NCIS Fic: Paris to Serbia (Ch. 1)
Series: Paris to Serbia
Chapter One: Under Covers
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/Jethro
Timeframe: Pre-series
Rating: M
A/N: I’ve always had a problem with the idea that Jenny rose to her position in NCIS so quickly. So this series gives some history not only to Gibbs and Shepard, but also to Jenny’s past and where her skills lie.
Disclaimer: I keep falling in love with beautiful characters already written by other people. If CBS is looking for a young, up and coming writer who will devote herself wholeheartedly to the process, I’m the right girl. Otherwise, I make no money from this. NCIS, Jenny, Gibbs, and the team belong to other people. I’m just walking with them for a while.
Summary: What he was missing was the extremist chatter that was starting to build in Afghanistan, Serbia, Chechnya, and those issues bled down through the terror cells into Spain and France. If there was a Russian mob worry, it was really that some groups were rumored to be feeding weapons and money into those very cells.
Jenny Shepard was pissed.
Oh, she’d heard of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The single most smart assed, cocky, brazen piece of ass in the entire agency. He never played by the book and the legal department had an agent specifically assigned to review his cases and make sure they could get through any kind of legal challenge. He went through women like toilet paper, rumor had it he was on at least his third wife, that he had no respect for female agents, and it wasn’t his fault his blue eyes triggered Disney princess fantasies of princes on white horses carrying her away to their magical castles. Of course she’d heard of him. There wasn’t an agent in the agency who hadn’t heard of him and who didn’t dread working with him.
“Are you sure this is the right fit?” Jenny paced the stuffy office. She was tired and it was hot and she missed DC and the Cherry Blossoms and her comfortable cubicle where she spent her days doing intel recovery and analysis. She fully expected to be put in the field at some point, but on home soil on domestic terrorism watch, not overseas tracking down former Soviet agents. In her mind, her career was going to be made by catching some break on intelligence on a terrorist attack and it would give her the career she needed to move up through the ranks. Director couldn’t be too far away, especially not with her father’s credentials to help her along.
So why in God’s name was she being sent to Paris with Leroy Jethro Gibbs of all people?
“I know you don’t have any field or even investigatory experience, Jenny.” She hated it when old white men in positions of authority called her Jenny. She was Agent Shepard and she was damned good at her job. She wasn’t some kitten there to bring them coffee. His deep Southern accent made her skin crawl and she hadn’t felt this patronized since her time at FLETC. They really needed to recruit more women. But the SAC droned on. “Even though your skills at deciphering and analyzing code coming out of Serbia have been invaluable, the director and I both feel like it’s time for you to get some field and undercover experience.”
Bullshit. She forced herself to not roll her eyes. Well, okay. The director she’d believe. They had lunch together every so often, discussing terrorist intel of course. She made a point to not drop her father’s name more than once a month because she couldn’t be seen to be pushing her own political agenda.
This dufus, however, was stuck in a cold war world, believing in Russian spy rings and KGB covert ops. The KGB could barely keep the lights on. What he was missing was the extremist chatter that was starting to build in Afghanistan, Serbia, Chechnya, and those issues bled down through the terror cells into Spain and France. If there was a Russian mob worry, it was really that some groups were rumored to be feeding weapons and money into those very cells. The only reason she was sitting in this hellhole of an office at all instead of challenging the decision to put her undercover and in the field was that one of those alleged ties led right to the man she was personally hunting. Rene Beniot spent his time cavorting between Paris and Palestine and Moscow and the States. If she could dig up some dirt when she was in Paris, it would make her plans unfold a lot smoother.
“Fair enough.” She swallowed her distaste of the man in front of her and absently scratched at her neck. Her necklace felt heavy and her white t-shirt was sticking to her. She knew the lace of her bra was catching this pig’s attention and it made her want to smack him even more. “Where is he? What’s the cover? We should get started.”
“Yes we should.”
The voice behind her promoted her to turn around and she instantly regretted wearing anything form fitting at all because she was sure her nipples popped right to attention and could be seen through the fabric of her shirt.
He was even more beautiful than his dossier photo.
His salt and pepper hair made his age completely impossible to determine, although Jenny knew he wasn’t all that much older than she was. A slightly tight shirt risked popping buttons around a slightly expanding middle, which was most likely leftover muscle from his time in the Marines. His tight, buttoned up look was adorable but she couldn’t help but wonder if his idea of relaxing was merely to take off his tie. He wore chinos but one look told her the man would look good in jeans. A sweep of his hands showed a slight tan line where a wedding ring had recently been.
From the way his eyes dragged up and down her body, she could tell he was assessing her similarly. Quickly, Jenny stood, resisting the urge to turn into a Girl and giggle and toss her hair while she flirted. “Jenny Shepard. I’m looking forward to working with you Agent Gibbs.” He grunted and shook her hand and she would have been insulted had his eyes never left hers.
“You too, probie.” He finally stated.
“I’m not probationary.”
“You’ve never been in the field. That makes you a probie.” He pulled away and took the seat next to hers. “Let’s get this party started, shall we.”
Quickly, Jenny regained herself and took the files that were handed over.
“You are a wealthy couple taking a summer trip in Paris. Cliché, probably, but it works for the people you will be pursuing.”
“Married?” Jenny swallowed nervously. It would be bad enough pretending Gibbs was her lover. Jumping straight to matrimony might kill her.
A gray box was passed across the desk to her. “Engaged,” came the SAC’s voice. Inside was a bright ruby and diamond ring. Instantly, she put it on. She needed to start slipping into the part now, or she’d never survive. “This trip is your engagement present to each other.” A pause. “Jenny, this is deep cover work. Do you get what that entails?”
She sighed and rubbed her neck. Why didn’t the CIA take care of these kinds of ops? “Yes,” she said softly. She did understand. It meant it would take months to establish their cover, that they were starting from the ground up. It meant they would be sharing a suite in their hotel. It meant sharing a bed because if they were being watched, it wouldn’t do to have a happy young couple sleeping in separate rooms. It meant she would be holding his hand and kissing him and making herself appear to love a man she did not even know. Her gaze fell to his hands and she wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to have them between her legs, stroking her softly. “Yes, I understand.” It meant giving up herself as Jenny for as long as the operation lasted. It meant risking losing herself completely. There was a reason she’d never wanted to do deep cover. Deep cover didn’t fit into her plans.
How many of these ops had Gibbs done? How many female agents had he charmed and then broken?
“Good.” Another stack of files surfaced. “Get to know these people. These are your marks. You will meet up with Agent Will Decker, who is already in place, in three days in New York. By the time you get on the plane at LAX, I want you two to be completely in character. When you leave here, I contact Decker and he starts letting the hints drop that a wealthy, well connected couple is coming to town and they possibly have information to share. Tomorrow, you book yourselves into the Hilton. Friday you get on a plane to New York where you will find yourselves set with a room at the Times Square Marriot. To set the timeframe, you are on a cruise to England where you will be set up with your contacts in Europe by M-5. Take your time getting to Paris. Let your marks get to know you through your patterns.”
Gibbs nodded. Jenny’s head was swimming. She’d gone through the training programs, hell, she’d aced them, but she’d never expected she’d actually be doing this. Gibbs, however, was already on his feet so she decided to follow, to at least pretend she understood what was happening to her. Gibbs had his stack of files. Jenny grabbed hers and followed him out of the office.
He didn’t say a word until they reached his car. Turning to her, he gave her that look again and then nodded to the files. “Were you picked up or did you drive?”
“I was picked up.”
“Okay. I’ll drive. We’ll go back to my place and order a pizza and get to know each other.”
His place. Of course. It occurred to her that they’d never given her a hotel room key. It was planned she’d spend the night with Gibbs. “I need to go get my suitcase. I left it inside.”
“Hurry it up.” He took the files from her and put them in the trunk of the car. Jenny all but ran, collected her carryon, and made it back to the car before he drove off. She slipped into the seat next to him and was instantly enveloped in the smell of sawdust and musk.
It wasn’t a long drive to his neighborhood. His house was a typical California ranch house with a perfectly manicured lawn a two car garage and a for sale sign in the yard. “You’re moving?”
“The owner is selling it. I just rent. Anyway,” he threw her a grin, “right now, I’m moving to Paris.” Gibbs chuckled and turned off the car, leaving it in the driveway. “Bring your stuff, Shepard.” She collected her suitcase and her files and followed him inside. His door wasn’t locked.
“You forget to lock your door this morning?”
“I never lock it.” He shrugged and dumped the files on the table. “I got bourbon and beer. What’s your choice?”
“Beer.” She said, standing awkwardly in the middle of a freshly painted living room. The furniture was minimal; he didn’t even have a television as she could see.
“Sit.” She didn’t. He grunted and rolled his eyes at her as he came back in. “Preferences on pizza toppings?”
“I’m easy,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Jethro smirked at her, looked at her chest again, and shook his head. “I mean …”
“Relax, Shepard. I’m not out to hit on you.”
Her heart sank a little. “Married?” She asked, still standing, holding onto the neck of the beer. She suddenly felt bold, like the power her chest seemed to have on him was a good thing.
“Getting divorced.” He sighed and there was a sadness that touched his eyes that went beyond a bad marriage. She was a skilled interrogator, she knew how to read body language, and he wasn’t upset so much about the wife as what she possibly represented. For a man whose psychological profile screamed “loner” he seemed decidedly lonely.
Jenny moved to the couch and sat, her back against the arm, one leg tucked up under her. “Then it’s probably a good thing you’re going undercover like you are. You can focus on this and not the case.”
He grunted again. “It’s this kind of life that ruins marriages. I should warn you though, I’ve got a thing for redheads.”
“It’s a good thing you’re supposed to be marrying one then isn’t it?”
They stared at each other for a long time before he chuckled and nodded. “Good point.” He broke his gaze long enough to order a mushroom and pepperoni pizza and she sipped her beer and focused her attention on the sparsely decorated room. Anything but staring at the man she was now under cover with.
She felt like a teenager again. How would he kiss her? Where would she put her hands? Would they go all the way? Not that she would mind making love to this man.
“I’m going to go change.”
She nodded and kicked off her shoes. The house was just chilly enough to make her wish for her sweater, but before she could get up to get her suitcase, he emerged from what she assumed was his bedroom, dressed in jeans and a US Marines t-shirt. In his hand was a white NIS sweatshirt. “You looked cold.”
“Thanks.” She slipped on the shirt and it smelled like him. Musk and sawdust again and it brought up a slew of questions. Did he work with his hands? What projects did he design? He watched her for a long minute and she worried her lip between her teeth, wondering how to ask the questions she didn’t know how to ask. “How much do we need to …”
“All the way, if we’re smart. Well,” he drew out the word and looked her up and down again. “At least, make it look good. They’ll be watching. We need to look like we’re really in love.”
“Don’t worry,” Jenny tried to tease him, “I do know how to fake an orgasm.”
“Pity,” he shook his head, “no woman who looks like you do should ever have to fake it.” She blushed. He just kept staring.
“We have work to do, Leroy.”
“Jethro.” He shook his head. “Everyone who matters calls me Jethro.”
“Fair enough.” She picked up her file. “And it’s Jenny, by the way. But those who matter call me Jen.”
“Fair enough.” He settled next to her on the couch and picked up his own file to study.
The files were identical. They needed to learn the ins and outs of every face of every person of interest they might come into contact with. She needed to know him as well as he would know her.
A knock on the door startled her and he went, paying for the pizza. For a minute, the room was silent and she watched him, admiring his ass in his jeans, how the t-shirt played off his body. The part of her that was bold and daring wanted to walk up to him, slide her hands into his pockets, and get started on the one part of their mission that would be the most difficult. The agent she was knew it would be best to fake the physical part. They needed to be professional.
“The Spartans used to require that the soldiers had a male lover.” Jethro was speaking. “They were partnered up with the idea that you would fight harder for the man next to you if you were sleeping together.”
“I think I remember learning that in a history class somewhere.” She took the plate he offered, suddenly regretting donning the sweatshirt. She liked how he’d looked at her before. “Are you offering, Jethro?”
“Maybe.” He chuckled and sat down again, this time putting the files aside. He looked at her for a long moment. “Jenny Shepard. Beloved daughter and only child of Jasper Shepard. Heir to the Shepard money. Ranking counter-terrorism expert back in DC but for as good as your French, Farsi, and Russian are, your skills are in domestic terrorism intel and making good with the politicians. They’ve already sent you to deal with more than a few problems up on the Hill and not just because you look good in a skirt.”
“You have me at a disadvantage.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not that hard to understand.”
“Something tells me you underestimate yourself, Jethro.”
“You like saying my name.”
“I like the way it rolls on my tongue.”
“You’re flirting with me.”
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Sit down.” He grunted and settled down next to her on the couch. The pizza box went unopened as they stared at their files, getting to know their characters.
Katherine “Kitty” Dawson. Heiress to one of the oldest fortunes in America. On the surface as old, white money as the stereotype could be while rumor had it her political leanings were growing more and more radical. Her grandfather had been blacklisted from Hollywood. Her mother was Russian. Her fiancé, the handsome and rich Matthew O’Connor was a distant Kennedy cousin. Their marriage the reconciliation of North and South.
“You can do a southern accent?”
“I can speak French, Russian, and Farsi with a southern accent if you need me to.”
“We’re going to need you to.”
Jenny chuckled and reached for the pizza. Jethro was watching her, she could tell. His blue eyes raking over her and she knew he was imagining her underneath him and she tried to not imagine what it was going to be like.
Why the hell couldn’t they have found another agent?
“Tell me about yourself, Jenny.”
“You’ve read my file, clearly.”
“No. Tell me about yourself.”
Jenny’s fingers went limp and she put the pizza back in the box. She turned, tucking a leg up under her and rested her arm against the back of the couch. “All I ever wanted to do was serve my country, but my father had old fashioned ideas about women in the military.”
“So you became an agent?”
“The FBI and CIA were too covert for me. I wanted to work with men in uniform.”
“You have a type?”
“Maybe. You like red heads.”
He nodded and caught himself from stroking her arm. Jenny followed the path of his fingers with her eyes before looking back up at him. “I have goals, Jethro. And I don’t need to be ushered around by men in uniform to make them happen.”
“You’ve got scars from breaking that glass ceiling?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I think the point is that we all have scars.” God she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to break the barrier. They were going to be in hotels and on cruise ships together. They were going to be killing together. Sex, suddenly, seemed like such a small thing.
No wonder Mossad actually encouraged romantic relationships with their agents. It prepared them for fleeting physical encounters. Maybe the states really were doing it wrong.
“We should get to know our marks.” His voice had dropped low and she could tell he was thinking about getting her naked.
Jenny leaned forward and kissed him.
TBC …
Chapter One: Under Covers
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Jenny/Jethro
Timeframe: Pre-series
Rating: M
A/N: I’ve always had a problem with the idea that Jenny rose to her position in NCIS so quickly. So this series gives some history not only to Gibbs and Shepard, but also to Jenny’s past and where her skills lie.
Disclaimer: I keep falling in love with beautiful characters already written by other people. If CBS is looking for a young, up and coming writer who will devote herself wholeheartedly to the process, I’m the right girl. Otherwise, I make no money from this. NCIS, Jenny, Gibbs, and the team belong to other people. I’m just walking with them for a while.
Summary: What he was missing was the extremist chatter that was starting to build in Afghanistan, Serbia, Chechnya, and those issues bled down through the terror cells into Spain and France. If there was a Russian mob worry, it was really that some groups were rumored to be feeding weapons and money into those very cells.
Jenny Shepard was pissed.
Oh, she’d heard of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The single most smart assed, cocky, brazen piece of ass in the entire agency. He never played by the book and the legal department had an agent specifically assigned to review his cases and make sure they could get through any kind of legal challenge. He went through women like toilet paper, rumor had it he was on at least his third wife, that he had no respect for female agents, and it wasn’t his fault his blue eyes triggered Disney princess fantasies of princes on white horses carrying her away to their magical castles. Of course she’d heard of him. There wasn’t an agent in the agency who hadn’t heard of him and who didn’t dread working with him.
“Are you sure this is the right fit?” Jenny paced the stuffy office. She was tired and it was hot and she missed DC and the Cherry Blossoms and her comfortable cubicle where she spent her days doing intel recovery and analysis. She fully expected to be put in the field at some point, but on home soil on domestic terrorism watch, not overseas tracking down former Soviet agents. In her mind, her career was going to be made by catching some break on intelligence on a terrorist attack and it would give her the career she needed to move up through the ranks. Director couldn’t be too far away, especially not with her father’s credentials to help her along.
So why in God’s name was she being sent to Paris with Leroy Jethro Gibbs of all people?
“I know you don’t have any field or even investigatory experience, Jenny.” She hated it when old white men in positions of authority called her Jenny. She was Agent Shepard and she was damned good at her job. She wasn’t some kitten there to bring them coffee. His deep Southern accent made her skin crawl and she hadn’t felt this patronized since her time at FLETC. They really needed to recruit more women. But the SAC droned on. “Even though your skills at deciphering and analyzing code coming out of Serbia have been invaluable, the director and I both feel like it’s time for you to get some field and undercover experience.”
Bullshit. She forced herself to not roll her eyes. Well, okay. The director she’d believe. They had lunch together every so often, discussing terrorist intel of course. She made a point to not drop her father’s name more than once a month because she couldn’t be seen to be pushing her own political agenda.
This dufus, however, was stuck in a cold war world, believing in Russian spy rings and KGB covert ops. The KGB could barely keep the lights on. What he was missing was the extremist chatter that was starting to build in Afghanistan, Serbia, Chechnya, and those issues bled down through the terror cells into Spain and France. If there was a Russian mob worry, it was really that some groups were rumored to be feeding weapons and money into those very cells. The only reason she was sitting in this hellhole of an office at all instead of challenging the decision to put her undercover and in the field was that one of those alleged ties led right to the man she was personally hunting. Rene Beniot spent his time cavorting between Paris and Palestine and Moscow and the States. If she could dig up some dirt when she was in Paris, it would make her plans unfold a lot smoother.
“Fair enough.” She swallowed her distaste of the man in front of her and absently scratched at her neck. Her necklace felt heavy and her white t-shirt was sticking to her. She knew the lace of her bra was catching this pig’s attention and it made her want to smack him even more. “Where is he? What’s the cover? We should get started.”
“Yes we should.”
The voice behind her promoted her to turn around and she instantly regretted wearing anything form fitting at all because she was sure her nipples popped right to attention and could be seen through the fabric of her shirt.
He was even more beautiful than his dossier photo.
His salt and pepper hair made his age completely impossible to determine, although Jenny knew he wasn’t all that much older than she was. A slightly tight shirt risked popping buttons around a slightly expanding middle, which was most likely leftover muscle from his time in the Marines. His tight, buttoned up look was adorable but she couldn’t help but wonder if his idea of relaxing was merely to take off his tie. He wore chinos but one look told her the man would look good in jeans. A sweep of his hands showed a slight tan line where a wedding ring had recently been.
From the way his eyes dragged up and down her body, she could tell he was assessing her similarly. Quickly, Jenny stood, resisting the urge to turn into a Girl and giggle and toss her hair while she flirted. “Jenny Shepard. I’m looking forward to working with you Agent Gibbs.” He grunted and shook her hand and she would have been insulted had his eyes never left hers.
“You too, probie.” He finally stated.
“I’m not probationary.”
“You’ve never been in the field. That makes you a probie.” He pulled away and took the seat next to hers. “Let’s get this party started, shall we.”
Quickly, Jenny regained herself and took the files that were handed over.
“You are a wealthy couple taking a summer trip in Paris. Cliché, probably, but it works for the people you will be pursuing.”
“Married?” Jenny swallowed nervously. It would be bad enough pretending Gibbs was her lover. Jumping straight to matrimony might kill her.
A gray box was passed across the desk to her. “Engaged,” came the SAC’s voice. Inside was a bright ruby and diamond ring. Instantly, she put it on. She needed to start slipping into the part now, or she’d never survive. “This trip is your engagement present to each other.” A pause. “Jenny, this is deep cover work. Do you get what that entails?”
She sighed and rubbed her neck. Why didn’t the CIA take care of these kinds of ops? “Yes,” she said softly. She did understand. It meant it would take months to establish their cover, that they were starting from the ground up. It meant they would be sharing a suite in their hotel. It meant sharing a bed because if they were being watched, it wouldn’t do to have a happy young couple sleeping in separate rooms. It meant she would be holding his hand and kissing him and making herself appear to love a man she did not even know. Her gaze fell to his hands and she wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to have them between her legs, stroking her softly. “Yes, I understand.” It meant giving up herself as Jenny for as long as the operation lasted. It meant risking losing herself completely. There was a reason she’d never wanted to do deep cover. Deep cover didn’t fit into her plans.
How many of these ops had Gibbs done? How many female agents had he charmed and then broken?
“Good.” Another stack of files surfaced. “Get to know these people. These are your marks. You will meet up with Agent Will Decker, who is already in place, in three days in New York. By the time you get on the plane at LAX, I want you two to be completely in character. When you leave here, I contact Decker and he starts letting the hints drop that a wealthy, well connected couple is coming to town and they possibly have information to share. Tomorrow, you book yourselves into the Hilton. Friday you get on a plane to New York where you will find yourselves set with a room at the Times Square Marriot. To set the timeframe, you are on a cruise to England where you will be set up with your contacts in Europe by M-5. Take your time getting to Paris. Let your marks get to know you through your patterns.”
Gibbs nodded. Jenny’s head was swimming. She’d gone through the training programs, hell, she’d aced them, but she’d never expected she’d actually be doing this. Gibbs, however, was already on his feet so she decided to follow, to at least pretend she understood what was happening to her. Gibbs had his stack of files. Jenny grabbed hers and followed him out of the office.
He didn’t say a word until they reached his car. Turning to her, he gave her that look again and then nodded to the files. “Were you picked up or did you drive?”
“I was picked up.”
“Okay. I’ll drive. We’ll go back to my place and order a pizza and get to know each other.”
His place. Of course. It occurred to her that they’d never given her a hotel room key. It was planned she’d spend the night with Gibbs. “I need to go get my suitcase. I left it inside.”
“Hurry it up.” He took the files from her and put them in the trunk of the car. Jenny all but ran, collected her carryon, and made it back to the car before he drove off. She slipped into the seat next to him and was instantly enveloped in the smell of sawdust and musk.
It wasn’t a long drive to his neighborhood. His house was a typical California ranch house with a perfectly manicured lawn a two car garage and a for sale sign in the yard. “You’re moving?”
“The owner is selling it. I just rent. Anyway,” he threw her a grin, “right now, I’m moving to Paris.” Gibbs chuckled and turned off the car, leaving it in the driveway. “Bring your stuff, Shepard.” She collected her suitcase and her files and followed him inside. His door wasn’t locked.
“You forget to lock your door this morning?”
“I never lock it.” He shrugged and dumped the files on the table. “I got bourbon and beer. What’s your choice?”
“Beer.” She said, standing awkwardly in the middle of a freshly painted living room. The furniture was minimal; he didn’t even have a television as she could see.
“Sit.” She didn’t. He grunted and rolled his eyes at her as he came back in. “Preferences on pizza toppings?”
“I’m easy,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Jethro smirked at her, looked at her chest again, and shook his head. “I mean …”
“Relax, Shepard. I’m not out to hit on you.”
Her heart sank a little. “Married?” She asked, still standing, holding onto the neck of the beer. She suddenly felt bold, like the power her chest seemed to have on him was a good thing.
“Getting divorced.” He sighed and there was a sadness that touched his eyes that went beyond a bad marriage. She was a skilled interrogator, she knew how to read body language, and he wasn’t upset so much about the wife as what she possibly represented. For a man whose psychological profile screamed “loner” he seemed decidedly lonely.
Jenny moved to the couch and sat, her back against the arm, one leg tucked up under her. “Then it’s probably a good thing you’re going undercover like you are. You can focus on this and not the case.”
He grunted again. “It’s this kind of life that ruins marriages. I should warn you though, I’ve got a thing for redheads.”
“It’s a good thing you’re supposed to be marrying one then isn’t it?”
They stared at each other for a long time before he chuckled and nodded. “Good point.” He broke his gaze long enough to order a mushroom and pepperoni pizza and she sipped her beer and focused her attention on the sparsely decorated room. Anything but staring at the man she was now under cover with.
She felt like a teenager again. How would he kiss her? Where would she put her hands? Would they go all the way? Not that she would mind making love to this man.
“I’m going to go change.”
She nodded and kicked off her shoes. The house was just chilly enough to make her wish for her sweater, but before she could get up to get her suitcase, he emerged from what she assumed was his bedroom, dressed in jeans and a US Marines t-shirt. In his hand was a white NIS sweatshirt. “You looked cold.”
“Thanks.” She slipped on the shirt and it smelled like him. Musk and sawdust again and it brought up a slew of questions. Did he work with his hands? What projects did he design? He watched her for a long minute and she worried her lip between her teeth, wondering how to ask the questions she didn’t know how to ask. “How much do we need to …”
“All the way, if we’re smart. Well,” he drew out the word and looked her up and down again. “At least, make it look good. They’ll be watching. We need to look like we’re really in love.”
“Don’t worry,” Jenny tried to tease him, “I do know how to fake an orgasm.”
“Pity,” he shook his head, “no woman who looks like you do should ever have to fake it.” She blushed. He just kept staring.
“We have work to do, Leroy.”
“Jethro.” He shook his head. “Everyone who matters calls me Jethro.”
“Fair enough.” She picked up her file. “And it’s Jenny, by the way. But those who matter call me Jen.”
“Fair enough.” He settled next to her on the couch and picked up his own file to study.
The files were identical. They needed to learn the ins and outs of every face of every person of interest they might come into contact with. She needed to know him as well as he would know her.
A knock on the door startled her and he went, paying for the pizza. For a minute, the room was silent and she watched him, admiring his ass in his jeans, how the t-shirt played off his body. The part of her that was bold and daring wanted to walk up to him, slide her hands into his pockets, and get started on the one part of their mission that would be the most difficult. The agent she was knew it would be best to fake the physical part. They needed to be professional.
“The Spartans used to require that the soldiers had a male lover.” Jethro was speaking. “They were partnered up with the idea that you would fight harder for the man next to you if you were sleeping together.”
“I think I remember learning that in a history class somewhere.” She took the plate he offered, suddenly regretting donning the sweatshirt. She liked how he’d looked at her before. “Are you offering, Jethro?”
“Maybe.” He chuckled and sat down again, this time putting the files aside. He looked at her for a long moment. “Jenny Shepard. Beloved daughter and only child of Jasper Shepard. Heir to the Shepard money. Ranking counter-terrorism expert back in DC but for as good as your French, Farsi, and Russian are, your skills are in domestic terrorism intel and making good with the politicians. They’ve already sent you to deal with more than a few problems up on the Hill and not just because you look good in a skirt.”
“You have me at a disadvantage.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not that hard to understand.”
“Something tells me you underestimate yourself, Jethro.”
“You like saying my name.”
“I like the way it rolls on my tongue.”
“You’re flirting with me.”
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Sit down.” He grunted and settled down next to her on the couch. The pizza box went unopened as they stared at their files, getting to know their characters.
Katherine “Kitty” Dawson. Heiress to one of the oldest fortunes in America. On the surface as old, white money as the stereotype could be while rumor had it her political leanings were growing more and more radical. Her grandfather had been blacklisted from Hollywood. Her mother was Russian. Her fiancé, the handsome and rich Matthew O’Connor was a distant Kennedy cousin. Their marriage the reconciliation of North and South.
“You can do a southern accent?”
“I can speak French, Russian, and Farsi with a southern accent if you need me to.”
“We’re going to need you to.”
Jenny chuckled and reached for the pizza. Jethro was watching her, she could tell. His blue eyes raking over her and she knew he was imagining her underneath him and she tried to not imagine what it was going to be like.
Why the hell couldn’t they have found another agent?
“Tell me about yourself, Jenny.”
“You’ve read my file, clearly.”
“No. Tell me about yourself.”
Jenny’s fingers went limp and she put the pizza back in the box. She turned, tucking a leg up under her and rested her arm against the back of the couch. “All I ever wanted to do was serve my country, but my father had old fashioned ideas about women in the military.”
“So you became an agent?”
“The FBI and CIA were too covert for me. I wanted to work with men in uniform.”
“You have a type?”
“Maybe. You like red heads.”
He nodded and caught himself from stroking her arm. Jenny followed the path of his fingers with her eyes before looking back up at him. “I have goals, Jethro. And I don’t need to be ushered around by men in uniform to make them happen.”
“You’ve got scars from breaking that glass ceiling?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I think the point is that we all have scars.” God she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to break the barrier. They were going to be in hotels and on cruise ships together. They were going to be killing together. Sex, suddenly, seemed like such a small thing.
No wonder Mossad actually encouraged romantic relationships with their agents. It prepared them for fleeting physical encounters. Maybe the states really were doing it wrong.
“We should get to know our marks.” His voice had dropped low and she could tell he was thinking about getting her naked.
Jenny leaned forward and kissed him.
TBC …