Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

cage was gone, so Zane grabbed the first keys he saw. Once in the motor pool, he hit the unlock button and saw the flashing headlights of a mid-size SUV. Soon, he brought it to a halt at the stairwell and climbed out to get Ty. When he got back into the stairwell, he found Ty on the stairs where he'd left him, unconscious. Tim Henninger crouched next to him with his hand on his shoulder, supporting him. The younger agent was still bandaged from the explosion in the records room, his face and arms cut and stitched in places. His head was lowered, trying to look into Ty's face as he slid his hand into his jacket, apparently reaching for a phone to call for help.
    Henninger turned and half-rose when the door opened, tensing, and then relaxed slightly when he saw Zane, who stopped in place, eyes narrowed. “Henninger. We're getting out of here,” he said as he knelt in front of Ty and slid his arm under his partner's. The movement seemed to rouse Ty slightly, and his hand clutched in the material of Zane's jacket. “Keep your mouth shut about it."
    "What the hell?” Henninger questioned. “Look, he's hurt. Why don't we get the EMTs down here and—"
    "Because it's too risky. I'll take him to an emergency room. Now, are you going to help or not?” Zane asked in a flat, no-nonsense tone as he helped Ty to his feet, worried when the other man didn't even look up at him.
    "Too risky?” Henninger asked as he followed them through the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? Let them take care of him!"
    "No,” Zane said as he got Ty to the passenger side. “You're going up there and telling them we walked for coffee and were nowhere near that car, you got it?"
    Henninger opened the door, hand gripping the side of it until his knuckles turned white. “But why? They're going to know it's your car,” he said logically.
    "Yeah, and by then, we'll be where no one can get at us,” Zane said as he practically lifted Ty into the backseat of the SUV.
    "You think someone in the Bureau is trying to kill you?” Henninger asked incredulously, brows nearly up into his hairline.
    "It might not be a bad idea for you to hide out for a while after this, too,” Zane said without answering the question. “You were too close to that computer."
    Henninger blanched and repeated himself. “You really think someone from inside's trying to kill you? But that means they'd have to know why you were really sent here."
    "And now you see the problem,” Zane answered, shutting the door carefully. He turned to the other agent. “But right now, kid, you're the only person I trust besides him,” he said with a jerk of his head at Ty, who had slumped in the backseat. “Look, call my cell phone once they pick apart that car and let me know what they find, okay? There's obviously someone on the inside helping, if nothing else."
    Henninger's face went hard as he followed Zane around the SUV. “Got it,” he murmured in a low voice.
    Zane nodded and climbed into the truck. Before closing the door, he stuck out his hand, which Henninger shook. “Take care of yourself. Get Morrison to watch your back."
    Henninger nodded. Zane shut the door and drove out of the garage, leaving Henninger behind to cover for them. By the time the SUV hit daylight, Ty was unconscious.
    Carrying his bloody partner into the emergency room didn't even raise any eyebrows until Zane was able to flash his badge, and then everyone got busy, fast. Ty had a nice crack on the head; a long, thin gash that had bled badly but didn't even need more than a few stitches, and some minor burns and bad bruising down his arm. Aside from the unpredictable head wound, the worst injury was to his rib cage. Nothing was broken, but he had pulled muscles and suffered deep, painful bruises along the intercostals that would impede his movement for quite some time. Weeks, definitely. Possibly months, the doctor had told Zane.
    Zane sat in a chair, leaning over with his elbows on his knees next to the bed where Ty sprawled, hooked up to an IV and all kinds of monitoring equipment. He needed to get them out of here soon. Since he'd used his badge to get in, word would get back to the office sooner rather than later. The admitting doctor had insisted on keeping Ty overnight, to watch the concussion and make certain it didn't turn ugly. They had kept Ty awake most of the night, and it had made him very cranky, very sulky, and very difficult to deal with. Even more so than he usually was. Now he