Ongoing investigation. Does NCIS already know about the thefts? Or is he making assumptions?
He ends the call and focuses on me again, hazel eyes assessing. "Help is coming. Try not to move too much in case you have injuries you're not feeling yet."
Adrenaline does that. Masks pain until the crash hits. I know the physiology, understand exactly what my body is doing right now. Doesn't make the trembling stop or the shock feel less overwhelming.
"Thank you," I manage. "For intervening. I thought?—"
"Don't." Firm but not unkind. "You fought hard. Most people freeze."
Pride flickers through fear. "I was taught to fight back."
Something shifts in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition that there's more to my story than a parking lot attack.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer. Red and blue lights flash across nearby buildings. Base security arrives first, then NCIS agents in their unmarked vehicles. Captain Caine stays exactly where he is, kneeling beside me, solid presence between me and everyone else.
An NCIS agent approaches, badge visible. "Dr. Abernathy? I'm Special Agent Rivera. Can you tell me what happened?"
I walk her through it. The footsteps, the grab, the fight. The things he said. "You should've minded your own business." She writes everything down, asking clarifying questions, professional and thorough.
"Do you know why someone would target you specifically?" Rivera asks.
Here it is. The moment I either report what I found or stay quiet and hope this was random. Except it wasn't random. My attacker knew my name, knew I'd found something, came prepared to silence me.
"I've been documenting equipment shortages at the hospital," I tell her. "Trauma and emergency supplies going missing in patterns that suggest deliberate theft. Airway equipment, hemorrhage control supplies, surgical tools—things needed when patients are dying."
Rivera's expression sharpens. "You have evidence?"
"Spreadsheet backed up to cloud storage. Inventory logs, dates, quantities. Everything documented." I meet her gaze steadily. "Someone's been watching my investigation."
"We'll need access to those files." Rivera glances at Captain Caine, then back to me. "You'll need protection until we determine the scope of this threat."
"I can take care of myself." The words come out automatically, defensive. Experience taught me that accepting help meant giving up control.
Captain Caine speaks for the first time since security arrived. "You fought well. But whoever sent that assailant knows you're onto them and just proved they're willing to use violence." His voice is calm, factual. "Taking care of yourself means accepting backup when threats escalate."
He's right. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
"What kind of protection are we talking about?" I ask Rivera.
"Security detail. Monitoring. Possibly relocation if the threat assessment warrants." She closes her notebook. "Captain Caine, you witnessed the aftermath?"
"Affirmative. I can provide a statement."
"We'll need it." Rivera signals to another agent. "Get Dr. Abernathy checked by medical. Full documentation of injuries for the case file."
Medical. Right. Because I'm the victim here, not the trauma surgeon who should be treating patients instead of getting treated. The role reversal chafes, but arguing won't help.
An EMT approaches with supplies. I let him clean the scrapes, check my pupils, assess the damage I already know is minor. Bruises and cuts heal. The violation of being attacked in what should've been a safe space takes longer.
Captain Caine stays nearby through the whole process, answering questions when security asks, providing his account of what he saw. He moves with quiet efficiency, no wasted motion or energy. The kind of calm that comes from training and experience and knowing exactly what needs to happen next.
When the EMT finishes, Rivera approaches again. "I'll need those files tonight. Can you access them?"
I pull out my tablet, miraculously unbroken despite the fight. Log in to cloud storage and share access credentials with Rivera. "Everything's there. Cross-referenced by date, supply type, and documented shortages."
"This is thorough work." Rivera scans the spreadsheet, expression professional but approving. "When did you first notice the pattern?"
"About a month ago. Small discrepancies that could've been clerical errors. But they kept happening, always targeting the same categories. Always staying just under the threshold that would trigger automatic flags." I close the tablet. "Someone knows the system well enough to exploit it."
