“I’ll take this one,” I request as I select the best of the lavender roses.  

Even in just our brief meeting, there was something about Agent Fiora that made me think ‘hopeless romantic’. Maybe it was something in the way she dressed--a professional skirt and matching business jacket that didn’t completely hide the pink cashmere sweater she wore beneath that made her seem more…soft, sensual. Or maybe it was something in her nervous but excited mannerisms as I’d paid her attention--the shy blushes, the way she tucked the stray stand of hair behind her ear. Either way, my instincts when it comes to impressing women are rarely far off the mark and she strikes me as a classic rose sort of girl.

“And this one,” I add, picking out a white one and handing both to the clerk. I should get a third. Two would just be awkward. I frown as I look over the selection one more time. None of them make quite the statement I’m going for.

“Anything else for you?” the clerk asks her voice monotone, bored. Can’t have that. I cock my head as if I’m thinking hard about it.

“How about a cute blonde? About yay high,” I hold up my hand to about half an inch shorter than she is. For just a moment she just looks startled, and then laughs as I flash a cheeky grin. “No? Okay then. As for flowers…”  I’m about to say ‘no’ when I spot the perfect third in the cooler behind the counter. “That one right there should do it.”

She raises an eyebrow at my choice but is happy to add it to my order. “Anything else?” she asks, her voice far more animated this time. My work here is done.

“Would you wrap those separately?”

“Oh…of course,” she agrees, slightly thrown by the request.

“First date,” I offer as an explanation, giving her my most dazzling smile. “Not sure which one will suit the occasion best.”

She laughs. “Quite the range,” she agrees. My smirk widens as I catch her looking me over. She blushes slightly at having been caught. “Bet you’re going to impress her. Nice suit. Looks good on you.” It better; it’s Versace. Cost almost half a month’s salary but worth every penny. I pick up the largest of the empty gift boxes and set it on the counter to add to my order. “She must be special,” the clerk surmises, eyeing me as she finishes wrapping the last of the roses.

I shrug noncommittally. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Well if it doesn’t work out…” the clerk leaves the unspoken offer hanging, a glint in her eyes and a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. Minx.

“Does your boss know you drive away repeat business?” I tease as she hands me my receipt. While I sign it my eyes flick to her nametag, which reads ‘Martabelle’. Yikes. That just doesn’t fit. “Thanks, Marti,” I amend her name a bit as I hand her the signed receipt. She presses a business card into my hand along with the bag. 

“Good luck!” she calls after me as I collect my purchases and head out.

I dart across the street to stop in the precinct. I should have just enough time to collect my stuff and get over to Café Blanc on time.

My partner looks up and lets out a wolf whistle as I enter the bullpen. “Lookin’ sharp, Kid.” Kid. I’m only a few years…well, maybe a decade younger than him. Give a couple years. Not that I really mind the nickname; it’s just Pat’s thing. “I take it tonight’s off?” he asks gruffly.  We have an unspoken tradition that whenever we score a win in court, as we’ve done today, we do a little celebrating at his place after work. Grab a pizza, a few beers, and an action flick or two.

“Like I’d miss a post-game party?” I reject the idea.

 “So you’re dressing like that for me, Kiddo?”

“Why, Detective, Thomas,” I drawl just a little bit. “Cute as you are, you’re just not my type.  I prefer ‘em younger. A little more hairy up top, a little less hairy elsewhere…not so pronounced of a beer gut,” I mock haughtily.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, here,” he grumbles at me good-naturedly. “So what’s with the duds?” Only Pat would actually call a Versace suit ‘duds’.  I think he may actually have watched too many ‘hard-boiled detective’ movies growing up. And it takes a lot for me to say such a blasphemous thing.

“Got a lunch date.”

“So should I be ordering pizza for three? Pick up the fixin’s for omelets in the morning?”

“Yeah. That’s so not gonna happen,” I admit, covering my sudden unease with a casual wave.

Truth is, despite my impeccable instincts and my usually fail proof charm, it’s never going to work out and I know it. It never does with girls like Agent Fiora. I’m like the perfect Summer Blockbuster.  Nice packaging, some awesome special effects, a flair for keeping things exciting. But when you get right down to it?  Very little actual content, I realistically assess myself. Not proud of that last thing, but it is what it is. Girls like Fiora? They might give the blockbuster a once-over, but they prefer the Classics. Possibly the Chick-Flicks. Or, God forbid, the Art House.

It’s not that she’s not my type. Despite my probably well deserved reputation for dating airheads, I prefer girls I can really have intelligent conversations with. Unfortunately, the smart ones, which Fiora must be if she’s working for NCIS, tend to see through me way too fast. Besides, she’s the insecure type, which makes the odds of us working even slimmer. While I wouldn’t mean to, it’d inevitably be only a matter of time before I end up hurting her. Generally, it’s better for everyone involved if I just live up to my reputation. My relationships still don’t last long, but they generally last long enough to at least have a bit of fun. With Fiora, though, lunch was almost certain to be our first and only date.

“So, then why…?” he asks, motioning to the flowers and gift box.

“Hey. Just because it’s not going to go anywhere doesn’t mean it’s not fun to try,” I reply candidly.

Pat chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I know.  ‘Thrill of the chase’. When are you just going to find a nice girl and settle down?”

“Wouldn’t wish me on a nice girl,” I reply lightly as I begin gathering my things. “But hey, if you can find me a naughty one…”

“Like you need my help finding those,” Pat groans as he rolls his eyes. “So what’s this I hear about you takin’ over Gale’s cases? Something you want to tell me? Got your sights on movin’ departments? Do I need to start lookin’ for a new partner?” He tries to sound light, but I can hear the tension behind it.

“Your brother thinks you should,” I (don’t) answer evasively.

“Yeah, so he tells me,” Pat dismisses the notion. “That’s just him bein’…him. Sometimes wonder how we came from the same parents. Seriously, what’re you doing with Missing Persons? Don’t think we’re busy enough?”

I shrug. “You know the odds of finding them alive after 48 hours.  Figure they’re going to be our cases soon enough. May as well get a head start before the trail gets any colder.” That’s what I told the Captain as I pled my case earlier, and he bought it. Pat, on the other hand, looks doubtful. “Okay, so having a little leverage with Agent Fiora doesn’t hurt.”

“Shoulda known; it’s always about a girl. Wait. Fiora? As in Baker’s girl?”

I groan inwardly. Baker’s girl? Crap. Well, just one more reason for him to hate me, I guess. Still, I’m a bit surprised that neither of them said anything earlier. “Didn’t know they were together,” I try to sound casual, but even I can hear the disappointment resonating in my voice. I don’t know why I’m disappointed, really.  It wasn’t going to work out, anyway. Still…kind of takes the fun out of the game to know that there never was even a slight chance.

“Oh-ho, he wishes!” Pat laughs. “Nah, they’re not together. You’re okay. But you’re right. It ain’t gonna work.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply sarcastically as I select the items for the gift box and begin arranging it.

“He’s pretty pissed, you know. Gale.”

I wince. I really didn’t mean to step on toes, but the cases weren’t going anywhere and he was just sitting on them. If there was a serial killer--or even just a serial kidnapper--out there, it was only a matter of time before there was another victim. Maybe nothing would come of my…of NCIS’s involvement. But, as I told Gale and the captain when I campaigned for approval to at least run a concurrent investigation, sometimes you just need a fresh set of eyes to see things in a whole different light.  I’m still not sure that anything I’ve come up with in the past few hours will pan out, but it’s still better than doing nothing. “He’ll get over it. I told him if I found anything he’d get the credit.”

“What the hell would you go and do that for?” I look over to see Pat gaping at me incredulously. “You really are gunnin’ for Gale’s job ain’t you?”

As close as we are, there are times that I wonder if my partner actually knows me. The rest of the time I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, awards and commendations are nice, but they’re just the icing on the cake. And, okay, they’re really cool things to impress girls. I know I should be saying it’s all about seeing justice served, and that is at least part of it. But for me, it’s more about the game. The thrill of the hunt. The capture. Being there and witnessing the moment when the bad guy finally realizes that it’s over and he’s screwed. There’s nothing like that feeling.

Except maybe sex.

Oh, yeah. Sex is up there.

“Nah,” I pass off Pat’s concern. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” I pack up the last of my things. “Sometimes it really is just about the girl,” I add as I head out, grinning as I can actually feel him staring after me.

“You’ve got a table for DiNozzo,” I inform the maitre d’ as I arrive at the café a few minutes early.

He nods and motions for me to follow him to the table I have reserved. As requested, there’s a bottle chilling beside the semi-private table. I take the seat facing the door as the maitre d’ lights the candles. They’re completely unnecessary in the daylight, but there’s nothing like a classic presentation. I carefully tuck my gifts out of sight, under the table, and not a moment too soon because as I look up, I see Agent Fiora at the café entrance.

And right behind her are Agents Gibbs and Baker. I raise my hand to cover my amused smile as they approach the table. Never once have I been on a date with another guy, let alone two, nor have I ever once had the desire to, but this should be interesting. I pluck the lavender rose from my arsenal and rise to my feet. Let the games begin.

The news of chivalry’s death has been exaggerated, and while it may not be every girl’s thing, my gut tells me that it is Fiora’s. With that in mind, I pull her chair out for her while the two men drop heavily into the remaining chairs at our table. My instinct proves to be correct as Fiora smiles appreciatively at me. I hand her the rose and place my hand at the small of her back as I guide her to her chair.

“You look fantastic, Agent Fiora,” I compliment her, even though with the exception of having removed her business jacket, looks pretty much exactly like she did earlier.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as I carefully ease her chair in. “Call me, Fi.” She smiles up at me, but I can see how nervous she is. It might be about our date, but I’m guessing it’s probably more about how I’m going to handle the presence of our unexpected guests.  I nod to each of them, acknowledging their presence. Gibbs eyes the chilling bottle with a skeptical eyebrow raised, then glances sideways at Fi. Baker scowls as he stares at the candles. Yes, this was going to be a fun date.  I let my hand graze Fi’s shoulder before I move back to my own seat.  

“What, not red?” Baker asks me contemptuously, as the rose Fi now holds in her hands catches his attention.

“Of course not.” I look across the table, meeting Fi’s eyes and holding the contact. “Red,” I explain, “is the color of passionate love.” She looks at me quizzically. “It’s a little soon for that. Maybe next week,” I add lightly, flashing my patented grin. She blushes and looks away for a moment. “Lavender, on the other hand,” I continue, “represents enchantment.”

“Oh for the love of…” Baker mutters and folds his arms as he leans back in his chair.

I reach under the table and try not to grin as I get ready to play my next card. From the looks she’s frequently giving Gibbs, I’d have to guess that his approval means a lot to Fi. Impressing her may heavily rely on impressing him. I’m up to the challenge.  “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget about you,” I maintain a straight face as I look over at him.

Gibbs eyes me warily, his expression becoming even more guarded as I extend to him the white rose. “The color of honor,” I explain the significance. He maintains intense eye contact as he slowly reaches to take it. To my disappointment, he doesn’t even crack a smile. Tough nut to crack. Interestingly, however, he doesn’t seem all that surprised that I may just have been expecting him to be along on this date. 

“And for you,” I turn toward Baker, who rolls his eyes. I pull out the last rose. I hadn’t thought it possible, but his scowl deepens as I extend it toward him.

“Black. Death wish. Ha, ha. I get it,” he grits out, before I can offer my reasoning.  “Just keep it, DiNozzo.”

I shrug as I set it beside my plate. To each their own.

“Would any of you care for--” I start reaching for the bottle.

“We’re on duty,” Gibbs rejects it for them all. I pull the bottle, exposing it as ginger ale. The corners of his mouth twitch and a moment later he turns his wine glass up. I fill each of our glasses then return the bottle to the chiller.

“So. The case. What’ve you got for us?” Baker immediately cuts to the chase.

“You always this impatient on a date, Baker?” I scold him lightly. “Don’t you know talking about work is a mood killer?” Then again, he probably doesn’t know that; I don’t think he actually does date much. Maybe that’s why he’s such an ass.

“We’re not on a date, DiNozzo,” he retorts, his eyes blazing.

I raise my eyebrows before pointedly glancing around at the scene before settling my gaze briefly on the candles. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider…” I start to pick up my rose again, but when he glares back, I hold up my hands in mock surrender. Don’t say I didn’t offer. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk shop,” I assure him. “But don’t you think we should order first?” I suggest smoothly, and wave the waiter over to present us with the day’s specials.

I watch my guests carefully as the list is presented. I can tell exactly when Fi hears the one she wants, as can I with Baker. Gibbs, on the other hand, is a much harder read. Still, as the waiter turns to me expectantly to take my order, I use another classic move picked up from my days in ‘polite society’ (okay, admittedly more from watching too much Cary Grant, but who’s counting?) and expertly proceed to place orders for each of my “dates”.  While it’s an outdated chivalrous tradition and I wouldn’t dare try it with most girls, I venture that Fi’s the type that will find it charming and romantic rather than creepy or controlling.

I can tell immediately that my risk has paid off and that I’ve and ordered correctly for Fi, who looks rather impressed, if I may say so myself. I also know I’m right on Baker as well by the decisively pissed off look he throws me. Still as I pause to allow him a moment to correct any mistakes in his order, he nods, though his jaw remains tightly clenched.

I look then to Gibbs and he looks back at me, meticulously studying me but otherwise giving away nothing with his expression as he waits for me to make my move.

“Well, Detective?” he prompts when I hesitate. For a moment I think he looks greatly amused but then I think maybe I just imagined it.

“Agent Gibbs will have the steak,” I take another gamble. He strikes me as a no-nonsense, meat and potatoes sort of guy.  “Medium-rare,” I add, watching him closely for any reaction. Still no give-aways. “With the baked potato. Butter only.” His head tilts slightly as we continue to study each other. For just a moment I think everyone at the table, including our waiter, holds their breath waiting for the verdict.

“Well done,” he says at last.

YES! It takes all my willpower not to leap into the air and pump my fist in victory. Round one goes to DiNozzo!

But then Gibbs looks at the waiter and clarifies. “I prefer my steak ‘well-done’.”

I suddenly feel like a complete fool. At least I didn’t actually leap out of my chair. I cover my embarrassment by proceeding to place my own order, which nearly mirrors Gibbs’. Except that I can’t resist ordering the fries. Perhaps not the most debonair of foods, but they’re damn tasty.

“Anything else for you, Sir…s? Madam?”

Once we dismiss the waiter, I decide it’s time to get down to business before my dates lose their patience.  

Baker groans as I pull out the gift box.

 “Oh now, come on! First you reject my rose, now you don’t like my gift…” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but don’t expect me to ask you out again.”  I look across the table to Fi. “I’m afraid I didn’t know your size…” I apologize as I start to hand the box to her, but she suddenly looks so uncomfortable that I change destinations and hand it off to Gibbs instead.  I know I’ve done the right thing when Fiora visibly relaxes again. 

Gibbs accepts the box, keeping his eyes on me until he has it open far enough for him to examine its contents. “Size looks fine, but blue’s more my color,” he comments dryly as he peeks inside. “Brings out the color of my eyes, so they tell me.”  Baker pales at least a couple shades before Gibbs reaches in and pulls out the manila folders and hands one to each of the rest of us.  He sets the box that still contains a few evidence bags down beside his chair.

“There’s not a whole lot in the files,” I inform them as each of them begins going through the copies I’ve made of the case files and the notes I’ve added to them. “Crime scenes have been pretty clean. All of them have been released except for the most recent victim, Lauren Howe’s. Interviews haven’t turned up anything suspicious or any viable witnesses. No connections between all of the victims,” I sum up the original findings.

“No viable witnesses?” Gibbs asks, without looking up from the file.

“We ruled out the alien abduction described by one of victim number four’s neighbors. The timeline was off, and the neighbor has a file full of similar false reports.”

“So what we’ve got is nothing,” Baker complains. “Thanks for this colossal waste of time, DiNozzo, but we--"

“If we remove victims number two and five, I may have found something,” I cut him off.

“You can’t just remove victims.”

“Actually until we prove a link, we have to assume that all of these cases are separate,” I counter. “But if you remove those two cases, I think we might just have one.”

“But the circumstances are all identical,” Fiora points out. “The MOs match. There are too many coincidences for these cases not to be connected.”

“Except that they’re not identical,” I reply. “Victim number two, we didn’t find a wallet.” At Baker’s snort, I defend this detail. “Every single other case here, it seems like the victims left behind absolutely everything except the clothes on their backs. Keys, wallets, purses, even cash has always been left behind. The vic’s credit cards haven’t been used, but it’s still entirely possible that this one left home on his own before he disappeared.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Baker agrees, though I hear the doubt in his voice. “But what about victim five?”

“I’m not sure yet. I left a message for the people who last saw her to contact me and set up another round of interviews, see if anyone can remember anything else.” We pause as the server returns to our table with our bread and salads.

“So If we exclude these two cases, you think you might have a link?” Fiora asks once the server leaves.

“Maybe. It’s…flimsy,” I admit. “But without those two, we’ve got victims who all fit a similar profile. They’re all in a pretty close age-range. Early to mid twenties. They’re all physically attractive and described by their families and friends as being friendly and outgoing.”

“Lance Corporal Richmond doesn’t fit that profile,” Baker rejects my theory. Since I don’t recognize the name, I have to assume he’s their missing Marine and the reason they want to look into the possible connection.

“How do you know that?” Fi asks the question for me.

“Come on, you saw his place. And he calls his daddy if he’s going to be even a minute late.”

“Being tidy and courteous doesn’t mean that he can’t also be friendly and outgoing,” Fi argues. “He was out clubbing on Friday night.”

“There’s the other thing that ties the cases together,” I cut back in. “All of the victims except two and five disappeared after a night out with a group of friends. Two of them even disappeared after visiting the same club. I’m thinking he picks his victims out at the clubs and follows them home, where he takes them. Probably after they’re asleep, since there’s never sign of struggle.”

“Club Fiasco?” Gibbs asks.

“Vaughn’s,” I correct, though I frown as the name he mentioned seems to ring a bell. I flip quickly through my notes to confirm. “But that’s right across the street from Fiasco. And another victim disappeared after partying at a club a couple streets over.”

“So someone is club hopping,” Baker surmises. “Changes their location each time so the pattern is less likely to be noticed.”

“Lauren Howe wasn’t at a club,” I have to point out an anomaly in the theory. “She and her friends attended a poetry reading at the Baltimore Public Library the last time they saw her. Not exactly party central. But,” I add the good news, “it is only a few blocks out of the club district.”

“Is it possible that she went out after the reading?” Fi proposes.

“Unlikely. Her friends said that they were going to go, but she declined because she had to be up early the next morning.”

“Maybe she changed her mind and tried to catch up with them.”

“Even if she did,” Baker voiced his observation, “she didn’t find them, so she wouldn’t have been with a group at the clubs. So again, we got nothing.”

“Unless the perp happened to spot her group of friends around the library somewhere and followed her home from there,” I suggest the possibility.

“It is the same general vicinity,” Fi agrees.

We continue to go through the files and the notes I’d made on them until our meal arrives. And then after a brief break, we theorize some more while we dine. Through it all, Gibbs remains silent; though I’m pretty sure he’s taking everything in, what we’re saying, and what we’re not. It’s not until the rest of us fall silent that he turns to me.

“You’ve got something else for us,” he says, not even questioning it. At my momentary confusion he looks pointedly down at the gift box. Oh. Right.

“All of the crime scenes except Howe’s have already been released, but I stopped there on my way back from court. This is a total long shot, but…Lauren lives alone. None of the friends or family we talked with had dinner with her that night, or even the night before. But there were two sets of dishes in her sink; same food stuck to them, I think, though…well…they’re a bit moldy and gross, but looks like it might’ve been pasta sauce at some point. No breakfast or lunch dishes suggesting that maybe she ate the same thing two nights in a row. The rest of her place was pretty tidy, so it just didn’t seem like she’d leave them sit like that.”

“You’re thinking that what? The guy follows her home; she invites him in for dinner?” Baker balks.

I smile tolerantly at him. “That would be *awesome*, but no. I’m thinking we’re missing a possible witness. Someone who might be able to help us pin down a more accurate timeline. Maybe someone who saw her later than her poetry reading friends. Or who went out with her somewhere that she got the perp’s attention.” I look back to Gibbs. “I stopped by the BPD Lab, see if they could get anything off the dishes, but they’re pretty backed up and I don’t have enough to put a rush on it.” And, though I keep it to myself, I’ve more than run out of favors with our lab tech. Knew I shouldn’t have gone out with his sister…

“You want us to have our tech take a look,” Gibbs states. Again it’s not a question, but I nod in answer, anyway. He takes the last bite of his steak before he does ask a question. “Anything else for us?”

I have the distinct feeling that they’re about to do the dine-and-dash, leaving me in the dust, but I don’t really have much else to offer except one last theory. “It’s flimsy,” I apologize before I begin to present it.

“So’s everything else,” Baker reminds me.

“I think he’s escalating. Trying to find bigger challenges.”

“Why do you say that?” Fi asks curiously.

“For one, the disappearances seem to be happening more frequently. The first victims were all younger and physically smaller. They’d be likely easier to subdue quickly and probably rather easily. The last few, though, have been a little older and bigger. Lauren Howe is not only a lot taller than the other women, but she’s a fitness instructor over at the Y, and quite muscular. She’d likely be a lot harder to control once she was captured. Your missing man’s military, right? It’s safe to say he’s had some defense training?”

At Gibbs’ nod, I continue, feeling a bit uncomfortable with where I’m about to go. “I think our motivation is probably sexual.” I see Baker start to protest, but I cut him off. “There’re only a few reasons to kidnap someone. We haven’t had any ransom demands, he didn’t take any money, credit or ATM cards, and it’s pretty unlikely that they’re all being used to intimidate friends or relatives to be quiet about something. My guess is that this guy is probably sadistic and gets off on controlling others, torturing them and probably eventually killing them. It probably gets him more…excited the more his victim tries to fight him. The earlier victims were no longer satisfying him, so he started looking for ‘bigger’ prey.”

For a few moments that thought just hangs in the air. Fi and Baker look slightly sick, but I suspect that this thought had already crossed Gibbs’ mind. Then again, I doubt his expression ever gives away much of what he’s thinking.

I’m a little startled as suddenly Gibbs rises from his chair. As a force of habit, I stand up politely while Fi and Baker follow suit.

“Thank you for lunch, Detective,” Gibbs acknowledges, extending his hand to finally shake mine. His shake is impressively firm and strong without crushing my hand. I only hope he finds mine to be similar.

“Thank you,” Fi adds as she extends her hand to me as well.

I take it firmly between my hands, gazing down into her eyes. “Perhaps we can do this again some time?” I suggest, knowing that it will probably never happen, but taking her enthusiastic nod at face value. When I release her hand, she quickly starts going through her purse, even as her two escorts start heading for the door. I’m about to tell her that the check is on me (which apparently Gibbs and Baker have already assumed) when she hands me a business card. “I’ll call you,” I promise her as I lean down and give her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

She smiles brightly at me for a moment before she realizes that she’s being left behind. “Sorry! I’ve got to--“ I give her a wave as she rushes after the others.

I sigh as I place Fi’s card in my pocket and turn to sit back down to wait for the bill. On my plate there now sits an apple. My apple. I smile wanly as I pick it up, recognizing it as Gibbs’ way of dismissing me. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed at being left behind, but it’s not like I didn’t expect it. It’s not like they were ever going to keep me around during their investigation. Why would they? I’ve already given them everything I have to offer. Still I feel used. And more than a little bit…empty.

It’s only a minute or so later when I see the server approaching the table. I ready my card but he waves it away. “It’s been taken care of, Sir.” I blink in confusion. “The gentleman wished me to tell you to stop at the gate; you’ll need a visitor’s pass and someone to direct you to the lab.”

I can’t help but grin as I grab the black rose and take off after the NCIS team.