Ty paced, still fuming and unable to stand still. Apparently the doctor was droning on, explaining what might be happening. “So this is a good thing?” Zane asked after listening. Ty could feel Zanes gaze following him. After a week without it, Ty felt uncomfortably pinned down, and that just made him angrier.
“Okay,” Zane said, his tone unsure, and he thumbed off the phone.
“Gonna live?” Ty asked him curtly as he took the phone from him.
Zane turned his head slowly, as if afraid he might be dizzy. “Yeah. Maybe you should have hit me sooner.”
“I couldnt agree more.” He tossed the phone toward the couch as he moved to the door without another word.
“Ty, wait,” Zane called out, his voice pained. Ty answered by slamming the front door. He thought he should have felt just a little bit guilty. But he didnt.
ZANE stalked into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. Five hours. Five goddamn hours hed sat at the hospital for the doctors to look at him for five minutes, a ten-minute CT scan, then a pat on the head and shove out the door. And all hed been able to stew about was how hed f**ked up so royally with Ty, however unintentional it was.
He shed gear and clothes as he walked through the apartment to the kitchen in his jeans and socks, intent on getting a Coke and then a hot shower. When he yanked open the refrigerator door and saw the untouched boxes and bags from Chiapparellis, his first instinct was to slam the door shut, yell, and throw… something. But he swallowed on the anger, and though it was really, really close, he made himself grab a can of soda off the shelf and shut the door carefully. He hadnt been this angry in a long time, and it made his head pound, his eyes sting, and, dammit, his heart ache.
Zane slid onto a bar chair and pressed the cold can to his cheek, then his temple, then his forehead, trying to get some relief as he fought the swell of emotions. Upset and anger, obviously. A healthy dose of utterly pathetic gratitude and frantic joy. An aching regret, and an even deeper hurt. The conflict was about to make his head explode.
With a sigh, Zane set down the Coke, and he was about to get up when he saw the small pile of mail sitting forgotten on the far side of the bar. He reached out and dragged it over. Coupons. A church tract. Generic insurance offers. A flier advertising a nearby car-wash grand opening, another announcing a special couples dinner night out at one of the other prominent Italian restaurants in the area. He unfolded the last one to find only a sheet of paper with messy handwriting.
But it was clearly his name at the top.
Zane silently read the few short lines, and the emotions started bubbling up again, threatening to choke him.
Mr. Garrett, Pierce Sutton is the reason you’re blind. He has your truck too. You have to stop him before he kills somebody. Please. F OUR days had passed since the teenage girl had been shot outside the bank, and the whirlwind was still churning. The public was equal parts praising the FBIs dedication to keeping Baltimore safe and crucifying the “trigger-happy monster” whod taken the shot.
That monster just happened to be the same agent whod become one of the darlings of the media, but no one knew that. And he was missing in action, sent home to lay low yet again until the case was done. He kept thrusting himself in the middle of all the trouble, and Dan McCoy simply couldnt have him around anymore.
McCoy felt sorry for Ty Grady. Usually he was like a cat: he didnt necessarily always land on his feet, but he had the uncanny ability to twist during the fall and at least land on all fours. He just couldnt seem to win on this one, though. He was on all fours, all right, but McCoy didn't think it was voluntary.
So McCoy had sent him packing, sending a different agent several times a day to check up on him. By all accounts he wasnt handling the shooting of the girl well. One agent reported that Ty had actually uttered the phrase “you kids get off my lawn” when the rookie had knocked on his door. McCoy knew that Ty was either messing around with them for shits and giggles or he was truly traumatized. Truth be told, it was probably a combination of the two.
On the plus side, Zane Garrett had been released to light duty by the Bureau doctor late yesterday and was “officially” back in the office. Hed called in the night of the shooting, having found a letter left at his apartment while he was blind, a letter that gave them a name. Fingerprints were no help; whoever had handled the paper didnt have a record, so there was no way to know how the writer had found Zanes apartment. That still bothered McCoy, as well as Zanes team, who had all volunteered to continue the protection detail.
It would have taken a fight to keep Zane out of the office, doctors orders or not, so McCoy had Zane brought in—his truck was still MIA—sat him down, put his cyber skills to work dredging some more nontraditional sources of information, and kept a close eye on him.
Pierce Sutton turned out to be a kid and therefore in the wind, not at any address his meager records said he might be using and hard to pin down. The search continued, as did other aspects of the investigation, including the one currently on top of the pile on McCoys desk.
McCoy pushed a button to call for Zane as he perused the file in front of him. He got an immediate reply. “Garrett.”
“Get in here,” McCoy grunted as he flipped a page.
He didnt get a verbal answer, but Zane was in his doorway within a minute. He was dressed down, in black jeans and boots with a nondescript blue button-down, pushing the line of what office dress code strictly allowed, and he still looked pretty haggard, hair ruffled and face scruffy. McCoy ignored the break in protocol and beckoned Zane into his office.
“Sit down. I need your help with something.” Zane hesitated for a beat before moving into the office and taking one of the chairs across from him. McCoy looked at him for a moment, then down at the file spread out across his desk. Ty Gradys file. These two were like lightning rods, and any given day, he wasnt sure which one would draw the most voltage.
“You doing okay, Zane?”
Zane snorted quietly. “Better, anyway.”
McCoy nodded, looking Zane over critically. Zanes eyes were still bloodshot enough that he could see the red in them from seven feet away, but he decided the answer would do for now. “Have you heard from Grady?”
Zane sat up straighter in his chair and made eye contact. “Not for a few days.” “Neither have I. Ive gotten word hes not handling the situation very well. Has his phone off, letting everything go to voice mail. Youve heard that he was the one to take the shot at the bank, yes?”
Zane went still. He did that sometimes, McCoy had noticed in the past, usually because it was such a contrast to Tys incessant twitching. “No,” Zane replied, his tone flat. “I only heard they took one person into custody.”