Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

and then some, not that Zane really cared. He'd needed this break more than he'd thought.
    Ty sat on one of the beds, reading a faxed list he had received earlier while he waited for the telltale slide of a key card in the door lock. When it came he lowered the fax and looked toward the door, eyes hard and angry as Zane came strolling in. The other agent glanced up and stopped short when he spotted Ty. He was obviously surprised that Ty had come back early.
    "Hey,” Zane said. “Have a good time?"
    Ty didn't answer immediately, instead trying desperately to gain control of his temper. “Did you?” he finally asked curtly.
    "Yeah, I did.” Zane shrugged out of the thin shirt and looked over Ty again. “I'm guessing you didn't?"
    "I'll give you three guesses what went through my head when I found you gone,” Ty replied calmly, simmering just beneath the surface.
    Zane's eyes narrowed. Some of the tension started rebuilding between his shoulder blades again. “You're not my keeper. I didn't ask where the hell you were going, did I?"
    "You knew I wasn't off getting drunk off my fucking ass,” Ty snarled as he held up the hotel directory accusingly and tossed it to the end of the bed.
    It took some willpower to swallow on the flare of anger. “I told you,” Zane said sharply. “I don't drink anymore."
    "Sure, Garrett. And I don't fuck strangers ‘cause I'm bored,” Ty replied sarcastically.
    Quite a bit more willpower was required as Zane stared at him. “I can take care of myself, Grady. I'm not fresh out of the academy, and I don't need my hand held,” he bit off.
    Ty practically trembled with anger, the kind of anger that could only stem from a bad scare and quite a bit of guilt. He glared at Zane and then looked away, taking a long, calming breath as he stared at the map of crime scenes on the wall. “Just ... leave a damn note next time, okay?” he finally requested softly.
    Zane studied him for a long moment. Ty was truly upset, though Zane had no clue why. It was also clear that Ty was exerting quite a lot of effort trying to remain calm. “Yeah, okay,” Zane agreed, not wanting to rock the boat any further. He took off his gun, grabbed the television remote, and sat on the end of Ty's bed since there was paperwork all over his.
    "If you're gonna sit there, go take a fucking shower first,” Ty griped. “You smell like smoke."
    Looking over his shoulder in annoyance, Zane wrinkled his nose. “You smell like perfume and spunk. What's a little smoke?"
    "Smoke is unpleasant,” Ty retorted. He gave a sniff and realized that, yeah, he probably did smell like sex. He found himself wondering if Zane had enjoyed the same sort of distraction that he had, then shook that thought off immediately.
    Zane raised a questioning eyebrow at the look on Ty's face, earning a defensive “What?” from the man.
    Zane's lips twitched. “Sorry to have ruined your relaxing fuck,” he drawled out.
    Ty gave a derogatory snort and stretched his arms over his head. “You should be,” he declared haughtily.
    Zane shook his head, but he was smiling. “At least I'm not stressed anymore,” he said as he turned back to flip through the channels.
    "Well, praise be,” Ty muttered as he stood and headed for the shower. He was tired of smelling like a woman he'd never see again.
    * * * *
    Isabelle St. Claire had just gotten out of the shower. Her next flight didn't leave for another four hours, a cross-country to Los Angeles that would no doubt be full of drunk businessmen who would enjoy grabbing her ass as she passed by them. At least she would have some good memories to get her through this particular flight.
    She ran the towel through her long hair again, biting her lip against the guilty smile that tried to bubble up as she looked at the tussled sheets of the bed and her clothing strewn across the hotel room floor. It all belonged to her. He hadn't left a thing behind.
    An FBI agent, he had said. His badge had looked awfully official, anyway, and Ty Grady hadn't struck her as the type to lie just to impress her. Get her into bed and never call again, yes. But lie? No.
    Isabelle knew the man would never call her again. It was just as well, because he was the type that girls like her fell hard and fast for, and he was definitely not the type she could take home to meet Daddy.
    She allowed herself another little smile and wrapped the towel around her damp hair. It had been fun, anyway. She didn't bother dealing with the