Author's Note:

Oh, you guys.

I was so thrilled to be hearing from all of you that I rushed right through this chapter, and I'm already working on the next. See what your kind reviews do to me? They keep me going. :D

Thanks to Mina, for taking time out of her hellish week to give this a once-over.

Chapter Twenty-One

"Consequences"

"Looks like we're here," Tony says casually, handing the driver the appropriate amount of cash and climbing out of the cab. He offers me his hand and helps me out, taking a deep breath. "I hope the kids are still up. If Jolie is asleep she'll be mad that I took the DVD back without asking."

"It looks as though she is going to make it difficult for you," I say, noticing a small body climbing along the side of the house. From this distance, it looks like she is sneaking out her bedroom window. I wonder if there is a boy somewhere planning on meeting her. She is a bit young to be playing Romeo and Juliet.

"What are you talking about?"

"See for yourself," I say, nodding in the girl's direction. This is hardly the oddest stunt that she has pulled, and so I am not too concerned. Tony, however, is not nearly so nonchalant. His eyes protrude from his head and he takes off at a run toward her, forcing me to follow. As we get closer, I realize that Jolie is struggling against the rose lattice that is braced along the side of the house and on the underside of her window. I hear her whimper and Tony reaches her first, holding out his arms to catch her when she loses her footing. She crashes into him, not quite knocking him to the ground.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" he cries, turning her around to face him once they have both gotten their footing back. "You could have killed yourself! What if I hadn't been here to catch you?"

"Tony," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. He slows down for a second and notices the tears pouring freely down her face and her small, shaking body.

"Jolie, what is it?" he asks, his voice suddenly tight. "What's wrong?"

"There are men here," she whispers shakily. "They have Papa and Armand."

"Men?" I ask her, "What men?"

"They have guns."

My breath catches. I have a horrible feeling of foreboding that leaves little room for any doubt of who these men might be.

"Jolie, I need you to think really hard and tell me who these men were," I say gently, completely aware of terrifying this must be for her.

"I don't know when they got here, but they were talking to Papa and they hurt him," she says and hiccups. Tony pulls her closer. "Armand told me to hide in the closet until he came to get me, but he never came. He never came back for me."

She throws her arms around Tony's neck, sobbing hard enough to shake her entire body, and he looks up at me with an expression that mirrors my own fear. He motions with his eyes around the back of the house and I nod, motioning for him to stay there with her. I suddenly regret our decision to leave our weapons at home, but I am nothing if not resourceful. If Mossad really is here, they would not have brought an army. They would have wanted to remain invisible as long as possible so not to scare us into running. Then, when they had their trap set, a dozen officers would pounce. Since Jolie did not mention substantial amounts of dark soldiers, I have to assume that this is a scouting mission. They have received a tip as to our whereabouts, and my father has sent someone to check up on it.

I move through the night quickly and quietly, all of my training suddenly resurfacing in my hour of need. Despite the life of leisure I have been leading over the last few months, I am back in working order. I scan the perimeter of the house without encountering a problem, which leads me to believe that the big problems lie inside the house. They are temporarily out of my reach, but they will not be for long. I sprint back to Tony, where Jolie has finally gotten her tears out of her system. She looks up at me with big eyes, wanting answers.

"Can you tell me how many men there were, Jolie?" I ask, taking her hand and rubbing my thumb over the top. I hope she derives comfort from the gesture.

"Two."

"And that is all?"

"The only ones that I saw, yes," she says seriously, concentrating on her answers. Now that she feels safe, she is toughening up and ready to fight. She is brave, and reminds me a little of myself at her age. "One was big and scary, and the other was small and older. He was the boss, though, because he did all the talking. He's the one who… who hit Papa."

"That is very good that you were paying such close attention," I praise and she offers a tight smile in return. "Now, I want you to stay with John. I am going to talk to the men and see what they want. No one is going to hurt your father and brother while we are here. Understand?"

She nods.

"Good."

I leave as Tony shuffles her off to the side of the house, where the trees will provide ample cover while I work on finding out what is going on here and who we are dealing with. I move around the front instead of the back, peeking in the front window to find exactly what Jolie had described – two men holding Armand and Henri hostage. Henri looks like he has taken quite a few blows. His face is swollen, and blood is dripping from both his nose and lips. Armand looks untouched, thankfully. However, he seems to be getting the brunt of the questioning. From the confused look on his face, I have a feeling he is hearing the international fugitive version of mine and Tony's story. Hopefully he knows us well enough now to dismiss it. The bigger man I do not recognize, but I cannot see the smaller man's face. I will have to get a closer look later.

Deciding on a tentative plan, I make a significant amount of noise in the bushes below the window before sneaking out. Within seconds the bigger man throws the door open and closes it behind him, stepping outside with loud stomps of his heavy boots. He is obviously new and has not been trained on how to make himself invisible. I allow him a glimpse of my face and he recoils immediately, his brain undoubtedly making the connection between the small portion of my profile that he just saw and the wanted posters with which he has been indoctrinated in the last few months. He moves forward faster than I thought he would, but I am faster still. I dart around the side of the house, measuring his heavy footfalls and calculating just how far ahead I am. My heart pounds heavily in my chest and I feel the surge of adrenaline spur me on, rounding the corner to lie in waiting for him.

He does exactly what I wanted him to. I hear him grunting and breathing harshly as he follows me and just as he comes into sight my leg collides high on his chest. I feel the air being forced out of his lungs and he takes one gulp of air before coming back at me, face red and breathing heavily. I smirk right back at him, because he has no chance. He is strong, yes, but not very agile. I have size, skill, and agility on my side and it proves to work in my favor. For every blow he attempts to land, he gets three in return. When he crashes at my feet, I place my foot in the middle of chest and apply enough pressure to let him know I mean business.

"Who are you?" I ask in Hebrew and he looks directly at me, confirming my suspicions. He is Mossad.

"It doesn't matter," he replies in our native language.

"Not if you do not tell me what I want to know," I say and lean a little more on his sternum. He sucks in a breath and glares up at me from the damp grass. "Who. Sent. You?"

"You know who."

"Bastard!" I say, landing a well-placed kick to his ribs. I cracked one. This time, I am not gentle with him. I lean down and place my knee – along with all my body weight – on top of his chest. He grimaces and I grab his shirt to pull him up to me. "Tell me how you found us! Did Eli David send you here?!"

"Good guess," he says, smirking in between gasps of air. I start to lean down on him harder, just enough to deprive him of air until he passes out and gives us a clear shot at the man who remains inside, but suddenly the world shifts and I find myself being shoved into the ground. My hands are pinned above my head and his face is perilously close to my own.

"He said you would underestimate me," he preens, raking his eyes over me. I do not give him the pleasure of a wince or a squirm, simply because I do not want him to have that power over me. "It seems he was right. All I had to do was let you think you'd won."

I curse myself. I did not keep my guard where it ought to have been.

"So you are Ziva David, the prodigal assassin," he muses, studying me in a manner that I am not at all comfortable with. "Your father speaks highly of you."

"Somehow I doubt that," I sneer, trying to position my legs in a way that will regain some leverage. He uses his knee to crush my thigh, a wide smile on his face.

"Leaving so soon?" he asks. "But we just met."

Before I can answer, or attempt to wrestle myself from his grasp, a small voice calls out from the darkness.

"Hey! Leave her alone!"

Jolie's voice catches us both by surprise, but mine is more pleasant than my opponent's. The man's head whips around in the direction from which the sound came, and his slight surprise results in enough hesitation to give me the upper hand once again. My knee connects with his groin and his entire body jerks violently in pain. It takes only a moment to roll him off of me and onto the grass next to me, where I position him on his stomach and take his neck into the crook of my arm. He struggles and gasps for air, only to find none. A minute passes, then two, and I release him. I check his pulse – strong but arrhythmic – and climb off of him, looking for something nearby to restrain him with. I find some rope a few feet away, and I tie his hands and feet together behind his back. I tie it in such a way that he will not be able to wiggle out of it or break the knot, no matter what he does. I take the gun from the small of his back, stashing it away beneath my sweater, and then as an afterthought I lift up his pant leg. There, exactly where I expected it to be, is a fighting knife with a nine-inch blade. I attach it to my belt and head off into the line of trees where Tony and Jolie are hiding.

"Are you alright?" the little girl asks me immediately upon seeing me. She runs to me and presses her face into my stomach.

"Yes," I say, smoothing her hair down. "But I may not have been if you had not saved me. Thank you."

Tony stands up and presses Jolie between us when he wraps his arms around me, kissing me lightly. "You sure you're okay?"

I nod. "Yes. He will be subdued for a while, so he is one less thing to worry about."

"Is it Mossad?" he asks softly, like he does not really wish to know the answer.

"Yes."

"What's that?" Jolie asks, looking up at me. "Why do they want to hurt us?"

"I am afraid this is our fault, darling," I say gently, hoping beyond myself that she does not hate me for what I am about to say. "Sometimes fathers are not what they are supposed to be, and they hurt their children. We came to Paris to hide from my father, and now it looks like he has found us anyway. I am deeply sorry that your family has been caught in the middle."

Jolie pauses, taking in the information. "So the man with Papa is your father?"

"No," I reply, shaking my head. The man in the living room is significantly shorter than my father – at least I have that assurance. "My father sent friends to find me this time."

"Bad men."

"Yes," I agree. "Very bad men."

"So what are you going to do?" Tony asks, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

"I am going to get Henri and Armand," I say simply before pulling the gun from under my shirt and handing it to Tony, who takes it without hesitation. He quickly tucks it into his belt, under his jacket and away from Jolie's prying eyes. "I will find out what is going on and how much they have managed to report back to my father. Stay out here until I come and tell you that it is safe to come inside."

"Maria?" Jolie asks softly. "Are you going to hurt them?"

I grimace. How can I tell this girl that I plan to?

"Not if I can help it," I say, which is not exactly a lie. Tony meets my eyes and I see the concern there, but we do not have a choice now. He knows that what happens here tonight will decide our survival. We cannot let ourselves think too hard on what we are willing to do to make sure we see tomorrow.

I start back toward the house before any more words are exchanged. By now, the other man in the room will have realized that something is wrong. He will now have a choice: trust that his man has the situation handled and risk a possible threat, or he can check on things himself and leave his hostages alone with each other. Considering that he has already had Henri and Armand to himself for some time, the second option will most likely be the one of his choosing. He will decide that they have given him all they can, and he will kill them soon after. Unless, of course, I can reach them first. Not for the first time, my father's training seems to have been for the better.

The back door is unlocked, and I do not know if it is a trap or a mercy.

I open it as silently as possible and slip in, propping the door open with a laundry basket so that I do not risk the man hearing the sound of it closing. Examining my surroundings, I find no immediate threats. The laundry room is small and does not give me a place to sufficiently hide myself, and so I move on. A small walkway leads to the kitchen, which is just on the opposite side of the dining room and the living room. From my brief glance in the window, the Nouvel men are being held in the living room. I seem to have walked into my own corner, because I cannot get to him without him noticing me well in advance. However, it is the only chance to reach them that I have been given, so I resolve to do what I can with it.

The hallway is small and narrow, and I slip through it without a sound to give me away. I am halfway through the kitchen, listening carefully to the muffled conversation on the other side of the wall, when I hear the back door suddenly slam. Apparently, the basket was not enough to keep it open for long. In any case, it has eliminated the only element I had on my side – that of surprise. Two seconds later, the door to kitchen crashes open and the man running through it is met with my heel in his stomach. He grunts in pain and stumbles back, into the wall. When it looks up at me, my heart clenches in my chest.

He is Nathaniel Omari, my father's Chief of Security. The fact that he is here, in this kitchen, means that our lives are in more danger than we thought.

Omari takes obvious pleasure in my recognition and uses it to his advantage, using the back of his hand to slap my head back with an audible crack. It takes me less than a second to recover, but the damage is done. My head is buzzing and I cannot hear his footsteps behind me, but I can certainly feel his fist connect with my left kidney. I cry out in pain and grip the counter for support when I whirl around and attempt to kick him away. He catches my leg and twists it painfully, until I am forced to turn around to keep him to breaking the bone.

"Well?" I pant, "What are you waiting for? Do it."

"I am not here to kill you, Ziva," he says ambiguously. I do not believe him.

"How did you find us?"

"You would not believe me if I told you," he laughs. "Fate works in mysterious ways."

I scoff. "You have no idea."

I throw my head back, the tough bone of my skull connecting with his chin hard enough to crack his teeth together. He staggers back, eyes closed, and I pull his feet out from under him. He hits the kitchen table on the way down, sending several plates crashing to the ground to shatter around him. Several shards cut into his arms and face and he grimaces. The sound of his pained groans echo around the small kitchen, making me smile in satisfaction. He attempts to jump up, but I push him down before he has the chance. I make sure to grind his back into the glass, just to prove a point.

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, Nathaniel," I say sweetly, "But you will not be leaving here tonight."

"I have orders to bring you home, to your father," he replies breathlessly, "But something tells me that I am better off fulfilling the contract on your head and collecting the reward money. You will be trouble."

"Trouble will not be the half of it," I say, and pull my fist back to connect with his jaw. Faster than I can stop him, he reaches for a shard of glass and I watch it slide down the side of my arm as I land the blow. He is unconscious immediately, but the skin of my arm falls apart and blood pours faster than I would honestly like it to. I check to see if he is truly unconscious, and hit him again for good measure before reaching for a dish towel to tie around the wound. Blood soaks it through almost immediately and I wince, pulling the sweater from my shoulders and leaving me in the tank top I had decided earlier today was too cold for the current weather. It seems as though I no longer have a choice. I cut a long sliver of material from the bottom and tie it around the towel tight enough to stem the flow of blood, if only for a little while.

I take my time tying Omari to a chair in the kitchen, triple-checking all my knots and kicking all the glass away from him so that he cannot cut through his restraints. I take his gun and the knife at his ankle, keeping them for myself. They may prove to be useful by the time the night is over. Whatever the case, Nathaniel Omari is not going anywhere. He is not leaving this kitchen until I have the information I need, in its entirety.

Even then he may not be leaving it alive.