Divide & Conquer (Cut & Run #4)(74)
Author: Abigail Roux

Zanes gaze followed his, and with a huff he yanked the tie off and stepped back, waving Ty inside. “Need some help?” Ty asked as he stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind himself. He swept the cover off his head and tucked it under one arm, a motion Zane had seen many times before but never appreciated to its fullest until now.

“Apparently,” Zane agreed as he shut the door. “But not with this one.” He meant to turn to the second bedroom to get another tie, but he couldnt make himself look away just yet. The last time Zane had seen dress blues had been on the groom at his sisters wedding. He knew enough about chevrons and rockers to identify Tys rank as Staff Sergeant, but he didnt know what any of the impressive stack of ribbons stood for aside from the recognizable Purple Heart ribbon on the top row. Zane reached up to cautiously ghost his fingers over it.

Ty smiled gently, letting him touch. “Flashy, arent they?” he said wryly. He didnt sound like he was boasting. “No medals?” Zane asked. He knew most of the ribbons had corresponding medals, though not why servicemen wore one or the other or both.

“Theyre at home. The ribbons dont clink.”

Zane nodded. “Looking sharp, Marine,” he complimented with a small smile. “Any rules about getting kissed in uniform?”

“Not that Im aware of,” Ty answered, smiling wider. Zane chuckled and leaned down to kiss Ty carefully, not wanting to get snagged on the ribbons or buttons. He could feel Ty smiling against his lips, and Ty pulled him closer. Zane hummed in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Ty loosely. The wool of the jacket was smooth under Zanes fingers, the embroidery of the patches less so, but Tys lips were still warm and soft against his.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Ty murmured against his lips. Zane kissed him again as a thank-you. It was just a nice suit, but one he didnt wear often, being an intense black—so much so it almost picked up a midnight blue or indigo sheen in the right light—and more closely tailored than he preferred for work. Hed chosen a soft gray dress shirt and had been messing with an understated silver tie.

Ty smoothed his hand over Zanes chest and hummed. “I know which one will work.” He handed Zane his cover and stepped aside, heading for Zanes bedroom.

Zane spun the cover between his hands as he watched Ty move into the next room. He walked differently, Zane noted. Taller, his shoulders more squared, steps more measured, with a gravity Ty normally shrugged off. It was more than a subtle change, one that oddly seemed to suit him.

Some people were born to be Marines. Ty was one of them. Suddenly it struck Zane as a tragedy that Ty was no longer in the Corps. The hint of melancholy he had noticed in Tys eyes upon occasion made perfect sense now, and the realization settled unhappily in the pit of Zanes stomach. Ty had been happy in the Marines. He had to miss it.

Ty came back a moment later, holding a narrow black tie with silver squares and charcoal gray lines between them. It was one of Tys, and the corners of Zanes mouth curled up, because he probably had ten or twelve different ties of his own in the drawer. At least one a month got ruined between work and Tys lack of patience at the end of a long workday. “Okay,” he agreed, holding out one hand.

Ty shook his head, sliding his fingers down the expensive silk of the tie. Ty didnt dress to impress all that often, but when he did, he went for broke. He raised the tie and wrapped it around Zanes neck, looking him in the eye with a smile. “Turn around. Ill tie it.”

Zane half rolled his eyes but turned around as instructed, facing the island countertop. He loved it when Ty did this. Ty slid his hands under Zanes arms, having to press hard against his back to reach the tie. His fingers were quick and sure as he tied it, and Zane could feel his nose and chin pressing down against the back of his shoulder. When he had it tied, he stepped back and tugged at Zane to turn, then smoothed the tie out and straightened it. Finally he gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Do I pass inspection?” Zane asked.

“Itll do,” Ty answered as he looked Zane up and down. He took his cover from Zane and tucked it back under his arm. “You ready?” “No,” Zane said honestly. “But its time to go anyway.” Ty patted his cheek sympathetically. The entire department was in mourning, but Zane had been the last person to see Reeves conscious, in the store just before the bomb went off. It had left Zane shaken once hed remembered.

The funeral was going to be a huge public spectacle: the big Bureau and law enforcement turnout, the irresistible PR opportunity, and—because there was no realistic way to keep the press out— cameras everywhere. Zane was trying not to think too much about the very real possibility of the funeral itself being a target.

“Lets get this over with, then,” Ty muttered. His eyes were a deep green, trending toward blue today, and though the uniform seemed to do something spectacular to his bearing, the air around him felt worn thin and stretched. Not for the first time, Zane found himself worrying about Tys general well-being.

His partner wasnt right, and Zane didnt know what to do to help him. He turned and headed for the door while Zane shrugged into his heavy woolen coat. Zane double-checked his wallet, badge, phone, and firearm, and followed Ty out.

T HE gravesite lay beneath a copse of giant oak trees. It would be well shaded in the summer, but for now the bare branches reached up to the heavily clouded sky. Green Mount was a beautiful cemetery of great historical significance, filled with monuments and mausoleums that lent a solemn air to that beauty. Even now, in the dead of winter, the grass was green and wet, shining dully against the uneven paths of gray pavers. Tombstones and statues too numerous to count stood vigil over the graves, marble and weathered rock figures that peopled the cemetery when no other living soul was present.

The pallbearers moved silently into the crowd after carefully setting Lydia Reeves flag-draped casket just so, and the minister began speaking. Zane noted distantly that the man had a good speaking voice; it carried out over the tidy gravesite to the family under the green awning as well as the crowd standing in small clusters amidst the other headstones and monuments. He estimated at least a hundred present, many from the Bureau, and then assorted friends and family who gathered closer to the family for the service. The press had been surprisingly considerate so far, not approaching the family or any attendees, standing to the side, only a couple of digital video cameras running silently.

The minister didnt speak long. He nodded to a woman standing nearby, she read the twenty-third Psalm, and then the gathered lowered their heads for a final prayer. At the amen, the bagpipes, positioned discreetly to the far side of the crowd, wheezed to life, and Zane couldnt repress a shiver as the player began the traditional “Amazing Grace.” Two servicemen in dress uniforms, agents Zane recognized from work, moved to lift and fold the American flag.