Chapter Two

“What’ve you got, Abs?” asked Gibbs the moment they entered Abby Sciuto’s lab, holding a CafPow in one hand and a coffee in the other.

McGee, who had been down there helping Abby with something or other, answered. “I just put out BOLO’s for Reed and Rosenberg.”

“We’ve gone through Reed’s bank statements,” Abby said. “She took a fifty thousand dollar loan four months ago, and the money was immediately transferred into another bank account.”

“Rosenberg’s?” Gibbs asked.

“Yes, although not in his name – it’s in the name of Jake Davis,” Abby said. “He has several aliases, although they’re not all that well-developed, except one – Marcus Williams. The Jake Davis-account seems to be his preferred con-account. The transfers into the account are between fifty and two hundred grand each. At the moment, there’s a grand total of one point six million dollars in there, from a total of sixteen transfers.”

“Wow, three two hundred grand transfers,” Tony said, looking at the bank statement. “He doesn’t seem to con poor women.”

“Actually,” McGee said, “he does. He gets them to take out loans and transfer the money to him. Reed wasn’t a rich woman to begin with, and Callahan’s modeling career had only just started, so she wasn’t making big bucks.”

“He is an ass,” Ziva said. “I wonder what he said to these women to get them to give him the money.”

Tony had to give a quick grin. He had never and would never scam money off anyone, but considering how easy it was to get certain women into bed with just a few nice words, he could imagine that it wouldn’t be that difficult to get the same women to write a check – especially not when the women in question were lonely navy wives with their husbands shipped off for months at a time.

“Have any of the other women who’ve paid him disappeared?” Gibbs asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Abby said. “We haven’t had time to track all the bank accounts, but so far, no, they’re all safe at home and accounted for.”

“So,” Ziva said, “Callahan and Reed both lose money to this guy. They meet by chance online and decide there needs to be some payback, and they kill the guy together. Callahan gets cold feet and wants to tell, and Reed kills her.”

“Or Rosenberg realizes that Callahan and Reed are getting chummy and knows that might mean trouble,” Tony said, “and he kills Callahan, frames Reed and then either kills her or has her flee, whilst he disappears.”

“There’s no evidence that Rosenberg was present when Callahan was murdered,” Ziva said.

“There wouldn’t be if he framed her, now would there?” Tony asked. “Trust me, I have intimate knowledge with framing.”

“They usually leave some trace,” Abby said. “Ziva found hair in the bathroom sink.”

She pulled up an image on the big screen. It showed a rather short hair, perhaps two or three inches long.

“Someone cut his or her hair in that sink,” Abby said. “This end is split, which means it’s the end of the hair, but this one is clean cut, suggesting a pair of scissors or a knife. I’m running a DNA analysis and a tox screen right now, but it’ll take a few hours.”

Gibbs handed the Abby the CafPow, looking pleased. Tony felt a sting of jealousy – Abby could do no wrong in Gibbs’ eyes, and it felt unfair sometimes. Tony loved Abby too – it was hard to not love her – but it would have been so wonderful to have Gibbs give him the same kind of attention, just once in a while, as Gibbs gave her on a daily basis. Then again, if Gibbs ever did kiss Tony’s cheek, he was likely to grab Gibbs’ shirt and pull him into a real kiss, and seeing how that would get him fired faster than he could say ‘sorry’, it was probably for the better that Gibbs had never tried to do anything of the sort.

As the hour became late, Gibbs heard Tony start coughing, though he tried to hide it by doing so into napkins, turning away from the rest of the team. It was a regular cough, but Gibbs knew that if Tony was allowed to stay at work until midnight – which he had been known to do many times over when they had a case – it might turn into something more serious.

“DiNozzo, go home,” he said. “You’re of no use to me sick.”

Tony looked rather like a kicked puppy when he said that and Gibbs had to wonder why. Tony must know that none of Gibbs’ agents were useful when sick – they had a job that sometimes required very quick thinking in life-or-death situations, and a sneeze at the wrong moment was not appreciated. After seven years on Gibbs’ team, surely Tony must know this.

“I’m fine, boss,” Tony said. “It’s just dry in here.”

“It is not dry in here,” Ziva said. “It is rather humid, actually.”

“Fine then, I coughed because it’s humid,” Tony snapped.

“DiNozzo—”

Tony interrupted him, which in itself was unusual. His tone was harsh. “Boss, I’m fine. It’s just a cough.”

He returned his attention to the computer screen and Gibbs knew Tony was studiously ignoring Gibbs and Ziva’s looks. After a few moments of staring, Gibbs decided to keep working as well. He tried to ignore the sound of muffled coughing that returned every few minutes. When he finally went home that night, it was earlier than he usually went home when they had a case. He tried to tell himself that it was because there was nothing to do, not at all because Tony would refuse to leave until Ziva, Gibbs, and McGee had all left.

Waking in the middle of the night from a cough, Tony wondered what Gibbs would say if he called in sick. He wondered if he would have a job to go back to at all – being sick in the middle of a case was not okay, and Gibbs would likely have his head on a platter.

You’re of no use to me sick.

He wondered if he was ever of any use to Gibbs. It wasn’t like the man ever told him that he was useful, or good. The one time Gibbs had told him that he was irreplaceable – which had made his heart leap, though Tony did not like to admit it – had turned out to be a joke. When Gibbs had nearly drowned and Tony had saved him, there had been no thank you, even though they had spent several hours in the hospital afterwards, getting checked out. The Marine had hardly said a word to him.

God, he wished that Gibbs would tell him he was grateful. Tony knew he could never wish for anything beyond that, but just some hint of happiness from Gibbs about still being alive, a sense that he was glad Tony had saved him would make it all worthwhile.

Again, Tony wondered what it would be like to be Abby, to be appreciated like her – it seemed so lovely. Perhaps he should find another job, spread out a rumor that he was going to quit and see how people reacted? But then, what would he do if they didn’t care? If there was no reaction at all? Ziva would be fine without him, McGee would love to not be called ‘Probie’ and ‘McGeek’ all the time, and Gibbs—Gibbs would probably hardly notice. It wasn’t like Tony had skills that were irreplaceable after all.

He coughed again, and hoped that by morning, his head would feel less heavy and his nose less stuffed, because if his speech was filled with d’s, it would not take a genius to figure out that he had a cold.

Mr. Callahan didn’t want to believe that his wife had been killed. Gibbs sighed as he remembered the disbelief in his voice – he knew all too well what it was like to find out that a loved one had been murdered, the world crumbling down around him, everything falling apart into pieces so small it was obvious that it could never again be put back together. For the billionth time, he wondered what life would have been like if Shannon and Kelly had not died.

Now he sat staring at the computer screen, sipping at his coffee. It was already nine o’clock and all of his agents had been there since seven, working and trying to find an angle to hit the case at, to get anywhere. But so far, very little had turned up.

McGee had found a batch of photos sent between Mrs. Callahan and Mrs. Reed, all of them of the Prince Charming – Jason Rosenberg. Sharing the photos had no doubt made them realize that they had been with the same man, even though he had apparently been Jake Davis with Mrs. Callahan, and Lucas Johnson with Mrs. Reed. Rosenberg’s computer had so far turned up very little – there had been chat conversations with both Mrs. Callahan and Mrs. Reed, but those had ended a few months ago.

Gibbs wondered who would want that many women – he had had enough trouble with the few that had been in his life. Then again, perhaps he should ask DiNozzo, who seemed to appreciate the same lifestyle as Mr. Rosenberg – save for conning money off his conquests, that was.

For a moment, Gibbs wondered what it would be like to be the object of DiNozzo’s attempts of seduction – he could imagine Tony in his finest suit, that million dollar grin and eyes dark and inviting, and it all made for a lovely image. That was, until said DiNozzo made the picture fall apart at its seams, as he coughed and sniffed in his chair across the room. Tony tried his best to hide the fact that his nose was filled with snot and that a cough escaped him regularly. Gibbs had tired of telling him to go home – he still didn’t want Tony on the job if he was ill, but when Tony flat-out refused to admit anything was wrong, Gibbs did not feel like arguing. Still, he had a careful eye on his senior field agent.

“All right, what’ve we got so far?” Gibbs asked, standing up, annoyed with the lack of results. “Start at the beginning.”

His three agents nodded, and Ziva and Tony stood in front of the large screen where McGee pulled up all the information they had collected so far. Gibbs noted that Tony seemed to move a bit slower than usual.

“Marie Callahan, twenty-three year old model and wife of Commander James Callahan, was found murdered in her home,” McGee started. “A neighbor found the body when she came over to water the plants, as she had been asked to do, because Callahan was supposed to be out of town for a few days.”

“Callahan was murdered with a kitchen knife found on the scene. Abby matched the size and depths of the cuts to confirm it,” Tony said. “She was stabbed repeatedly in a violent attack, most likely brought on by rage according to Ducky. A fingerprint on the knife lead us to Mrs. Annie Reed, wife of Jonathan Reed. Mrs. Reed has been MIA since we started looking for her.”

Just as Ziva was about to continue, Gibbs’ phone rang. When he hung up ten seconds later, he said, “Abby’s lab. She’s got something.”

The music in Abby’s lab played on a deafening volume, as always. Gibbs startled her as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and he signed to her to turn down the volume.

“What is it, Abby?”

“DNA-results are back,” Abby said.

“And?”

“They’re not a match. The DNA belongs to a male,” Abby said.

“So a guy was in the house too?” McGee asked.

“Yes,” Abby said, “but I can’t say within what time frame. It might be unrelated to the case – the hairs could have been in the sink for several days.”

“If we assume that it is connected to the murder, why would a guy be cutting his hair in the sink?” McGee asked.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to recognize someone with a different hair style,” Abby said, “especially not if it’s combined with a new kind of clothes, perhaps colored contacts, and glasses.”

“That sounds like a person who doesn’t want to be found,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Abby said. “If it’s related to the case.”

“Why would a guy be cutting his hair in her sink if it wasn’t related?” McGee asked. “Especially since her husband is in Iraq.”

“Good question,” Abby said, no answer forthcoming.

Gibbs kissed Abby’s cheek before they left – she had done a good job. She usually did, but she had also always been the one to whom Gibbs had shown his appreciation. It wouldn’t do for him to start kissing McGee, Ziva or Tony on the cheek when they did something well – McGee would think he had been replaced by an alien, Ziva might kick his ass, and Tony—Gibbs had no idea how Tony would react. Gibbs rarely showed him the appreciation he deserved. It was hard – Tony was the core of his team, but telling him so seemed nigh impossible to Gibbs.

As they rode the elevator back up, Gibbs spared a glance at Tony. He was shifting uncomfortably, looking as though he was about to cough but held back, because he knew that standing this close together in an elevator, he could not possibly blame it on dry air or anything equally stupid.

Gibbs sighed, wondering what he was supposed to do about his stubborn senior field agent.

When the afternoon came, Tony and Ziva were sitting in the bullpen. Ziva had just returned from her third visit to the crime scene, having looked around to see if she could find any other evidence they might have missed in the bathroom, that a male had been there and changed after a murder. She came back with a blood sample from the pipes of the bathtub.

McGee sat by his computer frowning with concentration, doing geek stuff as always, and Gibbs was up in M-TAC talking to the Director.

Tony was mostly trying not to cough and attract Ziva’s attention – because she had been looking at him all day with the questioning, too kind look that had him wanting to snap at her. Ziva was not supposed to be kind – she was a fearless, sexy, trained killer.

The phone rang, and Tony picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Help me. Help me, please.”

Tony frowned. The voice that had spoken had definitely been female. “Mrs. Reed?”

Ziva’s head snapped up and her eyes locked with Tony’s and she signaled McGee, who immediately realized what was going on. Tony assumed he started to trace the call when he started hitting keys furiously.

“Mrs. Reed, we just want to talk to you,” Tony said. “Why don’t you come in to NCIS and we’ll—”

“Oh God, he’s coming—I—I can’t talk to you,” Mrs. Reed said. Then her voice changed, and she screamed, “Oh God, please help me!”

“Mrs. Reed?” Tony asked again. He heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and the sounds that came after were those of commotion. Screaming – there was a male there, growling.

“Oh god,” Mrs. Reed screamed. “Please—”

The line went dead and from the frustrated sound McGee made, Tony assumed there had not been enough time to trace it to a precise location.

“She’s out in the Black Ridge Woods National Park,” McGee said. “I have her location down to about a square mile, but she’s turned the phone off again now.”

“What is it with people and that park?” Tony said with annoyance.

“Perhaps they like nature,” McGee suggested.

“What did she say?” Ziva asked.

“She begged for help,” Tony said. “She was scared, and then someone was coming after her – a ‘him’.”

“Rosenberg?” McGee asked.

“Possibly,” Tony said. “So what do we do – go out looking for her?”

Gibbs came in then. “Yeah. You and Ziva are going out there and if she calls again we’ll trace it. That is, if you’re up for it?”

A part of Tony wanted to say no, he wasn’t up for it. He didn’t feel well, his head full of fuzz and his nose filled with—other stuff. He knew Gibbs was trying to get him to admit that he was feeling unwell, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it – he could not be such a failure.

He met Gibbs’ blue gaze steadily.

“I’m fine, boss,” he said, for what felt like the millionth time.

They reached the Black Ridge Woods National Park – the same national park the framed father, Brian Taylor, had been out running in – by sundown. Tony had dressed in a warm jacked and hiking shoes, but a chill ran through him as night started falling. They had the police with them; two men and two women, all in full gear with guns holstered. They looked as though they had hiked through the woods before – but then they probably had. So had Tony.

He briefly allowed his thoughts to return to the boy they had cared for. He had not wanted to admit just how much like him Carson was, because it would make the differences all the more painful. He wished that his own father had gazed so lovingly upon him just once, as Brian had done when the boy was returned to him.

“Come on, Tony,” Ziva said, grabbing his arm. “You are sleepwalking.”

“I’m—”

“Fine, yes, you’ve said so before,” Ziva said. “Seeing how you are fine, you should be able to keep up.”

She let her hand drop.

Ziva led the group to the outskirts of the circle from within which the phone call had been made. She ordered the police away in pairs, in different directions whilst she and Tony kept going in a straight line.

“She’s probably long gone by now,” Tony said. “Whoever ‘he’ is must’ve realized we could trace the call.”

“Ah, yes, ‘he’,” Ziva said.

“Must be Rosenberg,” Tony said. “If Reed and Callahan didn’t plan on killing him after all, then Rosenberg’s probably the killer. Or he and Reed are in it together, and he’s running off with her.”

He didn’t quite understand why anyone would want to leave the sweet bachelor pad Rosenberg had been living in, but he knew people made stupid choices when they were in love. Of course, it didn’t seem plausible in this case.

“Why would she call us then, and scream for help?”

Tony shrugged, having no explanation.

They walked in silence, but Tony noted that Ziva’s hand automatically went towards her gun every time she heard a sound that she could not immediately identify as having been created by either of them.

When darkness had fallen and they only had their flashlights to rely on, Tony started shivering. He was unused to the feeling; he was normally hardly ever cold. He said nothing, however, instead continuing on. They would meet up with the police to set up camp at midnight, although Tony knew that they would not be getting much sleep. Each person would be on guard duty for a certain number of hours each, and either way, Tony didn’t sleep well out in the wild.

They had failed to find the missing Annie Reed and Jason Rosenberg by the time midnight rolled around. The police had had equally bad luck, and Tony thought, as he said to the rest, that Rosenberg and Reed were long gone by now. It had been six hours since the call – they ought to be six hours away from them.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Ziva announced as they met up to set up the tent, and Tony sighed, knowing he would be awoken sometime in the middle of the night, to sit guard in the cold, dark night. He had never been afraid of the dark, but he had respect for the woods and the creatures that lived there. He shuddered as he thought of bears and the remains they had once investigated.

When one of the female officers shook Tony awake at three in the morning, he responded with a very manly cough.

“Are you okay? That sounds like a nasty cold,” the woman said, her face scrunching up with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, not even bothering to say he was fine. He knew he wasn’t, but out here there was little to do about the fact. No extra warm blankets, no heating, no hot chocolate.

The woods were far from quiet when Tony came outside. Branches snapped and low sounds echoed over the treetops, and Tony shivered with cold. He wished he had a napkin to blow his nose, but napkins were rare out in the wild and the ones he had brought with him had been used up in the first five hours.

He walked around every few minutes, swinging his arms this way and that as he tried to get warm. It didn’t work, but it kept him from falling asleep, which he assumed was preferred by the people sleeping inside. Ziva would have his head if she found out he had fallen asleep whilst supposedly keeping watch.

He had been on watch for maybe half an hour when a twig snapped differently. Tony didn’t know what it was that made him turn his head to listen to that particular sound more than any other, but he did, and he saw a shadow moving. Frowning, his gaze followed the shadow as it moved. The moon was out, which was the only reason Tony could see anything at all.

It didn’t move like an animal; its movements were not nearly as smooth as he expected an animal to be. He moved towards it slowly, hoping that perhaps it did not have his perfect vision.

He wondered if he should wake Ziva, but he knew that if it turned out to be a deer or something of that sort, she would be seriously pissed, and he did not feel up to dealing with that. Better to follow and see what happened, and he could call her if he needed her.

Then suddenly, there was a gun shot.

Tony felt the bullet whiz past his ear, impossibly close.

“Hey!” he screamed, and took off after the shooter. He knew the others must have woken at the sound of the gun shot, so he didn’t worry about backup.

The shadow in front of him was fast, and his eyes played tricks on him in the deep woods. Bushes, trees, even animals here and there, moved like the shadow he was chasing, as the moon’s weak rays filtered through the leaves. The sky was clear and splattered with stars, but he knew that it would have been better with a slightly cloudy night that reflected the moon’s light.

He was fairly certain he was faster than the shadow he was chasing, but whilst he was chasing it, it was simply trying to get away, and in the huge forest that didn’t seem impossible at all.

He caught sight of the shadow again, no more than fifty feet ahead of him, but those fifty feet seemed hopelessly far away. Tony’s breath was labored and he cursed the cold – he was usually a good runner, despite his plague scarred lungs.

He heard another gun shot, but didn’t feel it anywhere close, and assumed that it had gone wild. A third gun shot rang out a moment later, and Tony crouched down and ran, head low.

Other shots rang out and Tony was fairly certain they came from behind him. Ziva and the police must be following him and—

The ground disappeared from under his feet.

Leaves and mud followed him as he fell, his hands clawing uselessly in empty air, trying to stop his rapid descent. It felt like an eternity of fear in complete darkness, a knowledge of certain death, a moment stretching out into infinity.

The water was a shock to his system. It felt like ice against his skin, freezing cold, like a locker around him, impossible to get out. Automatically, he tried to breathe, only to fill his mouth with dirty, ice cold water. It paralyzed him, his body not responding, cold blackness all around him.

He kicked, and broke the surface, coughing and spitting, and he could only yell, “ZIVA!”

Then he went under once more.

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