NCIS Fic: Paris to Serbia (Ch. 6)
Series: Paris to Serbia
Chapter 6: Dancing in Circles
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/Jenny; Gibbs/Hollis
Rating: Adult
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: Marseille was a promise. A break of more than twenty-four hours. The chance to leave Kitty behind and get back into her own head for a while.
Washington D.C., 2007
Propriety demanded that she not do what she was about to do. She was the director of a federal agency. She was in charge of the annual reviews of most of the people in this bar and to see them drunk and stupid might challenge her opinion of them. But Jenny needed a night off from paperwork and errant agents and secretaries of the navy who doubted their decision to put a woman in charge. She was damned good at her job and that was what scared all of them.
So what if she’d chosen this particular bar was because she knew he’d be there? So what if she’d chosen the jeans that dropped ten pounds and the heels that always made him hard? Her shirt was a modest long sleeve t, but it gripped her breasts just right, highlighting the lace of her bra underneath. It was an outfit like this that had caught his eye once before, a lifetime ago when she’d sat on his couch, files between them, and reached out for that first kiss.
Jenny could admit she was being an idiot. She’d drawn the lines but let him erase them when they both pretended he wasn’t coming back from his margarita safari. But since his return, the tension was unbearable. He looked at her the way he had in Paris, once he realized what she was telling him. He watched her like she was walking away from him again, like he had when she’d tugged her hand free and fled before they made the most perfect mistake of their lives. Somehow, she knew if she’d said yes, she’d still be Mrs. Jethro Gibbs. They might even be leading the MCRT together, kicking ass and taking names. But Leon Vance would be director and her hopes of tracking down Rene Benoit would be forgotten.
For a fleeting moment she’d entertained the idea of telling him the truth about her manhunt. He would understand. He might even help her go after him. But her revenge was hers alone. Maybe forgetting about Benoit would be better. Maybe she could live longer and do her job better. But her need to clear her father’s name was too entrenched and backing down felt like failure. Then again, backing down from her rule about reopening a relationship with Jethro was only going to expose all of her weaknesses. As much as she missed him, she couldn’t let him win this one. No matter how much she still loved the bastard. Yet, that resolve to win this battle of wills didn’t stop her from pulling her car into a secluded spot at the back of the bar’s parking lot, stepping out, slipping her ID and cash into a back pocket, and adjusting the cadet hat on her head in an effort to help hide her identity. She had no idea what she was planning to do or what she was going to say, but she had to do something. Anything. This couldn’t go on.
The bar was dark and hazy. Country music trilled from a jukebox in the corner. The bar smelled of wood polish, tired bodies, and spilled whiskey. No eyes turned as she entered even though she knew almost every man and woman in here - if not by name then by face. But away from her power suits and perfectly coifed hair, she was just another redhead in for a drink.
It was a wonderful feeling to be able to become anonymous in the blink of an eye.
She’d seen his car out front and she knew ambushing him wasn’t fair, but they needed to talk. Away from the office, away from files and politics and beeping phones, they might be able to have a conversation. This was on his terms, not hers. But it didn’t keep her from feeling like a nervous schoolgirl. It was like her first training run back at FLETC, when they wanted to see how she’d handle setting up a mark in a bar like this.
Laughter caught her attention and Jenny turned, bourbon in hand, to watch her tug him reluctantly onto the dance floor. He was only mock protesting; the look in his eye went far beyond lust. The gray blonde hair of the woman caught the light and shone for a second, a halo around her shoulders. She was in tight jeans, low heels, and a scoop neck sweater that left no cleavage to the imagination.
Hollis Mann was clearly not done with Jethro and Jenny realized she’d underestimated the competition. (Since when had she started thinking of Colonel Mann as competition?) She’d accepted there was something between her ex and the colonel but she hadn’t expected the gentle look in his eye or the way his arms settled so comfortably around the other woman. He spun her out and then in again, close to his chest, and Jenny stepped back into a shadow before they could see her. His hand was low on Hollis’ hip; her head was against his chest as they moved in tandem to the old song on the jukebox.
This was more than a fling. Jethro cared for her. He’d done exactly as Jenny asked and moved on and found in Hollis an equal, not just a sparring partner.
Even with the drink, her mouth was dry. Her hands shook. Her head started to pound. She was trapped, watching as they swayed together. Hollis reached up, her hand around his neck, and whispered something in his ear. He smirked and kissed her before taking her hand and together, they walked out the door. Jenny collapsed back against the wall, shaking.
He’d done what she demanded. Just as he always had. She’d left him in Paris, standing alone, tears running down both their faces as she ran toward a job that would secure her future and away from the life she’d never believed was for her. Self fulfilling prophesies hurt worse when they were a decade in the making.
London, 1997
“Dear, sweet, God.” Jethro groaned and came up behind her, wrapping strong arms around her waist. “I didn’t think skirts that short were legal.”
“We aren’t in the states anymore.” Jenny turned and brushed a strand of the black wig she was wearing out of her face. Kitty was resurfacing, set up on their second night in London, heading into a club (always a club) to gain more intel on Salvo’s London crew. The mission tonight was to observe, not approach, and if they were approached, they were under orders to get out. Jenny didn’t mind. She’d had enough of using her legs (and what was between them) to gather needed information. But even tonight, she was more Kitty than Jenny, feeling the cold pulse of adrenaline in her system. Kitty played with fire, much more than Jenny ever would.
She walked over to the couch and bent over, giving him a good view up her skirt while she pulled on her freshly purchased stilettos. His groan vibrated through the room and she bit her lip, trying to focus. That groan was much more Jethro than she was Jenny at the moment.
Marseille. The word echoed in her mind. They were to gather the intel tonight and in the morning get over the border and through to Marseille for a much needed debrief and break while the next step was planned. From what they’d gathered, Serbia was the ultimate goal. That was where everything flowed. But they had to get out of London, lay low in Marseille, track the cell through Paris, and make it safely to Serbia. Marseille was a promise. A break of more than twenty-four hours. The chance to leave Kitty behind and get back into her own head for a while. If they did it right, no one would follow them and all the papers would make it seem like Kitty and Matt were taking it easy on the English Countryside.
Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, she realized she’d stopped being a person and had become a shadow. They would be in France illegally. Serbia demanded anonymity. Even if she were to leave Kitty completely behind right now, she still wasn’t the same Jenny Shepard who had kissed Jethro back in his house in San Diego. She was colder. She understood her world now. Even sitting at an intel desk at NCIS, she hadn’t truly understood what the shadow agents did. The CIA and the Special Ops teams in the different agencies had been far away, part of the groups that fed her information but she’d always thought of them as people with identities. To survive in this world, she needed to forget who she had been and accept that when the op was over, she wouldn’t be the same woman. Maybe the new woman could leave revenge behind. She and Jethro could start over, maybe take over the team in Moscow. She loved Russia.
First, they had to get out of London.
Shoes strapped into place, Jenny grabbed her purse and made sure her knife was safe in the lining. They were without guns tonight - trying to just be civilians at a club rather than agents doing a job. Jethro - Matt - held open the door and lead her down to where the car waited. He drove, which was fine with her, and she sat with her legs slightly parted, her skirt up high on her thighs. Party girls didn’t care so much about modesty. She was tempted to torment him, to pull her thong down her legs and kick it aside but it wasn’t fair to tease him like that when she still hadn’t let him touch her. She still felt dirty. It confused her. She’d willingly gone to bed with Salvo and she’d given herself to his partner. But the daughter of Jasper Shepard wasn’t used to acting like a whore.
So her underwear stayed in place and she planned to sleep alone and in pj’s tonight, which she knew would confuse Jethro. But, the safe house was truly safe. They could talk freely, they were under constant surveillance. She didn’t need to keep up an act just in case one of Salvo’s goons was listening. Maybe she could talk to him. Maybe she could make him understand that her sudden distance wasn’t him but her. More and more, she felt like she’d crossed a line with this case.
She stared out the window as London flew by, lost in the memory of that night on the cruise, of how Salvo had watched while she was taken by his partner. He’d laughed and smoked a cigar and called her his American Slut. He’d even asked if there was a price Matt would pay for her services full time. Was it then she’d become a shadow?
No. Before. When they’d stepped onto the boat. When the only time she’d felt peace was against that railing with the water flying past them. That was when she felt human again. This was what the FLETC training hadn’t covered - dealing with the loss of who you were. Get the mission done at any cost. Any cost. Even if it meant breaking your heart.
The romantic girl in her wondered if Jethro even wanted her anymore. She was tainted now. Used. Touched by drug dealers and gun runners.
A hard hand landed on her knee and she jumped, realizing they’d stopped. The club was across the street and Salvo stood outside, a bimbo on each arm. She recognized one of them from the cruise. Follow. Do not approach echoed in her head.
“Come out of your headspace, Jen.” His voice was soft. “You can’t completely forget yourself.”
“I should have done more field work before accepting this assignment.”
“You should have done any field work before accepting this assignment.”
She chuckled at his dry tone. “Good point.”
“You’re a good agent, Jen. I like your instincts. Just trust me when it comes to the messy stuff, okay? You still have a lot to learn.”
The romantic girl wanted to ask if he still liked her, if he’d ever liked her. Instead she smiled and tossed her head a bit. “Thank you.” Across the way, Salvo leaned against the wall of the club, talking to three men. One of whom was the one Jenny had slept with. She could still smell the stench of rotting garlic on his breath. He pointed into the club and then pointed to Salvo. Watching him, something clicked.
“He’s the one really pulling the strings,” she said. “I told you Salvo shared me, acting like I wasn’t worth anything. But the partner actually demanded me. Salvo is an underling.” Her mouth tripped over her tongue as she tried to get the words out. “He’s the one we need to get to. Salvo wants power but he’s willing to get pushed around to get it.” Relief flooded her. For some reason it felt better to know she’d put it all together. Her brain ran through the conversations again, looking now for nuances she’d missed while lying on her side, glad for her ability to fake it. Yes, he’d been the one giving the orders.
“Do you have his name?”
“No,” she sighed. “He never revealed it.”
“That’s okay. We have a face.” Jethro grunted and snapped a series of photographs. Jenny waited, anxious to get out of the car and into the club. Her body buzzed, the energy of the case taking over. She reached for the door handle but he stopped her, his hand soft on her arm. “Easy, Jen. We hop out now, like this, they’ll get suspicious. Wait until they’re inside. Follow, remember?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed and sank back into the seat. He was so damned calm but she supposed it came from a life of doing some version of whatever this was. They’d been in all kinds of compromising positions and she didn’t even know his unit or where he’d served. She didn’t know anything about him, really, except - her memory taunted her - that there was a beach in Mexico he loved. “Where do you get the patience?”
He swallowed. She heard it. “Training.” Was his curt answer. She waited, having learned in the last two weeks that waiting gave her answers. “I was a sniper. You have to wait for your moment.” Again, she waited. Letting him speak. “Desert Storm,” was a soft answer to a question she knew better than to ask. “Columbia. More. Missions like this. Waiting and watching. It’s why they brought me to special ops when I left the Corps. This is what I’m good at.”
Nerves jumped around her stomach. Was he so good, then, that maybe everything between them had been part of the op? But no. There was that moment in his kitchen, with his hand on her back. There had been how he pushed her up against the boat he was ready to burn, how his hands took control and she felt him against her, hot through their jeans. It would have happened had the phone not chosen the wrong moment to ring.
“Can I ask a stupid question?” She took the binoculars and leaned forward, watching Salvo and the crew make some kind of choice. Perhaps this wasn’t the club for them tonight. Jethro’s hand was on her thigh, distracting her, but she did her best to ignore it.
“You can ask.” An annoying response. But one that gave hope he’d answer her.
“When we have been together … is it because you’re in the same headspace I’m in or do you want more?”
His hand inched higher. His voice was soft when he spoke. “What do you think, Jen?”
She turned and shook her head. He was chuckling, that same chuckle from the first night, before they’d even learned about their personas. She grinned and leaned over, stealing a kiss. He pulled back, trying to maintain some distance, wagging his finger playfully at her. “Later, Jen. I promise.”
Nerves hit her again and she focused her attention back on Salvo’s crew. “They’re on the move.” The change in location bothered her. She’d dressed up to go clubbing and if they were going to spend the night on recon like this, her dress was wasted. Well, not totally wasted. Jethro clearly appreciated it.
Jethro started the engine and pulled out onto the street. They followed the lead car at a distance, through to the other side of London and an out of the way warehouse. He turned down an alley and killed the engine. “Come on,” was the curt order. She followed it, wishing they had their weapons, worried for his safety. On wobbly legs, she stepped out of the car, trusting his instincts. Together they walked against the wall, as close as they could get to Salvo’s crew without being seen.
She held her breath, knowing that right now, she was a potential hindrance. They weren’t dressed for this, hadn’t anticipated this. Running in six inch heels was not as easy as the movies made it out to be. Suddenly, he grabbed her and shoved. “Against the wall,” he hissed, pushing her back, pushing her skirt up. The hooker heels proved to be a good purchase after all. Pressed into the dank alley, she looked like a prostitute and he the willing john. “To the right,” he whispered in her ear as he attacked her neck. Her eyes flitted sideways and she watched Salvo as he pushed one of the bimbos - Jenny couldn’t remember her name - to the ground. She looked lost. Confused. Jethro left bruises on Jenny’s arm as she wrenched forward to save the girl even as the gun was raised and the flash blinded her.
The girl lay dead on the street. She heard, in Russian, how the bimbo had been the one to betray his trust. The other girls looked terrified and bit lips. She had been their example. Jenny swallowed bile and closed her eyes. Her betrayal of Salvo had caused the poor girl’s death. Turning away, she jerked free and stumbled into the shadows, hidden behind the car. Somehow, she hoped, the movement would go unnoticed by Salvo. Glass cut her knees and palms as she dropped down, heaving silently. Jethro was at her side, shushing her, soothing her. She bit her lip, keeping the bile down until the last sound had faded around them. He moved his hand down her back, a signal she somehow understood, and she let go of the bile in her stomach. It burned, vile, and the mere taste brought dry heaves after she’d emptied what was in her system.
“We killed her,” she whispered, pressing the handkerchief Jethro handed her to her mouth. “We killed her.”
“No. Salvo did. But we need to get out of here. Fast.”
It was too late to escape by means of the car. Sirens already echoed in the distance and they’d notice a vehicle fleeing the scene. How long had she been retching? Yanking off She pulled off her shoes and nodded to the chain link fence at the back of the alley, ready to climb. Jethro had removed the plates from the car and tucked them into his jacket. It was a burn car, completely untraceable, but leaving any identification wasn’t worth the risk. She jumped ahead of him up the fence and then down, ignoring the crushing pain in her ankle and the slice of glass through her feet. He took her hand and together they ran, down toward the river, until it was safe enough to collapse under a dying tree. A signal from the burn phone let their control team know where they were.
“You’re bleeding, Jen,” his voice was low.
She was in pain too. Her ankle was most likely fractured. Her foot was bleeding. Her dress was torn. She bit her lip, still tasting bile, and closed her eyes against the agony. An hour ago they’d been laughing.
“I’m okay.”
“No.” He was gentle, but worried. They had to move, she knew. They couldn’t be picked up in the same location as where they made the call. A safe car would be waiting three blocks away. She could get checked out while Jethro was debriefed. “No you aren’t. But we need to move. Can you walk?”
“I’ll have to.” In the dim light, she pulled a shard of glass from her foot and then stood. Her leg buckled but she couldn’t let Jethro see the weakness. “Let’s get out of here.”
He grabbed her around the waist and they hurried, seeing a car pull up in the darkness. Behind the wheel was Decker, who took one look at Jenny as they climbed into the backseat and floored it. Only then did she realize something.
“Jethro …” she swallowed hard, “I bled all the way from the alley. They can just follow my footprints.”
“You’re untraceable once you hit the river, though. Where’s the car?” Barked Decker.
Jethro gave him the address. “Jenny needs stitches and she might have broken her ankle. We have to get her to Ducky.”
“On it. Talk to me Jethro,” Decker shook his head, “What the hell happened out there?”
Jenny leaned back, wondering just how much blood she’d lost. Her head was spinning, her vision hazy. She felt him pick up her leg and felt something pressed hard against her foot. Jethro was talking; she just wanted to close her eyes and let the night pass.
But every time she did all she could see was the dead woman on the ground and the look in Salvo’s eyes. It wasn’t just that she was responsible for the girl’s death, but that it wouldn’t take much for Salvo to do the same to her. Or even to Jethro.
Somehow, even with her vision swimming, she reached for his hand. He linked their fingers, calming her down, but there was more than security in his touch. He was worried.
How would it be if they were more than partners? What if something happened? What if he died on her watch? She was a girl, playacting, trying to be as strong as the big boys. She wanted to tell him to let go, to just be her partner, but partners were more than friends. Right? She needed to make the decision for them because he seemed more than willing to let what was going to happen run its course. What if he was hurt? What if she was? But his hand was so warm and she was floating …
Shelty, she remembered. The girl’s name was Shelty.
Blackness took away the images of the woman on the ground.
TBC …
Chapter 6: Dancing in Circles
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/Jenny; Gibbs/Hollis
Rating: Adult
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: Marseille was a promise. A break of more than twenty-four hours. The chance to leave Kitty behind and get back into her own head for a while.
Washington D.C., 2007
Propriety demanded that she not do what she was about to do. She was the director of a federal agency. She was in charge of the annual reviews of most of the people in this bar and to see them drunk and stupid might challenge her opinion of them. But Jenny needed a night off from paperwork and errant agents and secretaries of the navy who doubted their decision to put a woman in charge. She was damned good at her job and that was what scared all of them.
So what if she’d chosen this particular bar was because she knew he’d be there? So what if she’d chosen the jeans that dropped ten pounds and the heels that always made him hard? Her shirt was a modest long sleeve t, but it gripped her breasts just right, highlighting the lace of her bra underneath. It was an outfit like this that had caught his eye once before, a lifetime ago when she’d sat on his couch, files between them, and reached out for that first kiss.
Jenny could admit she was being an idiot. She’d drawn the lines but let him erase them when they both pretended he wasn’t coming back from his margarita safari. But since his return, the tension was unbearable. He looked at her the way he had in Paris, once he realized what she was telling him. He watched her like she was walking away from him again, like he had when she’d tugged her hand free and fled before they made the most perfect mistake of their lives. Somehow, she knew if she’d said yes, she’d still be Mrs. Jethro Gibbs. They might even be leading the MCRT together, kicking ass and taking names. But Leon Vance would be director and her hopes of tracking down Rene Benoit would be forgotten.
For a fleeting moment she’d entertained the idea of telling him the truth about her manhunt. He would understand. He might even help her go after him. But her revenge was hers alone. Maybe forgetting about Benoit would be better. Maybe she could live longer and do her job better. But her need to clear her father’s name was too entrenched and backing down felt like failure. Then again, backing down from her rule about reopening a relationship with Jethro was only going to expose all of her weaknesses. As much as she missed him, she couldn’t let him win this one. No matter how much she still loved the bastard. Yet, that resolve to win this battle of wills didn’t stop her from pulling her car into a secluded spot at the back of the bar’s parking lot, stepping out, slipping her ID and cash into a back pocket, and adjusting the cadet hat on her head in an effort to help hide her identity. She had no idea what she was planning to do or what she was going to say, but she had to do something. Anything. This couldn’t go on.
The bar was dark and hazy. Country music trilled from a jukebox in the corner. The bar smelled of wood polish, tired bodies, and spilled whiskey. No eyes turned as she entered even though she knew almost every man and woman in here - if not by name then by face. But away from her power suits and perfectly coifed hair, she was just another redhead in for a drink.
It was a wonderful feeling to be able to become anonymous in the blink of an eye.
She’d seen his car out front and she knew ambushing him wasn’t fair, but they needed to talk. Away from the office, away from files and politics and beeping phones, they might be able to have a conversation. This was on his terms, not hers. But it didn’t keep her from feeling like a nervous schoolgirl. It was like her first training run back at FLETC, when they wanted to see how she’d handle setting up a mark in a bar like this.
Laughter caught her attention and Jenny turned, bourbon in hand, to watch her tug him reluctantly onto the dance floor. He was only mock protesting; the look in his eye went far beyond lust. The gray blonde hair of the woman caught the light and shone for a second, a halo around her shoulders. She was in tight jeans, low heels, and a scoop neck sweater that left no cleavage to the imagination.
Hollis Mann was clearly not done with Jethro and Jenny realized she’d underestimated the competition. (Since when had she started thinking of Colonel Mann as competition?) She’d accepted there was something between her ex and the colonel but she hadn’t expected the gentle look in his eye or the way his arms settled so comfortably around the other woman. He spun her out and then in again, close to his chest, and Jenny stepped back into a shadow before they could see her. His hand was low on Hollis’ hip; her head was against his chest as they moved in tandem to the old song on the jukebox.
This was more than a fling. Jethro cared for her. He’d done exactly as Jenny asked and moved on and found in Hollis an equal, not just a sparring partner.
Even with the drink, her mouth was dry. Her hands shook. Her head started to pound. She was trapped, watching as they swayed together. Hollis reached up, her hand around his neck, and whispered something in his ear. He smirked and kissed her before taking her hand and together, they walked out the door. Jenny collapsed back against the wall, shaking.
He’d done what she demanded. Just as he always had. She’d left him in Paris, standing alone, tears running down both their faces as she ran toward a job that would secure her future and away from the life she’d never believed was for her. Self fulfilling prophesies hurt worse when they were a decade in the making.
London, 1997
“Dear, sweet, God.” Jethro groaned and came up behind her, wrapping strong arms around her waist. “I didn’t think skirts that short were legal.”
“We aren’t in the states anymore.” Jenny turned and brushed a strand of the black wig she was wearing out of her face. Kitty was resurfacing, set up on their second night in London, heading into a club (always a club) to gain more intel on Salvo’s London crew. The mission tonight was to observe, not approach, and if they were approached, they were under orders to get out. Jenny didn’t mind. She’d had enough of using her legs (and what was between them) to gather needed information. But even tonight, she was more Kitty than Jenny, feeling the cold pulse of adrenaline in her system. Kitty played with fire, much more than Jenny ever would.
She walked over to the couch and bent over, giving him a good view up her skirt while she pulled on her freshly purchased stilettos. His groan vibrated through the room and she bit her lip, trying to focus. That groan was much more Jethro than she was Jenny at the moment.
Marseille. The word echoed in her mind. They were to gather the intel tonight and in the morning get over the border and through to Marseille for a much needed debrief and break while the next step was planned. From what they’d gathered, Serbia was the ultimate goal. That was where everything flowed. But they had to get out of London, lay low in Marseille, track the cell through Paris, and make it safely to Serbia. Marseille was a promise. A break of more than twenty-four hours. The chance to leave Kitty behind and get back into her own head for a while. If they did it right, no one would follow them and all the papers would make it seem like Kitty and Matt were taking it easy on the English Countryside.
Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, she realized she’d stopped being a person and had become a shadow. They would be in France illegally. Serbia demanded anonymity. Even if she were to leave Kitty completely behind right now, she still wasn’t the same Jenny Shepard who had kissed Jethro back in his house in San Diego. She was colder. She understood her world now. Even sitting at an intel desk at NCIS, she hadn’t truly understood what the shadow agents did. The CIA and the Special Ops teams in the different agencies had been far away, part of the groups that fed her information but she’d always thought of them as people with identities. To survive in this world, she needed to forget who she had been and accept that when the op was over, she wouldn’t be the same woman. Maybe the new woman could leave revenge behind. She and Jethro could start over, maybe take over the team in Moscow. She loved Russia.
First, they had to get out of London.
Shoes strapped into place, Jenny grabbed her purse and made sure her knife was safe in the lining. They were without guns tonight - trying to just be civilians at a club rather than agents doing a job. Jethro - Matt - held open the door and lead her down to where the car waited. He drove, which was fine with her, and she sat with her legs slightly parted, her skirt up high on her thighs. Party girls didn’t care so much about modesty. She was tempted to torment him, to pull her thong down her legs and kick it aside but it wasn’t fair to tease him like that when she still hadn’t let him touch her. She still felt dirty. It confused her. She’d willingly gone to bed with Salvo and she’d given herself to his partner. But the daughter of Jasper Shepard wasn’t used to acting like a whore.
So her underwear stayed in place and she planned to sleep alone and in pj’s tonight, which she knew would confuse Jethro. But, the safe house was truly safe. They could talk freely, they were under constant surveillance. She didn’t need to keep up an act just in case one of Salvo’s goons was listening. Maybe she could talk to him. Maybe she could make him understand that her sudden distance wasn’t him but her. More and more, she felt like she’d crossed a line with this case.
She stared out the window as London flew by, lost in the memory of that night on the cruise, of how Salvo had watched while she was taken by his partner. He’d laughed and smoked a cigar and called her his American Slut. He’d even asked if there was a price Matt would pay for her services full time. Was it then she’d become a shadow?
No. Before. When they’d stepped onto the boat. When the only time she’d felt peace was against that railing with the water flying past them. That was when she felt human again. This was what the FLETC training hadn’t covered - dealing with the loss of who you were. Get the mission done at any cost. Any cost. Even if it meant breaking your heart.
The romantic girl in her wondered if Jethro even wanted her anymore. She was tainted now. Used. Touched by drug dealers and gun runners.
A hard hand landed on her knee and she jumped, realizing they’d stopped. The club was across the street and Salvo stood outside, a bimbo on each arm. She recognized one of them from the cruise. Follow. Do not approach echoed in her head.
“Come out of your headspace, Jen.” His voice was soft. “You can’t completely forget yourself.”
“I should have done more field work before accepting this assignment.”
“You should have done any field work before accepting this assignment.”
She chuckled at his dry tone. “Good point.”
“You’re a good agent, Jen. I like your instincts. Just trust me when it comes to the messy stuff, okay? You still have a lot to learn.”
The romantic girl wanted to ask if he still liked her, if he’d ever liked her. Instead she smiled and tossed her head a bit. “Thank you.” Across the way, Salvo leaned against the wall of the club, talking to three men. One of whom was the one Jenny had slept with. She could still smell the stench of rotting garlic on his breath. He pointed into the club and then pointed to Salvo. Watching him, something clicked.
“He’s the one really pulling the strings,” she said. “I told you Salvo shared me, acting like I wasn’t worth anything. But the partner actually demanded me. Salvo is an underling.” Her mouth tripped over her tongue as she tried to get the words out. “He’s the one we need to get to. Salvo wants power but he’s willing to get pushed around to get it.” Relief flooded her. For some reason it felt better to know she’d put it all together. Her brain ran through the conversations again, looking now for nuances she’d missed while lying on her side, glad for her ability to fake it. Yes, he’d been the one giving the orders.
“Do you have his name?”
“No,” she sighed. “He never revealed it.”
“That’s okay. We have a face.” Jethro grunted and snapped a series of photographs. Jenny waited, anxious to get out of the car and into the club. Her body buzzed, the energy of the case taking over. She reached for the door handle but he stopped her, his hand soft on her arm. “Easy, Jen. We hop out now, like this, they’ll get suspicious. Wait until they’re inside. Follow, remember?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed and sank back into the seat. He was so damned calm but she supposed it came from a life of doing some version of whatever this was. They’d been in all kinds of compromising positions and she didn’t even know his unit or where he’d served. She didn’t know anything about him, really, except - her memory taunted her - that there was a beach in Mexico he loved. “Where do you get the patience?”
He swallowed. She heard it. “Training.” Was his curt answer. She waited, having learned in the last two weeks that waiting gave her answers. “I was a sniper. You have to wait for your moment.” Again, she waited. Letting him speak. “Desert Storm,” was a soft answer to a question she knew better than to ask. “Columbia. More. Missions like this. Waiting and watching. It’s why they brought me to special ops when I left the Corps. This is what I’m good at.”
Nerves jumped around her stomach. Was he so good, then, that maybe everything between them had been part of the op? But no. There was that moment in his kitchen, with his hand on her back. There had been how he pushed her up against the boat he was ready to burn, how his hands took control and she felt him against her, hot through their jeans. It would have happened had the phone not chosen the wrong moment to ring.
“Can I ask a stupid question?” She took the binoculars and leaned forward, watching Salvo and the crew make some kind of choice. Perhaps this wasn’t the club for them tonight. Jethro’s hand was on her thigh, distracting her, but she did her best to ignore it.
“You can ask.” An annoying response. But one that gave hope he’d answer her.
“When we have been together … is it because you’re in the same headspace I’m in or do you want more?”
His hand inched higher. His voice was soft when he spoke. “What do you think, Jen?”
She turned and shook her head. He was chuckling, that same chuckle from the first night, before they’d even learned about their personas. She grinned and leaned over, stealing a kiss. He pulled back, trying to maintain some distance, wagging his finger playfully at her. “Later, Jen. I promise.”
Nerves hit her again and she focused her attention back on Salvo’s crew. “They’re on the move.” The change in location bothered her. She’d dressed up to go clubbing and if they were going to spend the night on recon like this, her dress was wasted. Well, not totally wasted. Jethro clearly appreciated it.
Jethro started the engine and pulled out onto the street. They followed the lead car at a distance, through to the other side of London and an out of the way warehouse. He turned down an alley and killed the engine. “Come on,” was the curt order. She followed it, wishing they had their weapons, worried for his safety. On wobbly legs, she stepped out of the car, trusting his instincts. Together they walked against the wall, as close as they could get to Salvo’s crew without being seen.
She held her breath, knowing that right now, she was a potential hindrance. They weren’t dressed for this, hadn’t anticipated this. Running in six inch heels was not as easy as the movies made it out to be. Suddenly, he grabbed her and shoved. “Against the wall,” he hissed, pushing her back, pushing her skirt up. The hooker heels proved to be a good purchase after all. Pressed into the dank alley, she looked like a prostitute and he the willing john. “To the right,” he whispered in her ear as he attacked her neck. Her eyes flitted sideways and she watched Salvo as he pushed one of the bimbos - Jenny couldn’t remember her name - to the ground. She looked lost. Confused. Jethro left bruises on Jenny’s arm as she wrenched forward to save the girl even as the gun was raised and the flash blinded her.
The girl lay dead on the street. She heard, in Russian, how the bimbo had been the one to betray his trust. The other girls looked terrified and bit lips. She had been their example. Jenny swallowed bile and closed her eyes. Her betrayal of Salvo had caused the poor girl’s death. Turning away, she jerked free and stumbled into the shadows, hidden behind the car. Somehow, she hoped, the movement would go unnoticed by Salvo. Glass cut her knees and palms as she dropped down, heaving silently. Jethro was at her side, shushing her, soothing her. She bit her lip, keeping the bile down until the last sound had faded around them. He moved his hand down her back, a signal she somehow understood, and she let go of the bile in her stomach. It burned, vile, and the mere taste brought dry heaves after she’d emptied what was in her system.
“We killed her,” she whispered, pressing the handkerchief Jethro handed her to her mouth. “We killed her.”
“No. Salvo did. But we need to get out of here. Fast.”
It was too late to escape by means of the car. Sirens already echoed in the distance and they’d notice a vehicle fleeing the scene. How long had she been retching? Yanking off She pulled off her shoes and nodded to the chain link fence at the back of the alley, ready to climb. Jethro had removed the plates from the car and tucked them into his jacket. It was a burn car, completely untraceable, but leaving any identification wasn’t worth the risk. She jumped ahead of him up the fence and then down, ignoring the crushing pain in her ankle and the slice of glass through her feet. He took her hand and together they ran, down toward the river, until it was safe enough to collapse under a dying tree. A signal from the burn phone let their control team know where they were.
“You’re bleeding, Jen,” his voice was low.
She was in pain too. Her ankle was most likely fractured. Her foot was bleeding. Her dress was torn. She bit her lip, still tasting bile, and closed her eyes against the agony. An hour ago they’d been laughing.
“I’m okay.”
“No.” He was gentle, but worried. They had to move, she knew. They couldn’t be picked up in the same location as where they made the call. A safe car would be waiting three blocks away. She could get checked out while Jethro was debriefed. “No you aren’t. But we need to move. Can you walk?”
“I’ll have to.” In the dim light, she pulled a shard of glass from her foot and then stood. Her leg buckled but she couldn’t let Jethro see the weakness. “Let’s get out of here.”
He grabbed her around the waist and they hurried, seeing a car pull up in the darkness. Behind the wheel was Decker, who took one look at Jenny as they climbed into the backseat and floored it. Only then did she realize something.
“Jethro …” she swallowed hard, “I bled all the way from the alley. They can just follow my footprints.”
“You’re untraceable once you hit the river, though. Where’s the car?” Barked Decker.
Jethro gave him the address. “Jenny needs stitches and she might have broken her ankle. We have to get her to Ducky.”
“On it. Talk to me Jethro,” Decker shook his head, “What the hell happened out there?”
Jenny leaned back, wondering just how much blood she’d lost. Her head was spinning, her vision hazy. She felt him pick up her leg and felt something pressed hard against her foot. Jethro was talking; she just wanted to close her eyes and let the night pass.
But every time she did all she could see was the dead woman on the ground and the look in Salvo’s eyes. It wasn’t just that she was responsible for the girl’s death, but that it wouldn’t take much for Salvo to do the same to her. Or even to Jethro.
Somehow, even with her vision swimming, she reached for his hand. He linked their fingers, calming her down, but there was more than security in his touch. He was worried.
How would it be if they were more than partners? What if something happened? What if he died on her watch? She was a girl, playacting, trying to be as strong as the big boys. She wanted to tell him to let go, to just be her partner, but partners were more than friends. Right? She needed to make the decision for them because he seemed more than willing to let what was going to happen run its course. What if he was hurt? What if she was? But his hand was so warm and she was floating …
Shelty, she remembered. The girl’s name was Shelty.
Blackness took away the images of the woman on the ground.
TBC …