The following morning, Jethro woke up on the couch downstairs. He was slightly confused for a brief moment until everything came flooding back, smiling as he registered Shannon pressed up against him.

They had been up late the night before well after Kelly had gone upstairs to get some sleep, chatting and playing some card games. Time had apparently gotten away from them, the pair dosing off mid-conversation.

He decided not to sit up right then, not wanting to wake his wife up just yet as it was still quite early. Eventually, she stirred though, smiling up at him.

He gave Shannon a small smile. "Looks like morning happened again."

The redhead gave a contented little hum as she sat up. "That it does."

"Coffee?" he proposed.

"Do you even need to ask?" she deadpanned.

With a small smirk, Jethro slowly got up off and couch and went to make the both of them some much-needed hot brew and get some breakfast on the go.

"You know mine, so what's your most embarrassing memory from junior high?" Jethro asked the redhead in between bites of his omelette.

"Oh God!" she said with a chuckle. "I guess it'd have to be… I fell asleep in math. Mrs. Gallagher, I think, used a ruler to hit the desk, making a loud noise. Scared me so bad I fell out of my chair and almost cried. She along with the class laughed."

"Nobody liked taking Mrs. Gallagher's classes," he commented. "Lady was horrible."

Shannon took a sip of her coffee. "Ya think? Anyway, you couldn't pay me to be that age again. Such an awkward time."

"I know," he readily agreed. "The best part of junior high was leaving junior high."

"Why did my mother even let me out of the house in a few of those outfits?" Shannon said with a shake of the head. "At least some of those fashion trends died."

He smirked. "Oh, I don't know. You looked pretty cute in those skirts."

She rolled her eyes. "You would think that." She adopted a playful grin. "But, I seem to recall a certain tough guy I know wearing salmon-coloured bell bottoms."

"Nope," he deadpanned.

Shannon pretended to wrack her brain for a moment. "Yeah, you know, I think I have a couple of photos of it somewhere."

He gave her a look of disgust. Not one of my better fashion choices. "Burn 'em."

She burst out laughing. "Not in a million years."

Walking into the squad room at 0700, Jethro and his MCRT were immediately back in the thick of things, not any closer to wrapping the case up than they had been the day prior. The lack of progress was a little frustrating.

The BOLO put out on Lieutenant Commander Brett had been thus far ineffective. The lieutenant commander had turned off his cellphone to stymie McGee's usual tricks. A minor annoyance he wasn't all the concerned about. The workaholic man wasn't likely to miss any of his sensitive meetings.

Ziva shook her head, eying him. "I felt all day he wanted to shake me."

"It's hard to protect someone who doesn't want protection," Jethro stated as he took a seat down at his desk.

McGee sighed. "His cell's still off."

He turned back to Ziva. "What was his schedule this morning?"

"Uh," the young Israeli said, "he has to be in his office by 11:00 a.m. For a conference call with Admiral Mosley in Pearl Harbour.

"Ah," Jethro replied, his feelings on the matter showing clearly on his face. "Doubt he'll miss that." His gaze then flickered between both DiNozzo and McGee, opting to put his money on his Senior Field Agent. "You got anything on Kaplan?"

McGee stood up and started to walk over to Jethro. "There's no D.C. Driver's licence or passport issued to a George Kaplan at 1313 Branchport Avenue, Northwest. We're trying surrounding states, but it's a common name. There's gonna be a lot of hits."

"Military or criminal record?" he inquired.

"None," McGee said, clearly frustrated with a lack of progress himself.

Hanging up his desk phone, his Senior Field Agent piped up. "I got something. Ha-ha!" The younger agent held up a yellow sticky note while getting up from his desk. "The social security number of the George Kaplan on Branchport Avenue." A quizzical look crossed DiNozzo's face. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

That was a start. "Where'd you get the number?" Jethro asked as he took the offered sticky note from the younger agent.

"Kaplan's stockbroker," DiNozzo explained. "It turns out he's got 1.1 mil in the account that paid for the hitman."

He glanced back up at DiNozzo. "Broker give you a description?"

The Italian-American shook his head in the negative. "Doesn't think he met him. Dealt with the business manager, a Drew Turner."

Well, that looked to be a good lead. "That's the same name we got from the landlady."

"Broker says it's not unusual," DiNozzo continued. "He deals with business managers all the time. It turns out that Turner had power of attorney. All the documentation you need to open an account, which means he's got Kaplan's social security number and address. Which has to be a residence. Can't be a P.O. box."

Pulling information up on the plasma, McGee started to speak. "Kaplan files State and Federal tax returns. Prepared by…"

"Drew Turner," Jethro finished. "Time to talk to him." He considered his next step. "Tony, subpoena the records of Kaplan's account."

His Senior Field Agent nodded, immediately going to do as asked.

DiNozzo and McGee then visited Turner's very impressive home. Turner claimed that she hadn't seen Kaplan since last tax season but described him as 5'8" with dark hair. She claimed not to know Kaplan that well and denied knowing Lieutenant Commander Brett at all. She did agree to come into NCIS to sit down with a sketch artist, though, so that was something, at least.

He and Ziva, meanwhile, tracked down and ran into Lieutenant Commander Brett, who was as glib as ever, at the Capital. The man still couldn't believe who would want to kill him, refusing to take it seriously.

The lieutenant commander then said he ditched Ziva because he wanted to go have sex, but this lady friend of his was not married and there were apparently no jealous ex-boyfriends, so that was apparently a dead end as well. The man then said that if anyone was trying to kill him, he could take care of himself. Brett then walked off, clearly intending to continue being difficult.

Jethro leaned into Ziva and spoke under his breath. "I'm glad this is your detail and not mine." The young woman looked less than thrilled by the implications that she still had to shadow him, but he waved her off. "Go on."

With a sigh, Ziva ran off to catch up with Lieutenant Commander Brett.

Returning to the Navy Yard, Jethro headed down to Abby's lab. Jethro quickly became concerned at seeing how distracted the normally on-point forensic scientist was.

"What've you got, Abs?" he asked as he walked in.

"Whoa, Gibbs," she said softly, turning around in her chair, "you scared me."

"What are you doing?" he questioned, concerned.

"Um," the forensic scientist told him a bit nervously, "I'm searching male birth records from Jefferson Parish, Louisiana."

So, she's still looking for that guy. "Did you find anything?"

"No," the goth admitted.

That's surprising. Maybe I'll get McGee to help. He decided to get their focus back on the case at hand. "How'd you make out with the prints found in Kaplan's apartment?"

She looked up at him a bit embarrassed. "I haven't gotten to them yet."

That's not like her. "What about the sketch of Kaplan?" he tried again.

"His business manager never showed up," Abby informed him.

That's odd. She'd willingly agreed to come down. "Did you tell Tony? McGee?"

"No," she admitted. "I've been a little distracted, Gibbs."

That's an understatement. "Abs," he gently chastised. "I need you."

The forensic scientist nodded, trying to refocus on her work.

Back upstairs in the squad room, DiNozzo and McGee - who had been bickering over who got to update Jethro when he walked in - gave Jethro an update that once again seemed to answer one question but created several more at the same time. They were all missing something, a piece of the puzzle, that much was obvious.

"I've got Kaplan's brokerage statement," DiNozzo stated, pulling all the information up for him on the plasma. "A week before the 25 grand was wired to the hitman, there was a $500,000 withdrawal."

"I tracked it to an online gambling website in Costa Rica," McGee said.

"Transaction was initiated by Kaplan's business manager, Drew Turner." DiNozzo turned to him. "We told you that Drew is a woman, right?"

Jethro dipped his head slightly in confirmation.

"Of course we did," DiNozzo said. "She is authorized to sign on the account." He raised an eyebrow. "You knew that too."

"She told us she hadn't talked to Kaplan in months," McGee said.

"We think that little kitty cat is up to something," his Senior Field Agent informed him. "Clearly she and George Kaplan were in this together."

"Turner did not show to do the sketch with Abby," he commented. "Bring her in."

Unfortunately, when McGee and DiNozzo went to bring Turner in, his two agents found her hanging in the stairwell. Something that took Ducky little time to confirm was not suicide as it appeared to be at first glance.

"She's a civilian," Sportelli said as they walked into autopsy. "I want the body."

"No," he countered, "we found her." Jethro didn't slow his pace any as he spoke. "She's our lead to who may have put out the hit on the commander."

Detective Sportelli clearly didn't agree with his logic but conceded. "A lot of good she's gonna do you dead." The man turned to Ducky, the medical examiner stopping his autopsy to talk to them. "She leave a suicide note?"

"Well," Ducky said, "the late Ms. Turner did not commit suicide."

"What are you talking about?" Sportelli said in disbelief. "She hung herself."

"Doctor Mallard," he introduced, "meet Metro Detective Sportelli."

"Good morning," the medical examiner said. "I'd shake hands, but..."

"I'm cool," the man said, clearly grossed out by Ducky's rather bloody gloves.

Jethro decided to refocus the discussion. "What are you thinking, Duck?"

"The hanging was staged," the medical examiner said.

That caught the Metro detective's attention. "How can you tell?"

"Well," Ducky said, "to begin with, suicide by hanging is very unusual, uncharacteristic for a female. So, I was suspicious. Human flesh reacts differently after death. When a person hangs themselves, they are suspended by the neck with the weight of the body
pulling downwards. The ligature creates a furrow with a pattern that runs from the front to the back. But when the ligature is applied after death, as in this case,
you can see it's fairly even. The tissue, not being infused with blood, reacts differently. It's dryer and more yellowish."

"Then how did she die?"' Sportelli inquired.

"Well," the medical examiner explained, "I opened up the neck and I found bruising on her organs consistent with manual strangulation. Ms. Turner was choked to death and then hanged to make it look as if the manner of death was indeed suicide."

God, this case was a mess. It felt like they had been taking two steps forward and one step back since the beginning.