Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

Zane whispered through a sudden stupor.
    Henninger gave a lopsided shrug and a small smile, the gun trained on Zane unerringly.
    Zane remained motionless, hand lowered out to his side, injured right arm useless in its sling. “Where's Ty?” he rasped.
    "Dying,” Henninger answered bluntly, his head cocking to the side with the word.
    It took everything Zane had to hold it together as agony ripped through him. “Why?"
    Henninger laughed softly, amusement written all over his slightly bloody face. “You know, Grady had the good sense not to ask me such a stupid question."
    Zane let out a shaky breath. Dying meant not dead yet. He held onto that thought tightly. “He's a smart man."
    "He was, indeed,” Henninger drawled. “And so are you. If you two were a little less smart we'd not have two dead agents on our hands,” he told Zane with a nod of his head at the two bodies on the floor. “Had you found my file amongst the stack, yet?” he asked.
    "We got too close,” Zane realized aloud. “Just like Reilly and Sanchez. You killed them in their hotel room. You were meeting with them, weren't you? About the case. They trusted you,” he ground out. “ We trusted you."
    "Look at me,” Henninger laughed. “ Everyone trusts me, Garrett. Even strangers,” he grinned impishly.
    Zane shook his head slowly, hefting his hurt arm up against him with a wince. “Why all the murders? You're too sane for this."
    "Stop moving, Garrett,” Henninger ordered seriously. “You know, every time someone's asked me that I gave them the answer they wanted. It's such a trite question, really, but it's the only thing a dying person can think of, apparently. But you,” he went on as he began stepping a little closer, “you, I can't read well enough to give you an answer. I'm not sure what it is you want to hear."
    "How nice for you,” Zane snarled, pushing aside desperation for anger. “Put down the goddamn gun."
    "You're not really in a position to be giving orders, Special Agent Garrett,” Henninger murmured. “Any more questions before I kill you? I'm rather short on time, you see, having all these unexpected dead bodies lying around,” he said in amusement.
    "What do you need from me to give me the answer?” Zane tried, wincing and gasping in pain as he bumped back against the door with his injured arm. He could feel the gun Ty had given him resting heavily in his sling, though he'd have to use his left hand to shoot.
    Henninger tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, intrigued by the challenge. “Why did you come back?” he asked finally, the amusement and enjoyment clear in his voice. “Why did you come back with that asshole for a partner and the very real probability that you would die? Grady, he came back for revenge. But you? Why didn't you just stay away? Stay away and drink and drug yourself to a quiet death?"
    Zane jerked backward in apparent surprise, slamming his useless arm against the door. He yelped and grabbed for his elbow, his good hand sliding under the sling to support it. He made a conscious decision to let the pain show clearly on his face. He was going to need his strength for other things ... he hoped.
    Weighing his options as Henninger watched in lurid amusement, Zane tried to decide what to say to get the most reaction. Enough reaction. He drew a breath. “I love him."
    At that, Henninger stopped short in surprise. Then he began to chuckle. “ Love him?” he echoed with a gleeful laugh. “Oh, that is rich! No wonder he looked so crushed when I told him it was his fault you were going to die."
    The chilling edge of Henninger's words cut through him, and Zane drew another breath. “I love him,” he repeated, voice stronger.
    Henninger laughed harder in the face of Zane's conviction. Within a heartbeat's time, Zane snapped his left arm out away from him, sending the slim stiletto from its sheath hurtling toward the killer with enough speed that Henninger couldn't dodge it. The knife buried deep into his upper chest, close to the shoulder of his gun arm.
    Crying out in anger and surprise, Henninger jerked to one side as the knife hit, his gun firing uselessly off to the side, giving Zane just enough time to pull out his own gun and fire. The shot hit him in the gut—the perfect wound since Zane wanted to interrogate him as he died a slow, painful death. Henninger staggered back, looking down at the burgeoning stain of blood in shock. Slowly his knees gave out, and he began to sink to the