CHAPTER 5
"Oh crap!" Tony exclaimed.
"It's okay. I'm going to get a flashlight," Gibbs said as he headed for the kitchen. There was enough illumination from the fire in the hearth to light his way to the drawer where he kept small emergency supplies. Tony grabbed his arm and Gibbs turned, surprised. "You scared of the dark?" Gibbs asked, trying to make light of Tony's fear.
"No, I'm scared of the scary things that live in the dark, and come out and get you when the lights go off in a big storm. Don't you know the basic rules in horror movies? Always look behind the door. Don't run upstairs; run out the front door, and don't look back. Don't ever let that stranger who claims his car has broken down into the house to use the phone. Present company excepted, of course."
"I've got my own set of rules to live by." Gibbs located a flashlight, and then pulled a gas camp light off a shelf.
"Rules?"
Gibbs found matches and lit the gas light, meanwhile feeling Tony watching him with interest. "Rule # 71: Be kind to strays. You'll find I'm not the kid of guy to leave a wet cat out on the porch in a storm like this." As if to punctuate his sentence, there was another flash of lightning and a crash, still too close for comfort.
"Wait a minute! Who're you calling a wet cat?"
"Better than a drowned rat."
"Not by much," Tony complained.
Gibbs smirked and indicated they should go back into the living room, but first, Tony asked for something to drink. Gibbs poured him a large glass of ginger ale with ice. "The bottle's been open a while. Not much fizz. Better for your stomach that way."
Once they were seated on the couch, Gibbs set the lamp on a side table, where it hissed and cast its cool light across the room. He picked up the phone but, as he'd expected, the line was dead.
Tony asked, "Storm knocked it out?"
"'Fraid so. It'll be a while before the power's restored, if I know Potomac Power. How about you lie back and close your eyes?"
Tony hesitated, and then asked in a small voice, "Are you…um…"
"I'm not going anywhere." Gibbs pulled another blanket from of a chest behind the couch, and as Tony slowly lay down, Gibbs covered him with it. He sat at the end of the couch and watched the fire for a while, resolving not to stare at Tony. When he could no longer avoid glancing Tony's way, he found that the younger man was fast asleep. Gibbs smiled, although he wasn't entirely sure why.
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Gibbs woke up with a start. He had a distinct feeling that something was off. His first concern was for Tony, but he was sound asleep, curled on his side and snoring lightly. A glance at the clock ticking away on the mantel told Gibbs it was two a.m. He must have dozed off, and ended up sleeping for three solid hours.
These days, Gibbs usually fell into bed before nine, rising early to take care of the horses. He used to be a night owl, often awake for hours worrying about their present investigation. That was when he'd head down to his basement and work on his boat late into the night. But those long nights crafting a boat with his own hands that was both beautiful and functional, and getting into what Abby called the Zen of the wood, was part of the past. The only woodworking he did these days was upkeep and repairs around the property, and although that held its own rewards, he did miss his boat.
Rain was still beating on the roof, but the thunder seemed to have moved out of the area. The power and the phone were still out though. The fire needed attention, so Gibbs rose quietly so as not to disturb Tony, and poked the logs, encouraging the flames back to life.
Gibbs went to use the bathroom, taking the flashlight with him. Tony's wet clothes were still lying where they'd landed, so after Gibbs had relieved himself, he decided to bag the clothes in case they were needed for evidence. It wasn't likely that there'd be much trace evidence left on the rain-soaked clothing, but it was impossible to disregard the procedures he'd performed for so many years.
Once the garments were properly bagged and put aside for the FBI, Gibbs remembered the boots Tony had been wearing, the ones he'd said he'd taken off his abductor's feet. Gibbs was walking down the hall to fetch them when he thought he heard something. It was hard to tell what it had been, what with the wind and rain still battering the house, but the hairs on the back of Gibbs' neck went up when he heard it again. Someone was skulking around outside the house; he was sure of it.
Quickly returning to the living room, Gibbs unlocked the gun safe that he kept on a high shelf in the bookcase. He pulled out his weapon, a Sig automatic in a worn leather clip-on holster. Director Vance had transferred the weapon to Gibbs' name as a retirement gift. At the time, Gibbs had thought he'd never use it again, except for the occasional practice at the gun range, but now, as he clipped it securely to his belt, he was glad he had it.
Gibbs glanced at Tony, but he was still sleeping deeply. No point in waking him, he thought. Making his way down the hall to the back door, Gibbs held the unlit flashlight in his left hand. With his right, he flicked off the gun's safety. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and he could make out the vague shape of a person standing there. Good news did not knock on anyone's door at 2 a.m. Of course it might be a neighbor in trouble, but somehow Gibbs didn't believe that was the case.
Gibbs opened the door partway, and kept his hand on the butt of his weapon. It was still pouring and the solar-powered porch light shone like a beacon in the stormy night.
There was a large man standing on the back porch, rainwater dripping off his ball cap, but unlike Tony and his inadequate clothing, this man was wearing heavy rain gear. The peak of his cap cast deep shadows over his eyes, but Gibbs was able to make out a friendly smile.
"Hey, man, sorry to disturb you. One hell of a night, huh?"
"What do you want?" Gibbs didn't care that he sounded curt. After all, this was a stranger, on his property.
"Well, I've been driving around trying to find my brother." The man was beefy and appeared to be about 40, with longish brown hair and an unshaven jaw. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the road. He never stopped smiling as he spoke, which irritated Gibbs. "Had to leave my truck on the road. You know you have a problem with your gate? You should get it fixed."
"I like it that way," Gibbs replied, sounding curt and unwelcoming.
"Huh." The man continued smiling, as if Gibbs hadn't said anything. "Anyway, my brother, Tommy, he's got this…uh…condition and he has to take his meds. Just to calm him down. He can say some pretty wild things if he doesn't get his proper dose. Makes up stories. Thinks everyone's after him." The man laughed as if that were funny.
"He's not here," Gibbs said. A gust of wind drove the rain onto the porch, causing Gibbs to step back. He started to close the door when the sky lit up with one flash after another, followed by a series of loud thunderclaps.
The stranger cringed and moved closer to the house, huddling under the lee of the porch as the wind lashed the rain against him. "Man, I don't like lightning. Neither does my brother. He got scared by the storm, and he took off and–"
Gibbs cut in. "I didn't catch your name." He didn't know the names of all his neighbors by any means, but he'd never seem this guy before, and his story sounded like a load of crap.
"Oh…I'm Frank Beals. I'm on Westover Road." The man made a vague gesture to the west. "I'm going house-to-house, trying to find Tommy. It's real important I find him. Our mom's worried sick."
"I said I haven't seen your brother."
The man didn't let up. "He's six feet, dark hair, got a scruffy kinda beard. Might be a bit banged up," the man said, a bit sheepishly. "I tried to stop him from running, but he was so scared he was fighting me all the way. He got in a couple of good hits. See, near my eye."
Gibbs' eyes had adjusted to the porch light by that time, and he saw the stranger had a bruised cheek and the beginning of a shiner. His hair and the hat obscured some of his face, so Gibbs was unable to tell if that was the extent of the damage. On the man's right hand, the knuckles were raw and bruised – much like Tony's were. "You hit him?" Gibbs asked, his voice low with anger.
The man caught Gibbs looking at his damaged hand, so shoved it in his pocket. "I wouldn't hit my own brother."
"You should go to the police," Gibbs said, meaning to end the conversation. He could see that Beals didn't like his suggestion, which only confirmed Gibbs' gut feeling that this man was lying through his teeth. Gibbs believed he was hunting someone, but definitely not any brother.
He was about to close the door when the man said, "You've got a lot of places around here where a man could hide. I'll take a look in them and then I'll be on my way."
This would have been a good time to have his father's Winchester 1873 in his hands, but the Sig packed plenty of punch. Gibbs opened the door a little more and made a point of loosening the handgun in its holster. "No. You'll leave now. I'll check my own property."
No mistake, Beals saw the gun and heard the threat. His smile barely dimmed, though. "If you see him, I'd appreciate a call." He warned, "Don't you approach him; he's skittish, and frankly I'm not sure that he wouldn't hurt you…"
The man's voice trailed away and Gibbs realized the guy was staring at something low down in the mudroom, behind where Gibbs was standing. Although his instinct was to turn his head to see what Beals was looking at, Gibbs wasn't taking his eyes off this stranger.
For the first time since he'd come to the door, the man's smile faded, and all Gibbs saw was a blank stare. The man looked up at Gibbs again and his smile returned. "I'm going to keep on searching, maybe down the road a bit, but I'll come around later and check back with you. If you find Tommy, you hang onto him. And don't pay no attention to his crazy stories, okay?" Beals pulled a scrap of paper and a stub of a pencil out of his pocket and jotted down a phone number. He offered the paper to Gibbs, who ignored it.
Gibbs had learned a long time ago to trust his gut, and even though there was no evidence to back him up, he was sure that this man was involved in Tony's kidnapping. With no way of summoning help, and not knowing if Beals had accomplices, Gibbs' primary goal was to get the man off his property. Tony was in no condition to fight, and although Gibbs was willing and able to protect him, he didn't want to start something with Beals out here in the open. He'd get rid of the guy and then he'd plan their defense in case Beals returned.
Gibbs wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his gun and growled, "Get the hell off my property."
"Okay, okay!" Beals raised his hands defensively and backed slowly away. After a few feet, he did an about-face and headed up the drive towards his truck. It was only after the truck started up and drove away that Gibbs closed and locked the back door.
He turned and looked around to see what the stranger, had been staring at. There was nothing in the hall except two pairs of wet and muddy boots, his and Tony's, sitting to one side. Except they weren't really Tony's boots. Tony had said he'd pulled them off his kidnapper after he'd killed him. Beals had recognized the boots; they were his, which made him the man who had abducted Tony. Gibbs was now sure of it.
He wondered if he could jury-rig his truck, get her going well enough so they could make it to town, to the safety of the police station. If the truck conked out partway there, though, they'd be sitting ducks. No, his original idea was the best one; hunker down and stay on the defensive.
"What's going on?"
Gibbs looked around to find Tony standing at the end of the hall, his eyes heavy with sleep, his hair mussed up and standing on end. "Nothing," said Gibbs. "Just a neighbor, looking for his brother. You okay?"
Tony rubbed the back of his head and coughed a couple of times. "Yeah. Gotta take a leak."
"Here, take my flashlight." Gibbs handed it over, and then pointed in the direction of the bathroom. He went into the living room, he built the fire up before sitting on an upholstered chair. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, he thought, God, what a night, and who knew how long it would be before the phone was in order again.
Tony brushed by him and sat on the couch. Gibbs looked up and found the younger man was sitting sideways, one arm across the back of the couch, studying him intently.
"Mmm?" asked Gibbs.
"You could go to bed, you know."
Gibbs frowned at Tony.
"I mean, I don't need babysitting."
"I'm enjoying the fire," Gibbs replied. He had a strong desire for a bourbon, but it looked like that wasn't an option. He had to figure out their best defense. Maybe they could barricade themselves in one of the empty rooms upstairs, or even the attic, though it would be freezing up there and he didn't much like the idea of hiding among the mice.
"You do this often?"
"Do what?"
"Take care of wet cats who appear uninvited on your doorstep. Lounge around enjoying your fire with a gun strapped to your hip," Tony said, arching an eyebrow.
So he'd spotted the gun. Well, as Tony had said, once a cop, always a cop. "I heard something and went to investigate. Didn't know who was out there."
"You said he was a neighbor?"
"He said his name was Frank Beals."
"You know him?"
"I've never seen him before tonight." Gibbs could see that having a stranger at the door had made Tony nervous. "Did you…recognize him, Tony?"
Tony stared at him for a few seconds. "I was asleep. I heard you shout, 'Get the hell off my property.' I got up and by the time I got there, I guess he'd gone." Tony's eyes widened a bit. "If he was a neighbor, why were you so angry? What's going on, Jethro?"
"Nothing. He's gone," Gibbs promised. He didn't like lying to Tony, but he didn't want to spook him, either.
"Nothing?"
"So I don't like the guy," Gibbs said testily.
After a pause, Tony pointed out, "You weren't armed when you opened the door to me."
Gibbs gave a crooked smile. "My mistake."
That made Tony smile. "You could drive me to the police station, get rid of me."
"My truck's out of commission," Gibbs said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. Even if it had been drivable, no way would he risk taking Tony out in this storm. There were probably tree limbs and electric wires down all over the place – and Frank Beals lying in wait around a blind corner.
"So I'm stuck here," Tony said, nodding. "Guess I'll have to make the best of a bad situation then."
"If you want to leave, you know where the door is," Gibbs retorted, smiling a little to assure Tony that he was kidding.
"True, but I don't even know where this is." Tony looked around, not put off by Gibbs' words. "Where am I, anyway?"
"Kelly Brook Farm. Near Bowie. Halfway between Baltimore and DC."
Tony digested that information and then said, "You know, that nap must have done me some good because all I can think of right now is how much I'd really like a strong cup of coffee and something to eat." When Gibbs made as if to rise, Tony stopped him and said, "No, let me do it this time."
When Gibbs laughed, Tony stopped. A second later he exclaimed, "Oh yeah, no power."
"It's okay. I can make coffee over the fire. Done it plenty of times."
"Cowboy?" asked Tony, one eyebrow raised speculatively.
"Marine," replied Gibbs. He lit another lantern for Tony, grabbed the coffee and a pan, and heated it up over the open fire while Tony was busy in the kitchen.
Tony returned a short while later with a tray laden with mugs, milk and sugar, as well as two boxes of Girl Scout cookies. "Mint or peanut butter?" Tony offered.
"Peanut butter." Gibbs moved over to the couch and poured their coffee while Tony opened the two boxes. Apparently he favored the mint cookies.
Tony sat sideways on the couch, so he could face Gibbs. "You know, you give off these tough guy vibes – and there's nothing wrong with that – but I get the feeling you're a soft touch, Jethro," Tony teased. "There were quite a few boxes of these cookies in the cupboard."
"Maybe I just like Girl Scout cookies," Gibbs replied gruffly, well aware that he had bought more cookies than he would ever eat because the two Girl Scouts who had come to the door, selling them, had reminded him of Kelly.
"Uh-huh." Tony sent Gibbs a look that said he wasn't fooled, and smiled as he reached for another cookie.
Gibbs brushed cookie crumbs off his chest and asked, "Where're you from?"
"That's not an easy question to answer," said Tony.
"You're obviously not homeless."
Tony smiled, shaking his head. "No. I was born and raised on Long Island, but I settled in Baltimore about sixteen years ago. Married my former piano teacher, Wendy DiGioia, who taught me about jazz and flirting when I was fourteen." At Gibbs' raised eyebrows, Tony raised a hand in defense. "I know, it sounds hinky, but Wendy is only four years older than me. She's living in our Roland Park home with Zack, our son. Good schools there. I, on the other hand, am residing in Baltimore, in a very drafty industrial loft a block from the river. Close to my constituents."
"You represent the 3rd district?" Gibbs asked.
"Yeah. The district meanders across four counties, and includes Annapolis, and most of Baltimore."
"How did you go from being a detective to a politician?" Gibbs asked, genuinely curious.
Tony's smile faded. "I'd like to say my father pushed me into it, but I shouldn't blame him. I've never done anything I didn't want to do. Let's just say it was time for me to leave the Baltimore PD. At that point, dear old dad, aka Senator DiNozzo, convinced me it would be a good way for me to begin the process of jockeying up the political ladder. For some reason he still has high hopes. Not that he asked me if I wanted to run. Dad kept mentioning my name to the press and one day, voila, my face was on 'Vote for Tony Junior' posters plastered all over town." Tony shook his head and sighed. "I'm not so sure I can meet his, or anyone's expectations any more. Nobody believes when they get married that divorce is possible, even probable, or understands just how much it rips you apart when it inevitably occurs. Our plans to divorce was only made public a couple of weeks ago. Dad seems more upset about it than Wendy does, which tells you a lot." Suddenly Tony gave Gibbs a bright smile. "Enough about me. I want to know how you ended up here, a farmer."
During the next hour, Gibbs did something he'd rarely done before: he opened up and told the man who was sitting beside him – and listening to his every word – about his four marriages and three divorces. He recounted how he'd come to purchase this house and land, told him a little about the renovations, and about meeting Moira and how she'd influenced him in a positive way. He described to Tony how, instead of being put out to pasture, he'd started a new life managing this horse rescue, and how he was honoring his late wife and daughter's wishes by doing so. "My wife liked to say that sometimes the smallest choices have the biggest impact, so if I can do something good for these horses while they stay here, that's all that matters. They're amazing creatures," he said with a soft smile.
Tony, in turn, admitted he missed the detective work, and said that he'd been thinking about going back into the risk management field. "I started my own company about two years after I left the force. I'd been working for this huge company, Global Elite. I got great training, even went to FLETC for special courses. Global Elite provides all aspects of security for corporations – they're the ones who sent me to Italy to handle American executives at risk – but I wanted to start my own company. So I did about seven years ago, and I was just getting SafeZone off the ground when I decided to run for Congress. Unfortunately, when I won the seat, I had to sell the company. That was not an easy decision, but my wife, and my dad, convinced me it was the best road to take." As he spoke, Tony frowned, as if he was puzzling over his choice.
Tony continued, "One of my frat brothers bought SafeZone, and he keeps asking me to come back and work with him because he's gone global and can't keep up with the demand."
"You considering his offer?"
"I am. I've been elected for three terms in Congress so far, and I'm not sure how long my luck'll hold out before they see right through me. No, I know I've made a difference, and I'm proud of everything I've accomplished but…" Tony shrugged. "After the past five days…well, I've had a lot of time to think, and I'm not sure I like where I am. Now I just need to make a decision." He smiled, looking tired. "Not tonight though."
As Gibbs had listened to Tony talking, he'd enjoyed seeing the light in the younger man's eyes. This Tony before him was not the cool politician wearing the friendly face, nor the scared and wary kidnapping victim who had barely escaped with his life – this was someone else altogether, and Gibbs guessed that the man he was seeing right now was the true Tony, a man that few people ever saw.
The conversation petered out and the two men sat watching the dwindling fire until Gibbs said, "You take my bed, get some rest." Tony protested, but Gibbs pointed out that the power would probably be reinstated by the time he awoke, and all too soon, Tony was going to be up to his ears in Fibbies, not to mention family and friends welcoming him home.
Once Tony was safely tucked in bed, Gibbs checked out the status of the storm through the living room window. It was still windy and raining, though not as hard, and it seemed that finally the worst was over. He was just checking the locks on the doors – the big old house had about ten exit doors – when he heard a banging sound. At first Gibbs thought it was loose tiles on the roof, or a shutter on the rear of the house, but it grew louder as he walked into the mudroom. Peering out the back door, he discovered that the side door on the barn was open and swinging back and forth in the wind, banging every time it hit the siding.
"Damn!" Gibbs knew that he could have been careless about closing the barn door, but that wasn't likely. It had to be the work of his late-night visitor, Frank Beals. "Goddam it!" Hopefully he was alone, Gibbs thought, as he grabbed a spare clip of ammo. Damn, he couldn't go anywhere without telling Tony.
After pulling on his slicker and boots, Gibbs hurried into the bedroom and shook Tony's shoulder. Tony mumbled something unintelligible, but when Gibbs touched him again, he shot up into a sitting position, arms held out defensively. "What? What?"
"Tony, it's okay. I have to go out and secure the barn door. It's banging in the wind," Gibbs explained as calmly as he could.
"You can't go out there alone!"
"It's hardly even raining," Gibbs said, reluctant to tell Tony the truth about Beals.
"Haven't you ever watched any slasher movies?"
"No?"
Tony grabbed Gibbs' shirt and declared, "You know the rules: 'Stay in well lit areas, never travel alone, and always wipe front to back.'"
Gibbs took hold of Tony's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Are you sure you're a congressman?"
"For God's sake, Jethro, it's from Scary Movie. Look, you can't go out there alone. I'm coming with you." Tony slipped off the bed and started looking around for his borrowed shoes, but Gibbs stopped him.
"No, you're staying here. I'll be back in ten minutes. I have to check on the horses and close the door, that's all. There are no slashers in the barn." He pointed to his gun in an attempt to allay Tony's fears. "I'm armed, okay? Nobody's going to mess with me."
"What about me? You got a spare weapon?"
Gibbs was aware that although Tony had been joking around by quoting silly movies, the attempt at humor was covering up some serious issues with fear. "Lock the doors behind me."
"This isn't just about a barn door, is it?" Tony asked, hugging his arms around his body. "Oh God, that guy who came here…he wasn't really a neighbor, was he? I knew he wasn't going to stay dead! I should've buried h-him and–" Tony started coughing, and it took a good minute before he was able to suppress any more coughs. "Shit," he whispered, breathing heavily.
Gibbs touched Tony's cheek with the back of his hand. He felt a little warm, but that could be because he just awoke. Still, Gibbs looked at Tony with concern. "You okay?"
Nodding, Tony said in a rough voice, "You got any cough syrup?"
"In the bathroom." Gibbs clasped Tony's neck and said urgently, "Tony, are you listening to me?"
Tony nodded, looking miserable. "It was him, isn't it?"
"I think it was, Tony. Look, you're safest in here. You lock the doors, and I'll keep an eye on the house the whole time I'm out there."
"But Jethro…"
Picturing the horses growing frantic in their stalls, and Beals being out there, up to no good, Gibbs barked, "Tony! I have to go. The sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back."
Tony's expression clearly showed he was warring with himself, but he calmed down enough to say, "Okay, but hurry back."
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