Gibbs was damn glad he'd stopped for coffee before a four car pile up left him stuck in traffic. He would have never managed to keep a tight rein on his temper without a hot cup of coffee in hand. While having a cup to sip from kept him exploding immediately, it did little to curb his growing impatience as he waited for the snarl of totaled cars and emergency personnel to be untangled enough for traffic to begin moving again.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, biting back yet another curse as he looked at his watch. He'd hoped to catch Keira Petrastorsky before the meeting began because he had no idea how long it would last. Given what Gary said, she likely had no more tolerance for bureaucratic bullshit than Gibbs himself had. She would probably be doing her best to be in and out in as quickly as possible. For the first time in his life Gibbs was hoping the government bureaucracy would move at its usual glacial pace.
When there was finally an opening, Gibbs forced the sedan through and drove at his usual breakneck speed to the hotel where the meeting was taking place. He pulled into the parking lot with a callous disregard for the posted limit, ignoring the valet in attendance. He scanned the lot for other government vehicles, parking next to one, hoping it belonged to one of the DOD types meeting with Petrastorsky.
He slammed the door as he got out of the car, venting some of his frustration. Gibbs forced himself to take a deep breath and let go of his anger. Scaring a suspect with a controlled display of temper was one thing; letting his emotions get the better of him was another. Gibbs squared his shoulders, putting on his game face as he headed for the front door of the hotel.
The front lobby had an air of understated elegance. Rich red carpeting muffled foot falls, absorbing echoes the domed ceiling and marble walls naturally caused. Silver gilt accented the lighting fixtures, reflecting the light and making the room appear even brighter. The dark walnut wood of the front desk had the faint sheen Gibbs knew only came with age and years of repeated polishing.
He stepped over to the desk, moving with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. He still hadn't figured out what to say to Petrastorsky---or how to even find her in a place like this. It wasn't like they'd put up signs directing attendees the way they would a convention and he couldn't very well go door to door. Determined not to be stopped now, Gibbs pulled out his badge showing it to the distinguished looking older man in a suit who he assumed to be the concierge.
"I am Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs with the Naval Criminal Investigation Service." He didn't normally spell it out, or try to make himself sound quite so officious, but he didn't think he'd get passed the lobby if he didn't. "I was told Ms. Petrastorsky of Paladin Inc. was attending a meeting with senior officials of the Department of Defense here. It is important that I speak with her."
The concierge cocked his head, cool blue eyes measuring Gibbs in a way that reminded him of his old drill instructor. Gibbs kept his face expressionless; he made sure his body language was relaxed and easy. He forced himself to wait, letting the man make his decision. The concierge arched an eyebrow, before nodding once.
Gibbs assumed he'd passed muster when the man casually reached for the phone. When the man spoke a faded British accent marked him as a long time resident of the US but not a native. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll see if she is available to speak with you, Sir."
Gibbs forced himself to keep his tone level. "Thank you."
He listened as the concierge spoke to someone, mentioning Gibbw' name, his status as an NCIS agent, and his desire to speak with Ms. Petrastorsky. There was obviously something said by whoever picked up, but Gibbs couldn't hear it. The concierge agreed with a "very good, sir" before placing his hand over the mouth piece and looking at Gibbs.
"Ms. Petrastorsky's associate said the meeting is nearly finished. She will have time to speak with you then if you would like to wait."
Gibbs nodded. "I'll wait."
The concierge dipped his head. "Special Agent Gibbs has agreed to wait," he spoke into the phone. "Certainly. I will see to it personally."
He hung up the phone and then waved over another hotel employee indicating the woman should take his place. "If you will come with me, Sir," the man stepped out from behind the desk.
Gibbs bit back his nearly instinctive response to being called "Sir", following quietly behind the man as he led him through an archway and down a short hall. The man used a key card to open a door that revealed a private, well appointed sitting room. He held the door open for Gibbs.
"Would you care for anything while you wait, Sir?"
"Coffee." Gibbs added "please", using the nearly forgotten good manners his grandmother had drilled into him as a small boy.
"Cream and sugar?"
"Black is fine."
"Very good, Sir." The concierge gave an abbreviated bow and left.
Gibbs glanced around the room, shaking his head. If he'd needed concrete proof about how much respect Paladin, Inc and Petrastorsky commanded, he just got it. In an upscale place like this, without a warrant, he'd have ordinarily been left to cool his heels in the lobby, snubbed by staff and patrons alike.
Gibbs paced the room slowly, eyes roaming over the room to familiarize himself with every single detail. It was far too plush for his tastes, but it was more than adequate to serve as an interrogation room.
Gibbs grimaced, looking at his watch. He hated waiting. He glared at the door. Where the hell was that stuffy concierge with his coffee?
Only a finely honed sense of self control kept him from stepping back in surprise when the door opened as in response to his unvoiced question. A strikingly attractive woman with cafe' au latte skin, short dark curly hair and green eyes so like Tony's it almost hurt to look at them stepped into the room. Gibbs was no expert on apparel, men or women's, but even he could tell the tailored suit she was wearing likely sported a designer label he couldn't pronounce. And her low heeled pumps likely cost more than he made in a week.
"Hello, I'm Keira Petrastorsky." Her voice had a husky, almost gravelly undertone. It was decidedly appealing. "Thank you for waiting."
She held out her hand. He shook it, not surprised to find she had a firm grip. "Special Agent Gibbs."
Her green eyes sparkled in silent amusement. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Gibbs was tempted to lie; no woman, especially not one beautiful and wealthy, wanted to be told she was forgettable. His innate honesty won out. "We've met before?"
"Once. Briefly. Almost three year ago now." She chuckled wryly, clearly not offended he'd forgotten. "Obviously, I need to work on making myself more memorable."
Gibbs was grateful for the interruption that came in the form of a polite knock at the door and a soft call of "room service". It saved him from having to find something to say in response to her comment.
Petrastorsky opened the door, admitting the concierge. He pushed a small trolley into the room. The cart was laden with a silver tray that held a coffee urn, a tea pot, two cups and plate covered with small finger sandwiches.
"Thank you, Fredrick."
"You are welcome, Madam."
She sighed, sounding mildly annoyed. "Would it kill you to just call me Pete?"
Gibbs blinked. He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. Pete? Did that make her the same Pete who'd sent the Ferrari to Tony? What the hell sort of name was Pete for a woman anyway?
Fredrick gave her a stern look. "It wouldn't be appropriate to be so familiar."
"It's not as if we haven't known each other for awhile, Fredrick." She gave him a bright smile. "A little familiarity wouldn't be uncalled for."
"Your father would not approve."
"Right...because he was such a stickler for protocol." She snorted delicately. "That so nicely explains how I was saddle with the nickname in the first place."
Fredrick's lips curled upward in a fond smile before his expression sobered again. "When shall I tell your associate to expect you?"
She glanced at her watch. "Tell Josh I'll be ready in twenty minutes, half an hour on the outside."
"Very good, Madam."
She rolled her eyes. "One of these days, Fredrick, you'll slip up and you'll call me Pete like all my other friends do."
"Probably. Just not today." He tipped his head, blue eyes much warmer with her than they'd been with Gibbs as they danced in quiet amusement. He waved a hand toward a small panel near the door. "Just ring the bell if you need anything."
"I think we'll be fine, thank you."
She shook her head as Fredrick left, softly muttering something that sounded like "stuffy, stubborn Brits". She smiled at Gibbs, gesturing to one of the nearby chairs. "Please, sit."
Gibbs took a seat, watching as she picked up the coffee pot. "Coffee?"
"Please." He nodded, once more putting his good manners to use.
She poured him a cup. "Black, yes?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She poured herself a cup of tea and then sat gracefully in the chair facing his. She crossed her legs, expression blandly neutral, clearly ready to get down to business. "So, what did you wish to speak to me about Special Agent Gibbs?"
"Gibbs is fine." Unless trying to make a point, using his status always seemed a bit stupid to him.
"Gibbs it is then." She dipped her head a regal gesture of acknowledgement of his preference. She sipped her tea, one eyebrow arched expectantly.
"You gave Tony DiNozzo a car?" Gibbs asked, wanting to know if she was in fact the same Pete.
"I did, yes."
Gibbs eyes narrowed. "Were you aware that could be construed as a bribe?"
"A bribe?" She raised both eyebrows. "It could only be considered such if I'd ask him to do something illegal or unethical in exchange. I did not."
No, Gibbs thought sourly, you just want him to leave NCIS...to leave me. He took a sip of his coffee. "So the car was a gift? Not strings attached?"
"Precisely." She sipped her tea.
"A rather expensive gift." Gibbs' tone was dry, nicely implying his cynical disbelief of her assertion.
"It would be...if I'd paid for it."
Gibbs frowned. "What do you mean if you'd paid for it?"
"The Ferrari was given to me in an effusive show of appreciation from a client. My people were only doing what they were already well paid to do, so the whole thing was entirely unnecessary." She shook here head, clearly bemused by the client's need to make such a display of gratitude. "I didn't want it and definitely didn't need it. Unfortunately, I was in no position to refuse it." She shrugged one shoulder. "So I accepted the car to make the man happy. And then crass as it may be, I gave it away when I had an opportunity to do so."
"Why give it to Tony?"
She cocked her head to one side, green eyes measuring him. "Why do you care?"
"He's one of my agents."
"So this meeting is simply because you are worried my gift might cause him problems? Somehow, I doubt that." She smirked. "Would you like to try again?"
Gibbs glared at her. "Was it incentive to get him to take the job?"
She arched an eyebrow. "He told you about the offer?"
Gibbs looked her in the eye. "Yes."
"Liar," she accused him, not a trace of doubt in her voice or expression. "If Tony had told you, you'd have gotten things in the right order."
Gibbs wasn't sure what to make of that. "Right order?"
"The job offer has been on the table for years." She lifted her chin in a silent challenge. "You didn't know that, did you?"
Gibbs didn't answer, but he knew his silence spoke eloquently of his ignorance. He hated feeling so off balance. He should have done more research before confronting her.
She regarded him calmly for a moment. "He made such an impression on me, I offered him a job the day after I met him. It was a standing offer. Whenever he wanted to accept, there would be a place for him."
She took a sip of her tea. "We've met regularly since then, becoming friends along the way. And every other time Tony and I talked, I would renew the offer of employment. He was always polite, but firm, in his refusal. All I received for my trouble was 'no, thank you', and a smile."
She didn't sound irritated by Tony's repeated refusals. Hearing 'no' evidently didn't bother her. It also clearly didn't keep her from continuing to ask.
"This time I got a maybe...a definite maybe. And after the year Tony's had, I can't say it was surprising to hear he was ready to seriously consider the offer."
The look she gave Gibbs was laden with disappointment, anger and distain. She said she and Tony were friends---it wasn't hard to imagine Tony had confided in her much the same way he did Abby. Gibbs tried not to squirm thinking about what Tony had probably told her that earned him the look she'd given him. He also tried not to think about how much her low regard was warranted. He already knew he'd failed Tony in a lot of ways.
She sighed softly. "I didn't give him the car to get him to seriously consider the job. He was seriously considering the job so I gave him the car."
"Why?"
"Why was he seriously considering the job?" The look in her face made it clear she thought he was an idiot if that was what he was truly asking. "Or why did I give him the car?"
The conversation he'd overheard between Tony and Abby already told him why the younger man was seriously considering the damn job. And it wasn't like he hadn't known it was a rough year for Tony he just hadn't thought about how damn rough it had been.
"If he was seriously considering your offer the car seems like overkill. So why give it to him?"
"Actions speak so loudly. And often better than words." She mused quietly, shrugging one shoulder. "Giving Tony the Ferrari was a chance for me to make a few pointed statements without having to actually say anything."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "And those would be?"
"I wanted him to know Paladin is not nearly so cavalier about the destruction of personal property in the line of duty as NCIS seems to be."
Gibbs frowned. "What--"
"To the best of my knowledge, NCIS hasn't even made a token effort to replace Tony's mustang." She sipped her tea again before setting the cup down. She sat back; her attitude was noticeably cooler toward him. "That car was a classic...in pristine condition. Do you have any idea what it would have been worth at an auction? More importantly, do you know what it was worth to Tony?"
She held up a hand when he would have answered. It was probably just a well. Gibbs had no idea what to really say. The loss of the mustang had gotten lost in his relief Tony was still alive. He hadn't given any thought to what Tony had been driving since. As long as the younger man was at the office every day, Gibbs never considered how he got there.
"My second reason for giving Tony the car...I wanted him to know I value what he considers important for no better reason than that it matters to him."
That hit closer to home than Gibbs expected, pricking his conscience with stunning accuracy. He caught himself before he flinched, but he could feel his face warming.
"It isn't often I get the chance to make someone so happy with so little effort." She smiled softly. "The car is Tony's whether he takes the job or not. And before you ask, yes, he knows that. When I said the Ferrari was a gift, I meant it."
Gibbs' hand tightened around his forgotten cup of coffee. "Years seems like a long time to keep hearing no."
"Funny you should say that. Tony said much the same thing." She chuckled, a low and raspy sound. "Persistence pays off, and patience is its own reward. Or so my father always told me."
"Why him?"
"You hired him and you're asking me that?"
"You don't investigate crimes."
"True. But that isn't all he's good at either." She picked up one of the small sandwiches. "He's a man of many talents."
I know that, Gibbs wanted to snarl at her, but forced himself to not to. He took a breath and let it out slowly. "he same could be said of all my agents."
"I get paid to keep people alive, not to kill them. Not much room on my staff for an assassin." She nibbled delicately on the sandwich in her hand. "Oh, I know Ziva David is more than a trained killer. But I don't dig up secrets so a spy wouldn't exactly be necessary to my organization either."
She finished the sandwich, wiping her fingers on one of the linen napkins that had been provided. "I've got computer geeks already on the payroll. Hiring another isn't really justifiable, no matter how good he may be. And while I don't mind my staff having hobbies, I prefer their hobbies not evolve into a competing profession. A published author isn't exactly the sort I'd be looking for."
"Just what is it that makes Tony the sort you're looking for?"
She gave him a look he couldn't read. "If you can't see how Tony would fit within my organization, I really haven't got time to explain it to you."
She stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment."
Gibbs stood as well. He reached out to catch her arm, intent on keeping her in the room. She neatly sidestepped his grasp, eyes flashing a warning.
"That would be ill advised."
Gibbs nodded and stepped back. That had been stupid and he knew it. She wasn't a suspect he could use his normal tactics with. He couldn't force her to stay against her will.
"I understand why you want Tony to stay. He's a damn good agent, and an outstanding investigator." She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But he could be a hell of a lot more than that."
He already was more than that to me, Gibbs wanted to tell her. Tony always had been. But he'd only just realized the younger man didn't know that.
"I'm not rescinding my offer." She gave him an assessing look. "Even if I did, that doesn't guarantee he wouldn't leave NCIS for something else. If he was willing to consider my offer after so long...he'd entertain others."
Gibbs' jaw clenched. She was right.
"For what it's worth, you have something to offer no one else could hope to match." She sighed softly, looking resigned. "I don't claim to understand it. Not sure I would even agree with his thinking it would be worth all the shit he's gone through at NCIS and working for you. But if you put it on the table, the balance would probably swing in your favor."
Gibbs frowned. "And just what would that be?"
She shook her head. "You're supposed to be the best there is at solving puzzles. If I figured it out without having to be told...you should have solved it a long time ago."
She laughed softly. "Besides, I have a vested interest in him saying yes to me. Telling you how to get him to say no would be foolish. And that's not something I make a habit of being."
"Then why bring it up at all?" Gibbs growled.
"Because--he's my friend. And like the Ferrari, it might just make Tony happy." She shrugged. "If you figure it out on you own, then it's up to you whether or not you offer it to him because you want him to have it...or you do it just to make him stay."
She gave him a feral smile. "You pick the latter...toy with him just because you're a rat bastard who can, and I will find a way to make you regret it."
"I don't even know what the hell you are talking about." Gibbs ground out in frustration.
"Yeah, I know. And that is a damn shame." She actually sounded sorry. She opened the door. "I have a feeling you won't forget meeting me this time."
"Not likely." Gibbs huffed out a breath, torn between annoyance and amusement. Usually it was Tony who created such conflicting emotions. He wasn't used to experiencing it with anyone else.
"Guess I found a way to make myself memorable after all." She gave him a winsome smile. "I wish you the best of luck, Gibbs."
He didn't get the chance to say anything else before she left. Gibbs bit back a curse, sorely tempted to chase after her and demand she just explain the damn riddle or whatever and stop jerking him around. He took a deep breath and then finished the cup of coffee he was still holding.
The meeting hadn't been a total waste of time. He had a better sense of the competition and what he was up against. He also now knew there was something that Petrastorsky believed could sway Tony's decision in his favor. He was certain she hadn't lied about that...even if she hadn't been as clear or forthcoming as Gibbs would have liked. All he had to do was find out what the hell it was.
He solved puzzles for a living. He could and would figure this out.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs meets Pete