“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
Ty laughed affectionately, and Zane’s body responded to the sound despite the anger still washing over him. Zane grunted. There was no denying that his exasperating lover would be able to charm his way out of this. Damn him. But Zane was by far too angry to let it go so easily. “Are you saying you knew I loved you before I said it?”
“Come on, Zane. I’m a trained profiler. You really think I can’t tell when someone’s head over heels in love? You were just crunching the numbers.”
“The first time I told you—”
“You were scared shitless.”
Zane was silent. He wanted to deny it, but Ty was right. The day Ty had danced with him in his living room, he’d told Ty he loved him before he’d even realized the words were slipping out.
“You were terrified as soon as it came out, weren’t you?” Ty asked.
“Yes.”
“If I hadn’t given you an out, what would you have done?”
Zane closed his eyes.
“You would have freaked out. And you were already freaking out anyway. Do you know how much it hurt to dismiss that? But you weren’t ready. And I needed you to say it for you. Not for me.”
Zane sniffed, feeling somewhat mollified. “Jesus, Ty. You know me too well.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Head over heels, huh?” Zane’s lips twitched into a very reluctant smile, and he rubbed at them, then dragged his fingers through the dark beard he’d let grow in during the past weeks as he’d been blind. He was still angry, but he tamped it down for the moment, just relieved to hear Ty’s voice. “What else do you know about me?”
Ty hummed. “I know you’re sleeping in my bed right now.”
Zane glanced around Ty’s bedroom and sighed. Dammit. “I’m still upset,” he muttered, not admitting anything. “I understand you were strung out, but goddamn, Ty. You could’ve said something, you could have talked to me about it instead of just—”
“I have no excuse. Sometimes I’m a selfish ass**le.”
Dregs of the scare still sloshed through Zane, enough that he didn’t want to let it go, but he knew it wouldn’t solve anything to harp at Ty over the phone. He sighed instead. “What did Burns want?” he asked in a more even tone, knowing it was a question he wouldn’t have asked a week ago.
“I’m sorry, Zane,” Ty said, refusing to answer.
Zane’s jaw clenched. For good or for bad, Zane knew the drill. “You were ordered to go dark?”
“Yes.”
“Meaning immediate deployment off the grid, no contact with noncombatants, no trail to trace, no idea when you’ll be back.”
“I had to call you.”
Zane swallowed hard as that sank in. With this call, Ty was breaking protocol and disobeying a direct order, something Zane knew Ty didn’t take lightly. All sorts of responses crowded on his tongue before a wry observation won out. “I hope there’s not a trace on your phone, or we’re seriously busted.”
“Quite frankly, Zane, I don’t care if we are,” Ty said with conviction. “Not anymore.”
“Grady,” Zane said, throat aching. “Do what you have to and then get your ass home.”
“I’m sorry, Zane. I’ll make this up to you.
“There better be groveling involved,” Zane muttered.
“Sleep well.”
The call disconnected. Zane was left with silence and a sudden overwhelming sense of helplessness and worry. Ty was out there working a job alone, and Zane didn’t know any more now than he had a day ago. He swallowed hard and let the hand holding the phone fall to the side. After several minutes of focusing on trying to sort the upset from the lingering anger and not having much luck, he climbed out of the bed, yanked the sweaty sheets off the mattress, and headed down to the basement to put them in the washer.
He needed a shower and some iced tea—preferably from Long Island, but that wasn’t a good idea, so instant mix would do. He just hoped he could find enough work to keep him distracted until Ty returned and he could kick his ass.
RANDALL JONAS sat on Dick Burns’ couch with his head in his hands. There was a cot in the corner with pillows and folded blankets where he’d been sleeping, and there were whispers going around the office about why Burns wasn’t taking meetings.
When the cell phone in his pocket rang, Jonas nearly jumped out of his skin. Burns bit his lip to keep from smiling. His old friend had been out of the game too long for this cloak and dagger stuff.
Burns glanced over at him from where he sat at his desk. The phone was a burn phone, the number only known to two people: Burns and Blake Nichols, Julian Cross’ former handler.
Jonas turned the speaker on with an obvious sense of relief. “Nichols,” he said in a grave voice
“Hello, sir.”
“Tell me.”
“I was able to get in touch with Julian Cross, sir. He understands the situation.”
“Thank Christ.”
“But he wants no part in it.”
“Excuse me?”
“He told me that he’s out and intends to stay out, sir. He wants no part in any of it. He said if anyone is sent to pick him up, they’ll return in a body bag. Since you know where he is, he’s packing up right now and preparing to move.”
Jonas closed his eyes. Burns slid his palm across his mouth.
“Cross is my friend, sir,” Nichols’ voice said on the speaker. “I don’t want him hurt. But I also know that if this doesn’t end he’s going to be a target for the rest of his life.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I want assurances that after this is over, Julian will be left alone.”
“Assurances?”
“Your word will do.”
Jonas met Burns’ eyes across the office. “I’ll go to bat for him.”
“I suppose that will have to do. He won’t be easy to detain, but I may have a way.”
“What do you propose?”
“I can arrange for his boyfriend to be at home at a certain time. If he calls Julian, Julian will come and could possibly be detained. But it has to be today.”
“That can be done.”
“Julian won’t go gently.”
“We’re aware of that fact.”
“Even so. If I were you, sir, I’d sure as hell send more than one guy.”