I watched McGee leap up from his desk and bolt to the head, looking more than a little green around the gills. That wasn't good. I never meant to hit him blindside like that. I may be a class-A bastard, but I wouldn't do that to him. Not intentionally.
Giving it to him cold had been harsh, and I wasn't surprised that he was upset, but the intensity of his reaction worried me. It knew he cared about Abby. We all did, McGee maybe more so than most. Though I doubted they knew it, I was well aware that, at one time, they had been more than just friends and coworkers. It had fizzled out quickly, but I knew they remained close and still harbored soft spots for each other.
Still, something in my gut niggled at me. The shared intimacy might explain a lot, but this felt like more, a lot more. Before I could reason it out though, McGee returned to his desk. He was pale and visibly shaken but seemed steady enough. I breathed a small sigh of relief when he sat down at his desk and started clickety-clacking away on his computer. Maybe I was over reacting. Maybe the kid would be all right after all.
I took a deep breath and headed into interrogation, determined to get a confession. It was time to put this scumbag away for good.
When I returned, I was surprised to see McGee still sitting at his desk typing. I'd expected him to be on the road to Norfolk long ago. "Finish up that report, McGee," I said, passing by his desk. "You need to get on the road."
"Almost done, Boss," he replied. It was the normal kind of casual conversation we had innumerable times every day. It should have passed without even a thought, but today, there was an odd strained note in McGee's voice that made me look up.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though. McGee punched a button on his computer that made his printer spring to life, grabbed the paper as soon as it came out and shoved it into a report folder on his desk then headed for the stairs, presumably headed to the motor pool to requisition a car for the trip.
I moved over to his desk and picked up the report. I wouldn't normally go onto his desk without his permission, but it was lying in plain sight, and I needed the report to finish up the Mawher case. At least, that's what I told myself. I flipped open the report, half hoping that reading McGee's version of the events at his apartment would help put to rest the nagging worry in my gut or at the very least explain what it was I couldn't quite put my finger on. It might've worked, except when I skimmed over the paper in my hand what I was reading wasn't his report.
It was his resignation.