Chapter 4: Captain Wolf Eyes
"What the hell?"
Marcie Warren stood in the middle of the empty motel room, both furious and afraid. Next to her, Jimmy Palmer stared at the blood stains on the sheets and the first aid supplies littering the table. He had been sent by Vance to assess Gibbs' condition and make him go to the hospital if the medical examiner determined it was necessary.
"Agent Gibbs?" Palmer called out.
Marcie turned and raised her eyebrows. "We are obviously the only ones here, or do you think Gibbs is hiding in the air conditioning ducts?"
"You never know with Captain Wolf Eyes," Palmer said, completely serious.
"Captain – "
"You see, he has these really blue eyes. I don't know if you've noticed them, but I have. Well, we all have. He came to work one time and had not had any sleep but you couldn't tell, he was so alert. And I said it was like he was some kind of superhero, like a Captain Wolf Eyes. They are piercing, you know? I mean, once, when I got some glass in my own eyes, Gibbs helped me rinse them and then I asked him to look for any leftover glass and he did and I asked him what he saw and he said, 'Your soul.' I mean, just like that. 'Your soul.' And I believed him because – "
Dear Lord, this kid could ramble. "Okay! I get it," she interrupted, circling a hand to indicate the room. "Apparently, Captain Wolf Eyes has left the den." Damn fool seemed determined to get himself killed.
"Hello? Knock, knock!" They turned to see a platinum-haired woman leaning against the outer door frame, peering curiously into the room. "Looking for your husband, sweetie?"
Marcie judged that the motel manager had used a bottle of peroxide and slab of foundation in a losing attempt to make 60 look like 40. Because Marcie had not mentioned anyone else sharing the room when she checked in, she could only surmise that Gibbs had been in contact with the manager.
"Have you seen him?" She didn't bother correcting the woman's assumption about her relationship with Gibbs.
"Sure. He came in the office couple of hours ago. Said you had taken the car and he remembered something he had to do in town. Asked me to call him a cab." Leaning in, she said in a suggestive tone, "You know, honey, if you'd told me he was with you, I could have given you a room with a jacuzzi." She winked and then eyed Jimmy up and down, causing the doctor to clear his throat nervously. "I'm Trixie, by the way. You their son?"
"What?" Palmer stammered. "Oh no, no. Well, maybe I wish, you know?" He turned toward Marcie. "I mean, who wouldn't want Leroy Jethro Gibbs to be his dad, right? Although that might be too much pressure, living up to some pretty high expectations. Son of Captain Wolf Eyes."
"You're a lucky lady," Trixie said abruptly to Marcie. "Your man's a looker. But, ya know," she added, frowning, "he didn't look so good while he was waiting for the cab. He have an accident recently?"
"Where did he say he was going?" Marcie asked urgently.
Trixie's thin shoulders lifted. "Just to D.C."
"Maybe he was headed back to – " Palmer hesitated, giving a side-eyed glance toward Trixie, then leaned closer to Marcie and whispered, "En-yay, ee-say, eye-yay, es-yay."
Marcie resisted an eye roll. After all, they had no idea if Trixie was just a budget motel manager or some sort of Mata Hari. Nodding, she said, "I'll drop you…there, and then I'll go on to…my place." It occurred to her that Gibbs might have had the same idea.
Jimmy helped her gather the few things that were left, while Trixie hung around as if she were afraid they would pinch the towels.
As they hurried to the car, she yelled, "Come back any time and make sure that silver fox of yours comes, too."
Marcie caught the smirk in her voice as well as the blush on Palmer's cheeks. Gibbs worked with some strange people.
XXX
As she stared at the crime board set up in her office, her thoughts bounced from worrying about Gibbs to being really pissed at Gibbs to feeling that she was right on the cusp of something important. Earlier, before following Gibbs and his boat to the lake, she had made connections between two of the victims and was in the process of trying to link the third. It was a push, she admitted, but more than she'd had. Both women had taken out insurance policies only a few days before their deaths. Different companies and different agents, but still.
Fingering through copies of the policies, she noted similarities in the agents' names. One was Derrick Roy and the other Dennis Rey. She picked up her iPad from the desk and began searching for those two men. When the images appeared, she squinted at them, bringing the tablet closer to compare details. Insurance Agent Derrick Roy wore a crew-necked sweater and black-rimmed rectangular glasses, was clean-shaven, and had his dark hair trimmed neatly above the ears. Insurance Agent Dennis Rey wore no glasses, had a thick mustache, and his salt and pepper hair grew long enough to brush the collar of his dress shirt. But the facial shape, the nose, and the dark eyes… adrenaline shot through her as she realized she was looking at the same face. Derrick Roy and Dennis Rey were one-in-the-same. Son of a bitch!
Where the hell was Gibbs when she needed him? She clenched a fist to calm the shaking before pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket and searching for the number she had just put in for Director Leon Vance.
"I would like for you to put the phone down, Marcie."
The voice, rough-edged and pitched somewhere between tenor and alto, startled her, and the phone dropped from her fingers to bounce on the upholstered chair before it landed under the coffee table.
The intruder stood at the entrance to the office. This time, the face she had just been studying had a full beard, and the hair was lightened to almost blonde, but she recognized him.
"Well, well, well," she said, forcing a bravado she did not really feel. "Derrick Roy? Or should I call you Dennis Rey?"
Surprise lifted the bushy eyebrows, and she watched as he slid a hand into the pocket of his faded cargo pants, withdrawing an object that clicked ominously and snapped open to reveal a switchblade. Marcie swallowed.
"Impressive," he said. "Did you figure that out on your own, or is the late Agent Gibbs responsible? And it's Ray, with an 'a.' Damien Ray."
"Can't give you many points for creativity," Marcie observed.
He didn't seem to take offense. "I save my creativity for…other pursuits."
Stepping back as slowly as she could, Marcie let her thoughts run through options. Had her call gone through to Leon Vance? Even if it had, the phone lay under a table, face down. Chances that he could hear anything where slim. The only door to the room was down the corridor past Ray, and she had no doubt he would be on her if she made any move toward the windows.
"You know," he said, smiling, "I wasn't even aware of you before, so I appreciate you bringing yourself to my attention." Those dark eyes flicked up and down her body. She repressed a shiver. "I do appreciate it. You will be the first one I…take care of…using my real name. Well, the first one since…Mother."
The reporter in her wanted to ask more, to continue fleshing out the story. The woman in her considered uneasily that she might be in a situation with no way out. Would Gibbs be able to connect her death with the others? How could she leave him a clue without alerting Ray?
But before any plan could come together in her mind, a thud from down the hallway startled both of them. Ray jerked, wide-eyed, and turned toward the noise. Knowing she might not get another chance, Marcie lunged for him, raising the iPad to smash him in the head. But Ray spun back around, knocking her against the board display and wrapping one arm around her neck while he pressed the switchblade against her throat with the other hand.
A sharp curse from a familiar voice followed the thud. Gibbs! Voice strained, Marcie called out, "We don't want any!" hoping to warn him before he was caught, also.
But the steps continued, and after a couple of ragged coughs, he responded to her. "Need to…look at…insurance…"
She watched him stagger around the corner, one arm out to support himself against the wall, pulling up abruptly when he caught sight of the situation.
Marcie felt regret that she had brought Gibbs into the hunt. He had been doing her a favor, and she had already almost gotten him killed once. Now it looked like the second time would get them both.
"How – how can you be here?" Ray gasped. "I saw you – I saw your boat – it exploded! And you were in it! How – "
Gibbs squinted at them, chest heaving, fresh blood dripping from the bandages she had applied earlier that day. "This him?" he asked, although she knew he'd already figured that.
She nodded. "Damien Ray, aka Dennis Rey, aka Derrick Roy."
Straightening stiffly, Gibbs said, "Damien Ray, Dennis Rey, and Derrick Roy, you are all under arrest for multiple counts of murder."
Despite their predicament, Marcie had to suppress a smirk. Gibbs had balls, for sure. Big ones. For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Maybe Ray was too stunned at the brass of the NCIS agent to say anything. Then, he burst out laughing. The knife, jarred by his movement, pricked her skin, and she felt blood trickle down her neck.
Recovering from his shock, Ray grinned confidently. "How do you think you're going to arrest me, Agent Gibbs? You have no weapon. You can barely stand. And I have this knife ready to slit your girlfriend's throat."
Marcie grunted. Why did everybody think she and Gibbs were together?
Damien laughed. "So, you see, you're not going to arrest me, and she's not going to be around to keep digging into my business." Eyeing Gibbs, he said, "You know, I don't usually…choose…guys, so I don't have a lot of experience with them. Guess I will just have to use you as a guinea pig, Agent Gibbs."
Marcie watched Gibbs grit his teeth before he stepped away from the wall, bracing a hand against his back. "Okay, Ray. I'm your guinea pig. Let her go, and you can have me."
"I already have you and her."
"You sure about that?"
For just a moment, she felt the doubt freeze Ray. Then, he let out a harsh laugh. "Sure, I'm sure. What can you do? You're already half dead any – "
Before he could finish, the hand that Gibbs had at his back snapped forward, a knife zipping from it. It thwacked into the only target that was safely away from endangering Marcie: Ray's left shoulder. The serial killer cried out, jerking away from her, his own knife slicing a shallow line against her neck. Ray tumbled over the table, and Gibbs threw himself on top, punching with whatever strength he had left. Marcie ignored her wound, praying it was not deep enough to be too dangerous.
As she watched the struggle on the floor, she realized Gibbs was giving out. How the hell he had managed even to get out of the motel bed was beyond her. With a hideous scream, Damien grabbed at Gibbs' knife, still embedded in his own shoulder, wrenched it out, and slashed across the agent's side. Yelling out, Gibbs fell back, gasping and scrambling to push away, but Damien raised the knife high, ready to plunge it into the fading agent's chest.
Marcie's eyes searched frantically for something to use against Ray, anything to give Gibbs chance to get away.
And then, the outer door crashed open, footsteps pounding down the hallway toward them. Just as Ray's arm started downward, a voice called out, "NCIS!" and three blasts followed immediately. Ray's body jerked with each shot, the knife dropping harmlessly to the floor, and he was flung back onto a chair where he lay, sprawled and blood-soaked, those dark eyes staring sightlessly.
Marcie climbed over the table, dropping to Gibbs' side and shoving up the bloody Superman T-shirt, so that she could get to the knife wound. Stretching back to grab a roll of paper towels, she tore frantically at them, wadding up a handful and pressing them to Gibbs' side in an effort to stem the crimson flow. He groaned, his hand coming up to try to pull hers away.
"I'm…okay," he gasped.
"Shut up, Gibbs, and let me help you!" she snapped, scared that this stubborn, frustrating, infuriating…honest and courageous man was going to die fighting her fight and protecting her. Despite his rash action that had brought him to her attention in the beginning, she had grown to admire his integrity, his sense of justice – which included himself – and his dedication to make things right. She liked Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and damned if she would let him die on her watch.
A weak smile brushed over his lips, gone almost immediately. "Bossy."
"You'd better believe it," she shot back, tossing the soaked towels and replacing them with a fresh bunch.
He had paled visibly in the past few moments, but he still managed to argue that he was fine. "Had…lots…worse…Marcie."
She huffed and pressed harder when the new towels turned red too fast. "You bragging, Gibbs?"
He looked at her, that icy blue gaze confident, despite his condition. Captain Wolf Eyes, indeed.
Marcie smirked and glanced up at the two agents who were now breathing hard themselves. Agent Torres stood over Damien's body, calling for an ambulance while glaring down at the dead man as if he wanted to kill him again. Agent McGee stepped around the corpse and knelt next to Gibbs.
"My God, Boss," he declared, laying a hand gently on his shoulder, "you have no idea how good it is to see you!"
Grateful for their timely appearance, but a little confused, Marcie asked, "How did you know to come here?"
He jutted his chin toward her dropped phone under the table. "Director Vance said you called him, but he could only hear muffled noises, so he had me trace the call. Figured you might need help."
She shook her head, amazed. "You figured right, but Gibbs had a trick up his sleeve, too. Or at least a knife behind his back."
"Rule nine," Torres declared, finished with his call and bouncing with excitement as he leaned over McGee's back. "Man, Gibbs, we thought you were – "
"I…know, Nick…Tim." Gibbs nodded tightly, offering a strained smile. "Sorry…about that."
"Rule Six, Boss," McGee reminded.
"Doesn't count…with…fam – "
The hand Gibbs had kept on Marcie's went limp as his arm slid to the floor.
"Boss!"
"Gibbs!"
"Damn it!" Marcie yelled, bending over to lay her ear against his chest. "Come on, Gibbs, hang in there," she urged when she heard the weak heartbeat.
In the background, McGee's voice barked into the phone. "Where's that bus? We need it now!"