Divide & Conquer (9 page)

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.

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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?”

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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?”

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“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 54 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

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 it 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.

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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.

It would be brilliant. He turned up the police band radio, waiting for the inevitable calls for ambulances, fire trucks, and bomb squads.

He only wished he could be there to see it explode.

THE number of vehicles clogging the parking lots, streets, and even browned grassy areas around the playing fields surprised Zane. Sure, it was a softball tournament on a Sunday afternoon, but wow. There were people everywhere, in various states of winter dress. It reminded him of 56 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

a county fair with all the fund-raising vendors set up. He almost expected to smell barbecue, but that would have been Texas. Here in Baltimore it would be the sweet scent of fried crabcakes.

“Where"d you leave the Bronco?” Zane asked.

“In the far corner over there,” Ty answered immediately, pointing toward the edge of the lot where several large trees with spindly bare branches loomed over the cars parked on the crunchy dormant grass.

Zane tried to find a space near it but ended up going in the opposite direction to park closer to the field so Ty wouldn"t have to walk so far. “Let me guess. She"s away from the foul balls.”

Ty looked across the lot at the Ford affectionately. Zane had never seen anything special about the old SUV except for the fact that Ty loved her, and Ty was adamant that the vehicle was a
her
. She was an "88 Ford Bronco, green with a tan underbelly, and every inch of her was lovingly cared for, if not pristine. From what Ty"s brother, Deuce, had told Zane, Ty"d had the Bronco since he was in high school. He"d rescued it from a scrap yard and rebuilt it himself. The front windshield was scarred with the sticky remains of old entry decals, some of them retaining the shape of their former stickers from the Marine base at Camp Lejeune. Decals littered the edges of the back and side windows.

Zane had never taken the time to stop and look at them all, but he guessed that there were dozens altogether.

There was one very prominent white sticker in the rear window that said “Semper Fidelis” beneath the USMC eagle, globe, and anchor.

There were several smaller decals scattered around that commemorated certain stretches of the Appalachian Trail. A yellow square with a familiar curled snake and the words “Don"t Tread On Me.” An old peeling sticker that had seen better days was what Zane had been told was a nautical star. There was a Smith & Wesson logo. In various places he could see a New Orleans Saints fleur de lis, an Atlanta Braves tomahawk, a faded Grateful Dead “steal your face” sticker, and a very old M with a circle over it that Zane knew stood for an Ironman Triathlon. A newer decal sported stylized Arabic writing that spelled out “Infidel” with an assault rifle used as the capital I. In direct contrast, on the opposite window, was the Om symbol. By itself in the center of one of the back windows was a black POW/MIA sticker.

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