Fish & Chips

Ty glared at him briefly and looked back at the man behind the glass. “I"ll never pull this off,” he said to the other men in the room.



Zane tipped his head to one side, openly appraising Ty"s body. “I don"t know,” he said distractedly. Ty looked back at him hatefully, feeling himself blushing under the scrutiny.



“He"s not what I"d call stupid. But he sure as hell isn"t the brightest bulb in the pack,” McCoy informed them. “He knows just enough to keep his mouth shut. But that and the fact that he"s pretty and got himself a rich husband are about all he"s got going for him.”



“Holy fuck, man,” Ty finally muttered. “I"m gonna be this dude for how long?”



“Relax, Grady. You have the easy end of this,” McCoy assured him. “Garrett"s guy is the real brains here, and no one who"s familiar with them will expect you to do anything but lay in the sun and work on your tan. Garrett? In the field, you"re the lead on this one. You"re calling the shots. Grady is just there as scenery and backup.”



Zane snorted as Ty turned to look at McCoy in outrage. Backup?



They were partners; there was no lead and backup!



“Ty, we"ve booked you an appointment at some spa with a name I can"t pronounce,” McCoy went on as he handed Ty a slip of paper.



Ty reached out woodenly and took the certificate. “I"ll get on board with the hair color,” he bargained pleadingly. “You"re seriously gonna make me wax my chest?”



“You see that guy in there?” McCoy countered with a point of his finger at the man in the interrogation room.



Ty swallowed hard. He had done a lot of things he wasn"t proud of in order to assume identities that weren"t his. He"d changed his appearance, changed his behavior, treated decent people horribly to make an impression on a scumbag, prepared crack cocaine for others to smoke, taken lives, and any number of other things he didn"t care to remember. He knew how important a part the smallest thing could play when trying to convince a stranger that you were someone they thought they already knew. He looked down at the silver ring on his finger and back up at the man behind the glass with a heavy sigh.



“There"s a good man,” McCoy said with a pat to Ty"s shoulder.



Ty glanced at Zane as he felt himself blushing slowly. Though Zane"s face was composed, Ty could see the laughter in his eyes.



“I don"t know how they"ll get rid of the tattoo, but they"ve assured me they can,” McCoy added with another pat to Ty"s shoulder.



“What?” Ty cried as he looked at McCoy in outrage.



McCoy just smiled at him. “This guy was obviously never a Marine,” he reasoned. “Now, Grady, you get going,” he ordered before Ty could have a meltdown. “You"re getting the works, so you"ll probably be there all fucking day. Garrett, come with me,” McCoy said as he gestured for Zane to follow him. “I"ll introduce you to yourself,”



he said wryly as they headed out the door.



Ty felt the sudden urge to beg Zane not to leave him there. He could feel the raised writing on the slip of thick, cream-colored paper in his hand. He looked down at it, thinking of all the procedures the makeover would entail. Salon Láurie… waxing, tanning, bleaching, manicures, lotions, scented mud….



Del Porter said something suddenly, complaining about being left in the room for so long. Ty turned to look at him in shock. He pointed his finger in outrage and turned to the other agent in the room. “He"s British?” Ty cried.



Special Agent Lassiter, who"d been standing there silently the whole time, covered his mouth with his hand and merely nodded in answer, unable to keep from laughing any longer.



“DO YOU realize what kind of shitfit Grady"s going to have over this when this is all done?” Zane asked McCoy as they walked down the nondescript hallway of holding and interrogation rooms.



“Oh, I"m looking forward to it,” McCoy said with relish. “I want pictures, Garrett. They"ll be great for the newsletter.”



Zane rolled his eyes. “I hope your insurance is up to date,” he said as they stopped at another door. “Grady doesn"t forget people who fuck around with him.”



“He gives as good as he gets,” McCoy said good-naturedly as he opened a door. Zane grunted and walked in.



The man on the other side of the two-way glass was as different from Del Porter as night was from day. And McCoy was right. Zane did have a general resemblance in height, build, and coloring. But Corbin Porter was definitely high-class. Or he thought he was: finely cut hair slicked back, a ruby stud in one ear, an expensive designer suit with a high-collared shirt rather than a tie, custom cuff links, manicured hands, and Italian leather on his feet. He held himself like a man accustomed to receiving respect, or possibly groveling.



“I didn"t say anything to Grady because I didn"t want to mitigate his horror. You"re going for a haircut and manicure too,” McCoy said with a twist to his lips.



Zane nodded distractedly as he studied Corbin Porter. The man was… arrogant. That was the word Zane was looking for. Arrogant.



And possibly vain as well, but only to the point of knowing he was a fine-looking man.



He was also confident and controlled. He had propped one ankle over the opposite knee as he sat casually at the table, one forearm resting on the edge. He wasn"t fidgeting or twitching. He was simply waiting. What gave him away was the anger sparking in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth.



“Do you want to talk to him?” McCoy asked Zane.



Zane slowly shook his head. “I"ve met his type before.”



“He"s hardly a drug runner or a computer hacker,” McCoy pointed out.



“He"s a thug,” Zane murmured. “He"s dressed up pretty, but he"s still just a thug.”



“Explains the tattoo they"ll be giving you then.”



Zane blinked and turned his chin toward McCoy, who was grinning.



WHEN Zane and McCoy stepped back into the observation room of Del Porter"s interrogation suite, Zane had almost expected Ty to still be there, tying himself to the table and begging not to be taken to the salon.



But it was just Special Agent Lassiter, who had been joined by Special Agent Perrimore. They were standing at the glass, looking in at the prisoner with their heads cocked to the sides, like they were studying an animal in the zoo.



Zane peered through the glass as well. Ty was in there, sitting opposite Del, relaxed into the seat with his back to them, his legs crossed and his elbow resting on the table, almost like Corbin Porter had been. But Ty made it seem casual and easy, where Corbin had given off nothing but contempt and hostility. There was something different in Ty"s manner, too, but Zane couldn"t put a finger on it. He was too surprised to see Ty in there at all. He wasn"t the only one.



“What the hell is he doing?” McCoy asked in alarm.



“He said he wanted to talk to him,” Lassiter answered.



McCoy reached over and flipped the speaker switch.



“He told us not to listen in,” Lassiter told McCoy.



“Fuck that,” McCoy responded unthinkingly. “The guy"s actually talking—we might get something from him.”



“Not like we can use it in court,” Lassiter murmured under his breath, and he and Perrimore murmured quietly before snickering over the circumstances of the undercover case again. Zane ignored them in favor of watching Ty as the speakers tuned in.



“How long have you been married?” Ty was asking Del, who sat hunched and defensive, looking at Ty suspiciously.



Del didn"t answer; he merely looked down at his hands, probably studying his wedding ring. Zane resisted the urge to look down at his own. He knew, without a doubt, what sort of thoughts were running through Del"s mind. Zane squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before focusing on the scene again.



“Did you do it here in the States or did you go somewhere else?”



Ty asked, his voice conveying what sounded like genuine interest.



“What the hell does Ty care?” Perrimore asked incredulously.



“He doesn"t. He"s building rapport, idiot,” Lassiter answered idly as he watched Ty closely. “We used to use him to prep suspects all the time. He"s charming.”



“You two will make a cute couple,” Perrimore drawled.



“Shut up. He also has a knack for giving off that dumb as a brick vibe, leaves them off guard.”



“Yeah, yeah.”



Ty continued, undeterred when Del still didn"t answer his queries.



“My husband and I, we went to Boston,” Ty went on, picking up his hand and flashing the silver ring on his finger casually. The lie came shockingly easily to him. Del"s eyes flickered up to him, obviously surprised.



Everyone in the room turned to look at Zane.



“Ah, yes,” he drawled wryly as he felt their eyes on him. “He"s a sucker for red roses and opera.”



Perrimore and Lassiter snorted at him while McCoy chuckled and shook his head. “If there was baseball and Guinness involved, I"d half believe it,” McCoy muttered.



Zane rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window.



“Lots of history up there,” Ty was saying with a tilt of his head.



In the room, Del sat up straighter. “I didn"t think they liked that sort of thing in the FBI,” he said with a slight curl of his lip. Zane was surprised to hear him speak with a British accent.



Ty shrugged. “You"re thinking military. Feds don"t have any problems with it. I do my job like anyone else,” he said with another wave of his hand. Zane couldn"t place what Ty was doing differently with his body, but it made him look… gentler. Not feminine, but… not as masculine as he was apt to be. Zane couldn"t really describe the effect other than to think that Ty looked less alpha. He realized suddenly, as Ty rolled his shoulders, that he was subtly mimicking the man sitting across from him.



It hit Zane right then what Ty was really doing in there. He had no intention of interrogating Del Porter. He was studying him.



Del nodded carefully. “How long have you been with him?” he asked, his tone tentative.



“Long enough to know better,” Ty answered with a smile. All of his answers were vague. White lies that wouldn"t test Ty"s conscience, Zane knew.



Del gave him a half smile and nodded, then looked back down at his hands.



Ty was silent, watching him. From his vantage point behind the glass, Zane could see what Ty was seeing. Fading bruises around the man"s wrists, a few on his upper arms.



“He treat you right?” Ty asked suddenly.



Del glanced up at him almost defiantly and nodded again. He held up his hands to display his wrists. “I like it rough,” he told Ty with a smirk.



McCoy had to clear his throat, and Zane turned a glare on him.



Ty chuckled and nodded. “I hear ya,” he responded neutrally. He continued to examine Del Porter, and the man watched him and waited almost curiously. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he was still wary.



Zane shook his head as he watched through the glass.



“The little hamster in Ty"s head is probably bored,” Perrimore observed.



“Thank you for your time, Mr. Porter,” Ty said abruptly as he nodded, as if having satisfied himself. He unfolded his legs and stood, heading for the door.



Del watched him go in surprise. “That"s it?” he asked in confusion. “You"re leaving?”



Ty stopped at the door and turned to look back at the man, his hand on the door handle. “I"m sorry. Did you need something else?” he asked with what seemed like honest surprise.



“You didn"t even ask me anything.”



Ty laughed and shook his head. “That ain"t my job, man,” he told Del dismissively before stepping out of the interrogation room and shutting the door firmly behind him.



Del Porter stared at the door and then looked at the mirrored glass incredulously.



“Somebody get Grady to the damn spa,” McCoy ordered under his breath as he stalked out of the room.



Chapter 2



LOOKING over his reflection in the mirror, Zane wondered how such little changes could make him look so different. When he"d gone undercover before, he"d either been in tailored suits in Wall Street financial company offices, or he"d gone messier and dirtier in denim, leather, and sweat. This high-class pizzazz was new.



McCoy had scheduled him for a “gentleman"s” treatment at a spa, where he"d been soaked and massaged, had his unruly hair cut in a more refined style so he could use this funky paste to slick it back, had his eyebrows waxed and plucked, of all things, and even had a deep-cleansing facial, where the woman had poked and prodded at his skin with a little metal tool for what had seemed like hours. It had been one of the weirdest and most painful things Zane could have imagined. It would be, he figured, a great interrogation tool.



And the ear piercing had stung like a bitch.



Now he was sleek. Polished. He"d had a manicure, so his hands looked neater, less experienced in brawling. And a pedicure, which had actually felt pretty damn good. But the biggest change wasn"t immediately visible. Zane turned around so his back was to the mirror and looked over his shoulder, lifting his shirttails and pushing down the waistband of his dress pants to expose skin.



A graceful twisted vine tattoo spread across his lower back from hip to hip, just below his waist, dipping down to the crack of his ass in an inverted triangle of stark black, simple, striking lines. It wasn"t real, of course, but the effect was still the same. He wondered what Ty would think about it. Ty seemed to love his own tattoo, but the leering Marine bulldog with its smoking guns was definitely more Ty"s style than this more graceful design.

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