"From your apartment. You're moving to my place."
Here we go again. "I didn't agree to that."
"Someone broke into your office. They know where you live."
"Probably. But that doesn't mean I'm moving in with you."
"It's not moving in. It's temporary relocation for safety."
"It's you making decisions for me again." I head toward the parking lot. "Which we just fought about."
He keeps pace beside me. "This is different."
"How?"
"Because your apartment isn't secure. Mine is."
"Your place is base housing. Same as mine."
"Different location. They're looking for you at your address. They won't think to check mine." He opens the passenger door of his truck. "Get in. We're going to pack your things."
"Stop telling me what to do."
"Stop being stubborn about your own safety."
We glare at each other over the truck door. Neither of us backing down.
"Fine," I say finally. "I'll pack a bag. ONE bag. For a few days. Not permanently."
"However long it takes."
"A few days," I repeat firmly. "And I'm driving my own car to your place. I'm not leaving my Range Rover at my apartment for weeks."
He considers that. "You follow me directly. No stops."
"I'm not an idiot."
"Didn't say you were. But you're pissed at me right now, and pissed people make emotional decisions."
"Oh, like you're one to talk about emotional decisions." I climb into the truck. "Let's just go."
The drive to my apartment is silent. I stare out the window, fuming. He's not wrong about the safety concerns. But the way he just decides things, announces them like they're already settled—it makes me want to argue just on principle.
At my apartment, Thatcher clears it first. Draws his weapon, moves through each room. When he gives the all-clear, I push past him toward my bedroom.
"How long do you think this will take?" I ask, pulling a bag from my closet.
"As long as it takes for NCIS to make arrests." He leans against the doorframe, watching. "Could be days. Could be weeks."
"Weeks." I shove clothes into the bag with more force than necessary. "I'm supposed to live out of a bag for weeks."
"You're supposed to stay alive for weeks. The bag is just logistics."
I grab toiletries from the bathroom, my laptop and charger from the desk. "This is ridiculous."
"This is necessary."
"According to you."
