Good Shepherd pt.2

A throaty alto voice drifted out the open doors and down the hall toward the approaching men. "No. I understand. I assure you, we will not need to delay delivery."

Stanley nodded to the two security men who flanked the door and they returned the acknowledgement impassively. The woman on the phone in the elegantly appointed conference room was turned to the sweeping view of the Potomac offered by the wall of windows facing south. She continued to talk as they entered, seemingly oblivious to their presence, which gave Gibbs a chance to study her. Her dark, pinstriped pantsuit was tailored highlight a narrow waist and long legs, which were made even longer by impossible-looking heels. Her hair, a rich red, cascaded over her slim shoulders. He didn't know much about women's clothes, but he was savvy enough to realize the outfit probably would cost him a month's salary. In all, it wasn't exactly the image he'd been expecting after McGee's intellectual hero worship. With effort, he focused back on the one side of the conversation he could hear.

"I'll have the final numbers from the testing to you after lunch and we'll be prepared to sit down with your people on Wednesday to discuss the final delivery schedule. All right." She nodded faintly. "And you as well."

Hanging up the phone, she turned to face them, and for a moment Gibbs saw nothing but a bright, clear wash of green. By the time he drug his gaze from her eyes, she had already extended her hand. "Special Agent Gibbs. Sorry to keep you waiting, but your boss wanted to be sure this wouldn't disrupt our plans. I'm Jenny Shepard."

"Jethro Gibbs." Her grip was firm, and the eyes that skipped over his face were intelligent. On the surface she appeared untroubled by the morning's events, but she was standing just a bit too straight. "I need to ask you some questions, Director."

"Of course. And it's Jenny." She glanced over his shoulder. "Stanley, would you give us a minute, please?" The other man withdrew, pulling the conference room doors closed behind him.

"I assume you saw the body."

He nodded. "I wasn't aware that you had. I was under the impression from Stanley that no one but your security guard—"

"Melvin," she supplied.

"—Melvin entered the room."

She smiled wryly. "I stood just beyond the threshold."

He briefly wondered what kind of woman insisted on being allowed to see the dead woman splayed in her office before the sun was up. "What does it mean?"

Shepard sighed. "Too many things. I've been racking my brain all morning." She gestured for him to take a seat while she moved toward a sleek carafe set on a sideboard. "Coffee?"

"Always." Despite his desire to get on with the case, he found himself following her lead, taking a moment to savor the aroma and warmth of the beverage. And adding a passion for stoutly brewed Jamaican Blend to the list of things he knew about Jennifer Shepard.

"Tell me about the dead woman in your office."

"Well, you know she was a Navy liaison detailed here to test a new drone. She'd been here about four months. I didn't have much personal contact with her, but according to the people she worked with, she was well-liked. Smart, capable, and a good enough scientist not to be resented by the civilians. I talked with her supervisors this morning and none reported any problems. I have their names for you." She extracted a piece of paper from a leather portfolio and slid it across the table.

"So how did she end up dead in your office with 'The Good Shepard' painted on her torso in blood?" If the question was harsher than he'd intended, it wasn't because he was trying to drag his focus away from her mouth. Or the fact that she was currently several steps ahead of him in his investigation.

Shepard looked away briefly, then resolutely returned his gaze. "I wish I knew. Clearly, it might be a reference to me in some way. Good Shepherd—the spelling with the sheep—is also the name of the foundation I established."

"What does it do?"

"It's an NGO—a non-governmental organization—that organizes and funds de-mining work. Primarily, though not exclusively, in South-East Asia and Africa." She passed him another paper from the portfolio, this one a glossy brochure.

"Just de-mining?"

He didn't miss the tightness around her mouth. "ShepTech has a long history, and we've always been a good corporate citizen. But times have changed, and so has our role in the world. We're committed to the safety of everyone—not just Americans."

"You give that speech a lot?"

She laughed, surprised, and some of the tension went out of the air. "About six times a year. More, if there's a chance of raising more money for the foundation. And yes, Agent Gibbs, we just do de-mining." The way she emphasized it made it clear how important this was to her.

"Okay. Received any threats lately?"

"You mean other than the dead body in my office?"

"Well, yeah."

"I don't think there has been anything of note. We build weapons targeting systems; we're not always the most popular kids on the block."

"Anything unusually personal?"

"You'll have to check with Stanley. He'll know better than I will."

"You always so cavalier about your safety?"

She gave him a long, level look. "No. I hire the best people and I trust them to do their jobs."

Twenty minutes later, she'd ignored at least four calls on her blackberry, and he decided that there wasn't much more she could tell him. At least, not yet. So they traded business cards—the ones with their cell phone numbers—and he headed off to round up his agents.

Stanley joined him in the elevator, a silent shadow. "Something on your mind?"

"I'm concerned for the Director's safety, sir."

"Call me Gibbs. Anything specific? Other than the dead body?" he added, picturing her smirk in his head.

"No, sir. She hasn't received any unusual personal threats lately. Other than the dead body. It's just—" He trailed off, obviously searching for a way to express what he was feeling in a way that an NCIS agent would understand.

"Your gut?" Gibbs supplied.

Stanley nodded, relieved. "That's it, sir. Just a gut feeling."

"You watch her six. We'll handle the rest."

End 2

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