Chapter 9 #2
One of the analysts, a woman with sharp eyes and sharper questions, leans forward. "How many other transfers followed this pattern?"
"Dozens over several months." Gwen pulls out her tablet, starts bringing up files. "All high-value equipment. All authorized by Garrison. All with forged receiving signatures."
I watch her work, explaining each discrepancy with the kind of methodical precision that makes it hard to look away. This is what she does. This is who she is. Brilliant and thorough and absolutely unwilling to let anything slide.
Rivera catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. I ignore her.
"The question is where the equipment went," the second analyst says. "We've checked inventory at every department on base. Nothing."
"Because it's not on base anymore." Rivera brings up another screen. "We found shipping records. Private courier service, payments routed through shell companies." She pauses. "The equipment was sold. International buyers through dark web marketplaces."
Gwen goes still beside me. "They were selling our equipment?"
"Medical equipment doesn't go through the same scrutiny as weapons. Easier to move, harder to trace." Rivera clicks through more files. "We're talking high-end ultrasounds, surgical equipment, monitoring systems. Street value in the hundreds of thousands."
"How did Garrison cover the database records?" I ask.
"That's where it gets interesting." The female analyst pulls up code on screen. "The inventory system was hacked. Someone with serious skills went in and manipulated entries to match the fraudulent transfer authorizations. Made it look legitimate in the system."
"Garrison's background is logistics, not IT," Rivera says. "Which means she had help. Someone with cyber capabilities."
"Briggs?" Gwen asks.
"Briggs is muscle, not brains." Rivera shakes her head. "Dishonorably discharged for assaulting a superior officer. No technical background. We're looking at a third party. Someone Garrison hired or partnered with."
The Base Commander arrives partway through the briefing, takes one look at the code on screen, and orders an immediate cyber security audit.
The meeting stretches on. We go through every file, every transaction, every piece of documentation Gwen compiled.
The analysts pull up transfer records and she walks them through each discrepancy—explaining why a portable ultrasound shouldn't have gone to radiology when they already had three, how the cardiac monitors were listed as routine replacement but the old units were still functioning, why the surgical equipment transfers didn't match standard protocols.
Rivera's team cross-references her documentation with shipping records, payment trails, and database logs. They build a timeline on the wall—equipment disappearing, money moving through shell companies, database entries being manipulated to cover the tracks.
Gwen fields technical questions about medical equipment I barely understand. Specifications, manufacturer details, how certain devices interface with hospital systems. The analysts' eyes glaze over during the more complex explanations, but they keep notes anyway.
My attention keeps drifting from the screens to her. The way she gestures when she's explaining something intricate. How she pushes hair behind her ear when she's thinking through a problem. The focused intensity in her eyes when she's walking someone through the logic of why a discrepancy matters.
Rivera notices. Of course she notices.
"Captain," she says during a break. "A word."
We step into the hallway. She crosses her arms and gives me a look I recognize from every commanding officer I've ever served under.
"Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it," I tell her.
"I'm sure you don't." She's trying not to smile. "But I'm going to say it anyway. Dr. Abernathy is a civilian consultant on this investigation. If anything happens to compromise her credibility or effectiveness—"
"Nothing will happen."
"You didn't let me finish."
"I don't need to. I get it. Professional boundaries. She's a witness. I'm providing protective detail." I meet her eyes. "And for the record, whatever's happening between us doesn't interfere with the investigation. She's brilliant at her job. I'm good at mine. We're both professionals."
"I know you are. That's why I haven't said anything before now." She glances back toward the conference room. "Just keep it professional in front of the brass. The Base Commander already thinks this investigation is a clusterfuck. Don't give him ammunition."
"Understood."
We head back in. The briefing continues. More files, more analysis, more questions about equipment specs and transfer protocols. By midday, my ass is numb from the chairs and I need food.
"Break for lunch," Rivera announces. "Back here in an hour."
Gwen and I head for the parking lot. She's quiet, processing everything from the briefing.
"You okay?" I ask as we reach my truck.
"Just thinking about the scope of this. They were selling equipment that saves lives." She leans against the passenger door. "People could die because some trauma bay somewhere doesn't have the right equipment."
"Which is why we're stopping it."
"We already stopped it. Garrison's on the run. But the equipment is gone. It's already out there."
"And NCIS will track it down. That's their job." I step closer, bracketing her against the truck with my arms. "Your job was documenting everything. You did that perfectly. Now let Rivera's team handle the rest."
"I hate feeling helpless."
"You're not helpless. You're the reason we have any evidence at all." I cup her face. "You're the reason we caught them."
She leans into my touch. "You're good at this."
"At what?"
"Making me feel better. Grounding me when I start spiraling."
"That's my job too." I kiss her softly. "Among other things."
"Other things like getting me naked?"
"That's definitely in the job description."
She laughs and pulls me closer, rising on her toes to kiss me properly. It starts soft but builds fast, the way it always does between us. My hands slide down her sides, pulling her flush against me. Her fingers thread into my hair, nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes me groan.
We're in the parking lot. In broad daylight. On a military base.
I don't care.
I back her harder against the truck, one hand sliding under her shirt to palm her breast through her bra. She gasps into my mouth and arches into my touch. My other hand grips her hip, thumb stroking the bare skin where her shirt rides up.
"Thatcher," she breathes against my lips. "We're in public."
I kiss along her jaw, down her throat. "No one can see."
"Someone could walk by."
I capture her mouth again, tongue sweeping past her lips. She tastes like coffee and want and everything I didn't know I needed.
Her hands slide under my shirt, nails dragging across my abs. I bite back a groan and press my hips forward, letting her feel exactly what she's doing to me.
"We're going to be late," she manages.
"Worth it."
"Rivera will notice."
"She already knows." I pull back just enough to look at her. "Everyone knows, Gwen. We're not exactly subtle."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
"Not for me." I brush my thumb across her swollen lips. "Is it a problem for you?"
"No. I just don't want to make things difficult for the investigation."
"You're not. You're helping solve it." I steal another kiss. "Now get in the truck before I forget we're on a military base and really give someone something to talk about."