He opened the door to find Gwen staring out the window. Slamming the door behind him, he roared, “What the hell happened in the NCIS office? You didn’t think knowing Davidson Boyle, a name that made you puke in yesterday’s morning meeting, would’ve been nice for me to know? And then you knew Stacy and Cook. They threw you off-balance. Your concentration was off. If they wanted to try something, you could’ve been killed.”
“I’m…” She faced him, streaks of tears running down each cheek.
Anger pulsed through him. He battled to hold his ground, forcing away the desire to pull her into his arms. Her tears gutted him. “Who are Davidson Boyle, George Stacy and Will Cook to you?”
“I met Boyle and Stacy in the course of an investigation when I was at Pendleton. Will Cook was my fiancé. We ended our relationship in 2013, before I left the service,” she whispered.
Troy closed space, his large body looming over her. “And you decided not to mention that you were engaged on your background questionnaire. I know there’s a question about previous associations.”
“Wait, I didn’t lie about Will.” She took a step closer to Troy, clearly agitated. “It’s not my fault your background check didn’t show everything. You want to know about my relationships with Will Cook, Stacy and Boyle? Try Google. You aren’t the only person who has suffered trauma in their life!” she roared in return.
Troy’s chest heaved with anger. He closed their personal space even more. “Until I have satisfactory answers to my questions, I’m standing you down. Pack your stuff. I’ll arrange transport for you back to Julian’s.”
“Are we done?” she fumed.
“Yes, damn it.” Troy walked out, slamming the door before storming down the hall into Julian’s office. He was sitting with Martin in deep conversation—Troy didn’t care if he was interrupting.
“What the hell was she thinking?” Troy rumbled. “Bad enough, until today, we had no idea she spent time as a hostage. If that’s even the right word. But what happened in that room—she knew all three of them. Stacy knew she was a lieutenant. Mr. Twitchy Eye knew her as well. She claims they met during an investigation. Top it off, Cook is her ex-fiancé. They knocked her off her game.”
“Breathe,” Julian begged.
“I am breathing. I brought her in, and now, until I have answers, I stood her down until further notice. She’s useless if she can’t concentrate. She’ll get herself killed.”
Julian whispered, “She can get you killed.”
“We had faulty intel about Gwen. And I plan to find out why.” Martin checked his watch. “Sit.”
* * *
Gwen closedher office door quietly behind her. She couldn’t look at Verna. She swallowed hard and walked down the corridor.
Troy was right; she was thrown off. Mistakes like that got people killed. She proceeded to Christie’s desk. “Hey, does Julian have a few minutes? I need to speak with him.”
Julian opened his door and welcomed her inside. She wasn’t prepared to see Martin Bailey. “I’m sorry, you’re busy. I can come back later.”
“Sit.” Martin pointed and handed her a file. Inside was the paperwork she completed when she applied. She filled out multiple questionnaires, each one repeating similar questions, cumulatively preventing accidental omissions. “One version from you, another version from our analysis division.”
“It’s not my fault my history didn’t show up,” she said.
Julian stood, pressing his palms against his desk. “That’s really what you want to say?”
“What do you want me to say? I’ve always done what was asked of me. Performed every assignment to the best of my ability. Never missed a day’s work unless I was forced due to injury or illness. Tell me, no one in this company ever omitted something from their paperwork that had no impact on their job performance?” Gwen spoke through gritted teeth.
“Judging by what occurred today, your omission did and still does impact your performance. A loss of concentration can result in tragedy,” Martin spoke softly.
“We will never know, will we?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’ll get back to my office and submit my resignation to you, Mr. Dupart.” Turning to walk back out, she ran directly into Troy’s imposing form exiting the bathroom.
“Is that what you want? Or are you the brave woman who survived ninety-two days in captivity? You can tell us what happened that has you isolated in terror and pain.” His gaze was understanding, but his posture showed distress.
Her heartrate increased. “I should have known you knew. The Defense Department made me sign an NDA agreeing I’d never speak about it.”
The way Troy looked at her made her want to trust him. She needed to trust someone. Even her previous therapist and her new one never knew the extent of what happened. Her family, even they didn’t know. She jammed her hands into her damp armpits, her lower lip trembling.
“I don’t know how far those files you took today go back, Mr. Dupart, but there should be one from January 24, 2013. That’s when I set foot back in Pendleton. Well, not my feet, my stretcher wheels.” There was an unnatural stillness to her.
“Gwen, come sit with us,” Julian said, sympathy coupled with professional distance in his eyes. “May we record this?”
Sitting was welcome. Could she be feeling weak from fear and relief at the same time? She didn’t live through all that to lose a job she loved. No, she didn’t make it this far to lose the one man whose respect mattered to her. She nodded.
