Author's Note: And the plot thickens as it were. Thanks for all of the kind comments.
For those who have asked, right now, my update schedule is once every two weeks. The reason for that is that I prefer fewer long chapters over many short ones so in a two week period, I'll give you 6-7-8K words (though I won't always guarantee this - there could be a much shorter chapter if that feels appropriate and right at time). And I get to break (and tell) the story the way I want to. I hope that explains my logic - or at least what serves as logic in my head.
Hope you enjoy - now on with the show.
He's not sure how long they've had him (a short time he figures, maybe a day or so), but he's also not sure whether it's day or night.
They're holding him in a tiny little bedroom with no windows that's about the size of a prison cell. It's furnished with only a filthy full sized mattress and the surprisingly sturdy wooden chair that he's tightly bound to.
Every now and again, the heavy wooden door opens and two burly men enter. The first one checks his pulse and his eyes. Then, the second one starts asking questions about other LAPD and NCIS operations around Los Angeles.
He tells them nothing, but that doesn't stop them from asking.
Or hitting.
Every time he replies in a way they don't like (which to be honest, is almost every single time they ask a question - either because of obstinacy or because he's simply too high to think straight) the first man hits him as hard as he can. Sometimes it's across the face, but mostly it's right into the ribcage.
Then, the second man starts asking questions again.
Sometimes he asks in English, other times in Spanish. Deeks isn't completely sure why the Spanish, but he assumes that his interrogator is so caught up in what he's doing that he doesn't realize that he's jumping languages.
Apparently, the son of a bitch really enjoys his job – enough to get carried away by it. It'd almost be kind of sweet if it wasn't so damned painful.
It goes on like this for what seems like hours.
For a while, Deeks wonders why they want to know what they want to know. What do they care if the LAPD is running an op on a gun smuggler in West Hollywood? But then, as the high starts to dissipate and he starts to really feel the pain snaking through him, he stops caring about their motivations.
It's at this point when he realizes that he's in trouble. And a lot of it.
He's been watching this drug - this ironically titled Prince Charming - work the streets for the last six months and he's seen the way it ravages the kids who think that they're strong enough to be able to just use it in a recreational way. He's seen good young men and women destroy their lives completely just for a quick high.
He knows from both professional and personal experience that all hardcore drugs can be like that, but there's something so hideously addictive about this one that's it almost unfair.
It's almost like no one has a chance.
He hears the door open and then soft, but oddly deliberate footsteps. Still coughing up blood from the last right hook to the jaw (that one had taken a chunk out of the inside of his lip), he doesn't lift his eyes.
"Leave us," a cold voice says.
"Yes, sir," one of the men replies.
The door closes again and then Deeks feels his new visitor step towards him. A moment later, there's a cool (and well moisturized) hand touching his face, lifting his chin up. He forces a smile when he sees Christopher Kassel standing above him, dressed impeccably in a charcoal dark suit and silver tie.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Deeks?"
Deeks laughs, wincing as he does. "I have to give you credit, man, you really are hands on, aren't you?"
"Hands on, hm, interesting choice of words considering. But yes, Detective, I like to think so. Now, I understand that you've been quite resistant to the questions that my friends have been asking you, is that true?" Kassel notes, checking his nails as he speaks.
"Guilty as charged," Deeks confirms, meeting Kassel's dark eyes. It takes every bit of fight in him to keep his gaze even and still. He refuses to break it no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much it hurts him not to.
"I admire your nerve, Detective. And your bravery, too," Kassel tells him, breaking the stare-down first. He turns his back on Deeks and looks around the dirty little room. He eyes it with obvious distaste.
"I can't tell you how happy that makes me," Deeks answers sarcastically.
"I admired your partner's nerve and bravery as well," Kassel replies, turning to face Deeks, a small smile playing across his lips.
It's like a switch is thrown inside of Deeks. Where as before, his replies had all been about exhausted defiance, now he's furious and close to murderous.
"Shut up," he growls.
"But then, I admired many, many parts of her." Kassel pauses for effect, smirking lecherously and then: "Tell me, Detective, did you enjoy her, too?"
Deeks doesn't even think about it, just lunges forward. The binds he's in hold him fast, though and he barely budges. Instead, he's bent forward, teeth bared, looking more than a little insane.
"Shut the fuck up," he demands again.
Kassel laughs. "I'll take that as a yes. You know, it surprises me, but I must admit, it was a shame killing her."
"It won't be a shame killing you," Deeks throws back.
Kassel steps towards him, "Do you know what it's like to watch the life seep out of someone? Especially someone so strong and vibrant? It's…it's horrifying and beautiful and…" he looks down at his hands and then adds quietly, "Amazing."
"I will rip you apart," the blonde cop whispers, tears stinging his eyes.
"Really? You think you're going to kill me? You've watched too many movies. No, no, you'll never have the opportunity; you're never leaving this room."
"It's going to get awfully rank in here then," Deeks replies. The anger is still flowing through him like a river, but he doesn't quite know how to not use sarcasm as his sharpest weapon.
"Perhaps, but that's your problem, not mine. Now, here's how it's going to go for you; it might take a week, maybe two, maybe even a month or two, but once I've decided that you've given me all the information you can – or will – I'll have my men inject you with a fatal dose of the Prince Charming and then, if I'm nice enough, I'll make sure that your friends find your body just like they found hers."
"You might as well just save yourself the time and trouble and do it now then because there isn't a chance in hell that I'll tell you anything. Ever."
"You know, I think you actually even believe that," Kassel notes. "Tell me, though, how's the pain?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Deeks replies, gritting his teeth through the waves of pain that are beginning to turn into a tsunami.
And of course, Kassel sees right through him.
"Really? All right, well let's see."
And then without warning, he slams his balled fist into Deek's gut. There a dry harsh crack and then an ice cold rush of agony floods through him.
Kassel steps away from him. "You see, the drug you've been on has dulled the pain, but it really only works if it's fresh in you. And when it's not, you'll feel not only the pain of your injuries but also the pain of withdrawal. I understand the withdrawal pangs are pretty brutal." He leans in closer. "That's where we can help each other, Detective. You're going to die sooner rather than later, but I can make your last few days on this Earth as painless as possible."
"Fuck off."
Kassel laughs. "You and your lovely partner must have made quite the team." He heads for the door of the room. "Think about it, Detective. You're going to give in eventually – why delay it and be in such…terrible pain?"
And with that, he exits, the door shutting and locking behind him.
Deeks falls back against the chair, breathing hard.
Kassel is right – the pain is monstrous. And growing worse by the moment and with each labored breath that he takes.
But then he thinks about Kensi and about the terrible things that Kassel did to her. He thinks about what the maniac had said about having watched Kensi's life seep out of her body.
It's enough to steel his resolve.
He had promised when this whole thing had begun that he would protect Kensi and not let her be hurt.
He had failed her again.
This time, beyond redemption.
Considering that, there's no way that he's about to make it worse by insulting her memory and becoming a traitor before he dies.
Not that he would do it even if she weren't involved.
At least he hopes he wouldn't.
He thinks about the rest of the team. He knows this group fairly well by now, knows that they're looking for him. He knows that they'll move heaven and hell to find him and deep down, that gives him just a little bit of hope.
But then he feels the pangs of old feeling long forgotten – withdrawal.
It makes him want to cry. And scream. Or both.
He closes his eyes and thinks about the many meditation methods that Sam employs. He's never really bought into them, but right now, he embraces them fully, looking for any way to slow his breathing and thus soften the pain that keeps vibrating through his ribcage.
It doesn't work.
He prays for unconsciousness.
That doesn't work, either.
Deeks is already up and out of the bed when she comes to. She rolls over, still tangled in the blankets, and turns towards the LED alarm clock, which reads eight-ten in the morning. She looks up and sees bright sunlight streaming into the room. She groans and buries her head back beneath the pillows.
"Hey, you up yet, Beautiful?" she hears him call out from the front. His voice is chipper and full of energy. To her way of thinking, this much exuberance this early in the morning, well it's damn near an affront to God and nature.
"No," she grumbles into her pillow, knowing full well that he can't possibly hear her. "Go away."
"Come on, I know you're awake, Honey. Breakfast is ready." His voice is damn near close to sing-songish. It's enough to make a girl homicidal.
Sighing, she reluctantly pushes herself up and out of the bed. She checks her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, ensures that she's somewhat decent (if a bit disheveled, her hair going in about ten different directions) and then makes her way out of the bedroom and down the long hallway.
Binding her long dark hair into a ponytail, she steps into the kitchen, stopping when she sees her partner leaning over the stove, frying up some eggs. He's wearing blue and white checkered board shorts and a white sleeve-less tee-shirt that perfectly shows off his well toned body. His messy blonde hair is wet and he smells slightly of salt. He's clearly just come back from a morning surf.
Without turning around to face her, he asks, "Bacon and cheese omelet good with you, my sweet?"
"Sure," she replies. "As long as you stop with the stupid pet names."
He turns to face her, grinning. She groans; he's in that kind of mood. The kind that usually makes her think about creative ways to cause him bodily harm.
"Coffee?" she pleads.
"Other counter, all hot and ready for you."
She narrows her eyes. He laughs.
"What?" she demands.
"Only you could be suspicious of someone doing something nice for you," Deeks chuckles, holding out an empty cup to her. She stares at the cup for a moment, then takes it from him. "Now say thank you," he urges.
"Thank you," she repeats. She gives him another suspicious look and then turns to the coffee machine and pours herself a cup.
After downing half a cup of the scalding liquid (he has no idea has she does that), she says conversationally, "How was the surf?"
"A bit too tame this morning," he shrugs.
She nods, takes another gulp and then refills her cup.
"So how'd you sleep?" he asks finally, fidgeting a bit. He doesn't like this awkwardness. He understands it certainly (waking up with someone is an intensely intimate kind of thing – it's why he left before she came to; they're not ready for that yet), but that doesn't mean he cares for it.
"Good," she lies. "You?"
"Out like a light."
They stare at each other for a long moment, as if daring each other to call the other one a liar.
Neither does.
"So class today?" Kensi asks instead.
"Yeah," Deeks confirms, happy for the sudden re-focus on the job at hand. "I'll be meeting Sanchez in a class on web commerce. Good thing I read up on it."
"Good thing. And I guess that means I'll be joining the theater class."
"Better put your best acting skills on display," he tells her, an impish smile spreading across his face.
"Oh, you mean the ones that allow me to pretend that I like you?" she replies sweetly (far too sweetly for his liking).
"No, the ones that are going to allow you to pretend that you love me and want to marry me and be with me forever and ever and ever," he shoots back. He's flashing her his widest grin, the one that usually makes her want to punch him (the one that, in fact, usually gets him punched).
"Oh, right, those skills. You're right; I'm going to have to really dig deep. You know, find my motivation." And now she's grinning back at him, but this one is slightly more predatory, it's the one he usually sees right before he feels a flash of pain radiate up through his shoulder.
"Uh huh. Eat your breakfast." He hands her a plate with an omelet on it.
She smiles at him; affection clearly in her eyes, no matter how much he annoys her. He answers hers with one of his own and for the first time, she thinks that maybe this is going to all be okay.
She thinks maybe, her fears were silly and they have nothing to worry about.
Set the trap, lay in wait, catch the bad guys. Go home and take a bubble bath.
Yeah, piece of cake.
Piece. Of. Cake.
"You remember?" Sam asks, his mind a thousand miles away and many years in the past. There's a fondness in his tone, like whatever he's remembering is something that he still thinks back upon with some degree of affection.
"The first time I had to play house, you mean?" Callen queries, eyes still on the words on the screen. He turns towards Sam and chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I remember." A small smile is lifting the corners of his lips up.
Sam shoots him a look. "It doesn't always end that way, G."
"It usually does."
"Most of your female partners were one-offs."
"True," Callen admits. "That made it easier. And it happening, sometimes that made the operations easier – then we weren't pretending."
"Okay," Eric interjects. "I'm completely lost here. What makes what easier?"
Callen and Sam glance at each other and then over at Hetty, who is looking down at the stack of journals, almost seeming like she's trying to pretend she isn't part of this particular conversation.
Sam starts to speak, then stops, then says, "When you're undercover like that and you're working with someone and you're playing at being a couple and both of you are commitment-less…"
"Wait, you're saying they…I mean Deeks and Kensi…."
"No, we're not saying that at all," Callen responds quickly. "And it doesn't matter even if they did. They're partners, things happen. That wouldn't change how they would go about their business. It didn't change how Deeks went about how he worked the op when he was involved with Trainer."
"And it doesn't change that something horrible happened to both of them," Hetty puts in. She's clearly trying to change the subject.
It doesn't work.
Eric shakes his head. "There's nothing in any of the journals about them…you know…" He's still having a hell of a time processing even the idea of a Deeks and Kensi hook-up.
"They wouldn't put it in there," Sam tells him.
"I never did," Callen admits.
"This is truly one of the most bizarre conversations that I've ever been part of," Eric mumbles.
It's at that point that Hetty decides that this conversation has gone far enough along this particular path. "Mr. Beale, perhaps you can check in on Ms. Blye for us? See if she'll be able to receive visitors this afternoon?"
"Uh, sure." And with that, he's up and away, showing unmistakable relief to be getting away from the conversation.
"Sometimes I forget," Sam says thoughtfully.
"That's he doesn't really understand what we do," Callen finishes.
"He doesn't need to," Hetty tells them. "He just needs to be good at his job just as you are both good at yours."
"Good gets you dead," Sam corrects. "Kensi and Deeks had to be great."
She simply smiles thinly, letting both know that she completely agrees.
"Can I ask you a question?" Callen says suddenly.
"Certainly."
"Why Deeks? And why Kensi and Deeks?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Yes, you do. You've had a thing for him ever since you saw him. Wherever the hell that was. Tell me, did that thing include some weird vibe about him and Kensi?"
"Ah."
"What does 'ah' mean?" Callen demands.
"Do you know that you were a very difficult person to find a partner for, Mr. Callen?"
"I've had many partners."
"True," Hetty confirms. "But very few outside of Ms. Keller were long term."
"And we all know how that turned out," Sam says quietly.
Callen doesn't take the bait, keeps his eyes on Hetty, "Okay. What's your point?"
"My point is, Mr. Callen, a good partnership is extraordinarily rare. Much like a good marriage. Everyone thinks that they're built on common ground and shared preferences. In my experience, however, that's not necessarily true. No, from where I stand, the best of partnerships and marriages are built on many things – friendship, intimacy, trust and companionship."
"That's us, Sam, the perfect couple," Callen quips.
Sam ignores him, "Are you saying you saw the same thing in Kensi and Deeks that you see in me and G?"
"Agent Blye is competitive by nature – she needs someone who will challenge her , push her and occasionally, test her patience," Hetty replies, not exactly answering the question. "She also – and I don't believe that she'd admit to this – has a very strong caretaker streak in her."
"So she's Sam," Callen chuckles.
Sam shoots him an annoyed look and then to Hetty, "And Deeks?"
"Is more like Mr. Callen than I think he realizes."
"What does that even mean?" Callen queries, looking genuinely confused.
Before she can reply, Eric returns. "I uh, just got off the phone with the hospital."
He looks for a moment like he's not sure he should continue.
Hetty smiles at him. "Go on, Eric."
"They said she had a rough night, but that she's still stable and showing modest improvement. The doctor thinks maybe she can have a short visit late this afternoon if her condition stays the way it is."
"That's it?" Callen asks.
Eric shrugs. "He said she's been asking for Deeks a lot, but won't tell anyone who Deeks is."
"She's still trying to protect him," Sam notes, a bit of pride in his tone.
"Indeed," Hetty nods. "Then until then, gentlemen, we have two options."
"Read journals or get out there and look for Deeks?" Callen asks and it's clear which option he would prefer.
"Precisely," Hetty replies. At that moment, her phone beeps. She looks down at it and then turns it to face the trio of men. They see a text on the screen that says: I'm here. Someone going to come fill me in? – Renko.
Sam and Callen exchange looks.
Finally, Sam says softly, "Go on, G."
It kills him to stay behind talking over notes in a journal, but he knows his partner well and can tell that Callen is going crazy. He needs to be out on the streets even if he has nowhere to go.
"Thanks," Callen replies. "Where am I meeting him?"
"The Boathouse," Hetty answers.
He nods. "You hear anything…"
"We'll let you know immediately."
"I'll do the same." Callen starts for the door.
"Mr. Callen?" Hetty calls out for him. He turns and looks back at her.
"Please be careful. Kassel is still out there."
He nods. "I know, Hetty. Don't worry."
She smiles thinly. They hold each others' gaze for a moment and then Callen turns and rushes out the door.
Sam turns to face Hetty. "I know that Macy is the name on my req form, but she told me that you actively pushed to recruit me."
"Did she say that?" Hetty queries, thought it doesn't sound like much of a question.
"Yeah."
"Hm."
"So was I right? You have the same feeling about Deeks and Kensi that you had about me and G?"
"Yes."
"Then right now, if he's still alive, he believes that we're coming for him. He believes that she's coming for him. I'd believe G was even if everyone was telling me that he was dead. Up until the end, I'd believe."
"You'd be right to believe, Mr. Hanna, and Mr. Deeks would be as well. We are coming for him. All of us."
She lets this hang in the air for a long moment and then, to Eric, "If you'll put the next section up on the screen."
He has to admit – Kensi Blye is one hell of a beautiful woman.
When she comes out of the bathroom in a tight fitting little black dress, her hair swept back and brightly colored glitter shining on her chest, he can't help but be impressed. He's certain that she's going to catch the eye of every man at the party – which is kind of the point; they want Paul Sanchez and Christopher Kassel to take notice of them.
He thinks about his meet-up with Sanchez in the web commerce class on Wednesday. It had been casual and easy and Sanchez had played his role very well. They'd chatted about how hard it was to be in a new city and how finding work looked like it was going to be more of a pain than had been expected.
At the end of the class, Sanchez had invited the new kids to town, James and his lovely fiancée' to a sure to be rocking house party on Friday. He'd even been kind enough to tell James – in front of several on-lookers - that maybe he could help with a job.
Deeks glances down at his own clothes. He's dressed in khakis and a black polo shirt, perfectly playing the role of the lucky bastard who is with a woman who is way out of his league.
All acting, Deeks thinks. Just parts played very well.
Well, maybe – that Kensi is way out of his league, that's not quite acting.
"How do I look?" Kensi asks quietly, her voice low and slightly uncertain.
"Fantastic," he tells her. "And me?"
"The shirt is nice," she grins, stepping towards him and quickly sweeping away some stray fibers that had attached themselves to the shirt.
"Thanks. Pretty sure it came from James Dean's personal collection knowing Hetty."
"Probably. Well, shall we?" She offers him her hand.
"We shall." He takes it and gives it a good squeeze.
They step out of the apartment and head for the Honda.
He reminds himself that he's done this a thousand times, even once or twice with her – pretending to be a couple at a public party is easy.
The hard part? Well that will be making sure that Kassel thinks of James and Kara as the perfect couple – James as the new dealer and Kara as the hapless completely unaware of it insurance policy.
Not just the hard part, the crucial part. If Kassel doesn't buy into them, the op is over before it even begins.
"Honey?" Kensi whispers, coming up to his side. She settles a hand on his forearm and moves in close, so that it looks like she's giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Everything okay?"
"Ready to rock," he grins. "Isn't that what you Marine Corps brats like to say?"
"Not quite," she chuckles. "More like locked, cocked and ready to rock."
"So you're saying close enough?"
"I'm saying close enough."
"Then let's rock."
The party is at a massive house in the heart of Beverly Hills. It belongs to a rich playboy by the name of Jonathan Morris. Morris is the kind of heir to a fortune that comes complete with a Peter Pan complex that makes him think it's okay to party with college kids even though he's pushing forty himself.
A quick check into Morris's background shows that he's also the kind of recovering drug addict who thinks the word recovery is there just to keep people off his back. The real truth of the matter is that there are very few chemicals that Morris hasn't put into his body and as such, is easy prey for a guy like Kassel.
They get to the house at just before nine and see that the party is already in full swing. There are cars and trucks and SUVs everywhere. Both Deeks and Kensi immediately notice how many vehicles there are of the high sticker value variety.
They get to the door and are greeted by a man with a list. Acting nervous, Deeks says, "Uh, James Reese. My fiancée' and I were invited here by…"
"Mr. Sanchez, yes, you're on the list, Mr and Mrs. Reese. Please, enjoy yourself," the man with the list says with a thin and unconvincing smile.
"Friendly guy," Kensi mutters.
"Can't be much fun to know that everyone is inside having a good time with all the chemicals while you're outside holding a piece of paper," Deeks observes.
Then he winks at her.
Showtime.
They step inside and neither is a bit surprised to see a party full of young adults in their late twenties. Some look like grad students, others are beyond their college years, but still seem to be hanging on to the partying lifestyle.
Still, this is far from a kegger.
"Hey, James, you made it, bro. Good to see you!" Paul Sanchez calls out as he approaches. He holds out his hand to Deeks, who takes it, all while still keeping an arm slung slightly around Kensi's back.
"You, too," Deeks answers.
Sanchez turns to Kensi. "And you must be Kara. Jimmy here won't stop talking about you. I can see why now."
"Jimmy," she admonishes gently, but makes it clear that she's delighted that he's talking about her. To Sanchez she says, faux shyly, "Hi." She lets him take her hand and shake it. She's glad that he doesn't try to oversell the moment by kissing her hand or something odd like that.
It occurs to Kensi that Sanchez is actually pretty good at the acting.
But then, just as she's thinking how impressed she is with his ability to play along with them without acting oddly or like he's up to something, she sees that bizarre almost cruel sexual fascination with her flare up in his dark eyes. She reaches out for Deek's hand and squeezes it.
In reality, she's not the least bit afraid of Sanchez (though she is a bit creeped out by him), but she figures that most women would be at least a little bit thrown off by the sudden attention that he's paying her.
She knows that Deeks saw Sanchez's look, but he pretends he didn't.
"You okay, babe?" he asks.
She smiles. "Yeah. Just geeked up. Want to dance."
"Well come on in," Sanchez says. "There are drinks in the kitchen. Food, too. And there's an XBOX set up in the Study. There's a heated pool out back and a sauna if you two lovebirds wanna use it."
"Nice," Deeks comments.
"And over there is the dance floor," he points to the middle of the room where a makeshift dance floor has been set up.
"Great," Kensi says.
"Yep. You two enjoy yourselves. Dance, mingle. I'll catch up with you guys later."
And with that, he starts to move away. Once he's about ten feet away, Deeks acts like he has something he forgot to say. To Kensi he says, "Oh, one sec, babe." And then he goes after Sanchez. "Paul!"
Sanchez turns. Deeks slides in close. "I don't mean to…I don't…look you mentioned something about maybe being able to help me with a job?" He lowers his voice. "We're supposed to get married in the Spring and…"
Sanchez pats his arm. "I know, man. Women, right? Don't worry. I got something I'm working on. I'll catch up with you later and we can talk more about it, okay?"
"Yeah, cool," Deeks says, his face flushing relief.
At least he hopes so.
He's being doing this awhile. He knows the job. He's pretty sure he's selling it.
"Good. Now don't leave that beautiful lady alone. You do for too long, someone will come around and take her from you," Sanchez tells him.
It's just short of a threat and it sends a yellow caution flag flying.
For the sake of the op, though, Deeks pretends to ignore it.
"Right," he says. "I'm a lucky bastard."
"Yes, you are." And then Sanchez turns and heads away again, saying hello to other partiers as he weaves between them.
Deeks returns to Kensi.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Yup. Paul, uh, he thinks maybe he knows where I can get a job," he tells her.
"Yeah?" she says. "That'd be great."
"Hey, you want to dance?" he asks, pointing towards the dance floor. It's heavily with swaying and either high as a kite or drunk as a skunk young adults.
She beams up at him. "I'd love to."
Her wide unreserved smile, it's so weird for him. He reminds himself that this is just an act; but he has to admit, he's entranced by it.
She reaches out, grabs his hand and pulls him into the middle of the floor.
And then proceeds to put on one hell of a show.
Hips swaying, arms flying, body in perfect musical sync.
For a moment, he thinks everyone in the room must be watching his partner in motion, but then he realizes that he's the only one who can't keep his eyes off of her.
Well not quite.
A look to his left and he sees Sanchez leaning against a far wall, chatting with two young men (one of whom Deeks notices looks like he's coming down from quite a bender), his eyes locked on Kensi.
Before he can think too much on it, Kensi's got his hand and she's pulling him in towards her. "Dance with me," she whispers. "That means, you have to move your hips."
"Right, move my hips."
"Don't tell me you can't dance," she teases, her mouth inches from his ear.
"I can dance," he stammers out.
"Then show me and stop making it look like I'm dragging my dead weight of a boyfriend around," she replies, spinning herself around so that she's leaning back against him. She pulls his arms around her mid section and starts to slide her body against his, up and down.
"Oh," he mumbles. "Oh oh, man."
He hears – or rather feels – her laugh. She's enjoying his sudden discomfort far too much. Far, far, far too much.
Truth be told, though many a cover has taken him to a club or two, he's never quite found his dancing shoes. Normally, like now, he allows his date to lead and if she's at all good at what she does, she can typically guide him along well enough to make it look like he's not completely lost.
If Kensi wasn't getting so damned much amusement out of watching him squirm, she'd be doing that now as well, he's quite certain.
"Partner," he whispers into her ear. It comes out more like a purr than a word.
She smiles.
He slides his hands down her hips.
She laughs and grinds back against him.
"You're hysterical," he whispers.
She winks at him and then spins him around and does something that completely takes him by surprise; she kisses him.
On the mouth and quite passionately.
Only the fact that he's no rookie to undercover work keeps him from reacting in a way that would have killed their cover on the spot. Instead, he closes her eyes and kisses her back, making sure to let her lead. After all, even if he'd like to attribute the passionate embrace to his charming personality and thundering good looks, he's fairly certain it's more likely job related.
After a moment, she pulls away and turns around again to continue dancing. As she does, she pulls him slightly to the side, giving him a view of Sanchez talking to a man that he recognizes immediately as Christopher Kassel.
Kassel is an impressive man in person, tall, handsome and practically oozing arrogance. The men standing around him, including Sanchez, look at him with an almost sycophant like reverence.
As he's looking over that way, he sees Sanchez indicate towards him. He pretends not to notice, turns his attention back to Kensi, who is in the process of ensuring that there's no way that Kassel and his boys couldn't notice her.
He smiles; she's good.
He wraps his arms around her waist and lets her guide him.
This time, she does.
Much of the night is a lot less eventful than the half hour spent together on the dance-floor. After that, they'd wandered around meeting people and engaging in the many offerings of the house (not including the pool or the sauna).
At around midnight or so, Deeks finds himself in the oversized so-called Rec Room playing his fifth game of Forza 3. It's just as his sleek little Maserati crosses the finish line that he realizes that he has no idea where Kensi is.
"Hey," he asks the young man next to him. "You see where my girl went?"
The kid shrugs. "Naw, man. Another game?"
"Later maybe," Deeks sighs, tossing the XBOX controller onto the couch and standing up. He exits the Rec Room and starts wandering the house. It's still quite crowded, but now the party-goers seem more sedate. Almost…drugged?
After about ten minutes of searching for his partner, he finally finds her in the kitchen, drinking red wine.
With Christopher Kassel.
They're chatting like they're old friends, Kensi playing the role of the slightly self-absorbed young woman who has no idea how much danger she is in. She's talking nearly non-stop, flashing a wide smile.
In short, she's being utterly charming.
"Baby!" she calls out when Deeks enters the kitchen.
"Hey," he replies, trying to make it sound like he's tired. "I've been looking all over the place for you."
She steps towards him and curls herself against his body. He loops an arm around her and pulls her close, kissing the top of her hair. H wants Kassel to see them as a couple madly in love with each other.
"Sorry," she offers up after giving him a quick peck on the lips. "You were playing with the boys. I didn't want to interrupt." She motions to Kassel. "Jimmy, I met someone. This is Chris Kassel. He's a movie producer."
"A producer, huh?" Deeks answers. It takes everything he has not to let his natural cynicism into his voice. Around these parts, a producer doesn't always mean someone who has power. In fact, it tends to be a term some of the bottom feeders in the industry use in order to coerce those with less understanding of Los Angeles and Hollywood into doing things they normally would never consider doing. Things like sex and drugs.
For a girl like Kara Barstow, Chris Kassel seems like a lucky break. More often than not, it's a dead end filled with pain, misery and loss.
"Indeed," Kassel replies smoothly. "You must be James?"
"Jimmy," Deeks corrects. They shake hands.
"Seems we have a mutual friend," Kassel notes.
Deeks pretends to play dumb.
"Paul Sanchez."
"Oh, right, yeah. Paul's a good guy."
"Yes, he is. He tells me you're out of work right now."
Deeks shifts a bit, looking slightly embarrassed.
"Not for lack of trying," Kensi says quickly. "Jimmy has been looking everywhere."
"I don't doubt it. Maybe we can help each other, Jimmy," Kassel says. He offers Kensi another glass of wine, which she happily accepts.
"Really? How?"
"In my job, I often have need of someone to deliver things for me."
"What kind of things?"
Kassel waives his hand. "Nothing we need to really go into right now, but you know, not major; contracts and supplies. Stuff like that."
"So I'd be a courier."
"Pretty much."
Deeks shrugs. "Sounds pretty easy."
"It is. How about this, you two enjoy the rest of your night, but tomorrow, come see me at my office and we can talk specifics. I think you'll find it a very lucrative opportunity. I'm a fantastic boss and I could use a hardworking employee."
"That's me," Deeks assures him.
"Excellent. Paul will give you the address." He turns to Kensi and then reaches out and takes her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Kara. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other quite often going forward."
She beams back at him, acting utterly captivated.
"Jimmy," Kassel says, finally turning to him. They shake again and then Kassel exits the kitchen. That's when Deeks notices the tall burly man shadowing him – obviously a bodyguard.
After they've both exited, Deeks turns to Kensi, "Ready to head home, honey? I'm whooped."
"Yeah, but you have to drive," she tells him, holding up the wine glass. He can't tell if she's playing being buzzed or really is.
"No problem." He puts an arm around her and then makes a show of guiding her through the rest of the party-goers.
They do no more than chat idly for the next hour, still completely in character as James and Kara. It isn't until well after they've gotten back to the apartment and both showered that they make their way out to the front of the apartment (which they've cleared and re-cleared to ensure that there's no new surveillance equipment anywhere around) to debrief each other.
Ensuring that it won't look odd if someone happens by and sees them sitting together outside of the apartment, Kensi's leaning lightly against his chest, drinking from a bottle of beer. He's got one of his own as well.
"How'd Kassel find you?" Deeks asks.
"I think he was looking for me," she replies quietly, taking a swig from her beer. He notices that her bottle is already half empty.
"You specifically?"
"Not sure, but he came right up to me and introduced himself. Asked me if I was James Reese's fiancée."
"Sanchez did his part."
"Yeah," she answers, sitting up.
He turns towards her. "Something wrong?"
"No."
"Ke…partner?"
She grins at him.
"You're slightly drunk aren't you?"
"No," she says, but she's still smiling. "But I am slightly buzzed, though how could I not be with Kassel refilling my glass every time it got close to empty."
"He liked you."
She groans.
"What?"
"Just what I always dream of; attracting losers like Sanchez and homicidal sociopaths like Kassel. No wonder I'm perpetually single if those are the types that go for me."
He notices that she's turned away from him when she says this, her eyes upwards, as if on the heavens.
"It's not that bad," he insists, following her gaze upwards.
She doesn't reply.
He considers trying again, but then decides to let it drop. This woman is mercurial and complicated and he thinks that trying to know too much before she's ready for that happen can only lead to disaster.
"Okay so, Kassel found you and you just started talking?"
"Yeah. Sanchez must have told him that Kara is a film student because he started in on that angle almost immediately. You know that whole 'hey honey, here's what I can do for you' bullshit?"
"Yeah. Heard it a thousand times."
She smirks at him.
"What?" he says. "I have a face for Hollywood."
She snorts.
"Uh huh."
"It was a good start," she tells him, downing the rest of her beer.
"Yeah, it was. You did good tonight."
"Tomorrow is your turn."
"No problem," he says. Then he points up towards the stars. "Okay, Lady McGyver, what constellation is that and what is it's history and what can it help me do? Come on, I know you know it all. Educate me."
"Oh. That would take far too long. How about I give you a book. Assuming you can read it."
"See, now, I was being nice there."
She smiles. "Yes, you were. Okay, well that there is Fornax. It's named after a guy who was guillotined in the 18th century."
"Interesting."
"Not really."
They both laugh and then she gets up, takes his beer, finishes it off and heads inside. He stays a moment longer, looking up at the stars.
"Guillotined," he mumbles. "Nice."
"Hey, old friend," Mike Renko grimly greets him as he enters the Boathouse. Renko looks tanned and tired, like he's recently spent a lot of time out in the sun.
"I'm guessing that's not recreational," Callen notes.
"No, been chasing the Moraci brothers. They seem to have watched the Fast and the Furious a few thousand times too many. All of their operations take place in the desert somewhere."
"Fun."
"Yeah. So what the hell is going on? I leave you guys for a few months and you nearly get Kensi killed?"
Callen shakes his head. "This one went real bad. You know who Christopher Kassel is?"
"Yeah, he's worked with the Moraci's a time or two. Mostly an exchange of product. They don't really share well, though, so their lines don't cross often."
"Well, we sent Kensi and Deeks in after them."
"Deeks is the LAPD guy?"
"Right. Good guy, straight shooter."
"So you trust him?"
"He didn't screw Kensi over, I believe that."
"Okay. So what did happen?"
"We have no idea. What we do know is that Kensi is in the hospital –"
"She is? You have her?"
"Yeah."
Renko exhales. "Good. The wires made it sound like she was still missing."
"Officially, she is. We want Kassel and his goons to think she's dead."
"So they'll leave her alone."
"Exactly."
"How is she?"
"Not great, but she's Kensi."
Both smile a bit knowingly.
Then, thoughtfully, Renko says, "You know that won't work for long, right? I mean pretending Kensi is dead. A guy like Kassel has moles everywhere, especially in the hospitals. He's used to putting people in them, which means he has to have a way to get to the folks there – he has to have ways of making them dead."
Callen has his phone out of his pocket less than three seconds later. He hits a speed dial number and waits. Then, "You have someone watching Kensi, right?" He listens and then nods. "I figured. Okay, thanks."
"She has someone on her?" Renko asks.
"Of course," Callen replies. "She seems rather annoyed that I even asked." He puts his phone back into his pocket and then makes his way over to a map of Los Angeles on one of the counters. He opens it up and lays it out on the table.
"Okay, so what's the plan then, G?" Renko asks, coming over to also look at the map.
"Find Deeks. Whatever it takes."
"Works for me."
TBC…