Chapter 9
THATCHER
The call came just after we'd fallen asleep. Garrison slipped the roadblocks. Briggs pinged a tower three miles out.
I had my team mobilized before Rivera finished talking.
Sullivan locked down the perimeter of my building, Garcia and Santos positioned on the main access roads with eyes on every vehicle approaching the neighborhood, Hayes coordinating with base security.
Rivera's NCIS team swept a five-mile radius while I stayed with Gwen, sidearm within reach, watching the door and windows like they were firing positions.
"How long do we wait?" Gwen asked around midnight, curled on the couch with her laptop, pretending to work while she checks the window every few minutes.
"As long as it takes."
The hours crawled. Sullivan checked in every thirty minutes with the same report: nothing.
Garcia and Santos tracked every vehicle that came within two miles of my place.
None matched Briggs's vehicle description.
Hayes coordinated with gate security, reviewing every entry and exit from base since the ping.
By the time Rivera called off the alert in the early hours of the morning, we had nothing. Either Briggs spooked when he realized we'd mobilized, or he'd never been planning a move in the first place. Maybe just passing through. Maybe testing our response time.
Either way, by the time we stumbled to bed, exhaustion had won. We crashed hard, too tired for anything except collapsing into each other.
Now sunlight cuts through the blinds, painting stripes across Gwen's bare shoulder. She's pressed against my side, one leg thrown over mine, her breath soft and even against my chest. My arm went numb a while ago but I haven't moved. I don't want to move. I don't want to break whatever this is.
Suzy would have liked her. The thought comes unbidden but doesn't hurt the way it used to. Suzy would have appreciated Gwen's stubborn streak, her refusal to be protected like some fragile thing. Would have laughed at how thoroughly Gwen's dismantled every defense I spent years building.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Group text. I reach for it carefully, trying not to wake her.
Sullivan: Captain finally sealed the deal. About damn time.
Garcia: How do you know? Maybe they just slept.
Sullivan: Come on. You see the way they look at each other? No way they just slept.
Santos: About time.
Sullivan: SANTOS SPEAKS. Mark the calendar. Also, I told you he had it in him.
Garcia: You also said it would take two weeks. You lost the bet.
Hayes: Details. Point is the captain's getting laid and we should celebrate.
Garcia: By leaving him alone?
Sullivan: By getting details later. Captain, you there? How was it? She seems like she'd be—
I'm about to type something appropriately threatening when Gwen stirs against me. Her hand slides across my chest, fingers tracing the old scar on my ribs from that clusterfuck in Kandahar.
"Morning," she murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I set the phone down. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like the dead." She pushes up on one elbow, hair falling around her face. "After all the adrenaline wore off anyway. Any updates on Garrison or Briggs?"
"Nothing. Rivera's team swept until the early hours. Either they're gone or lying low."
"So we just wait."
"We stay alert and let NCIS do their job." I brush hair back from her face. "Speaking of which, Rivera wants us at the base some time today. They want your help going through the documentation."
"My help?"
"You documented everything. You know that equipment better than anyone on her team." I trace the line of her jaw. "Plus you presenting findings is going to be the highlight of my day."
"You just want to stare at me across a conference table."
"That too."
She laughs and reaches for my phone. "What were your guys texting about?"
"Nothing important."
"Thatcher." She gives me a look. "Let me see."
I could stop her. Should probably stop her. Instead I watch as she swipes the screen and starts reading. Her expression shifts from curious to amused to outright laughing.
"Oh my god. Sullivan wants details?"
"Sullivan wants a lot of things he's not going to get. I'm deleting this entire thread."
"Don't you dare." She holds the phone out of reach. "This is gold. Santos said 'about time.' Santos barely says anything."
"Exactly. Which means this conversation is over and we're never speaking of it again."
"Your team has a betting pool about our sex life."
"Had. Past tense. Garcia won. It's done."
She's grinning now, that smile I can't look away from. "How much did he win?"
"Not telling you that either."
"Was it substantial? Did Sullivan lose big?"
"Gwen."
"I'm just saying, if your team is this invested in your personal life, maybe you should give them something. A thumbs up. A mission success report."
"Absolutely not."
"A simple 'affirmative' in military speak."
"I will throw that phone out the window."
"You wouldn't. You need it for the investigation." She's still scrolling, laughing at something else Sullivan wrote. "Oh wow. Garcia's asking if you need any tactical advice."
I grab for the phone. She rolls away, taking it with her. I follow, pinning her beneath me on the mattress. She's still laughing, eyes bright with mischief.
"Give me the phone."
"Make me."
"That's a dangerous game, Doc."
"I'm not scared of you, Captain."
"You should be." I dip my head, mouth finding that spot on her neck that makes her gasp. "Especially when you're testing my patience before coffee."
The phone hits the nightstand. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer. "Your team thinks you need tactical advice. Should I be worried about your skills?"
"You seemed satisfied last night."
"Mmm. True. Multiple times if I remember correctly."
"You remember correctly." I work my way down her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. "But I'm happy to provide a refresher."
"We need to be at the base later."
"We have time."
"We need to shower. Get dressed. Get over there."
"Still plenty of time." My hand slides between her thighs, finding her already wet. "See? Your body agrees with me."
She arches into my touch, breath hitching. "You're very confident."
"I'm very motivated." I circle her clit slowly, watching her face. Learning what makes her gasp versus what makes her moan. "Plus I have something to prove now. Can't have Garcia thinking I need tactical advice."
"That's your motivation? Proving something to Garcia?"
"My motivation is making you come before we get in the shower." I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right. "Think I can manage that?"
"You're—oh god—very goal oriented."
"Marines are trained to complete the mission." I increase the pressure, thumb working her clit while my fingers stroke deep. "And you're definitely my mission this morning."
She's close. I can feel it in the way her inner muscles flutter around my fingers, the way her breathing goes shallow and quick. I dip my head, taking her nipple into my mouth while maintaining that relentless rhythm below.
She comes hard, crying out my name as her body arches off the bed. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks roll through her. When she finally goes limp, gasping, I kiss my way back up her body.
"Mission accomplished," I murmur against her mouth.
"Smug bastard."
"You love it."
"I really do." She pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like want and satisfaction. "But now we really need to shower or we'll be late."
"Fine. But I'm washing your back."
"That's not going to save time."
"Who said anything about saving time?"
The shower turns into exactly what I knew it would.
Gwen on her knees with water cascading over both of us, her mouth hot and perfect around my cock.
I brace one hand against the tile, the other tangled in her wet hair, and let her take me apart with lips and tongue and the kind of enthusiasm that makes my knees weak.
When I come, she swallows and looks up at me with those eyes and I know I'm completely gone for her.
We actually manage to get clean after that, though it takes longer than it should.
"This is your fault," I tell her as I navigate base traffic.
"My fault? You're the one who initiated shower activities."
"You're the one who got on your knees."
"Because you were looking at me like I was breakfast."
"You are breakfast. Lunch. Dinner." I slide my hand onto her thigh. "Pretty much every meal I want for the foreseeable future."
She covers my hand with hers. "Smooth, Captain."
"Just being honest."
We arrive at the NCIS field office late. Rivera's waiting in the conference room with two analysts I don't recognize. She takes one look at us and tries to hide a smile.
"Glad you could make it."
"Traffic," I say.
"Right. Traffic." She doesn't look like she believes me for a second. "Dr. Abernathy, thank you for coming. Your documentation has been invaluable to the investigation."
Gwen straightens, shifting into professional mode. "Happy to help. What do you need?"
"We need you to walk us through the equipment discrepancies. Your notes are thorough, but we need context." Rivera pulls up a file on the screen. "Start with the first anomaly you noticed. Mid-January. Three portable ultrasound units listed as transferred to radiology."
"But radiology didn't request them and never received them.
" Gwen moves closer to the screen, pointing at entries.
"The transfer authorization was signed by Commander Garrison, but the receiving signature was forged.
I compared it to actual signatures from the radiology department head. Not even close."
"How did you spot it?"
"I was tracking equipment for an audit. Noticed the portable units were showing as transferred but our trauma bay inventory was short. Started pulling transfer records and found the discrepancy."