Hi! If you want a holiday story to read for NCIS, I wrote one last year called Santa's Squall. Please check it out, too! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! (:
A/N: I am going to attempt my first multi-chap NCIS story. Feel free to comment on any of it, as it will help me continue and fix anything I may need to. I promise I will appreciate it. (:
I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.
The young marine was literally running for his life. He'd completed the thirteen weeks of basic training at Parris Island before attending the School of Infantry, then the Infantry Training Battalion where he'd endured several more weeks of combat training. There was no way in hell that he was going down before he had a chance to claim his rightful place in the corps. He was an official marine with the prospect of being stationed overseas, yet here he was being chased down like some sort of wild animal in his homeland.
He knew he'd prevail against this enemy, because that's what he'd been trained to do. Besides, he simply couldn't die yet. Not when he was so close to embarking on a vessel with his newly formed fleet. He was looking forward to it, and definitely sticking around to celebrate with all his military buddies, old and new. He pushed himself harder.
How had things taken such a horrible turn, he wondered. He'd survived the infamous crucible at boot camp and never broke. He'd excelled in weapons training and never broke. Yet, earlier this very day, while enduring the worst kind of hell imaginable at the hands of the monster pursuing him, he'd cracked and wound up asking...no pleading for his life. It broke him all right, and now everything was so messed up.
The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins enabled him to push himself to the absolute limit. He just had to survive this one final blip in his training, and never, ever be anyone's victim again.
His breath came in choppy waves now. He threw a backwards glance over his shoulder before attempting to leap over the wire fences to freedom, gauging that he only had seconds to spare. He lunged full-force over the top of his first obstacle, easily clearing it. However, his world tilted a bit as he struggled to keep his footing, once on the other side. He was utterly exhausted, but a good marine would find ways to cope that.
He was relieved to hear his pursuant finally tiring too, judging by the sound of labored breathing and slowed footfalls on his six. He could do this. He mopped the sweat from his eyes and viewed his surroundings, but to his dismay, the entire area seemed eerily deserted. Shouldn't someone be around to see him being chased by this maniac?
"Help!" he cried out. No one responded, so he staggered on, willing his sluggish muscles to carry him. He was just being tested. This was only the first real battle after all...
Envisioning himself on an actual battlefield, he sprinted once he held the next obstacle in his sights. It was one last fence to climb, then he would veer toward the road where he hoped to meet with passing traffic. He was almost there...
Unfortunately, the marine-issued fatigues he wore suddenly slid down his hips, restricting his movements. An unanticipated hindrance to say the least, but he hiked them up and kept going. They still hung low on his slender form without a belt to keep them in place, and he had to grasp the waistband now that the zipper had slid down as well. He cursed aloud. Damned that he had not been able to fasten them properly before fleeing...
He stumbled when the pants slipped even lower and caught at his thighs, snagging on a spiked barb of the fence. It pierced the fabric, biting deeply into tender flesh, and bringing him down heavily to the asphalt with a grunt of pain. He screamed out in frustration. Maybe someone would finally hear him.
Despite the surge of blood flowing out of the gaping wound, he struggled back to his feet and clamored to clear the fence once more. But before he could, a pair of meaty hands yanked him off by the loose seat of his pants, tugging them further down his thighs in the process. He shrieked as the hands violently dragged him backward, where they roughly covered his mouth to prevent another scream from escaping. They were the same hands that had bound his ankles and wrists earlier.
Knowing that his life depended upon it, he fought as he'd been trained to do, biting into the palm ferociously, and jabbing an elbow back into his assailant. The ensnaring hands momentarily loosened from his mouth, only to lock around his throat with a fierce vice-like grip. The struggle continued.
He'd mastered hand-to-hand combat training, and knew how to target the most vulnerable and accessible parts of the enemy, but spinning wildly around, he found himself face to face with pure evil. The steely eyes intimidating him to his very core, until survival instincts kicked back in and fueled him to lift a powerful knee aimed directly at the groin. Next, came gouges to those hateful eyes. Gaining a bit of leverage, he used the temporary reprieve to gasp for some much-needed air, tug the pants up higher, and turn to climb once more.
He could tell by the fierce growl he heard from below, that he had only fueled the fires raging in his pursuant. He straddled the high fence, hissing in pain as he anticipated his next move. He was already physically and emotionally drained from weeks of training, lack of sleep, and hours of torture. Old and new injuries, along with fresh blood-loss, only made matters worse.
Frantically, he looked for a new escape route, shaking violently when he saw that a gate was at his feet that opened to either side. He was in fact trapped like an animal. The new marine was sadly coming to terms with his plight. He was failing his first mission.
It filled him with terror that he had no choice but to jump to his fate. He gasped when he landed hard and panic settled in when he saw that was blocked by a set of broad shoulders. Before he could plan his next move, his arm was brutally twisted behind his back with a powerful snap, making him sob in agony. His neck was squeezed tightly until he hung limply against the wire fence.
The hands continued to squeeze until he slid lifelessly to the hard, cold ground. It would be his final resting place until he could be discovered hours later. The handsome marine's bright blue eyes dripped tears as his life left his body. But they remained stubbornly wide-open as if resisting an inevitable fate. Lying spread-eagle and bare-belly up to blue skies, with the seagulls curiously encircling overhead, he looked almost sacrificial.
A hooded figure turned triumphantly away, leaving the young man's body to bleed out into a sea of red. Only minutes later, the wind picked up and blue skies gave way to an overcast gray ones. The ground beneath the dead marine rumbled, and storm clouds opened up to release a gentle spattering of raindrops. They were like tears from heaven, falling there to wash away the ones that the desolate marine had cried upon his untimely demise.
The rain was coming down in torrents by the time the NCIS team arrived to take possession of the marine's body. Ducky was clad in an over-sized slicker with a wide brim shielding his eyes. He knelt and bowed his head over the deceased, noting the lowered trousers. He and Jimmy had propped up a temporary shelter at the crime scene to preserve as much evidence as possible, given the weather. The last traces of blood could already be seen swirling around in deep pools that had gathered at the site. He set to work probing the liver of the victim while Jimmy took notes.
"Between four and six hours!" Ducky shouted his assessments over the rain while removing the probe. Jimmy nodded and recorded the data.
Tim was side-stepping puddles and doing his best to mark off and measure the area, while Tony snapped photos from under his rain poncho. Gibbs rustled as he went by in his own rain-gear, visually scanning the area for more evidence. He looked up at the barbed wire fencing surrounding them.
"Hey!"
The downpour was drowning him out, so he motioned for the others to follow along. He led them to a place where they quickly spotted what he already had; a bit of tan fabric hooked on to the fence, flapping in the wind.
Tim nodded, and bagged the evidence as soon as Tony had photographed it. Ellie furrowed her brow, clearly deep in thought. She spun slowly around in circles, fingers extended as she went. She seemed to be in her own little world, and oblivious to the rain relentlessly pelting her.
"What's she doing?" Tony yelled, grinning and nudging Tim. "Does she think she's Monk..."
Tim was already watching their coworker curiously. He shrugged. He, himself, would love to know the answer to that very question.
Since there wasn't much more that Ducky and Jimmy could gather at the increasingly compromised scene, Ducky decided they may as well bag the body, transport it to the van, and get it to where he would have more luck determining the cause of death.
"I'm afraid Mother Nature has intervened this time!" Ducky called out to Jimmy, indicating that it was time to pack up.
Finding Ducky's words barely audible over the roar of the wind and rain, Jimmy saluted his mentor, flashed him a small smile of acknowledgement, then followed his lead. Together they lifted the body onto a gurney, and loaded it into the back of the van.
"What do ya' know so far, Duck?" Gibbs came up shouting, catching him just as he was about to climb behind the wheel. The older man hoisted himself up, and slid into the seat.
"Not much that I can tell you until I get him back, Jethro! Quite the storm though, isn't it!" he shouted back. He peered through the windshield at the sky, pleading his case.
"I know! I know!" Gibbs conceded. He leaned into the cab, and out of the rain where they could hear one another better, with an inquisitive look still swimming in his pale blue eyes. "I know you'll need some time with the body outside of the storm Duck, but what's your gut telling you?"
"I am afraid that I tend to rely on my gut far less often than you do, Jethro. But it is probable that the deceased was fatally wounded, at least without the proper treatment, when his femoral artery was severed on that barbed-wire fence back there. Then, caught by his attacker was finished off on the spot by strangulation. But, I am afraid that I have little to back that up, until I get him home and take a better look."
"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs said, patting him on the shoulder before closing the door. He knew that it was hard for the older gentleman to commit to anything concrete, without first thoroughly analyzing all evidence in his autopsy room.
Gibbs sauntered away to meet with the rest of the crew, carefully moving aside to allow the van to pass. It was exactly what he'd wagered had happened to the dead marine. Maybe this would be a simpler case than he'd originally thought. Now, they just had to find the murderer.
The ride back was the typical adventure for Gibbs' passengers. Between the continual switching of lanes and dodging of semi-trucks as he sped down the highway, no one was using the time to socialize. Gibbs observed his uncharacteristically silent agents with mild interest, somewhat surprised that there wasn't the typical banter or onslaught of insults being flung back and forth.
Tim was too busy concentrating on each set of approaching headlights, gripping the dashboard as his boss drove, and swallowing nervously. He closed his eyes just as Gibbs turned his way to shoot a double-take at him fervently muttering something under his breath.
"You say something, McGee?" he asked nonchalantly.
Tim opened his eyes and shifted around to look at him. "No-No, boss. Just um-just nothing."
His eyes suddenly bulged, and he flattened himself against the back of the seat when he saw that his boss' eyes were solely on him with no sign whatsoever that they'd be returning to the road any time soon. Brakes screeched loudly in the passing lane. McGee closed his eyes again. Maybe when he opened them next, it would all be over.
Tony and Ellie sat quietly in the back. Her eyes were wide, but she seemed relatively calm compared to her backseat companion. No matter how many rides Tony endured with his Boss as commandeer of a vehicle, he couldn't get used to it. Currently, he was clutching his stomach, chin to chest, to keep from hurling. A horn blared, and Tony rolled his eyes in dismay. As far as he was concerned, driving with his boss was one of the biggest job risks he'd ever faced since becoming an NCIS agent.
Gibbs glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Problem back there, DiNozzo?" He asked, screwing up his eyes at his squirming senior agent.
Tony shook his head. "Everything's great back here, Boss! Just wish I didn't eat that Moo Goo Gai Pan for lunch today, that's all."
Back at the office, it didn't take long for the crew to fall in sync with one another as they discussed the case. Especially, since they were relieved to have survived yet another trip with Gibbs. They tossed their gear behind the desks and set immediately to work.
"Turns out that the dead marine is Private Gregory Goodman, fresh from training and planning for deployment after he completes MOS." The men gathered in front of the plasma screen where Tim had the young marine's photo already pulled up. "Born in Buffalo, NY where he graduated from Hutchinson Central Technical High School just this past spring," Tim continued.
"That all?" Gibbs asked.
"Family wanted him to attend Purdue University as an engineering student, but he was determined to be the first marine in the family, aiming for Infantry. He enlisted only two weeks after graduation. Obviously, in a big hurry. Parted with his family yesterday afternoon, a little after two p.m. Family's w-wanting answers-of course," Tim stammered, realizing that he was stating the obvious. Gibbs' eyes had told him as much.
"So do I, McGee. So do I," he said, grabbing the coffee from his desk to take another swill.
"Looks like he was barely eighteen years old when he died, Boss," Tony continued. "Birthday was only three days before he enlisted, too. Wanted to do it all. He was about to begin his MOS training here in D.C.-Special Weapons. "
"Assigned to Drill Instructors Roger Peterson, Jeffery Zapata, and Matthew Richardson, in that order," Ellie said, joining them. " Further up the chain, Company Commander David Hickman, and Battalion Commander Richard Moore."
Gibbs nodded. He knew who they were. "About to dig up the dirt on them now, Boss," Tony said.
Ellie was already searching the dead marine's records and training schedule history on her PC, when Gibbs left for autopsy where Ducky had the body of the young marine draped and laid out before him. He looked at the peacefully angelic face of the young recruit with sorrow.
"Oh, my dear boy. You didn't have much of a chance to live your young life Private Gregory Goodman, did you? Only eighteen years of age, you were barely an adult. Never did understand how an age with the suffix 'teen' could ever be considered adult, and not teen," he mused aloud.
He set the clipboard down, and sighed deeply. He studied the delicate features of the dead male, finding many bruises and some swelling on his cheekbones and along the jaw.
"And so very, very handsome, too. Such a pity." He clicked his tongue as he studied the defensive wounds on one of the bruised hands. "I see you put up a good fight however, my dear boy."
Gibbs silently entered, and took his place beside him. "Whatcha' got, Ducky?"
Ducky looked startled for a moment. "Oh, there you are, Jethro. This poor young man not only met with an untimely death, but an unsavory one as well, I'm afraid. He was violently assaulted, that much I'm certain of. "
He held up the raw, bloodied hand, slowly turning the fingertips for him to see the jagged, torn nail edges. Gibbs' eyebrows rose as he waited to hear more. Ducky turned the cadaver's head to show deep bruising around the neck area.
"As I suspected, it appears that he was in fact choked to death not long after he sustained a fatal wound to the femoral artery of his thigh. It was nearly severed, and he would have only lived minutes without treatment. All after he was brutally beaten." He rolled the marine on to his side, displaying several deep welts along his hip and thigh. "Some of the wounds and abrasions were of course a result of the chase, but many were there longer, and clearly from a weapon such as a leather strap."
"So he was abused, pursued, and wounded with a fatal injury to his femoral artery...then choked to death?" Gibbs asked, trying to process the onslaught of information.
"I am afraid so. And, possibly raped," Ducky added soberly. His eyes clouded over.
This time Gibbs' eyebrows shot to an all-time high. "Are you sure about that, Ducky?"
"No. That is still to be determined." He went around to the other side of the body, carefully studying his patient intently. "But I have found abrasions and tears that indicate he was at least sexually assaulted in some way. Only Abby can make that call now."
"Thanks, Ducky," he said, already heading to his next stop.
His gut was telling him that he was dealing with something truly sinister this time. Abby seemed to be expecting him when he arrived.
"Abbs, what d'ya have?" he asked peering around her shoulder.
"I knew you'd be here, Gibbs!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. He gave her a small smile, then stared at her for a moment while she grinned back at him.
"Meaning you have something for me, Abbs?" he prompted.
"Well...yes...and no. I ran the DNA from the swabs Ducky gave me-you know the ones from his er-I mean-"
"Abbs."
"The ones from his private areas, Gibbs." She made her way to the spectrometer and looked at the screen. He followed, and studied it too. "And, surprisingly they returned nothing. Well they returned something, just not the something that I was looking for."
"You're telling me that you found nothing, Abbs?"
"You're so impatient! Actually, I was looking for semen you see-but it seems that the private did not have anyone elses's semen inside of his privates-See what I did there?" she asked, grinning wider. "No? Okay," she quickly added when he did not look amused.
Gibbs tried not to smile when she turned back to her discovery, but a vague one danced about his lips, anyway. "Just tell me what you did find, Abby."
"Well...I found traces of latex as in a rubber glove-or maybe a prophylactic. As well as a green grease used to oil artillery, or for use in hydraulics, machinery, army jeeps, that sort of thing-you've probably heard of it. Not Green Grease-that's the one that-you know those crazy, cheesy television guys on that commercial- " He looked at her blankly.
"Or...maybe not. Never mind. It's a newer biodegradable product that's less toxic and more environmentally friendly than the standard lubricant—you know what-never mind that either. Let's just say it's more widely used today than it was even a couple of years ago. What is even weirder is that there were also traces of TW25B, another light-weight synthetic grease applied through a syringe, and an even heavier one-MC1210 which is lithium-based and extremely heavy-duty. Best for use in high-humidity, salt water, high temps and-"
"I'm familiar with all that, Abbs."
"Right. Well good. My point here, is that there were even traces of another lubricant used by Krytox, a line that makes other synthetic and popular oils...on his clothing. In this case, Gibbs, with Private Goodman...I mean with the marine likely being sexually assaulted and all-even though there weren't any bodily fluids left behind other than his own-it may have been used for other reasons..." She paused to grimace before continuing. "It seems like there were numerous assaults on this poor guy, likely over a period of time."
Gibbs frowned as he processed the information. "Go on."
"There was also blood from the victim himself-and plenty of it-also confirmed by the clothes he wore. It was clearly not consensual-I mean I don't think he wanted to participate-you know-to cause so much internal damage. I still have some tests to run so I can determine the exact source of the latex. But we've collected other samples too, that I am running-including a hair.." She turned to Gibbs who was eyeing her intently now. "I think we're dealing with a real monster here, Gibbs." He nodded.
"So some form of sexual assault. A glove or a condom, and lots of different lubricants were used," Gibbs recapped, awaiting final clarification from his forensic expert.
"Bingo."
Gibbs kissed her softly on the cheek. "That's good work, Abby." She smiled proudly.
He re-entered the offices' hub, and was met with a pleasant surprise. No one was being unethical or wasting valuable time, instead intently clicking away at their keyboards. He went to his desk and deposited a fresh coffee there. Ellie was the first to speak.
"It looks like another recruit, roughly the same age, only this time Navy, has been recently attacked and injured. Badly beaten in fact. A Seaman Jared Blythe. He was taken to the U.S. Naval Hospital Beaufort, following his collapse where he claimed that he was injured in an accident. He was transferred to Beaufort Memorial Hospital for further testing. That's where he is right now," she announced. "The medical staff doesn't believe that his injuries were accidental."
"Think the two are related, Boss?" Tim asked from his desk. "You-You know his assault, and the death of Private Goodman...e-even though they're different branches?"
"That's what we're gonna' find out, McGee," Gibbs said. Tony shot from his chair, expecting to accompany his boss.
"Headed to the hospital?" he asked, shrugging into his jacket.
"You're with me, McGee. Bishop, keep working on that lead and find out if there were any sexual assaults reported, cover-ups or otherwise. I wanna' know about 'em all. Tony, make some more calls and find out what his superiors were all about, including fellow recruits."
"On it, Boss," Tony said dejectedly, wistfully watching them walk away, leaving he and Ellie behind.
He was beginning to get stir-crazy cooped up in the office all day with the rain drizzling down. Unfortunately, it was visible outside the window. He sighed as he watched Ellie spread her papers out on the floor beside her desk. Clearly she'd gathered enough information to begin her crazy organizing and hypothesizing of data. No, not hypothesizing, he thought to himself. She would somehow pull factual data from that confusing pile, and burst forward with it when it was needed most.
She looked up, and gave him a small smile. "Bored?" she asked, quickly returning to her work.
"Thinking about grabbing something from the vending machine," he grumbled. "Get you anything?"
She shook her head. "I already have some snacks over there, if you're interested." She pointed behind her.
"Uh...no thanks. I'm all cheetoed out. Be right back."
The Navy recruit swallowed hard against the plastic intubation tube lodged at the back of his throat. His eyes popped open when he realized where he was. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of oxygen had given it away.
He blinked rapidly as horrible images flickered through his min, and struggled to free himself from the wires and tubes so that he could get away. No one was going to hold him down, ever again.
"Take it easy there. You'll hurt yourself," Gibbs said, untangling the trembling hand from the IV tubing. He held the hand firmly until the young man calmed down.
Gibbs looked sympathetically into the swollen eyes of the badly beaten seaman. He was listed as twenty-one years old, but he looked far younger from what he could tell from beneath the bruises and cuts. The recruit began to wheeze desperately, and Gibbs turned to Tim.
"Grab a nurse to take that out of him, McGee. Let 'em know he's awake now."
McGee nodded, "Right, Boss."
He went out into the hall to flag someone down. He realized that his boss hadn't wanted to hit the call button and bring an entire team in before they could conduct the interview.
"Excuse me, Nurse? Seaman Blythe is ready to have his intubation tube removed-uh now."
She raised one finely arched brow in a questioning way, but followed him back to the room. The recruit was clawing at his throat.
"That's the tube in your throat that you're feeling, son," Gibbs said soothingly. The young man stilled, searching his face for answers. Tim returned with the nurse, and she stood at her patient's bedside.
"How are you doing, Mr. Blythe?" she asked. He stared at her warily. "Can I get you anything?"
"I think he wants that tube out of his throat," Gibbs said quietly. The man was getting himself worked up now, twisting and turning in his sheet.
"I'll need to get the doctor to check him first-"
"Spare us the spiel, Nurse. Should be able to take it out by now. Surgery's over..." Gibbs interrupted, recalling how he had felt when waking up the same way, in pain and choking on a tube shoved down the back of his throat.
A swarthy gentleman in a doctor's coat entered and slowly slid the tube from the recruit's throat, making him cough and bolt forward to gasp for breath.
"I'm going to look you over quickly," the doctor said.
"Mind having company present, Mr. Blythe?" the nurse asked, giving the agents a disapproving scowl. He shook his head, and the doctor quickly glanced beneath the covers. "They say they want to ask him a few questions," the nurse told the physician with a meaningful look.
"Are you up for it?" the doctor asked in a noncommittal tone as he checked his patient's ribs.
The recruit's eyes darted between the two NCIS agents standing patiently on the other side of the room. He didn't respond, but his eyes seemed fearful as they landed at the open doorway next.
"It's just going to be us, Seaman. Completely confidential."
The nurse adjusted the pillows and laid him back down. She moistened his mouth with a wet swab, and stepped back, giving Gibbs a last once over before leaving the room. He smirked back at her. The doctor checked vital signs and IV line.
"You're doing good, Jared," he said, jotting a few notes down. "I'll be back to check on you again later this evening."
"So, we have permission to ask you a few questions?" Tim asked, stepping forward. They got a reluctant nod this time. "Thank you."
"I know your throat's a bit sore," Gibbs began, speaking from experience once more, "but can you tell us who did this to you?" The recruit blinked rapidly, then quickly looked away. He shook his head. They knew he was avoiding eye-contact.
"Are you sure about that?" Tim asked. The man's breathing quickened, and he shifted in his bed. "Just take it easy..." Tim said, helping him to settle by placing a reassuring hand on his forearm.
"We know this wasn't an accident, as it was first reported when you were admitted," Gibbs added.
The heart monitor was beeping faster still, and they both eyed the door to see if someone was on their way to find out why. When no one came, they proceeded.
"We know this is hard, but we need you to tell us if you knew your assailant," Gibbs prodded gently.
His eyes glistened with tears, but he shook his head again. His chest was heaving now, and Tim exchanged a look with his boss. They had definitely hit a sore spot with that last question.
"Do you remember the attack at all?" Tim tried again.
The recruit looked down. "You can keep other recruits like yourself from going through the same kind of hell," Gibbs urged.
"Yes.." he rasped out. The man's big brown eyes were restless again, and the monitor responded. "I...thought I was going to die." His eyes welled up but he blinked them back.
"Did the attacker or attackers have a weapon?" Gibbs asked.
A small whimper escaped his throat. He closed his eyes, forcing the pent-up tears to trickle out. He nodded.
"Were there more than one?" Tim asked. He shook his head. So they'd learned that it was only one individual, and that he, or she, was armed. "Was it a man or a woman?"
Surprise flickered behind the recruit's eyes for a moment. Apparently, he hadn't actually been raped, or there would have been some evidence left behind. Relief flooded over him and he exhaled deeply. He didn't think he could live with the knowledge. But even knowing that, could never take away the memories of the other things that had been done to him before he lost consciousness.
"Man," he whispered definitively. His eyes drooped immediately, as if even just saying the word had completely drained him. Gibbs nodded.
"Okay, we'll let you rest now. Thank you, Seaman Blythe. I saw your training logs and you did a fine job," Gibbs said, patting him on the shoulder.
The unfortunate incident had occurred the evening before his last day of his training, and he knew that the military would not consider the requirements complete. He saw that he was not listed on the graduation roster as an official Seaman, but in his eyes he was. He'd earned it for crying out loud.
"If you think of anything else you'd like to tell us, just let us know," Tim said, handing him his card. The man nodded, but closed his eyes again. He'd already drifted off still clutching the card in his hand.
The agents made their way to the parking garage, and Gibbs didn't waste any time in getting on his cell to phone his senior agent.
"DiNozzo, run a check on everyone Seaman Recruit Jared Blythe may have come into contact with during training. And, I mean everyone."
"On it, Boss."
They drove out of the garage and Gibbs' tires squealed as he pulled onto the road, suddenly taking the first turn way too fast. Tim struggled to anchor himself into the seat, but twisted his neck to watch a van pass.
"Uh, boss? I believe that someone back there was-uh-watching us."
"I know that, McGee. Why do you think I'm turning this way, instead of that way?"
"I hadn't noticed, Boss," Tim said honestly. He'd been too worried about buckling up for the ride to pay any attention.
The man in the car was already on his way back to where he'd left some unfinished business that he needed to take care of immediately. An innocent-looking new recruit was about to be initiated into his private club. He knew he'd fix this mess before it could take him down. He always did. He just had to throw his weight around with the one's that mattered most. Too bad that last boy had forced him to kill him. If he just would have accepted his punishment.
Now, he might have to make the biggest statement to date, if he wanted to be left alone. Because, just as he was sick and tired of snot-nosed little recruits thinking they were big, tough men, he was sick and tired of snot-nosed agents on his tail who thought they could out-smart him.
First, he would have to learn the NCIS agent's routines like the back of his hand. And, if they continued to get in his way, he'd have to make an example out of a couple of them. He smiled to himself. Preferably, the two younger male agents. He'd teach them a real lesson that they'd never forget...
Thanks for reading the first chapter. ;)
Crumpet