Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

adjusted the straps of his holster once it was over his shoulders, grimacing as it rubbed over sore spots.
    "Before we get you ice cream, let's go over to the hotel room,” Ty suggested suddenly.
    "What hotel room?” Zane asked with a frown.
    "The last crime scene, where Sanchez and Reilly were staying,” Ty answered as he picked up the fax he had been studying earlier. “This is the list of phone calls made from their room the last few days they were alive. I highlighted everything that's not delivery,” he said wryly as he waved it in the air.
    Zane took the fax and looked it over with a slight grimace. There weren't many calls at all, and there were only two lines highlighted.
    "The first is Tim Henninger,” Ty said with a nod at the paper. “He was their liaison, just like us. The second is somewhere at Federal Plaza, but we'll need to go there to figure out the specifics of the routing. My guess is they used their cells most of the time, so really the whole list is a big waste of paper,” he went on bitterly.
    "What about cell phone records?” Zane asked as he handed the fax back to Ty.
    "Another day out, they tell me,” Ty grumbled unhappily. “That's why I'd like to go to the room, poke around,” he went on.
    "'Cause you think something was missed,” Zane inferred.
    Ty shrugged uncomfortably and sighed, not looking up at Zane as he stared at the paper. “I'd just like to see it,” he answered distantly, his voice suddenly softer and almost sad.
    Zane watched him carefully, remembering that Ty and Special Agent Elias Sanchez must have been pretty close once upon a time. He nodded silently and turned away to pull on his jacket, leaving the other man to his thoughts.
    Ty looked up and flushed slightly, letting the fax flutter to the end of his bed as he reached for his holster.
    "So, crime scene, then ice cream,” Zane said in a voice that was slightly louder than necessary.
    Ty merely nodded and went about arming himself slowly, and then they headed out without another word.
    When they got to the hotel room in the Tribeca Grand that had been provided for the two dead agents, they found crime-scene tape still plastered over the door, sealing it. Ty flipped open his KA-BAR and sliced neatly through the tape, and both men pulled on gloves as they entered. It wasn't really an active scene any longer; it had been kept open simply at their request. Ty knew the manager would appreciate being able to take down the garish yellow tape that caused murmurs and furtive glances when anyone passed by.
    The room was dark and almost uncomfortably warm, the curtains drawn tightly and the air vents all closed up. Dry blood still caked one of the beds, and there was another spot on the carpet near the table, where the second agent had fallen. Ty stood in the center of the room, looking around and getting a feel for the scene. He looked back at Zane, where his partner stood near the entry.
    "You're the killer,” he told the man with a point of his finger. “Okay? Stand right there where the tag is,” he requested, pointing to where the ballistics forensics personnel had pinpointed the killer fired from.
    Zane gave Ty a measuring look, but moved to stand just over the little yellow placard that marked the spot. Ty moved to stand near the dried blood on the floor, turning to face Zane.
    He cocked his head at him. “Reilly's in bed,” he said with a gesture to the bed. “And I'm standing here, talking with you about what the fuck ever. Who do you kill first to minimize chances of being maimed in the process?"
    Zane gave the bed a cursory examination, noting the belt holster that still rested on the table beside it. He glanced back at Ty, then around the room briefly. “Sanchez was wearing his gun,” he answered, not seeing the man's weapon in the room, which meant when they wheeled him out of the room, it had still been on him.
    Ty nodded but remained silent.
    "So I'd take you out first,” Zane answered without hesitation. He held his finger up like it was a gun and mimicked shooting Ty with it. Then he turned and fired another fake shot at the bed.
    "Four shots were heard,” Ty murmured as he turned and looked down at the floor behind him. The blood on the floor wasn't just a pool, it was a smear. One shot hadn't killed Sanchez. He had moved, possibly drawing his weapon to return fire as he tried to find cover on the floor. But there were two more bullet holes in the carpet amidst the blood. “He never got