"Ego and everything."
"You love it."
I do. God help me, I really do.
We load into separate vehicles. I'm in the tactical van with NCIS agents and a communications specialist. Thatcher's team takes the lead truck. Rivera's team follows in unmarked SUVs.
The drive takes us through residential areas that get progressively more run-down. Garrison picked her hiding spot well—off base, low profile, easy to disappear from.
We park blocks away. Thatcher's team moves on foot, shadows in tactical gear. I watch through the van's monitors as they approach the target building, weapons ready, moving with the kind of synchronized precision that comes from years of training together.
Rivera's voice crackles through the comm. "All teams in position. On my mark."
I hold my breath.
"Execute."
They move. Through the monitor, I watch Thatcher disappear into shadow, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
12
THATCHER
Garrison's rental sits at the end of a dead-end street, chain-link fence around the perimeter, overgrown yard providing decent cover. It's single-story construction, concrete block, with two entry points visible from our position. Rivera's team has the back. We take the front.
Sullivan moves up beside me, checks his weapon. "Stack's ready, Captain."
I glance back at the tactical vehicle parked down the block. I can't see through the tinted windows, but I know Gwen's watching the monitors, listening to every word over comms. The NCIS agent assigned to her protection is in there too, following protocol.
"Captain?" Sullivan's voice pulls me back.
"Warrant came through," I confirm, checking my phone for Rivera's text. "Move up." I signal Garcia and Santos. "Standard breach. I want her alive for questioning."
We approach in formation, weapons ready, scanning windows and sight lines. There's no movement visible, no vehicles in the driveway. Either Garrison's hunkered down or she's already gone.
My earpiece crackles. I hear Gwen's voice, steady and professional despite the tension underneath. "Thatcher, hospital records show Garrison has a sister in Oceanside. Her emergency contact lists this address."
"Copy that." I signal the team to hold position. "Any recent calls between them?"
"Checking now." There's a brief pause, keyboard clicks audible in the background. "Last contact was yesterday afternoon. Duration under a minute."
So Garrison called for help, probably got spooked when we started closing in. Smart move, but not smart enough.
"We're at the door," I say quietly. "Stay on comms."
"I'm here."
Sullivan sets the breaching charge. Santos and Garcia take positions on either side. Rivera's voice comes through confirming his team is ready at the back entrance.
"On my mark." I raise my hand. "Three. Two. One. Execute."
The charge blows. Sullivan kicks the door open and we're moving, flowing through the breach point with practiced precision. Living room clear. Kitchen clear. Hallway leads to bedrooms in the back.
"NCIS!"
There's movement in the rear bedroom. Garcia goes left, I go right, Santos covers the hallway. A woman in her fifties stands there, hands up, terrified but not Garrison.
"Where is she?" I keep my weapon trained center mass.
