“Garrett!” he yelled as he headed that way. It was dark where the lights had all been blown out, and most of the debris was unidentifiable. He ducked under a fallen ceiling support, forced to crawl across the soaked carpet to get under it.
The rubble blocked so much of the floor that he had to climb on it rather than pushing it aside. As he got closer to the back, the smoke cleared, blown by a cold breeze from the outside. And then he saw it: a bright splotch of red against a charred gray wall. The blood streaked in vertical lines like someone had tried to wipe it down the wall, and a thick, scorch-marked metal door lay at an angle under it, blocking the corner.
But one long leg ending in a familiar dress shoe extended out of the mess of splintered particle board into what used to be the entrance to the storeroom.
“Zane,” Ty gasped as the feeling in his entire body seeped away. He moved as fast as he could, batting away the light pieces of wallboard and shoving the still-hot metal door over and out of the way. Ty knelt beside him. “Zane?” he whispered. His voice wavered as he ran his hand over Zanes face.
He wasnt cut up or burned; the metal door had saved him from the explosion. One shoe was scorched, but even the laces were still intact. He didnt look like he was injured at all, other than the garish bloodstain on the wall behind him from his impact and slide to the floor under the door that had shielded him from the blast.
But Zane didnt move, didnt twitch, didnt open his eyes when Ty tapped his cheek. Nothing.
Tys stomach turned. He pressed his fingers to Zanes neck, feeling for a pulse. His other hand ran through Zanes hair as he did so. The pulse was there. Ty gasped in relief, leaned down, and pressed his lips to Zanes forehead, heedless of who might see, and then he looked back into the store for help. He knew without a doubt he couldnt carry Zane out of there.
“Hey!” he called as he saw a beam of light playing through the swirling smoke. “Man down!” he called to the fireman desperately. As the fireman came closer, hacking his way through the wreckage to clear a path for his retreat, Ty recognized him just by his size.
“I could kiss you, man,” he told the large black man he knew only as Tank. The man handed his axe to the other fireman and knelt down at Zanes other side.
“Not on a first date,” Tank answered. He checked Zane over quickly for injuries, then hefted him onto his thick shoulders with a grunt. “You hurt?” he asked. Ty shook his head. “Shake a leg, then, Bulldog. Buildings not stable,” he said as he turned and carried Zane into the smoke.
Ty stood there, unable to make himself move. His entire body shook as he watched them disappear.
The other fireman gripped his arm. “Come on. We gotta get out of here,” he said. “The ceilings starting to come down.”
Ty nodded and forced his feet to move. He followed the man along the path Tank had cut through the devastation. By the time he got out of the building—wet, filthy, half-blind, and coughing—the ambulances had cleared out and the firemen were trying to put out what was left of the flames.
What remained were the television cameras. Reporters saw him as he emerged, and Ty could see the recognition sweep through them as he wiped the soot off his face. They began shouting questions over the barrier that had been hastily set up.
Ty ignored them and stalked toward the milling emergency workers. “Hey,” Ty called out to a young agent in a pristine windbreaker standing and staring at the building. The kid looked at him with wide eyes, apparently recognizing him. Ty had earned a reputation with the rookies, not necessarily by deed but through word of mouth. They were all too terrified of him to realize most of the stories were exaggerated. Right now Ty didnt care. “Whered they take the wounded?” he demanded.
“Uh, I—”
“Where?” Ty shouted angrily.
“UMMC,” the kid stammered.
“Youre driving,” Ty told him as he pointed at Zanes truck.
Chapter Six
I T FELT like it took forever to get through traffic to the University of Maryland Medical Center, even though it wasnt even a mile away from the Inner Harbor. On the ride there, Ty sat tense and silent in the seat next to the rookie he didnt know and didnt give a shit about right then. When they arrived, Ty tersely told the kid to head back to the office and that hed pick up the keys later. Despite the rookies stunned gape, Ty jogged inside the ER without a glance back.
He was at the information desk asking for Zanes location and status when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“Grady, Im glad to see you.” McCoy stood behind him, looking somber and worn.
Ty turned in surprise, but any formal greetings to his immediate superior were lost on him. “Have you seen him, Mac? Is he okay?” McCoy slid his hands into his pants pockets and tipped his head to one side before answering in a tired voice, “I dont know anything yet. I just got here. Where were you during all of this?”
“I was in the truck, sick from a Vicodin I took this morning,” Ty answered immediately. It didnt even cross his mind to gloss it over. McCoys eyebrow jumped, but he didnt otherwise comment. “Ive got six agents in this hospital tonight, Grady. Are you going to be able to work?” he asked bluntly.
Ty nodded jerkily. McCoy just looked at him, not breaking eye contact. “Ill do whatever you need,” Ty insisted in a hoarse voice. McCoy nodded slowly. “For right now, I need you to go home.” He raised a hand when Ty opened his mouth to question him. “Seriously. You look like you just got spit out by a giant drooling dog, and Ive got to muster together a group to investigate what happened.”
Ty looked down at himself in consternation. He didnt look that bad. “But I can help—” “Not when youre being targeted. I cant afford to put a team on you to protect you, so I want you off the radar. This may have been a second attempt, for all we know.” He turned his chin as an agent appeared at his elbow and murmured in his ear. McCoy turned his eyes back to Ty. “All right. Theyre asking for you in the Shock Trauma Center. Fifth floor. Get me a status report, then go the hell home. Do not sit here with Garrett and make yourself and him a target, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Ty said mutinously. “Anything else?” He wanted to dart to the elevator and get up there as fast as he could, but he had to at least pretend he still gave a shit about the case.
“Go on,” McCoy answered, nodding his head toward the elevator. Then he started talking with the other agent, who held an armful of file folders.