“Okay,” Ty responded slowly, nodding his head. “So now you’re either trying to push me away or you’re trying to self-destruct,” he ventured.
“Maybe both,” he shrugged as he continued to stare at Zane, waiting for eye contact. “What I don’t get is why.”
Zane gritted his teeth, then his shoulders and demeanor sagged, and he just looked exhausted. He looked up, and his eyes were filled with resignation. “Can’t exactly pull you closer, can I?” he asked quietly.
There was a long, tense moment of silence as Ty met Zane’s eyes emotionlessly. “Maybe not in public,” he answered finally.
Zane stared at him, silent, and he shook his head minutely. Was Ty joking at his expense? He sounded inexplicably solemn.
“Seriously,” Ty warned, lowering his head slightly and looking up at Zane with narrowed eyes and a barely perceptible twitch of his lips. “Don’t grope me in public.”
Zane blinked and flinched a little, totally surprised. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected in the way of reply from the man sitting in front of him.
“Okay?” he replied, brow furrowed. He still wasn’t sure that Ty wasn’t yanking his chain. Christ. All Zane wanted was to be able to f**k Ty and make sure the man didn’t get killed. Wasn’t that simple enough?
“Okay,” Ty repeated with a nod. He looked around the airport lounge and then back up at Zane towering over him. “You’re drawing some attention,” he informed his partner casually.
Still not sure what had just happened, Zane shook his head, turned in place, and headed for the men’s room. No liquor, no uppers, and a crackjob partner who Zane couldn’t keep his hands off of. Well, fine. They were just getting used to each other again, right? The insanely satisfying and addictive sex was just a bonus. Anything else he felt was shoved away as far as he could push it.
Left alone, Ty rolled his eyes and sagged his shoulders as Zane walked away. It was far more difficult to deal with Zane when he didn’t have the heart to be an ass**le to him.
Zane got to the bathroom and splashed his face with cool water, looking up at his face and the dark circles under his eyes. One night of sleep did not make up for months of deprivation. He realized how shitty he looked; why hadn’t he noticed before? He almost looked like death warmed over. No wonder Ty was worried. Zane splashed more water on his face. He had to get this shit out of his head or he was going to go insane over it.
As he stood over the sink, the loudspeakers in the ceiling crackled to life and announced that the flight he and Ty were awaiting was now boarding.
After one last breath, Zane grabbed some paper towels, dried his face and hands, and left the bathroom to rejoin Ty.
As soon as they got into their seats, Ty turned to Zane with a small frown. “When Burns called you for this, did he ask you if you’d been following the case?” he asked abruptly.
“Yeah,” Zane answered as he pulled out the seat belt and messed with it. “Why?”
“What did you tell him?” Ty asked.
Zane raised a brow as he glanced over at his partner. “I told him no.”
“Did you tell him the truth?” Ty pressed.
Zane frowned. “Yes. I’d been buried in the barrio for almost fourteen weeks. I hadn’t heard or read anything that wasn’t in Spanish in at least that long.” He moved in the seat, trying to stretch out his long legs.
Ty nodded. That was the answer he’d expected. “I lied,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure,” Ty answered with a shrug. “It was the first thing that came out. He asked if I’d been following, and I said no before I even thought about it.”
“And after you said it?” Zane prodded.
“Didn’t look back,” Ty answered immediately. He produced a thin leather binder and handed it over to Zane.
“What’s this?” Zane asked in surprise as he took the portfolio and looked at it warily.
“It’s all the clippings I kept about the case when I was in the hospital and after,” Ty answered as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively and shifted in his seat.
Zane looked up in surprise. “You kept up with it the whole time?
Why would you do that? With all the mess in your head you were trying to straighten out?” He clearly remembered the look on Ty’s face when they’d seen that girl hanging in the window.
“I don’t like being outsmarted,” Ty answered in a soft, determined voice. “And I don’t like feeling guilty,” he admitted.
Zane raised his head and looked at him seriously. He’d taken for granted that a man like Ty would be able to shrug off the past easily. His behavior and his attitude all implied that he lived in the here and now, but Zane knew him well enough now to see that he took everything to heart, especially his failures. And Zane knew Ty considered that woman’s death his fault. The killer never would have set his sights on her if Ty hadn’t led him to her. Suddenly, whatever Ty had collected in that binder seemed very important to Zane. It would tell him about more than just the case. It would tell him about Ty, about the man he thought he could care deeply for.
“I highlighted some bits. Underlined and … scribbled. I was cooped up,” Ty muttered defensively.
Zane tipped his head, eyes warming, and he smiled slightly. “Okay,”
he said quietly, trying not to laugh. He schooled his features and looked back down at the portfolio solemnly. “Anything I should know before looking?” he asked, sliding his hand over the leather.
Ty pursed his lips and then nodded his head. “The last murders were….” He seemed to hesitate, unsure of how to continue. Zane frowned worriedly. “They found them in the morgue,” Ty told him hoarsely.
“The morgue?” Zane asked with a sudden drop in the pit of his stomach.
“The ME and her assistant,” Ty answered as he lowered his head.
Zane’s head snapped up. “Karen? What the hell?” he asked.
Ty didn’t look up, merely kept his head bowed as if it was somehow his fault. Zane looked back down at the binder with dread, then opened it and turned it to look over the first page. The articles weren’t in any sort of order.
They were merely put in as Ty had found them.
The first page, however, was about the woman. It detailed her discovery with all the gory relish of the popular press, and Ty knew it word for word. He looked away from the photograph included of Isabelle St. Claire in her airline uniform. “The way she was found,” he said in a hoarse voice,