He bent and began rummaging through his bag for clean clothing. His body bore the evidence of a life lived in the trenches, and it was easier to see now in the afternoon light streaming through the sheer curtains. Zane got a closer look at the tattoo and realized that it was a drawing of a bulldog wearing the distinctive white cover of a Marine. Two guns crossed behind the dog, the smoke from their barrels forming the letters “USMC.” It wasn’t possible to make out the finer details. Zane would need to get closer to appreciate the artwork. A lot closer.
The rest of Ty’s body was covered with battle scars. There were wounds that Zane recognized as gunshots and knife gashes, and several older, more interesting patterns along his side that might have been caused by barbed wire. The one that was most recent was the one he had noticed before, low on Ty’s belly. Zane knew it went all the way through to the back.
None of it detracted from his physique. Not in Zane’s eyes. Zane had his share of “mementos” from the job. But to him, the Bureau was just a job, albeit one he loved. Ty lived it. Ty did the job because he believed in it, though Zane suspected Ty would never admit it. It was a stark difference, and Zane lowered his chin to the pillow to mull silently over his own choices.
Ty pulled out a new T-shirt from his seemingly endless supply, one with “ExFed” written across the front in purple and green letters, and he slid into it as he turned around and looked over Zane. “Sure you’re all right?” he asked, sounding almost self-conscious as he covered up.
Zane refocused on the man in front of him, blinking a few times. Ty looked uncomfortable suddenly. Worried his partner wouldn’t be up to the task? He spent a short minute thinking of what he wanted to say. This slightly different side of Ty—the man who’d tended his wounds—made Zane feel like he could be a little more open. But the man now in front of him looked uneasy.
“I will be,” he answered quietly.
Ty raised an eyebrow dubiously and pursed his lips. He finally nodded and then looked back down at himself. “I was going to shower,” he muttered, almost talking to himself as he pulled the clean T-shirt off again and flushed slightly in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being flustered.
Raising an eyebrow, Zane watched the slight blush cross Ty’s cheeks.
Seeing such a soft look on the other man stirred something inside Zane, something warm he had to swallow on. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Ty nodded and picked up a battered leather toiletry bag on his way to the bathroom. He couldn’t even produce a snappy response. Zane watched him disappear into the bathroom, still a little mystified. He certainly hadn’t said anything he thought could be construed as embarrassing. Sighing, he shook his head just slightly, winced as the back of his neck screamed, and tried to relax, eyes shuttering.
Taking the minimum amount of time in the shower, Ty washed the blood off and made sure he was reasonably clean. He stepped out of the steamy bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist, and he peered at Zane closely, trying to determine if he’d gone to sleep. He moved closer and knelt beside the bed, resting his chin on the mattress and looking into Zane’s face.
Dimly, Zane sensed his partner close. “What?” he murmured softly.
“Nothin’,” Ty answered in the same soft tone. “Just making sure you weren’t dead.”
The corner of Zane’s mouth curled up. “Would you miss me?” he asked sleepily, the drowsiness lulling him into the odd question.
“Sure,” Ty answered in a gently placating tone as he reached up and petted Zane on the head to humor him.
Zane’s soft chuckle was mostly muffled by the pillow. “Sure you would,” he said as he went to sleep, trusting Ty to keep watch.
Ty squatted by the side of the bed for a long time, frowning at Zane’s sleeping face. Thinking hard about it, he realized that he just might miss the guy. Even if it was just because he was so fun to annoy. “Damn you,” he muttered softly.
“HEY, Henny,” Mark Morrison greeted from the opening in the curtain around the emergency room cubicle. “Are you maimed for life?” He smirked at his fellow agent.
Tim Henninger glared up at him and curled his lip into a sneer as the nurse finished his stitches. “I’m not in the mood for humor right now,” he warned seriously. “I almost lost my f**king eyes, man.”
“Aww. Those puppy-dog eyes you blink at the girls to get your way,”
Morrison teased.
Henninger glared at him balefully, wincing with the last of the stitches.
Morrison rolled his eyes. “Geez.” He glanced around. “So where’s Garrett?”
Henninger blinked at him and stiffened. “What, he’s not here?” he asked in concern.
The other agent’s eyes shifted from side to side before he stepped out of the small curtained area. A couple minutes later he rejoined Henninger. “I don’t see him. Could he have been released already?”
“No f**king way; he was hit harder than I was,” Henninger answered, trying not to frown because it pulled at the stitches. “Was he killed?” he asked in a near whisper.
Morrison stared at him for a moment, and his lips tightened. “I haven’t heard anything. The coroner wasn’t there,” he offered flatly. “Why wouldn’t he come to the hospital if he was hurt?” His eyes narrowed as he thought it over.
“Maybe he’s got something to hide? I remember Grady being there awfully fast,” Henninger told Morrison in a hushed voice.
“I don’t remember seeing Grady at all,” Morrison murmured. “But I got there after the medics. Was that before or after the thing blew up?”
“After,” Henninger answered with a scowl. His eyes glazed over slightly as he tried to remember the events in sequence. He and Garrett had approached the computers, and he had sat down and typed in the pass code.
Then he’d had time to do several short searches before the bomb inside the computer had gone off. He remembered he was still wallowing on the ground and bleeding, yelling for help, when Garrett’s ass**le partner appeared out of nowhere and started barking orders. He’d been forced to sit through hours of doctoring and interviews while Garrett got away, damn him. Quietly Henninger related what he remembered to his partner.
Morrison frowned as well. “If Grady got Garrett out, he couldn’t have been hurt that bad,” he said.
“He was,” Henninger murmured. “Trust me.”