Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

appearance, he is unfortunately very good at his job."
    "You're putting us on the Tri-State case?” Ty asked suddenly, utter disbelief coloring his words as he looked up at Burns.
    Zane stiffened and inhaled sharply. He knew all about the Tri-State case. Hell, everyone in the Bureau knew all about the Tri-State case, even though they had only been working it for a few weeks. A really messy, really conniving, really frightening serial killer kept popping up and going to ground every few weeks—for almost two months now—in New York City. Two bodies were found just across state lines, near the Tri-State marker, and most involved seemed to think the killer deliberately left them there to involve the FBI. Most recently, just days ago, the man took out two of their own agents, so the Bureau was now more personally invested.
    Zane's eyes shifted back to Grady. Very good at his job, Burns had said. Zane decided it must have been undercover work. Drugs or organized crime, maybe import/export. Somewhere that rough-and-tumble image would fit in. His mind started to buzz, calculating how their skill sets might complement each other. Or not.
    "That's right,” Burns answered with a tap of his pen on his desk. “And you will report to the New York field office—appropriately attired, Grady—at eleven-hundred Monday. Is that clear?"
    Recognizing the dismissal and standing, Zane nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said curtly. Zane's most recent tour may have been spent in a high-tech computer lab, but that wasn't all he could do. He was a damn good agent, and he knew it. But he couldn't help thinking of Tyler Grady as a snake that might strike at a critical moment and poison his fragile job security. He could already tell this wasn't going to be easy. Actually, he could already tell it was going to be beyond hard as hell. But while there was the chance that one whiff of the bat could collapse his carefully reconstructed career like a house of cards, he also had a prime opportunity here. If he could make this work it would send him a long way. And he wouldn't let any scruffy agent who fancied himself a badass get in his way.
    Ty sat and stared at Burns for a long moment before standing and stepping toward the desk. He put two hands on the desk and leaned over, crumpling the file in his hand as he glared down at his boss. “You know me better than this, Dick,” he murmured. “My partners don't last long."
    "This one had better,” Burns responded without blinking at the insubordinate tone.
    "You promised me,” Ty murmured accusingly.
    "Consider it recanted,” Burns replied unapologetically. “Go home and shower, Ty. You fucking stink."
    The voices were low, but Zane heard enough. Burns’ parting shot was clear, and Zane's lips twitched as he turned to lead the way. This Ty Grady must be some kind of special superstar for the Assistant Director to put up with that behavior. That or he was blowing someone further up the chain, Zane thought uncharitably. He allowed himself a slight grimace when he stopped in the outer office. He'd heard the same rumors about himself at one time. More than a few times.
    Ty followed him and glared at Zane for a long moment as the secretary sniffed disapprovingly at him. “Sooner we get this over with, sooner we can go back to how it was. Got it?” he finally said to his new partner.
    Zane didn't dignify the utterance with a reply. “May I see the case file, please?” he asked civilly.
    "Get your own,” Ty answered as he turned and stalked out of the office.
    Zane stood there for a moment, mouth slightly agape. Ty Grady was a rude, insufferable, egotistical, stinking son of a bitch, and Zane was going to need to figure out how to tune him out. Otherwise, he just might give in to the pressure and kill the bastard, for the good of humanity.
    * * * *
    Ty sat at the all-night diner near his apartment and read the file for the fourteenth time as he poked at his bacon and eggs. The papers had greasy fingerprints on them, and a few smudges that weren't identifiable, but Ty didn't notice. What he was seeing were the facts of the case. It was one of the most fascinating cases he'd ever read about, much less been involved in. The killer seemed to pick his targets at random; there was no victim type at all. He had no MO to speak of, and he left little to no evidence behind. The current belief was that the little evidence that had been collected was left intentionally, and the scenes where the bodies were