Chapter 4

“You know what happens to scar tissue. It’s the strongest part of your skin.”
~ Michael R. Mantell ~

The gym was not in the same building, but was only a short distance away, so we walked. Jethro took my statement to heart; beyond his one-word acceptance of my request to go, he didn’t say anything to me, and I was grateful for the silence. When we were outside, I scanned constantly, and I noticed him doing the same. At least I wasn’t the only one who thought it paid to be cautious. We got inside the other building, and Jethro parked me in a chair and wandered elsewhere. I occupied myself watching people walk back and forth. I’d never really had an opportunity to people-watch the military before. It was fascinating.

Jethro came back with a neatly folded stack of clothes, and a large man dressed for working out. “This is Lance Corporal Mendes,” he said, indicating the man. “I’ve asked him to train with you.”

I smiled at him as I stood. “Hello, Corporal,” I said, extending my hand. He shook it, and I felt the strength in his grip. “Sorry you’ve been ordered to baby-sit me. I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing.”

Both of them smiled, though Mendes’ was much broader than Jethro’s. “Not a problem, ma’am,” he said.

“Here.” Jethro handed me the clothes.

“Whose are these?” I asked.

“Mine.” I looked at him skeptically. “You won’t fit into Kate’s.” I kept looking at him. He sighed a little. “Don’t worry,” he said with a hint of exasperation. “They’re clean.”

“Do you do your own laundry?”

“Yes.”

“Just checking. Are you sure I’ll fit into them?”

“Well, you’re not going to fit into Corporal Mendes’, are you? Make do, Doctor.”

I smiled. He teased me back. So few people did. “Yes, Special Agent.”

“And stay here. Someone will come get you.”

“I don’t take orders from you, remember?”

“I know. But he does.” He turned to Mendes. “Make sure she stays here until someone comes to get her.”

“Yessir!” The corporal saluted, and Jethro nodded and walked towards the exit without another look at me.

“Dirty pool, Jethro!” I called to his retreating back. He turned around, walked backwards for a few steps to smile at me, then left. I turned to Mendes. “Did he give you any other instructions I should know about?”

“Just that you needed a partner with some skill in unarmed combat, and I was to make myself available.”

“Meaning he really did order you to baby-sit me, and to cater to all my whims.”

“I wouldn’t put it exactly that way, ma’am.”

I liked the evasion. “Exactly what way would you put it, Corporal?”

“Special Agent Gibbs didn’t use the term ‘baby-sit,’ ma’am.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. All right, show me the locker room, Corporal. Then I’ll want to warm up for about half an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am. This way.”

Jethro’s clothes were a decent fit. The t-shirt hung a little loose around the shoulders, and I had to cinch the shorts in with their drawstring, but overall it worked. He hadn’t given me shoes, but I really didn’t want any. I put my jacket, clothes, and shoes in an empty locker and closed the door. No lock, but would anyone really steal from me? Here? I looked at myself as I passed by a mirror. The shorts were long enough that most of the puckered scar on my right thigh was hidden, but nothing could hide the deep one on my left calf, or the spider webs of white lines on my arms. I sighed a little. One good thing about Asian martial arts: the outfit hid everything. Still, these were all soldiers working out here. I was sure they’d seen scars before.

Mendes was waiting for me near the exit to the locker room, trying to look unobtrusive. I had to smile. He was over six feet tall, well muscled, and so obviously used to moving and acting that waiting was making him a little restless. He couldn’t have been any less unobtrusive if he’d tried. I walked over to him. He looked at the scar on my calf, but the examination was brief, and once he’d satisfied himself, he didn’t look at it again. “Corporal. To the mats, then?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can I convince you to call me Jen?”

He smiled sheepishly. “No, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.”

For half an hour, I stretched and did a basic warm-up. Mendes left me to do his own thing, which turned out to be some sparring in the boxing ring with another Marine. I watched him as I stretched, examining his fighting style. He was good. I was better.

He wasn’t breathing hard when he left off and came back over to me. By this time, I was working at a punching bag, lightly hitting to stretch the muscles and warm them up. Without saying anything, he stepped behind and held the bag for me. I kept working, gradually increasing in intensity.

“Floor’s open,” Mendes said suddenly.

I turned around and saw that he spoke truly. There was no one on the wrestling mat. “All right,” I said. “Shin guards and gloves?”

“Over here.” He found me some equipment, and some for himself as well. Both of us eschewed the more padded gear for just minor protection. I taped my wrists, strapped on the shin guards, and put on the gloves. Then I stepped onto the mat, Mendes following. I turned and formally bowed to him. He seemed a little unsure, so he sketched me a salute. Then we began.

I had taken a little bit of karate before Rushfeldt, just enough that I learned how to break an attacker’s grip if I needed to. But it had been years before, and Rushfeldt hadn’t allowed me much time between grabbing me and chloroforming me to do much to him, even if I had been in practice. When I got out of the hospital the first time and started physiotherapy, I was so weak that I knew I needed to do something else to build myself up. As luck would have it, there was a dojo down the street from my new apartment. So one day, I went in and signed up for a class.

I worked hard, every day that I wasn’t in hospital or on bed rest after surgery, and the students and sensei worked with me, and my strength went up along with my skill. Rushfeldt hadn’t broken me, but he had taken something from me in that warehouse, something that learning how to fight brought back. The torture had been physical, not sexual; he had taken my body away from me, made me a slave to the pain that it was suffering. With karate, my body once more fell under my control. In that first year, I occasionally thought about giving up the psychologist, because I felt more peace at the end of an hour at the dojo than I did after an hour baring my soul.

Skill after skill, belt after belt, I put my strength back together, just as the surgeries put my body back together and the counseling put my mind back together. Two years after Rushfeldt, I got my black belt. Two years after Rushfeldt, I put a stop to the plastic surgeries. Two years after Rushfeldt, I went back to teaching English fulltime at U-Baltimore. But four and a half years after Rushfeldt, just hearing of his escape had practically undone me.

Helen had called me at seven that morning, and ever since, my muscles had been tight, my senses completely focused externally, and my mind intent on Rushfeldt to a degree that it rarely was anymore. Adrenaline sang through my veins, fueled by both fear and anger. The anger had been increased by my conversation with Kate; the fear had shot up with my talk with Jethro. But the cause of both emotions was out of my reach, so I needed some other outlet.

I pinned Mendes five times before he stopped holding back. Then he finally got it through his head that I expected him to do his best. That, and his pride was suffering a little bit as well. From the crowd that gathered to watch, I got the feeling that Mendes was known for his fighting skills, and here I was, a complete stranger, a woman, and a university professor to boot, wiping the mat with him. After he pulled out all the stops, we were more evenly matched, though his fighting style was less formalized and more practical. I ended up breathing in the dust from the mat several times. Still, the overall tally was decidedly in my favour.

As we fought, my mind cycled down, until all there was was the next move, the next match, the next opportunity to pin him. I even lost awareness of the spectators, the edges of the mat, the sounds of others working out around us. Fighting Mendes centred me, brought me back from shooting off in all directions to a rock-solid core.

I don’t know how long Mendes and I fought. It was long enough that we both worked up a sweat, had to stop a few times to stretch and get some water, and raised a few decent bruises on each other’s bodies. But then, as I was helping him up after pinning him once again, my knee gave out, and suddenly I was sprawled on top of him, unable to recover quickly enough to roll to the side. He grunted slightly as we fell to the mat again, but that was all. Then his hands were at my sides. “Ma’am?” he said. “Are you okay?” He pushed and I rolled, and then I was sitting on the mat, and he came up on his toes in front of me.

“I’m fine, Corporal,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

“’s all right, ma’am,” he said, standing and extending his hand to me.

I took it and pulled myself up, but no sooner was I upright than I stumbled again. Mendes caught me, and I grabbed his arms to hold myself up.

“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am? Did I hurt you?”

I looked at him, amused. He realized the silliness of his question immediately, and smiled. I shook my head. “No, I’m fine, I’m just…” Hmm… My brain was a little sluggish. I wondered why…

Mendes came to his conclusions faster. “When was the last time you ate, ma’am?”

Ah yes. Now I knew why this felt familiar. “I had an early dinner yesterday. I think my blood sugar might be a little low.”

Mendes looked at me like I’d just made the understatement of the century. I probably had, considering… I looked at the clock on the wall. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten. “I think we should stop now, ma’am,” he said, with no hint that it was a suggestion.

It didn’t matter. I agreed with him. “I think you’re right, Corporal.”

He put his arm around my waist, and slowly we left the mats. “I’ll call Agent Gibbs, get someone to come get you.”

I nodded. “I need to cool down. And I need to shower,” I said.

“All right. Alex!” A young woman turned from her contemplation of the free weight rack, and immediately came over to us. “This is Private Nielsen,” Mendes said. “Alex, can you help Doctor Levasseur in the locker room?”

“Sure, Raul. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing serious, just lack of nutrients.” She nodded.

“I’m capable of bathing myself, Corporal,” I said.

He looked at me. “No offense, ma’am, but if you fall down and hurt yourself in there, Agent Gibbs will hand me my… uh, head, ma’am.”

I grinned at him. “You’re very good, Corporal. Could he really hand you your ass?”

He seemed to find the mild profanity exiting my mouth funny. “He’s done it a few times, ma’am. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not give him another excuse.”

He set me down on a bench, and between him and Private Nielsen, and over my objections, they quickly helped me off with my gloves and shin guards. Mendes went off to make his phone call, and Private Nielsen accompanied me on a couple of slow turns around the room, all the cool-down I could handle. She was talkative, and we chatted about fighting arts, working with men, and getting some of them past the idea of actually hitting us. She sat down to stretch with me as well, and told me about all the things she was learning from Corporal Mendes and others. She was so young, and had a distinct degree of worship for people like Mendes and myself. She listened to everything I said as though it came from the Mount.

I had done a cursory stretch session when Mendes came back, and I didn’t really feel up to any more. “Someone’s coming,” he said, squatting down next to me.

I nodded and slowly rose. I had to be careful; sudden movements would cause me to pass out in the state I was in. I held my hand out to Mendes. “Thanks for the practice, Corporal,” I said.

He shook it. “Any time, ma’am. Special Agent Gibbs knows how to get a hold of me.”

“I may take you up on that,” I said. “Well, lead on, Private. Best not keep NCIS waiting.”

In the end, I was grateful for her assistance. When I crashed, I crashed hard and fast, and I was coming down quickly. I made the shower lukewarm, and kept one hand on the tiled wall as much as possible. Nielsen stood outside the radius of the spray, ready to help if I needed it. I didn’t miss the way her constant chatter dropped off a bit once the full extent of my scars was revealed, but she didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer. She offered me the use of her toiletries and a gym towel, and I took them, since my own were in my suitcase back in the car. My shower finished, we walked to the locker room proper. It was nice to sit down on the bench in front of my locker. Then Nielsen was fussing over me a little. She combed my hair and tied it back again, then handed me my clothes in order from the locker. I found it a little disconcerting, but the stars dancing in front of my eyes told me that I had really overdone it this time, so I accepted all the help she gave.

Finally, I was ready, and she helped me on with my coat. “Thanks, Private,” I said. “Sorry to be such a bother.”

“No trouble, ma’am,” she said. She leaned in a little. “Between you and me, it was fun seeing Raul get floored like that.”

“Keep working. It’ll be you doing it someday.”

“Think so, ma’am?” She walked beside me as I went towards the exit.

“Know so.”

We left the locker room. Not surprisingly, Anthony was leaning on the wall outside it. He looked up quickly as we came out, and pushed off towards us, digging into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Alex looking after you, there, Jen?” he asked, but the words weren’t really directed at me.

“It’s nothing, Special Agent DiNozzo,” Nielsen said. “Doctor Levasseur gave us quite a demonstration today.”

“Don’t doubt.” He finally pulled an energy bar from the pocket, and pressed it into my hand. I grimaced in distaste, but didn’t object; I needed something. I unwrapped it and started to eat. Anthony kept talking to Nielsen. He was flirting shamelessly, but she seemed to like it. The two of them bantered for a little while, then Anthony looked at his watch. “Oops, told Gibbs I’d be back by now. You took a long time, Jen.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Blame the civilian.”

He grinned. ‘Thanks again, Alex. See ya.”

“Bye, Special Agent DiNozzo. See you again, Doctor?”

“Hopefully,” I said as Anthony took my arm and steered me away. We left the building, and Anthony pulled out a set of keys. “You drove?” I asked.

“Gibbs gave me a choice: drive, or carry you,” he said. “No offense, Jen, but…”

“None taken. It’s not that far. I could have walked.”

“Not according to Lance Corporal Mendes. Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t had lunch?”

“I didn’t have breakfast either,” I said. “It just… slipped my mind.”

He shook his head but didn’t press the issue. He unlocked his car as we approached it, and escorted me around to the passenger’s side. “I ordered you some lemon chicken. That okay?”

“That’s fine,” I said. “You going to hand me into the car too?”

“Natch.” He opened the door and did so. I suffered through it. He shut me in and came around to the driver’s side.

Once he was inside, I said, “You can stop treating me like a porcelain doll now.”

“When you’ve eaten, I’ll stop,” he replied. He put the keys in the ignition, but didn’t turn the engine over. Instead, he leaned across the centre console and drew me into his arms. It was a touch awkward, but I didn’t care. I sighed and closed my eyes. He smelled like leather and expensive aftershave, and the jacket provided some cushioning for my head on his shoulder. We didn’t need to say anything; we already knew everything we could have said.

We stayed like that for a little while, then he kissed me on the cheek and released me. The drive back to his office took about two minutes, since we couldn’t drive across the lawn I’d walked earlier in the day. Then it was up the elevator and back to the place of business.

A voice I hadn’t heard before was speaking as we approached their desks. “He’s gotta have the Doc’s address, Gibbs. It was super easy to find. We got it eleven times in the last five hours.”

“How about Tony’s?” I heard Jethro say.

“Even easier. Tony wasn’t trying to hide.”

“I expected that. What else you got?”

“Well, I’ve set up a keyword search on a bunch of chat rooms and bulletin boards for P.I.s, bounty hunters, urban warriors, that kind of thing. If he starts sniffing around there, we’ll get him.”

“I don’t know, Gibbs,” Kate said. “This guy is low-tech. Personal observation, chloroform, knives, fists, salt. I don’t know if he’s going to be looking online for information.”

“He might hire an investigator who will,” Jethro said.

“And they have controlled access to computers at the psychiatric hospital,” Anthony put in as we came around the corner. “He’s probably learned to use the Internet by now.”

They all turned to us. The lights were dimmed, and the workspace was lit with their desk lamps and the glow from the screens and monitors scattered about. The three I knew were sitting at their desks, eating Chinese food from takeout containers. Two I didn’t were also there: a young woman in a white lab coat who reminded me a great deal of a couple of the students I’d had in my Gothic Literature class, and an older gentleman in a suit and bow tie. The woman was leaning on McGee’s desk, stabbing at her container with chopsticks, while the man lounged behind Jethro’s desk and used a fork with his.

At the sound of Anthony’s voice, Lane came out from behind Kate’s desk. He loped towards me (two strides and he had to pull himself to a screeching halt), and pressed up against my legs. I reached down to pet him. Anthony had my arm, which was good, or I would have fallen. I pulled myself up again, mentally cursing my weakness. “Which one’s mine?” I said. “I’m starving.”

Kate pointed her chopsticks over at Anthony’s desk. Before either of us could take a step in that direction, however, Jethro said, “Introduce Abby and Ducky to your dog.”

I rolled my eyes, belatedly hoping the dimness would cover the motion. But from the look on his face – amused, thankfully – it hadn’t. “How about you introduce me to them first?” I asked.

He pointed. “Ducky. Abby. Jen.”

I thought it was funny, but that might have been my blood sugar level talking. However, Anthony stiffened beside me. With far more formal gestures, he said, “Jen, this is Doctor Donald Mallard, our chief medical examiner, and Abby Sciuto, our forensic specialist. Abby, Ducky, this is Doctor Jennifer Levasseur.”

Dropping Anthony’s arm, I stepped forward to shake their hands, Lane following in my wake. Sciuto immediately pulled herself all the way up onto McGee’s desk, causing him to dive for some papers that she pushed aside. I held back, a little surprised.

“Hey, Doc,” she said, her darkly painted lips smiling to contradict her body language. “How’s it going?”

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Just don’t want to give your friend there something to chow down on.”

I looked down at Lane, who looked up at me with a perfectly innocent expression. “He didn’t bite, did he?”

“Abby exaggerates, Doctor,” Mallard said, his voice tinted with some manner of United Kingdom accent, “but he made it clear we were not on his current list of friends.”

I had to smile at that, and gently tickled Lane between his eyes. He closed them, and tipped his head further up to make the most of the touch. “Good boy,” I told him. “Now, greet.”

He was happy to do so. He was pretty smart for a dog; no doubt he’d figured out that these new people were friends of the other people I’d introduced him to, and so they were probably all right, but he’d waited for my say so before treating them as such. Mallard petted his head, and I motioned Sciuto over. She put her takeout down, hopped off the desk, and crossed the passageway to drop down akimbo on the floor. Lane turned to her, and with his occasional flair for the dramatic, made a great show of sniffing and looking at her. She shook her head, her pigtails tickling his nose, and he snorted and pulled back slightly, then put one heavy front paw on her leg and started sniffing her again.

“I think he’s trying to figure out if you’re a dog or not,” I said. “The collar might be throwing him off.”

As I watched them, they started to sway. I found that odd, until I realized that it wasn’t them moving, but me. Then, suddenly, all four men in the room were at my side, supporting me and marching me back to Anthony’s desk and into his chair. I tried to wave them off, but that only worked with McGee, who once I was sitting retreated and hovered by his own desk. Lane muscled his way between the other three and put his head on my lap. “Gentlemen, please, I’m fine.” They were having none of it.

“I understand you’ve been under a great deal of stress today,” the doctor said, his hand on my wrist to check my pulse, “but you really should remember to eat.”

“I know,” I said. “I just didn’t get hungry.”

“I had a schoolmate back in Edinborough who made an experiment in starvation. He started having hallucinations after forty-four hours. We had to sedate him and–”

Jethro took one of the two takeout containers off Anthony’s desk and started to move towards me, but Anthony intercepted him. While the doctor continued with his story, Anthony took the container from Jethro’s hands with a decidedly forceful gesture. Continuing to listen to the travails of Doctor Mallard’s school chum, I watched the other two men. Something flashed in Jethro’s eyes, possibly surprise or anger. Anthony drew himself up straighter and met his gaze for a moment. Whatever conflict was being played out, it lasted only a moment. Then Anthony turned to me, and handed me the food.

“Here,” he said, interrupting the doctor. He also picked up one of the two forks on the desk and gave it to me.

I opened the container and was immediately overcome by the smell. My mouth watered, and I speared the first piece violently. Oh, it tasted so good! I was ready to stuff another piece into my mouth when the doctor grabbed my arm. I looked up at him, surprised. He was deceptively strong. “Slowly, my dear,” he said. “You don’t want to become ill.”

Goddamn instinct. Twice in the last twelve hours, it had taken over. I didn’t like functioning that way. It was hard, but I got my conscious mind back in control. I nodded to him, and he released my arm. I chewed the first piece thoroughly and swallowed before starting to eat slowly. Instinct fought to gorge, but somehow I managed to keep it at bay.

I lost sight of everything except the food for a little while, but as I neared the end of the container, I became aware once again of the people around me. Lane lay on the floor next to my chair, and Doctor Mallard was standing on the other side of him, watching me carefully. He smiled when I looked at him, and nodded. I ducked my head sheepishly. None of Anthony’s friends were meeting me at my best. My first introduction to the other agents had been marked by my temper, and the doctor and Sciuto met me when I was physically weakened. Those were both terrible first impressions.

Anthony was perched on the edge of Kate’s desk, scraping the sides of his own takeout container with his fork. Kate had rolled her chair out so she sat beside him. McGee and Sciuto leaned side by side on his desk. All of their attention was focused on Jethro, installed behind his monitors like a game-master.

“If Rushfeldt didn’t follow Jen here,” he was saying, “I’m guessing we’ve got about twenty four hours until he shows up. Fornell will have cars here in an hour, and will transport Tony and Jen to the safe house. Tony, you know what’s expected.” Anthony’s mouth was full, so he nodded silently. “The Director has authorized a joint investigation with Baltimore PD, so Kate, McGee and I will be coordinating with them. Abby, be ready to do some fast work if we need it.”

“Just get me the stuff, Gibbs,” Sciuto said.

“Good. Ducky, I’m hoping we won’t need your expertise.”

“Believe me, Jethro, so do I.” I looked back at the doctor, somewhat surprised by his use of Jethro’s first name. “But if you do, I am at your disposal.”

Jethro nodded. “All right then–”

“Who’s Fornell?” I asked.

The quick turn of his head was his only indication of surprise. He looked as though he wanted to comment on my return from the blissful land of eating, but he didn’t. “He’s an FBI agent,” he said instead. “He owes me a favour. I called it in.” I started to reply, but he subtly shook his head. He turned to Kate and Tony. “You two, get Jen’s things into the garage and store her car, then come back here.” They acknowledged the order and left the room. “McGee, Abby, if Jen’s right and he’s got money, he had to get it from somewhere, and not the Caymans. It’ll be continental, so it’ll be possible to find. It’s a long shot, but keep going where the lawyers left off. You might be able to find it, and we might be able to get a lead on him.”

“Sure thing, Gibbs,” Sciuto said. “Come on, McGee.” The two young people left as well, brainstorming on their way to the rear elevator.

Even before they were gone from the floor, Jethro got up from his chair and came over to where Mallard and I were stationed. “Feeling better?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, thank you.” He took the empty container from me and threw it into Anthony’s garbage can. “If an FBI agent owed you a favour, why did you waste it on this?”

“It’s not wasted,” he said, turning back to me. He sat down on the edge of Anthony’s desk, one leg dangling, arms crossed over his chest. “The favour he owes me is pretty big. This doesn’t cancel it out.”

“You trust him?”

“I saved his career.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes,” he said. “I trust him.”

“Okay, then.” I leaned forward and put my face in my hands.

“Are you all right?” Jethro asked.

“I’m fine. I’m tired.”

“Jethro,” Mallard said from my right, “the sooner you can get Doctor Levasseur to the safe house, the better. She needs to rest.”

“I’m working on it.” Jethro was moving. I’d heard his clothes shift as Mallard had been speaking. Now he seemed to be taking station behind me. I tensed slightly, and then I felt his hands lightly on my shoulders. I jerked and pulled away a little, raising my head and looking back. What was he trying to do? In my periphery, he reached forward, touched me again, and gently began to work the muscles in my upper back.

I thought for a moment. Did I want to let him do this? It was kind of him, but not necessary. I was fine… Then he found a knot between my shoulder blades, and the pain/pleasure principle took over. I dropped my head back down and leaned back into the chair.

“Well,” Mallard said, and there was an unmistakable air of amusement in his voice, “since you’re in good hands, my dear, I think it’s safe to leave you. I have an autopsy scheduled first thing tomorrow.”

Good hands, indeed. I was quite surprised I was able to reply at all; witty comebacks were out of the question. I raised my head enough to look at him. He was definitely entertained by his own humour. “Good night, Doctor. It was nice to meet you.”

He nodded, but when he looked up from me to the man behind me, his expression became serious. “Good night, Jethro. Take good care.”

“I always do, Duck.”

Man. I would give a lot to be that self-confident. In any case, Mallard seemed to find the reply adequate, because he nodded, and left. I listened to his footsteps until the carpet muffled them too much, then heard the elevator arrive, open, and close again. The office was quiet. The only sounds were the humming of electronic equipment, someone’s aquarium screensaver bubbling from far away, and the quiet breathing of the man behind me.

Jethro moved his attention from my shoulders to my neck, and by his ministrations persuaded me to lean further back in the chair and tip my head up until it rested against his stomach. My eyes were closed; I couldn’t have opened them if I wanted to. “Do you do this for all of Anthony’s friends?” I asked after a while.

He paused for a moment, then went back to work. “No,” he said.

“How about all the women you’ve decided to protect?”

I heard the smile in his voice this time. “No.”

“So I’m special, then?”

“Yes.”

His fingers danced, skirting my hairline, earlobes, jaw, gentle but strong. “People trust you implicitly, don’t they?”

He laughed a little. “No, not usually.”

“Just the ones that you touch?”

“Those ones even less.”

“How many times have you been married, Jethro?”

Again, his fingers paused briefly. “What makes you think that I’ve been married?”

“Any man who knows how to trounce Corporal Mendes but also can give a massage like this must have been married at least once.”

He didn’t want to answer me. I could feel that in him. But eventually, he did. “Three times. You?”

“Once,” I said. “Starter marriage. Undergrad. When I decided I wanted a PhD, he decided he wanted someone less intellectually intimidating.”

There was a short silence. “Just once?”

Now I didn’t want to answer him, but turnabout was fair play. “I had a long-term relationship. It ended shortly before the do where I met Rushfeldt. That was… part of the reason I argued with him as strongly as I did.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Yes.” I was silent for a while. His fingers continued to move against me. “No.”

“Such confidence.”

I opened my eyes. He was looking down on me, smiling. Slowly breaking away from him, I rose and turned around. Lane looked up at me, but put his head back down on his paws again almost immediately when I saw I wasn’t going anywhere. Jethro and I stood looking at each other, separated by the chair. His eyes asked what he’d done to offend me. “Don’t laugh at me, Jethro,” I said quietly. “It’s not an easy question. Four years isn’t much time to spend trying to answer it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. Not with complete certainty, anyway.”

I saw understanding begin to grow in him. Understanding, and fascination. If I had intrigued him before, I did so doubly now. The feeling was mutual. The man in front of me was so layered, so multifaceted. He was a kaleidoscope. I had a heavy stained-glass monster of one in my apartment in Baltimore, with its own polished oak stand and brass fittings. In the summer, I sometimes set it up by my west-facing window, and spent hours looking through it at the setting sun, listening to Arvo Pärt, sipping Merlot, and scribbling free verse when something I saw inspired me. Jethro gave me the same feelings: enthrallment, discomfort, and an intoxicating buzz. Was it just because of how we met? My emotional defenses were overwhelmed right now, and easily breached. Maybe it was. But that didn’t make it any less real.

I wasn’t sure how long we stood there, looking at one another. Minutes, hours, what have you. Then, suddenly, the sound of voices broke my trance, and I looked away from Jethro as Anthony and Kate reappeared from the direction of the rear elevator, arguing with little heat about the best way to park a car. Part of me was relieved at their arrival. Jethro was an overwhelming presence, and I was too tired right now to deal with my reactions to him effectively.

“My car’s still in one piece, isn’t it?” I asked them as they came closer.

“You might want to get your brakes looked at,” Kate said, glaring at Anthony.

But Anthony missed it. He was looking at me, and at Jethro, and his eyes narrowed slightly. What he read off of us must have been enough to make him suspicious, because he came directly over to me, reached out, and took my hand. “How you doing, Jen?”

I squeezed his hand, then let it go. “I’ve eaten now. You promised to stop once I’d eaten.”

He smiled. “I lied.”

“How did I guess.”

“Tony, do you have the gear signed out from Supply?” Jethro’s voice was controlled and calm. If he had any thoughts on Anthony’s possessiveness, they didn’t show in his voice.

Anthony looked over my shoulder. “It’s all down in the garage with our suitcases, Boss,” he said. “Just waiting for Fornell.”

Jethro appeared in my peripheral, moving around the other side of Anthony’s desk and back to his own. “All right,” he said, not looking at either of us until he was sitting back down. “You two get down there and wait for Fornell. He’ll take care of getting you to the safe house. Kate, let’s call it a night and get back to it tomorrow morning.”

As the three of them started tidying up their desks and shutting off what they could, I moved off to the side with Lane. Kate put her coat on, shut off her desk lamp, and picked up her purse, but instead of going directly to the elevator, she crossed the passageway to Anthony’s desk. He looked up at her as he put his coat back on. “Take care of yourself, Tony,” she said quietly.

With surprising seriousness, he nodded. “I will. I promise.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Night, Kate.”

There was the slightest pause before she turned away from him and towards the elevator. I stood by the windows, and she smiled at me as she came closer. “Don’t worry, Jen,” she said. “We’ll take care of it.”

I nodded. “I think you might. Thanks, Kate.”

Her steps had renewed purpose as she left me behind and went towards the elevator. I watched her go, then turned back as Anthony approached me. He offered me his arm. “Shall we?” he asked with put-on formalism. I rolled my eyes, but took his arm anyway. Jethro looked up as we passed by his desk. “Night, Boss,” Anthony said.

He was guarded now, his face not blank, but controlled. “Good night, Tony.” His gaze shifted to mine. “Jen.”

Anthony was tugging on my arm a little. Lane waited patiently at my heel. I blinked once, twice. “Good night, Jethro.” Then I turned my head away, and let Anthony lead me to the rear elevator.