Chapter 10
THATCHER
We grab sandwiches from the commissary and eat in the truck, windows down, music low. It's easy and comfortable—I’m not used to it, but I like it.
"Your team was right," Gwen says between bites. "You are a lot."
"I warned you."
"You did. But you failed to mention the part where you're also incredibly sweet."
"I'm not sweet."
"You are. You just hide it under the grumpy Marine exterior." She steals one of my chips. "It's very attractive."
"The grumpy part?"
"The sweet part. The grumpy part is just entertaining."
I catch her wrist as she reaches for another chip, pulling her hand to my mouth and biting gently at her palm. "Entertaining?"
"Very." Her eyes go dark. "We really should get back."
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
I lean across the console, kissing her slow and deep. Taking my time because we have fifteen minutes before we need to be back and I'm going to use every second.
When we finally pull apart, she's flushed and breathing hard. "You're going to get us in trouble."
"Worth it."
We head back to the conference room a few minutes late. Rivera takes one look at us and shakes her head but doesn't comment. The briefing picks up where we left off, diving deeper into the digital forensics.
The cyber analyst pulls up more code, explaining how someone manipulated not just the inventory system but also the audit logs.
Every time Gwen pulled a report, the system was feeding her accurate data because the hacker couldn't alter everything without raising red flags.
But the automated reconciliation reports that should have caught the discrepancies were being doctored.
"Walk me through that," Gwen says, moving closer to the screen. "The reconciliation reports run automatically every night, cross-checking physical counts against database entries. How did they manipulate those without triggering security alerts?"
The analyst zooms in on a section of code.
"They created a secondary validation layer.
Basically inserted themselves between the physical count input and the final report generation.
The night staff would input actual cabinet counts—which showed shortages—but the hacker's code intercepted that data, compared it against what the theft operation needed to hide, and adjusted the numbers before the final report compiled. "
"So the night staff was entering accurate counts," Gwen says slowly, "but the system was lying to itself about what those counts were."
"Exactly. And they did it selectively. Only touched entries that would have flagged the stolen equipment. Everything else stayed clean, which kept the overall system appearing functional."
Rivera leans forward. "How long would it take to set that up?"
"Weeks. Maybe months." The analyst pulls up more screens. "This wasn't a smash and grab. Someone spent serious time learning the system architecture, testing access points, building the intercept code piece by piece. They knew exactly which protocols to bypass and which to leave alone."
I watch Gwen process this, see her making connections. "The equipment tracking interface," she says. "It's always been terrible. Clunky, slow, half the time it doesn't match what the newer ordering system says. Is that part of the problem?"
The analyst blinks. "The old tracking protocols don't integrate cleanly with the current platform, yeah. How'd you know?"
"Because I've been fighting with that system for almost a year." Gwen crosses her arms. "The tracking side feels like it's from a different decade than everything else."
"That's exactly the problem. The old tracking protocols and the modern reporting system don't talk to each other properly, so there's a gap.
The hacker exploited that gap." The analyst looks impressed.
"Most people just complain about the interface being slow.
You connected it to a security vulnerability. "
"So we're looking for someone with deep knowledge of military medical inventory systems," Rivera says. "Specifically this base's implementation."
"More than that." I point at the screen. "Look at the timing. They only manipulated counts on nights when specific personnel were on duty. That's not random. That's someone who knows the staffing schedule, knows who pays attention and who doesn't."
Gwen catches onto my point immediately. "Night staff rotates on a two-week cycle. If they're only hitting certain shifts—"
"They're avoiding the thorough checkers," I finish. "The ones who'd notice if numbers felt off even if the system said everything was fine."
The analyst pulls up access logs, starts cross-referencing timestamps. "Captain's right. The manipulations cluster around three specific overnight shifts. All three have a junior enlisted on inventory duty, less experienced, more likely to trust the system over their instincts."
Rivera's expression goes hard. "That level of operational planning suggests military training. Someone who understands both the technical systems and the human factors."
"Whoever did this knows military systems," the analyst says. "The architecture, the security protocols, the audit structure, the personnel patterns. This isn't some script kiddie. This is professional level work."
"Military background?" I ask.
"Or defense contractor. Someone with clearance and access." She pulls up more files. "The problem is the trail goes cold. They used VPNs, proxy servers, the whole nine yards. We can trace it back to the base network but not to a specific terminal or user account."
"So we're looking for a ghost," Rivera says.
"Not a ghost. Just someone very good at covering their tracks." The analyst closes the files. "We need a specialist. Someone who can dig deeper into the network architecture."
The Base Commander, who's been sitting quietly in the corner, speaks up. "I'll authorize whatever resources you need. NCIS has cyber specialists?"
"We do, but they're stretched thin. Multiple investigations." Rivera looks at me. "Captain, you have any contacts who specialize in this kind of thing?"
I think about my network. Most of my guys are boots on the ground, not keyboard warriors. But there's one name that comes to mind. Someone I worked with who, last I heard, was working in the private sector.
"Maybe. Let me make some calls."
The briefing wraps late afternoon. Gwen's exhausted, I can see it in the set of her shoulders. She's been answering questions for hours, maintaining that professional composure even as they pick apart every detail of her documentation.
"You did good today," I tell her as we walk to the truck.
"I just answered questions."
"You did more than that. You gave them everything they needed to build a case." I open her door. "Even Rivera was impressed. I could tell."
"Rivera doesn't look impressed by anything."
"Exactly."
We drive back to my place in comfortable silence. She leans her head against the window, watching the base slide past. I keep one hand on her thigh, thumb stroking absently.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask.
"How different my life was not so long ago." She covers my hand with hers. "I was living alone, working too much, avoiding any kind of relationship because it felt too complicated."
"And now?"
"Now I'm being protected by a grumpy Marine who thinks he's not sweet, working on a theft investigation, and sleeping in his bed." She turns to look at me. "It's a lot."
"Too much?"
"No. It's exactly right." She squeezes my hand. "Which is terrifying in its own way."
"Tell me about it."
At my place, I get food while she sits on the counter watching. Leftover Chinese because it's quick and I'm starving. She's wearing one of my shirts, stolen from the bedroom while I wasn't looking. It hits her mid-thigh, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"Domestic skills from a Marine," she observes. "Color me impressed."
"Someone had to cook in the barracks. Field rations get old fast. But I’m a sucker for a good Chinese takeout." I heat up the leftovers. "Suzy appreciated that I could cook; she couldn't cook to save her life."
"Do you think she'd approve of me?"
"She'd love you." I hand Gwen her plate. "She'd appreciate how you don't take any of my shit."
Gwen laughs. "High praise."
"It is." I lean against the counter beside her. "She'd probably have some choice words about how long it took me to make a move."
She sets down her fork, turning to face me fully. "You know this thing between us is happening really fast."
"I know."
"And we're in the middle of an investigation with people actively trying to hurt me."
"I know that too."
"But I don't want to slow down." She cups my face. "Is that crazy?"
"If it is, we're both crazy." I pull her closer. "Because I don't want to slow down either."
We eat at the counter, standing close, stealing kisses between bites. It's domestic and easy and everything I convinced myself I didn't need anymore.
After dinner, she settles on the couch with her laptop while I review files from the briefing. The cyber analysis keeps nagging at me. Something about the sophistication level, the way they covered their tracks.
"This cyber component," I say after a while. "It's bothering me."
Gwen looks up from her laptop. "Why?"
"Because Rivera is right, Garrison's smart but she's not tech smart enough to pull this off on her own. And Briggs is muscle, not brains. Which means there's someone else involved. Someone we haven't identified yet."
"The analyst said they need a specialist."
"They do. But more than that, they need someone who understands military networks specifically.
Someone who knows how to navigate base hierarchy and architecture.
" I set down the files. "I know someone.
Civilian cyber security specialist, works defense contracts.
She's consulted on network security for half the bases on the East Coast."
"Can you trust her?"