Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

careful. We suspect he may know we're back, and if he does, he may connect you with us,” Ty warned worriedly. He didn't like the thought of being responsible for any more innocent lives. He still saw Isabelle St. Claire's face when he slept.
    "No worries, sir,” Henninger murmured. Ty ended the call and sighed unhappily. Despite what should have been considered two major breaks in the case, he didn't feel as if they'd made any progress.
    Zane stepped back into the room, smelling of smoke and looking troubled. “Time to move?” he asked Ty.
    Ty nodded wordlessly, and they began gathering their small amount of things and carrying them out to the rental car. The feeling that the killer was on their trail, rather than the other way around, sat heavily on both of them. They didn't say another word to each other as Zane got behind the wheel and began driving with no particular destination in mind.
    Finally, Ty glanced over at him and watched him for a long moment. “We could just cut and run,” he suggested softly, watching Zane closely.
    Forcibly keeping his eyes on the road, Zane pressed his lips together hard, and his hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. “It's a nice dream,” he finally answered, his voice as unsteady as the rest of him. “But I'd never be able to sleep. And neither would you,” he said softly.
    Ty couldn't help but smile. “Yeah,” he responded as he looked back out the window.
    They were silent for several more minutes as they sat in midday traffic.
    "Okay so, change of venue,” Zane said suddenly in a slightly louder voice than he intended, hoping to dispel the funk that had settled over them. “How about a jazzy place in Greenwich? Good restaurants. Great bars."
    "You talking hotels?” Ty asked dubiously.
    "More bungalow-type setups. Rent by the week. Artsy places,” Zane explained. “It's different."
    "Do I look like an artsy type to you?” Ty asked, bristling on principle.
    It didn't even faze Zane. “You look like sex on legs to me. You'll blend in, no problem."
    "I swear to God, if you try to put me in leather pants or some shit like that I'll kill you,” Ty warned with a point of his finger at Zane.
    "I was thinking along the lines of no pants, baby,” Zane said with a smirk. “In our room, anyway."
    That gave Ty pause and he pursed his lips to consider. “Yeah, okay,” he finally agreed with a smirk.
    * * * *
    Zane found an eclectic neighborhood with bohemian shops, art galleries, and people all over the place. They lucked out and found a furnished studio apartment for rent rather than a hotel, and the landlord was happy to rent to them for an unspecified amount of time as long as it came with the hefty down payment they offered, no questions asked. Hundreds of people drifted in and out of Greenwich each year. These two men were nothing special.
    The three-room apartment that was half of the third floor of an old brownstone was decorated in warm colors and comfortable fabrics. There were no electronics, except for a phone, but there was wireless Internet coming from somewhere, probably the small café across the street.
    Zane dropped his bag and box on the round table in the front room. He turned to see Ty surveying the room warily, and it made him smile. “Coming in?"
    "I don't know,” Ty frowned. “Does it smell like hemp and incense?"
    "Just the bed,” Zane said straight-faced.
    "Too bad,” Ty replied seriously. “That was the only part I was looking forward to."
    Zane's lips twitched. “Still have the couch,” he said, trying to get Ty into the room.
    Ty took a step into the room and stopped stubbornly. “I feel my manhood seeping out of me,” he muttered.
    Zane dropped his jacket on a wingback chair after pulling the bottle of Mountain Dew out of it. The apartment was cute and quaint; somewhere no one would ever look for two FBI agents. He pulled his gun out of the holster and set it on the table as Ty ventured further into the rooms.
    When Zane turned his attention back to his partner, Ty had his back to him, his jacket was off, and his holster sat snug against his pressed blue dress shirt. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at the bed in front of him, his free hand on his hip. Looking at the shined dress shoes and the expensive, tailored suit he wore, from this angle he may as well have been a different person from the one Zane had worked with before.
    Zane wondered what had happened to Ty's crazy T-shirts. They had fit