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Chapter 3

Wednesday, continued

"Sorry, guys, I just don't see how North Star would have any involvement in this," Kate Todd shook her impeccably coiffed hair. Tony was willing to bet it was cut at one of the premiere salons in the city that specialized in the no-nonsense G-woman style. No-nonsense G-woman pretty much described Kate in a nutshell.

"C'mon, Kate," Tony whined. "This reeks of a professional hit! And the fact they were going after the kid? It makes sense that it would be tied to the organization that deals in the rescuing of exploited girls!"

Nathan, as always, was more levelheaded. "Look, we don't have any evidence this is linked to North Star at this point. But we know Shepard is the vocal face of the organization. Any controversial stance they've taken has her name all over it. Maybe she ticked off the wrong people?"

Kate seemed to consider this. Leaning back on the desk, she looked between the two men and pursed her lips. "Okay. Fine. I'll look into it. But my task force is on the brink of pushing through some important legislation for us. We can't have our agenda tarnished by one radical voice."

"So…. as usual, justice for a murdered officer and near-kidnapping and god knows what else of a little girl play second fiddle to a political agenda?"

Kate shot Tony a withering glare. "No. Justice for the rent-a-cop and the B&E are blips on the radar when compared to the sweeping changes this legislation could provide. More manpower, greater awareness, stricter sentences, victim support—that is more important than the two victims here."

Shifting uncomfortably, Walker frowned. "Rent-a-cop?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Kate sighed. "Yeah. That was wrong. I should not have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Nathan accepted the apology. Tony shot Kate a look of understanding. Yes, she was a brown-nosing ballbuster, but she wasn't heartless. They all said things like that from time to time. Allowances had to be made.

"We need something to go on here, Kate." Tony gave her his softest eyes, trying to appeal to the small part of her that had been attracted to him at some point.

With a graceful hand, Kate searched the air. "Off the top of my head, Shepard's most controversial position is with regards to victim extraction. We're not talking large-scale raids here, as is most common when trafficking in illegal immigrants. Domestic sex trafficking involves a more complex relationship. Many of these girls are trafficked before they even know what happened. They are not held hostage by any physical means, typically. They are kept in the life through deep manipulation and fear. Oftentimes they are too scared or brainwashed to leave. Which makes catching these guys and prosecuting them problematic, to say the least."

Nathan frowned. "And Shepard wants to just pull them out?"

Kate nodded. "Most nonprofits come in on the backend—victim rehabilitation, therapy, groups homes, financial support, that sort of thing. Shepard is pushing for more aggressive legislation that would mandate time in group homes for these girls at the first sign of abuse—pull 'em out, just get them away from their abusers, and with time you might undo the mess and get them to turn against their captors."

"Well, yeah," Tony reasoned, tapping a pen against his lips, "but the problem with that is enforcing it. You got a girl not willing to talk. You can't just pull her out of a situation you think might be bad."

"Exactly," Kate agreed. "A good idea in theory. Absolutely not enforceable by our agencies in most cases."

"Still," Waters sat on the table. "Doesn't seem like that is likely to piss anyone off to a degree that warrants such a personal attack on Shepard."

"Here's where you'll have to do some more digging—my feeling is, based on some of the conversations we've had, Shepard might be beyond policy." Kate paused, considered her wording. "No one's given me specific details, and I didn't press, but I got the impression Shepard maybe has enacted some of these policies on her own. She has certainly taken a very close interest in some of the former victims involved with the organization."

There was a long moment where all three investigators looked at each other with an "oh shit" look. Nathan let out a low groan that perfectly expressed all their frustration, that doomsday feeling of just how deep this rabbit hole could go. It certainly wouldn't be an open and shut case, unfortunately.

Tony's phone rang then, giving a jolt of urgency to their wallowing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He didn't recognize the number. He excused himself from the two and stepped outside the cube. "Anthony DiNozzo."

"Anthony?" A voice smiled over the phone. "This is Ziva David."

"Ah, yes. The professor." He couldn't help but smile back. Talk about a breath of fresh air. It was enough to chase away whatever annoyance he'd just been experiencing. Hearing just her voice, Tony was struck by the richness of its tone, the sexiness of her accent. He could also sense her eye roll across the line, which made his grin widen. "What can I do for you? Please say you're offering me a date."

She laughed, a throaty, musical sound. "No. However, I did call to inform you of a conversation I had with Jenny Shepard."

Tony's heart sped up at the potential lead. "Yes? Hey, wait, I'm going to put you on speaker." He stepped back into the cube, gesturing to his colleagues to listen as Ziva filled them in.

"And that's it? She didn't say anything else about North Star?" Waters asked after Ziva had recapped her meeting with their person of interest.

"No."

Tony shared a look with his teammates. It didn't add much to what they had, but the evidence was rapidly piling up against Shepard and North Star. "We appreciate the information, Ziva. We're looking more into it now."

"Good. Please keep me updated." The clipped, business-like cadence of her words made Tony grin. It made throwing her off her game an irresistible challenge. And he obviously had the now proven ability to get under her skin. She'd gone running straight to Shepard after their last meeting, hadn't she?

"Likewise. And if you are looking for a date this weekend…"

"I will find a man who does not eat his lunches from a vending machine." Her response was quick, cutting, and had his coworkers biting back snickers.

Tony scowled. "Hey! How did you—

But Ziva had hung up, leaving Tony to contemplate the plastic-flavored turkey sandwich he'd procured from the 3rd floor stairwell machine that sat half-eaten on his desk. Kate struggled to hold in her laughter.

In defiance, Tony took a bite of his sandwich. It tasted less good now. "What are you laughing it, Kate? From the sound of it, you're in the thick of it now. What people of yours was Shepard meeting with?"

"Shit," Kate said. Tony was pretty sure she'd been holding that in since Ziva first made the revelation. "I don't know."

"Better find out quick," Tony chided, polishing off his lunch, giddy with the idea that this investigation finally had some traction.

"Bite me, DiNozzo," Kate sassed as she gathered up her belongings.

"Eh. Not sure how your husband would feel about that. Aren't those Hill guys, the ones that aren't coke fiends, pretty uptight?" Tony laughed through the elbow in the gut he received. It was barely a tap. Walker just rolled his eyes and wandered off.

"You're such a teenager," Kate shook her head, nose in the air.

"Says the mature wit who just used 'bite me' and an elbow jab as comebacks," Tony taunted.

Kate added a middle finger to her list of insults, throwing it over her shoulder as she navigated her way out of the Homicide bullpen. It was a lovely sight to behold.

"Hey! You slept with me!" Tony couldn't resist yelling out. He ignored the various grunts and grumbles from the other detectives in hearing distance.

"I was drunk," she tossed back, even louder, earning some chuckles from the peanut gallery and the upper hand.

Tony shrugged. True. But so was he. Still, he let her have the last words and what little remained of their dignity. He got enough grief from the other guys about his bed-hopping ways. Most of the other detectives in the division were married. And though a few of the guys seemed to envy his ability to go home with whomever he chose, most of his coworkers were far too settled in family life to do more than humorously reminisce about their single days. The feds were a younger, more fast-paced group. After-hours relationships had just as much significance as those forged around the water cooler. It was one of the few things he missed about being a G-Man. He tossed the remainder of his lunch into the trash bin.

"You two have sure gotten a lot of mileage out of that one night stand," Walker's voice floated up from another cube where he was hiding out. Tony waited until his partner's head popped up from the cube next door.

With a crack of his neck, Tony sat down to his computer. "You would rather us talk religion or politics?"

Nathan pretended to consider it. "Fair point. Hey, I'm ordering from Clark's, want anything?"

"Yes. The usual. I'm starving!"

"Ziva David," she answered the phone.

"Shalom, Ziva."

"Abba." Ziva exhaled and leaned back in her chair. She dropped her pen on the desk and saved her latest work on the computer. "What is the occasion?" She smirked into the phone, knowing that would set him off.

"The occasion, my dear, is the investigation you've gotten yourself into." Eli David was speaking quietly into the phone, in English. That, coupled with the unknown number on her phone, suggested he was calling from the office. She did some mental math and determined it was far too late in Israel for him to be working.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

True to character, Eli completely ignored her question. "Tell me about this investigation."

"It is nothing, Abba. You need not be concerned."

"Be careful, Ziva. You have secrets to protect."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "This has nothing to do with me."

"American law enforcement do not take kindly to foreign operatives involved in their affairs."

"I am no longer a foreign operative," she gritted out in Hebrew. "And what would you have me do? Let that man take the child?" She assumed her father had already obtained whatever information he could about the case.

"No, Ziva," Eli's tone became more gentle. "You did what you had to do. You still have what it takes and it saddens me that your skills are being wasted as you gather dust at that university."

"Abba," Ziva warned, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes. Apparently they'd reached the guilt portion of the conversation. She knew the stereotype about Jewish mothers. Her own mother had died many years ago and was a sepia-toned memory at this point, so she couldn't personally attest to the truth of it. Eli, however, though lacking in most paternal instincts, seemed to have no shortage of ability to make her feel guilty for not continuing to align her life choices with his own.

"I am sending over a courier with the information I've gathered on your case and everyone involved."

Drumming her fingers on her desk, Ziva carefully formulated her response. "I am not an investigator. Perhaps you should forward your findings to the professionals. As you are apparently assisting with their investigation."

"Right," Eli chuckled. "Let them do their own job. This is opposition research. Full dossiers of everyone involved so you can protect yourself, Ziva."

"Protect myself against what?" Her jump to anger was quick. "I am not a suspect. They are not after me."

"Not an investigator, not a suspect… Tell me. What are you, Ziva?" Judgment was heavy in Eli's voice. Ziva's entire body went hot.

"I have a life, Abba, one that makes me happy. I teach young adults to look at the world in a different way. I have friends. I do not spend my days perpetuating violence." There was no point arguing with him, really. He would never understand.

"You spent your days preserving the future of your people. Sacrificing for the greater good. A noble cause, bigger than either of us."

Ziva closed her eyes, fighting back the suddenly very present flood of memories. "Abba, please."

Eli was silent for a long moment. "You are stronger than this, Ziva. You let that man beat you. You let him take your life from you."

Silent tears ran down Ziva's face. "I am strong, Eli. Strong enough to know when to walk away and reclaim my life. It wasn't just Saleem and his men that took everything from me."

"You condemn me for sins that I am not sure I committed," Eli responded quickly, familiar with the dance of their argument. Ziva thought she knew better than to pursue it. Eli was more stubborn than her. No matter how many times she'd confronted him, no matter how many times she'd cried and begged him to understand how broken her life under him had made her, he refused to see it. Her therapists had called it a form of self-protection. Jenny had called it pig-headed asshole-ness. Either way, it meant they had yet to see eye to eye. That Eli had yet to understand just how empty her life in Israel had left her. And how full her life in American was becoming.

Ziva listened to her father's heavy breaths across the line, hardly seeming an ocean away. She refused to respond.

Finally, Eli sighed. Ziva heard someone in the background requesting his attention and, of course, he responded that he'd be there shortly.

"Ziva, I must—

"Of course," she snipped. "You must."

"Please be aware: this friend of yours, Jennifer. She is tangling herself up with some men with international ties. Men we have files on."

Ziva sat up straighter, not expecting that turn in the conversation. "What?"

"It is generally not of my organization's concern, but I do support the work being done to stop these sex traffickers," Eli disclaimed, ever the diplomat. Ziva's stomach rolled. "It's deplorable, of course. But these are cunning, connected men. One woman alone cannot bring down such a beast."

As if on cue, well, most likely on cue, a courier poked his head into her office. Ziva gave the young man a tight smile and signed for the envelope.

A moment later, Eli confirmed that she'd received the documents.

"As you are well aware, yes." Ziva opened the envelope with the knife she kept secured under her desk, an overly effective letter opener, and pulled a stack of folders from inside.

"Good," Eli paused, "If you need anything else…"

"I know, Abba," Ziva replied with a soft voice. She was learning to receive whatever gifts her father had to offer. They would never be in the form of apology, acceptance, or understanding. But he was all she had left, after all. "Thank you."

"Be careful, Ziva." The call ended with a click. As much affection as she would ever get from Eli.

Ziva held her phone in her hand as her eyes took in the wealth of information provided. Surely she needed to call Detective DiNozzo. Her finger hesitated over the touchscreen. She wouldn't mind calling him. She had enjoyed their vaguely flirtatious interactions so far. But another part of her, the part that still would be ever grateful to Jenny for all that she had done, felt the need to protect her friend at all costs.

Pushing aside the notes she'd been compiling for her next lecture, Ziva began to spread out the files her father had sent. There were slim files on Nathan Walker and Andrew Daniels. Under those, she found a heftier folder on Anthony DiNozzo Jr. She paused at Tony's. She contemplated the thick file. It clearly held all she would ever want to know about the alluring detective. She tested its weight in her hands, wondered what could possibly be contained inside. From experience, she knew it could just be pages of illuminating but ultimately mundane information—academic transcripts, job applications, performance reviews. Or, it could tell her more than she ever wanted to know. All the bad decisions he'd made in his life. All the deep dark secrets of his family, his past. Without a doubt, that charming smile of his had gotten him in trouble more than once.

She thought back to her conversation with her father. She wondered what terrible things her own file would contain if someone could actually get past all the black lines.

Ziva made a face to no one in particular. She stacked Tony's file with Nathan's and shoved them both in the back of her filing cabinet.

She flopped back down in her desk chair. She ran her fingers over Jenny's file. An invasion of her friend's privacy, yes. But Jenny was hiding things. Things that put Emma's life in danger. Things that caused an innocent young man to die.

Her stomach clenched. She bit her lip.

Sometimes one had to keep in mind that her actions were helping the greater good, right? Isn't that what her father would say?

She opened the file.

Thursday

DiNozzo and Walker had returned to the colonial house that had become so familiar the last few days. They had scheduled another interview with Jenny Shepard. There had been a long debate between the partners on whether they should bring her down to the station or not but, in the end, it'd seemed best to try and talk to her on familiar ground, keep her defenses down, with the hope that she would share more.

"How is Emma?" Walker inquired, sipping at the coffee Jenny had provided. It certainly tasted better than the station rotgut they usually had to drink.

"Holding it together. Thank you for asking. Her father is taking her to his family's vacation home for a few days, just to keep her away from all of this." Jenny hadn't touched her own coffee. She ran a manicured finger over the mug handle as if she might grip it, but the impulse was fleeting. Aside from that tell of nervousness, Jenny looked otherwise put together—hair and makeup in place, expensive suit on. She was back to work at both the university and the nonprofits she worked with.

"Sounds like a good idea," Tony affirmed, earning a shaky smile from Jenny.

"You're here to ask me more questions." As she spoke, any anxiety she had seemed to melt away. This was a woman accustomed to running the conversation; showing any sort of weakness was unacceptable. Jenny leveled them each with a piercing stare.

"Yes. Our investigation has become focused on your involvement with North Star. It seems likely some of your work there may have pissed off the wrong people. That the death of Officer Daniels and the attempted kidnapping of your daughter was part of a retaliation plot." Tony was a fan of laying his cards on the table, seeing how his interviewee reacted. It never failed to stir things up a bit.

Jenny, for her part, remained stone-faced. "I see. Any idea who I might've rubbed the wrong way? I tend to speak my mind. I ruffle a lot of feathers."

"That's where we need your support, Dr. Shepard," Walker urged. Whereas Tony used his expression to convey irritation and skepticism, Nathan went for humble. Sometimes, it worked. People with power liked to flash it around. Sometimes all they needed was a good excuse. Like appeasing Walker's hangdog face.

Sitting back, Jenny took a deep breath. Tony's eyebrows went up. Surely, Jenny was smarter than that? "You understand much of the work we do with our survivors falls under confidentiality?"

Sniffing weakness, Tony held up a finger. "You are neither a therapist nor a lawyer. You have no legal obligation to keep details relevant to a criminal investigation confidential."

"I have a moral obligation," Jenny scoffed. "What limited information I have regarding the day to day workings of North Star was shared as professional courtesy. I'm not about to jeopardize the safety of my women or staff by disclosing it unnecessarily."

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes. Sensing that his partner was about to explode with annoyance, Walker took over.

"We would just like to know if anything has ruffled your feathers recently," Nathan said, his voice calm. Jenny visibly relaxed as she turned towards him. "You could save us a lot of legwork by pointing us in the right direction. The clock is ticking. In all likelihood, the man who did this was a hired pro and is long gone by now. We'll do our best to catch him. That said, whoever hired him is still out there too. And we cannot keep you or your daughter safe until we figure out who that is."

Tony swooped in the for the kill. "Special Agent Todd from the task force is a friend and she is pulling together cases you've been personally involved in that may have touched a nerve. We will get this information eventually."

Her gaze vacillating between them, Jenny swallowed. She touched a delicate hand to the cross on her neck. A touchstone, it seemed. "I'm the board president. I help shape the nonprofit's policies and agendas. On occasion, I throw rubber chicken dinners and answer phones. I'm not directly involved in any of the day-to-day. However, my name is public record, so perhaps someone is mistaken."

"No," Tony shook his head, almost appreciating Jenny's state of delusion. "This is personal."

"Dr. Shepard, are you sure there haven't been any suspicious phone calls? Strongly worded emails? Anything that felt off?" Walker continued down the nice cop route.

"I assure you, detectives, I would not withhold that information if I had it." Jenny smoothed her hands over her unwrinkled slacks and stood up.

Tony smiled up at her, all teeth and sarcasm. "Then you'd be willing to let us dig around a bit? You know, emails, calendars and the like?"

Leaning back on the sofa, Jenny demurred, offering up an icy grin of her own. "My calendar is kept by my administrative assistant. You can access that through her."

"Your personal calendar?"

She laughed. "My personal calendar is limited to ballet and soccer with the occasional play date. You can take that if you want. It's the one with all the stickers on it, hanging on the fridge."

Walker gave her a smile of understanding and stood up as well, understanding the interview had run its course. Tony remained seated. He wasn't done yet. "Your emails? Paperwork from North Star?"

"Is private. If you want that, you can get a court order," Jenny said curtly. She cleared her throat and gestured toward the door.

Tony looked up at her with wide eyes. "That won't be difficult."

"How nice for you."

Walker laughed, gesturing for Tony to follow him as he made his way toward the door. "All right, Dr. Shepard. If you think of anything else, please call."

"Certainly," she promised, winning smile back in place. As she ushered the men out, she added one last remark. "Though, gentlemen, when you do go hacking through my organization, please be discrete. The work we do… It's bigger than any of this."

Tony frowned, ready to push his way back into the house and start up their meandering discussion all over again. "A man is dead."

Walker nudged his partner. "Understood, ma'am."

With a nod and another feline smile, Jenny shut the door on them.

Turning to his partner, Tony made a face. "I do love a cooperative witness."

"Nah, I don't think she's hiding anything," Walker shook his head, snatching the keys DiNozzo tossed in the air. Tony sulked. "Not intentionally at least."

"Something's fishy though," Tony observed as he climbed into the passenger seat. He ran back through the interview in his mind, trying to catch something he might've missed. Jenny's professional demeanor wasn't surprising or unexpected. Still, the distance with which she seemed to hold herself from Monday's events was disconcerting. She had to be hiding something or protecting someone. There was no other reason for her to be so relaxed about the investigation. She was a mother whose child was threatened. The fact that she wasn't camped out in their bullpen awaiting answers was a big red flag.

"Oh yeah," Walker agreed as he started the car. "Let's go get that court order."

Ziva's lips were starting to hurt from the fake smile on her face. Nothing was worse than these alumni donor events. She'd debated skipping out on the night altogether and curling up in bed with a book and glass of wine. After her week so far, she was certain she deserved it. But she wasn't tenured and her department was generally underfunded and the first to face cuts during a budget crisis. She had to play nice.

When she'd first been appointed to a faculty position, she'd been excited by the prospect of mingling with other academics and donors. Ziva always liked meeting new people. After all, she was skilled in gaining trust and building rapport; it was never difficult for her to make a connection. She liked to hear other people's stories, and that happened a lot at these events. She liked to know how all these patrons and professors got from here to there, what twists and turns their life took. It was what had drawn her into literature studies to begin with—even though she studied fiction, she still related to the struggles of the protagonists she read. She appreciated their inner-monologue; it gave her insight into her own transformation, strength when she felt defeated. The characters were there as she slowly began to rebuild and repair her soul.

These events, at first, seemed a culmination of that. A chance to put on a little black dress and heels and mingle with others who had made it, too. Problem was, after a few loops around the room and not nearly enough complimentary wine; Ziva realized her expectations of these events were far too lofty. Fellow faculty were on schmooze auto-pilot, either completely burned out on networking or hoping to ass-kiss their way into a tenured position or to at least score a big donation for their department. Most of the alumni came back to flaunt their wealth and status, something they likely had all along. The most interesting conversation she'd had tonight was with the bartender.

Ziva found herself no longer searching for a conversation to edge her way into, but for a white-shirted waiter with a fresh tray of crab cakes. The crab cakes might actually be worth the four-inch heels.

Of course, standing between her and breaded-bliss was Jackson Ellis. Jackson (never Jack) believed himself to be God's gift to the Classics department. She'd been suckered into his trap at her first faculty event, losing a solid hour to him reciting Sappho in both English and Greek. With his long, perfectly unkempt salt and pepper hair, he was attractive to be sure, but his ego needed its own zip code. Seeing his wolfish grin directed her way, she felt inclined to give him a swift knee to the unmentionables, but he had pull with the Dean and Ziva was just a measly associate professor. One of the few downsides to her new career was how poorly the occasional violent outburst was received.

"Ziva!" Jackson waved, taking his sweet time in approaching her. She smiled her most standoffish smile and waited. She raised her eyebrow to signal her impatience when he stopped to flirt with a septuagenarian.

"Ziva, darling," he drawled as he finally found his way to her, pulling her in to kiss each cheek. "My favorite feminist."

"I bet you say that to all the women of my department," Ziva said in her most saccharine voice. She discretely put a foot of distance between herself and the lothario.

Jackson laughed. "Only the feisty ones. I do believe I owe you a drink?"

Keeping an icy smile on her face, Ziva pretended to think. "I actually do not think that you do."

Her mistake was playing hard to get. Jackson's green eyes flashed in interest as he leaned in closer. She tried not to wince at the heavy smell of whiskey on his breath. "I will gladly suffer the inconvenience then. Another glass of white?"

And then, blessedly, her phone buzzed in her clutch. She made a show of the intrusion, acting like it was highly inconvenient, and checked the number. Unknown. "Oh! I apologize. I have to take this call. Excuse me."

Before he could say anything in response, she hurried off. In a pinch, she could still run in stilettos.

"Ziva David," she answered as she made it out of the bustling room.

"Oh! Oh, thank God, Ziva…"

Frowning at the unfamiliar voice, Ziva stepped into a dark alcove and strained to hear. "Who is this?"

"It's…Maritza. My name is Maritza. Oh, thank God, thank God… Jenny said you would help," the voice, clearly a young female, broke into sobs now. Ziva closed her eyes, hoping this wasn't going where it felt like it was going. "Please, you have to help…She said if I couldn't reach her- you have to help me!" The last word hit a hysterical register.

Ziva's mind raced. "Calm down, Maritza. Take a deep breath."

The girl complied but then started talking quickly again. "Please! Hurry! I…I ran away but he… You have to come! I have no money, nowhere to go, please…"

The cocktail reception behind her faded to static. Ziva focused intently on the voice on the phone, trying to pick up on any clues, any bits of information that might be offered up. "Where are you?"

"A diner on the corner of 14th and Florida. Columbia Heights, I think. They let me use their phone."

"Okay, Maritza, I will be there as soon as I can. Are you safe? Were you followed?"

This seemed to escalate the girl's hysteria. "I… I… I don't think so. I don't know."

"All right. Good. You need to hang up the phone and go hide in the bathroom until I come for you, okay?" She assumed the pause meant the girl was nodding. "Good. Dangle tight and I will be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," Maritza whimpered, "Thank you, thank you…"

Ziva hung up her phone. Mentally, she pulled up the city grid and plotted out the fastest way to get to her target. To Maritza.

Dammit, what the hell did Jenny get her into?

Thanks for reading! Sorry this was low on the Tiva, but there will be lots more next time. I promise. Let me know what you think!