Chapter 9
When Tomorrow Comes
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Nell looked at her co-worker, suddenly in awe when she understood what Kensi heard. "No-no-no, it's not him."
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Previously
Clinton Street || Los Angeles
Sam closed the doors of his car and followed his partner, who already took the first and only steps up. Callen knocked on the door. Waited. No sounds inside that someone was about to open up.
Then Sam stood next to him. The only communication they had, after one more knock on the door, were the raised brows of Callen, followed by the faintest of nods of Sam.
Callen took his set of lock-picks and soon opened the door.
"Federal agents!" he said aloud, simply to warn whoever might be around.
He then gestured to Sam to both work their way through the apartment. Systematically, as ever.
The lay out was like many apartment buildings they went through in the past so many times. A small hallway. Living room where an eating bar divided the kitchen area. Two more doors, one leading to a bathroom and another to one or sometimes two bedrooms. Sam motioned to divide - each about to check some rooms.
"Clear," Callen's voice sounded from the living room.
Sam expected another 'clear' to follow soon. Instead, the lead agent called 'In here!'
Sam hurried to where he heard Callen's voice. His partner squatted next to what had once been a beautiful young woman. Now she was dead - strangled by a plain, grey wire. The green eyes stared in the big nothing, slightly bulging out and her once beautiful face was blueish now.
"We'd better let Eric and Nell arrange the necessary assistance," Callen said, as he looked away and took his phone. He pressed the pre-dial button and Eric was connected within two buzzes. "Guess we found Maria King. If so, it's too late to ask her anything about her lover. You'd better send in the coroner."
A short yell from Sam made him disconnect. "Get back with you."
"G!" The repeated yell sounded alarming enough. It came from the small bathroom.
He hurried that way.
There was the familiar shape of the man they'd been missing. The large, bold house friend of Rebecca Belgrave and her son's protector was tied up and miserably tortured. "He's alive, G. Alive. But barely."
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
now
NCIS Office of Special Operations || Los Angeles
"So, Callen left, joining Finley in the medicopter. They're flying straight to the Marina del Rey hospital, perhaps Rebecca can... Anyway, chances are low the man will survive. He's suffered a massive blood-loss according to Sam and he slid in an out of consciousness," Nell explained.
"Hetty and Granger left by car to the hospital," Eric added, "and there's a dead body at the same house. So—"
"We'll assist the big guy. Detect and make conclusions. Guess the little lady and the stoic nearly-but-not-real-boss will assist our superhuman team lead. Right, Kenselina?" Deeks chattered.
Kensi only nodded, hoping a short confession of Ike Finley would explain everything and the case would be closed.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Marina del Rey hospital || Los Angeles
Granger had come to her room. His face wasn't less serious than usual. His message was, however.
"We found Finley."
His gaze went over the younger woman's face and he read the gratefulness, immediately followed by another emotion.
"He can't be here?" she asked.
Granger let out a deep sigh. "He's on his way." He shook his head, just slightly. And she knew. She read it in his eyes. "It looks bad, Becca."
From the first moment on she had realized Ike Finley was not around, it had been over two days ago. "How bad?"
Granger shrugged. "Callen's with him. They're coming this way. Maybe—well, Callen and I hope the two of them could share some words. Or maybe Finley and you..."
She bit her lower lip. "Maybe… From your words I understand it may just as well be not? That bad, is it?"
"Rebecca, listen. Chances are he is the one who let whoever did this, know where to find you. If so, we need Finley to tell us."
"He wouldn't..." Rebecca hesitated. "They made him talk. Right? And Ike was-"
Owen Granger interrupted. "He was left to bleed to death. Which he simply didn't. So far. But he was badly mutilated."
Tears welled up in her eyes but before both could speak, there was a knock on the door. The agent who was on guard entered the private hospital room. "Miss? Your presence is required in the emergency room. I've got you a wheelchair."
She got up on her feet. "Won't need that."
"Sure you don't want to?" Granger tried. She just gave him a look which made him feel miserable.
Stubborn. Granger knew she was. Stubborn like the man she fancied. Stubborn, despite her recovery from what happened.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
She stood straight, showing no signs of any weakness. It was clear enough that the ever so strong, giant old friend wasn't going to make it. "Oh Ike... I'm so sorry."
It probably took him an enormous effort to open his eyes, but recognizing her voice he managed. "Bec...," he breathed.
"It's okay, Ike. I'm okay. We're okay."
"Ca—" the man tried. His voice appeared to be longer around than his mind and body were. There was another short "Ca—".
Then only one more short breath. Then, there was nothing.
The scene had been too intimate to disturb. Callen had listened carefully though.
Now, he heard her muffled cry, her right arm in front of her mouth. He did one big step forward and he was with her. "Rebel...". He felt her shudder and saw how her face was white, ghostly pale now.
Callen put his arm around her waist in a way to support her. Then she slowly pressed to the wall and lowered herself to a seated position.
Callen squatted next to her. Embraced her as she let out all the despair and pain. He held her until everyone else had left the room.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Henrietta Lange pursed her lips. She looked up to the man who was lost in his own thoughts. Granger had joined her immediately after Ike Finley had passed away.
"You think she can handle this all?" Hetty asked.
Granger pondered Hetty's question. About a year ago he had received Rebecca Belgrave's application for the NCIS office in New Orleans. It was then when he first met Ike Finley and experienced how fond the young woman was of the older man, and the other way around. Granger had also met Rebecca's son and Rebecca had explained how she had hired the former police officer back in New Zealand and how the man had taken his task to protect the boy, very seriously. Her son, given name George.
After little more than ten years, Rebecca Belgrave had been reunited with the father of the boy - simply because Owen Granger had observed, deducted and made the right conclusions.
The past year had been one with ups and downs for the couple. But these past few days were beyond worse.
"She's tough. Resilient. I hope—" He corrected himself. "I expect she'll be able to deal with it."
The older woman nodded, understanding. "There was much to deal with indeed. From what I understood she is allowed to leave hospital later today. You realize, Owen, that if we want Mr. Callen in the game, we cannot let miss Belgrave stay at Callen's place alone with the boy. For the time being, she needs care herself, instead of only taking care of herself and young mister Callen. So I suggest you suggest the three of them to stay at my beach house. Maurice is around and he'll keep an eye on them."
A wry smile came her way. "You don't really think she's going to accept that, do you, Henrietta?"
A cunning smile was on her face now. "Oh, leave that to me, Owen."
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
The petite woman stood in front of him all of a sudden an ushered him to a waiting area nearby.
"A word please, Mr. Callen."
There was no way avoiding the small office manager. He clenched his jaw, sighed and halted. "Becca needs me, Hetty."
Hetty nodded, slowly. "Yes, she does, Mr. Callen," she acknowledged. "And she needs being taken care of."
He breathed in deeply. Why on earth did this little lady always behave like she did? "Don't you plan on mothering her, Hetty. I read it in your eyes. Pity is the last thing Rebel needs to see. She deserves more than that."
His eyes clouded for a moment.
Her small hand rested on his strong forearms and the way his clear blue eyes now gazed over her older and wise face, made her continue. "I understand, Mr. Callen. As I said, she needs you. Your family needs you, as soon as possible".
Oh, she noticed how his fists clenched with the word 'family'.
"However, she will also need you to go after the ones who did this to her, who did this to your family. So, she needs you to be in lead of your team. But you do realize that miss Belgrave also needs to be taken care of. And no, you cannot be in both places at the same time. And despite the fact that Owen Granger thinks you are too personally involved, I'd say that it is exactly that fact will make you sharper. We will need you to be in charge. That is why miss Belgrave just agreed to stay in my beach house in Venice, with your son. Safe".
Callen shrugged reluctantly, not too happy about it himself. Still, he nodded, in a daze. If only he had his own place furnished like any house should be to call it a home, then Hetty never would have suggested this. "I get it. If she agreed..."
Her head tilted with his words and she confirmed "Owen just let me know she agreed indeed. Maurice will take care of them."
Ever since the tragic death of Duke, who was more or less a personal assistant of the office manager, Callen knew Hetty had assigned two butlers who both doubled as body guards – Maurice and Martin. Whether those were their first or family names he did not know.
"Don't…" He wondered how she'd take it. "Don't you ask this Maurice to be a second Ike Finley."
"Don't worry. He'll be discrete. Make himself scarce."
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Venice Beach || three days later
It was a great place where the three of them stayed right now. A small garden at the back of the pale blue painted, wooden house. There was no front garden. The living room and the master bedroom faced the water of the Venice canals. Between the water surface and the house however was a small pathway, enclosed by another bright white painted fence. Around the back, a deck with a painted white fence led to the well maintained, secluded garden with red roses and pink and blue hydrangeas.
Callen just came back from another unfruitful day at work. From the kitchen window he observed her for a short moment.
She sat in one of the two bright white bear chairs on the porch, a dark retriever near her chair. She rubbed behind the floppy ears of the dog, definitely lost in thoughts.
Her dark brown, long hair was in a loose tail. One knee pulled up at chest level, the other solidly on the deck.
She was wearing an old pair of jeans, perhaps one of his which she found somewhere. With it, a plain white button-down shirt. Definitely his. But the way she was wearing it was surprisingly feminine. It made her look fragile too. And although Callen also knew how strong and tough she was, he noticed she was far from that now. Both mentally as physically.
It still had not been easy to reach out for her. To share the pain they shared.
Callen knew he'd never been good at communicating. Never been any good in letting other persons in his life either. For nearly a year now, things had changed. Most for the good. Until now.
So many things Rebecca, his Rebel, had endured and survived so far. Any sane person would know she might slip into too many emotions. Most sane persons might have reached their snapping point already. Fact was Callen didn't know if or how he could prevent that from happening to her after all and the very thought made him feel literally sick.
He opened the fridge, studied the contents and decided Lambrusco would be the right drink for this moment. He filled two glasses with the cool, soft purple fizzy wine and took them outside, where he placed them on the small table between the chairs.
Even before he sat down he felt her stare, expected her question and so Callen shook his head. "Nothing so far. Dead ends."
She was lost in thoughts for a few minutes, slowly sipping her drink. "Maybe I should be around?"
He looked at her, quizzically. "What do you mean?"
"One of the rules I never forgot was that whenever you act predictable, your enemies will find you sooner. So perhaps, well, I thought that since you still haven't found out who's behind this all, I could be exposing myself."
His eyes and voice were colder now. "And be the bait? No way."
"Done this before. And now I'd have your team as a back-up, Geca. Why not give it a try."
He let his gaze go over her face, over her physics and shook his head. "Look at you. Maurice did a great job, changing your looks."
It was true, the man had carefully weaved in some longer hair into her pixy like, wavy hair. After that he changed the color to a dark brown. With the lack of sunshine and her body having to recover from what she gone through, she looked paler than ever. Instead of wearing colored lenses which she'd done a hundred times working undercover, Maurice made her wear a pair of glasses. The combination of those alterations made it hard to see through the cover.
"No, I don't want you to even think about it," Callen repeated. "The team can work on it. All I want you to do is to get better, get stronger."
She sighed deeply and the look on her face changed immediately. "What you're saying is that I should not be involved, while the case you work on is all about me. What you want is for me to stay locked-up in this place. Living a life which is not mine in a place which is not mine either."
She put her glass down, got up and went inside, pretending she did not hear Callen asking her to listen to his explanation.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
NCIS Office of Special Operations, next morning || Los Angeles
"Bad night, huh?" Sam greeted his partner. Having said that, he figured out it was a bad way to get Callen talking and, if possible, the worst way to start an ordinary day at the office.
Callen simply passed and walked straight to the low cabinet they used as a coffee corner. He took a mug and filled it with fresh, steaming black coffee. He put the pot back, took his mug, breathed out and headed to Hetty's desk.
"You told me she agreed to stay at your place. Any idea why Becca's complaining about it?" His piercing blue eyes never stopped gazing at her face.
The petite office manager adjusted her glasses, then sent him an inviting gesture. "Please have a seat, Mr. Callen."
From his stance, she understood he'd refuse.
"Oh bugger." Hetty looked up, nodded faintly. "We thought it was for the best, for all three of you."
"We?"
"Granger and I. We figured out—"
"Like we forgot how to think?" He snapped, interrupting her explanation.
She let her deep breath slowly escape and shook her head. "No, dear boy. What I meant to say was there hardly was any choice to make. If she had refused, or if you had, Granger would have put miss Belgrave and your son in protected custody, far from the city of Los Angeles. We figured out this were a better decision."
"So you told me she agreed." He paused for a second, sipped some of the hot liquid and then said, with a short huff "And Granger told her I agreed to this decision. How's that for trusting any of my superiors?"
"Mr. Callen, I—"
He simply motioned to halt, turned, walked to his desk to join his coworkers.
"Oh, bugger," the older lady mumbled. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Callen." Hetty was about to take some files from the cabinet behind her, but the action was disturbed by one of the loud whistles of the technical analyst.
Thank you for reading. As ever - love to read any reviews!
Kni®benrots
