Chapter 7

Mike waited until Ziva and the suspect were over at the elevators before he turned to McGee. "Tell me everything, Timothy. Everything you'd put in a report and then your impressions." Mike watched as McGee handed him a evidence bag with a couple of knives. Mike signed off on them and then held up the bag. "Nice." Two ceramic survival knives, very high end. "We need Abby here. Don't care what his ID or business card says." He motioned to the card inside the evidence bag. "We're running everything on him. He'll be in the system."

"When we were inside at the party, Abby and I were separated by the crowd. I kept her in my sight, but left her alone, per your orders, so that the mark could approach her unhindered. When Jet Brooks approached her, I kept her in my line of sight. He grabbed her hand and took her down a side hall. That was when I lost track of her. Tony and I met up at the entrance and went to clear the rooms. When we came to the room Abby ended up being in, we heard a thump. Tony called out 'NCIS' and we charged the room. That's when we found Abby, shaking, white as a ghost, with the suspect unconscious on the floor. We cuffed him, patted him down for weapons and found those two knives on him. In the van, we Mirandized him. And now we're here."

Taking a breath, he watched the elevator doors shut with Ziva and the suspect inside. "My impressions? He's a scumbag who tried to take advantage of Abby. He's willing to do whatever it takes to get what he's after. He's not afraid to use people to his advantage. But I have to be honest, Boss. He doesn't seem to be the type to be into drugs. Brooks is too ... put together, to in charge of his surroundings to be involved in something as out of control as drugs."

Mike took in all of Tim's words before speaking. "How long was he alone with her, Tim? Could he have assaulted her? He had his paws on her." Instantly Mike could see that Tim was getting agitated and knew he had to try a different approach.

"Proof of identity? Where'd you get his name? This business card?" Mike pointed to the card inside the evidence bag. "He have a license or a passport on him?" Mike was relatively sure they'd be fake but even so, he had to check.

"What makes you think he isn't our man, McGee?"

"From Abby and the suspect, it doesn't seem he had enough time to do anything but kiss her, which he admitted to, and from Tony's behavior, I think Abby did too. Admitted to kissing him that is," Tim sighed, frustrated.

"Other than what is in that evidence bag, we have nothing else to use for IDing him, nothing else to verify that the name on the card is the name he was born with. Boss, I don't know why. In my gut, I guess. I don't like him. There's something ... off with him. Abbs would say hinky. He's not a good guy, that's all I'm sure of."

"Okay, Tim." Mike squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "You run down every record on that name. Go through the wallet, every hidden pocket. Check the business address, the credit card history, even the DMV. I want answers before I start interrogating, so get on it."

"On it, Boss. I'll be at my desk running background on Brooks, first name Jet." He signed out the evidence to maintain chain of custody. "Thanks, Boss."

Mike pulled in a breath, wondering about all of this. He knew he'd seen this guy before, maybe on a BOLO for the jewel theft ring. He knew he should probably call Fornell from the FBI in, but Franks didn't want to call in another agency, especially not someone like Fornell if he could avoid it.

But if this was a jewel thief, he'd learn what justice, Mike Franks style, was. "Tim, pull up the BOLOs and descriptions for the inter-agency jewel thief thing as well." Mike would have to deal with Morrow before he could join the investigation.

"Goin' up to MTAC level, brief the director." Mike looked at the elevator. "I'll take the stairs". It'd give him time to think...

Mike gave the pretty young assistant a smile and jerked his head toward the door. "He busy, Cynthia?" he asked, wishing he had a treat of some sort for the woman. The team didn't know it, but he kept some sample boxes of luxury chocolates in his desk. A satisfied and happy Cynthia was a compliant Cynthia, and a compliant Cynthia meant that Mike got his way.

And if DiNozzo knew the chocolate was there, he'd eat every damn box. And that'd mean Mike would have to kill his senior agent. Messy and not a good career move for either of them.

"No, Special Agent Franks. Let me buzz you in."

"If it makes you happy, Pretty Lady." Even though Mike had been counseled by HR on being an old-fashioned guy who sometimes called women endearments, Cynthia and his girls allowed him a lot of leeway.

"You flirt," Cynthia replied, but her eyes were extra bright. "Go on in. He'll see you."

It was good having a hands-on director like Tom Morrow, who could be expected to be at work until late in the evening,, especially if Morrow needed to smooth things over with other agencies. "Thanks, Sweetheart."

Mike strode in and nodded a greeting at Morrow. "May have a breakthrough, Tom, but you're gonna hate my methods. And I'm not sure we have a breakthrough on one of our cases." Mike wandered over to the liquor bottles in Morrow's office and half turned. "What're we drinking tonight?"

"Scotch. One ice." Hanging up the phone, Morrow closed the file in front of him and turned to face a man he considered one of his top agents. "All right, then read me in, Mike. What do you mean by your methods? And when have I ever condoned the methods you use?"

Mike poured Tom a Scotch with ice and his own neat before reclining in the chair in front of the desk. "I sent Abby undercover and she met some trouble with a capital T. Gussied her up and all since Ziva wasn't making any contact. Anyways Abby found a guy by the name of Jet Brooks. Looks military, silver hair, blue eyes. Forties. Can swear I've seen him before..."

Mike took a swallow of the liquid before he continued. "He got fresh and she stunned him. Team brought him in. Had two ceramic knives on him, military grade. Kids think he's not a part of our drug ring but brought him in anyway. Me? Think he looks like a gentleman mercenary. And I've seen him before, Tom. I know it. Could be part of that jewel thief ring FBI is running. Might be something more. And Abby's all shook up."

Mike didn't relish sharing the news that he was bringing Abby in to interrogation, that he was making her a very active part of the investigation. "Got Ziva babysitting him in interrogation, McGee running an ID check on him. DiNozzo's bringing Abby back."

Mike took another swallow, watching his boss. Tom had been his team leader a while back and they were good friends with a healthy respect for each other and their jobs, even though Mike admitted he couldn't be that political or diplomatic. But behind these closed doors, they were essentially equals. "What's on your mind, Tom?"

"Many things are on my mind, Mike. Not the least of which is how you chose to handle this operation. Why on earth would you send our best forensic scientist undercover? There are more female agents aside from Officer David. Surely one of them would have been more than equipped to handle the situation, before having to drag Abby into it. You put her in an unnecessary, risky situation. Was she hurt? You mentioned that she was shaken up, that the suspect got fresh with her. What in the hell does that mean?"

Morrow took a healthy drink from his glass, knowing he would need it and more before Mike's briefing was over. Franks was a great agent. But his general way of handling cases, of going by his gut and forgetting the rules, tended to make Morrow's job more difficult in the end.

"Nobody available. Cassie's on a long-term op. Cheryl is pregnant. Victoria just got married to some famous pretty-boy actor. Guy stars in a crime show, Tom. Couldn't make this crap up. Anna is a single mother, Lyn's husband just deployed, Annie's working with some folks at the Pentagon, Air Force joint op. I could have gotten Cynthia, but she isn't an agent. Abby was,. You know we weren't getting results from Ziva. We have to break this case, Tom. Before more people die. Been pussyfooting around for too long here."

He eyed the director for a moment. "What would you have done? Thrown DiNozzo in a dress?"

"I am not so sure that DiNozzo would not have enjoyed that. And you had no other options? If not, then I can understand your choice. But how did you prepare her? How did you get her ready for this op? To my knowledge, she has never worked undercover before."

"You tell me who, Tom. Time was of the essence. I had time to run Abby through weapons and self defense training and give her three days of in-depth undercover training. She was supposed to go to the party with McGee, mingle, separate herself, and get approached by our guy. And maybe she did, but my gut doesn't think so. Seen this guy before, Tom. Don't know where though. And it's bugging my gut. Older than a recent BOLO too. Might have collared him when I was working near Pendleton."

For some reason, Mike's mind was pulling him in that direction and he didn't understand why.

"Then find out where you know him from, Franks. Before you get too much farther in this investigation. If you do know him, if you've either worked with him or arrested him before, I need to know. And find out what's wrong with Abby. I can't have our girl off her game. It will affect too many cases and too much evidence if she is."

Setting his glass down on the desk, he finished their conversation. "Dismissed."

"McGee's chasing down leads, Abby'll chase down forensics. We'll figure it out." Mike finished his Scotch and nodded, walking out of the inner and outer offices with a wink to Cynthia.

Not wanting to go down to the main level yet, Mike took the elevator to the ground level, finding his favorite park bench and working over his memories. He remembered those eyes, burning in ... not anger ... pain? Set in a much younger man's face. But other than that, he didn't have anything solid to hang on to.

If they didn't get any answers tonight, tomorrow he'd go to records and see about then pulling his San Diego, Pendleton, and Lejeune era files. But hopefully they could break Brooks in interrogation first.

~~

Down in the forensics lab, Abby made quick work of her evening wear, after turning up her music loud enough to vibrate the walls. Grabbing a short plaid skirt and one of her favorite t-shirts, a black one with a monkey one it, with kisses all over his face, she got dressed, feeling more herself. Brushing out the hairspray and curls from her hair, she pulled it into low ponytails. Checking her makeup, she decided to leave it. It worked, though it was a little more formal than she usually wore.

After hanging up her clothes and changing into some high platform boots, she went over to her computer and grabbed Bert. Giving him a big squeeze, comforted by the loud fart noise he gave her in response, Abby sighed. "What am I going to do, Bert? I've gotta go fingerprint him. And I'm scared all of a sudden. It would be so much easier to just have someone else do it. But it has to be me, and I have to see him." All Bert could do was fart in response.

Taking a deep breath, Abby put Bert aside and grabbed up her gear, her fingerprint kit and evidence bags. Shaking a little because her insides were overrun by a flock of butterflies, she made her way out of the lab, only stopping to pause her music.

The ride up in the elevator was excruciatingly long. But as soon as the bell rang for the interrogation floor, she realized it wasn't long enough. Walking through the hall, she spotted Ziva standing in front of one of the rooms.

"Hey, Ziva. Is he in there? I've gotta take his fingerprints," she said, almost resigned.

"Hello Abby. Are you well? Yes, he is inside. But you are not supposed to go in alone, are you? I believe Franks was quite clear on that," Ziva said, concerned.

"I'm fine, Ziva, really," she lied, even though she knew the Mossad officer would be able to tell. Sighing, she said, "Okay, no not really. But I will be. And Franks said I wasn't supposed to be along with him for the interrogation. He didn't say anything about the fingerprints." Which was stretching the truth a bit, but at this point, Abby didn't care.

Eyeing her suspiciously, Ziva said slowly, "Al lright, Abby. But if there is any trouble, any sound of distress, I am breaking this door down. Understood?"

Giving her a half hearted salute, she said, "Yes, ma'am." Opening the door quietly, she walked through.

Seeing him, seeing Jet, sitting there at the table, Abby felt her heart stop. The entire night came whooshing back and all she could do was stare. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, waiting.

He looked toward the door when it opened and fought to not show a visible reaction. The elegant woman from earlier now looked like a schoolgirl gone very bad. Very, very bad. He started at her boots and let his gaze slowly sweep upward to the pigtails that should have been ridiculous on a woman of her age but somehow suited her.

"The real Abby, I assume," he said, not bothering to hide his continued interest in her. "Suits you. That dress did too, though."

Finally moving her frozen body, Abby pushed off the door. Shifting her gear into her left hand, she held out her right. "Abby Sciuto, forensic scientist with NCIS." She was blushing under his gaze, feeling stripped down and bare under his knowing expression. For some reason, she felt that he saw her, the real Abby, despite the clothes and the collar.

"Jet. Whatever you want me to be," he replied, purposely not using his last name. "You here to take advantage of me, Abby." He motioned to the two-way glass. "Sure we have an audience this time but if you want another kiss..."

She wanted him to tell her, to be truthful to her. But Abby knew that in his situation, anything he might say, even to her, would put him at risk. "No, not here to take advantage of you," at least not yet. "I need to take your fingerprints."

Looking over at the two-way window, she said absently, "There is no audience. No one is recording or watching yet." Before she could comprehend what that meant, his hand on hers distracted that train of thought.

"Ziver is watching," he insisted, but didn't go beyond that.

Instead he clasped his hand in hers, squeezing it gently before his finger stroked over her palm. Before she could protest, he stood, looking down at her. "Don't regret what happened."

It could be taken two ways, an admission on his part or an order. That said, he sat down again. "DNA and fingerprints?"

When he rose in front of her, she whispered, "I don't, Jet. I don't think I could ever regret what happened." Before she could initiate the kiss she so desperately wanted, he sat down again. Sighing, she put down her kit and pulled out the equipment she needed.

"Just fingerprints, for now." DNA would come later, if Mike asked for it. She held out her hand for his again. When he placed it in hers, she stared at the hand for awhile, tracing the lines in his palm. Shaking herself out of the reverie, she started to fingerprint him, fighting off her imagination as images of what she wanted those hands and fingers to do to her body.

As those images flitted through her mind, she felt her body heat up as her need for him rose. As she fought against the need, she focused on concentrating on her evidence gathering. She knew, somehow, that this would be important. That finding out the truth would change the course of everything, the events of the day, even the direction her life was going.

He fought the urge to get up and just watched her. "Anyone giving you any crap? Told your friend, Ziver, to go easy on you. Anyone who doesn't answers to me. You tell me if they give you crap and I'll take care of it."

It was time he let the military man out and he knew the last thing he uttered sounded like an order. It was. A level of protectiveness he no longer thought himself capable of having rose up inside him.

"Ziver? Do you mean Ziva?" Normally, someone giving her orders like that would have set her off. Unless it had something to do with evidence, she didn't really like getting bossed around. But it was natural coming from him. And for reasons beyond her, she didn't care that he was ordering her around. It felt right somehow. Like, instead of him just being an Alpha male, he was her Alpha male.

"Yeah, the dangerous one of your group." He watched her, noting how she was accepting to him even in body language. He still had a chance here as long as he didn't screw it up.

"If they have given me crap, it was my own fault. Nothing I haven't deserved."

"You're nobody's pawn," he finally said, steel in his tone.

She smiled when he called Ziva dangerous. Finishing up his first hand, she said, "She's really just a sweetheart. A big softie inside. If you want to get on her good side, give her chocolate. Or a new knife. That works too."

As she grabbed his second hand, she noticed the cuff still attached to his wrist. Twisting the cuff lightly to move it up his wrist, she asked softly, "Did you free yourself, or did Ziva let you go?" Remembering the comment Jet had made earlier about handcuffs, Abby blushed under his gaze.

"Freed myself." He causally took the pin out of the watch and opened the cuff, locked it, opened it again. "Three seconds if my hands are in front of me," he said both to Abby and Ziva. "Seven if they're behind my back."

He leaned in a little closer. "Ziva and I reached an understanding. We're not so different, Abby." That was as close to the truth as she'd get. What she knew could eventually hurt her and he wasn't letting that happen.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she said, "The cuffs did little good to restrain you, then, right? Poor Tony. I wouldn't mention that to him then. He might get a little bit hurt about it." When he got closer, she sucked in a quick breath, her body trembling suddenly at his proximity.