“I’m also expecting him to not actually be at this address. If he was this easy to find, he wouldn’t be Batman,” Ty said, drawing Zane out of his reverie.
“If he’s there, it would be novel for it to go so smoothly,” Zane said as the cab came to a stop in front of an old building converted into condos.
Ty checked his gun and got out as Zane paid the driver, who didn’t even blink at the weapons and nodded when Zane told him to wait. Ty clucked his tongue, trying his best not to smile as Zane joined him on the curb. Ty had been told not long ago that he shouldn’t enjoy the almost-getting-killed part of his job as much as he did. Zane didn’t know who had said it, but ever since, Ty had been making a concerted effort to hide his unholy glee during melees. It was still pretty clear to Zane, though.
He surveyed the light traffic passing by on the side street. It was evening, and there weren’t many people out and about. Hopefully that would work in their favor.
“Ready?” he asked Ty.
Ty glanced up and down the street, then nodded and stepped up to the double glass doors of the building. They would have to be buzzed in, which never helped the element of surprise. Ty stared at the panel for a moment, obviously contemplating how to go about it. He glanced back at Zane and shrugged one shoulder, then pushed the number they’d been given.
After a short pause, the small speaker clicked. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jimmy!” Ty practically shouted, startling Zane. Ty’s words slurred as he leaned toward the speaker. “Dude. You should not have left early tonight.”
There was a short pause. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”
“Come on, man, don’t be like that! I swear I didn’t know you were into her! I left my good pants on your couch. If I go in to work hungover in my boxers again, they’ll can me for sure. Four strikes and you’re out, brother!” Ty bit his lip to keep from laughing as he turned his head away from the speaker box.
Zane grinned and shook his head, covering his mouth and reminding himself that they were trained federal agents. Professionals. In theory.
“You’ve got the wrong apartment. There’s no Jimmy here.”
“Oh,” Ty drew out. “Shit, man, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to go buzzing you so early in the morning.” The last glance at his watch had told Zane it was nearing six in the evening. “But hey, do you know Jimmy, man? Could you grab my pants for me?”
There was a longer pause, long enough that Zane thought the man on the other end of the speaker had abandoned the conversation. But then the box clicked again.
“There’s no Jimmy here. Buzz somebody else.” The words ended with some ring of finality.
Ty clucked his tongue again and shrugged at Zane. “Worth a try,” he told his partner with a smirk. He reached out and hit another button. A moment later a woman answered. “Delivery.”
“I didn’t order anything,” she said brusquely, and that was that. Four more tries later—one no answer, two immediate denials, and a bizarre conversation with a stoner about the phases of the moon during which Ty had way too much to offer, in Zane’s opinion—Ty huffed in frustration.
“How many more are you going to try?” Zane asked. They didn’t really have the time to call the Chicago field office and ask for a warrant. Not to mention that would go over really well with Burns, who obviously wanted them to keep this as low as it could go. Was this the kind of thing that Ty was always doing for Burns?
Ty glanced at him stubbornly and pushed a button at random. Zane rolled his eyes. As soon as there was an answer, he stepped closer to the speaker and said, “Federal agents, ma’am.”
“Nice try, ass**le,” the woman said smugly; then the speaker box clicked off.
Ty growled dangerously. “I hate this town,” he muttered as he took his gun out from under his coat.
Zane straightened in mild alarm. “What are you doing?”
Ty yanked a glove off one hand and wrapped it around the butt of his gun, then turned smoothly and rammed the handle into the glass door. The mottled glass cracked and shattered, but there was mesh wire embedded inside that kept it from falling in. Ty used the muzzle of his gun to clear out the window, ripping through the wire, raining pieces all over the sidewalk and Ty’s feet. He reached through the iron bars and pushed the handle, opening the door and holding it for Zane with a gallant wave of his hand.
“Why, thank you, sir,” Zane drawled as he walked through the mess, already thinking of ways to make sure Ty would be the one writing up the report for this trip.
“Assholes,” Ty muttered as he looked up at the floor display above the elevators. He stopped in front of the fire alarm and looked at it for just a moment too long for Zane’s comfort. Zane cleared his throat pointedly.
Ty looked at him almost guiltily and then followed him toward the stairwell. Zane didn’t know if there were any sort of alarm on the door, but they needed to move a little more quickly regardless.
The condo they had targeted was on the second floor, not nearly a long enough hike up the steps to pacify Ty’s annoyance. Zane pushed past him and started checking doors until they found the number they’d been provided. He glanced at his partner, knocked on the door, and listened to what sounded like a rush of feet that immediately retreated. Zane frowned and reached out to rap on the door again, but someone approached from the other side and stopped. Zane figured the man was looking out the peephole, so he held up his badge. Behind him, Ty did the same. “Federal agents.”
A bolt slid and the door opened just a bit, blocked by the chain, and a slim, wholly average-looking man peered out.
“Cameron Jacobs? I’m Special Agent Zane Garrett, and this is Special Agent Ty Grady. We’re looking for Julian Cross.”
CAMERON stared through the four-inch gap as he studied the two tall, capable-looking men holding out badges that looked pretty official. They could be federal agents. Or not. With Julian’s past business, there was no telling who might come looking for him. It was the “or not” that was scaring Cameron right now, and his hand gripped the doorjamb so tightly that it hurt. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Perhaps you know him better as Julian Bailey?” the man called Special Agent Grady said drily. “Or Sir? Maybe even Boss?”
Cameron frowned as he shook his head. Surely federal agents would be nicer than this. He looked them up and down. And better dressed. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong….” He frowned harder as he remembered the last time he had said those words, maybe fifteen minutes ago. “Was that you on the speaker?” he asked in outrage.