Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

his voice conveying what sounded like genuine interest.
    “What the hell does Ty care?” Perrimore asked incredulously.
    “He doesn’t. He’s building rapport, idiot,” Lassiter answered idly as he watched Ty closely. “We used to use him to prep suspects all the time. He’s charming.”
    “You two will make a cute couple,” Perrimore drawled.
    “Shut up. He also has a knack for giving off that dumb as a brick vibe, leaves them off guard.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    Ty continued, undeterred when Del still didn’t answer his queries. “My husband and I, we went to Boston,” Ty went on, picking up his hand and flashing the silver ring on his finger casually. The lie came shockingly easily to him. Del’s eyes flickered up to him, obviously surprised.
    Everyone in the room turned to look at Zane.
    “Ah, yes,” he drawled wryly as he felt their eyes on him. “He’s a sucker for red roses and opera.”
    Perrimore and Lassiter snorted at him while McCoy chuckled and shook his head. “If there was baseball and Guinness involved, I’d half believe it,” McCoy muttered.
    Zane rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window.
    “Lots of history up there,” Ty was saying with a tilt of his head.
    In the room, Del sat up straighter. “I didn’t think they liked that sort of thing in the FBI,” he said with a slight curl of his lip. Zane was surprised to hear him speak with a British accent.
    Ty shrugged. “You’re thinking military. Feds don’t have any problems with it. I do my job like anyone else,” he said with another wave of his hand. Zane couldn’t place what Ty was doing differently with his body, but it made him look… gentler. Not feminine, but… not as masculine as he was apt to be. Zane couldn’t really describe the effect other than to think that Ty looked less alpha. He realized suddenly, as Ty rolled his shoulders, that he was subtly mimicking the man sitting across from him.
    It hit Zane right then what Ty was really doing in there. He had no intention of interrogating Del Porter. He was studying him.
    Del nodded carefully. “How long have you been with him?” he asked, his tone tentative.
    “Long enough to know better,” Ty answered with a smile. All of his answers were vague. White lies that wouldn’t test Ty’s conscience, Zane knew.
    Del gave him a half smile and nodded, then looked back down at his hands.
    Ty was silent, watching him. From his vantage point behind the glass, Zane could see what Ty was seeing. Fading bruises around the man’s wrists, a few on his upper arms.
    “He treat you right?” Ty asked suddenly.
    Del glanced up at him almost defiantly and nodded again. He held up his hands to display his wrists. “I like it rough,” he told Ty with a smirk.
    McCoy had to clear his throat, and Zane turned a glare on him.
    Ty chuckled and nodded. “I hear ya,” he responded neutrally. He continued to examine Del Porter, and the man watched him and waited almost curiously. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he was still wary.
    Zane shook his head as he watched through the glass.
    “The little hamster in Ty’s head is probably bored,” Perrimore observed.
    “Thank you for your time, Mr. Porter,” Ty said abruptly as he nodded, as if having satisfied himself. He unfolded his legs and stood, heading for the door.
    Del watched him go in surprise. “That’s it?” he asked in confusion. “You’re leaving?”
    Ty stopped at the door and turned to look back at the man, his hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry. Did you need something else?” he asked with what seemed like honest surprise.
    “You didn’t even ask me anything.”
    Ty laughed and shook his head. “That ain’t my job, man,” he told Del dismissively before stepping out of the interrogation room and shutting the door firmly behind him.
    Del Porter stared at the door and then looked at the mirrored glass incredulously.
    “Somebody get Grady to the damn spa,” McCoy ordered under his breath as he stalked out of the room.

Chapter 2

     
    L OOKING over his reflection in the mirror, Zane wondered how such little changes could make him look so different. When he’d gone undercover before, he’d either been in tailored suits in Wall Street financial company offices, or he’d gone messier and dirtier in denim, leather, and sweat. This high-class pizzazz was new.
    McCoy had scheduled him for a “gentleman’s” treatment at a spa, where he’d been soaked and massaged, had