Now what? She glared at the man, ignoring the gun he waved in her face.
Who were you talking to? The business end of a gun cruised past her nose again.
What do you mean who was I talking to'? Are you deaf now, too? Bluffs and lies -- those were currency she traded in frequently. Frankly, she wasn't sure who she'd talked to. She suspected it might have been Tony; while it had sounded like Jeth for the most part, he didn't yell at her and he didn't call her Brat.
Then what the hell was wrong with his voice? Don't tell me you didn't notice how his voice changed at the end of that call. Ketterer was in her face now, grabbing at her hair again.
Damn, she'd hoped he hadn't caught that. Maybe he was leaning away from the phone in his haste to join me here in this romantic little getaway. She didn't even try to stop the sarcasm that coated her words. Once again he released her hair with a violent jerk and, as he plopped himself in the unoccupied chair, Leah hoped she'd still have some hair left when this was done.
He glared back at her. Watch it. I don't have to keep you alive until he gets here, you know. He leaned back in the chair, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed his anger at her lack of fear.
If it means less time in your company, I'll take it. She smiled and silently thanked her years of undercover work for her ability to keep it in place as he lurched forward and viciously backhanded her again.
If it makes you miserable, then I'll keep you around even longer. He disappeared from her view only to reappear a minute later brandishing a syringe filled with fluid. You want an explanation? I'll be happy to give you one.
You were right earlier. I do want to gloat. I want you to know how I've hunted you and haunted you since the day you killed my wife and son. I want you to know how I've punished every one of the stupid gits on that team who let you in here and watched you screw that mission up.
You think you're so clever, Detective Leah Hecht. Undercover Hotshot. Lucky is more like it. Well, Leah, baby, you're luck has just run out.
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Gibbs parked on the hill above the concrete building that housed the filtration plant. As he looked down toward the shack, he was assaulted by long-buried sights and sounds. Using the memories as a guide, he moved quietly from his spot, the same one the sniper used to target his partner, down the hill and through the low brush.
When he reached the position that Leah had chosen, the echoes of her angry voice matched the pounding of his pulse. From her protected vantage point he had a clear view through the window and could easily see most of the large room. As he saw her chained to the chair, taking a cruel blow on her cheek, he clenched his fists, his current frustration a mirror of her past, both watching and useless.
He crept forward, carefully, eyes on the window in front of him. So focused on the shack and his task, as was she that day, neither one of them knew of the threats to their personal safety. Hers had been a hidden sniper, his came in the form of a sentry who stepped up behind him and firmly placed the muzzle of a firearm in his back.
You must be Gibbs. You're a bit earlier than we expected, but that's okay. Come along, hands on your head. The gun prodded him until he cooperated and they moved toward the shack.