The Program Ch. 03

"Mother fucker," Taylor's eyes flashed. "When did we release VanTerran?"

Monty winced again. "About an hour ago."

"That son of a bitch is cleaning house," she snapped.

"There's no way anyone could put something like this together this quickly," Patrick interjected. "Even someone well connected."

"It's not from scratch. He must have had the plans in place. It would only have been another two weeks before the money rolled in." Wilson frowned thoughtfully. "I mean; I figured he was calculating, but this is crazy. At least we still have Matthews in custody."

"James, you did the profile. Was this anywhere in the realm of possible?"

Taylor stared at the table for a minute. "Yes," she said finally. "He has connections to people that dangerous enough to get this done. We've got to pick him up. No, wait! Monty," her eyes widened. "Did we cut Martin loose?"

Monty glanced at the faces around the room for a second. "Um, yeah. I think so. Maybe two minutes ago. I saw Larson walking him downstairs."

"Fuck," Taylor took off like a shot. She ran at a dead sprint down the hall, weaving around the officers going about their daily activities. She reached the railing and slammed into it, searching the foyer for Larson or for Bill. "Larson!"

The large man tucked his cell phone into his breast pocket and looked up, "James?"

"Where's Martin?" She headed for the stairs, her heels skidding on the polished floor.

"I just checked him out. He's probably still on the front walk taking in the sights." Larson jerked a thumb over his shoulder as Taylor nearly collided with him. "Why? What's wrong?"

Taylor pushed past him and out the front doors. The sunlight was blinding and she panicked, shielding her eyes to search for Bill. There were clusters of tourists and office workers milling about the front of this building, the surrounding offices, and the lawn. "Martin!" she shouted. He turned, no more than fifty yards away.

"Taylor?"

She shoved past a few of the tourists. God tourists were annoying. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back toward the old headquarter building. "You have to come with me."

He tugged his arm free. "Taylor, I signed the damn forms, alright? I don't know what else to tell you."

Taylor glanced nervously around the open courtyard. There was a lot of open space surrounded by a lot of tall buildings with too many windows. "Bill, seriously, inside. Now."

He furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Damnit, Bill," she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door.

It sounded like a cough. Maybe if someone had sneezed a few feet away. But a puff of concrete exploded from the ground no more than a foot from where they were standing. Taylor cursed and shoved Bill behind the nearest pillar. They were too far from the doors. HQ would go on lock down. They'd be stuck outside. Fuck!

A series of shouts and screams came from the clumps of tourists as two more shots buried in the sidewalk. The civilians scattered, their movement making it difficult to see anything in the distant buildings. Taylor only knew the vague direction of the shooter and it made her nervous. She pulled her service pistol and her phone. "Call Wilson. Tell him what's happening." She pressed the phone into Bill's hand and took a small step back. "And for the love of all that is holy, don't you dare move." A chunk of the pillar exploded near Bill's head and he flinched, clutching the phone to his ear. Taylor cursed again and adjusted her position, keeping the pillar directly between her and the probable location of the shooter.

"James, where the hell did you go?" Wilson snapped on the other end of the phone.

"No, this is Bill. There's someone shooting at us." He tried to keep the panic from coming through in his voice, but the shouts of the other people rattled him almost as much as the exploding concrete.

"What?!" Wilson paused on the other end. "Put the phone on speaker!" Bill found the button for speaker and turned it on. "Taylor, what the fuck is going on?"

Taylor had her gun pointed roughly at Bill, imagining the trajectory through the pillar. "Now isn't a good time, Wilson," she said coolly. Her head bobbed out to the side and back to centre. She didn't see the shooter, but she damn well saw the barrel of the sniper rifle. Two more bullets buried themselves in the pillar behind her. Well, the guy was persistent, she'd give him that. Maybe two shots in the shooter's area and she'd buy them a bit of time.

"Damnit, James! Tell me what's going on!" Wilson shouted.

Taylor dropped the safety from her gun and Bill almost dropped the phone. "Taylor, don't shoot at me!"

"Shut up," she hissed. "I'm not going to shoot you. Just don't move." She tightened her grip on the pistol and dove out to the other side, her body completely leaving the shelter of the pillar. She rolled, coming up on one knee and squeezed off two shots before rolling back and righting herself.

"Did you just shoot someone?!" Taylor had to smile at the tone in Wilson's voice. He must be damn near having a heart attack now.

She took another brief duck to the side and didn't see the gun anymore. "I don't think I hit them, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't!"

She shook her head, holstered her weapon, and took the phone from Bill, switching the speaker off. "Wilson, send a team over to the Asotherm Building. There was a sniper, sixth or seventh floor, nothing fancy. I'm going to take my chances and come back inside." She gave Bill a small smile and patted his chest. "No, he's fine. Yeah, sure, if you want. Nothing says stealthy than a mob of suits." She grinned. "Ha! You know me. Do me a favour and make sure Patrick doesn't get the chance to have paperwork ready for me. I really want to go home."

Bill slid down the pillar, dropping heavily to the sidewalk. He was still breathing heavily and looked a little green around the gills. Taylor squatted in front of him. "You ok?"

He nodded then shook his head. "I dunno. I guess I'm whole, right?"

She chuckled. "Bill Martin, one. Chad VanTerran, zero."

~o~

Bill had actually thought he was going to wet his pants. When he left the headquarters building, he had assumed he'd never see Taylor again. Then, she came running after him and, in a completely un-Taylor manner, she ordered him around. He was being difficult when he didn't listen to her, but he'd never make that mistake again.

He didn't really understand what was happening until he had his back to a pillar and there were chunks of marble exploding near his head. Toss in what sounded like an extremely agitated Wilson on the phone and Taylor with her gun out... God it was a wonder he hadn't vomited on the sidewalk.

And worst of all, Taylor had taken evasive action in a pantsuit, made elegant use of a firearm, and she didn't bat an eyelash. It was as if nothing had happened. She was right back on the phone, cracking jokes with Wilson. Who the fuck was this girl?

Bill splashed another handful of water on his face and inspected himself in the mirror. A small spatter of cuts near his left temple from the flying chunks of concrete stood out against the pallor of his skin. He looked awful. But, he was alive, and that had to count for something. He quickly dried his hands and face and stepped out of the bathroom.

Larson was waiting for him. "Hey kid, I've got a present for you." He handed over a duffel bag and laptop case. Bill gazed at him warily and the man smiled in response. "We sent someone to your apartment. Pardon the intrusion, but we snagged some clean clothes, a few personal effects, and your laptop. A few other items that will be hard to replace have been carefully stored, so there's nothing really but the bare furniture left."

"Why?" Bill hefted the bags onto his shoulder.

"He's been burning homes. He got Taylor's apartment and that's what tipped us off. We're staking out yours, but just in case we get distracted or he gets around us, you won't lose anything."

"Oh." Bill followed the man down the hall. "So, where do I go?"

"Tonight, you're bunking here. We have a series of reses attached to the building. It isn't much more than a room with a bed and a bathroom, but it's better than the alternative." Larson pulled a swipe key from his pocket and handed it to Bill. "This will get you into the kitchen and the TV room, as well as your room for the night." He gave him a broad smile. "Think of it as a night in a shady motel. It's about the closest thing to it without the dirty sheets."

Bill tried to smile, but all he felt was exhausted. "Thank you."

"I think James will be in tomorrow to pick you up. We'll move you to a safehouse until we get this all squared away." Bill nodded and dropped his bag on the bed. It was a small room, but it was better than being dead. Larson gave him a pat on the back. "Get some sleep, kid, you look like hell."

Bill managed a weak smile before Larson left him alone. God, he was tired. He didn't even bother to change, only removed his shoes and tie and collapsed on the bed. His mind seemed to be whirring at a hundred miles an hour, but he couldn't make heads or tails of the images that spun past. The only thing that seemed to come into focus in the middle of everything was Taylor. She was good at her job. Cool, calm, collected. She dressed business, acted business, was all business. And she saved his life.

He sighed and closed his eyes, the storm of images continuing, but he couldn't stay awake any longer. He fell into a fitful sleep, the chaos of the day dominating his restless dreams.

~o~

Taylor wrapped the large fluffy towel around her body and padded out of the bathroom leaving wet footprints on the tiles and hardwood floors. She snatched her hairbrush from her dresser and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed to brush the tangles from her hair. A small, dark shadow appeared at her side and she smiled. "Hey there Lexis." The little, black cat purred contentedly as she stroked it. "I missed you too honey. Did Patrick feed you enough?"

The cat meowed loudly and Taylor laughed, "Alright, alright, I'll get you some more food." She scooped up the kitten and carried her toward the kitchen. A knock on her door had her pausing mid stride. She frowned and unlocked the door, opening it just wide enough to see into the hallway. "Oh, hi." She stepped back and held the door open.

Wilson had an approving grin on his face as he stepped into the apartment. "Oh, hi," he repeated back. "Couldn't keep your pants on, I see."

"Couldn't break into this apartment I see." Taylor set the cat down and headed for the kitchen. "Close the door, you'll let all the cold air in." She took her time feeding Lexis and pouring two glasses of wine. "Tell me you have food in those bags," she said as she stepped back into the sitting room.

Wilson had made himself at home, settling in the corner of the sofa. "I do have food in these bags," he smiled, accepting the wine she held out to him. "How long has it been since you had some decent sushi?"

"Oh my God, I love you." She flopped on the couch next to him. He tugged gently on the towel over her exposed cleavage. "Hm, I think I love you too."

She swatted at his hand. "If you want to do anything of the sort you'd better feed me first. I haven't had anything but coffee since breakfast. Even the cat has been fed."

Wilson twisted a wet strand of her hair around his finger. "Fine, but you'd better put on some clothes if you expect me to wait. Because this towel is totally unfair."

She gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but you have that sushi ready to eat when I get back." Halfway to her room and without breaking stride, she dropped the towel on the floor and continued into the bedroom. She could hear Wilson's groan as she shut the door.

Rather than waste time actually dressing, Taylor pulled out a silk robe and twisted her wet hair up, pinning it in place with two hair sticks. Feeling aptly clothed, she returned to the sitting room. Wilson had laid out small plates of sushi on her coffee table. "That is not clothing," he said dryly.

"It's not a towel. Deal with it." She settled in the armchair next to the couch and picked up a piece of what she hoped was a Philadelphia roll and popped it in her mouth. It was heaven.

Wilson frowned when she reached for a second piece and caught her wrist. "Don't eat with your hands; I have no idea where they've been."

Taylor huffed and leaned back on the chair, crossing her arms. "Look, Wilson, I'm starving. So you have about thirty seconds to give me an alternative or I start biting."

"Brat," he muttered with a smile, producing a pair of chopsticks for her. He watched her while they ate, and while she noticed, she tried to ignore him. She was hungry. By the time she'd eaten her fill, she'd also had enough of his staring.

"Alright, Wilson, either take a picture or quit it. You're really starting to bug me."

Wilson sighed. "Look, Taylor..."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't do talking. We've been through this."

"How do you know I want to talk?"

"You have this look on your face. So either get out of your pants or just get out."

He was amazed at how cold she could be when she tried. "Is it really that simple for you?"

Taylor stretched her arms over her head with a sigh. No, of course it wasn't simple. It was far from simple. But right now, she didn't want to think about it. She didn't really want to think about anything. Thinking hurt. And Wilson provided a great escape from that. He always had. She saw how his eyes followed her movement, followed the folds of her robe as it slipped from her shoulder when she brought her arms down. He was just as simple as she was. "Why," she asked, rising to stand in front of him, "would you want things to be complicated?"

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders as she leaned close to him, the tilt of her body giving him a fantastic view into her robe. He shifted uncomfortably. "I never said I want things complicated," he choked out.

She took her time straddling his lap, letting her hands wander over his chest as she settled. "This," her fingers brushed through his hair, "is not complicated."

"Taylor," he groaned, his palms resting on her hips.

Her lips brushed across his before feathering light kisses along his jaw. His breath caught in his throat as her teeth grazed his earlobe and she smiled. "See, simple." Her hands slid the knot out of his tie and tugged it clear of his shirt, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

"Taylor, stop," he whispered. She didn't. Her fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt as her lips returned to his. Her kisses were light, fleeting, teasing. She made him chase her and he hated himself for it. He had sworn to himself over and over again that he would stop. She was like a bad drug that he couldn't shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. They needed to talk. He needed her to understand. The silk of her robe brushed against his bared chest and he shivered. "No, stop," he tore his mouth away and held her at arms length.

Taylor's brow arched perfectly. "What?"

Wilson sucked in a breath. "I can't do this, Taylor. I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Do what?"

"This." He sighed and searched for the right words. "Look, Taylor, I care about you. I really do. You're brilliant, and sexy, and you can put most snipers to shame. But you have this wall around you that makes it impossible to get close to you."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Do you need to bring this up every time?" She pushed against his shoulders to leverage herself out of his lap but he held her in place. "Let go, Wilson."

"No," he said simply. "We're going to talk this time."

She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Oh God, he actually cared. She felt a little bubble of panic well up in her chest. That was not part of their deal. They were there for each other as teammates, or as a way to blow off steam, or to listen to a rant, or to yell about Patrick. But he wasn't supposed to care like that. The feeling of panic aggravated her. "You know the deal, there's no business," she hotly. "Now let me go."

"This isn't business. This is about you and me." He captured her hands and held them firmly to her sides. "I don't think I've ever said this to anyone before, but you bring out the absolute worst in me."

Taylor's eyes flashed. She didn't need this. Not today. All she had been looking forward to for the past few months was a shower in her glorious bathroom, her fluffy towels, a real meal, and sex in her king-sized bed. She didn't have to be that simpering Taylor Peters anymore, and she wasn't going to indulge this little fit that Wilson seemed to be having either. "How dare you," she hissed.

Wilson smiled wryly. "Don't get me wrong, Taylor. You bring out some great qualities as well, but when I'm alone with you, like this, you seem to just bring out the worst." Taylor tried to free her hands to hit him, but with the way she was sitting, it wasn't likely to go her way. "Nuh-uh," Wilson muttered, flipping her onto her back and pinning her down on the couch with his weight.

Taylor shrieked and tried to kick him, but the couch left her no room to move. "Get off of me!"

Wilson kissed her softly, pulling back just before she tried to bite him. "See, this is what I'm talking about. I am not a violent person. I don't want to fight with you. Not everything in life is a battle, Taylor. So I'm not going to fight with you anymore. And I don't want to just fuck you anymore."

Taylor glared. She was seeing red, she was so angry. "What? Fuck you!" she snapped. "I didn't force you to do anything. Don't blame your shit on me." With a huff, she turned her head to the side and stared into the corner of the couch.

"Taylor," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I feel as though this is mostly my fault."

"It is," she hissed.

"Not how you think." He kissed her cheek. "I thought I was doing the right thing, being there for you. I thought I was comforting you. And I kept telling myself that you'd come around, and you'd heal, and you'd go back to being you. But all you were doing was building walls. I promised Mick I'd look after you, and here I am fucking that up too."

Taylor clenched her jaw and pressed her eyes shut. Why was he doing this? Their arrangement was perfect. Why couldn't he just leave it alone? "This isn't about Mick," she said angrily.

"I know that there's stuff in your past that you're not proud of. And I've never asked you about it. I don't need to know. I've never pressed you about Mick either. But he was my best friend. I lost just as much as you did. Taylor?" he held both of her wrists in one hand and slid his palm along her cheek, tilting her face back to meet his.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she said coldly.

"Only because you won't tell me anything."

"And this is your solution? Bully it out of me?" She twisted her wrists in his grip.

"If that's what it takes."

"I've been doing just fine. You know I had to pass the shrinks to come back to active duty."

"No business. That's your rule, not mine."

"Asshole."

"I'm not taking that bait, Taylor." His smile was so sincere, so endearing and encouraging that it only made her want to cry. He could tell by the catch in her breathing that she was holding back. "You've been eating that guilt forever. Let it go."

"It won't change anything." She was too tired to maintain her anger.

He kissed her forehead. "It will change only what you decide to let it change."

"You'll hate me," she whispered.

He laughed. "Honey, if I don't hate you now..."

"Let me go," she said quietly. This time, he obliged, sitting back in the corner of the couch and letting her do as she pleased. Apparently, that was pacing. Taylor stalked back and forth on the hardwood floors, her bare feet barely making a sound. She stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Why now?"