Her eyes narrow, but she's fighting a smile. "Oh, you're going to be impossible to live with."
The words hang there. Live with. Both of us pretending we didn't just acknowledge that's what this is becoming.
"Probably," I say finally. "But I cook, so you'll keep me anyway."
"Confident."
"Realistic."
She shakes her head, but she's definitely smiling now. "I'm going to go get dressed. Try not to reorganize my entire apartment while I'm gone."
"No promises."
She disappears down the hall. I finish cleaning up, then check my phone for updates from Rivera. Nothing yet. NCIS works fast, but not that fast.
My phone buzzes. Text from Rivera:
Meeting at 0900. Bring Dr. Abernathy. Conference room B, hospital admin wing.
I respond:
Confirmed.
When Gwen emerges, she's dressed for the meeting—slacks, blouse, her white coat over one arm. Professional armor. The bruises are still visible, but she's covered what she can with makeup.
"NCIS wants to meet at oh-nine-hundred," I tell her. "Hospital admin wing."
"I figured." She accepts the fresh mug of coffee I pour for her. "Ready?"
"You ready to walk them through everything?"
"I documented everything. They'll have all the evidence they need." No hesitation. Just certainty.
The drive to the hospital is quiet. She stares out the window, running through her presentation mentally. I can see it in the set of her jaw, the way her fingers drum once against her thigh before going still.
"You're nervous," I say as we pull into the lot.
"I'm not nervous. I'm—" She pauses. "Okay, maybe slightly nervous. Last time I presented evidence to investigators, they twisted it into a malpractice case."
"That was different. These people want your help."
"You don't know that."
"I know how investigations work. They need what you found." I park, turn to face her. "You're the expert here. Walk in knowing that."
She takes a breath, nods. "You're right. This is just another case presentation."
"There you go."
The conference room is already occupied when we arrive. Special Agent Rivera and two other NCIS personnel. Base security chief. Commander Hartwell from base operations.
"Dr. Abernathy. Captain Caine." Rivera gestures to empty chairs. "Thank you for coming."
We sit. Gwen straightens in her chair, shifts into professional mode. I watch the transformation—traumatized woman from last night replaced by the surgeon who commands operating rooms.
Rivera pulls out a tablet. "Walk us through what you found."
Gwen does. Precise, methodical, presenting months of inventory discrepancies with the same calm she brings to surgery. Shows patterns, timelines, connects dots. Every statement backed by evidence.
