Sorry about the wait. I was on vacation without access to my laptop. On the bright side, I got a nice tan. Thanks to the people that reviewed and/or alerted! I won't waste your reading time with a long AN like I often do ;)
The movement of Ziva's hand caught Angela's eye and she subtly glanced to her left. Their captor was still fondling the NCIS agent's limp body with his right hand, his left shoved into the front of his pants. Angela swallowed the urge to be sick. She was sitting right here, yet there was nothing she could do.
More movement from Ziva drew her attention. Her fingers were twitching, curling, just out of the killer's view.
The artist felt hope swell in her chest. SHE may not have stood a chance, but Ziva was a trained federal agent.
The killer gave a low moan. Ziva clenched her jaw, flexed her fingers. She shifted her eyes, catching Angela's gaze and giving her the tiniest of nods. Her Mossad training was kicking in. She would be able to respond much faster than his usual victims. And she would catch him by surprise, because this man no doubt underestimated her.
Ziva caught his right wrist mid-stroke, swinging her right hand around to strike his jugular before he had a chance to react. He gagged and gave a furious shout as he grabbed a fistful of Ziva's hair. She unpinned his wrist and raised her hands, boxing his ears at the same moment he slammed the side of her head into the brick of the basement wall.
He unleashed a rather unmanly scream and curled in on himself as Ziva dragged herself as far away as the chains would allow. She could feel blood running down her temple, had little doubt that she'd received a concussion, and was finding it hard to think.
The man was still conscious and they were still in danger. Thus far she had only served to make him angrier. And an angry psychopath was far more deadly than a horny one.
Rather than cram into Booth's SUV- the only vehicle with enough seats to fit all seven of them- they took separate cars, NCIS team in one and FBI/Jeffersonian in another.
Booth was finding it difficult to keep up with Gibbs's breakneck speeds while trying not to kill everyone at the same time. The elder agent was extremely determined- and pissed.
By some miracle, they had managed to avoid any policemen on patrol. Though Booth was sure the NCIS agent would not have stopped for one anyway.
The usual half-hour drive took them just over fifteen minutes. They ripped into the road leading to the first of eight vacant houses within a roughly two-mile radius.
The agents and scientists jumped out of the vehicles.
"There's no cell service out here," McGee informed them.
Booth flung open the door of his SUV and grabbed a pair of walkie-talkies. He tossed one to Gibbs.
"Here. Channel seven," he said. "They're satellite, so they'll work here."
Gibbs nodded. "You start here," he ordered. "We'll take the four farthest out."
He, Tony, and McGee returned to the Charger.
"Wait!" called Booth. "Take Cam." He ushered the woman forward. "In case you guys find them first. Bones'll come with me and Hodgins."
Once they'd peeled off down the road, Booth realized he probably should have asked McGee or DiNozzo to stay, now being the only one there with a gun.
Or not.
He watched, surprised- though he knew he shouldn't have been- as Brennan pulled the .357 he thought he'd confiscated seemingly from nowhere.
Shaking his head, the FBI agent waved the pair of scientists into the SUV and jumped in, speeding down to the first house.
As they jogged up to the front door a minute later, Booth said, "Listen, Bones, no shooting unless you absolutely have to. Got it?" He peered into the front window. The house was dark, the plants and lawn overgrown. But this house was in clear view of the road. He didn't think they'd find Holt there, but they needed to check.
"Yes, Booth. I know how to use a gun."
He didn't bother to argue further. He pulled his gun, flicked off the safety, and tested the door. Locked. Taking a few steps back, Booth rushed forward and hit the door with the force of his body weight. It splintered open and he hurried in, gun at the ready.
No basement. Empty garage. Empty rooms.
"He's not here," he declared.
With very little time to waste, they ran back out the SUV and hastened to the next vacant property.
Cam white-knuckled the car's holy shit handle as Gibbs rocketed down the narrow backroad in the direction of the more distant houses. The trees outside the windows were nothing but a blur of green and brown and next to her, Agent McGee looked ready to puke.
She thanked any god that was listening for the existence of seat belts as hers stopped her from sailing over the seat and through the front windshield when the silver-haired NCIS agents braked suddenly in front of a distastefully painted rambler.
McGee practically fell out the door and rushed to catch up with the others. The agents drew their weapons.
"DiNozzo, McGee, around back. Go in on three," Gibbs ordered.
They checked every room, every nook, every cranny. All empty.
They rocketed to the next house at a speed which, Cam was certain, neared the speed of light. This one was dark, like the others, but the garage door was not fully shut. They had yet to hear from Booth and the others, leading them to believe that Holt and the women were still nowhere to be found.
McGee squatted and peered under the garage door.
"Boss! There's something parked inside!" he whisper-yelled. "I can't see what."
"Back door," Gibbs directed. "Same as before."
Cam followed him to the front door, watched his fingers count down from three. Then they entered.
"Are you okay?" Angela whispered.
Ziva nodded and gently probed the tender, bloodied flesh above her ear. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She could have made do with almost anything. But ANYTHING was the exact opposite of what the killer had left. He'd even taken their belts, their shoes, their jewelry. The syringe was too far away.
They could only watch, muscles tensed in preparation, as he at last pulled himself to his feet, his hands pressed to his undoubtedly painful ears.
"Oh, girls," he sighed. "I really don't like it when you fight me."
He spun, walked to the stairs, and disappeared behind them. When he returned, he was clutching a pipe and a coil of rope.
Oh yuck. I hate this chapter and it's really short but I really didn't want to take the time to rewrite it because I wanted to get you guys an update. Thanks for reading. I'm hoping to wrap this up in just a couple more chapters, so stay tuned!