Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

the room to throttle him quietly. Or he wanted to get his things and then go back to his own room. Still, Zane's shoulders relaxed a little, and he let the death grip on his thoughts and actions ease just a bit as he opened up the room's door. Ty'd had the chance to shoot him. More than once. He hadn't, but Zane still didn't trust the crazy bastard.
    "I think, tomorrow, we need to start with a fresh canvass,” Ty was saying as he trudged to his bed and held his jacket up to examine it critically before tossing it down in disgust. He began unstrapping all his weaponry as he spoke, looking down at the bed and trying desperately to sink back into the case instead of the pain of old memories and new bruises. “So far, he's made only one mistake, and that was going after Sanchez and his partner. Why would he kill them if they had so little on him? Why would he tip his ace and let us know he was aware of the Bureau's movements?"
    Zane watched Ty as he talked. Apparently he planned on staying. Shaking his head, Zane wondered what the hell the whole point of the damn fight had been, and how the hell Grady was already getting his brain in gear. The short fight had certainly shown him that Ty was more than a handful and more than capable of taking care of himself. It had also shown him that he himself could still scrap after some years of soft work.
    Ty was anything but soft.
    Sighing, Zane wiped one hand over his face, dropping a slightly bloody hand; he obviously had something other than work on his brain, and he consciously pushed it away. It was not the time to be unfocused.
    He shook himself and let his jacket slide off his shoulders. His back screamed all the way down, and Zane hissed as the weight caught on his sore wrist. “If I were undercover, I'd kill them if they found out who I was. Depending,” he murmured.
    "Right. If they found out who you were,” Ty responded as he stripped off his sodden shirt and tossed it at the corner. “But they obviously weren't close to finding that, or they would have let someone in on it. Sanchez wasn't the type to play without a net."
    "Unless they hadn't made the connection yet,” Zane answered quietly, dropping his sheaths on the table and sitting down to pull off his boots. Damn, this was awkward. And everything hurt, no matter how gingerly he moved. He glanced up at Ty, trying to gauge if the other man had walked away with any damage.
    "So, what connection did they make but not make that caused him to move on them?” Ty asked wryly as he placed his hands on his hips and watched Zane idly. It bothered him that even now he couldn't quite find it in himself to despise the man or not be slightly attracted to him. It wasn't fair. Not even the recently earned aches and pains could make those things happen.
    Bent over to unlace the Timberlands, Zane's brow furrowed. “A lead on who had the missing files?” he put out there, since that was something he wanted to pursue. “Maybe someone was somewhere they didn't need to be. Or shouldn't have been. Or couldn't have known about. And the agents thought it was odd. He got scared."
    "Do we know how long the files were missing, though?” Ty countered doubtfully. “Maybe they were removed to lure us to the records room and the spontaneous exploding computer."
    Sitting up and sprawling back with his legs spread out, Zane frowned as he chewed on that idea, shrugging off the discomfort of the situation and the throbbing pain of nearly his entire body. “That means some sort of detonation, then. Something to make it go on purpose. So he either had to be there, or he was watching."
    "Who else was there? Did you see anyone else in the room?” Ty asked with a frown as he sat opposite Zane.
    "Just Henninger,” Zane answered, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was lunch time. No clerks."
    "And he was hurt almost as bad as you,” Ty said dejectedly.
    Grimacing, Zane shrugged again and winced as he moved his shoulders. He looked up at the photos stuck all over the walls. “It strikes me as unusual just how clean it all is."
    "How do you mean?” Ty asked distractedly as he turned and looked up at the pictures. His immersion in the case was working, the lingering tension and the aftereffects of the fight cast aside for the moment.
    "No scrapings. No DNA. No fibers. No fingerprints. No trace of foreign substances. No pattern of injuries. No rhyme or reason. No way to track him. Not at any of the scenes at all.