See Disclaimer and Author Notes in Part One
Part Four
As far as briefings go, and Don had attended more than his fair share, this one wasn't as bad as some, nor as pleasant as others. He had hoped to show Dunbar that the local FBI labs were faster and better prepared than her NCIS lab guru back east … unfortunately, Dunbar's forensic expert had been as good as Dunbar had played her up to be. The NCIS preliminary reports were far more detailed than the FBI labs and that wasn't setting too well on Don's mind. What really seemed to crawl under Don's skin had to do with his brother more than the NCIS agent.
"Agent Keynes pulled a list of AWOL sailors, Marines, Air Force and Army personnel from the area, including a few who are Absent With Out Leave from the Coasties, and Doctor Eppes has graciously offered his skills to help us try to winnow that list down to a more manageable size." Dunbar explained when Don asked Charlie what he was already working on - the scribbling of his pencil on the yellow legal pad had distracted Don. "I know it seems rather narrow-minded of me and my team, Eppes, but we're operating off the assumption that this second, actually the first, victim was probably military connected due to the fact that our first discovered body was."
"And you're using the rough ToD that Dr. Meese came up with along with … what? The depth and quality of the 'leech' your forensic lab rat back east found in your soil samples?"
Don actually found himself leaning back, just a smidge, from the table when Dunbar practically growled at him. "She is not a 'lab rat' - she's the head of NCIS's crack forensic lab, she is called Abigail Scuito and she's probably been a scientist longer than you've been a Febbie."
"All right, all right … no offense meant, Dunbar." Don picked up the pen he'd been fiddling with, when he wasn't taking actual notes, and tapped the table with it. "Did Keynes pull just military AWOLS from SoCal or did she include the entire Southwest and Pacific Coast? And exactly how large of a time window did she use?"
Dunbar, and a few of his own team members - especially Granger and Reeves, took a deep breath before she her tone as she answered his questions, but it had clearly cost Dunbar to calm herself and to answer in a smooth tone. "I didn't exactly detail the assignment to Sunny, she did this on her own after Granger and I left to head up this way; however, I trust since a few of the listed AWOLS included personnel from Luke AFB and Fort McDowell in Phoenix, as well as Malstrom AFB in Great Falls, Montana, and the Naval Breakers in Bremerton, Washington that Sunny cast a fairly wide net." Dunbar paused to look down at her own notes prior to continuing, "As for the time window … looks like she started at 8-9 months ago and ran it back to just around 28 months back in time." Dunbar snorted, "She's overcompensating in her thoroughness."
Sinclair chortled. "Sounds to me like Keynes has the makings of a good agent."
"Oh, she does." Dunbar admitted, "If she can just get past this over-eager-to-please puppy hood stage." Don chuckled at her assessment of new agents. Having trained more than a few rookies himself, Don knew just how annoying the puppy stage could be and, from what he'd seen of Agent Sunshine Keynes at the scene in Joshua Tree the young woman had a serious case of puppy happening.
Don watched as Dunbar got up, wandered over to the credenza and poured her third cup of coffee since this second meeting started and he couldn't help but notice that she was none too steady on her feet. He also realized Granger was watching the NCIS agent like a hawk, or a mother hen. "Dunbar … did you manage to get any sleep last night at the scene?" He asked.
"A few hours, just before the sandstorm blew up and Granger and I had to dig in to avoid losing layers of skin." She had refilled her cup a forth time, more of a top-off, and walked back to her seat. "Did you get a look at the toxicology report Abby sent over?"
Don nodded and flipped over the pages in front of him until he found his copy of the report. "Looks like Ramirez had a heroine habit?"
"I doubt that, Don." Granger spoke up. "I'm not sure if the Navy is a sticky about random drug testing as the Army was--" Colby looked at Yelena, who nodded an affirmative. "--then there is no way Ramirez could've had a habit long enough to build up to that level without being busted in a random piss test."
"Mule?" Megan asked, bringing up the other possibility.
Dunbar concurred, reluctantly. "It is possible. We've seen a few cases of Naval personnel as well as Marines, who've taken a two-day pass off into Tijuana and came back with bellies full of black tar balloons." She shrugged. "It's a sad state of affairs when the men and women who protect this country feel they have to supplement their meager income by muling, but it does happen."
"Not to mention the ones who have to file for food stamps to help feed their families…" Even to Don's ears, Granger's disgust was clear, not that Don could blame him.
"Are you looking into the possibility that Ramirez was a mule?" Don asked of Dunbar, who nodded an affirmative.
"Yes." She consulted a notepad in her lap, which she'd steadily been scribbling on every now and then - usually after glancing at her cell phone. "Rick's been canvassing Ramirez's duty station and quarters, asking some rather pointed questions and getting more than an earful each time. Ignacio Ramirez, as far as anyone is concerned, should've applied for the Chaplin's Service, or sainthood."
Sinclair shook his head. "No one who ends up with that much heroine in his body can be that squeaky clean."
Dunbar's grin was wry. "Just reporting back what my agent has told me, Sinclair. I sure as hell don't believe it myself." Her cell phone must have gone off again for she twitched, then flipped the device open and started to scribble another note.
"Got something new, Dunbar?"
"Not really. Rick just finished talking to Ramirez's mother and fiancée … neither one of them admitted to knowing why Ignacio would've gone to Tijuana."
"Dead end?" Don asked, a little concerned. If the most recent death was connected to the older body then it stood to reason that it would be through Ramirez that the freshest leads would come. He could tell the same string of thoughts was going through Dunbar's head, just from her sour expression. "Was Rick able to gather possible places of interest off the base from Ramirez's buddies? Places we can ask the San Diego field office or even SDPD to check into for us?"
"Yes, Rick told me he planned to contact one of his detective buddies when he sent that last text message."
"So, until we either get a break from San Diego or Dr. Meese somehow manages to identify the second body, we're pretty much at an standstill?" Don looked around the table to see everyone, including Dunbar, nod their heads in agreement. "Okay, my team needs to get a few loose ends tied up on a previous case. Not you, Granger, I have your arrest report and that's all you were involved in - though explaining your 'unconventional body armor' was a pain the ass - why don't you take a few hours and try to catch up on the sleep you and Dunbar lost when that sandstorm blew through Joshua Tree."
He did not miss the look that passed between Dunbar and Granger, Don didn't think anyone would - except maybe Charlie who was still head down over the legal pad he'd confiscated, and wasn't surprised when, after everyone had left the conference room to see Granger escorting the NCIS agent toward the elevators. Presumably the younger agent was going to show Dunbar to the temporary 'crash room' the FBI kept in the basement - near the in-house gym - for those times when 24 hour shifts were required. If that wasn't the case, Don was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Not until he 'had' to know and, right now, Granger was fortuitously assigned to liaise with NCIS on the case.
He did wonder, however, if Granger had been conscious of the USMC globe and anchor emblem on the navy blue golf shirt he'd been wearing when Don knew, from previous experiences, that Colby kept at least two changes of clothes in his locker downstairs.
- - - - 1 - - - - 2 - - - - 3
"Why are you fighting me on this, 'Lena?" Colby asked as he stepped off the elevator onto the 2nd floor of headquarters and waited for Dunbar to join him. She almost let the door close between them but, at the last second, decided to accompany him.
"I'm fine, CeeJay. It's just a headache, not a concussion."
"Then it won't hurt to let one of our medics take a look at you and make me feel better, will it?" He stopped before a door marked "HRT" and waited for her response. It wasn't exactly encouraging. Yelena Dunbar sighed, rolled her eyes in disgust, then gingerly nodded her head.
"Fine. If it'll make you feel better—"
"Great!" He pushed open the door and immediately called out a name. "Hey! Ryan, get your butt and your kit up here, will ya?"
"Granger?" A querulous voice answered from the back of the cavernous room before Colby could see the HRT Medic rise up and start walking toward him. "You get stupid again with your fellow Silly Cretins in Armor?"
"No, Tim … I've got a patient for you." Colby looked over at Yelena, who was leaning against a convenient wall and mouthed an apology at her when she silently repeated Ryan's SCA slur. He couldn't help but notice that she really didn't look all that steady on her feet, so he reached out and escorted her over to a nearby chair just as Ryan picked up speed and approached them.
"New agent?" Ryan asked as he squatted beside Yelena and popped open his field kit to pull out his tools of the trade. First out was a pen light, which he shone in her eyes and she nearly slugged him for it. "Whoa! Uh, Colby, maybe you'd better introduce us if she's going to deck my ass?"
"Yelena … relax, Tim Ryan here is one of the best medics we've got and, hell, he was originally trained by your department." Yelena nodded, but she was also glaring at him, making Colby wonder what the hell he did wrong this time. "Tim, this lady here is Agent Yelena Dunbar of NCIS down at Camp Pendleton. We're working a case together and she kinda took a blow to the head earlier today."
Ryan smiled at Yelena. "Agent Dunbar, huh? From your reaction -- Marine?" She nodded again. "Thought so. Let me check your noggin, while I explain to Granger?" Ryan stood up, after slipping a pair of latex gloves on, and carefully started to feel around Yelena's head while he talked. "It's simple, Granger. Marines and Navy corpsmen have this love-hate relationship. They hate the fact that they need us and strangely love us because we tend to pull their collective asses out of Death's hands. Hmm … good sized goose egg, but I'm not feeling anything that would suggest a fracture. Any idea what hit you, Agent?"
"No clue, but it was probably a portable camp lamp that wasn't secured before the storm hit."
"Storm?" Ryan asked. Colby shook his head, if he had to, he'd explain but he'd rather not tell the man just now. "Right. None of my business. Camp lamp; was this one of those plastic, new fangled varieties or the older, heavier, metal jobbies?"
"Metal piece of—" Yelena stopped before she cursed, which caused Colby and Ryan to smile.
"Crap. Okay, let's take a look at your pupil reaction again before I pronounce." He pulled a spare penlight out of one of his pockets and clicked it on. "Promise not to hit me this time?" Yelena nodded and the medic concluded his exam in less than a minute. "Right. Not even a mild concussion but I suspect you've got one hell of a headache going on?" He reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of packets of over the counter pain relievers. "Do you prefer Bayer, Advil or Tylenol?" Yelena reached for the Advil with a silent 'thank you.' "Right. Colby, show Agent Dunbar here where ailing agents, or dead tired ones, can crash so the Advil can take affect." Ryan stood up and held out a hand to help Yelena stand back up. "Don't be a stranger, Agent Dunbar. It's not very often we HRT types get to hobnob with NCIS-West."
"Flatterer." Colby nearly spat at Ryan as he took Yelena's hand from the Medic and led her out of the department. "Forgive Tim, 'Lena. He's never learned the fine points of chivalry." He looked over to see her dry swallow the tablets. "Come on, let's find you a nice quiet place to rest up and beat that headache."
"What about this crash room Don and Ryan suggested?"
He led her back to the elevators and, once onboard one, pushed the button for the underground garage. "It's right next to the gym and none too quiet. I've got another idea, if you trust me?"
"All right."
Just about five months ago, after his supposed arrest for treason as a part of a major undercover assignment that had resulted in his temporary death at the hands of Mason Lancer (the real traitor and Chinese Agent) – merely two months after he'd nearly been poisoned to death by one Hattie MacPherson – Colby had prevailed upon the FBI to find him a place to rent that was closer to work and as 'secure' as an apartment complex could be in Los Angeles. The result was a gated community just off Wilshire Blvd close enough to USC Medical Center that a number of doctors and staff members lived there and could walk to work if need be. He loaded Yelena up in the passenger seat of his issued sedan and, after a phone call to Megan to explain what he was doing and where he and Dunbar were heading, drove her to his place.
The apartment was more like a small duplex, just under 1000sq ft of living area, two levels with two bedrooms; but it was secure and it was, for now, home. Colby parked the car in his designated spot – he had two but never needed the second – and came back around to help Yelena out, only to find her already out and looking at the complex.
"Shit, they must pay FBI a hell of a lot better than us if you can afford this, CeeJay."
Colby shook his head as he gently led her, with a guiding hand on her back, up the walkway to his place. "Nope. I suspect we're just as poorly paid as NCIS, but there are a few places willing to give 'cop discounts' to federal agents and the Bureau also will pay up to half your rent if you're assigned to a city that is not your 'home' of record." He unlocked the door and let her walk inside his place.
There were still a few boxes left to unpack, mostly his DVD, CD and book collections, stacked in the corner of the living area but the rest of the place was – finally – set up and, thanks to his mother drilling the habit into him before the US Army got a hold of him, the place was also clean. Colby dropped his keys into a dish on a small table in the entryway and the rattling must have triggered a twinge of pain in Yelena's head, cause her hand flew up to her temple and pressed against it hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "Follow me, 'Lena." He walked up a stairwell just off the kitchen area and opened the door of the bedroom closest to the stairs at the top. "Guest room, yours for today. The sheets are fresh, the AC works like a champ but I must apologize for the crowded condition."
That was an understatement, but Yelena didn't seem to care as she walked into the room and strolled over to where he had placed his leather scalemail on a tailor's dummy and ran her hands over the well worn and oiled plates. There was another dummy on the other side of the room – they actually flanked the twin-sized bed – but the second one held his chainmail tunic that he was trying to repair in his limited spare time. "You really are Society." She stated even as she spotted his weapons array on the wall.
"Since I was kid. Yelena, come on, lie down and rest. Knight's honor, I won't disturb you." He blinked when her expression seemed to flicker from disappointment to resignation in less than a second.
"Thank you, CeeJay."
He closed the door, leaving her to sleep or just absorb the silence, then walked down to his room and closed the door. Leaning against it with his back, he bounced his head against the heavy door – lightly so as not to make too much noise – and cursed himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
Wanting to be a comfortable as possible, and not wrinkling his clothes beyond serviceable wear, he changed into his usual sleepwear. Dropping onto his bed, Colby pounded a pillow into submission, both thankful he was a 'gentleman' like his mother had raised him to be, yet feeling very frustrated at the same time. Before too long, he finally relaxed enough to drop off to sleep, but the dreams that invaded his brain were sweetly disturbing.
- - - - 1 - - - - 2 - - - - 3
Yelena watched the door close to the bedroom and felt a pang of regret. Though she wasn't feeling too good, the pain from the headache was damn near making her sick, she still wouldn't have said 'no' to a repeat of the chaste passion they'd shared back in the National Park. Stripping off her vest, which she tossed over the back of a straight back chair under the only window in the room, she slipped her sidearm, phone and cuff case off her belt and placed them on a table beside the bed. Not able to resist a little poking around, she opened the top drawer of the dresser and, to her delight, was greeted with the sight of a drawer full of coarsely woven linen tunics in natural flax, or dyed deep green or even black. The drawer below that held more leather goods, namely studded gauntlets and greaves, but also a wide leather weapons belt.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the smell of leather invading her senses, and removed her shoes and, after thinking about it for – maybe – thirty seconds, slithered out of her pants and carefully tossed them over her vest before laying back on the bed dressed only in her dress shirt and covering her eyes with her arm. Yelena wasn't a stranger to severe headaches and, after one really nasty concussion caused by a perp resisting arrest who'd hit her on the head with a damn tequila bottle, she'd told the Navy doctor who examined her about the headaches. He'd asked a few dozen questions, after making her undergo a CAT scan, then sent her over to the base Gym at Pendleton to see a friend of his there who taught a variety of martial arts. It was though the sensei that she'd learned to meditate and, if she could take the time to meditate at the start of a bad headache, she could usually nip it in the bud before it became a problem. That hadn't been the case today and the lack of sleep and the knock she'd received hadn't helped either.
A final glance at her watch, she didn't want to 'rest' more than three hours, Yelena started to mentally review her meditation mantra and imagined the headache being pushed out of her head. Before she knew it, she was in a light doze and her head was no longer throbbing in pain with every beat of her heart.
- - - - - - - -
Yelena sat up suddenly, her hand automatically reaching for her sidearm, or where her sidearm would've been had she been at home. A moment of panic sent her heart into her throat, as she didn't recognize the room she was in at first, then she took a deep breath and the scent of leather and metal sparked a memory and she relaxed. The light outside the window was bright enough that she didn't need to flip on the overhead light. Something had woke her up and she cast her mind back to try to see if she could recall what that was as she looked at her watch and realized she'd only been resting for a little under two hours.
Shaking her head, she stood up, stretched and the memory of what woke her flittered across her mind and she reached for a pen and small notebook she kept in an inside pocket of her vest. Sitting on the floor, she scribbled the reminder note to herself – check on Ramirez's accommodations in Tijuana if possible -- then she realized she had another problem.
Too much coffee and not enough visits to the head.
Standing up, she opened the door and, since logic dictated that there would be a bathroom on the residential floor, she stepped out into the hall and found the bathroom right next to the guest room. She was coming out, not even thinking that the noise from the toilet would wake anyone, when what could only be called a wolf-whistle pierced the air.
Yelena spun around to see Colby, wearing only a pair of gym shorts, leaning up against the doorframe of the second bedroom, watching her with a huge grin on his face. "Nice legs."
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was a little embarrassed about being caught by him in a state of undress, Yelena smiled and looked him up and down. "Not too bad yourself, Granger." Then, with all the cool she could muster, she turned her back on him – knowing her shirt didn't quite reach past her butt – and walked back into the room she'd been using. However, instead of closing the door, she left it open. He got the message. She'd no sooner sat on the edge of the bed again than he was knocking on the door frame.
"Mind if I come in?"
"It's your house, Colby." She couldn't believe how damn … polite he was. Asking permission to enter a room in his own home?
"How're you feeling now?" He asked as he sat beside her on the bed.
"Better. My brain woke me up with a thought that I need to see if I can trace Ramirez's movements through Tijuana, then my body decided I needed to visit the head."
"Head? Oh, right. Marine-speak for 'latrine'." His grin was infectious. "So, tell me Dunbar, do you often walk around a strange apartment with no pants on – showing off these rather shapely legs?" Even as he said legs, one of his fingers was tracing a very light, almost feathery, line across the top of her thigh.
"No… But I'm not ashamed you noticed."
"How could I not?" He leaned in toward her and she leaned toward him and, finally, she got what she wanted. A repeat of their previous kiss – only much, much better. She didn't restrain herself and after putting her arms around his neck, she leaned back and pulled him on top of her body. The kiss deepened, tongues tangled and danced with each other and Yelena let her hands roam the nearly naked, and nicely muscular, body beneath her fingers. She allowed herself to get lost in the pleasurable sensations rippling through her body, not even protesting – too much – when his lips left hers and dipped down her throat even as his fingers deftly undid the buttons of her shirt. The feel of his hands, strong and sure, his warm breath and sensuous lips on her nearly bare torso caused a frisson of need to surge through her and Yelena found her hands on the waistband of his gym shorts…
The sound of an old fashioned telephone rang through the room, startling Colby into stopping what Yelena didn't want him to stop. She raised her hands to his jaw and made him look at her. "It's just a text message on my cell, it can wait. I'm not sure I can, CeeJay."
"Good, cause I'm not sure I could…" His head whipped around as a high-pitched trill echoed through the doorway. "Damn it! That's my issued cell…" Green-gray hazel eyes locked with hers and before he could explain any further, her cell phone rang the preprogrammed tone she used for text messages for a second time.
Two moans filled the air as Yelena and Colby moved quickly from the bed to answer their high-tech, pain in the ass, communication devices. Flipping open her phone and retrieving the first message, she read the message from Rick Stringfield. The dental x-rays Meese had sent to Abby and Sunny for comparison to the AWOL files of Department of Defense personnel had not turned up anything and did she – Yelena – want to cast the net wider to include government service employees and other civilians? Before she sent back an answer, she looked at the second message.
'Sunny already compiled and sent a civvies list to Eppes – he's fit to be tied. Watch your six. Rick'
Colby's voice drifted through the door as he talked to whomever it was who had called him. Yelena stood up and walked to the hallway to see him striding toward her with a confused expression on his face, but when he spotted her, he waved a 'silence' signal at her. "Don, I'm not sure Yelena will know anything about that, she's still sleeping. Yeah, I had Ryan check her out before – have you ever tried to rest in that room when the day shift fitness nuts are working out in the gym next door? No, I brought her to my place and let her use my spare room. Yeah, I'll wake her up and we'll be there as soon as. Okay? Bye." He snapped his phone shut. "Yelena—"
"It's just not our day, Granger. Let me get dressed and then we can go see what's crawled up your supervisor's butt this time." She turned away from him to grab her pants from the back of the chair, only to be surprised by his arms slipping around her waist from behind, then a kiss was placed on the nape of her neck.
"Eventually, things have got to work out to our advantage, 'Lena."
She turned around in his arms and pulled him into her own embrace and kissed him. After a minute or so, she lost track of time, she let go and gave him a slight push toward the door. "It had better . . . I'm tired of being teased." That earned her a light pat on the butt before he left to get dressed.
- - - - 1 - - - - 2 - - - - 3
Having already sent Reeves and Sinclair home for the day, and the weekend, Don Eppes was not happy when the email from NCIS Agent Sunshine Keynes had hit his mailbox just before he'd signed off in hopes of heading home himself. Especially as the email from NCIS-West had required him to take a trip down to the domain of the information technology geeks to approve of the incoming files and possible overtime for their department. He'd sent Granger and Dunbar off to try to catch up on their sleep, thinking Granger would probably – maybe – show the NCIS team leader the crash room in the basement but, when he'd called the man, he'd clearly been anywhere but where Don expected. He glanced at his watch, then the clock on his computer monitor to make sure his watch hadn't stopped, and decided that even if Granger was able to rouse Dunbar and get back on track to headquarters, he wouldn't be able to arrive for at least another fifteen minutes. 'Just enough time to start another pot of coffee, splash water on my face and call Robin in Sacramento to see how her assignment there is going.'
As he passed the conference room Don noticed that Charlie was still working on something, his fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop which was – as usual – hooked up to the plasma monitor and that device was displaying all sorts of equations and mathematical expressions. Don tried to make sense of it all, only to realize Charlie was busy plugging in the new variables (known as names of missing persons) and that somehow each new data he typed in was making more of the dots in a wire frame box to rise or fall accordingly. Don paused in the doorway of the room to shake his head and scrub his face with both his hands, only to look up to find Charlie staring at him.
"Did you find Colby?"
"Yeah. He and Dunbar are on their way back here. How many more names did Agent Keynes send and have you plugged into your thingy?" Don winced as 'thingy' came out of his mouth, knowing from past experiences that Charlie would take umbrage for calling his numbers something so mundane as 'thingy.'
"Sunny sent a total of 507 more names and files. That plus the 15 others I already had DoD files on . . . I should have a pretty accurate accounting for who might and might not be John Doe on the table downstairs."
Don nodded. Just before he'd sent his team home, well, told them to take off, Doctor Meese and Agent Goldblum had firmly identified the bones as belonging to a male – something about the tilt of the pelvic bone or hips or length of the femur or something like that – so Charlie had been able to automatically weed out all the reports of missing females. Which had been 4 from the DoD and 109 from the civilian lists. "Charlie, why don't you go ahead and head on to the house. Dunbar was pretty sure this case wouldn't go anywhere until her agent's contacts in San Diego could backtrack Ramirez's movements before he disappeared. Isn't this the night you were taking Amita to see that play about those physicists?"
"'Copenhagen.' Larry and Megan recommended--" Charlie glanced at the clock on the wall, muttered viciously under his breath, saved his work, signed off and closed his laptop and busted by Don - "Sorry!" - in less than ten seconds. Don watched as Charlie didn't even wait for an elevator, he just hit the door to the stairwell at full tilt and kept going.
Reaching for the cell phone holstered on his belt, Don flipped it open and made a phone call that would, hopefully, save his little brother from being seriously injured. "Amita? Yeah, he just left. The tickets are for the ten o'clock show? He thought it was for the eight … yeah, you definitely have been around him long enough to know how to get him to do what you want. Enjoy the show, Amita, and don't give Charlie too light a pass. Night."
After stopping by the break room and starting a fresh pot of coffee, a disgustingly 'light' version of the real thing, he wasn't about to piss off his Cardiologist - not when her name was Elaine Walker and was married to a LAPD Lieutenant that Don enjoyed working with – and splashing water on his face in the men's room; Don decided what he really needed was fresh air. So he headed up to the roof before making his call to Robin. Besides, while there weren't that many agents still working on the floor housing his unit, no one else needed to hear him speaking sweet words of mushy endearment to Robin Brooks.
- - - - - - - - - -
Yelena decided the best thing for her continued health, right then and there as she stepped off the elevator onto the 14th floor behind Colby, was to either find a damn cold shower, a pugel-stick workout ring or just a nice empty closet where she could accost the FBI agent. Bypassing all those options, she kept one eye open for Eppes as she made her way to the work area set up for her team's use, logged in on the computer and pulled up her emails and the list that had – somehow – put Agent Eppes' tightie-whities in a wad.
The list was extensive, well over 500 names and, judging from the date on the oldest file mentioned, included people who were AWOL or missing for well over 3 years. As she scanned the list, not really in depth, just fast skimming over the entire list, she still wasn't sure what had caused Eppes to get all pissy. Until she hit the "S" section of the list, which Sunny had thought to alphabetize, and then Yelena felt her heart stop.
"Can't be—" She sat back in the chair, her breathing becoming slightly erratic. "He shouldn't be on this list . . . unless Sunny expanded the search parameters." A hand on her shoulder made her jump and she moved fast to shut down the email.
"'Lena, you all right?"
"Yeah, just not enough of a nap." She looked over her shoulder and aimed her wickedest smile at Granger. "Or something else." The look of surprised consternation that crossed the FBI's agent's face was just comical enough that, in her current state, made Yelena giggle. She hated the way she giggled; to her ears she sounded like a naughty schoolgirl. She also knew why Colby appeared like a deer caught in the headlights, she was pushing the boundaries of ''good taste'' by openly flirting with him at his place of employment.
He grabbed a nearby chair and, pulling it close to where she was, sat down close to her and whispered in her ear. "You really like to push the line, don't you?" Then Colby sat back as if he hadn't said anything and asked, "So, did you manage to find the list or figure out what – as you put it – 'crawled up my supervisor's butt'?"
Yelena just scoffed at him, shaking her head as she pulled the emailed document up. "Sunny sent a list of over 500 names. Just the names, mind you, the actual files are being zipped and shot over to your office's main computer communication hub even as we speak."
"That's probably what tee'd him off then. If Sunny didn't call the techies before she started firing massive data packs at them—"
"That's exactly what started it, Granger." Yelena turned around to see Eppes striding toward them. "Then, as I started sifting through the list Agent Keynes sent, I couldn't help but notice that there were no less than three files – civilian files, mind you – flagged by the NCIS-West Investigation division." Eppes leaned against the cubicle's partial wall divider and crossed his arms. "One of those files I tossed out immediately, since I just got word from Dr. Meese that our John Bones Doe is definitely male."
Yelena shook her head. "I could have told you that, Eppes. Hip and pelvic structure alone told me that at the scene once Granger and I recovered enough of the pieces."
"Which is why we called the body "John Doe" instead of "Jane" … Don, there's more to your mood than overloaded data lines."
"You're right, Colby, there is." He moved into the cubicle and perched his hind end on the edge of the desk Yelena was sitting at. "Why would NCIS flag civilian files, Agent Dunbar?"
"I'd have to read the files and the attached flag to be able to tell you that, Eppes." She stood up and looked past Eppes. "I see your brother called it a night, as has the rest of your team – why haven't you?"
"I had to approve the data stream coming in since that means overtime, possibly, for a couple of techs – who, by the way, are fascinated by the encryption code used by your agency for such transfers."
She smiled. "Its pretty much Department of Defense standard encryption, Eppes. Nothing too special unless, of course, you've never seen anything like it before."
"Do you have the decrypt key?"
"Naturally."
"Well, for the techs to be able to open the packets and print them out—"
"Say no more, Eppes. Just point me in the direction of your techie-den and I'll give them the key." He did just that and Yelena left the two FBI agents to their own devices. Trying not to think about why that one name had popped up on the list or, heaven forbid, what she might do if John Bones Doe turned out to be him.
- - - - - - -
Colby watched Yelena walk away, something about her body language was off … but he wasn't sure what had caused it. The document with the names Sunny had sent up still blazed from the screen, but none of them jumped out at him as cause for concern.
"Did you get her checked out by medical before taking her home?"
He looked over at Don; the supervisory agent was watching Yelena's departure and Colby understood why. If he hadn't been with her for the last few hours, he might have sworn in court that she was slightly inebriated. Her path wasn't exactly straight and there wasn't any reason for it that he could perceive. "Yeah, Tim Ryan checked her out. No concussion but one hell of a headache. Of course, we didn't take any time out to eat and I know my blood sugar is dropping – maybe that's all that's bothering Yelena."
That earned him one of 'the looks' from Don. "You really believe that, Colby?"
"No, not really. She acted all spooked by something she saw on this list." Colby waved a hand at the document Yelena had left displayed on the flat screen computer monitor.
"Yeah, I noticed." Don took over the seat vacated by Yelena and looked over the list of names. "The data packets haven't gotten this far yet … you sure this is the page she was looking at when you spooked her?"
"You saw that?"
"I try not to miss too much that goes on in this office when I'm around, Granger. Not since the Schane incident."
Colby winced and nodded in agreement. That one-day had affected every agent and civilian GS worker who'd been on the floor when the gunman had come in. As much as he tried to put it behind him, even he couldn't shake the idea that it had been one of his shots that had killed a man who – while he had a record for being pervert scum, may not have been guilty of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe. He took a second look at the page Don was now scrutinizing. "You see something there I missed?"
Don nodded and pointed out one of the names. "Yeah. Interesting that one of the names on this particular page is one that appeared on a flagged data packet."
He glanced over his boss's shoulder to read the name. "Roberto N. Socarro? No rank listing, why would NCIS tag his missing person's file?"
"Because he's a person of interest." Yelena's voice startled both agents. "As is George Ivers, the other flagged data packet. As for the female who's file was flagged, let's just say the Navy doesn't take too kindly to people posing as Naval pharmacy technicians to obtain large quantities of certain controlled substances from a number of our bases throughout the country."
"So the woman's a missing thief. What's Ivers wanted for?" Don didn't move from the chair he'd commandeered so Yelena leaned against the desk as he had done earlier. Colby started to get up from his seat, but Yelena waved his silent offer off so he stayed put – feeling like his mother was watching and not approving of his actions.
"The Marine Corps is very serious in it's pursuit of the civilian husband of a murdered Dubya Emm. Ivers wife, Sergeant Emmaline Ivers, was found shot to death in their home in Oceanside two years ago. He was missing and in the course of the investigation I found out he'd wiped out their joint bank account the day of the murder. So I filed a missing persons report on George and flagged his file. I want that sorry SOB's ass in my brig." Colby suppressed a shudder. He'd been a little confused by the "dubya emm" term – until he remembered that stood for Woman Marine – but the sheer ferocity of Yelena's desire to see the man who had, probably, shot and killed a fellow Marine … reminded him a lot of his mother, Catherine Roberta Larson Granger.
"And the story behind Socarro?"
"Is none of your business unless, and until, John Bones Doe is proven to be him." The smile that graced her face could've been called 'sweet' – until you looked at her eyes. The normally blue-gray hazel color had gone as cold and hard as battle steel and Colby found himself hoping Don wouldn't push Yelena into revealing the information unless she was required to.
"Fine. Need to know basis on Socarro. I can handle that. Probably some nasty internal NCIS investigation we 'febbies' wouldn't want to get in the middle of anyway." Don stood up, Colby followed suit, as did Yelena, and walked toward the cubicle's 'door.' "You going to head back to Pendleton, Dunbar, or staying in Los Angeles with Doctor Meese and Agent Goldblum?"
That was news to Colby. He'd assumed that once the two NCIS personnel had gone as far as they could on the bone puzzle of John Doe, they would've headed back to Camp Pendleton themselves. Of course, he didn't know if they were done…
"No, I'm heading back. Lenny and Mouse are using a standing account NCIS has with the Wiltshire to stay in town until they've gotten a positive ID on the vic. I plan on heading back to base, or maybe down to San Diego, to see how much I can dig up over the weekend on Ignacio Ramirez's background."
"You sure you should be driving, 'Lena?" The nickname slipped out before he could think about it and Colby felt a light blush rise up through his face as Dunbar turned and looked at him.
"I'll be fine, Granger. If I leave now I should be back to post in under two hours – providing the traffic south out of this town is lighter than the traffic coming in here was earlier today."
Don pulled his credential wallet out of a back pocket, slipped one of his business cards out and handed it to Yelena. "If you find anything or need to get in touch with me before Monday morning, my number here as well as my cell are listed there."
Yelena smiled at Don. "Thank you, Eppes, I doubt it'll be necessary though."
Colby waited until Don was out of easy earshot, though the man did seem to have pretty damn sharp auditory senses, until he spoke up. "Yelena, please … I don't want you to go back to post. You're tired, you haven't eaten, if you wreck out on the way back to Pendleton—" He stopped when she put a finger up on his lips.
"Colby, it's sweet that you worry about me, really, but I need to get back. I promise to stop and get something to eat on the way – as well as a coffee or something equally caffeinated – and I will call you the minute I walk back into either my house or my office at Camp Pen, all right?" With that, and peck on the cheek that happened so fast it could've been mistaken for an accident had anyone seen it, she was gone.
He wandered back to his desk, logged in on his computer, checked his emails and the status of a couple of cases due to go to court soon, then – after thirty minutes or so, gave up all pretenses and decided what he had to do. Leaving a voice mail for Don, as well as sending an email to cover his behind, Colby made plans to spend the weekend outside of Los Angeles – helping NCIS-West with a case.
- - - - 1 - - - - 2 - - - - 3
It was approximately four hours after she'd left the LA field office of the FBI that Agent Yelena Dunbar pulled up to the North gate at Camp Pendleton and, instead of being waved through like she expected, the Marine Sentry on duty waved her aside. Following his non-verbal directions, she pulled her Chevy Tahoe over to the side, wondering if something had come in on the threatening chatter Counter-Intel had picked up earlier and the base was operating under heightened security.
"Agent Dunbar?"
She looked at the young man's rank, barely visible in the sodium colored streetlights, "Yes, Lance Corporal?"
"Ma'am, thought you should know, South Gate admitted that FBI agent you warned us about and escorted him to the NCIS building at approximately 1930hrs."
Yelena smiled at the Marine. "Thank you, Lance Corporal. I'll head straight to the office – might want to warn patrol I'm probably going to exceed the speed limit – but only by a few klicks."
"Yes, Agent. Do watch for the poor bastards who were dumb enough to have to perform some scut detail out in the back of beyond, will ya?"
"Right, no running over my fellow Marines." She waved the Lance Corporal off as he waved her onto the base. Less than 100 yards from the North Gate she flipped her headlights up to high, maintained a speed below 35 mph – 5 mph above the posted limit - and kept her eyes peeled for wandering Marines in desert camies. More than likely the 'poor bastards' referred to by the Sentry were a unit who'd pissed off their butter bar and, as a way to show them who was boss, the butter bar had them out in the middle of the night picking trash up off the base's wilderness preserve.
It took her longer than the usual 30 minutes to run from the entrance gate to the building housing the Naval Criminal Investigation Services offices, but when she pulled into the slot reserved for her use, she noticed there were only two other vehicles in the lot. One was a Security Police jeep, probably the roving patrol checking up on the assigned sentries, and the other car was the one she knew Colby Granger drove – having been a passenger in it more than one that day. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard; if he had arrived when the Lance Corporal at North Gate had stated – 1930hrs – then he'd been stuck in the building cooling his heels for well over one and a half hours. Just then her cell phone vibrated on her waistband and she yanked it out of its holster to glance at the number of the incoming call briefly before answering.
"Dunbar."
"Thought you were going to call when you got in?"
She laughed as she opened her door, climbed out and slammed it shut again. "Granger, you worry wart, I just pulled onto the post. Stay right where you are, I'm just outside the building and coming in." She didn't give him much of a chance to respond, just slapped the phone closed, effectively hanging up on him.
Yelena was a little surprised to see Corporal Bayyard on duty again. "Nick, don't you ever get some off time?" She asked as she crossed over the security threshold.
"Yes'em, I do. However, tonight, I am pulling a favor for Sergeant Sernac who needed tonight off to attend a bachelor party."
She shook her head. "As long as this party doesn't end up getting my team called out like the last one did—" She left the threat unspoken.
"No chance of that, Top. It's over in Oceanside proper and since most of the partiers are all 'recovering' from our fine Dry Out program, I doubt they'll even be a problem for the civilian Police." He nodded toward the elevators, "Your Febbie's upstairs cooling his jets in your office. I had the boys here stash him up there with access to your coffee supplies."
"Oh, geeze, thanks, Nick. You roving tonight?" He only nodded in response. "What platoon pissed off their butter bar and is roaming around in the dark past North access road?"
"That would be Lieutenant Thompson's command out of second mechanized division. Don't worry too much about them, Gunny Weber has everything well in hand."
"Thompson fresh out of OTS?" That got her another nodded response. "Dumb ass. Oh well, the Marine Corps is always looking for a few good men and women, the rest we make officers and put a Gunny on them."
"You know it, Agent. Did your share of that duty, huh?"
"Just once, Bayyard, just once." She waved as she entered the stairwell and effectively ended the conversation with Bayyard. He really was too good to waste in Security Police, so she'd waged a very subtle war on him for well over 8 months, trying to get him to ask for a transfer into NCIS. He was weakening, if his constant volunteering for sentry or patrol duties around the building were anything to go by.
She exited the stairs and walked the final steps that carried her to the door leading to her team's office space, since the remodel was still a mess and she hadn't gotten her real office back – yet, and looked in through the glass door to see Granger sitting at her desk with his feet propped up on the desktop. And his back half turned toward the back of the building where she'd come up the stairwell.
"Granger," He jumped, his feet hitting the floor and spinning the chair underneath him around even as his hand moved toward the sidearm on his hip. "Sitting with your back to a door? Thought the Eff-Bee-Eye trained its people better than that."
He had the dignity to look beyond her at the door that, really, didn't look like a door. "That's just wrong … what took you so long getting here, 'Lena?"
She moved around to her desk, shoo'ing him out of her chair with a hand gesture. "I had to stop to talk to someone, couldn't find her at the house, had to search through all the buildings on the farm." She booted up her email program and, seeing more than one missive with a certain symbol next to it's icon, she reached under the desk and pulled up what looked like a thumb drive but was, in actuality, a security key.
"Who would you have to talk to for nearly two hours?"
"Mi abuela."
He looked confused. "Your grandmother? 'Lena, you told me your family is back east?"
Yelena looked at the last secure email – a missive from Counter Intelligence about wanting to meet with her ASAP on Monday morning about the Socorro file – and sent it to the recycle bin with a noise of disgust before looking up at Colby and answering his question. "Most of my family, yes. However, my father's family, my biological father that is, is here in California. Just north of the base in the San Onofre community."
She watched as he seemed to sit back on the top of Sunny's desk and think about what she'd said. "So, 'Dunbar' is your … adopted name?"
"Yes. John Hunter Dunbar met my mother, Elizabeth, when I was two and a half and, once they married, he adopted me. He's the only father I've ever known. My biological father, Robert Navarre, died in Vietnam shortly before I was born." She shrugged off his expression of – she wasn't sure it was concern or pity; she wanted neither – before continuing. "Anyway, mi abuela – Yeva Romanov Navarre – runs the family farm pretty much by herself since Efrain, her husband, passed away five years ago."
"And you HAD to talk to her tonight?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I need her to contact mi tia Marie so I can speak with her." She let out a sigh. "Look, Colby, there's a lot more I should tell you – and I will – but not right now. My aunt Marie seems to resent my presence, something about her brother marrying 'outside the community', and only mi abuela can get her to agree to even listen to me."
Colby nodded. "Fine, I get that family can be a little – complicated – did you even find time to eat or did you 'forget' that you promised me to eat before you left LA?" He didn't get a verbal response; the mere mention of eating had Yelena's stomach rumbling in protest. The two of them shared a laugh over the tables being turned. "Right, so let's find some place to eat and then, if you would, point me in the direction of a decent hotel—"
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"Colby … okay, this is going seem forward of me but, I have a place with a really nice guest room and no roommates." She waited for him to respond, which he was slow in doing. "All right, think about it. In the mean time, I've not had a chance to get to the commissary this week so you get to choose between Denny's just outside the main gate in Oceanside; a all night dive on Harbor Ave where a lot of Marines hang out because the food's good and the beer is always cold; or we could drive up toward north gate and visit the 24 hour mess hall in the Mechanized Marine division area."
He closed the distance between them, literally moving around the desk to stand over her and pulled her to feet. "'Lena, it's not that I don't appreciate the offer but … let's face it, we've not exactly had any luck in the keeping our hands off each other department." His grin was infectious and not at all shy. "But, yeah, let me think about it for a second—Okay, I accept your offer. Now, can we go eat before your stomach decides to leap from your body in search of sustenance?"
She leaned in and kissed him, on the cheek. "Sure, just grab your overnight sack from your car and meet me outside. I think Denny's is probably our best bet, their coffee's better than most and the staff there is Marine friendly." Yelena shut down her computer, reminding herself to be 'away' from Camp Pendleton when NCIS-Counter Intel showed up bright and early Monday. She then showed Colby how to access the 'hidden' stairwell – it wasn't really hidden it just hadn't been designated yet in the remodeling – and the two of them drove in her vehicle to Denny's.
"Remind me to run you by Visitor services in the morning, CeeJay … we need to get you a visitor's pass and sticker, especially if you're going liaise for the entire, unknown duration of this case."
"It's a department issued sedan…"
"Doesn't matter, if you drive it on a regular basis, we need to get it tagged to enter the base whenever you come around."