Chapter V: Absent Employees

Several feet from the glass doors Colby stopped, turned around, and headed to the patch of handrail bathed in sunlight. Gripping the rail as a lifeline he looked down into the courtyard below and he forced himself to watch as people, shadows, and cars went about their business as if it were any other normal day. Dizzy with lack of sleep and anxiousness he fought his nerves and spun around. Still keeping one hand firmly clutching the rail behind him he eyed the doors again. He'd walked into the FBI office through them from the walkway bridge a thousand times before: making coffee runs, analyzing cases, joking with David, stretching his legs, and going at home late at night.

Today, with the oblivious passers-bys scurrying around him and the end of his life in Los Angeles hanging over his head, it wasn't a normal day.

Not even close.

Westwood had driven him directly from the detention facility and dropped him off at the side entrance like he was disposing of a troublesome child late for school. He should have thought to ask for a quick trip home to change into some more professional clothing before showing up at the office.

They'd given him back the same brown jacket, sweat soaked T-shirt, and blue jeans he'd worn the night they'd arrested him. He was sure he smelled akin to a rotting dump truck too. Well, it wasn't like he was going to need to make a good first impression because he doubted he'd ever return. So, what did it matter?

Steeling himself, Colby unclenched his hand from the rail and walked through the glass doors with his head held high. He passed through the security checkpoint relatively quickly with the new credentials, hanging like a heavy yoke around his neck, which Assistant Director Dolon had reissued for him. The guard at the desk did a double take when he realized who he was admitting into the building, but didn't protest.

Entering the elevator—the very same shaft David and Megan had marched him out of wearing handcuffs on Friday night—gave him pause, but he swallowed and pushed the button for the sixth floor as if this was any other day.

A young, dishwater-blonde woman he'd never seen before entered the elevator on the third floor and smiled up at him. She was laden down with armfuls of research books, file folders, and papers. "Can you hit the button for the seventh floor for me? I'd hate to get stuck in here."

Despite his misery he grinned. "Me too." Colby pressed the number seven button and it lit up bright, glowing orange: work was a seventh heaven for her and for him it was a threatening, warning orange. She was normal and belonged here; he was abnormal and belonged locked away in a dark, dark cell.

"Long stakeout?" she asked surveying him from head to toe. He was grateful she didn't wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Something like that," he grunted as the doors slid closed.

She didn't glare at him with distrust or suspicion and he knew the moment he stepped off the elevator he was bound to be noticed so he relished her gift of a few seconds of anonymity. Maybe the elevator getting stuck wouldn't be so bad after all. Then he'd never have to face Don and his anger and disappointment.

All too soon the bell for the sixth floor dinged and the doors whooshed apart revealing frantic activity and babbling conversation.

"Good luck with your case," she called as he stepped over the elevator's threshold.

"Thanks," he said and realized he meant it.

The office noise wasn't any different than normal, but what wasn't normal was the fact that conversations died as he passed workstation after workstation. He shifted his shoulders, but refused to acknowledge those he left staring in his wake.

When Colby rounded the last corner he saw all three of them—Megan, David, and Don—with their heads bent studying several pieces of paper spread out across Don's desk. Never letting his stride falter he went to meet them.

If only Dwayne had never rescued him from a burning Humvee, if only his valiant actions in Afghanistan hadn't caught Westwood's notice, if only he'd never seen the sun rise with a feather clutched in his hand, if only he'd never had such great friends to help him pull his life together again, and if only…. Sigh. The "if onlys" were as dangerous as they were seductive.

It was time to follow the fate Dolon and Westwood had paved for him. He didn't have any other choice; his friends couldn't help him, wouldn't help him even if he broke down enough to ask.

Colby cleared his throat to get their attention. "Hello," he greeted them.

They lined up to face him forming a solid wall against him. He knew he'd never scale it and convince them of the reasons for why he'd lied to them. David had his arms crossed firmly across his chest with his head cocked to the side studying Colby. At least David wasn't charging at him ready to attack like he'd done Friday. Megan was the one he thought would be the most ready to understand because of her profiler skills, but she was holding back and wasn't even looking him in the eyes. And Don—Don made sure to look at him boldly and directly, a man in charge to the very last.

His friends all looked like heaven and they all looked like hell.

"You must have some very powerful friends, Granger," Don said breaking the stalemate.

Colby closed his eyes briefly. "I have other friends too," he said softly.

"Do you really?" Don asked skeptically. "Who?"

That cut to his heart as quick as a knife. This was going to be harder than he feared.

"Despite everything that's happened. I still consider you, all of you,"—he corrected himself to include David and Megan—"friends."

"I tend to trust my friends," Don said, his voice as strong as a diamond. Neither Megan nor David bothered to contradict him either.

Colby realized that he didn't have the time—or quite frankly the energy—to change their minds. What's done was done and there was no going back now. With their feelings perfectly evident he decided to stick to business; he'd play his role to the hilt. "No you don't," he replied to Don. It was an accurate observation and Colby watched it hit Don hard, but he plowed on. "I've come to request a transfer." Colby was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

"I've heard," Don replied in that same hollow, deadly tone.

Colby bit back an impatient sigh. "I was told you'd have the paperwork ready for me to fill out."

"Yes."

Don sure wasn't going to make this easy and Megan and David still weren't saying anything. "Is it ready?"

"Almost. Let me go and get it. Why don't you take the time to pack your personal belongings up?" Don pointed to an empty cardboard printer paper box splashed with an Office Depot logo someone had the foresight to put on his desk. "Megan and David will watch over you."

Colby swallowed and nodded in agreement. "Okay."

Don departed and Colby pulled open the top drawer of his desk and reached behind the stapler for the backup envelope of money he kept at the office for emergency cab rides or food runs. He closed the top drawer and opened the second one, piling stuff into the box without really seeing what he was grabbing.

Megan ignored him and went to her own desk. When Colby glanced at her he noticed that she was simply staring into the space before her. David, on the other hand, came in close and leaned on the side of his desk. "Don't let me bother you, David. I'm sure you have more important things to do. I'll be out of your hair soon enough," Colby said to him.

David didn't budge and instead shuffled his feet while he stalled for time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. "Don's had a rough few days."

"Don's had a rough few days? That's really rich."

"You admitted to planning a Chinese bug!"

"And you never asked why."

David flinched, but didn't bother to deny it. "Don shouldn't have been that harsh."

"He's doing what he's supposed to do. And so am I." There wasn't anything else he needed or wanted in the second drawer. All that was left behind in the third were paperclips and pens, so he slammed it shut with more force than necessary.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for him," Colby snapped.

"I was apologizing for… I'm not… I'm trying to…" David trailed off to collect his thoughts.

"You clearly want something. What is it?"

"I want to know why," David blurted out.

"Why what?" Colby gave him a wintry smile and then peered into the box. It was half empty; his life at the Los Angeles FBI office should be worth more than that. Maybe it wasn't. "The moment for asking that is long past."

"And I'm asking now."

"Why'd I lie to you?" Because I didn't know what else to do. "Why didn't I mention some of the not so 'squeaky-clean' parts of my life?" Because I wanted you to like me. "Why?" Because this should have been just a temporary stop. "You want to know why I planted the bug, David? Because I was ordered to," Colby shrugged and he knew it was callous and unfeeling.

And he no longer cared.

"You're no Williams, that's for sure," David sneered.

Ends were always messy: girlfriends always dumped him, parents passed away while he was overseas, Army buddies died under enemy fire. Coworkers, who weren't friends, shouldn't be any different, but he'd lived through enough endings that he knew one more shouldn't bother him in the long run.

David reached into Colby's personal space and picked up the team photo on the desk. "Remember when this was taken?" he asked.

"Vividly."

It had been the first time he'd let his guard down and relaxed around his new team. It had been the first time they'd felt like family. David handed the frame to him and Colby could see that the glass now had a gigantic crack running diagonal through the pane. He didn't want to know how that had happened. Not like it mattered. He returned the photo to its home on the desk. It should stay here; Los Angeles was where it belonged.

"You don't want to take it with you?" Was there a touch of hurt in David's voice?

"No," Colby said. "I won't need it where I'm going."

"Which is where?" Megan piped up for the first time.

"Does it matter?"

"It might. Colby, do you know Owen Roybal?" she asked.

Colby blinked at the non sequitur. He'd never heard of the man before in his life. "Who?"

"Never mind," she murmured. "It doesn't matter."

Don chose that moment to return and join the awkward conversation. "You're not a team player," Don said handing him the transfer papers, "and in my notes I'll explicitly say that I wouldn't trust you, but I'm sure you and the Assistant Director will find everything else in order. My opinion clearly hasn't mattered one iota in anything about this case," Don added bitterly.

Colby bit back a sharp retort, and instead said, "If there isn't anything else, then I'll go."

"You will."

Colby put his transfer papers on the top of the other paraphernalia in the box and propped it against his side. He glanced from Don's hard expression to David's wounded expression to Megan's thoughtful expression. He thought about offering his hand to shake, but didn't think he could take the rejection if it was refused. He didn't want to end it this way….

Finally he decided on a warning. "Watch out for Charlie," Colby cautioned.

Don got up in his face to growl. "You stay away from my brother."

"It's not me you should be worried about." Colby didn't budge an inch.

"Then just who should I be worried about, Granger, humm?"

"You're referring to Westwood?" Megan asked sharply. Colby whirled to face her unable to keep the shock from his face. For the first time that day Megan looked him straight in the eyes. "You're referring to Westwood," she repeated slowly. This time it wasn't a question and Colby nodded.

"Who?" David asked while Colby gathered his wits.

"He works for the NSA," Megan answered never breaking eye contact. "How do you know Victor Westwood, Colby?"

He wished he could answer honestly, tell them everything, tell them what kind of trap they were in the middle of, but he knew he was treading in dangerous shark infested waters. He didn't want to jeopardize anyone's safety. He deliberately looked away from Megan and faced Don. "Your brother's playing with the big boys. They don't like to lose and they have money and power to assure that won't." It wasn't much, but it was all he could give them as a going away present.

"And they have the perfect foot soldier in you," Don said throwing it back in his face.

"I am what I've always been," Colby said simply and turned away. "Goodbye," he said over his shoulder. Of all the previous endings none of the others had left as many loose ends dangling as this one.

He'd just have to do his best to cut the ribbons he'd left trailing behind.

-oOo-

"What would you like to order?"

Megan had her cell phone pressed against her ear listening to the tone on the other end ring, so David replied for her. "We're still waiting on a friend."

Candy—the waitress's name was emblazed on her nametag—eyed the rapidly dwindling lunch crowd and wasn't to be easily detoured. "Would you like something to drink while you wait? We have Coke, strawberry lemonade, ice tea."

"The water I already have will be fine," David replied.

Getting Naomi Vaughn's recorded message for the fifth time in a quarter of an hour Megan sighed and flipped her phone closed. "Ice tea."

"Plain, peach, tropical, strawberry, or raspberry?" the waitress rattled off without missing a beat.

"Raspberry."

"Coming right up," she said and sauntered away. As Megan put her phone down on the still slightly sticky table she couldn't help but think that Colby would have cracked some joke about a waitress named Candy working at a place called Cane's Diner as soon as she was safely out of earshot and all the way behind the counter. Megan shook her head to banish the thought.

Would she ever stop thinking about him? There had been that split second earlier that morning when she mentioned Westwood that they'd had a connection. She was sure of it, but Colby had pushed it away. Far, far away. It would have been nice to have someone to lean on, someone who understood…

"No answer?" David asked.

"No. How much longer do you want to wait?"

David checked his watch. "Another twenty minutes and I'd call it good."

Megan reached for the dish full of Sugar in the Raw, Splenda, and Sweet'N Low for something to occupy her hands. She plucked one of the packets out and shook all the sweetener into one end. The soft strands of Bryan Adam's It Ain't Over Yet started to play overhead.

"I talked with Claudia this morning," David volunteered to fill the silence. She could tell he needed to talk about anything else but Colby.

"Yeah?" She turned the pink packet upside down and let the grains fall back the other way.

He took another swig of water. "Later in the week she agreed to let me take her out to the Dodgers game."

"Sounds like fun," she said without any enthusiasm. Fake sugar, fake friends, fake family, fake job offer. Did a fake job beget a fake life? Or did they simply coexist?

"I'm just glad she said yes," he continued and took another sip, but didn't make eye contact with her. "Don said you went out to see Larry."

She turned the Sweet'N Low packet over again. "Yeah."

"And?" David prompted.

"He's planning on staying at the monastery for another couple of days until he makes up his mind about what apartment he wants to move into."

"Megan…" David reached out and stopped her from flipping the packet a third time. She looked up startled. The clunk of high heels announced Candy's return and he released her. The waitress slid Megan's iced tea across the table. She leaned over the table quite amply to show off and to top off David's water in the process. She wore too much eyeliner and way too much perfume.

Colby wouldn't have been able to resist the joke that's for sure.

To delay the conversation she drank her raspberry tea. It was a touch too bitter and she ripped open the packet and dumped the contents onto the ice cubes floating on the surface. With the thin red straw she mixed the sweetener into the drink.

"I tried to give Don a letter of resignation the other day."

Glass halfway to his mouth, David paused, and put it back down on the table with a thunk. "You gave two weeks notice?"

"No. Don convinced me to wait two weeks. He'd accept it then."

"If this is about Colby…"

"It's not about Colby! It's about me," she snapped. Seeing his look she amended, "Okay maybe part of my reasoning is because of Colby's betrayal, but not most of it." She sipped the ice tea through the tiny straw. Now it was too sweet.

"Then it has to do with this Westwood you mentioned and the case you worked for the Department of Justice?"

She leaned back in the booth and pushed her flyaway hair out of her face. "That case, Colby's case, the case doesn't make any difference," she said wryly. She was starting to suspect they might have more in common than first met the eye.

"What did they have you doing? I'm not looking for details," he added before she could protest. "Just some sort of explanation. Both you and Colby know something of what's happening and he isn't around to ask. That leaves you."

"That leaves me," she sighed. "What do you do when you the organization you swore to uphold isn't one you feel pride being a part of anymore?"

"That sounds ominous," he said darkly. "And it hardly tells me who Victor Westwood is."

"I'd tell you if I could. It's covered in a zillion DOJ security clearance stamps."

He accepted the gentle rebuff and said, "Then I'd ask what else is out there you could turn to."

She didn't know of anything else she could turn to. That was another problem. "There isn't anything I can think of," she said honestly and they lapsed into silence and let the conversations around them build and fall.

"Do you think…" she said several minutes later as she took the straw out of the drink and chewed on the end. "Do you think Colby got involved with the Chinese because he lost his pride of country?"

"If he turned then Assistant Director Dolon wouldn't be so eager to release him."

"You think Colby did what he did because he's a triple agent?"

"Double, triple, quadruple. Colby's probably got just as many sides as Taylor Ashby. There's no way to know with the information we have," David replied.

Megan nodded.

"I wish I knew why he did what he did," David continued. "I can't find the logic in it. Spy or not, mole or not, he wasn't the type of friend to throw everything—throw us—away on a whim. He took the same oath that we did."

She'd spoken her oath as eagerly and earnestly as anyone could ten years ago. I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. "So help me God," she said aloud.

It wasn't something she took lightly, but it also wasn't something she should throw away because things got tough. The world's mysterious ways better start making sense soon or she was likely to run headlong into the embrace of Larry's Buddhist friend at the monastery and never leave again.

"I just wonder what other oaths he took before this one."

"And who he swore them to," Megan added.

"And if any of them ever meant a damn to him."

"I don't know. Trying to resign and run away may have been a stupid knee jerk reaction," she took another taste of the sickly sweet tea. "Maybe all I need is a blue sky, sandy beach vacation."

"We all need that vacation."

She twirled the ice cubes again—round and round and round—with the straw. "I hear Tahiti's nice."

"Hawaii's closer."

"Cabo San Lucas, then?"

"This conversation is probably as close as we're going to get to a white, sandy beach for the foreseeable future."

"How true," she smiled. "Think Claudia would look good in a two-piece?"

David laughed. "Good to know you were listening after all."

"I was listening and processing other stuff at the same time."

"Speaking of time… You wanna try her cell phone again, or should I?"

"I'll do it," Megan said and pulled out her cell phone and hit redial. It rang three times before the recorded voice came on the line and for the tenth time in the hour and said: "You've reached the voicemail box of Naomi Vaughn. I am currently unavailable. Please leave me a detailed message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." She closed the phone and met David's eyes. "I'd hate to face Don's wrath, but this interview probably isn't a good idea."

"Especially if she can't be bothered to show up," David agreed.

"Odd that she wouldn't show up after badgering us nonstop for the past three days though…"

David made eye contact with Candy and summoned her over. Why is it that men can send a waitress scampering to a table with the smallest gesture?

"Friend not showing up?" Candy asked and balanced a tray of drinks and sandwiches on her palm. The reporter was hardly a friend; a necessary nuisance was closer to the truth.

"Doesn't look like it." Megan replied.

"Sure you don't want lunch? Our special is corned beef and Swiss on freshly baked rye bread today." She brought the platter, which did indeed have the special of the day prominently displayed, down onto the tabletop as a temptation.

"No thanks." Megan pulled a five out of her purse and handed it to Candy. "I've lost my appetite."

Candy shrugged and tucked the money away, thankfully in her apron rather than her bra. "Have a nice day then." She picked up the tray and walked to a nearby table.

"This has been a waste of time," Megan said getting up from the table.

"No, not completely. It got us out of Don's hair for a little while. Hopefully he's calmed down somewhat and won't be out for blood."

"He needs the vacation more than any of us."

"And he's the last one likely to put in for the time off to take it."

The tinkle of bells and Nelly Furtado's I'm Like a Bird followed them out the door. "She's probably out following an even bigger story. You know reporters. They're always on the lookout for the next big scoop."

"Probably."

Megan stopped. "You don't sound so convinced."

"No reporter in her right mind would be able to live through the last week and not want to publish the crap out of it. She was too insistent and too pleased when we agreed to set up this interview."

"You can take over the task of calling her cell then."

"I plan on it. Or…"

"Or?"

They'd arrived at the car and David hesitated with his hand on the door handle to the front seat. "Don't you find Dolon's orders to muzzle her a bit suspicious coupled with the fact she didn't show?"

Megan climbed into the passenger seat and tried not to groan. He was right. "What if we give Don more time to cool down and swing by the LA Ledger's offices ourselves?"

"Sounds like a plan," David said digging in his pocket for the keys. The car roared to life and Megan leaned forward to plug the address for the LA Ledger into the GPS for directions.

-oOo-

"No, I haven't seen her yet today," Gregory Halloway, the Directing Editor of the LA Ledger, said and leaned back in his leather chair. The chair squeaked. Loudly. "Please," have a seat," he gestured to the vacant guest chairs.

Picture frames—and gaudy ones at that—displayed popular editions of the LA Ledger like peacocks along the walls of the office. Never being one for high fashion or tacky celebrity news Megan was sure the journalism lacked artistic merit; a quick sample of the headlines ("Fashion Week Props and Flops" and "Britney's Latest Bash") did little to dispel that opinion either.

"Thank you," Megan said politely as she sat herself and crossed her ankles. "When was the last time you spoke with her?"

"She called on the phone yesterday afternoon about two o'clock. Is she missing?"

"That's what we're trying determine," David said from her right.

"She'd better be missing because she didn't even bother to call in sick this morning," he muttered.

"Do you know where she was when she called?"

"Don't know. Wasn't with her at the time."

"Of course not," Megan dismissed. "Can you tell us how long she's been with the LA Ledger?"

"About two years. Can't say they've been a particularly good two years for her either."

"Oh?" Megan arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We haven't had the best working relationship to tell you the truth."

"Really?"

Megan didn't like the fact that the man was almost too eager to volunteer information about his absent employee. "She's been bored silly with the fact that the most heavy hitting story she's going to cover relates to cocktail dresses in the society section. That's what sells papers and that's what makes her paycheck. With her past she just didn't want to accept that that was all that was left for her."

"Her past?"

"You didn't know?"

Both FBI agents shook their heads.

"I assumed when you took her into private custody.… Well, it isn't like anyone is going to let her run wild with stories about government corruption, or government misdeeds again."

"Again?" That piqued Megan's interest. A quick glance at David showed he was just as interested.

"She tried to publish a piece three years ago," Halloway explained, "when she was with the Washington Post. It turned into quite the behind the scenes political scandal. Not a public one, of course, nothing was ever printed, but needless to say she's no longer with the Washington Post. No one with any sense is about to touch her. Her former editor made damn sure of that," Halloway chuckled to himself. "Which, come to think of it, doesn't say very much for me.

"After you people hauled her away for her own protection and then released her when the threat was over, she was hot to trot to get in a new story. Wouldn't give me all the details, but she assured me that it was going to be a big one dealing with 'her specialty'," he made quote marks in the air to emphasize his feelings. "She needs to bury her specialty. Whatever she comes up with—no matter how Pulitzer worthy—isn't going to be printed."

Wonderful! Megan exchanged a worried look with David. It seemed there was more to Ms. Fluffball than met the eye. Who knew she had these hidden depths?

"In fact," Halloway picked the thread up again, "I was about to meet her for coffee and try to convince myself not to fire her when you FBI types started poking around last week. I've got to say that her not showing up this morning may very well be the last straw. You know what I mean?" he asked them.

"I understand," David said sympathetically.

"I thought you might," Halloway sighed. "It's impossible to staff a reputable paper without having to put up with employees who push the boundaries of their responsibilities. It's always a balancing act trying to maintain reader interest and reporter initiative."

"I can see how that would be difficult," Megan agreed to keep him talking.

"Greg?" An administrative assistant poked her head in the door while Megan exchanged another look with David—this time a skeptical one. "Sorry to interrupt, but you wanted to know when Martin checked in."

"Yes, I did. Did he get the photo?"

"He said he had a winner," the assistant gave a big, toothy smile.

"Thank you Betsy," he turned away from his assistant to address them again. "Is there anything further?"

"No," Megan replied getting to her feet keeping her gaze on anything but the monstrosities lining the walls in gilded frames. "You've given us more than enough of your time from what must be a busy schedule."

"Yes, thank you for your time," David agreed.

"Anything to help law enforcement. I'm sure my assistant would be happy to see you out."

Betsy bobbed in curtsy agreement and led them through the maze like corridors of the LA Ledger from the editor's office to the front reception area. Seeing them off with a cheery wave Betsy disappeared.

"That was interesting," David said pressing the down button for the elevator to take them to the parking garage.

"Enlightening to say the least."

"I wish we'd had time to do more that just a cursory background check about Ms. Vaughn."

"Everything about this case has been too rushed," Megan lamented. It was true. She'd literally gone from the airport to the office, been ordered to in fact. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time, for work always came first in the Bureau, but now that Colby'd been released with head spinning speed… Would this whirlwind ever ebb?

"Regardless, it seems that Taylor Ashby chose his conduit well," David said picking his cell phone out of his pocket.

"You trying Naomi Vaughn's cell again?"

"No, Don. I figure we ought to drive out to her apartment. I don't like the feel of this," he said as they stepped into the elevator.

"Not at all." Megan agreed hit the G2 button so the elevator could descend to the parking lot. No, not one little bit.

-oOo-

"Did you find her?" Don asked when David and Megan arrived back at the FBI office with long, drawn faces and frowns.

Don had spent an uneasy two hours avoiding writing a recommendation for Granger before David had called informing him Naomi Vaughn had stood them up. Then he'd spent the preceding two hours avoiding the Assistant Director because of that phone call.

"No," David replied. "After we left the LA Ledger we went out to her house and it was all quiet and locked up as if it were a normal weekday. There wasn't anything suspicious," he exposited as Megan dropped into her chair like a dead weight. "Then we went around the block to speak with her next-door neighbors—apparently Ms. Vaughn tutors two of the neighbor girls in English. It's a standing appointment and according to their mother, Mary Wilkenson, she didn't show yesterday. No call. No note."

"So she's missed two appointments in less than twenty-four hours. What do you want me to do? Tell Dolon."

"We thought we'd do you the courtesy of telling you first," David said.

Don gave a tight smile. "Thanks."

"I don't really want to tell…" Megan trailed off and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. Don wasn't sure he wanted to know what Megan had truly intended to say there. "Never mind," she continued. "Don't the two of you think this is fishy? She was in protective custody last week and as soon as the threat had passed she disappears."

"I find it fishy that Granger was released and she turned up missing," Don said darkly.

"You think he killed her?" David asked sharply, clearly not liking the tone in Don's voice. David's arms tensed and he balled his fingers into fists.

"I don't know what to think about him." Despite his best efforts he still spat the word. "We're not about to find out who he truly is anytime in the near future."

"And you never will unless you talk to him!"

"Guys, Colby wasn't released until this morning," Megan said defusing the tension. "She went missing sometime yesterday afternoon. He couldn't have been involved."

Don noticed that Dolon had walked out into the bullpen and was mingling and laughing with some of the other agents on the floor. Deliberately, Don turned his back on the man. God help him when the Assistant Director found the paperwork with Don's signature that had released Naomi Vaughn from protective custody. "So what do you want to take to Dolon?" he asked and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. "We've got to start a missing person case, but I'd like to be able to tell him more than the fact that she's missing."

"Let's see if we can dig out what cell phone service she uses. It has to be in our records. Then one of our techs—" David glanced at something past Don's shoulder—"or Charlie can get a reading on the GPS chip without too much trouble. If we don't find her then at the very least we'll know where the phone is."

"Charlie's working on something for the NSA." And Don had no intention of speaking to Charlie for the remainder of the week. If he had anything to say about it, his brother was going to stay far, far away from anything related to an investigation of the reporter. "He won't have the time."

"They why's he here?" Megan asked pointing behind Don.

"What?" Don whirled around just in time to watch Assistant Director Dolon hand Charlie a blue folder. He saw Charlie mouth the word 'Thanks' and his stomach flip-flopped. His brother was an absolute idiot! Don watched as stony as a statue as Charlie made his way over to the three of them. Dolon waded in the path Charlie cut.

"Don," Charlie greeted him coolly, standing there as bold as brass. Charlie was the fox in the henhouse, stirring up trouble, stirring up grief.

"Hello Charlie," David said when it became clear Don wasn't about to, or able to, reply in kind.

"Charlie." Even Megan smiled fondly at his traitorous, two-timing brother. She gave Don a bewildered look

Finally Don found his voice. "What're you doing here?"

"I came to invite you to dinner. Dad would like to see you."

"Is that's all?" Don crossed his arms and gave his little brother his best I-know-you're-lying glare.

"I, uh, also called in a favor," he nodded to Dolon, who hovered a polite distance away, lingering, listening, passing judgment. "I'd like you to read this." Charlie held the folder between them like a peace offering.

Don felt his nostrils flare, but he accepted the file.

"Read it," Charlie said and turned away without another word. Don could only blink at his retreating form heading for the elevators.

"I'll come to collect it in one hour's time," the Assistant Director added pompously and then left them to return to his office.

"Everything alright between the two of you?" Megan asked

"Fine."

He didn't care if she believed him or not. Thankfully, she didn't push it.

"What is it?" David asked peering at the folder.

"I'm not sure," Don said as he opened the classified blue cover. He whistled when a photo of Granger decked out in an army uniform stared back at him. Don flipped the cover back to verify it was indeed a classified folder. "Looks like I spoke too soon."

-oOo-