"That's not going to save time."
"Who said anything about saving time?"
The shower turns into exactly what I knew it would. Gwen on her knees with water cascading over both of us, her mouth hot and perfect around my cock. I brace one hand against the tile, the other tangled in her wet hair, and let her take me apart with lips and tongue and the kind of enthusiasm that makes my knees weak.
When I come, she swallows and looks up at me with those eyes and I know I'm completely gone for her.
We actually manage to get clean after that, though it takes longer than it should.
"This is your fault," I tell her as I navigate base traffic.
"My fault? You're the one who initiated shower activities."
"You're the one who got on your knees."
"Because you were looking at me like I was breakfast."
"You are breakfast. Lunch. Dinner." I slide my hand onto her thigh. "Pretty much every meal I want for the foreseeable future."
She covers my hand with hers. "Smooth, Captain."
"Just being honest."
We arrive at the NCIS field office late. Rivera's waiting in the conference room with two analysts I don't recognize. She takes one look at us and tries to hide a smile.
"Glad you could make it."
"Traffic," I say.
"Right. Traffic." She doesn't look like she believes me for a second. "Dr. Abernathy, thank you for coming. Your documentation has been invaluable to the investigation."
Gwen straightens, shifting into professional mode. "Happy to help. What do you need?"
"We need you to walk us through the equipment discrepancies. Your notes are thorough, but we need context." Rivera pulls up a file on the screen. "Start with the first anomaly you noticed. Mid-January. Three portable ultrasound units listed as transferred to radiology."
"But radiology didn't request them and never received them." Gwen moves closer to the screen, pointing at entries. "The transfer authorization was signed by Commander Garrison, but the receiving signature was forged. I compared it to actual signatures from the radiology department head. Not even close."
"How did you spot it?"
"I was tracking equipment for an audit. Noticed the portable units were showing as transferred but our trauma bay inventory was short. Started pulling transfer records and found the discrepancy."
One of the analysts, a woman with sharp eyes and sharper questions, leans forward. "How many other transfers followed this pattern?"
"Dozens over several months." Gwen pulls out her tablet, starts bringing up files. "All high-value equipment. All authorized by Garrison. All with forged receiving signatures."
I watch her work, explaining each discrepancy with the kind of methodical precision that makes it hard to look away. This is what she does. This is who she is. Brilliant and thorough and absolutely unwilling to let anything slide.
Rivera catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. I ignore her.
"The question is where the equipment went," the second analyst says. "We've checked inventory at every department on base. Nothing."
"Because it's not on base anymore." Rivera brings up another screen. "We found shipping records. Private courier service, payments routed through shell companies." She pauses. "The equipment was sold. International buyers through dark web marketplaces."
Gwen goes still beside me. "They were selling our equipment?"
"Medical equipment doesn't go through the same scrutiny as weapons. Easier to move, harder to trace." Rivera clicks through more files. "We're talking high-end ultrasounds, surgical equipment, monitoring systems. Street value in the hundreds of thousands."
"How did Garrison cover the database records?" I ask.
