Chapter Four
Ziva slipped her arms around McGee's waist and settled her chin on his shoulder as they surveilled Palmer. The young stuntsman wandered over to the back of a molasses factory, scratching his head and whistling nonchalantly, which Ziva and McGee both rolled their eyes at – he wasn't fooling anyone with that act; they knew he was up to something.
Suddenly, his next movements caused Ziva to let out a gasp. Palmer had just picked the lock on the back door and slipped inside!
"My God," Ziva breathed.
"I know," McGee agreed, shaking his head. "Such a blatant disregard for . . ."
"That was incredibly sexy," Ziva interrupted, the purr evident in her voice.
McGee turned his head to glare at her, not an easy task, considering she was pretty much an inch away from his face in the first place. "Can we not promote disobeying the law, Ziva?"
She smirked. "Also another thing which you did not say last night."
"I think I've heard enough about you two's sex life to last the rest of my life," Gibbs' voice sounded from McGee's ear again.
"Sorry, Boss," McGee said. "We'll get in there and find out what Palmer's up to." He made as if to get off the scooter, but Gibbs' voice stopped him.
"No, McGee." McGee sat again. "I'll send out someone else to take care of Palmer. I have a different mission for you two."
McGee raised an eyebrow as Gibbs explained the details, then shrugged, starting the scooter up again and speeding away, Ziva hanging on to him.
Back at NCIS, Gibbs sighed to himself. He needed to find out Ducky's plan, just what he was hoping to accomplish by stealing some poor guy's young girlfriend – and why the duo had seemed so hinky to Ziva. That's why he was sending McGee and Ziva over to the teahouse while he sent someone else to deal with Palmer – namely, himself.
Gibbs knew he couldn't jeopardize this case by involving another spy from the agency – the fact that Ducky was involved made things complicated, and the only people who really needed to know about the operation were himself and his top spies, Ziva and McGee.
He stood from his desk, switching off the monitors displaying their targets, then walked out the door . . .
. . . just as Ziva and McGee entered the teahouse to which Ducky had taken Michelle. They did their duties as the yuppie tourist couple, McGee's hand gently caressing the small of Ziva's back as they approached the counter.
"Hello," a soft-voiced woman greeted them, giving them a friendly smile. "What can I get for the two of you?"
"I will have green tea," Ziva announced, then turned to McGee.
"Uh, I . . ." McGee scratched his head. He wasn't much of a tea drinker. "Do you have coffee?"
The soft-voiced woman – Gabrielle, her nametag read – gave him a blank look. "I am afraid not. Can I interest you in some orange pekoe?"
McGee shrugged. "Sure."
Gabrielle smiled and turned to brew their drinks, leaving Ziva and McGee to peruse the clientele and continue their search for Ducky and Michelle. McGee nudged Ziva and pointed to an intimate booth in a far corner of the room – the duo sat side by side, studying a sheaf of papers, one or the other of them letting out a heartfelt laugh every once in awhile.
"That is interesting," Ziva muttered, turning back to the counter to retrieve her tea.
"Thank you," McGee said, doing the same and paying for their drinks. He took his tea in hand and they examined their choice of tables. "Where would be our best viewing point?"
Ziva nodded toward a table diagonal from where their subjects were sitting. "There. We should be able to see what they do and hear their conversation from that table."
McGee smiled. "Then off we go, my dear." Ziva smiled and slid her hand into the crook of his arm, allowing him to lead her to their table.
