A/N: I love the reviews! Keep them coming and hope I don't disappoint you with this next chapter.

Our Killer

I stare at Webb with every loathsome muscle I can probably muster. God, I hate him. I hate him for what he's done to Mac, to me, to both of us. And he carries on as if it's nothing.

I take a quick sideways glance at Mac. Her lips have taken on a lovely shade of white and I know that she probably has the same feelings towards Webb that I do. God, sometimes I think we share brainwaves or something.

"There's been another murder."

I can feel my heart stop in mid-beat. Another murder. There's been another murder.

"Another murder?" Mac asks, her voices quivering, equal to my disbelief. "Just now? When?"

"Two hours ago," Webb replied coolly. He's got his arm tucked into one pocket of his cheap suit but even Webb isn't looking as breezy as he normally is. For one thing, he's lost his snappy comebacks. And that, of course, just isn't Webb.

"Where?" I shoot back.

"Washington," he replies calmly. "Catherine just phoned me twenty minutes ago. She's gotten the state police to back off until you get there. But NCIS are already over the scene. And I—"

"We," interjected the Admiral quickly. And for the first time I notice that he hasn't spoken at all since we entered the room. He's letting Webb get his words in. And this, beyond anything else, made me absorb the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes," Webb corrected. "We believe that you should get over there as soon as possible."

"But," Mac began, biting her lower lip. She's evidently concentrating. "None of the other murders. None of them have been in the same city. Why now?"

She's voicing my exact question.

"Yeah," I interject. "It doesn't correspond with any of the other killings. Are you sure this is our killer?"

"Positive," Webb replied. "Navy commander, was killed in the earl morning, and the typical two stabs. One in the stomach and one in the heart."

A deep silence engulfs the room. It's just possible that now, of all times, we have truly realized what is going on, and that if we don't solve this fast, more will die.

"Your cab leaves in two hours," Webb said, unfazed by our resounding silence. "We need you to get there as soon as possible. You will stay at the Santa Monica Hotel—"

"Santa Monica?"

"Yes, Rabb. Santa Monica. It was the hotel where—"

"Victor Kyle was murdered," Mac and I responded in unison. We knew. And we were none to happy.

"That doesn't sound reassuring, Webb," the Admiral spat, his second time speaking.

"Rabb and Mackenzie are well trained officers," Webb continued. "And I'm sure they more than others can cope with—"

"Oh, please," Mac said, getting up from the chair she had been sitting in. "If you're going to snow us, the least you can do is volunteer to pay for our cab. None of this "more than others can cope" crap."

"Stand down, Colonel," said the Admiral quietly from his corner.

I sat in my chair, listening intently, but my head far up in the clouds. "Are we in danger?" I asked quietly.

The whole room was instantly filled with deadened silence.

"Pardon me?" asked Webb as if he hadn't heard.

"Are we in danger?" I repeated only louder this time. "Because this really wouldn't be the first time you've put us in a hard place, Webb." I stop to take a breath. "Is there anything we need to know?"

I look at Webb and for once, he doesn't have a ready-made answer. In fact, Clayton Webb almost looks . . . nervous. That cannot be good.

"I do not believe so," responded Webb after a good few minutes of thought. "The men that were murdered, I believe they were chosen."

"The killer chose his victims," Mac concluded quietly. "But he or she might know we're on their case, wouldn't we be liable for assassination then?"

"Fair question," said that Admiral. And he looked at Webb. He wanted a fair answer.

"I don't believe so. The typical description of a serial killer is a young—"

"White male with a father absent from childhood and an above average IQ," I finished, thinking back to Italy. "And typically doesn't know their victims."

"Correct, Rabb," said Webb briskly. "Your former employment? You do seem to fit the bill—"

"Continue, Webb," responded the Admiral with finality in his tone. He didn't want to deal with any of his crap today.

"Well, the Commander was correct. The killer doesn't tend to know their victims, it makes him feel more vulnerable that way. So therefore, I believe if he knew what you were up to and who you were, he wouldn't want to harm you. Scare you . . . maybe. But not harm."

"Brilliant," Mac commented sarcastically, and then looking at her watch, "well, Webb, this once again wraps up another pointless conversation with you. And we really would love to stay and chat, but," she looked at me through the corner of her eye. "We've got your serial killer to catch."

"That will be all," said that Admiral, looking steely eye at the pair of us. "Dismissed."

"Aye aye, Sir," Mac and I responded in unison and we turned on our heels and strode out of the office.

"Wait, Sarah!" the call came after us as we were about to enter the elevator. Mac and I turned around to see Web standing there, his cheap coat in his hand.

"Listen," he said, his tone much softer. "Be careful out there. I don't know what I'd do without you."

For one horrible minute I thought Mac might fall for it. Again. But she turned at him with that vicious Marine snarl on her face, that kick-ass routine drilled into her eyes. "Bite me, Webb."

And we entered the elevator, leaving one very shocked CIA agent behind. And the morning had just begun.

Well, it turned out Webb had called us a cab and by the time we were out of the building, it was waiting for us at the curb. Even Harm couldn't resist remarking on my parting shot to Webb. He's never quite gotten over the fact hat I actually dated him. And now that I think about it, I'm utterly repulsed at the idea. I think I'm getting back to my old self.

We reach Washington in good time and we're in the NCIS building before the clock strikes ten o'clock. We walk into their bullpen about the same time one of the agents is giving an announcement on our serial killer.

"During the past few months, many killings have been occurring over the States. And today's Mark Garamond is no exception. It is all the work of the same killer."

Tell me something we don't know.

"However, we have been sifting through previous killings looking for some kind of connection, maybe evidence of a copycat, and then we found this . . ."

The agent giving the announcement turns to the blackboard where a slide is portrayed. And it's the picture of a man in a grey suit lying in a crippled position on the sidewalk, with blood streaming out of his stomach. The mere site was enough to throw my stomach into flips.

"This is Tony Barret, and he was one of the eight civilians killed six years ago. They were all stabbed in similar fashion, one stab to the stomach, the other the heart. NCIS was not involved because they were all civilian murders, but as far as we can tell, the State police and the FBI did not make much of it either. This guy was smooth. His nickname around the office was 'Phantom' . . ."

Original.

"And we pulled all the old files they had on him. We will be handing these to our JAG lawyers," the agent motioned towards Harm and I. "And we'll see what they make of them."

Ooh, a challenge.

"Now, does anyone have any questions?"

I raise my hand. "Have you established any connections between the victims yet? Any pattern?"

"None except for the fact they all went to the Naval Academy and were in the same year," replied the agent. "Oh, yes, and before I forget, my name is Agent Riley."

I nodded towards him briefly in way of greeting and flash him a smile. "Colonel Mackenzie."

Of course, he probably already knew my name. But who cares, he's cute and blonde.

I can feel Harm looking at me right out of the corner of my eye. He looks uneasy. I wonder what about. I mean, this case is pretty edgy, but it's nothing we haven't handled before. I wonder if it's something I did . . .

It's been all afternoon and she still hasn't detached