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Glancing up, Zane was already resigned to being insulted. Modus operandi for Ty. “What?”
“If I were really all that much of a liability, do you think I’d still be around?” Ty inquired curiously. “I mean, I’m good, but I ain’t that good.”
Zane didn’t even have to think up his answer. “Incorrect. It means you’re so good that you can be as insubordinate as you like and get away with it. We both know there’s a difference between being a liability in the field and an ass**le in the office.”
“We certainly do,” Ty agreed with a shit-eating grin. “Asshole.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Ty merely shrugged and went about eating his salad happily. Zane seemed to have a higher opinion of his abilities than he did of Zane’s. Which was how it should be, as far as Ty could tell. Soon, the main dishes were brought out and Ty gave the waitress a wink for her trouble. “So, what’d you do?” he asked Zane finally.
Zane knew what Ty was asking. His lips lifted into a small smile.
“The hookers were informants.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ty asked, his tone of voice that of a patient parent entertaining a child.
The anger flared again, and tamping it down took serious effort. “I don’t need another goddamn priest. You want to know or not? Because if you’re just going to humor me, then I’m shutting up,” Zane growled.
“Temper, temper,” Ty tutted with a wave of his fork in Zane’s face.
“What sort of cybercrimes informants are hookers?” he asked, completely changing the direction.
“I didn’t always work in the Cyber Division,” Zane told Ty tightly.
“Huh,” Ty commented disinterestedly. “And you were f**king your informants, too?”
Zane shrugged one shoulder. What was it about Ty that made him want to fly off the handle?
Ty gave a low whistle, shaking his head. “No f**king wonder you got busted down.”
Zane gave him a hateful look. “Didn’t think when they put you on a leash it would be to a damn anchor, did you?” he asked testily.
“I was expecting an anvil with a little pink slip attached,” Ty admitted. “Call me Wile E. Coyote.”
Surprised by the candor, Zane leaned back when the waitress refilled his tea pitcher, waiting until she was gone. “So what’d you do to piss them off?”
Ty actually winced as he took a sip of his water and shrugged.
“That’s still classified,” he answered honestly.
“Ouch.” ‘Still classified’ usually meant the shit hit the fan, and then some. “So the bricks, the anvil, and the ACME explosives.”
“You got ACME written on your forehead,” Ty muttered. He leaned back and cocked his head with an audible sigh. “I was in charge of the op,” he explained, completely unashamed of what he knew probably should have gotten him fired … and possibly arrested. “We skirted some corners and whited out some of the rule book; then it all went to hell.”
“From what little I know of you, it should have worked, though, huh?” Zane said as their dinners were delivered. “It would have been worth it.”
“Yes,” Ty answered succinctly. “It would have been worth it.”
Zane raised his eyes to study the other man. “So what went wrong?”
Ty looked up and met his eyes seriously, hazel eyes glinting angrily at just the memory. “That’s classified,” he murmured finally before looking back down.
The clipped heat of Ty’s voice and the snap in his eyes gave him away. “Sounds like you’ve got your own anger issues.”
“Only when I’m pissed off,” Ty answered with a forced smirk.
Snorting, Zane shook his head. “And that's what … only seventy-five percent of the time?” he asked seriously.
“I’m very easygoing,” Ty huffed with a pious inclination of his head.
“Mm hmm,” he hummed contentedly as he picked at his food.
Zane shook his head, stifling something nearly resembling a snicker.
“You’re not right in the head, Grady. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible.”
“What the hell?” Ty responded with a gesture of his hands.
“Easygoing, my ass. You go out of your way to make people’s lives hell. But now, I wonder if it’s because you enjoy it or if it’s because you honestly don’t care about anything but the job anymore.” He’d seen it before.
Hell, Zane had lived it before.
“Does it matter?”
Zane lowered his fork and looked across the table, eyes focusing on something over Ty’s shoulder. “I didn’t use to think so,” he admitted.
Ty watched him with one expressive eyebrow raised. “And?” he invited with a wave of his hand.
Dark eyes refocused and zeroed in on Ty’s face. “The threat of castration, unemployment, and hard jail time made me rethink things,” Zane supplied.
“Yeah, well, hang out with hookers and you get into some kinky shit,” Ty offered with a straight face.
The corners of Zane’s mouth turned up slightly. “Everyone has their hobbies,” he replied smoothly.
“Whatever floats your boat, man,” Ty shrugged dismissively, obviously having lost interest in the conversation.
Zane went back to finishing his dinner. Ty wasn’t just good at figuring out games, he was good at playing them. It was tiring trying to keep up with his banter, but it was also almost fun. Zane was reminded that this
“partnership” might not last so long, and now he couldn’t decide if he felt ambivalent about it, or worse, disappointed. There was the slight possibility that they could have been a formidable team. But it was clear that Ty’s obvious disdain wouldn’t allow that to happen.
They ate in silence for a while, and as soon as he was done with his dinner, Ty wiped his hands on the linen napkin and nodded at Zane. “So, tell me about the case,” he said without preamble.
The other agent’s brain snapped back to its gathered data without further prompting. “Eight murders, different locations, nothing to tie them together. No pattern of victim choice, cause of death, time of death, or other establishable MO. Just the tokens left at the scenes, none of them the same.
He’s taunting us,” Zane rattled off, pushing his empty plate away.
Ty closed his eyes and nodded impatiently. “Does anything ring any bells?” he asked pointedly.
