Tyler Part Three

Summary: Crime scene investigation. Post-breakup angst. Ominous goings-on at FATBOY. Endorphins.

Tyler didn't reach his desk until nine-thirty that morning. He had a splitting headache. Aspirin washed down with coffee hadn't been as effective as he'd hoped. He was still getting organized and logged on when Manservant Neville paused at his desk. "Good morning, Tyler. Are you feeling all right?"

That could have been a veiled you're late but wasn't. Tyler heard friendly concern. "Nothing serious, Chief. There was ... personal stuff. Then I didn't sleep well. I guess I'm not in the groove yet this morning. Bad dreams, or at least weird dreams." And instead of fading when he woke up, they'd stayed clear. "That meeting last week with the Shipstone people? It was like playing the whole thing back in my head, except this time I was you. Or sort of half-you. I could almost hear what you were thinking during the negotiations, like you were narrating it in my head. What it all meant, what they were trying to get, how you were going to handle it."

Neville smiled. "I'm glad the job is engaging your full attention. Learning how I think is exactly what I want from you. But I'm afraid I can't approve overtime for any work you do in your sleep." He looked down, turned more serious. "The next project is not as pleasant, I'm afraid. Have you seen or heard any news reports today? Steppecliff Elementary School."

Tyler grimaced. "I heard that on my car radio, about six stations in a row. Crazy guy was about to shoot up a school, but for some reason he skipped the killing other people steps and just killed himself. Good riddance."

"Absolutely. That's why ... well, I should keep myself out of American political arguments. There was a further development about a half hour ago, that hasn't reached the media yet. The dead man was wearing a U-Master. Giving his life a soundtrack, apparently. Even though no one else was hurt, it's not the best form of publicity right before the new firmware upgrades."

Pure human nausea came first; followed quickly by we are in so much trouble. "What do you want from me, boss?"

"I can't visit the crime scene myself. That would inalterably make FATBOY part of the news event," Neville said. "But I'm sending Mr. Kaniman from the legal department, just to observe. I want you to go with him. I expect you needn't say or do anything there; I just want firsthand impressions. I trust your instincts."

It didn't sound like fun, but that didn't matter. "Anything I can do, sure. When should I leave?"

"Now, if you can." Another man in a suit, vaguely Asian, came up behind Neville; he introduced him as Kaniman. "The sooner the better."

-----

It was, as expected, not much fun. Police cars clogging the street, barricades everywhere, white-faced parents picking up their children at the far side of the school. News vans crowding the perimeter as close as humanly possible. Other tv cameras circled overhead in two or three helicopters; the sum total was deafening. Neville's car dropped them off at the edge of the crowd. Neville's lawyer, presenting credentials and talking persuasively, worked through two uniformed policemen and a plainclothes detective before they were allowed inside the barriers. There wasn't much to see, just a tarp-covered splat near the base of the cliff, but forty or fifty police of all types were analyzing the entire area in detail anyway. Lab coats, ordinary suits, three or four types of uniform...

That's not a police uniform, Tyler thought, and shit. "I'm gonna mingle. Talk to the people in charge," he told the lawyer, and set off across the crowd.

That guy in the rent-a-cop outfit and the gross hair gel was pointing some tricorder-looking object at the scene of the crime. Wendy, beside him, was slightly green but keeping her composure. "There's no chance of a detailed brain scan," he was saying as Tyler came into earshot. "Between the gunshot and the fall, those tissues are as dissociated as a doctor who smokes. But possibly a blood sample..."

"The fuck are you doing here?" Tyler snarled. "You aren't cops."

"Mr. Ford." That guy kept his voice level, although Tyler could see he didn't like profanity in front of girls. "I might ask the same question."

"Work. Somebody said something about a U-Master. But I don't see any 'international consulting' going on. I've got a funny idea that the cops would be surprised if I called their attention to you two. I should do that."

If Wendy had been hurt, seeing him, she was getting over it in favor of anger. "Don't be petty, Tyler. This is serious."

"Everything's serious with you, isn't it?" he snapped back. "Too serious to talk about, too serious to explain when you disappear for days at a time... I guess I got that part figured out, though."

"How did you know about the U-Master?" the other man cut in.

"Not talking to you, Dad." Tyler reached out to shove him; Wendy's 'boss' was suddenly, seamlessly out of reach. Another smooth motion and he had Tyler's wrist instead. Tyler twisted back; it was like trying to move a statue. "Let go of me."

Worst of all, the bastard didn't even look upset. "How did you know he was connected to a U-Master," he repeated patiently. A nod indicated the row of houses at the top of the bluff. "The police only just discovered the main unit, up there at the primary crime scene. The headphones on the gunman per se are too nondescript to draw any conclusions. Unless you came in a helicopter, and none has landed in the last fifteen minutes, there wasn't time for you to get here from FATBOY headquarters since the discovery. Is Manservant Neville involved in this?"

"He's not. You're nuts." Tyler pulled again; the older man let go his arm with an infuriating lack of concern. "He got a tip, we came straight here. I've got a lawyer with me." Wendy at least looked a little worried at that. "Yeah, a lawyer. FATBOY has a legitimate interest in bad publicity. What are you the hell doing here?"

"We won't be discussing that," he said. Still calmly, damn him. "Personal animosities aside, human lives were at risk here. How do the U-Master and FATBOY fit into this scenario?"

"They don't. It's a nasty coincidence. You think I'd tell you if there were something?" Tyler snarled back.

"You might. I've never heard of you being morally irresponsible."

The cool assessment was too much. Tyler pulled back to punch him in the head, SEAL or no SEAL. A dizzying blur ... Tyler's back hit the ground, breath knocked out of him. His arm was twisted in front of him, immobilized by pressure the wrong way on his elbow. Bad things could happen if he tried to get loose, that grip said.

Wendy's grip. That guy hadn't moved at all. "What are you, a guard dog now?" Tyler snapped. "Or just a general b..." Sudden pain took his breath away.

"That's your rotator cuff," she said coldly. "Make nice and I'll let you keep it. It really was you, wasn't it? Internet-stalking us."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The other building ... but she'd said Internet. "You want to ruin your life with some freaky sugar daddy, it's not my problem." Nothing he said could move either of them. Tyler wasn't sure if he wanted to curse or cry, seeing that. "Who the hell are you?" he aimed at Wendy's new squeeze. "What the hell are you? Both of you."

Tyler knew he wasn't going to get an answer. He didn't expect an expression that looked like respect. That guy nodded slightly, and Wendy let go of Tyler's arm. "If you don't know, you should ask Manservant Neville." The guy pronounced it perfectly. He would. "I understand why you don't think well of me personally, but that doesn't whitewash him. I'll be blunt. We have reasons to believe substantial sections of Neville's business are neither legal nor moral. And he's involved in this." He gestured at the houses on the cliff, the one swarming with police and crime-scene teams. "You have a sharp mind. Use it. Find out what you're a part of before it's too late."

The advice sounded sincere and friendly; that was the infuriating part. Tyler gritted his teeth. "Why would I do anything you tell me? Why would I ever want to be on your side, if there are sides here?"

"Because you were offered a job interview once. For what it's worth, I think you'd have done well." He fastened the what-is-it gadget to his belt. "We're done here, Wendy." She looked at Tyler across an immense distance, as if he were some kind of alien. Then she was gone.

-----

Wendy had learned to mask her reactions on the job, but the Middleman saw that she was shaken. He doubted it was the crime scene. He gave her space, letting her decide if and how she wanted to talk. She was silent until they were sheltered in their own car. "I never imagined Tyler could be that hateful," Wendy said very quietly. "Literally, full of hate. I knew he was ticked off. I knew he'd give me some hurt looks or leave the room next time I ran into him. I didn't expect he'd try to punch you out." She waved a hand. "Yeah, Sensei Ping. He couldn't tag either of us in a month of trying. But the Tyler I knew wouldn't have tried."

"It's not like him, from your descriptions," the Middleman agreed. "Together with the crime scene, that gives us two instances of aberrant behavior in one day connected to FATBOY."

"Maybe not," Wendy said. "Maybe I really did mess him up that badly."

"You couldn't put violence in a man's soul by hurting his feelings. Not unless it was there from the beginning." He didn't add, and hoped Dubbie wouldn't guess, that that was firsthand knowledge.

"I'm glad you were nice to Tyler. That made it easier to take. I'm just worried that he'll go back and tell Neville everything."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. Wendy sighed and leaned into him. "I hope he will," the Middleman said. "I told you once that Tyler was too canny and alert to be safe around our secrets. Let FATBOY deal with the same problem."

----

Tyler's headache was back in force when he returned to his office. He'd had a lot easier time hating Wendy's squeeze when he barely knew the man. Calling Tyler intelligent and refusing to fight him didn't fit into that image. And Wendy really loves him. Tyler's jaw set. That was a reason to hate.

Kaniman the lawyer went into Neville's office first; Tyler was called in after he'd left again. "I understand there was some little unpleasantness with Miss Watson," his boss said sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"I didn't expect to run into them," Tyler said. "Maybe I should have. That guy wouldn't answer questions, not even his name. He said you already knew."

"Your suggestion about his military background did bear some fruit, but nothing yet I'm comfortable sharing," Neville said. He seemed to be measuring every word. "What were they doing?"

"Waving gadgets around. That guy was talking about doing a brain scan on the shooter, like it was something they normally would do, but it would be impossible."

"I should think so."

"He said ... he seemed to think you'd gotten me out there too fast. Almost before the cops at the crime scene knew there was a U-Master. He said that proved you had something to do with the crime."

Neville smiled easily. "I've grown this company from nothing by acting faster and more decisively than others believed possible." His eyes sharpened. "Anything else?"

"Well. I took a swing at him. He was acting so damn superior, like he was doing me a favor talking to me."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "You're not hurt?"

"Wendy knocked me down. She acted like either of them could kick my butt without breaking a sweat." Worse, she'd convinced him. The four-inches-taller-Navy-SEAL business was bad enough without Tyler's ex-girlfriend pounding on him too. "Chief, they have to have been breaking some laws, poking around a crime scene like that. I had the idea they used some sort of fake IDs to get through the barricades. Why don't we just tell the police?"

"I see no need to be that crude, or public," Neville said. "Leave it for the moment, Tyler; I'll see if I can think of a better approach. Back to your desk. We need you there just as badly." He was setting something up on his computer terminal as Tyler left the room.

----

Wendy walked straight through the central control room, when they got back to Middle HQ. She threw a glance over her shoulder, climbing the stairs. Ida muttered something offended and profane under her breath. "Behave, Ida," the Middleman said as he followed her.

He wasn't a naturally subtle man. But he'd made a study of Wendy's nonverbal signals. This wasn't just one of her come-hither moods; fighting Tyler had rattled her. If she wanted a comforting whole-body cuddle, she could surely have it.

She stopped at the landing down the hall from her bedroom. He slid his arms around her. Wendy leaned on him, head against his chest. One arm twined around his waist. After a while it slipped under the waistband of his pants in a distinctly non-platonic caress. Cuddling with extra endorphins; well, if you insist.

The window shades were open in her room. The Middleman left them that way. Direct sunlight on her honey-amber skin was too good to miss. He unwrapped her like a gift. His stomach muscles trembled with need and nerves, just like every other time. He wondered if any man ever got over that aching teenage fear of looking foolish, of not pleasing a woman enough. Maybe it's just me. But the miracle happened again. She stroked him back, licked delicately at his ear. Made him welcome.

When they were both naked he knelt upright on the bed, Wendy straddling him chest to chest. He was as deep inside her as he could go, but almost immobilized by their combined weights; movement was up to her. Her butt muscles clenched and released under his hands, rocking her slowly at first. His mouth couldn't reach her breasts at this angle, he was too much taller. But her lips and the warm column of her throat were an easy reach. He concentrated on making her moan.

The more they learned about each other's bodies, the better it was. Wendy was building toward a big orgasm, from her flushed face and the catch in her breath. An instant before her release he came up, tipped her onto her back without losing the connection. He thrust hard on top of her, held her down with his weight. He was barely in time. Her feet lashed wildly in midair, hard enough to fling her light body off the bed if she'd been alone. Her hands and arms clutched his back, nails scoring him in one or two places. He barely felt it.

Her Middleman tried to move slowly, to prolong it for both of them. His self-control had limits. Her slick, hot muscles enfolded and squeezed him. He flung her legs over his shoulders and let himself go. Release like a lightning bolt turned him inside out.

He'd managed to fall down on the bed beside her, rather than square on top of her. That was well on its way to becoming a conditioned reflex. "Gaaa," he remarked.

Wendy laughed a little; she could be amazingly smug at moments like these. "Me too." She snuggled up against his bare side. "I was taking advantage of you, really. The whole thing, the case, him..." She made a face. "I wanted to feel better."

And had; he certainly couldn't detect any tension in her now. The Middleman ran his hand over her cheek, lightly, to convey that he didn't mind. Wendy laid her head on his shoulder. "How did you ever manage without me?" she teased.

"Pretty badly. Cold showers." He weighed the new no-secrets policy. "The occasional arrangement with Roxy Wasserman."

She sat up a little, stared into his eyes. "That's not like you."

"I needed someone I didn't have to lie to. She needed someone who wouldn't be killed if her succubus side got out of control. You were ... beyond any possible imagining, at the time."

For good and bad, she had changed from the impulsive young woman he first met. He watched her think it through. "No overlapping," Wendy said. A conclusion, not an ultimatum.

"Not by months." The agreement had been waning anyway, when Comet Wendy flashed across his emotional horizon. Wanting her, even without hope, had been better. But he hated to make excuses for himself. He kissed her instead, trying to convey the difference.

Wendy was too warm and sated to get angry. "Could be worse. Lacey asked me once if you were a virgin."

An undignified snort got out before he could control it. He studied Wendy's expression, decided she wasn't kidding. "Was this before or after..."

"Before. Lots before. She was crushing on you bad, at the time. I think she wanted to help."

He considered two or three croggled responses before settling on, "Very thoughtful."

Wendy patted him, radiating pride of ownership. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."