Chapter Two: Profiled

Sam and Callen both had their arms crossed as they leaned against the table in the boatshed. Nate was looking at them both with his standard I'm-sympathetic-and-quietly-contemplative look.

"She won't talk." Callen sighed. "We were hoping maybe you could get something from her."

"Well, where did you find her?"

"Town hall." Sam answered. "She was shooting at the same guys we were shooting at, on the Arina case. They got away, she didn't."

"Did she shoot at you?" The two agents looked at each other.

"No…" Callen said. "But she didn't have a badge, and when we went through her personal effects… Well, lets just say, illegal doesn't even begin to cover it. And she doesn't have any prints."

"Everyone has prints." The psychologist blinked.

"Not everyone, apparently. Nothing. Nada." He wiggled his fingers. "They've been removed.

"That can't be common…"

"It's not." Callen ran a hand over his face. "We got nothing. No prior work history, no address, no nothing. Just the name Maverick. That's it." Sam's phone rang, and he put it one speaker.

"Talk to us, Eric."

"I got a rush job on the DNA sample you sent me. No I mean, really, really rush job, so you guys owe me! Anyway, all that came up was a completely redacted file. Even the photo was blacked out. There was no title on the paper. Nothing. Sorry guys." The tech hung up. Sam swore a blue steak, and Callen looked at Nate.

"Your turn." Nate looked at the monitor and the woman in the room. She was sitting casually in one of the two chairs in the room drumming a beat on the table. Her hair was still up, but she was facing away from the camera.

"Has she looked up at the camera?" He asked. Callen thought for a minute, then shook his head.

"No, now that I'm thinking about it…" Nate just nodded, a contemplative frown crinkling his brow like paper, and walked into the interview room.

"I'm Doctor Nate Getz." He shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, doc. I'm Maverick."

"No real name?"

"Do I need one?" He cleared his throat.

"Can you tell me what you were doing firing at people at the town hall?" She shrugged. "Why were you there?"

"Dunno."

"Were you lost?"

"I'm not lost, for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost."

"Excuse me?"

"Quote, from Winnie the Pooh."

"You've read Winnie the Pooh?" That interested him. The hard quality to her eyes didn't make him think of the fairy tale reading type.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" She asked.

"You can, if you answer my questions." Her smile was mischievous and taunting. She leaned across the table, stretching that long, slim body, and whispered in his ear.

"Pass." When she pulled back, she winked one grey eye at his shocked expression. "You ever heard Turn the Page, by Metallica?"

"No."

"It's a good song."

"That's got nothing to do with our investigation."

"Look, I'm not under arrest. I'm not facing a lawsuit. I'm not gonna listen to all your red white and blue propaganda, I'm not going to tell you jack." She smiled as she spoke. "So, NCIS, and all those other wonderful Federal Authorities, can go take a long walk off a short plank." She leaned back in her seat. "You can ask me questions though, if you want."

"Okay then." He straightened his file. "Can you tell me anything about the investigation into Damien Arina?" She put a finger to her lip.

"You know, getting head-shots in C.O.D isn't quite as shocking as the real thing?"

"Please, answer the question."

"Will you post it on Twitter if I do?" She fidgeted. "Can I have some orange juice?" Nate clenched his jaw.

"You said you would answer questions…"

"I don't believe I did. I said you could ask questions. Not that I would answer them."

Nate tried again and again and again to get her to talk to him. She would just rebuff him with random questions and inane fun-facts. Finally, when his nerves were almost too thin, he came to a realisation. Quickly excusing himself, he slipped out of the room.

The two agents looked at him expectantly.

"Firstly," he said, "She's profiling me."

"What?" they asked simultaneously.

"She's trying to figure me out, get under my skin."

"Is it working?" Sam asked. Nate ran a hand down his face and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Hell yes. Secondly, she's stalling."

"Stalling? What for?" He just shook his head.

"I have absolutely no idea."