A/N: Hehehe. Today, we get some answers from a certain Wilcox brother - and also, we see a very firm step in...something. You'll find out what that something is in the last scene of this chapter.

Thanks to my two reviewers DizzyDrea and leath, and thanks to kateadams for adding this story to favorites.

This is the longest chapter yet, so...buckle up and enjoy the ride.

Chapter Six

15:30, October 31; Abby's Lab, NCIS Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

Abby was boxing up some evidence in her lab when Tony and Ziva came in, arguing loudly.

"It was not necessary to stop for that doughnut!" Ziva was saying irritably.

"Hey, I was hungry; I was getting low on blood sugar," Tony countered. "Believe me, you do not want to see me when I'm low on blood sugar."

"I'd rather see you low than high," Ziva retorted. "When you have sugar in you you act like a kid with too many sweets."

"Ouch, that hurts."

"Hey, guys," Abby said brightly. Tony stopped dead in his tracks; then he smiled.

"I see what Palmer and McGeek were going on about," he said. "Awesome costume, Abby."

Abby grinned and swished her Batgirl cape. "Thank you, Tony. What do you have for me?"

In response, Tony held up a slip of paper. "That's the address Lockwood used to contact Kendall Wilcox," he told her as she took it from him. "We need you to track it."

"And here I was hoping you were going to give me something challenging." Abby smirked as she took the address to her computer and typed it in. "Why'd you come all the way down to my lab, though? McGee could have easily done it."

Tony hesitated. "Well, I…" he began.

"He wanted to see your costume." Ziva barely paused before adding, "And he wanted to question you about McGee."

Abby didn't even look away from her computer. "What about McGee?"

"You know what?" said Tony with a chuckle. "It doesn't matter. Forget it."

Abby stopped her typing to stare at him, the challenge clear in her eyes. "Tony. What. About. McGee?"

"Um…" Tony shuffled about. He was starting to think this wasn't a good idea.

Fortunately for him, just at that moment, Abby's computer beeped and she turned her attention to it; what she saw excited her to such an extent that she forgot all about Tony's question.

"Okay, Kendall Wilcox just logged on to his email," she reported quickly, typing away. "I'm triangulating his position right now…and…got it!" she crowed jubilantly. "I have an address. Cyber café on the Southwest Waterfront."

"This is streaming live?" Ziva asked.

"Of course."

"Let's go," said Tony, already moving, his phone out to call Gibbs.

NYPD Precinct, New York

Vincent Wilcox was forty-two years old – still fairly young by today's standards – but his Huntington's made him seem older than he was. There were tired, age-worn wear lines on his skin, and he had trouble controlling his limbs to do even the littlest things. His face was haggard and wrinkled, his body weak…Danny might actually have felt sorry for him, if it wasn't for the fact that he'd played a large part in Leah Jasper's death.

Besides, Vincent Wilcox might look dull and weary, but his eyes were still bright and alert – they possessed an intelligent spark that showed the man he was beneath his careworn mask. Vincent Wilcox was not a man who had given up hope – he was a man who still had something to fight for, and make no doubt he was fighting for it. His attendance at the Huntington's trial at the Lutheran Medical Center proved that.

But believe it or not, that was a good thing. People who fought, fought because they still believed they had a chance. They had a certain amount of faith that enabled them to fight, whereas a person who had given up all hope was just…empty.

There was a reason spy agencies prized employees who no longer had anything to lose. People who had given up had nothing left to fight for themselves – they fought what their superiors told them to fight. People who had nothing to lose would see no reason to bargain for anything – because they didn't have anything worth enough to them to bargain for. They couldn't be broken – because they already were broken.

On the other hand, people who still fought – they still had hope. They didn't fight simply because their superiors told them too. They had their own battles to fight. They would bargain.

They could be broken.

While it was actually quite a cruel cycle, in this instance, it worked in their favor – because Vincent Wilcox could be pressured to give them information they needed. Vincent Wilcox could be broken, and then they would be that much closer to solving the biggest case they'd ever had.

And what made it even better was that they had an ace in the hole.

"You killed a woman five days ago," Danny informed Vincent coldly, slapping a crime scene photo of Leah Jasper down in front of him. "I wanna know why."

Vincent took one look at the photo and pushed it away. "That's what this is about?" He sniffed. "I didn't kill that woman, Detective."

"Ah, now, see – that'syou lying through your teeth to me," Danny told him. "Lying to a police officer – I can book you on obstruction of justice right now, but I'm not gonna bother, 'cause we have you" – he jabbed a finger in Vincent's direction – "on her murder." He pointed at the photo, not missing the way Vincent flinched when he did. "Murder in the first degree, by the way. That's the term we use for premeditated homicide. You went to that hotel with the intention of killing her."

"I did not kill that woman," Vincent insisted.

"Her name," Danny went on, ignoring him, "was Leah Jasper. She was a lieutenant-colonel in the United States Navy. A Marine."

"I didn't kill her."

"She had friends and family who cared about her. She was a Bronze Star recipient. She served her country to the best of her ability. And you killed her – but not before you tortured her."

"I didn't!"

"You really made her suffer, didn't you?" Danny opened the Jasper case file and read from Sid's autopsy report. "Numerous bruises, multiple lacerations, two fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, internal bleeding…I could go on."

"You've got this all wrong!"

"And when that all didn't work," Danny continued, raising his voice to match Vincent's increasing pitch, "you found something else to get her to talk. You turned her own swimming cap into a method of torture. You filled it with water from the pool and forced it over her head until she was choking for breath. Only you held it down too long, didn't you?"

"I. Didn't. Kill her!"

"See, drowning's a very precise form of torture," said Danny. "You've gotta cut off the air flow for just long enough to make your victim suffer, but you have to let them take a breath before they suffocate to death. There's a fine line between leaving your victim suffering but alive, and leaving them dead. I'm guessing your Huntington's made it difficult for you to remove the cap when you should have, and so instead of torturing Leah, you killed her. She drowned and cut short your torture session because you held the cap down too long."

"I tell you I didn't!" Vincent shouted.

"And when you realized she was dead," Danny pushed on relentlessly, "you carved the 'M' into her leg and slipped this into the wound." He slid the plastic evidence bag containing the note across the table. "You can't see the message now 'cause you cleverly decided to write it in invisible ink, but you and I both know what it says."

"I didn't do any of those things!" Vincent burst out, jumping up violently from his chair. "I didn't sneak into the hotel; I didn't tie up Leah; I didn't torture her; and I most definitely did not kill her!"

"Sit down!" Danny ordered angrily. Vincent reluctantly lowered himself back in the chair, trying to still his shaking limbs. "You just admitted your guilt, Vincent. I never said anything about Jasper being tied up."

"Listen to me closely, Detective, because this is the last time I'm going to say it. I. Did. Not. Kill. Leah!"

"Yeah, you're right," said Danny coldly. "That's the last time you're gonna say it, because you did kill Leah…and do everything I've just described to you." He withdrew two sheets of paper from the case file and showed them to Vincent. "You see that?" he asked, pointing to the DNA and fingerprint analysis Adam had performed. "The DNA and fingerprints we took from you is an exact match to what we found at the crime scene – and that result right there proves it."

Vincent stared at the paper, his face paling suddenly.

"We have you at the scene, Vincent!" Danny said loudly. "We've got your fingerprints on Jasper's wallet and your blood on her towel. She went down fighting, didn't she? Gave you that cut on your face." He looked pointedly at the healing wound on Vincent's jaw. When Vincent didn't speak, he said, "You killed Leah Jasper, Vincent, and we know it. You can hire the best criminal defense attorney you want – the court is not gonna dispute evidence this solid. What you can do is give us information we want right now, and I can arrange for certain privileges for you in prison. Maybe they'll even let you out once a week to attend that drug trial of yours."

"I don't have anything you'd want to know," Vincent said sullenly.

"No?" said Danny. "How about Judge Gates' murder? Let's start with that."

Vincent laughed harshly. "You want to know who killed the judge? Go talk to Janice Bright. She was the one who gave me that note to put in the Marine bitch in the first place. She said she'd love to do it herself, but she had somewhere to be. Three days later the judge responsible for her conviction turns up dead. So you tell me, Detective – who should you be investigating?"

Danny's face was hard as he said, "Thanks for the tip. Anything else?"

"Yeah," said Vincent, his cocky, no-one-can-touch-me attitude returning all of a sudden. "You're never gonna get a conviction to stick. My family's got connections in high places, and they have ways of getting what they want. You just watch – I'll walk out of the court room scot free."

"If you mean your brother, we've got federal agents hot on his tail in D.C.," said Danny. "He's not gonna be able to bail you out."

Vincent snorted. "I'm not talking about Kendall. You clearly know nothing if you think I'm expecting him to help."

Danny frowned. This was news. "What do you mean?"

"You're the detective. Figure it out. I'm not saying another word."

Losing his temper at last, Danny called for the officers outside the door. "Get this joker outta my face."

Washington, D.C.

"Look, look," Tony said, directing a subtle gaze at the man on the computer to his right. "There he is."

"Kendall Wilcox." Ziva was careful to keep her voice low. "Gibbs, we have eyes on the suspect."

"Surround him and close in," Gibbs commanded over the comms.

Tony and Ziva separated to flank Kendall's left and right, while Gibbs and McGee entered the cyber café and unobtrusively moved to cut him off.

"Kendall Wilcox?" Gibbs asked once he was right on top of him.

Kendall startled and was out of his chair and running to his side in a flash. Tony blocked his path.

"Easy there," he said mockingly. "You don't wanna hurt yourself."

Moving faster than someone with Huntington's should be able to, Kendall switched direction and rammed into McGee, who was unable to get his weapon out in time. Instead, the computer genius was the one who ended up pinned against Kendall with a gun pressed to his temple.

"Let me go," Kendall demanded while the rest of the café panicked, "or I'll kill him." His voice was shaky, but his resolve was steel. He would blow McGee's head off if they didn't find a way to neutralize him.

"Drop the gun, Kendall," Gibbs ordered. He, Tony, and Ziva were all aiming their guns straight at Kendall.

"I will do it," Kendall said, squishing McGee tighter against him. "I swear I will."

Unfortunately for Kendall – and luckily for the agents – his Huntington's chose to intervene just then. The hand that was clenching the gun spasmed and shook; the gun dropped to the floor. McGee took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs while Ziva moved in to restrain his arms behind his back.

"You okay, Tim?" Tony inquired, still pointing his gun.

"Yeah, I'm good," McGee replied. He was remarkably calm, considering he'd just had a gun pointed at his head. "Let's get him back to HQ."

"But it doesn't make any sense!" Abby complained to Adam via the video conference call the two analysts had set up to talk about the latest developments in their departments' separate cases. "The hair we got from Daniel Wells' body came back a match to the DNA from the Jasper crime scene, which would mean that that hair had to travel from New York to D.C. But since Kendall Wilcox was the one who made the trip, and not Vincent, how the heck did Vincent Wilcox's hair end up on Wells?"

Adam, on his end, looked just as stumped. "Maybe Kendall was at the Jasper crime scene," he suggested hesitantly.

"He wasn't the one who bled there, Adam," Abby pointed out. "You guys confirmed that Vincent Wilcox was the donor of the blood on the towel and the fingerprints on Jasper's wallet. And Kendall doesn't have a wound on his body – he couldn't have been at the crime scene."

"Secondary transfer?" Adam proposed.

"Possible," Abby conceded, "but what are the odds of Vincent's hair being transferred from him to Kendall, all the way to D.C., to Wells' killer, to Wells? It should have fallen off long before it reached Wells."

"You're sure the hair was from Wells and not from someone or something else?"

"Positive," Abby confirmed. "And besides, none of us even met Vincent Wilcox."

Adam shrugged helplessly. But before he could say anything else, Abby suddenly brightened. "Oh, wait a minute – I think I know."

"What?" Adam asked.

"I'll tell you when I confirm," Abby told him. She cut off his protests by terminating the call.

McGee came in just then, and Abby spun to face him, concern written all over her face.

"McGee!" she exclaimed, running over to hug him. He smiled.

"Hey, Abby."

"Are you okay?" she inquired anxiously.

"How did you –" he began, but when she raised her eyebrow, he decided not to continue. "I'm fine," he assured her.

"Oh, good." Abby breathed a huge sigh of relief. "In that case…"

She smacked him across the face. Startled, McGee reached up to rub his cheek.

"Ow! What was that for?" he demanded.

"That was for getting yourself into danger," she told him.

"But I didn't –" he started to object; but she hushed him with a wave of her hand and a commanding "Shh!".

"And this," she continued in a softer tone, a smile spreading across her face, "is for safely getting yourself out of it."

And she kissed him soundly on the lips.

"Abby," he murmured when she pulled away, "you know it wasn't my fault, right? And I didn't exactly do anything to make him drop the gun…"

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, cocking her head slightly. Then she kissed him again.

A/N: Oh, yup! I'm a McAbby fan =) They should so get back together on the show.