thatdumb-as-a-brick vibe, leaves them off guard."

"Yeah,yeah."

Ty continued,undeterredwhen Delstilldidn'tanswer hisqueries. "MyhusbandandI,wewenttoBoston,"Tywenton,pickinguphis handandflashingthesilverringonhisfingercasually.Theliecame shockingly easily tohim.Del'seyesflickereduptohim,obviously surprised.

Everyone in the room turned to look at Zane.

"Ah,yes," hedrawled wryly as hefelttheir eyeson him. "He'sa sucker for red roses and opera."

Perrimore andLassiter snorted at himwhile McCoy chuckledand shook his head. "If there was baseball and Guinness involved,I'd half believe it," McCoy muttered.

Zane rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window.

"Lots of history up there," Ty was saying with a tilt of his head.

Intheroom,Delsatupstraighter. "I didn'tthinkthey likedthat sort of thing inthe FBI,"he saidwitha slightcurlof hislip.Zane was surprised to hear him speak with a British accent.

Ty shrugged."You'rethinkingmilitary.Fedsdon'thaveany problemswithit.I domy joblikeanyoneelse,"hesaidwithanother wave of his hand.Zanecouldn't place what Ty was doing differently with his body, but it made him look... gentler.Not feminine, but... not asmasculineashewasapttobe.Zanecouldn't reallydescribethe effectotherthantothinkthatTy lookedlessalpha.Herealized suddenly,as Ty rolledhisshoulders,thathewassubtly mimickingthe man sitting across from him.

IthitZanerightthenwhatTywasreallydoinginthere.Hehad no intention of interrogating Del Porter. He was studying him.

Delnoddedcarefully."Howlonghaveyoubeenwithhim?"he asked, his tone tentative.

"Longenoughto knowbetter," Ty answeredwitha smile.Allof his answers were vague.White lies that wouldn'ttest Ty's conscience, Zane knew.

Del gave him a half smile and nodded, then looked back down at his hands.

Ty wassilent,watching him.Fromhisvantagepointbehindthe glass,ZanecouldseewhatTywasseeing.Fadingbruisesaroundthe man's wrists, a few on his upper arms.

"He treatyou right?" Ty asked suddenly.

Delglancedup athimalmostdefiantly andnoddedagain.He held uphishandstodisplay hiswrists."I likeitrough,"hetold Ty witha smirk.

McCoy had to clear his throat, and Zane turneda glare on him.

Ty chuckledandnodded."I hearya," herespondedneutrally.He continued to examine Del Porter, and the man watched him and waited almostcuriously.Helookedasifhewantedtosaymore,buthewas still wary.

Zane shook his head as he watched through the glass.

"The little hamster in Ty's head is probably bored," Perrimore observed.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Porter," Ty said abruptly as he nodded, as if having satisfied himself. He unfolded his legs and stood, heading for the door.

Del watched him go in surprise. "That's it?" he asked in confusion. "You're leaving?"

Ty stopped at the door and turned to look back at the man, his hand on the door handle. "I'm sorry. Did you need something else?" he asked with what seemed like honest surprise.

"You didn't even ask me anything."

Ty laughed and shook his head. "That ain't my job, man," he told Del dismissively before stepping out of the interrogation room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Del Porter stared at the door and then looked at the mirrored glass incredulously.

"Somebody get Grady to the damn spa," McCoy ordered under his breath as he stalked out of the room.