"That's where it gets interesting." The female analyst pulls up code on screen. "The inventory system was hacked. Someone with serious skills went in and manipulated entries to match the fraudulent transfer authorizations. Made it look legitimate in the system."
"Garrison's background is logistics, not IT," Rivera says. "Which means she had help. Someone with cyber capabilities."
"Briggs?" Gwen asks.
"Briggs is muscle, not brains." Rivera shakes her head. "Dishonorably discharged for assaulting a superior officer. No technical background. We're looking at a third party. Someone Garrison hired or partnered with."
The Base Commander arrives partway through the briefing, takes one look at the code on screen, and orders an immediate cyber security audit.
The meeting stretches on. We go through every file, every transaction, every piece of documentation Gwen compiled. The analysts pull up transfer records and she walks them through each discrepancy—explaining why a portable ultrasound shouldn't have gone to radiology when they already had three, how the cardiac monitors were listed as routine replacement but the old units were still functioning, why the surgical equipment transfers didn't match standard protocols.
Rivera's team cross-references her documentation with shipping records, payment trails, and database logs. They build a timeline on the wall—equipment disappearing, money moving through shell companies, database entries being manipulated to cover the tracks.
Gwen fields technical questions about medical equipment I barely understand. Specifications, manufacturer details, how certain devices interface with hospital systems. The analysts' eyes glaze over during the more complex explanations, but they keep notes anyway.
My attention keeps drifting from the screens to her. The way she gestures when she's explaining something intricate. How she pushes hair behind her ear when she's thinking through a problem. The focused intensity in her eyes when she's walking someone through the logic of why a discrepancy matters.
Rivera notices. Of course she notices.
"Captain," she says during a break. "A word."
We step into the hallway. She crosses her arms and gives me a look I recognize from every commanding officer I've ever served under.
"Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it," I tell her.
"I'm sure you don't." She's trying not to smile. "But I'm going to say it anyway. Dr. Abernathy is a civilian consultant on this investigation. If anything happens to compromise her credibility or effectiveness?—"
"Nothing will happen."
"You didn't let me finish."
"I don't need to. I get it. Professional boundaries. She's a witness. I'm providing protective detail." I meet her eyes. "And for the record, whatever's happening between us doesn't interfere with the investigation. She's brilliant at her job. I'm good at mine. We're both professionals."
"I know you are. That's why I haven't said anything before now." She glances back toward the conference room. "Just keep it professional in front of the brass. The Base Commander already thinks this investigation is a clusterfuck. Don't give him ammunition."
"Understood."
We head back in. The briefing continues. More files, more analysis, more questions about equipment specs and transfer protocols. By midday, my ass is numb from the chairs and I need food.
"Break for lunch," Rivera announces. "Back here in an hour."
Gwen and I head for the parking lot. She's quiet, processing everything from the briefing.
"You okay?" I ask as we reach my truck.
"Just thinking about the scope of this. They were selling equipment that saves lives." She leans against the passenger door. "People could die because some trauma bay somewhere doesn't have the right equipment."
"Which is why we're stopping it."
"We already stopped it. Garrison's on the run. But the equipment is gone. It's already out there."
"And NCIS will track it down. That's their job." I step closer, bracketing her against the truck with my arms. "Your job was documenting everything. You did that perfectly. Now let Rivera's team handle the rest."
"I hate feeling helpless."
"You're not helpless. You're the reason we have any evidence at all." I cup her face. "You're the reason we caught them."
She leans into my touch. "You're good at this."
