Taylor saw Agent Bryant begin to fall before the sound of the gunshot registered. She lunged forward, heedless of the danger to herself, and helped to cushion his fall as his body crumpled to the pavement. Blood was pouring from a hole in his left shoulder and she hastily yanked off her jacket and applied pressure to the wound, taking care to stay low in case the shooter fired on them again as she glanced desperately around for help.
There was not a soul in sight, and Taylor turned her attention back to the wounded man before her. "Bryant!" she said urgently as his eyes fluttered closed. "Stay with me, Bryant." She hesitated only a moment before fumbling through his pockets for his cell phone, wanting to get him help, but needing him to wake up to tell her the code to unlock it, what number to call. The feeling of helplessness she had been battling all day was now magnified tenfold.
"Wake up!" she pleaded as she slapped Bryant's cheek lightly. "Please . . . please wake up." After several more tries, she was rewarded with a low groan, and she kept her eyes trained on his face as his eyelids began to flicker. "That's it. Come on."
Cole felt like someone was stabbing him in the shoulder with a hot poker. He could hear a woman speaking to him as if from very far away and he tried to focus on that as he came back to consciousness, opening his eyes to find Taylor's worried face mere inches from his. "What . . . happened?"
"You've been shot," Taylor told him. "I don't think the bullet hit anything vital, but you're losing a lot of blood. We need to get you help. Who should I call?"
"No one . . . at the moment." Cole sucked in a deep breath as he sat up. "We're already in a hospital and only about fifty feet from the elevator. I think I can make it that far if you'll help me."
"You won't make it five feet if the shooter tries again," Taylor pointed out, but Bryant was already struggling to his feet, and she was forced to help support his weight in order to keep him from falling again and injuring himself worse.
"If he wanted to shoot me again, he'd already have done so," Cole replied, starting for the elevator with grim determination. He could feel himself getting lightheaded and struggled to focus. "You're going to need to contact Mayfair and let her know what happened so she can send someone to pick you up." She would also need to get CSU down here to process the crime scene. "Her number's programmed into my phone." He gave her the code to unlock it.
"And here—" he unbuckled his belt with his good hand and removed his sidearm in its holster, handing it to her, "you should probably be armed until they arrive." He'd seen firsthand her skill with the weapon, and he couldn't take it with him into surgery anyway. His gut told him that the shooter had hit exactly what he was aiming at, that she hadn't been the target, but there was no sense in taking chances.
Taylor accepted it without comment, fastening it onto her own belt once they were in the elevator and Bryant was able to lean against the wall for support. She finished that task just as the elevator doors slid open on the floor they had just left, and she hailed a nurse that was just passing by as they stepped out of the elevator.
Within seconds, Bryant was surrounded by a whole host of medical personnel, who placed him on a gurney and wheeled him away to a treatment room. Satisfied that he was in good hands, Taylor found a quiet spot in a nearby waiting room and fished Bryant's phone out of her pocket to call Mayfair.
xxx
She had been staring at the same piece of paper for the last half hour, but Mayfair couldn't bring herself to call it a night. She should go home, she knew. Leave the stress of work behind for a few hours, take her dog for a walk before it got dark, and then relax on the couch with a good glass of wine. Unfortunately, the reason she couldn't do any of that was sitting on the edge of her desk, taunting her.
The brown file folder bore the same number that she had noticed tattooed on Taylor Shaw's body, but she didn't need to open it to read what it contained; she knew its contents by heart. That number represented one of the worst decisions of her life, and was the cause of more restless nights than restful ones.
The fact that someone else out there understood its significance did not bode well for her or this investigation.
She sighed as the potential implications of this began to sink in. She'd fought so hard to earn this job, had tried to use her position to atone for her sins, but now she had to wonder if all that effort would prove to have been in vain. If all the criminals she had put away would have to be retried or released.
Her phone chimed and she jumped as the sound shattered the stillness of her office, the weightiness of her thoughts. It was her personal cell phone rather than her work number, and she frowned as she took in the message displayed on the screen.
Last chance, Director Mayfair. Put Agent Weller on the Taylor Shaw investigation, or your next agent won't be so lucky.
The number was unfamiliar, probably a burner phone, she reasoned in a distant corner of her brain, even as she grabbed her work phone to contact Agent Bryant.
As if on cue, his number lit up her screen, and she blew out a relieved breath as she answered. "Bryant. Thank god."
"It's not Agent Bryant," Taylor told her. "This is . . ." She hesitated before uttering the still unfamiliar name. "This is Taylor Shaw. Agent Bryant's been shot."
Mayfair closed her eyes as Taylor's words confirmed her worst fears. "What happened? Where are you? How is Bryant? Are you still under fire?" she demanded.
"No, ma'am," Taylor told her. "We're still at the hospital. We were in the parking garage just getting ready to leave when Agent Bryant got shot. He was hit in the shoulder, but he was able to walk to the ER with my help, and he's being treated now."
"Hold on a minute." Mayfair set her cell phone down on the desk and reached for the landline on her desk to dispatch her people to their location. "Taylor? Agents are on their way to you now. Are you somewhere safe?"
"I'm in the waiting room and there's a security guard here," Taylor assured her. "And I'm armed."
There was a pause. "You're what?"
"Agent Bryant gave me his gun in case I needed to defend myself," Taylor clarified.
Oh, that was just great. They now had a civilian with a sketchy past running around with an FBI agent's loaded weapon. If she discharged that firearm in a crowded waiting room, even if it was legitimately in self-defense, the potential for a lawsuit was enormous. Bryant had undoubtedly been concerned that Taylor was the shooter's real target, but he'd been shot in the shoulder, not the head. He should have surrendered his weapon to that security guard she'd mentioned, and let him keep watch over her. "Okay, sit tight. Those agents should be there momentarily. Oh, and Miss Shaw?"
"Yes?" Taylor asked cautiously.
"Try to refrain from shooting anyone until they get there," Mayfair advised and hung up before Taylor could even begin to formulate a reply. She had more pressing matters to attend to.
Whoever had sent this text message wasn't kidding around, she realized as she read through it a second time. They had already shown their willingness to use deadly force against a federal agent, without any provocation or warning whatsoever, and they had further upped the ante by sending their threat to her personal cell phone. They were making it clear that they knew everything about everyone in this office and could get to any of them any time she chose.
As much as she hated to admit it, at the moment it appeared they had her over a barrel.
She sighed again as she picked up the phone to call Weller.
xxx
Kurt was enjoying his first early night off in weeks. He had arrived home before Sarah, so dinner was actually edible for once, and after cleaning up, the three of them had settled back in at the dining room table for a very competitive evening of board games. Sawyer was currently trouncing them both, but Kurt was determined to beat him in the next round.
He was just setting up the board when his phone rang, and he groaned as he saw Mayfair's name on the display.
"Kurt," Sarah pleaded softly. They'd been having such a good time tonight. "Can't you ignore it? Just this once?"
"You know I can't do that, sis." Kurt's tone was apologetic, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek as he answered the phone. "Mayfair."
"Weller." Mayfair was equally brusque. "I'm sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need you back in the office immediately."
Kurt would have liked to ask what was going on, but something in her voice warned him she wouldn't be forthcoming with those answers over the phone. "I'm on my way. Sawyer—" he hugged his nephew as he ended the call, "—you owe me a rematch, buddy." He grabbed his suit jacket and was gone before Sarah could give him her customary reminder to be careful.
Traffic was still fairly heavy, and it took Kurt an extra fifteen minutes to reach his destination. He entered Mayfair's office to find her seated at the round table waiting for him, her expression somber. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Taylor?"
"In a manner of speaking." Mayfair motioned for him to take a seat. "Bryant was shot in the hospital parking garage about an hour ago as they were leaving. He's in surgery," she added hastily at Kurt's alarmed look. "The bullet hit him in the shoulder. He's lost a lot of blood, but his wife tells me his doctors are optimistic that he'll make it. She's going to update me once he's out of surgery."
"And Taylor? Is she—"
"She's fine," Mayfair told him. "Her protective detail brought her back here about twenty minutes ago. It appears Bryant is going to owe her his life for a second time today. His wife told me the doctors were very impressed with her quick handling of the situation. It appears she might have had some medical training, after all."
"Was she the shooter's intended target?" Kurt asked hoarsely. Had he been playing games while Taylor was in some madman's crosshairs? If he had stayed a little longer today, worked a little harder, could he have prevented this attack?"
"No," Mayfair said sharply, recognizing the turn his thoughts had taken. "You can't blame yourself for this, Kurt. There was nothing you could have done." She slid a copy of the text message she had received across the table to him. "Whoever did this acted with a very specific purpose in mind. They want you leading this investigation."
Kurt's mouth tightened as he skimmed the message. "I'm in."
"Not so fast," Mayfair cautioned. She would like nothing more than to close the book on this investigation here and now, but she couldn't ignore the fact that one of Taylor's tattoos had saved hundreds of lives today. She had too many sins on her conscience already to risk countless others. "If I agree to let you do this, there will be conditions."
Well, hell, of course there would. Kurt met Mayfair's gaze without blinking. "Name them."
"First and foremost, you'll meet with Dr. Borden at least twice a week to ensure that the past doesn't affect your current performance, oftener if he—or you—feels it's necessary. I don't need another one of my agents getting shot because your head isn't on straight. The details of those sessions will be confidential, of course, but Dr. Borden will report to me if he feels you're holding back on him or too emotionally compromised to do the job any longer. Or if you try to start skipping out on sessions because you're too busy with the case. Fair enough?"
Kurt gave a reluctant nod. He'd expected that one, but he didn't have to like it. He would like it even less if one of the agents under his command got shot because of him. He was well aware that they were in uncharted waters here. "What else?"
"We continue to keep the news of your marriage to Taylor just between the two of us and Dr. Borden," Mayfair told him, not really expecting any opposition on that front, but feeling it needed to be restated anyway. Kurt nodded again. "And lastly . . ."
She hesitated, and he leaned forward slightly as he awaited her final condition. "Lastly, if I decide at any point to shut this investigation down, you will accept my decision without a word of protest." Giving in to this unsub's demand to put Weller on the case felt akin to negotiating with terrorists, but she couldn't see any other way forward at this point. It was clear that she would be signing the death warrant of any other agent she tried to appoint.
She just hoped that she wasn't signing Weller's by giving in.
"Do we have a deal?"
"Yes," Kurt said after a long moment in which he weighed his options and realized he had no choice but to agree. "We have a deal."
"Good," Mayfair said briskly as she stood. "In that case, I think it's time the two of you meet. I had her detail put her back down in the interrogation room, so why don't you go introduce yourself? I'd like to observe your interaction on the monitors, if that's all right with you."
"Of course," Kurt agreed, once again knowing there was no other answer he could give. Not only was she his boss, but she was going out on a huge limb for him here. She was the one who would be called before the brass to answer for her decision if things went bad.
They walked together until the hallways to their respective destinations diverged. "Good luck," Mayfair told him as they parted.
Kurt nodded, and took a deep breath as he rounded a corner and the interrogation room came into view.
xxx
Time seemed to stand still in the sterile white interrogation room; Taylor had no idea how long it had been since one of the agents on her security detail had deposited her here, but she grew more anxious with every minute that passed. Had she been the shooter's target? Was that why they had brought her back here rather than to her safe house? And how was Agent Bryant? She'd asked repeatedly, but her detail had been either unable or unwilling to give her any information on his condition.
She leaned forward, shoulders hunched, and studied her still unfamiliar reflection in the shiny surface of the tabletop. It was terrifying to look at your own image, and see only the face of a stranger looking back at you. The last time she'd been in here, she'd begged Agent Bryant to tell her who she was—and he had—but hearing the name Taylor Shaw hadn't made her feel more connected to herself. It hadn't evoked one single memory of her past.
If anything, it had only left her feeling more alone.
She glanced up as she heard the door begin to slide open again, and found herself looking into the coolly assessing blue eyes of the stubbled man she had seen this morning. He was looking at her with what—hope? anticipation? —in his eyes, but when his look found no answer in hers, he finally stepped toward her.
In all of his imaginings of this moment, he had failed to take into account how difficult it would be to see the lack of recollection in the green eyes that had once sparkled with joy at the mere sight of him. Kurt held her gaze as he approached, willing her to display some sign of recognition, however small, but the blankness remained. "I'm Special Agent Kurt Weller," he introduced himself. "I'm the new lead agent on your case."
So she had been right. He was her childhood friend, the man who had identified her. When Agent Bryant had first told her about him, she had wanted to meet him immediately, had had a million questions that she wanted to throw at him, but now that he was standing in front of her, she couldn't recall a single one. She latched on to the only thing that mattered. If he was the new lead agent on her case, then . . . "What happened to Agent Bryant?" she demanded. "Is he . . ."
"He's in surgery," Kurt told her. "As far as I know right now, he's going to be just fi—he's going to pull through," he amended, not wanting to give her false hope. It was unlikely Bryant would be returning to the office any time soon, if at all. "But I'll be staying on your case no matter what."
She nodded absently. The news was a relief, though she felt guilty for feeling that way. Agent Bryant had been very nice to her, and more than likely was lying in a hospital bed now because of her, but she just hadn't connected with him in a meaningful way. She could feel Agent Weller's eyes on her as the silence grew between them, and she wracked her brain for something to say. "Did anyone tell you I recovered my first memory today?" she asked as he took the seat next to her.
Kurt stilled. "No. No one mentioned that. Do you . . . do you recognize me?" Her reaction when he'd entered certainly hadn't suggested that she did, but he couldn't help but hope. Maybe that memory had been of his younger self, and she hadn't realized it was him.
Taylor shook her head. "I don't. I'm sorry. I wish I did. I still barely recognize me," she offered with a bleak laugh.
"I know this must be overwhelming," Kurt told her, "but now that you've recovered one memory, you may be able to recall more. Please . . . try."
How did he expect her to do that? His face was apparently well-known to her, and it hadn't triggered any memories. Nor had the sound of his voice. Maybe touch would work better? She slowly reached out with her left hand to cover his, her right coming up to cup his jaw. For a moment, she thought he was going to grab her hand to stop her as she reached toward his face, but he apparently thought better of it and allowed her to proceed.
Kurt fought the urge to close his eyes as her fingers ghosted over his skin, the familiar touch inciting a firestorm of memories. The two of them had never lacked chemistry and judging by the electricity generated by her gentle caress, it was as strong as ever. Damn it. Damn her. She withdrew her hand from his face, and when she made as if to try again, he grabbed it, unable to bear her touch a second time. "Anything?" he asked her hoarsely.
She shook her head slowly, her brilliant green eyes wide and vulnerable. Whenever she'd worn that expression in the past, he'd always swept her up in his arms and assured her that everything would be all right, and even now, even after everything she'd done, it was all he could do to keep from doing so again. He'd never been so thankful to know his boss was watching.
"No," she whispered as she sat back, finally pulling her hand back from his. How could she remember something as random as shooting a gun, but not the man she had spent much of her life around? She took a deep breath and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "So . . . what happens now?"
Kurt rose, anxious to have this reunion, this day, behind him. "There's nothing more we can do tonight, and you've had a long day. I'll drive you back to your safe house and we'll start fresh in the morning."
She didn't utter a single question as he led the way to his vehicle and was similarly quiet on the drive home. He might have chalked her silence up to exhaustion, but the gnawing on her thumbnail was a dead giveaway that something was troubling her. "What's wrong, Taylor?" he asked as he followed her into the safe house, appreciating that her detail was outside but wanting to see for himself that everything was secure.
She flinched. "Could you not call me that?"
"Call you what?" Kurt was confused. "Taylor? It's your name."
"I know. It's just . . . I saw the way you were looking at me back at the FBI," she burst out finally. "Like you're just waiting for me to transform into this person you knew, this person you lost, but I don't know how to be her. It doesn't feel real to me. None of this feels real." She paused for breath. "How did I learn how to do all these things, Kurt?" she asked more quietly. "The Chinese, the fighting? Could I do any of that when you knew me?"
Kurt blinked, startled that she had addressed him by name. "No. No, you spoke several languages, but Chinese wasn't one of them. You did take martial arts classes at our local dojo, but from what I've heard, your skills go well beyond what you picked up there. Look, Tay—Look," he amended. "You've been through so much already, the last thing I want to do is make things harder for you." He hesitated. "If you don't want to be Taylor, what would you like us to call you?"
She paused to consider. "In the hospital, my wristband said Jane Doe. Can I go by that? Just until I start to remember," she added hastily.
Kurt bit back the instinctual no that sprang to his lips. She was the victim here, and while her request was certainly unorthodox, it wasn't unreasonable. He sighed, recognizing he had no justifiable reason to deny it. "All right."
Jane could see how much it had cost him to make that concession, and she smiled tremulously. "Thank you."
Kurt's eyes drifted to the bandage on Tay—Jane's arm, he corrected himself, suddenly remembering that she had been shot today. "How are you feeling, Jane?"
"Physically, I'm okay. I'm a little banged up, but they said that my arm's going to be fine. Emotionally, I . . . I, uh . . . I don't know."
"Jane." Kurt shifted uneasily as the conversation started to veer into territory he wasn't prepared to handle. "You're going to be okay."
Her eyes flooded with tears as she looked up at him. "I don't know what that feels like."
Kurt hesitated for only a moment before drawing her into his embrace, clenching his jaw at how right, how natural, it felt to have her in his arms again. He was glad Mayfair wasn't here to see this. Or Sarah.
"Did I ever?" Jane asked when she drew back.
"Did you ever what?"
"Did I ever know what it feels like to be okay?" she clarified.
"I'm okay, Kurt," Taylor told him as she looked up into his worried face. They were standing next to Emma Shaw's gravesite on the second anniversary of her death. He'd been dreading this day for weeks, knowing how much she still missed her mother, how long it would be before they could visit again, and he was relieved to see that even though her eyes were damp, the light in them was undimmed. "I never thought I'd say this again, but I really am okay, and that's due in large part to you. I'm really glad you're coming to California with me."
He would go to the ends of the earth with her if she needed him to. Kurt smiled down at her, careful not to allow his eyes to reflect more than brotherly affection. Taylor had no idea how he really felt about her, and he didn't intend to ever burden her with that knowledge. Not only would it be a violation of his promise to Emma Shaw, but it could very well make things so awkward between them that he would lose even the friendship he so valued. "My pleasure, Taylor. You know I'll always be there anytime you need me, right? It's my duty as your almost big brother."
He could have sworn he saw frustration flicker in Taylor's eyes, but the expression was gone before he could define it, and she was grinning impishly up at him once more. "In that case, how about holding my hand while I get this tattoo I've been thinking about for a while? Kurt? Kurt!"
"Kurt?"
Jane's voice brought him back to the present, and he sucked in a breath as he stared down at her. "Yes," he said gruffly, realizing she was still waiting for an answer. "Yes, you knew how it felt to be okay, Jane. And you will again."
"You promise?" Jane asked softly.
"You promise you won't let go of my hand?" Taylor asked anxiously as they walked into the local tattoo parlor.
He would hold her hand forever if she would let him. "I promise, Taylor."
"I promise, Jane. I promise."