Free Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips by Madeleine Urban ; Abigail Roux Page B

uncomfortable venture. Zane watched the emotions cross Ty’s face and decided an answer was in order. “My family has money,” he admitted. “Ranching operations for several generations now.”
    Ty’s only reaction was to arch an eyebrow. Zane knew his normally expressive partner well enough to know that an expression of so little emotion was hiding a more natural response. Ty’s poker face was impressive unless you knew him well. “How much?” Ty finally asked, exposing his curiosity.
    “In my opinion, they’ve got more money than sense,” Zane said with a small shrug. “I don’t really know.”
    “That’s probably a lot then,” Ty concluded, a hint of ill-concealed discomfort in his voice.
    “Probably,” Zane allowed. “I’m not exactly much a part of the family anymore.” The old pain of it twinged a little, and he pushed himself to sit up again. “So it’s not something I deal with.”
    Ty turned his head to watch Zane, but he didn’t take a step back or move away to give him space. It was an oddly intimate inaction. “So… what, you got cut off?”
    Zane shook his head. “We just don’t get along.” He didn’t really want to get into a rehash of Dallas — too much potential for messy emotions he tried to keep buried with the rest of his past, not to mention the dreaded wailing violin section. He forced a smile and looked up at Ty. “I like your family a lot better.”
    “They’re that bad?” Ty asked disbelievingly.
    Zane had to laugh. “There’s no way to compare, really. You’ve got your family baggage, right? Well, I’ve got mine. And you know me and baggage,” he tried to joke, but it came out flat to his ear.
    Ty’s eyes strayed to the array of bags and belongings on the bed; then he looked back at Zane and nodded somberly. “If you ever want to talk about it,” he offered slowly, a smile forming as he finished, “you’ve got Deacon’s number, right?”
    Warmth stole through Zane’s chest, and it was easy to return the smile. Comments like that did a lot to remind Zane that Ty really did care about him. Even if Ty was shoving him off on his psychiatrist brother. “Yeah.” Then he looked down at the mess littering the bed. “So. Don’t worry about this shit. It doesn’t mean anything. And you don’t need to act any differently to deal with it.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” Ty muttered as he turned away and ran a hand through his bleached-blond hair. He moved away from Zane and the bed and began walking toward the balcony again. He stared out the open door for a long moment, apparently trying to settle himself and find the right mentality to be Del Porter instead of Ty Grady.
    As Zane watched him, he saw the set of Ty’s shoulders change, saw the tension melt off him, saw his gait alter as he paced toward the doors, and by the time his partner got to the balcony and turned around, Ty seemed comfortable in his surroundings and in his new skin. It was a subtle change, just like the one in Zane’s bed last night. Ty seemed to be able to slide into a new persona quickly; he just didn’t seem to be able to maintain it for very long.
    He gave Zane a crooked smile. “I still need some practice,” he said, assuming Del Porter’s lyrical accent. It changed the tone of his voice, the pitch. Even the hint of mountain gravel and growling quality Zane had grown fond of was gone, replaced by the smooth British tones.
    The ability again impressed Zane, though he immediately missed Ty’s natural voice. But if Ty wanted to play the game here in the cabin from time to time to help them stay in character, he’d go along with it. It couldn’t hurt. The best way to stay safely undercover was to live it, but he seriously doubted they needed to go that far on this case, and Zane would much rather be with Ty than Del.
    “And just what do you suggest?” he asked in the haughty tone he used for Corbin.
    Ty moved toward him, smiling as he walked up to stand in front of him and put one