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Chapter 10

"No one can just disappear, dammit." Gibbs was pissed.

Ziva watched her boss as he stabbed at a plate full of congealing scrambled eggs. She shared a look with McGee before she turned her attention to her bran muffin. Gibbs mood had not improved overnight. They were all frustrated after several encouraging sightings came to nothing but Gibbs was the only one to vocalize just how pissed they felt.

She broke a piece off her muffin and thoughtfully chewed. She'd been biding her time because she knew how Gibbs would react to what she'd been planning to say for days now, but she hadn't been able to sleep for over-thinking and she realized couldn't put it off any longer. She swallowed the dry cake and looked at her boss.

"Do you think what we're doing is right?" she asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and gave her a stare.

"What?" He said it quietly but the steel was there.

"Quite clearly, Tony does not want to be found. We have been searching for weeks now, and he has left us no crumbs to follow, no clues, nothing. He has done everything in his power to stop us tracking him down…so, searching for him, is that right thing to do when he obviously does not want us to find him? " She paused, waiting for the eruption.

Gibbs threw his fork down on his plate. It clattered down and scattered yellow globules of egg across the Formica tabletop.

McGee looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.

"So you're saying we just give up, huh? Just leave him be, even though we all damn well know he's not making the right decisions right now? Is that what Mossad teaches you--when the going gets tough you bail on a colleague? " he barked.

Ziva felt herself grow so angry at the insinuation that she didn't care. "That's not what I mean at all! I care about Tony, we all do, but maybe this is something he needs to do by himself. Maybe he needs time away from us."

Gibbs looked ready to blow. "Why would you think that, Officer Davide?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Ziva wasn't easily intimidated so his tone just angered her more. Gibbs was too busy fluffing up his feathers and wasn't listening to what she was actually saying.

"I think he does not want us to find him because we are part of the problem."

There, she'd said it.

Gibbs was silent but he was staring at her. If his eyes could shoot fire she'd be dead.

"What?" McGee looked confused.

Ziva slapped her hand down on the table.

"Oh, come on, we have all been treating him badly…and we don't even realize we are doing it."

She waved a hand at Gibbs.

"You take him for granted. You make him beg for every morsel of praise, you yell at him all the time even when he has done nothing wrong, you show him no respect even though he is your second, so why should anyone else."

She didn't give him time to respond before she turned to McGee.

"And for a long time now you've questioned everything he says and try to undermine him at every turn like you feel superior to him. You clearly resent that he is a senior agent, and he knows it."

McGee flushed red.

Ziva crumbled her muffin into crumbs.

"And I have been just as bad. I mess with his head and don't listen to him even though I know he is trying to help me. I think I know better."

She looked up at Gibbs and McGee.

"We all treat him like he is a wayward child but I think we forget what he's been through the past few years and instead of showing him how much we needed him on the team we kept pushing and pushing and we failed to take in consideration that he has a breaking point like everybody else. To us Tony was just Tony, the fool, the one that makes us laugh."

Gibbs slammed his cup down on the table.

"I'm sorry but I believe that is why he left and that is why he hasn't contacted us. We pushed him to this. We let him down." Ziva sighed, suddenly feeling deflated, all anger gone.

Gibbs stood up and pushed his chair across the floor with a screech that sounded like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. He threw down a wad of money and stalked out of the diner.

She watched McGee shred the label on his bottle of orange juice. He looked like he was trying to work out if he was going to burst into tears or join Gibbs in a walkout.

That went well, she thought.

Tony woke up suddenly and looked around the room, faintly disorientated. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his gritty eyes. He swept his tongue around his teeth. Something appeared to have died in his mouth overnight.

He went to roll over and quickly realized that he wasn't alone. He pulled his arm from around Andrea's curled-up form next to him and watched her sleep. That surprised him. He would have expected her to run a mile as soon as she could. Finding your fuck-buddy comatose on the floor would be enough to kind of put a crimp on the whole deal but there she was, sound asleep in his bed.

The sun was bright and streamed through the curtains. He checked his watch--damn, it was late but after the night they'd had he wasn't shocked that they had slept until midday.

He did a mental check. Still dressed, which was depressingly becoming the norm. He felt like crap. His skull and brain felt bruised and every muscle in his body seemed to ache. He wasn't sure if that was due to the night or the start of withdrawal setting in. By now he would usually be half way down a bottle of scotch.

He felt deep shame as he remembered having to be walked around the room by Samuel and Bill like a drunken teenager after his first taste of the keg. They had kept him up most of the night when all he'd wanted to do was sleep. Then there had been the endless glasses of water he'd been forced to drink to flush his system and Andrea's hands rubbing his back as he'd vomited and vomited until he'd thought he'd just die from that alone.

As the night had worn on he'd done a lot of apologizing, sign of weakness be damned. He'd known close friends that wouldn't have put up with all the shit he'd thrown at them last night. They would have just called an ambulance and made him someone else's problem, so the fact that three relative strangers stepped up to the plate counted in his book.

He still couldn't believe he'd done something so fucking stupid.

He wasn't some idiot kid acting out for attention. It hadn't been a cry for help.

He knew full well how pain meds slewed his judgment, he should have been more careful but intelligence and clear thought went out the window after the first few tablets and several tumblers full of spirits. Everything seemed comfortably distant, cause and consequence went to hell. Until you woke up on the floor with someone having to jumpstart your heart with Amyl Nitrate--then suddenly it all seemed very real.

Tony slid out of the bed carefully as to not wake Andrea.

He crept into the bathroom and undressed. He smelt so rank that he was offending himself let alone anyone else. He dumped his clothes into the corner of the room to worry about them later and stepped in front of the mirror.

He ran a hand over his face and stared. He filled the sink with warm water and lathered up his hands, he rubbed the suds into his face. He picked up the cheap disposable razor he'd bought the first week he'd arrived and ignoring his shaking hand he dragged it up his neck. He rinsed the razor in the sink and continued. Five minutes later his face looked an angry cat had shred it but he looked more human.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, not adding cold, just letting the scalding water warm his chilled bones.

He stood under the water as long as he could stand it, his skin red and raw, but he felt clean when he eventually shut the water off.

He dried himself and walked back naked to the bedroom, steadfastly ignoring the bottle of whisky and the prescription meds that still sat on the table. He really felt like he needed a drink or something to take the edge off, and that's when he realized he had a major problem.

But he kind of liked the fact that no one had removed the offending items even after the debacle last night. For so long he hadn't felt the master of his own destiny. He'd become a puppet and it seemed like people took turns to shove their hands up his ass to work him, constantly telling him what to do, how to do it and when. So the fact that they'd left the decision up to him was refreshing.

To be or not to be…that is the question.

Quoting Hamlet to himself. If only McGee could see him now, from Pee Wee Herman to Shakespeare by way of overdose.

He eased himself back under the covers, curling his body around Andrea's back, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to try and retain the rapidly cooling warmth he felt in his body. She let out a little snuffle and shifted against him but didn't wake. He tucked her head under his chin and breathed in the lemony scent of her shampoo.

It felt good, comfortable. It wasn't real but he pretended to himself it was, tried to convince himself that he wasn't shaking like a dipsomaniac and this was not the woman he was having a highly dysfunctional relationship with. Nope, this was just another normal, happy day. As he fell into a fitful asleep he wondered once again where the hell he was going from here.

They said that the truth hurt.

It was true.

It did.

The more McGee thought about what Ziva had said the more he realized that she'd spoken the truth no matter how outraged he'd been at the time.

Yes, Tony irritated him sometimes, that was a given. When he was in one of his moods he could put a kindergarten kid to shame with his antics, so it was difficult sometimes not to snap at all the 'probie' and 'Mc' nicknames. But with Ziva laying it out like she had, he realized that he did often cross the line where Tony was concerned with comments that were sharp and overly derogatory--but he couldn't help getting frustrated that Tony still treated him like he was green. He'd gotten used to being looked up to when he worked in Cyber Crime, so it had been difficult to return back to being a junior member on the team. What he'd conveniently forgotten was the way he'd ribbed the guys down in the basement a la Tony and how much fun it had been to do so.

He supposed also that deep down he could never really figure out why Tony was held in such high esteem as an agent. He heard people talk about some of his undercover work like he was a God but all he could really see most of the time was an immature guy who threw spitballs.

McGee put his head in his hands.

For all of Tony's unique and irritating ways, the man had always been there for him and how did he repay him? By retaliating badly to his playful banter and twisting the knife.

He'd been blind-sighted by his own ambition into forgetting all the times Tony's jokes and stupid actions had diffused many a dark situation, forgotten all the times Tony had shown that he was indeed the better agent. But added to that Tony had a fierce courage that made his gut clench because he knew that no matter how long he spent in the field, for all his knowledge of computer systems, he didn't think he'd ever be so cool under fire.

Ziva was right. He had thought he would make a better senior agent but if he really looked into himself, in reality he couldn't see himself doing half the stuff DiNozzo had.

Tony had the street smarts that he could never hope to achieve.

McGee swallowed hard. He'd be dead now if it hadn't been for Tony. He'd forgotten that fact too.

He remembered how Tony had immediately swung into action the instant he'd seen that bomb. It was clear that Tony hadn't even stopped to think of the consequences when he'd firmly taken his place holding that key steady.

Tony had protected the junior members of his team without a pause. That's what being a senior agent meant he suddenly realized.

He'd been so scared that he hadn't even processed Tony's words that day.

It hadn't even crossed his mind at the time that a guy who was still recovering from the plague wouldn't exactly be up for a sprint away from a car filled with Semtex but Tony's voice had projected such confidence in his ability to run fast that both he and Kate had not questioned the reality of the statement.

They had just run.

When Tony hadn't answered their panicked calls he had been convinced he was dead…but nothing seemed to be able to kill the man. He had nine lives and then some. And still the man joked even after being blown to hell.

Tony had given them one precious extra day with Kate.

McGee shut his eyes.

Another realization hit.

His little sister would always be his little sister. The years would never change that. He would still continue to tease her and treat her like a pain in the ass no matter how many years went past.

He suddenly understood why Tony still called him 'Probie'.

Instead of taking it in the spirit it was intended he'd chosen to get offended.

He'd been an ass. He shredded the last piece of juice bottle label and looked up at Ziva.

It was no wonder Tony didn't want to be around them right now.

Gibbs was wound tight. He walked around the block, head down deep in thought.

He'd absorbed Ziva's words and was a big enough man to understand that she had just spoken the truth even if he hadn't wanted to hear it. He supposed that deep down he'd come to the same conclusions, but had been too pigheaded to acknowledge it.

But there was one point he didn't agree on and the more he thought about it the more he figured he was right to.

If Tony were pissed off at them, if he had lost faith and thought he wasn't part of the team anymore, then the worse thing to do would be to roll over and give up the search.

The way he saw it, Tony had now had just over four weeks of solitude away from them. It was time to end it now--if they could damn well find him, that was.

Let Tony see that they did care about him by not sitting back and giving him the lead. If that fact pissed Tony, then he'd damn well personally knock some sense into that thick skull of his.

That was the problem with Tony. He appeared to have enough ego and self confidence to fill several Madison Square Gardens, but deep down he was still a little boy craving attention and approval from the adults around him--and all they'd done was metaphorically shut him in a basement and turn off the lights.

His cell vibrated in his pocket. He flipped it open.

Vance.

Great.

He sighed.

He flipped the cell shut.

It was just a shame that the signal was so bad here.

Last thing he needed right now was Leon crawling up his ass.

When Tony woke again it was dark. He was shocked to find that he'd slept so long again and yet he still felt like crap. Despite the shower he'd taken that morning he still felt grimy. He was cold and clammy, his head still pounded, and his body felt like it had been stretched on a rack.

He sat up in bed and turned on the light, squinting as the brightness invaded his eyes. He was alone, but the room had clearly been tidied around him. Huh, and he hadn't woken up? He must have been seriously out for the count.

Tony got up and headed for the shower. His hip was hurting again, a legacy from running from Fornell, and being walked around the room for hours the previous night probably hadn't helped. He flexed his back and stretched his leg out in front of him. He bit back a groan, as the ache became a sharp pain. Fuck, it was getting old, he didn't usually take this long to heal. Then again, he hadn't exactly been following doctor's orders so he guessed he couldn't complain.

After cleaning his teeth and sluicing himself down again he felt less sluggish. He got out the shower and looked around for a something to dry himself on. He raised an eyebrow at the neat pile of towels that sat on the chair in the bathroom. He hadn't actually exchanged his linens with the maid for days, instead choosing to reuse the same dank, soggy towels over and over. He picked one up and sniffed. It smelled good and was fluffier than normal.

Huh.

He wandered back to the bedroom to find his clothes had also had the same treatment. They sat in a big fat column, all freshly laundered. He scanned the pile. Yup, pretty much everything he'd arrived with had been washed, even his underwear. He pulled out a pair of boxers, jeans and a tee from the pile and dressed, relishing the luxury of clean clothes after weeks of wearing increasingly filthy ones.

He padded around the room now that he was dressed. The bottle was still on the side. He eyed it. He wasn't sure why he felt like a kid who'd been told not to touch but he did. No one had imposed a ban but after nearly offing himself because he'd been too damn hammered to keep track of how many tablets he'd downed, he felt a strange sense of obligation to the people who'd helped him. It didn't mean though that he didn't want a drink because he did. He shut his eyes and laced his fingers behind his head to try and stop the shakes. He wasn't even sure if the tremors in his hands were just due to stress like his minor memory lapses or were just psychosomatic because they definitely got worse as soon as he thought about having a drink.

And he did really, really want one.

He'd been here before, when he'd been agent afloat on the Ronald Reagan. He'd been so fucking depressed, there was the guilt over Jenny, he missed the team like hell and added to that everybody hated him. Who wanted to be friends with the one man who could bust their ass for any onboard violation? The whole experience had brought back memories of his crappy childhood spent in a house full of adults who ignored him.

Eventually he'd realized that he wasn't able to keep it up at that pace and do his job without getting reported, so he'd cut back. It had been hard but he'd managed it. Back then the thought of Gibbs finding out had been enough incentive.

He removed his hands from his head and reached for the bottle.

Didn't really matter now.

The bottle clinked against the glass as he poured. He swallowed it down quickly. He screwed the lid back n the bottle and sat down on the bed. He was just in the process of trying to find the remote for the TV when the door opened.

"You're up and you've shaved. Looks good. How did you sleep?" Andrea bustled in carrying Styrofoam cartons.

"Good, thanks. I can't believe I slept so long," He paused suddenly remembering why he'd slept so much. "Thank you for what you did last night…I…I don't really know what to say beyond that than I'm an idiot."

She looked at him for a long moment.

"Did you mean to do it?" she quietly asked.

No need to ask what 'it' was.

"No! No, I just…I busted my hip weeks ago, it was hurting…" He waved in the direction of the crutches that stood propped against the wall. "I guess I lost track of how many pills I was popping and drinking on top of the meds wasn't exactly the brightest thing I've ever done."

Her gaze didn't waver.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Tony. I've seen the look you get in your eyes sometimes, like you don't care about anything."

"What?" Shit, was he really that transparent? "Look, I swear on my mother's life it was not intentional."

Okay, so his mother had been dead thirty-odd years but she didn't know that.

She looked unconvinced.

"Look, let's just agree to disagree about this." Tony sighed and changed track. "Did you tidy up and do my laundry?"

She nodded.

"You didn't have to do that but again… thank you."

He got up and kissed the top of her head. It occurred to him that this was the fist real conversation they'd ever had that went beyond uttering expletives during sex and him apologizing for throwing up.

"No problem. I had to do my own anyway so it was nothing to put yours in to." She smiled shyly and handed over the Styrofoam carton to him. "You should eat something. It should still be warm. I've got some cutlery in my bag."

She opened her purse and produced a plastic knife and a Spork. She motioned for him to sit. He realized that he'd been staring blankly at the carton in his hand.

"Sorry, thanks." He sat on the bed and flipped the box. The smell of food made his stomach rebel but he smiled weakly.

"I got you Salisbury steak, beans and mashed potatoes and gravy and this is apple pie care of Una." She produced a Tupperware tub.

He cut a piece of steak and put it into his mouth. He chewed as she watched over him. It felt like his old nanny was alive and well and making sure he ate his greens but considering she'd gone to so much trouble for him he figured she could do the damn well what she liked. On the third mouthful in he realized that he was enjoying the food and started to dig in with gusto. Andrea looked pleased and relaxed enough to take her coat off and pour herself a drink.

"Want one?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Cutting back for obvious reasons."

Whoa, where had that come from?

He stuffed some mashed potatoes into his mouth and swallowed. They sat in silence, she continued to watch him eat but he was too focused on the food too much care.

"So… how long have you been living here?" He eventually asked.

Andrea took a drink before answering.

"Almost three months now."

He nodded as he finished his mouthful. He closed the now empty box and put it down on the floor

"And what brought you here? 'Cause let's face it--this place despite the name, is hardly Shangri-La. What's your story?" He wondered if she would tell him even though he knew.

Again she took a drink before answering.

"I lost my children in a car accident. Home just didn't seem like home anymore." She spoke in a flat monotone. She refilled her glass and shrugged. "Soon after it happened I got in my car and ended up here…just stayed."

Well, he supposed that was an approximation of the truth but he didn't push it.

"I'm sorry. Losing people you care about is always hard but your kids…that must be the ultimate."

She didn't respond. There wasn't much you could say really. As it was, just saying 'sorry' seemed so woefully inadequate to him.

An awkward silence descended. He pulled the pie towards him and took several bites but realized he was done halfway through. He wiped his mouth and his hands on a paper towel.

"So what's your story?" She asked as she tucked up her leg underneath her and rolled her glass in her hand.

Tony snapped his head up. Should have expected that one. He contemplated just lying but then wondered what the point would be. It was not like she had a hotline to the FBI.

He gave a short laugh.

"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." She smiled at him.

He got up and poured two fingers of scotch into his glass and sat down opposite her.

"I thought you were cutting down," she jokingly scolded.

"I'm not drinking full glasses so that's progress." He grinned sheepishly at her. He picked up the tub of Una's apple pie and offered it. "There's some pie left if you want some."

"Quit changing the subject. I've shown you mine, time you showed me yours, so to speak."

He laughed at that and took a sip of his drink.

"Don't get mad but when I was cleaning up, I picked up your jacket. Several fake IDs fell out. So who are you really? Is your name even Tony? Because there was whole lot of names to choose from."

She stared right at him.

"So you now think I'm some con man, huh?" He raised an eyebrow. He took a deep breath. "The truth is much more mundane I can assure you. My name is Tony, actually. Anthony DiNozzo. Pleasure to meet you."

He lent forward and held out his hand. It felt kind of strange introducing yourself to someone you'd been banging for a month, but hey, his love life had never been exactly conventional.

"Andrea Woodhams. Pleasure to meet you too Mr. DiNozzo," she said as he leaned forward and took his hand. "And the fake IDs?"

He fought the urge to drain his glass and took another sip.

"I'm a Special Agent working for the federal government. I work for an organization called NCIS. We investigate any crimes relating to the Navy, be it some crazed Gunny who's slaughtered his family right down to terrorist activities. Anything that has that Navy connection comes our way."

"Really? NCI-what?" She frowned.

"Trust me, no one has heard of us. That's what makes it all so fucking depressing. Everyone knows the FBI, CIA…ra ra ra but NCIS…nobody gives a shit. We've saved hundreds if not thousands of people and yet…nada. We are faceless. I'm just another faceless government schmuck. All the praise we get for putting our lives on the line makes me feel kind of all warm and fuzzy inside"

To hell with not drinking. He drained his glass and stood up for a refill. He turned and the look on Andrea's face told him that she did at least believe him now. There was nothing like an angry, bitter tirade to blow away the doubt.

He sat back down on the bed.

"So why are you here?" She moved closer to him.

He sighed.

"For the past year or so I kept waking up wondering why I did what I did. It all seems so futile, you know? But I kept on thinking it would get better. We take out one bad guy and there are ten to take his place. I've been shot, stabbed, tortured, drugged, blown up all on a regular basis, hell, I busted my hip chasing a perp who'd disemboweled a whole navy family."

He took another drink.

"I guess I woke up and I realized nothing I do really matters. I just didn't care about anything anymore. I was done with all the shit, all the inter-agency politics, all the 'same shit, different day' stuff."

He looked down at the hand that rested on his thigh. Then back up at her.

"When I was a homicide cop I used to see the old guys burn out and I couldn't understand it. I couldn't figure out how someone could just crumble like that. I used to feel smug thinking that would never happen to me because I was Anthony DiNozzo…indestructible. Well, let's just say I get it now."

She was rubbing his arm now. Shit, her bastard of a husband had gassed her kids and yet she was the one comforting him. That was so wrong but he could feel himself shaking again so maybe he did look pathetic enough to be stroked.

"I got suspended from my job for being a fuck-up."

He finished his drink and put the glass down on the floor next to his bare feet. He ended up by mirroring her words.

"Home just didn't seem like home anymore so I got in my car and ended up here…just stayed."

"Oh, Tony." She pulled him into a hug.

He leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her back. The next thing he knew he was kissing her and she was hungrily responding. He'd take a pity fuck if it was on offer, anything to make him feel less pathetic.

He pushed her backwards onto the bed and crawled up her body. Her hands fumbled with his tee, pushing up upwards and over his head. He sat up and shucked it off. He divested her of the shirt she wore and unhooked her bra as quickly as he could. The room dissolved around him as all his focus went on getting her out of her clothes as fast as possible.

Soon they were caught up in the usual game. Hot breathless kissing, tongues snaking together, nipping and biting lips as they pawed each other. Andrea's nails raking at his back and digging into his ass as he ground himself into her.

He could feel himself straining against the seam of his zipper but as his hand moved to the free himself he stopped.

As hot as it felt, right now it also felt wrong.

He bit back a yelp as her nails found an old scratch wound on his back. He gently grabbed her wrists and held them over her head.

"Not tonight." He whispered into her ear. He looked down at her and saw confusion in her eyes.

He lent down and kissed her but instead of their usual crashing and urgency he kept it soft.

He moved up and down her body, licking and stroking every inch.

Each time she moved her hands to strike or scratch he shook his head and placed them up on the pillow away from him.

It was like taming wild animal. At first she was tense and unbending but slowly she began to relax. Only then did he finally move downwards with a sense of purpose. They'd fucked plenty but they had never been seriously intimate and he had always enjoyed slowly wrenching an orgasm out of a woman with his tongue. He looked up at her silently, he figured the way she bit her lip and shut her eyes was permission enough.

At his first touch she tensed again. He stroked her thighs and stomach until she slowly started to relax again and if her mews and halting breaths were anything to go by she was enjoying the experience. It felt good not to have to think about anything other than the task at hand. He felt like Tony again and he couldn't help but feel pride as she tensed up again but this time for very different reasons. He let her ride out the spasms until he couldn't take the strain of holding back any longer and stood up to unzip. She didn't move, instead she watched him undress and reach for the condoms with a smile on her face.

He still kept it slow, rocking his hips in a rhythmic waltz but she finally seemed to understand now and the hands on his back stroked and caressed. Her teeth gently grazed his ear lobe as she whispered encouragement.

It was strange because he wasn't a slow, sensitive kind of a guy when it came down to sex. But after weeks of pain and masochism it felt good to take it down a notch and when he came it was no less mind-blowing for it.

Afterwards he felt contented but also exposed. It was as if a sudden companionable shyness had fallen over them. The easy conversation of an hour ago had fled, and he was relieved when she eventually fell asleep curled up in his arms. He'd pretty much slept the last twenty hours away so he felt wide awake and he knew sleep would not come anytime soon. He lay still, not wanting to disturb her, until he got a cramp an hour in.

Tony carefully slid away from her, covering her body with the blankets before dressing quietly.

He grabbed his key and jacket and shut the door behind himself.

He slowly walked into town, relying on the badly lit streets to cover for him.

He eventually found a dive bar down a dark ally and ordered a beer. He spent a couple of hours nursing his bottle and people-watching before the urge to pee made him get up and head for the can. The bathrooms were as delightful as the rest of the bar and after availing himself of the facilities he beat a hasty retreat just so he could breathe again. On the way back to the bar he saw a payphone.

He paused and before realizing what he was doing, he picked up the receiver and pumped a few quarters into the slot.

"Hello. You have reached me and not an answering machine." The husky voice on the other end made him smile.

"Hellooooo….come on …speak to momma," she repeated.

All the things he wanted to say vanished and instead he just found himself breathing heavily into the handset. Great, now she'd think some pervert was giving her a dirty phone call.

"Tony!" Abby's voice sounded unsure now. "Is that you?"

Shit.

Hearing his name made him panic, and he slammed down the receiver.

He leaned back against the wall.

Good one, DiNozzo.

Smooth, real smooth.

TBC

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