Cut & Run (Cut & Run #1)(63)
Author: Abigail Roux

“That’s how they’re programmed to think,” Ty responded in a patient voice.

The unusually placid sound of Ty’s voice did the trick. Against Zane’s will—because he really wanted to stay angry—the heat drained out of him, replaced by a hollow chill. “I just kept thinking,” he said quietly, “about how scared those girls must have been. And here they are sitting and laughing and making light while that bastard is out there, probably picking out his next victim.” He gave his head a tiny shake, taking another long drag on the cigarette.

“Wait ’til he kills a few men in blue. Then they’ll be all over it,” Ty responded in the same calm, almost uncaring tone.

Zane snorted and shook his head, taking another long drag. “Did they say anything after I left?”

“Nothing about you, no,” Ty answered shortly. Looking over his shoulder, Zane raised a brow in question. Ty simply shrugged negligently and half-turned as if he was going to leave. “Food.”

Grinding his teeth, Zane dropped the cigarette, ground it under his shoe on the carpet, and followed along, chewing on his annoyance and trying 184

to shove it where the sun didn’t shine so he could be Mr. FBI again. He wasn’t all too sure he would be successful.

Ty strolled easily down the hall and glanced over his shoulder finally as he felt Zane catch up to him. “They enjoy getting in your craw, y’know,”

he advised neutrally.

“Yeah,” Zane muttered. “I used to be better about shrugging it off.

Off my game.”

“No shit,” Ty responded wryly.

Zane suddenly grinned. “Fuck off.”

“Sit on it and spin,"” Ty shot back as he pushed through a pair of security doors.

“More your style lately,” Zane sniped.

Ty stopped short, then he snorted and smiled slightly. “Got me,” he snickered good-naturedly.

Zane chuckled, relief washing through him after the stressful day, and pulled out the car keys. “Have to catch up; I’m behind,” he said with a shrug.

He hit the key fob button as they approached from across the garage.

A few moments later and a few steps closer, the car exploded in front of them.

The bomb set off a chain of reactions that Ty observed in a detached sort of “I think my arm is on fire” manner after they both hit the concrete. Car alarms began to scream, sprinklers overhead kicked on as the flames from the wreck of the car licked at the cement ceiling, alarms blared inside the government building behind them, and bits of flaming plastic and bent metal rained down amidst the smoke. Soon, they heard running footsteps—dress shoes smacking on cement—and shouts from voices Ty didn’t recognize as sirens began to wind up in the distance.

Zane shook his head as he sat up. “Fuck. This just got a hell of a lot worse,” he muttered as he turned to his side to look at Ty, flat on his back.

“You okay?”

All Ty could do to respond was close his eyes and let his head loll to the side. The thick leather of his jacket had saved his arm from a piece of smoldering shrapnel and it smelled like burning cow. He couldn’t seem to form words or thoughts.

“Shit. Who decided we were taking turns?” Zane plucked the leather at Ty’s arm; it appeared to have survived, though it was scorched. He slid an arm under Ty’s back and helped him sit up. “I’m thinking the same disappearing act as the other day is a good idea,” he urged. “That was our car.”

Ty sat staring at the flaming vehicle as blood began to trickle down his neck. He shivered and lowered his head. “Help me up,” he requested hoarsely.

Zane nodded and got to his feet before crouching to help Ty, and he caught sight of the blood. “Ty? You hit your head? Something hit you?”

Ty turned his head obediently for Zane to look and closed his eyes, shivering again. The blood already matted his hair and covered the entire back of his neck.

Zane’s lips compressed and he took Ty’s arm. “Come on,” he said, pulling Ty up and along toward the side stairwell, away from where anyone would appear as they came to investigate. The fact that Ty didn’t protest being led anywhere should have caused Zane more worry. The injured man practically kept his eyes closed as they moved. It was obvious his head was swimming, and the blood flowing down his neck was working its way under his collar and down his back.

Getting them inside the stairwell, Zane held Ty up against the wall while looking back through the small window as agents swarmed into the garage, yelling and circling. Frowning, he got Ty’s arm over his shoulder and walked him down the steps to the ground floor. He helped Ty sit on the bottom step and touched his cheek, trying to get his attention. “Ty? Stay here.

I’m going to get us a car, okay?”

Ty cleared his throat and blinked up at Zane, narrowing his eyes. “I think I might need a doctor, man,” he rasped slowly.

“I’ll take you to an emergency room, without other agents around.

Stay here, okay?” Zane said intently, holding Ty’s chin.

“Yeah,” Ty muttered, afraid to nod for fear of his head spinning faster.

Zane moved quickly and with a purpose, making no pretense at hiding. The clerk in the key cage was gone, so Zane grabbed the first keys he saw. Once in the motor pool, he hit the unlock button and saw the flashing headlights of a mid-size SUV. Soon, he brought it to a halt at the stairwell and climbed out to get Ty. When he got back into the stairwell, he found Ty on the stairs where he’d left him, unconscious. Tim Henninger crouched next to him with his hand on his shoulder, supporting him. The younger agent was 186

still bandaged from the explosion in the records room, his face and arms cut and stitched in places. His head was lowered, trying to look into Ty’s face as he slid his hand into his jacket, apparently reaching for a phone to call for help.

Henninger turned and half-rose when the door opened, tensing, and then relaxed slightly when he saw Zane, who stopped in place, eyes narrowed.

“Henninger. We’re getting out of here,” he said as he knelt in front of Ty and slid his arm under his partner’s. The movement seemed to rouse Ty slightly, and his hand clutched in the material of Zane’s jacket. “Keep your mouth shut about it.”

“What the hell?” Henninger questioned. “Look, he’s hurt. Why don’t we get the EMTs down here and—”

“Because it’s too risky. I’ll take him to an emergency room. Now, are you going to help or not?” Zane asked in a flat, no-nonsense tone as he helped Ty to his feet, worried when the other man didn’t even look up at him.