Ty knew all of the rooms well. He had lived in one of them for almost two years. They generated extra income for the bar, but Murdoch had rented mostly to employees at a ridiculously low rate. It kept someone on the premises at all times, and it kept them loyal to him. For Ty’s purposes, living there had thrown him right into the middle of the world he’d needed at the time.
Ava led them up the narrow stairs. Ty let his hand caress the brocade wallpaper as he went, the texture and scent bringing back memories that were, for the most part, good ones.
His life here had been different from any other he had lived or pretended to live. But there’d been a heady seductiveness about it, something dark and rich and tempting. Ty had almost succumbed to its charms.
Ava used a key on a long purple ribbon to unlock one of the doors, and she stepped aside to let them into the room. Ty took the key from her. She met his eyes defiantly, but there was pain there too. He knew he’d hurt her. All in the name of doing his job. Just like he’d hurt Zane. He tore his eyes away from her and looked into the room.
He was stunned to find that little was different since he’d last been there.
“Murdoch didn’t see any point in changing what you did to it,” Ava told him.
Ty shook his head and stepped into the room. An odd sense of homesickness flooded him. He stopped in the middle of the threadbare Oriental rug as he distantly registered Ava’s footsteps moving away.
Not one thing seemed different from the night he’d left.
The simple iron bed was burnished silver, the patina of age giving it a character the delicate scrollwork could not manage. The ivory quilt was plain, and the design of the cotton sheets was faded and well-worn, giving the entire bed a vintage Dust Bowl look.
The walls were covered with yellowing pages out of old books, glued haphazardly, one on top of another, onto wooden paneling that could no longer be seen. Ty had spent days doing it, trying to insulate the thin walls so no one could hear what he was up to when he was alone, but people who’d seen his work afterward had attributed it to an artistic, quirky personality instead of simple paranoia.
Along one wall sat an old stove and an antique Crosley refrigerator that occasionally needed rewiring. Beside that was a tiny table with two celery green padded chairs, and a sink below open shelves that held dishes.
In the corner of the room opposite the bed was a large wardrobe. Ty stepped toward it and opened the door on the right, almost expecting to see his clothes still hung neatly inside. It was empty, however, not even a hanger left.
He turned to face Zane, who had stopped on the threshold. “This is almost exactly how I left it.”
Zane’s focus was on him, though, not the room. His words were quiet, almost bitter. “I can’t believe it was you.”
Ty swallowed hard. He didn’t know if this was promising or damning.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Zane asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Ty had to avert his eyes. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t . . . I was hoping it wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“You and your perfect wife versus me in eyeliner and my girlfriend with feathers in her hair, asking you to play with us? Come on, man.”
“That’s what makes you you. Jackass.”
“Exactly.”
Zane remained silent, but the irritation and disgust in his expression hit harder than any words. It seemed all Zane could see were lies. The tension was growing heavier, pressing at Ty, making him want to fidget. “You think it was fate?”
“I don’t believe in fate.
Ty nodded, pushing back the tumbling of his nerves. “It believes in you.”
“I think people make their own fate.”
Ty could think of nothing to say to the anger in Zane’s eyes.
Zane glared at him for a moment. “This is cozy,” he said, sliding his hand along the doorjamb. “Nicer than my warehouse, that’s for sure.” He stepped inside. “Did you do this to the walls?”
“Yeah. It’s The Three Musketeers. Mostly.”
Zane’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer to the pages. “In French.”
Ty shrugged. “It’s better that way.” Since Zane read novels in Spanish, Ty figured he’d understand.
Zane had one hand in a pocket. “This place is . . .” He shook his head. “Gothic.”
Ty nodded wistfully. “That’s part of what I loved about it.”
“Yeah?” Zane moved a few steps closer. “Another new side to Ty Grady.”
They faced each other, the silence heavy and tense.
“I wonder what other sides I don’t know about,” Zane finally murmured, as if talking to himself.
Ty swallowed hard. “Zane.”
“What did you take with you when you left?” Zane asked. He turned away, unwilling to let Ty explain. “Anything? Or just the memories?”
Ty scowled. “Just a book I carried with me. It had a cut-out in it with my real passport.”
Zane’s jaw clenched, like he was physically holding back his emotions. “What did you miss most?”
Ty frowned, confused by the questions, until he finally recognized what Zane was doing. This was how his partner interrogated suspects. He would start with that intense stare and then ask mundane questions to throw the suspect off. Then he’d ease out just enough to make it seem okay before he punched through to the real queries in a quiet, frightening voice. It was quite effective, and Ty had seen Zane break people no one else could get to talk.
Ty chewed on his lip thoughtfully, trying to give Zane a real answer even as he dreaded the punch of the final question. “I missed the smell,” he finally decided.
Most people would have taken that as a joke, but Zane would take it seriously. He’d been there, that somewhere you remembered by feel and scent more so than sight or sound. It was a visceral answer.
“Why?” Ty asked when Zane didn’t respond.
Zane slid his other hand into his pocket and shrugged. “No one ever asked me to remember the good things.”
Ty sighed. He’d done things here he hadn’t necessarily been proud of. But for the most part, it had been two of the better years of his life. He remembered all of it fondly until the end. He knew Zane’s experience in Miami had been vastly different.
They were still standing there, silent and uncomfortable, a few minutes later when Ava returned.
“You find what you need?” she asked, her voice breaking the spell.