Fish & Chips (Cut & Run 3)

“When they realized they weren"t going to maim you so easily, they went for hardcore and tried to kill all of you.”

“Awesome,” Ty said sarcastically as he looked down at the typed documents. Everything Alston and McCoy had just told him was in there, and there was more.

Those men would be locked up for a long time as authorities kept adding to their laundry list of crimes.

Vartan Armen"s body had been claimed by Turkish nationals, and they had departed on a flight to Istanbul. The Bureau was working with the Turkish government to investigate Armen"s business, but it was slow going.

The day after the final chase, a maintenance man had found the FBI backup team locked up in a grocery storage room in the hold. They were tired, supremely annoyed, and seriously wired on pastries and sodas, but otherwise unharmed. That explained where those f**kers had been the entire time. They"d been ferreted out by Dolce and Gabbana, who had thought they were after Corbin and Del when they"d spotted the members of the team sticking too close to Ty and Zane. How they"d expected to keep their jobs, stay out of jail, and avoid an international incident by abducting and illegally detaining American federal agents, Ty didn"t know.

Cruises in international waters did weird shit to people.

The Bianchis had returned to Italy with the Guardia di Finanza.

Bianchi was reportedly cooperating with the Guardia to recover antiquities in exchange for leniency and immunity for Norina, who really hadn"t been involved in the business except on the periphery.

Ty did regret how that had ended. He"d liked the Italian woman and had felt almost guilty for lying to her.

For her part, Norina hadn"t forgiven Ty for destroying her shoes and her handbag, but she had requested a message be sent to Ty and Zane, one that thanked them for saving her and her husband"s lives.

The note was in the dossier, written in English so Ty could actually read it.

He snorted and smiled slightly.

“So,” Alston said, interrupting his line of thought. Ty looked up at him. “Was it a king-size bed?”

“It was round,” Ty answered drolly. “And if the cat jokes are going to be replaced with g*y jokes, just let it be known that I don"t find those funny,” he added seriously.

Alston"s smirk faded, and he nodded, recognizing that Ty wasn"t messing around.

The sound of metal grating on metal had accompanied his words, and Ty glanced over to see the silver band finally being pulled off his aching finger. The sight of the sliced ring and the impression it left on his skin was more painful than he"d anticipated.

“Thank you,” he muttered to the tech. The man nodded and handed him the wedding band. Ty palmed it and slid it into his pocket, glad McCoy didn"t demand he give it back.

The interview went on for another hour or so, the questions mundane and steering far clear of anything that could have been embarrassing or damaging. Ty"s attention was only half there, though.

The other half was on Zane and the ring burning a hole through Ty"s pocket.

ZANE forced himself to pay attention to the congested holiday traffic.

He was behind schedule, but at this point all he could do was drive. He drummed his thumb on the steering wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror.

He looked like himself again. His trimmed brown hair lay naturally without gel, and the earring was gone, though Zane had caught himself looking for the ruby stone a few times during the past week. Not his style, though. He wore his own tailored gray suit, a crisp white dress shirt, and a red and silver silk tie. All nice, but not pricey like Corbin Porter"s extravagant wardrobe. Under the suit, the tattoo was now fading. Zane had considered having it actually inked, but then he"d thought about what Ty would say and abandoned the idea. It wasn"t really his style either.

Zane had removed the last vestige of his fake persona four days after they returned from the cruise—this afternoon, actually. He was so accustomed to wearing a wedding ring that he simply hadn"t thought about removing the silver one provided for the case until he"d been washing spaghetti sauce off his fingers after lunch and noticed the ring was the wrong color.

He had stood there at the sink looking at the ring for several minutes, the water running, memories of the cruise cascading through his mind. But it wasn"t the casework and danger Zane remembered. It was the quiet time he and Ty had spent sitting together, relaxing. The heady, sultry sexual tension thrumming between them that they both not only allowed but fed. The laughter and the dancing and the banter and just being together.

With all that on his mind, it had felt odd—wrong, somehow—to remove the ring that connected him to Ty.

After drying his hands, he took the ring to the bedroom and the wooden keepsake box on his dresser. He opened the top with a soft snap of the magnetic clasp and saw his gold wedding ring inside, with all its dings and scratches. Zane slowly set the nearly pristine silver ring next to it before sliding his fingertips over the gold ring.

When he thought about Becky, it was more difficult to call her face to mind, and when he did, it was dim and fuzzy around the edges, faded with time. It had been more than six years since his wife had died, and though he still missed her, it didn"t hurt like it used to.

Zane had closed the box, leaving both rings inside.

Then he"d looked at the small ribbon-wrapped box next to it and huffed slightly. He"d bought the compass rose pendant for Ty on a whim, and he still wanted to give it to him. He just wasn"t sure… why.

Zane"s chest got tight when he thought about Ty"s declaration of love, and compared to that? The pendant seemed pedestrian. Plus they"d missed Christmas while stuck in that damn holding cell, and now just handing the necklace to Ty felt silly.

Zane had left it behind as well when he grabbed his suit jacket and walked out of the apartment.

So a little over three hours later he was here, navigating through traffic into a small parking lot. Zane squeezed the truck into a space meant for a smaller vehicle, wishing that he could have ridden the Valkyrie despite the cold but dry weather that would have nearly frozen him on the ride through town. Not only was the motorcycle more maneuverable, but it was much easier to park between cars that hogged a space and a third of stingy parking at full restaurants in Baltimore.

He hadn"t ridden it because it was hard to keep a suit and tie tidy while doing so.

The popular privately owned steakhouse that was located in two old renovated row houses near Fell"s Point was always jammed; New Year"s Eve made it even worse. He was glad he"d thought to call and get reservations as soon as they"d gotten home.