Divide & Conquer Read online

  When Zane stopped at his side, he turned his head and gave Zane a sheepish smile. “Hey,” he greeted.

  After looking Ty up and down, Zane smiled. “How you feeling?”

  “Had better nights.” Ty’s words were slow and careful. Then he held up his right hand, which was wrapped up in white athletic tape. His pinkie finger was almost indiscernible. He held a disposable ice pack in the other hand, pressing it to his ribs. “Got run over by a fireman.”

  Zane couldn’t help but laugh.

  An EMT wrapped up in a heavy jacket nodded solemnly. “I’m shocked he remembers it.”

  “You hush,” Ty grunted at her.

  “Can he leave?”

  “I’ve done all I can do for him,” she answered with a nod and a pat to Ty’s shoulder.

  “C’mon, your chariot has arrived,” Zane said, stepping back and waving the way to his truck. “Did you get the truck’s number?”

  “What truck?” Ty asked as he slid carefully from the ambulance and trudged around it. He wasn’t entirely steady as he stepped past Zane; his cleats dragged through the gravel. He seemed to be moving on autopilot as Zane steered him to the passenger seat.

  Zane helped him in, pushed the door shut, walked around to the driver’s side, and climbed in. “The fireman’s truck.”

  “He didn’t use a truck,” Ty answered with all sincerity. “His jersey says he’s Tank. I got jacked, man. Dude picked me up and threw me down. Gave me Vicodin,” he told Zane with a deep frown, not appearing to notice his thought processes hopping around.

  “What’d you do? Break it?” Zane asked, reaching out to try to catch the flailing hand that was all wrapped up.

  “They told me what was bruised and cracked. Dislocated finger, maybe a cracked rib. I tried to listen, but the EMT had this….” Ty put his hand up near his throat and seemed to search for the right word, his hazel eyes not quite focused. “Really low-cut… I got distracted.”

  Zane pressed his lips together to keep back the smile.

  “And they counted the run! I had him out at the plate, though. I held onto the ball. Well, it stayed in my glove, anyway. Glove got knocked off. Should have been like half a run.”

  “That’s terrible,” Zane murmured as he looked at the mess of tape that practically cocooned Ty’s hand.

  “It is terrible, Zane! We were only up by one!”

  Zane chuckled as he got the truck moving. “Put your seatbelt on,” he reminded. “It’s a good half-hour ride to your place.”

  Ty nodded and buckled with difficulty. “Were you busy?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Zane said, glancing at Ty as he drove. “I was just working on casefile details. Slow night.” He didn’t mention he’d merely been passing time waiting for Ty to get home and call him to come over. The softball season had been going strong for two weeks now. Zane would have gone to watch the games, but he’d been trapped by the latest PR events for Baltimore business professionals. He wrinkled his nose. Yet one more work commitment keeping him and Ty apart. He truly resented not being able to watch Ty in action.

  “Can you stay with me?” Ty asked, his brow furrowing worriedly.

  “Of course I can.”

  “I can’t be alone when I take these things,” Ty told him, waving a small paper packet Zane assumed contained pills of some kind.

  Zane frowned, feeling a twinge of worry. “Why not? Besides the whole falling-over-loopy thing.” Ty’s reactions to drugs ranged from hysterically funny to frighteningly horrific, and Zane wasn’t taking any chances. He hated to say he enjoyed Ty when he was drugged, because it usually made his partner sick. But before that he was like a big teddy bear, warm and open and steadfast and sweet.

  “Well, that and sometimes I… quit breathing,” Ty explained in an offhand manner as he looked out the truck’s window.

  Zane went absolutely cold and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “What?” he asked, tone rising and sharp with surprise.

  “Just a little, like my body forgets it needs air,” Ty offered with the same maddeningly carefree attitude he handled all the possibly life-threatening situations he found himself in. “And usually not for long.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Ty, don’t you think that’s something I should know?” Zane asked, voice coming out harsh with worry.

  “But I just told you,” Ty said in a hurt voice.

  “When you’ve already taken something?” Zane sucked in a breath and forced himself to relax, but his pulse had jumped and was now racing. “Well, now I’m really glad you called me, because the EpiPens are all at your place.”

  “Sorry,” Ty offered sincerely.

  Zane sighed as he stopped the truck at a red light and reached out to ghost his fingers over Ty’s shoulder. He shook his head slightly. Just the idea of losing Ty threatened to knock Zane over. When they got to the house, he was finding one or two of those injectors Ty had stashed all over and keeping at least one within easy reach at all times. Ty’s weird allergic reactions were off the charts when they happened, and Zane needed to be better prepared.

  “It’ll be okay. The hot paramedic chick gave me her number to call if I needed help,” Ty continued, his good hand weakly chasing Zane’s. “She plays first base.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I’d rather be with you.”

  Zane struggled to tamp down the worry. “That’s good to hear. You’d never tell me that if you weren’t drugged, I bet.”

  “Nope!” Ty told him happily. He looked over at Zane with a nearly serene smile. Zane leaned over and captured Ty’s full lips in a quick yet warm kiss before stepping on the gas pedal. “I should tell you more often,” Ty whispered, not moving from where Zane left him, the side of his head resting against the seat.

  Zane stared out the windshield at the busy street as he drove. After a long silence, he reached out to catch Ty’s good hand and pull it around to kiss the dirt-stained knuckles. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often,” he said, the words coming out hoarser than he expected.

  When Ty didn’t answer, Zane squeezed his hand gently and moved it, noticing Ty’s arm was limp. He looked over to see Ty still slumped sideways, dozing, breaths ragged but steady. Zane couldn’t help but roll his eyes and smile. He kept Ty’s hand in his and set them on his right thigh as he focused on getting them home.

  TO GET into the baseball complex, Pierce would either have to pick the lock or park his car on the street and risk getting a ticket as he climbed over the fence. He knew his crime history. Too many people got caught because they parked in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was one car in the locked lot, an old Ford Bronco with vintage stickers on the windows. Pierce knew who it belonged to: that brazen federal agent who had called him out on the local news.

  Pierce did his research. He even knew the man’s name. Grady. Tyler Grady. Pierce sneered as he thought about the newscast. Man had one hell of a nerve to talk shit when he didn’t even have any leads. But Pierce had plans for him now too. He didn’t know why the truck had been left behind, but it would save him the trouble of having to find Grady’s address.

  Grady wasn’t the only thing he’d researched. He’d also Googled how to pick locks, and he was reasonably sure he could do it. The others stayed in the car as he tried his hand at it.

  He could hear them growing more and more impatient, heckling him through the open windows as he struggled with the lock-pick set he’d bought on eBay. Finally he cursed and jogged back to the SUV.

  “I can’t get it,” he told his companions. He pointed at Ross and Hannah in the backseat. “You two stay in the car. If anyone comes by, light a blunt and start making out, got it?” They looked mutinous about being left behind, but nodded.

  He beckoned to Graham, the last member of their enterprising little group, to accompany him. Then Pierce took the equipment out of the back, handed off one of the bags, and carried the other as they made their way over the barrier into the parking lot and toward the
first softball field, where all the municipal league games were being played.

  When they got to home plate, Pierce gingerly pulled the homemade bomb from the bag and set it beside him on the ground, smiling at it with no small amount of pride.

  “We have to dig it up?” Graham asked. Even in the shadows it was easy to see the sour look on his face.

  “We have to hide it,” Pierce said glibly. He’d already explained all this, there was no way he was doing it again, not out here in the open when time was of the essence.

  Graham grumbled and complained as they went to work, digging up home plate. By the time they had a big enough space under the plate for the device to fit, they were both covered in sweat and a fine layer of red dust. They wedged the device into the hole, both of them straining to set it just so. It had to be perfect, or the pressure switch on the top wouldn’t activate unless someone stood on top of it and danced.

  It was a large bomb. Big enough to leave a crater where home plate was and kill everyone in a ten-foot radius even if it was underground when it went off. Pierce belatedly realized that they wouldn’t be able to hide all the excess dirt, and he frowned heavily as he mopped at his brow. The air was cold against his skin, but the adrenaline was combating the bitter chill. Their plan was working so far, and no one was the wiser yet because he planned ahead. That was why, after the first couple of bombs had gone smoothly, he’d set up the dry run at the aquarium—easy enough, since he worked there part time—to check the city’s adjusted emergency response.

  “Start putting that extra dirt in the bag. I’ll set the switch,” he ordered.

  “Can’t we just spread it out?”

  “These are cops, man. They only way they won’t notice if there’s like ten pounds of extra dirt out here in the morning is if they’re high.”

  “Fine,” Graham muttered.

  “Hurry up. And make sure the plate’s straight. We still have one more thing to take care of,” Pierce grunted as he eyed the Bronco in the shadows of the parking lot.

  He’d show Mr. Mysterious B. Tyler Grady what it was like to be kicked in the ass.

  Chapter Four

  THE first thing Ty noticed was that it was hot. The air he inhaled, whatever he was sprawled on, what was thrown over him—including a heavy body that lay against him; it was all stiflingly hot. To add insult to injury, when he cautiously cracked one eye open, it was bright and sunny, because the blinds were only half-drawn.

  His head felt like it was full of cotton, and his limbs were heavy and uncooperative. He groaned and began pushing at the covers and the dead weight against him. It shifted almost immediately and rolled away.

  “You okay?” Zane said, voice rough with sleep.

  “Hot,” Ty grunted accusingly. He pushed at Zane again and winced with the pressure on his sore body.

  Zane scooted back, and the heat radiating from him faded. He also pushed the blanket down, leaving only the thin cotton sheet over Ty’s lower body. Ty kicked one leg out and rolled flat, closing his eyes and lifting his chin, sprawling as the cool air hit him.

  “Better,” he muttered, though his ears seemed to be buzzing like he was hungover.

  Zane shifted around, moving the mattress slightly. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a truck,” Ty answered plaintively.

  “You said a tank, actually.” The bed shifted again, and Zane was off the mattress and moving. “Hurting?”

  Ty opened his eyes to follow Zane around the room. “A little, yeah,” he admitted. He tried to sit up slowly but gave up on it and eased himself back down with a groan. “A lot. Hungover.”

  Zane stopped at his side. “What can I get you?” He was watching Ty in clear concern.

  Ty waved him off and shook his head, then winced. He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers across his forehead slowly, massaging and trying to make the cotton feeling go away. It was rare that he felt so crappy he didn’t even think about groping Zane when he woke up next to him. “What time is it?”

  “About nine.”

  Ty sat up quickly, instantly regretting it even as he kicked what remained of the sheets away and tried to get out of bed. “I’m gonna be late!”

  “Late for what? It’s Sunday morning,” Zane said, stepping back to get out of Ty’s way.

  “The game! Yesterday was just the first round of that stupid Goodwill tournament.” Ty took a step and stopped short as the room wobbled around him. “Whoa.”

  Zane was suddenly there, hands under his elbows to help him regain his balance. “You’re going to go back and play after getting hurt last night?” He didn’t sound incredulous or even questioning. More like he wanted to be sure he understood correctly.

  Ty shook his head and blinked rapidly, then focused on Zane and nodded as he steadied himself. “I’m not hurt bad.”

  “I remember hearing the words ‘cracked rib’.”

  “They’ll just stick me in right field or something.”

  “Your throwing hand is injured.”

  “So I’ll use a leftie,” Ty tossed back.

  Zane dipped his chin to try to catch Ty’s eyes. “It’s not the being hurt I’m worried about.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a little shaky,” Zane pointed out. “Even for right field.” He straightened and let his hands slide from Ty’s arms. “But if you want to go, I’ll take you over there.”

  Ty had to agree he probably wasn’t in any shape to drive just then, but a few minutes of moving around and being awake would help. He wasn’t sure a softball game was really Zane’s scene. He knew the skepticism was obvious in his eyes even as he nodded. “The games last a few hours.”

  “I do like to watch sports, Ty.” Then Zane winked and gave a slight smile. “Especially the uniform pants.”

  Ty rolled his eyes and pointed at Zane as he moved toward the bedroom door. “No ogling in front of co-workers,” he warned. He turned and grimaced as his entire body protested. He groaned and leaned against the doorjamb, hanging his head for a moment. “Christ, I’m sore,” he muttered.

  “If you take the Vicodin, you’ll be seriously looped,” Zane said helpfully.

  Ty winced and looked down at his finger, his other hand settling on his sore ribs.

  “Ty, look at me,” Zane requested.

  Ty looked up at him obediently, unable to wipe the frown off his face.

  “If you’re hurting, take the pills. You don’t stress over drinking beer in front of me anymore. Why stress over this?” He was using logic, and he didn’t sound upset.

  “Are you sure?” Ty asked anyway. He didn’t feel right waving prescription drugs in Zane’s face. “Maybe I can just sit the game out. It’s not like the world will end if I don’t play or anything.”

  “Like that’ll happen.” Zane shook his head as he chuckled. He snagged a pair of jeans that lay folded on the dresser and walked over to stand in front of him. They were Ty’s favorite pair, stolen from their last UC operation. They would fit Zane okay; his two to three inches of extra height were mostly in the torso anyway. After a smile, he leaned down to kiss the corner of Ty’s mouth. “Thank you. For caring enough to worry about it. Now go take the damn pill. Or half of it. A whole will put you back on your ass. They’re on the bathroom counter.”

  Ty muttered as he turned and headed for the bathroom. If he took a half now and another half in a few hours, that would get him through the game, and then he’d have the rest of the day to sleep it off before work Monday morning. If he didn’t take them, he might be able to gut out the game, but his bruised ribcage was already screaming just from rolling out of bed.

  He stood looking at the little packet indecisively for a long moment before reaching for the pills and pouring them out into his hand. He plucked one from the pile, scooped the rest back up in the packet, and then pulled at the pill to try to break it in half. He cursed when he couldn’t get the thing to snap in two like it was supposed to, and he pulled out another one and tried to snap i
t instead.

  After trying each of the pills and failing to snap any of them on the line, he growled quietly and cursed. His fingers weren’t working like they were supposed to.

  Instead of asking Zane to deal with it, he popped a whole pill into his mouth and swallowed with a wince at the bitter taste. One every six hours was the same as a half every three, right?

  Not really, but it would do.

  He continued to mumble to himself as he hurried to get ready for the game. After a few more minutes, he joined Zane downstairs.

  “Need any help?” Zane asked.

  “You think you can find my cleats?” Ty requested as he buttoned the gray Feds jersey with fingers that felt too thick.

  “Sure,” Zane said amiably, and he headed for the front door.

  Ty was still tucking the jersey in and adjusting the Under Armour shirt he wore beneath it when Zane brought his dirty cleats to him. Ty could feel that pill beginning to work already. Now he questioned the wisdom of taking it, and he wondered if it was too late to go throw it back up. They usually took longer to hit him.

  Zane looked him up and down with a small smirk before gesturing with one finger for Ty to turn in a circle.

  “What?” Ty frowned at him suspiciously, but he held his hands out to his sides and turned in a slow circle as requested. When he completed the movement to face Zane again, he saw Zane watching him, biting his lower lip.

  “Well, it’ll do for a ballgame,” Zane murmured as he stood.

  Ty huffed at him and inexplicably found himself blushing under the scrutiny. “You’re a dick, Garrett,” he muttered as he moved to grab his cleats.

  “So says the ass in very tight pants,” Zane said, half laughing as he grabbed his wallet and keys. “C’mon. Food, then ball field.”

  THE SUV idled near First Maryland Bank. Pierce checked his watch. The first game was set to start in ten minutes. If he had planned it right, and he had, the explosion would take out at least half of the crowd and players. He smiled. Most of them were cops, and any of the others—firefighters, EMTs, or regular spectators—were just collateral damage. It served them right for playing with the pigs or buying into that spectacle. Besides, the more deaths there were, the less likely it was anyone would pay attention to the bank robbery on the other side of town. He hoped someone stepped on the plate during the national anthem. Chaos, panic, disorder, all of the above.