Just a line to keep the spacing…
Chapter Twelve
Hooked on a Feeling
A dull ray of wintery sun shone through the crooked blinds in the small apartment where Tony was staying. The place was rather seedy and certainly nothing like his sophisticated apartment back in DC. His alias was supposed to be living hand-to-mouth, so this was it. Although, he suspected Sacks, who'd coordinated the temporary living arrangements, had gone out of his way to find something he knew Tony would hate. How he missed his piano. Playing a few familiar melodies was an excellent way to pour out his tension at the end of a day.
It was much later than he usually woke when he was heading to the Navy Yard, but Cody Redman worked nights, so Tony adjusted. He didn't like to think of how quickly Gibbs would insist Tony get back to regular hours once the assignment was done and he returned to the life of a Very Special Agent.
Of course, regular hours to Gibbs meant basically twenty-four/seven, so he supposed it didn't really make a difference anyway.
He pulled the blankets closer around his body for protection against the chilled air. The heat didn't work very well in this building. Actually, nothing worked very well. It wasn't as if it was filthy, just old, rundown, and falling apart. He hadn't been here all that long, but he'd already come across several cockroaches. Fortunately, as of yet, he hadn't seen a rat. Tony never had a germ phobia before, but he felt his unease was justified since it had been less than a year since he had the Pneumonic Plague.
That would leave a dent on anyone's psyche.
Now that the sleepy cobwebs were fading, he sat up, looking around blearily as he stretched. The events of the night before were coming back to him, causing his heartbeat to quicken. He supposed it was a good sign that no one came pounding on his door overnight to punish him for the sailor's escape.
If he really escaped. Tony didn't know if the police had found him in time. It was bitterly cold, and the man was pretty out of it. He squashed the guilt as quickly as it tried to wrap its coils around him. He'd done what he could without blowing his cover.
Sully's life – and probably several others – depended on Tony keeping that cover. If the sailor became another victim, well… Tony would deal with that later. Guilt was an old friend, frequently making itself known whenever Tony became still, or his apartment was too silent. He preferred a little chaos to keep his demons away.
When he stood up, the blanket fell off his bare shoulders, causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps. Leaving it in a heap on the bed, he hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stared at himself in the cloudy mirror.
He looked like hell.
Tony turned the knob in the shower, knowing it would take a few moments for the water to warm. Freezing, he wrapped his arms around himself, bouncing from foot to foot on the stained floor. He didn't even want to think about what had made those stains over the years the building stood.
Once he finished his shower and got his brain working on all cylinders, he intended to keep his usual routine by heading over to the diner across the street. At least the food was hot and comforting. Hopefully, Gibbs or Tina… or even Fornell would be there and could perhaps give him a nod, so he'd know if things turned out all right. If not, he'd just have to paste on a smile and go to the bar. If they suspected something, he'd know pretty quick.
He'd also decided that he needed to give Gibbs a heads up that Lola could compromise him.
Images of the bodies he'd found in that condemned building and the autopsy reports, detailing what had been done to them, flashed across his mind. He wasn't able to completely tamp down the anxiety racing through his veins. Even though he'd apparently gotten away with it unseen, he had a bad feeling. Lola knew he was up to something when she'd pulled him into that kiss, and he'd bet she'd know about the missing sailor before her shift even began tonight.
The question was, would she sell Tony – Cody – out?
Sliding off the boxer shorts he'd slept in, Tony stepped into the shower and under the warm spray. The steam made his skin tingle. It never got as hot as he liked, but it was warm enough, as long as he didn't dally too long. He shut his eyes and looked up into the spray, breathing deeply as the water wet his face and hair, hopefully washing away all traces of the lack of sleep he'd suffered.
"Don't let them put you in a position to owe them," Lola's warning from the previous night rang in his ears.
She knew something, he just wasn't certain what – or if she was a victim or co-conspirator.
Grabbing the soap from its chipped, ceramic holder, he began to lather up his chest. He still hadn't gotten used to the fact it was smooth and bare. Maybe that was why he was so damned cold. Abby enjoyed shaving it off way too much.
Tony proceeded to wash his arms and shoulders, enjoying the feel of the sudsy water rolling in rivulets down his body. He poured some shampoo into his hand and began massaging it into his scalp, causing the smell of pine and evergreen to fill the small bathroom.
The images of those bodies appeared again as soon as he shut his eyes.
He opened them quickly, blinking out the stinging soap and in need of a distraction. He wondered what was going on with his team. What had Ziva been doing, and how much further had she managed to insinuate herself amongst them? He'd thought he'd succeeded in at least raising Gibbs' suspicions, but while Tony had been away, he didn't know if Ziva brought him back over to the Dark side with her doe-eyed need for his protection.
As if the arrogant woman would openly admit that she needed protection unless she was up to something. Gibbs own arrogance and his need to always be the one in control was going to blow up in his face if he didn't let go of his feelings and start looking at the facts.
Tony snorted. Perhaps hell really had frozen over if he thought Gibbs was acting on feelings. Most people thought he didn't have any, but Tony knew otherwise. While it might not come out freely, he knew Gibbs cared a lot about his team and would do anything to protect them – even to his own detriment. He'd shown it when Tony was suffering the effects of the plague, and Gibbs held several scientists at gunpoint to get a cure.
Gibbs and NCIS were still wading through legal battles over it.
Tony respected his boss more than any other human on the planet, but he'd been shocked to realize how easily he could be manipulated if it was a woman doing the manipulating. If someone told him this when Gibbs first rescued him from a bad situation in Baltimore, Tony wouldn't have believed it. Gibbs saw something in him, when Tony had pretty much given up on himself.
He owed him for that.
Usually, he was happy to follow Gibbs lead, but the shine on his idol had dulled over the past few months. He hoped it wasn't lost forever. Almost immediately, they'd shared a connection. They thought alike and could communicate without the need for words. They'd made a pretty successful two-man team. Tony hadn't really seen the cracks until Kate joined them. By the time Ziva and their new Director came along, it was obvious. He should've seen it right away by the way he treated Abby, although maybe not since Tony loved and wanted to protect Abby, too. The others were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Gibbs inability to see women as anything but weaker and needing his protection was putting them all at risk.
Tony intended to ensure that no one got hurt by exposing Ziva's manipulations. He just hoped Gibbs would come to see it as Tony having his six rather than pissing on his territory. For now, though, he had to focus on the case and the unease that was plaguing him.
By the time he'd finished cleansing his legs, the water was already beginning to cool. He finished up quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist and hurrying back into the bedroom to find something to wear. Despite his chilly apartment and the frigid air outside, the bar actually got pretty warm once the crowd filled in.
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, adding a button-down that he could remove later if necessary. He wished he could risk a call to headquarters, if only to see if Gibbs' gut was churning the same way Tony's was, but he knew it wasn't advisable. He had no idea if he was being watched or monitored. There was nothing left for it but to face the music.
Throwing on his leather jacket, he locked his door and headed toward the diner, hoping against hope that one of his people would be there.
/* /* /* /*
Gibbs and Fornell returned to the Philadelphia office much later that afternoon, but before the Vault Tavern opened. Their rescued sailor finally awoke, and after a battle with his doctors to be given access, they finally had something they could use. Gibbs drove even more recklessly than usual, wanting to get back to the office and review whatever McGee managed to discover. He had a bad feeling in his gut, and it was growing stronger as each minute passed.
"What've you got?" he asked in lieu of a greeting as soon as they marched into the squad room.
"Boss! Is the sailor awake?" McGee asked, perking up hopefully.
Tina Kehoe emerged from her office, leaned against the door, and folded her arms across her chest, also awaiting answers.
Gibbs let Fornell do the talking.
"He is. He was reluctant to reveal anything, even after we assured him that we could provide protection. Didn't even speak up when his parents arrived. It was only after learning that DiNozzo was working with us that he provided some answers. He had enough recollection to know DiNozzo saved his life."
"What did he say?" McGee asked.
"Said he was into them for a lot of money, and he lost really big to Santini last night. He promised to get him the money, but Santini just walked away. That's when Matt Evans, the bouncer, approached him. Told him he could wipe out his debt entirely by simply informing Dave Barrows when the USS Delaware is scheduled to get underway," Fornell said.
"The Delaware?" McGee asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, our sailor is on leave from the Delaware. He came to Philly to visit his family, and Evans demanded to know the date he was due to set sail, and where they were headed," Fornell said.
"So… does that mean they've obtained the weapon plans they've been seeking?" Tina asked apprehensively.
"If he's on leave, his departure date won't be too far off. We've got to find out what this terrorist cell is planning on the Delaware," Fornell said.
"Err… Boss," McGee said, his fingers flying over his keyboard, "The Delaware is the same ship Pete Warren's son was stationed before his Dishonorable discharge. Subsequently, he did time for aggravated assault."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "Retaliatory strike."
"You think this isn't an actual terror cell, but a personal vendetta?" Tina asked. "It's been the families of those they want information from that have been disappearing. His parents will be targets."
"We've already thought of that, and our sailor and his family will remain in protective custody until we get this sorted out," Fornell said.
"What's Barrows connection?" Gibbs asked.
"We know he was also Dishonorably discharged. It'll take a little more digging to find where he was stationed since it happened so long ago," McGee said.
"Do it," Gibbs replied.
"Er, Boss – we found something else. Agent Sacks did, actually," Tim said, swallowing visibly, his eyes darting nervously towards Fornell.
"Well?" Gibbs barked, pinning Tim with his stare.
"Uhm, you see, it seems… Pete W- Warren has b- been on a watch list for suspected Arms dealing," Tim replied, cringing as if he knew what was coming.
"What?" Gibbs shouted, moving across the room in two strides and towering over his junior agent. "And we're just learning about this now?"
"It's not his fault, Jethro. It's from a secured FBI database," Fornell said, sighing.
Glaring, Gibbs whirled towards Fornell, his expression thunderous.
Fornell rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, We only uncovered the information overnight. Don't tell me all your suspicious characters are shared with the other agencies, either."
"They are when we're involved in a joint investigation," Gibbs roared.
"Oh, really? Then how do you explain holding back the fact you were onto the Vault Tavern before you 'fessed up?" Fornell asked heatedly.
"All right, we all know now. Agent Fornell, is there anything else relevant that you're withholding?" Tina asked, her disapproval clear.
Fornell looked slightly abashed. "There's no evidence against Warren, just affiliation with other persons of interest."
Tina pressed her lips together while Gibbs seethed, pacing, and clenching his fists together.
"We have enough to get warrants for Warren, Barrows and Evans, but nothing more than gambling on Santini. I'm on it," Tina said.
"Wait! We haven't heard from Ziva yet," Tim said.
"I did. She retrieved the bag and is on her way back," Gibbs said, still seething.
"What? She was supposed to call in here once she had it," Tina snapped.
"She called me," Gibbs replied, feeling they were wasting time worrying about semantics.
He wanted to get DiNozzo out of that bar as soon as possible. His gut was still churning, and he didn't think it had anything to do with Fornell holding back information.
"Agent Gibbs, I gave Officer David specific orders to contact me as soon as she had that bag, and I also asked that she and Agent Sacks observe the parking lot to let us know about activity at the club. Perhaps we could've already had these warrant requests underway if she'd followed orders," Tina said, glaring right back.
Gibbs didn't like being questioned, and he liked it even less that Kehoe was complaining about the same thing DiNozzo had. Still – his team, his responsibility – and he wouldn't take any interference, particularly as the FBI had also slowed things down by holding back their information on Warren.
"I'll handle Ziva," he said.
"Will you?" Tina asked, raising her eyebrow.
Gibbs tendency to react with aggression surfaced. "Are you questioning me?" he asked, taking a step into her personal space.
Intimidating women had never sat right with him, but he wouldn't tolerate anyone questioning how he ran his team, particularly when one of them was in potential danger.
"Yeah, I suppose I am questioning you – at least as far as Officer David is concerned. She's insubordinate and has now ignored a direct order. Somehow, I don't think you'd allow anyone else on your team to get away with that, and they both seem to actually know how to do their jobs," Tina said hotly.
Fornell grabbed Gibbs arm and pulled him back. "Agent Kehoe, get started on those warrants."
Tina pursed her lips but returned to her office. Gibbs whirled on Fornell.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? I won't have my agents questioned by yours, Fornell," he shouted.
"Fine, then you deal with it when Officer David returns. For now, we've got a lot to do and only a short time to get it all done. The club opens in less than an hour," Fornell growled.
Gibbs glanced at the clock. Fornell was right. Even though it rankled letting Kehoe get the last word, DiNozzo came first.
"I want multiple teams assigned to the club so we're prepared if there's trouble, or if they try to run. Barrows and Evans should both be there," Gibbs said, growling.
"Agreed. I'll have a tail put on Warren so we can issue the warrants at the same time," Fornell said.
Gibbs hoped it would be enough.
/* /* /* /*
Tony entered the club from the back as there was already a line of customers forming out front. To his dismay, none of his contacts had been at the diner, so he was going into the club blind. He really hoped Lola kept her mouth shut. He'd been running scenarios of how he could talk his way out of it, if necessary, all afternoon. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open and went inside.
The stockroom was empty, but he could hear activity coming from the main bar. No yelling, just the usual chatter amongst employees before opening each night. He took that as a good sign. He pasted on a cheery grin and strode across the room into the club, where he was greeted by a few of the other bartenders and waitresses huddled around the bar.
"Hey, what's going on?" he asked, since they seemed to be discussing something with a lot of animation.
"You're lucky you didn't get here early. The stockroom was a mess. We just finished getting it back together," one of the waitresses said, clearly annoyed with the extra work.
"Why? What happened? It wasn't a mess when we left," Tony said.
"I know, but it's been thoroughly torn apart. It makes me wonder if the police did a search," another waitress said, whispering timidly.
"Why would they?" Tony asked, feigning confusion.
Her expression became evasive, as she shrugged. "No idea, but Barrows hasn't been seen, and he's usually the first one here."
"What are you all standing around for? Get to work," Matt Evans growled, emerging from the card room.
He scowled at all of them, but didn't make eye contact with anyone in particular. Tony began preparing his station, and when the doors were finally unlocked, a steady stream of customers flowed inside. Ziva and McGee were some of the first, and they claimed a table near the dance floor. Tony thought he recognized other familiar faces, too, but he supposed they could simply be regulars.
After about an hour, he began to relax. He'd been busy making drinks, but no one approached him, looked at him funny, or even seemed to know anything about the disappearance the night before. The one nagging worry was that he hadn't seen Lola, although admittedly, he didn't know if she was scheduled to work that night.
As the music got louder and the dance floor filled, Tony saw McGee dancing with a young woman whom he assumed was another agent. He couldn't help grinning at how stiff and awkward the probie looked. His dance partner had the moves, though, and she didn't seem to mind his lack of rhythm. McTwoleftfeet shook his head, hurriedly left the floor, and went back over to where Ziva was sitting while his partner stared after him incredulously.
Poor Probie.
Tony turned back to the bar, still grinning, and was surprised when Stephanie, the woman who he'd distracted in the poker room the night before, approached him. She was dressed to the nines with a plunging neckline and a very short skirt.
"Hi, Cody," she said brightly. "Can I get a Cosmo?"
"Sure thing," he said as he began preparing her cocktail.
There wasn't a card game scheduled, so his eyes roamed the crowd for Pete Warren. He didn't see him anywhere.
"Are you on your own tonight, or did you finally convince Pete to come out and dance?" he asked playfully, placing the drink in front of her.
Stephanie pouted. "No. He won't dance."
She really was rather childlike, but he felt bad for her. "Ah, well – at least you're here, and I'm sure someone will ask you to dance shortly."
She leaned over the bar, giving him a revealing look down her cleavage. "Can I tell you something?" she asked, looking a little nervous.
"Sure," Tony replied.
Stephanie glanced from side to side. "Not here. Come over by the bathrooms," she said, walking toward the short corridor than led to the restrooms.
Tony frowned, puzzled. Maybe she had some info on Pete that she wanted to share. He'd discovered over the years that women could be pretty vindictive when a relationship ended. He glanced over towards Ziva and McGee to be sure they were watching. Signaling one of the other bartenders to indicate he needed a break; he followed Stephanie toward the restrooms.
She stood just outside the hallway, eyes wide and watching for him. Tony scanned the corridor behind her and the surrounding area, but she was alone.
"What is it?" he asked.
She looked up at him with soft eyes, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace, pulling him close.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way," she whispered before he felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck.
Surprised and wary, he pulled away, stumbling slightly. Stephanie watched him impassively. Before he could take the few steps back into the bar, a large, beefy arm that he recognized all too well yanked him into the stockroom which was located perpendicular to the men's room. Matt Evans stood over him, eyes blazing with fury, and a vice-like grip on his arm. The long scar along his face blurred and distorted.
The room was spinning, and Tony had trouble focusing. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his head. Matt shoved him further into the room, hard, causing Tony to stumble and fall to the floor. He knocked his head into some shelving as he went down. Matt shut the door behind them with an ominous click.
"Matt," Tony said, slurring.
His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, and the music outside sounded warped – dimming, then growing louder before dimming again. He couldn't seem to pull himself off the floor.
"Wha's goin on?" he asked, struggling to pronoune the words.
"Shut up, pig," Matt snarled, viciously kicking Tony in the ribs.
Tony groaned, unable to get his body to cooperate. Enraged, Matt continued to kick, slowly, painstakingly sliding Tony's body along the floor. Tony's limbs were uncooperative, and he couldn't seem to get his mind to process what he needed to do. He wanted to shout, but he knew no one would hear him over the music. His only hope was that McGee or Ziva would get suspicious when he didn't reappear with Stephanie. He just had to slow Matt down, but his muddled brain didn't have any bright ideas how. Every time something occurred to him, it slipped away before he could focus. It was like trying to hold water in his hand.
After a particularly savage kick, Tony heard something crack. Oddly, he could no longer feel any pain. With the last kick, however, he saw the open hatch to the wine cellar looming ever closer. He tried to grasp the bottom of the stock shelves, attempting to hold on. It was no use, however. Matt slammed his boot down on Tony's hand, crushing it. One more kick, and Tony tumbled down the decaying steps into what he'd assumed was a wine cellar.
That assumption was wrong. When Tony hit the ground and his vision began to fade, he realized it was actually a tunnel. Dave Barrows, Pete Warren, and another, younger man, were all there, looking menacing and waiting to drag him through.
His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was that he was well and truly screwed.
Note: Sue, my friend and pre-reader's dad is a former police chief. I asked him what a good way to blow someone's cover would be. He first suggested a picture, but since Tony doesn't wear a uniform, and I thought that would be too easy for Ziva to get caught, I ruled it out. He then told me referring to a cop as a pig was common and an easy way to blow a cover, so that's what I went with. Thanks, Sue's dad!