Okay, that had been kind of funny after the fact.
But it was taking Ty longer to get used to being in his own skin again than he would have liked. He didn’t hear much from the other guys, either. He supposed they were all suffering through the same sense of vertigo as he was. Sometimes it was easier to get used to real life again if they didn’t speak for a while. They’d discovered that years ago. The only person Ty had expected to hear from already was Nick, but he hadn’t even received a text message from the man. That in itself was strange, and it felt like something was missing from each day.
Not working was also disconcerting. He’d never in his life been without a job. It was driving him a little crazy already, and he knew he would have to find something else soon. A city cop position like Nick had taken up, or even private security somewhere, because as far as he was concerned, guns were the only thing he did well. But all he had to do now was work on the old Mustang in the backyard, and pore over the scraps of evidence Zane brought him about their mole.
Since their ordeal in New Orleans with Liam Bell resurfacing and the uncanny knowledge both he and the Vega cartel possessed about Ty and Zane’s movements, Ty was just as sure as Zane was that a mole had infiltrated the Baltimore office. Burns had confirmed it the day Ty’d received his orders from the Marine Corps. Someone was relaying information to the Vega cartel, and God knew who else. Enemies who would kill Ty or Zane without a blink.
The danger had always been at the back of Ty’s mind, knowing Zane was home, alone, with no one he could trust to watch his six. Kelly had spent a great deal of time in Baltimore getting to know Zane, keeping an eye on things for Ty, but Ty hadn’t known that when he’d been away, so he’d fretted at night, worried himself sick when he had the free time to do it. Nick had attempted to distract him at first, but even he had given up on trying to keep Ty’s mind off the very real threat.
Coming home and finding Zane happy and healthy, smiling and beautiful, had very nearly erased the worry from Ty’s mind. But walking out of the office the day he’d quit, the realization had come tumbling down on him again that there was still a traitor in their midst, and now he’d removed himself from the game.
So he searched. He pored over news articles and police reports about the cartel. He tried to find connections between the events of New Orleans and any of their cases, delving into everything he had at hand that wouldn’t tip off the mole. But his resources were minuscule, and there was so little to go on.
All he found were dead ends, and so more often than not he found himself just like he was now, on his back on a modified mechanics creeper—really just a plywood board he’d reinforced and put wheels on—beneath the Mustang.
He was humming along to the radio, trying to keep his mind clear as he worked, when someone grabbed him by both exposed ankles and yanked. He closed his eyes and tensed his entire body as the creeper shot out from under the Mustang, shocked he didn’t catch his head on any protruding parts. When he cleared the undercarriage, he had his gun in hand, and was shielding his eyes from the winter sun with his wrench, even though he was pretty sure he knew who his assailant was.
“Let’s go inside,” Zane said, the mischief quite clear in his voice. He didn’t even bother helping Ty off the ground, nor did he seem fazed that a twitchy war veteran had just pulled a gun on him. He headed for the door, already yanking at his tie and shrugging out of his jacket.
“What did you do?” Ty called after him.
Zane laughed, and Ty hurried to follow. He was pretty sure that whatever it was, he didn’t want to miss it.
Zane jumped Ty before he could even say hello or wipe his greasy hands off on his jeans. He dragged him through the door and slammed him against the wall, leaving Ty’s radio playing and all his tools laying out in the yard as snowflakes began to drift down.
The next kiss made Ty think he could buy new tools if they got stolen or rusted. Zane pulled at his jeans and shoved at his heavy wool shirt, growling at him to take everything off.
“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?” Ty gasped.
“I was sitting at my desk, wanting to shoot myself,” Zane said as he kissed his way down Ty’s neck. “And I remembered that you were at home, just sitting around doing nothing.”
Ty made an insulted noise, but he couldn’t even argue because it was true.
Zane kissed him again, shoving Ty’s jeans down his hips and sliding his fingers against Ty’s bare skin. Then he stopped and met Ty’s eyes with a smile that crinkled his laugh lines. “And I couldn’t fucking wait to get home.”