Touch&Geaux (3 page)

Ty met Zane’s gaze. Zane’s eyes were drawn to Ty’s lips,

and when he looked up again there was a new heat in his gaze.

It stole Ty’s breath and he couldn’t look away.

“Gentlemen, keep looking at each other like that, please;

these shots are incredible,” Susan told them.

Flashes continued to pop and the camera clicked away. It

all faded as Ty stared at Zane.

“Well, I think that will certainly do it,” Violet finally said.

Ty had to tear his eyes away before he was compelled to lean

over and kiss his lover in front of all those cameras.

“Oh, definitely,” Susan agreed. “Agent Grady, come and

take a look.”

Ty rolled out of bed and bent to pick up his discarded

T-shirt, careful not to look back at Zane. He leaned next to

her to look at the laptop. The photos taken were displayed

in a grid on the screen, and Susan had the photographer go

through them one by one, critiquing angles and posture,

marking some as “no,” narrowing down the choices, all the

while commenting on how photogenic Ty and Zane were.

“I think we’ll have to use one of the ones with the

handcuffs,” Cynthia said, hesitance in her voice. “They’re cute

and fit the tone of the rest of the calendar.”

12

Susan nodded. She pulled up one of the favorites.

The picture showed Zane stretched out on the bed in the

background, hands behind his head as he leaned against

the headboard. He was smirking, an almost mischievous

expression that was accented by smile lines and the streaks

of gray hair at his temples, bare feet crossed at the ankles,

biceps displayed prominently. Ty sat at the end of the bed

in the foreground, leaning toward the camera, knees apart,

elbows resting on them. He held a pair of handcuffs with

one finger, letting them dangle. One eyebrow was arched,

a sardonic expression on his face. It would probably end up

being the photo used for the calendar—for the month of July,

apparently, because it rhymed with FBI.

Cynthia sighed as she flipped through the rest of the

shots. “These last ones . . .” She shook her head. “Those are

something special though.”

Susan hummed as she looked at the last series of pictures.

Ty leaned closer. They were more somber than he had thought

they’d be, all black and white and gray. Zane looked pensive

and melancholy, and even Ty’s playful smile seemed world-

weary through the lens of the camera. The light highlighted

the white slashes of scars on both their bodies. It seemed the

only color in the entire canvas was the shock of Ty’s washed-

out tattoo. There was nothing erotic about the picture. The

sheets were barely in the frame, and it left nothing but the

starkness of two warriors sharing something infinitely beyond

the reach of the camera.

Ty swallowed hard, struck by the image in a way he

couldn’t quite explain. “Can I get a few copies of one of

those?” he asked.

Susan was already nodding before his words were out. “Of

course,” she answered, eyes glued to the screen. “If you’ll just,

13

um . . . sign the usage waivers and . . .” she waved toward a pile

of papers, her eyes still on the screen.

Zane walked up to the other side of the makeshift desk,

shirt back on, weapons back in hand already. “Are we done?”

Ty looked up at him, mouth gone dry. He nodded and

met Zane’s eyes. “Come look at these,” he requested, voice

hoarse.

Zane rounded the pile of equipment as the photographer

walked over to the camera. Susan followed him, still talking.

Cynthia and Violet chattered off to the side. Zane stopped at

Ty’s side and looked down at the screen. Ty heard his sharp

inhalation.

“Good, right?” Ty whispered.

“Yeah,” Zane breathed. “They’re not going to use . . . are

they?” He pointed at the last few photos.

Ty looked over at Susan, the lines furrowing her clean

brow, the look in her eyes. “No. They’re going for feel-good,

not . . . not that.”

He studied the photos again, wondering what people

would see in them. There was nothing sexual or even romantic

there. But there was something.

“That’s us,” Zane said quietly. “Really us.”

“I asked for a copy,” Ty told him, watching him closely.

“Just one?” The corner of Zane’s mouth quirked. Then

he looked up from the photo, and Ty could read Zane loud

and clear. He wanted that photo, but more importantly, he

wanted Ty, and he wanted him now.

“I’ll share,” Ty told him under his breath. He cleared his

throat, needing to look away from the expression on Zane’s

face before they really gave those cameras something to shoot.

He picked up one of the waivers and signed it without reading

14

over it, then handed the clipboard to Zane. “Did you get

everything you needed from us?” he called to Susan.

They came over to fawn over Ty and Zane a little more,

thanking them and praising the pictures they’d taken. One

of the assistants took down some information and gave them

both a card. Ty’s had Susan’s number handwritten on it. Then

they were left alone to go change back into their suits.

“That was kind of fun,” Ty admitted as he stripped off the

jeans in the little dressing area.

“Not too bad, I guess. Depends on how cheesy of a photo

they end up choosing.” Zane changed jeans for suit pants and

pulled his T-shirt off again. “I might have been less out of

sorts with more warning. It was just . . . weird.”

Ty nodded as he stepped into his trousers. He glanced

toward the outer room, seeing that everyone out there was

occupied, and advanced on Zane even as he buttoned up his

pants. He grabbed Zane’s face without warning and kissed

him. Zane grunted in surprise but was quick on the uptake,

hands gripping Ty’s upper arms as he joined in the kiss for the

few intense seconds.

“McCoy never has to know we got done early,” Ty

whispered as his hands dropped to Zane’s shoulders.

“I don’t give a shit about Mac. Let’s get out of here.”

Ty nodded and stooped to gather the rest of his clothes,

tossing his tie around his neck and picking up his shoes and

socks. Zane pulled his dress shirt on and did up three buttons,

tucked it in haphazardly, just enough to get by, and gathered

up the rest.

Ty jerked his head toward the door and headed for it.

They weren’t far from the house, but they would have to get a

cab. He’d rather walk than deal with the photographers and

their kidnapper van again.

15

As soon as the door to the hotel room closed behind

them, Ty looked up and down the hal way and then back at

Zane with a grin.

“Let’s get a room.”

Zane laughed and shrugged. “Okay? You missing hotel

bathrooms that much?”

The memory of their first time together flashed through

Ty’s mind, and he nodded. Zane must have seen the hunger

streaking through Ty’s eyes, because he started hurrying Ty

down the hall toward the bank of elevators. Ty grinned, not

even worrying about the shoes he carried or the fact that they

both looked like they’d already been at it in a janitor’s closet

somewhere.

Once in the elevator, everything hit the floor anyway,

except for Ty, who hit the wal , pinned there by Zane’s firm

body and demanding mouth. Ty could do nothing but moan

and wrap his arms around Zane’s shoulders.

If someone had told him this morning that a surprise FBI

photo shoot would end up with them making out in a hotel

elevator, Ty probably wouldn’t have been shocked. He found

it funny, anyway.

Zane pulled back for breath and set one palm flat on Ty’s

chest, holding him in place while stepping backward. “Stay,”

Zane ordered, pul ing his hand away but still pointing at Ty.

Ty nodded wordlessly, wide-eyed and unashamed. Zane

did up his buttons, smoothed his sleeves, and shrugged into

his jacket, somehow managing to look mostly put together,

even if his face was flushed and his hair was still mussed from

the shoot. He had just shoved his feet into his dress shoes

when the elevator door pinged and opened. “I’ll be right

back,” he said, looking Ty up and down deliberately before

growling and striding out of the elevator.

16

Even after all this time, the prospect of what Zane

intended to do to him made Ty’s chest flutter.

The phone in his jacket began to ring. “No, no, no!” He

fished it out anyway, checking he caller ID. “No!”

He looked up. Several people were backing away from the

doors to find an alternate way up as he stood in the elevator

shouting at his phone.

“Grady,” he growled when he answered the cal .

“We’re ready here,” Dan McCoy said without further

greeting.

Ty sighed. “Yes sir.”

He hung up just as Zane returned.

“No,” Zane said when he saw the look on Ty’s face and the

phone in his hand. “No! How urgent is it?”

Ty shook his head. “It was Burns.”

“Dammit, Grady!”

Traffic was minimal as they made their way toward the

Bureau office. Ty either wouldn’t or couldn’t fill Zane in on

why they were needed, and he wouldn’t speculate as they

walked together toward the elevators. Zane wasn’t surprised.

Burns was pretty closed mouthed with everything he did. It

was odd that they’d come here when Burns had called them.

Burns worked in DC, not Baltimore. But nothing Richard

Burns did was normal.

Ty punched the button for their floor and then leaned

against the elevator wal , watching Zane with sidelong glances.

Zane gave him a small smile. Hopefully they’d be able to get

back to that hotel suite before the night was over.

17

The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors shivered

open. Ty didn’t move. Zane stepped out of the elevator first.

He looked over his shoulder at Ty, frowning.

As soon as he turned, roughly three dozen coworkers and

friends jumped out of their various hiding places amidst the

desks and file cabinets and cubicle dividers, all of them yelling

some version of “Surprise!”

Zane’s hand went to his gun, but Ty grabbed his wrist

before he could pull it. Everyone was laughing and blowing

on noisemakers, and for a long moment Zane just didn’t

understand what was going on. “What the hell? This is what

the damn calendar thing was for?”

Ty laughed and wrapped his arm around Zane’s shoulder.

“Just an unfortunate necessity we managed to take advantage

of. Happy twenty years with the Bureau, partner.”

Zane groaned and rolled his eyes as people all around

them started whistling and applauding. “The first eighteen

were easy,” he said, deadpan, drawing laughter as he jabbed Ty

in the ribs with an elbow.

“But the last two were fun.”

“Our definitions of ‘fun’ clearly vary.”

“Whatever, Zane. There’s cake.”

Zane grinned. “You realize last month was actually

twenty-one years, right?”

Ty shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Wouldn’t have been a

surprise if we’d done it at the right time.”

Zane rolled his eyes, fighting the huge grin on his face.

“Congratulations, Garrett,” Clancy said as she approached

them.

Others began surrounding him, offering him words of

admiration, some bringing him cake, a drink, or a present.

18

Probably thirty minutes had passed before Zane looked up

and realized Ty was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Grady?” he asked, looking over at Perrimore.

Perrimore shrugged. “Skipped out about fifteen minutes

after you got here.”

Zane frowned and scanned the room. Why would Ty

leave in the middle of a party he’d obviously helped plan? Zane

shrugged it off. Lassiter gained his attention by approaching

to shake his hand and ask for advice on how to be old. He

was distracted by more laughter and light ribbing, and he lost

track of time again, surrounded by the men and women he’d

come to call his friends.

It was Good Friday, though, so the party cleared out

quickly. Some left to spend the holiday with their families.

Others wandered with every intention of heading to one of

the local bars to continue what they’d started here. Zane sat

at his desk looking at his twenty-year certificate, which had

been stolen and framed while he was gone and then presented

as a gift from the rest of his team. The back of the frame was

signed by everyone he worked with. In the very middle, Ty’s

signature stood out. Under it was written a simple note:

“You’re the best partner I could have asked for.”

Zane smiled as he read it. It was so like Ty. Short, sweet,

and with a meaning that was innocuous and yet so meaningful.

He turned it over and ran his thumb across the glass. Twenty