"Hey, Morgan," McGee said. He turned to the female agent occupying the other couch in the shabby living room. "Agent Woodson."

Woodson nodded a greeting. She was bored out of her mind and her charge had barely said a word all night or all morning. Woodson knew the woman had been raped and was probably going through hell so she let her be.

"Are you here to stay?" Woodson asked, realizing the time.

McGee checked his watch. 0800. "I'll be here a while so you can go."

"Thanks," Woodson said, jumping up and stretching. "I hope we nail this bastard for you, Lance Cpl. Kessler."

Morgan mumbled something that sounded like "thanks" as Woodson left the small house.

"Everything okay?" McGee asked, taking a seat and spreading the files on the battle-scarred coffee table. "Did she upset you?"

Morgan sighed. "No. She was fine. She tried to talk to me, but all I got from her was the victim vibe. I felt like she was just glad it wasn't her that got ... well, raped."

"Victim vibe?" McGee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Morgan laughed but there was no humor in it. "Just this feeling I got a lot when my boyfriend raped me and tried to kill me. I told you about that last night, didn't I?"

McGee nodded. They had talked about a lot the previous night, and that probably had a lot to do with why he felt like he had known her for years.

"Morgan, I need you to look at these photos and tell me if you know any of these people."

"Suspects?" Morgan asked, sitting up straighter.

"Maybe," McGee said, outlining their rape theory.

Morgan made an odd little noise and McGee frowned. "What it is?"

"It's disgusting really," Morgan said wearily. "So many rape victims on one base. I guess it should make me feel like I'm not alone, but it just makes me sick."

"I'm sorry, Morgan," McGee said, scooting closer to the woman and putting a hand on her knee.

She tried to smile at him, but it came out all wrong. She knew it so she buried her face in his shoulder. He put his arms around her shaking body, letting her cry. He didn't say anything because he was afraid it would be wrong no matter what it was. He stroked her back and relished the warmth and closeness of her body even as he scolded himself for doing so. He half-expected DiNozzo to come strolling through the door with some smart comment.

Shut up, Tim, he told himself, Tony covered for you this morning and got on Gibbs' bad side for his trouble... for you.

"Oh hell," Morgan said, sitting up and wiping her eyes. "What am I doing? We need to find this guy and I'm sitting here bawling my eyes out."

McGee smiled. "You're a good person, Morgan."

She managed a real smile at that. "So who are these suspects?"

McGee reached forward and picked up a file. "Psychologist Franklin Plassmann is one of them. Do you know him?"

Morgan shook her head. "Nope."

"What about a counselor named Dennis Cielo?"

"No, don't know him."

"Chaplain Alexander Karras?"

She frowned. "I'm not exactly what you'd call spiritual."

"Satanist?" McGee joked.

"Ha. No, I'm just not ... sure I believe in a higher power."

"Understandable," McGee said, removing the photos from the files.

"Well, no," Morgan said. "It's not just the rapes. I mean, I'm sure that'd be enough for most people to give up on God--or a god--but I've just never been religious. My parents weren't, either."

"You've got lots of company there," McGee said. "I need you to look at these photos. I know your attacker was wearing a mask, but maybe you'll recognize something. Okay?"

She nodded, looking at the photos like they were live serpents. McGee laid them in front of her and she shuddered.

"Morgan?" he asked, his voice rising in excitement. "Do you recognize someone?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just that one of these men could have raped me and if I ran into him on the street, I'd never even know." She looked up at McGee with eyes glistening with tears. "Oh, Tim. How am I ever going to feel safe again?"

He folded her into his arms again, feeling like she fit perfectly. "I'll keep you safe, Morgan. I promise I will."

***

Tony and Ziva returned from the interrogation rooms where the three suspects were divided to find Gibbs standing beside his desk, reading a letter with a scowl on his face.

"Boss?" Tony ventured uncertainly.

Gibbs looked up, the rage in his eyes stopping his team in their tracks.

"What is it, Gibbs?" Tony asked again.

"It's a note from our killer," Gibbs said, and they noticed the gloves on his hands. He held the note by its corner and let his team read the short missives.

I know she's alive.
I know you have her.
She's mine.

"How does he know?" Ziva asked, drawing a glare from Gibbs.

"It's been on the news, Ziva," Tony said quietly. "They released information that a victim was attacked but survived and is now in protective custody." A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. "SecNav probably ordered it to ease the tension on base."

Gibbs nodded a confirmation. "DiNozzo, take this down to Abby and take Cielo when you're done. David, you've got Plassmann. I'll take Karras."

DiNozzo nodded, took the letter—holding it with the glove Gibbs had slipped off—and moved toward interrogation, only to stop after about five steps. "That letter come by mail?"

"No," Gibbs said, the corner of his mouth ticking upward at his agent's line of thinking. He saw the wheels turning in Ziva's head and let her work out what DiNozzo had already figured.

"First victim was attacked on Halloween," Ziva said, thinking out loud. "That was Saturday. Second victim on Sunday. Kessler on Monday night. When did they release the information about her being alive?"

"It made the early morning news Tuesday—yesterday," Gibbs said.

"He couldn't have mailed it," Ziva said. "Not enough time."

Gibbs nodded. "FedEx'ed it. I already checked. It originated in a dropbox in the middle of the city. Untraceable. Return address is fake."

That lead exhausted, the team went their separate ways, all hoping the same thing: that Abby could pull something useful off the brazen note.