The sun was already up when Brynja awoke, stiff from sleeping on the floor. She stretched and looked around her, trying to remember why she was there, then memory flooded back in: the case, the break-in, and her privacy. Tony was no-where to be seen. She ducked into the bathroom for her morning toilet, being careful to keep herself covered in case there was another camera, and then went to the kitchen. She found Tony there brewing coffee, a little red-eyed from lack of sleep, and staring at a number of electronic gadgets on the kitchen counter: two more cameras and at least one tiny microphone. Her eyebrows rose.
"Good morning," she said, reaching for a mug from her cabinet, "You've been busy. Did you sleep at all? I don't remember much beyond our time together on the floor," she offered. "Where did you find these?"
Tony rubbed his forehead, bit his tongue to control himself, and sucked down some fresh coffee. "I got a few hours after you crashed. One camera was in the ceiling light fixture and trained on your bed: good call sleeping on the floor last night. The other was hidden in a crack, and trained on your door."
"To identify whoever walked through it," she said, pulling out a box of black tea. She added some hot water and a tea bag to her mug, and put it in her microwave.
"Yep. Coffee's fresh, if you want it. I won't drink the whole pot. I found the microphone on your lamp."
"The one next to the phone?"
"Yep." He stared at her while she fixed her tea, then suddenly realized, "You don't drink coffee, do you?"
She shook her head, platinum hair bouncing on her shoulders. "No. Coffee makes me ill, but my father enjoys it, so I keep it here for him. He works in DC, but is out on business." She stirred some honey into her tea, and sipped it. "I'll call him later, and probably sleep at his place for the rest of my stay here. He won't mind."
Tony scowled at her, and covered the still-functioning microphone with his hand. "You want more uninvited visitors at your dad's place? Watch your conversation around the bug!"
Brynja actually laughed over her tea. "You don't know my father! Any man stupid enough to try and break through his security system deserves what he gets. I'm not even going over there without talking to him first!" She gulped more tea, and set down her mug. "I'm going to grab some clothing before we leave; it won't take long. I'm not coming back here again until the case is finished."
"Good idea," Tony agreed. "You can change at my place, if you want. It isn't far from here. I can shower and change, too. I don't think you want to walk into the bullpen in your pajamas," he explained.
"Thank you: that would be nice." She paused, poking at the camera with her spoon. "Do you think Grendel is awake?"
"If he's military, he's awake," nodded a bleary-eyed Tony. "Why? You think he'll call again? That would be stupid. He has to know your phone is tapped by now."
"I'm sure he does." She sipped her tea again, and leaned back against the counter. "But he also thinks he owns me, remember? Spending the night here was a rule. I was willing to comply in order to get the girls back, but it's time to start playing this game a little differently. You're in law enforcement. Why is he doing this?"
Tony's cop mind came to life, and he focused on Brynja's eyes. "Power. He wants to break you down, prove his dominance. He's been satisfied with children as stand-ins, but now he wants the real thing."
She nodded. "He's convinced he is the stronger. I need to start showing him otherwise, challenge his dominance. It might throw him off his game, make him do something stupid."
"Like call when he shouldn't," he nodded. "That would probably work, if he's emotionally tied to his idea of ownership. What did you have in mind?"
Brynja gulped her tea again, and inhaled deeply. She looked away for a moment as she set down her mug, then back at Tony, calculatingly. "I need a little help with this, if you don't mind, but there is a risk you could become a target." He looked confused for a moment, so she continued. "I want to challenge his idea of ownership. If he thinks you're guilty of 'trespassing', he might come after you as well as me."
Tony raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Risk is part of the job. What did you have in mind?"
She smiled conspiratorially, "I just need you to stop being so nice, Agent DiNozzo. I need you to be…..bad."
His old lecherous grin reappeared. "And just how bad should I be, Agent Frost?"
Her smile widened, "Just follow my lead, bad boy," she said silkily. Taking the hand covering the microphone, she leaned into him suddenly, voice husky and low, "Do you play 'Good cop, Bad cop" in America? We may be stuck here for a while, anyway, waiting for permission to leave."
His pulse quickened automatically, and his grin widened. "That depends, Brynja. Which one of us gets to be the bad cop?" He traced the edge of her jaw with a finger.
"Did you bring your handcuffs with you," she asked teasingly, "or just your…nightstick?"
Tony sucked in a breath. This woman was REALLY starting to turn him on! "I never leave the stick behind, Brynja. You know that," his voice was suddenly husky, and his body tensed. He stepped into her space, cupping her face with his good hand and pulling it up. He brushed her lips with a thumb.
She smiled, and kissed his thumb. "Then I have to take YOU into custody, Tony, since I have the only pair of handcuffs," she teased again. "Unless, of course, you're too tired from spending the night on the floor with me." She grabbed his wrist, and quickly pinned it to the cabinet.
"I'm tired, Brynja," he twisted out of her grasp just as quickly, and snaked his good arm around her waist, pulling her TO him, "I'm not dead!" His face ducked down to meet hers. "Good luck attaching the cuffs, little girl," he growled softly. "I have you outweighed by at least 100 lbs."
"Americans," she sighed mockingly, "always thinking size matters." She traced the outside of his lips with a fingernail, arching her back to look up at his face. Her voice became playfully threatening. "So, I have to rough you up a little. I'm the bad cop, remember?"
He moved, quickly, pinning her hips to the counter with his body. He was REALLY wishing he hadn't worn briefs! "I'm ok with playing both roles, Brynja," his voice was ragged, "but you're welcome to try." His mouth hovered over hers, and his free hand found the back of her head.
She twisted her head out of his hand, her lips finding his ear. "Tony," she moaned.
The phone rang, startling them both. Tony glanced over at it briefly, face flushed, and then back at Brynja. His breathing was still labored, she saw, and his pulse was actually elevated. "That could be Gibbs," he suggested, panting.
She shook her head. "No. Gibbs would use the cell; it's Grendel. I don't care," she continued, grabbing his lapel with both hands, "if he won't let us out, let him listen. He'll never have this much, for all that we've been hunting each other for years." The answering machine kicked on, and her mouth came within millimeters of his. "Let him know what he missed," she groaned.
"HANDS OFF, PLAYBOY, THAT'S MINE," roared the werewolf voice. "GET YOUR OWN! YOU WHORE! YOU WANT ATTENTION? YOU'RE GOING TO GET PLENTY! THERE'S CONSEQUENCES FOR CROSSING ME! I TOLD YOU TO STAY!"
Bryjna put a hushing finger on Tony's mouth, and winked. He breathed deeply, calming himself. Brynja turned to the bug.
"Temper, temper, Grendel! You told me to stay, and I did. You didn't say what I could and couldn't do, or with whom," she taunted. "You think I'll wait for you forever? Three years we've been hounding one another, and you never CALLED me until last night. I met Tony only yesterday, and thanks to YOU, we got to spend the NIGHT together on the FLOOR. If you don't like who I'm sleeping with, remember YOU set it up!"
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you bastard!" yelled Tony. "You snooze, you lose! The woman is mine!" He found her hand and squeezed it. Brynja raised an eyebrow at him, amused, and he winked at her.
"I'll deal with you later, WOP," Grendel snarled, "after I spend some quality time with my Sugar. If you're a good dog, I'll let you watch. If you're interested in what's left, you can have a turn." Tony stiffened in anger, and Brynja put a hand on his arm, calming him. "My bitch was obedient, though, and that deserves some reward. You want my leftovers, WOP? Find the old South Beach Carousel. Have a look at what's left after one of MY rides, playboy. You might want to hurry. See you tonight, Sugar."
Tony and Bryjna exchanged a grim look, and started moving. Brynja grabbed blankets and clothing, while Tony threw the cameras and bug into a plastic bag. Shoving the couch out of the way, they headed out the door.
McGee stretched and yawned, stiff with fatigue and cramps from sleeping on the floor behind his desk. Daylight was just starting to creep into the windows; he'd had four hours sleep. He'd spent the better part of the night running searches on at least four different computers, using DiNozzo's, Gibbs', and McAlister's, even though McAlister's desk was outside their bullpen, as well as his own. He had tried using Frost's, but found its language set to Icelandic.
Better clear McAlister's first, he thought, feeding quarters into the snack and coffee machines, He'll throw a bigger fit than Gibbs if I don't. Munching on a granola bar and sucking on his coffee, he bent over the older agent's monitor and started tapping. The list of transferred personnel popped up before his eyes: finished, dated, and even collated for him. God, I love these military programs, he thought as he printed it out, sometimes all that red tape does come in handy.
He cleared the screen and headed over to Gibb's desk. Pictures of the battle group in different ports were still coming up; if it hadn't been for the grim nature of the search, he would have enjoyed some of the scenery. Some pictures featured the carrier alone, others the frigates hovering nearby, several times different pleasure craft surrounded them like minnows. Blue, orange, white, and even pink sails stood out like flowers against the battle gray; occasional fishing boats cut across their path as well. McGee found one really good shot of a glossy black ship with three masts, sails furled, and whistled in appreciation. I bet the Boss will be able to tell me what it is, at least, even if I can't see the name. It's a beauty, he thought, as he sorted the photos into a folder, and then saved it. Walking over to DiNozzo's computer, he toggled the mouse to re-activate the screen. Of course: ignore it for a minute and it goes right to sleep, he grumbled to himself. He was busy sorting news articles and pictures into another folder, and didn't hear Gibbs walk up behind him.
"DiNozzo'll have a hemorrhage if he finds out you used his computer, McGee," said the senior agent, "unless, of course, you found something really good to redeem yourself with. Which is nothing compared to what I'll do if you locked my unit up again. What have you got?"
"A stiff neck, a lot of useful-for-once red tape, some great pictures of boats-your unit, Boss, and now some transcripts and news articles from Scotland Yard." Gibbs eyebrows went up, so he continued "They did the investigation and prosecution of the Edinborough College Fraternity rapes seven years ago, the one Frost pushed to close when she was still in college. I had a hunch that there was more than one tie-in to this case, it was just…"
"Too odd to be a coincidence, and therefore not a coincidence. Good work, McGee. Find anything interesting?" The silver-haired agent walked back to his own desk and sat down, gulping his coffee. He'd spent the night in the lab, keeping Abby safe, even though she insisted it wasn't necessary.
McGee shook his head. "Still working on it, Boss." He stopped sorting for a moment, his eyebrows rising. "Huh. She was kind of cute."
He's turning into another Tony, sighed Gibbs inwardly. "Who, McGee?" he asked out loud.
McGee glanced over at his boss, knowing the older man probably wouldn't really be interested in what he thought was pretty, and answered anyway. "Frost. There's a picture of her on the witness stand here. She would have been about 22 or 23, I think."
"Caption?"
"Yes, but…" the young computer tech peered closer, "they don't name her for some reason, unless this Nordic word is her name." He enlarged the picture a few times, and peered closer as Gibbs walked back over. The older man squinted, then pulled out his glasses and put them on.
"Yep, that's her Icelandic name: Sykurhjupa." Gibbs scowled at the picture for a moment, his mind working. "Can you find me any pictures of other people involved or connected to the trial: friends, family, or maybe witnesses for the defense? I'd like to cross-reference any such people against American Naval personnel, if you can."
"Already on it, Boss. I had a feeling you would want something like that. Here's the transfer records you asked for, too," McGee said, handing Gibbs the sheaf of papers he had printed off of McAlister's terminal. "How's Abby?"
"Asleep," Gibbs grunted. "I finally made her lie down in her waiting room a few hours ago. It took that long for the CafPows to wear off." Not to mention the adrenaline he mused, mentally feeling his metaphorical ass for the missing chunk. Abby had chewed him out royally. "Any word from DiNozzo or Frost?"
"None," scowled McGee. "I thought they would have called by now, but maybe they're still asleep. Do you think they'll be able to leave Frost's place without the perp's say-so?"
Gibbs scowled as well. "Maybe, maybe not. There wasn't a timeline left in the message: just that order to stay the night. There's probably other cameras so he can watch her, make sure she obeys."
"Or worse," added McGee.
"Power and control, McGee," Gibbs said. "This bastard lives for it. Giving up his current hostages, if he really does it, means he has an even more complicated plan. He means to take Frost out from under our noses. You have her phone tapped yet?"
"Did that first thing last night, Boss, when you came back with Abby. I have an id on the phone he called from, too. You'll never guess who it's registered to," he said, shaking his head.
"Actually, Elf Lord, I think I can. The one thing we didn't find at Captain Jenkin's house was a cell phone. Was the caller using it?"
"Yes," nodded McGee, "but not from inside the carrier. The GPS co-ordinates had it further down the wharf. There's been a lot of movement there; I don't think I can pinpoint its current location again, unless our alpha is stupid enough to use it again. It's off now," he explained, seeing Gibbs' face. "As cunning as he's been for the last three years, I don't think he's going to slip up now without some serious provocation."
Gibbs gulped his coffee. "DiNozzo has a master's degree in that," he commented dryly, "keep me posted." He walked over to his own desk and toggled his computer mouse, intent on checking his email. Instead of his usual sailboat screensaver, however, a black triple-mast schooner popped up, sails furled, framed nicely against a steep-set Mediterranean villa. "Wow," he exclaimed in admiration, "VERY nice. You still need this shot, McGee, or are you done? I think I want this for a screensaver."
"What?" said McGee, looking up from his computer screen, forehead crinkled in concentration. "Oh, right, the boat. Nah, I'm done with it. It was part of Frost's collection; I thought you would like it: that's all. Just minimize it and I'll help you save it later."
"Yeah. Thanks, McGee." Gibbs minimized the picture, and opened his email account. The usual assortment popped up: sensitivity training notices (ugh), lecture opportunities (bah), changes in availability for the shooting range (must check that out), upcoming company picnic (as if), minutes from the last Task Force meeting (I was there, why do I need the minutes), something titled 'YOU COULDN'T' with a paper clip (what?). He frowned. There was a 'No Reply' in place of the sender's id; he knew the paperclip signaled some sort of attachment, and clicking on it was risky, but hey, that's why virus scan existed. Still, he thought, better safe than sorry. No such thing as coincidence, "McGee?"
"Just a minute, Boss," came the tense reply, "Captain Jenkins' cell phone is on again; our Alpha is talking to Frost." McGee scowled at his computer, "almost got it… Yes! Same position as last night; the bastard hasn't moved! Way to go, Tony!"
Gibbs was already on his feet, "Position, McGee?"
McGee typed even faster, and transferred his map to the big screen. "Same wharf as our battle group, but a different dock. Looks almost a half a mile south. He's on another boat, Boss!"
"Can you see which one?" Gibbs yelled, reaching to shut down his email with one hand, while grabbing his sidearm and badge with the other. He clicked his mouse…on the wrong spot.
"Not without a satellite, and that'll take too long," answered McGee, also reaching for his badge and gun. "I'll get the truck," he offered, heading for the elevator.
Gibbs had frozen.
"Boss?" called McGee. When Gibbs didn't reply, he walked back to the older man's desk. "Boss? What is it? Aren't we leaving for _?" The question died on his lips as he rounded Gibbs' desk and caught sight of his monitor. "Oh, god."
It was a picture of Frost, head back and eyes closed in her own shower, her nude form mostly obscured by steam. A black bull's eye had been drawn over her forehead, and beneath the target red ink formed hand-scrawled words:
YOU COULDN'T PROTECT YOUR OWN!
YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME?
"Shit," breathed Gibbs. "SHIT!" He started moving for the elevator, nearly running over MaGee in the process. "THEY'RE TARGETED! We have to get to Frost's place, NOW. Get DiNozzo on the line!"
"Already on it, Boss," came the terse reply once they were in the elevator, "but he's not answering his cell."
Gibbs and McGee bypassed the truck when they got to the garage, heading instead for Gibb's car. MaGee tried calling both DiNozzo's and Frost's cell phones, with no success. It wasn't until Gibbs had pulled onto the public street, tires screeching, that his cell phone came to life. He yanked it off his belt, swerving to avoid an illegally parked car, and shouted into it.
"DiNozzo! Where the hell have you been? You and Frost have to evacuate; I'm inbound now with McGee for backup _" a female voice said something he couldn't understand, and he paused for a second. "Frost? Where's DiNozzo?"
"He's driving, Gibbs, now SHUT UP! We are SOUTHBOUND on the BELTWAY, heading for something called the South Beach Carousel. Do you know the place?"
"Yeah I know it!" He and Shannon had taken Kelly there when she was little. "What the hell's going on?"
"Grendel called: he left the girls there for us to pick up. If you're headed to my place, then you're going the wrong way. Get turned around now, and meet us there!"
"NO! DO NOT PROCEED WITHOUT BACKUP," yelled Gibbs, "IT'S A TRAP!" but the line was already dead. He tossed the phone into McGee's lap with a terse "Get her back on", and made a sharp left turn. Soon they were speeding down the beltway, passing cars like they were standing still, Gibbs trying to catch DiNozzo, all the while knowing it was futile: the man could DRIVE.
McGee glanced at his boss, worried. There was no answer from either cell again. "Fine," he muttered, switching to his keyboard and typing. "No answer again, Boss, so I'm sending Tony a text message. He'll get his phone back before he exits the car; hopefully he'll check it."
"Hopefully he won't get shot before he can," growled Gibbs as he passed another car.
Tony glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror, then back to the highway in front of him. He was already pushing 80 mph, and traffic was beginning to be a problem. "What did Gibbs say?"
Brynja pulled her arms out of her shirt; she had just been putting on her bra without undressing. She glanced up at Tony, and their eyes met briefly in the rear-view mirror. She scowled at him. "Eyes front, DiNozzo. Thank you." She performed a complicated maneuver, changing into a V-neck pullover without exposing herself. "Gibbs said he knows the place. I think he also tried to tell us not to go, but I didn't stay on the line that long." She picked up his phone again. "Yes, he's tried to call again, and now there's a text message from him as well." She glanced at the back of his head. "Do you think we should wait to connect with them, before trying to secure the girls? It might be only a few minutes, if he drives anything like you do."
Grim-faced, Tony shook his head. "No. He likes to keep his victims naked. It was only 45 degrees out last night; they might not have the extra minutes left. He doesn't have to kill them directly; they can just die of exposure." He exchanged another grim look with the now-dressed Brynja, and stepped on the accelerator.
TBC
