Ziva and Gibbs looked on from the bottom of the hill as Tony was dragged up on a stretcher. He had lost a tremendous amount of blood and needed assistance breathing. Two EMT's at the top of the hill pulled the stretcher up steadily on ropes. Ziva's heart ached every time Tony flinched in pain from a bump the stretcher ran over.

The arrow shaft had been cut down to half the length and the removed end bagged for evidence. As far as Ziva and Gibbs could tell, the arrow was exactly the same as the one that killed the Captain. A plain wooden shaft with messily applied red fletching.

The medics loaded Tony into the back of the ambulance and turned the lights and sirens on as they drove away. The two agents watched the rear of the ambulance turn the corner and disappear. It was heading to the Swedish Medical Centre in Seattle.

Gibbs gave Ziva's hand a small squeeze and turned to head back to the crime scene.

"Gibbs, I found a patch of material that may have been from the attacker's shirt…" Ziva said pulling the evidence from her pocket.

"Good. You're not going back out there without backup, for all we know this guy's hunting us now."

Ziva nodded. "Yes, boss. Are we expecting assistance from the city's crime unit? Or are we working alone?"

"Abby and McGee are on their way in. I will not use anyone else's team, Ziva." Gibbs stopped and turned to look at her.

"Gibbs… do you think…" she sighed. "Will Tony be alright?"

"I'm not a doctor, Ziva." He said turning to continue the few remaining feet to the body which was being bagged and prepared for departure. "But, no, I don't think he'll die. Tony's too hard headed for that."

Ziva had to laugh. "He has survived the pneumonic plague, yes? I don't think a little arrow to the chest will stop him." She tried to reassure herself.

Gibbs smiled to himself. A little arrow, indeed, said Ducky's voice in his head. Suddenly he wished his ME was here instead of this thirty-something piece of work the Seattle crime unit had sent him to work with.

"Well, Agent Gibbs," the ME's assistant came forward removing his gloves, "we're gonna take the body back into the city, prep him for autopsy. We'll give you whatever we find. Our supervisor…"

"Will not be involved, Mr Smith."

"Uh… yes… yes, sir…" James Smith replied.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get that body to your office!" Gibbs said, annoyed with the disorganization of the group. He was used to Ducky and Jimmy Palmer and his team working in such an organized fashion as they did under his guidance. He had trained them all so well and he disliked being put in a situation full of incompetent hands. That was half the reason he disliked Probies, with the exception of McGee.

The bumbling assistant wandered away to join his doctor and Gibbs returned to Ziva's side to search the area around the tree.

"See anything, Ziva?"

"No. Just blood and lots of it. If we can track the trajectory of the arrow we might find out where it was shot from."

"Which way, Ziva?"

"Assuming he fell where he was shot, and didn't move halfway around the tree to hide from his attacker, the shooter was standing somewhere over there." She pointed in a general east northeast direction.

"Do we know how far back he was?"

"I have limited archery knowledge, Gibbs, but I am sure that he couldn't have been far. The arrow had enough velocity to pierce deeply into the Captain's chest so the shooter was relatively close and the bow had a high pound draw."

"How high, Ziva?"

"To my knowledge Native Americans used bows with up to ninety pounds of draw for hunting. I have heard of some bows as low as thirty pounds. The farther away he was, the higher the draw he would need."

"How good are you at physics?"

"Compared to McGee? Terrible." Ziva admitted leading her boss into the woods in search of evidence. "If we can place the shooter, I would say we should take down measurements and give them to McGee when he arrives. He could narrow our search for a weapon."

"Good idea. If we can find the draw weight of the bow, we might be able to figure out who in this area shoots that bow weight, assuming the shooter was from the area." Gibbs said, jumping over a small boulder.

"How would we find him, Gibbs? Bows are not licensed as guns are."

"People with an interest as unique as archery have a very tight-knit community, Ziva. Everybody knows everybody, usually. And in any case, how many stores could possibly sell archery equipment in Seattle? We'll find a salesman, find out who bought the kind of bow we're looking for and we'll find our shooter, hopefully." He bent down suddenly, causing Ziva to stop as well.

Her eyes followed his extended finger to see a set of foot prints, shoulder-width apart the long edge of the shoe was pointed towards the victim suggesting an archer at full draw.

"Get this print. We might be able to figure out what kinda shoes this guy wears." Gibbs stood and moved around the area to look for more evidence while Ziva took digital pictures of the shoe print.

He put on a pair of gloves and bent again to pick up a piece of synthetic red fibre on the ground. Ziva looked at it from her place a few feet from him.

"Looks like the same material as the feathers from the arrows." She stated. "Do you think that he might have lost an arrow or two out there in the woods? While he was hunting? We may be able to find one that was not pulled at by the victim or cut down the paramedics and find some fingerprints."

"Possible. You said Tony didn't touch the arrow in his chest?"

"No. But I… I did… foolishly. I wanted to remove it but he stopped me. I wore gloves, but I may have smudged…" Ziva looked into the face of her supervisor which portrayed his classic are you an idiot? look. "I know, it was foolish. A mistake I wish I could take back."

Gibbs sighed heavily and bagged the feather fibre. "David… there is no excuse for ruining evidence. Even…"

"Even to try to save Tony's life?" Ziva asked, temporarily losing control of her temper. She regained her composure and looked up at Gibbs, who had stood. He stared back at the place where the Captain had laid, dead. He positioned his feet next to the foot prints in the same fashion they were in and raised his arms as though he were drawing a long bow. His body bent forward slightly at the waist, his left arm extended before him as though holding the bow and his right hand curled around an invisible string at the corner of his mouth.

He lowered his arms and stood straight again. "This guy was a pro. The path down to where the Captain was found is slim, barely passable through these trees. He missed all of them."

Ziva looked in the direction of where the body had been and nodded in agreement.

They searched the scene for nearly an hour before Gibbs' phone rang.

"Gibbs." He answered. "Alright… Thanks." He hung up. "The daughter and wife are in." He looked around the scene one more time. "We're not finding anything else." He stated with finality and led Ziva back to the hill to begin a tricky assent.

******************************************************************************************

Ziva stood behind the one-way glass of the interrogation room watching as Gibbs entered to talk to the daughter of the Captain.

The fifteen-year-old girl sniffed and crossed her legs causing her shoulder-length curly hair to bounce about her heart-shaped face with the movement. Her deep green eyes stared into Gibbs' as he folded his hands in front of him on the table.

After a moment of silence he spoke. "I'm very sorry for your loss Miss LaRoque."

"As am I. My father was a good man. He was a dedicated officer and a wonderful father." She said in a smooth mezzo-alto.

"Miss LaRoque…"

"Christine. Please."

"Alright, Christine. Are you aware of how your father was killed?" When the girl shook her head Gibbs continued. "He was shot in the chest. With an arrow."

Christine recoiled at the tone he used. It was almost accusatory. A tactic Gibbs was famous for.

"Lieutenant Rimm found your father. He told us that you and his son practiced archery together."

"Yes we do. We are in very different age groups, Agent Gibbs, if you were wondering. His son is seven."

"I see. What kind of bow to you shoot?"

"I mainly use recurve. I occasionally use my long bow."

"Do you shoot with wooden arrows on your longbow?"

Christine raised an eyebrow. "You don't typically use anything else on a long bow, Agent Gibbs."

"What do your arrows look like?"

"I have nearly thirty, they are all mismatched. I don't have four that are alike."

Gibbs pulled out a photograph of the arrow half that had been cut from Tony's shoulder. "Do any of them look like this?"

"No."

"Do you know whose it is?"

"It could be anyone's. I cannot be familiar with everyone's longbow arrows, there are far too many and they are all different."

"Can you tell us who made this arrow, then?"

"What makes you think I can tell you that?"

"I have a contact that said that this arrow was fletched badly. A homemade job. Can you tell who made this arrow?"

Christine sighed and picked up the photograph and studied the fletching. "Yes, I do know who made this."

"Who?"

"Agent Gibbs, even if I tell you, she makes arrows for half the longbow shooters in Seattle; anyone could have shot this arrow."

"Well, tell me. It'll give us a suspect."

"Her name is Lyndsey Rutherford. But, as I said, she makes arrows for half the longbow shooters in Seattle. Even me."

"Where does she shoot?"

"She and I both shoot at the Seattle Archery Centre. It's on the south end of town."

"Would she be there now?"

"Yes, most likely."

Gibbs stood and looked at the one-way glass. "Ziva. Field-trip."

Ziva nodded at the window and put her phone back her pocket as she left.

"Who were you phoning?" Gibbs asked.

"The hospital. I was inquiring about Tony's condition."

"And?"

"He's still in surgery. The arrow is being difficult. It has lodged itself into his collarbone and will not come out easily. It will be a few more hours."

Gibbs stopped her before they entered the elevator. "He will be okay, Ziva." He promised.

Ziva smiled at him, willing herself to believe him. She just wished that she truly did believe him. She saw the Captain, a similar wound, though his was more in the central torso as opposed to the shoulder, who had bled to death. She said a prayer in the elevator that she would get to see Tony alive again.