Divide & Conquer (40 page)

The video cut to a shot of a somber-looking man in a brown suit.

The titles labeled him as
FBI Spokesman
. “Agent Reeves was a fine example of the FBI and law enforcement,” the man said with a flash of bright white teeth. “Her service to the city is to be commended, and she will be greatly missed.”

The reporter reappeared. “Reeves is the third death in the as-of-yet unexplained string of bombings terrorizing Baltimore. Police now suspect that a recent, unsuccessful bank robbery may be related to the bombings.”

The shot changed to display the Baltimore police chief. “We are pursuing all leads, and the possibility of the perps using divide and conquer tactics won"t be ruled out.”

“So the recent rash of bank robberies and the bombings might be connected?” the reporter asked.

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“We"re not ruling anything out at this time,” the chief repeated with worn patience. “Contingency plans for emergency response remain in place.”

“What do you mean by divide and conquer tactics?”

“It"s quite simple,” the police chief replied. “By dividing our response, they"re hoping to get away with their crimes.”

The video returned to the studio shot. “Following this most recent tragedy, local, state, and federal officials announced that every available resource is being diverted to find the source of the bombs.”

The FBI spokesman appeared again. “We"re doing everything we can to protect all the men, women, and children of Baltimore by stopping this threat. And we won"t rest until we do. We owe that to Baltimore, and we owe that to Lydia Reeves.”

The final shot of the reporter displayed an American flag flying over her shoulder. “The funeral for fallen FBI agent Lydia Reeves is at noon tomorrow at Green Mount Cemetery. It will be closed to the public.”

WITH a soft grunt of frustration, Zane undid the tie he was trying to knot for the third time and started over. He"d been a little off all morning, but he wasn"t surprised he was shaky, shaky enough that he"d simply trimmed up his beard and mustache instead of getting rid of it altogether. Funerals did that to people, even when you weren"t close to the deceased. In his case, it resurrected memories he wished would stay buried, memories of another woman"s funeral in the unseasonably cold and wet Texas fall. The fact this morning had dawned cool and gloomy, with the potential bite of sleet or snow in the air, definitely didn"t help.

Lydia Reeves" funeral was in two hours, and it would be a long, uncomfortable, emotional day.

Zane gave up on the tie when he heard a steady knock and walked out of the small bathroom and through the living room. He picked up his Glock from the bookshelf before opening the door. They still didn"t know how the note writer had found him.

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A Marine stood on the stoop. A white cover with a black brim bearing the golden eagle, globe, and anchor shadowed his eyes. Bright-red piping on the high-necked midnight-blue blouse stood out against clean-shaven skin, and round gold buttons ran down the front seam. A stack of ribbons hung over his heart, and a red patch on each of his arms displayed three gold chevrons and one rocker above two hash marks. He wore pristine white gloves that disappeared into the long jacket sleeves. The jacket extended to hip length, close-fitted and cinched by a spotless white belt with a gold buckle bearing the branch insignia. The trousers" brighter blue, a royal blue, contrasted with a long scarlet stripe down the outside of his legs, and his black shoes showed a high shine.

Zane stared for all he was worth. Ty Grady in dress blues was a glorious sight to behold.

“Damn,” Zane said in sincere appreciation.

Ty cocked his head, the barest smirk twitching his lips.

“Morning,” he offered, his eyes taking in the mangled knot of Zane"s tie.

Zane"s gaze followed his, and with a huff he yanked the tie off and stepped back, waving Ty inside.

“Need some help?” Ty asked as he stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind himself. He swept the cover off his head and tucked it under one arm, a motion Zane had seen many times before but never appreciated to its fullest until now.

“Apparently,” Zane agreed as he shut the door. “But not with this one.” He meant to turn to the second bedroom to get another tie, but he couldn"t make himself look away just yet. The last time Zane had seen dress blues had been on the groom at his sister"s wedding. He knew enough about chevrons and rockers to identify Ty"s rank as Staff Sergeant, but he didn"t know what any of the impressive stack of ribbons stood for aside from the recognizable Purple Heart ribbon on the top row. Zane reached up to cautiously ghost his fingers over it.

Ty smiled gently, letting him touch. “Flashy, aren"t they?” he said wryly. He didn"t sound like he was boasting.

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“No medals?” Zane asked. He knew most of the ribbons had corresponding medals, though not why servicemen wore one or the other or both.

“They"re at home. The ribbons don"t clink.”

Zane nodded. “Looking sharp, Marine,” he complimented with a small smile. “Any rules about getting kissed in uniform?”

“Not that I"m aware of,” Ty answered, smiling wider.

Zane chuckled and leaned down to kiss Ty carefully, not wanting to get snagged on the ribbons or buttons. He could feel Ty smiling against his lips, and Ty pulled him closer. Zane hummed in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Ty loosely. The wool of the jacket was smooth under Zane"s fingers, the embroidery of the patches less so, but Ty"s lips were still warm and soft against his.

“You look pretty good yourself,” Ty murmured against his lips.

Zane kissed him again as a thank-you. It was just a nice suit, but one he didn"t wear often, being an intense black—so much so it almost picked up a midnight blue or indigo sheen in the right light—and more closely tailored than he preferred for work. He"d chosen a soft gray dress shirt and had been messing with an understated silver tie.

Ty smoothed his hand over Zane"s chest and hummed. “I know which one will work.” He handed Zane his cover and stepped aside, heading for Zane"s bedroom.

Zane spun the cover between his hands as he watched Ty move into the next room. He walked differently, Zane noted. Taller, his shoulders more squared, steps more measured, with a gravity Ty normally shrugged off. It was more than a subtle change, one that oddly seemed to suit him.

Some people were born to be Marines. Ty was one of them.

Suddenly it struck Zane as a tragedy that Ty was no longer in the Corps. The hint of melancholy he had noticed in Ty"s eyes upon occasion made perfect sense now, and the realization settled unhappily in the pit of Zane"s stomach. Ty had been happy in the Marines. He had to miss it.

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Ty came back a moment later, holding a narrow black tie with silver squares and charcoal gray lines between them. It was one of Ty"s, and the corners of Zane"s mouth curled up, because he probably had ten or twelve different ties of his own in the drawer. At least one a month got ruined between work and Ty"s lack of patience at the end of a long workday. “Okay,” he agreed, holding out one hand.

Ty shook his head, sliding his fingers down the expensive silk of the tie. Ty didn"t dress to impress all that often, but when he did, he went for broke. He raised the tie and wrapped it around Zane"s neck, looking him in the eye with a smile. “Turn around. I"ll tie it.”

Zane half rolled his eyes but turned around as instructed, facing the island countertop. He loved it when Ty did this. Ty slid his hands under Zane"s arms, having to press hard against his back to reach the tie. His fingers were quick and sure as he tied it, and Zane could feel his nose and chin pressing down against the back of his shoulder. When he had it tied, he stepped back and tugged at Zane to turn, then smoothed the tie out and straightened it. Finally he gave a nod of satisfaction.

“Do I pass inspection?” Zane asked.

“It"ll do,” Ty answered as he looked Zane up and down. He took his cover from Zane and tucked it back under his arm. “You ready?”

“No,” Zane said honestly. “But it"s time to go anyway.”

Ty patted his cheek sympathetically. The entire department was in mourning, but Zane had been the last person to see Reeves conscious, in the store just before the bomb went off. It had left Zane shaken once he"d remembered.

The funeral was going to be a huge public spectacle: the big Bureau and law enforcement turnout, the irresistible PR opportunity, and—because there was no realistic way to keep the press out—

cameras everywhere. Zane was trying not to think too much about the very real possibility of the funeral itself being a target.

“Let"s get this over with, then,” Ty muttered. His eyes were a deep green, trending toward blue today, and though the uniform seemed to do something spectacular to his bearing, the air around him 268 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

felt worn thin and stretched. Not for the first time, Zane found himself worrying about Ty"s general well-being.

His partner wasn"t right, and Zane didn"t know what to do to help him.

He turned and headed for the door while Zane shrugged into his heavy woolen coat. Zane double-checked his wallet, badge, phone, and firearm, and followed Ty out.

THE gravesite lay beneath a copse of giant oak trees. It would be well shaded in the summer, but for now the bare branches reached up to the heavily clouded sky. Green Mount was a beautiful cemetery of great historical significance, filled with monuments and mausoleums that lent a solemn air to that beauty. Even now, in the dead of winter, the grass was green and wet, shining dully against the uneven paths of gray pavers. Tombstones and statues too numerous to count stood vigil over the graves, marble and weathered rock figures that peopled the cemetery when no other living soul was present.

The pallbearers moved silently into the crowd after carefully setting Lydia Reeves" flag-draped casket just so, and the minister began speaking. Zane noted distantly that the man had a good speaking voice; it carried out over the tidy gravesite to the family under the green awning as well as the crowd standing in small clusters amidst the other headstones and monuments. He estimated at least a hundred present, many from the Bureau, and then assorted friends and family who gathered closer to the family for the service. The press had been surprisingly considerate so far, not approaching the family or any attendees, standing to the side, only a couple of digital video cameras running silently.

The minister didn"t speak long. He nodded to a woman standing nearby, she read the twenty-third Psalm, and then the gathered lowered their heads for a final prayer. At the amen, the bagpipes, positioned discreetly to the far side of the crowd, wheezed to life, and Zane couldn"t repress a shiver as the player began the traditional “Amazing Divide & Conquer | 269

Grace.” Two servicemen in dress uniforms, agents Zane recognized from work, moved to lift and fold the American flag.

Movement from Ty drew Zane"s eyes, and when he glanced to his side at Ty, a sudden and unexpected thrill ran through him. Ty had come to attention, body taut in a smart salute. His jaw was tight and his eyes were unreadable, staring ahead from the shadow of his white cover. He stood straight and tall, every ounce of him perfect and rigid, the bright colors and harsh white of his uniform in sharp contrast to the washed-out sepia of the day. Zane didn"t think he"d ever seen anything more incredible and heart-wrenching than Ty right then. The bagpipes played on, a soundtrack to the very picture of self-sacrifice and loyalty.

Zane"s thoughts inexplicably landed on Elias Sanchez, a man he"d never met, a member of Ty"s Marine Recon team who had also joined the Bureau. Sanchez had died in the line of duty, murdered by a fellow agent turned serial killer. Sanchez would have had a funeral like this, with the honor guard and the gun salute, with men and women in pristine uniforms standing in silent respect for the dead. As Ty stood now. How many times had Ty done this, said goodbye to a fallen comrade in that uniform?

Zane dropped his gaze, giving his partner what modicum of privacy was possible. He didn"t need to continue staring. The sight would be forever burned in his memory.

He blinked when movement from his far right caught his attention. He"d been without his sight long enough that he was still overreacting to quick, unexpected movements. This was out of place, hurried, and he turned his chin to look.

A young man, late teens, Zane suspected, with messily styled blond hair, was pushing his way through the crowd, obviously searching for someone in particular. The music covered any noise he was making. The kid stopped to speak to a woman, who looked around, made eye contact with Zane, and pointed right at him. Zane blinked as the kid made a beeline for him. He was fairly sure he"d never seen the young man before.

Zane was aware of a change in Ty, as if he"d sensed Zane"s attention, but he didn"t move, still saluting the flag as it was folded.

Zane glanced at him, then watched the kid fumble toward them.

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He walked right up to Zane like he knew him. Zane had to lean over a little to hear him over the bagpipes and the people who had started singing. “You have to get everyone out of here. Pierce is crazy,”