Tony glanced at the calendar not really needing it to know how many days it had been since she'd been taken. Counting today it would be 63 days, the number was etched in his mind each day dawning dark and grey much like the weather. A glance at Gibbs had him swallowing back a hint of bile. The madness that had threatened to take him that night tainted every day, every waking hour. At first they'd had hope and drive to find her alive. Slowly hope had faded to acceptance it may take time and now each day though no one spoke it aloud they all simply hoped to find her at all. Any sign of her to ease the absolute nothingness that ate at them all. Gibbs was like a machine, he came he worked until they had to force him to leave and the next day it repeated. He knew from Mike that Gibbs ate when something was set in front of him, but rarely spoke outside of work. Instead he spent hours working out, training at the range and more often than not perfecting the nursery. Eli had finally been forced to return home to Israel for the past month and had only just returned the night before. The strain on him was telling as well, he'd taken an official leave of absence with no word on when he would return. The loss of his last child had seemed to be the man's undoing.
Tony didn't want to believe she was gone, didn't want to face the reality of what would happen if they found Ziva, wrapped as the others had been. The worse more agonizing thought was never finding her at all. A glance at Gibbs and he knew there would be no stopping Gibbs as he'd done that first night. He, Mike, McGee and Vance had discussed removing Gibbs from the case, taking his gun, but the idea had quickly been set aside. Gibbs was resourceful if he felt betrayed he'd disappear and they might never find him either. So instead they watched him and each other waiting for something to happen. Gibbs caught him watching and met his gaze, blue eyes flat and emotionless. "Something you wanted to say Tony?"
Tony shook his head. "No. just thinking we should grab lunch." Before he would have reminded him he needed to stay strong for when they came back, now he often had to remind Gibbs to stay strong for whatever battle was to come. He wasn't sure how much longer it would work. Far too much time was spent shifting papers and staring at the same evidence over and over again. Their team had been assigned no further cases. Vance had spoken with Tony privately and stated he didn't feel the team was fit for any other duty. They managed paperwork that was long overdue and a bit of consulting but, Tony hadn't protested because none of them were capable of handling anything else. A glance around and at her empty desk and he wondered if they ever would be.
Abby stepped toward Gibbs' desk almost reluctantly; she waited as she always did now for him to notice her. She stayed still not wanting to startle him. Any resemblance to the Gibbs she had known for years was gone. Now and then she could see he tried when for a moment he forgot and then reality would seep in and the coldness would return. He noticed her but there was no smile. "Yes Abby"
"I may have found something." She wanted hope to flare in his eyes to see some small bit of joy but even now it wouldn't come. He wasn't allowing real hope anymore, she knew from a conversation she'd overheard with Mike one day that he was simply hoping to give her a proper goodbye. She'd prayed with all she was upon finding this new evidence that maybe just maybe this time they would find something.
Gibbs pulled himself from his seat feeling the leaden weight of trying to get through each day pulling him down. "What is it Abby?"
Tony and McGee watched her swallow hard and click on the screen connected to her tablet. "After you told me that Ziva was certain our killer was someone she had seen before and likely connected to Haven I had you write that list of everywhere you'd been everything you'd done since the case began."
Gibbs swallowed some coffee and glanced at Abby "I remember Abby I'm not that far gone." He didn't say that some days that wasn't entirely true.
"I arranged for a search warrant for each of those places and if I couldn't get the warrant I just went and got what I needed. And I found a match." She clicked on a picture of the Inn where Ziva and Gibbs had begun their introduction to Haven. "Strands of the carpet from the room you were in were found on the last bodies that were found. The carpet is no longer sold and I matched it in every other way possible."
Gibbs sucked in a breath felt his hand tremble and had to set down his coffee in order not to spill it. "Andrew Locke, oh my God we never even gave him a thought after that first day." He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "McGee pull up the tape from the surveillance camera of the body dump."
McGee had it up and running on the big screen in seconds. Around them all of NCIS seemed to have stopped; silence reigned awareness drenching the room. They all watched the screen with Gibbs.
"There! That scene put it on a loop." Gibbs watched it again and again and then swore so loudly Abby jumped. "It's him. His left hand watch it he runs his thumb in a circle again and again against his other fingers. He did it the whole time we were interviewing with him. It was such an obvious tic, Ziva and I even joked about it afterward." He felt a rush much like a fever wash over him, he felt dizzy and overwhelmed. "I want everything on him, everything dig so damn deep you find his ancestors."
McGee was already on it and as Tony looked around he could see the rest of NCIS was working as well. Assigned or not they would be searching down all their avenues as well, talking to their informant's anything to feel like they were helping in some way. "I'll fill Vance in."
Gibbs raised his head to Tony and nodded. "Thank you."
An hour later McGee was calling Gibbs over to his desk. "Andrew Locke doesn't really exist. When we did our preliminary searches on the names you gave us he came back clean, even the second deeper look didn't throw up any red flags. But I did exactly what you said and started looking at his family. That part of trail he didn't think about well enough. His family doesn't really exist they're people who died all with the same last name but not related. And one of those dead people owns a very large leather warehouse in West Virginia, I cross referenced that with supply houses for the items he would need and everything but the gold dust has been delivered there." The words came out in a mad rush and when he was done McGee was gasping both for air and hope.
Gibbs felt the sting of tears, the very slightest wash of relief. He wanted to believe she was still alive prayed on his knees every night but even if he she was lost to him this meant at least that he might find her. "Gear up, call Mike get everyone ready. We'll go in quiet but we need to be ready just in case."
The silence that had reigned exploded in a cacophony of sound. People gearing up, swat being called, phones ringing it flooded the room with the hope that was like water in the desert.
Ziva stood in the room she'd spent the better part of two months in. It dripped luxury, satin and velvet, brocade all the finest things. A gilded cage, which surrounded her much like the necklace around her throat. A heavy bronze polished and inlaid with jewels it might have been beautiful if not for the fact it was wired to explosives that were placed in all the windows and doors of the warehouse. If she stepped past the boundaries of the warehouse the collar would explode along with the warehouse. Had it not been for the baby she might have risked trying to remove the collar or to escape. But he'd shown her the collar before forcing it on her and she knew it was the real thing. A gentle stroke of her hand on her belly had the child inside her kicking wildly. She smiled and hummed to the baby. She spoke often to the child, even sang but that was the only time words left her mouth. She still refused to speak to her captor. When she'd realized he had no intention of killing her she'd been able refuse him many things. Thankfully he'd never once seemed interested in violating her body. That one small favor she was more than grateful for. Still he was frequently in the warehouse, doing things she didn't want to think about and could do nothing about. He checked on her often, bringing her food and other necessities. He was frustrated by her refusal to speak but he would talk to her. Would tell her of his plans, the reasons why he did what he did. Other times he would talk nonsense, happenings at Haven, about a funny thing he saw in the newspaper.
Never once did he mention Gibbs or the rest of her family. She considered them that now. It hurt to miss them, to know that he had hidden her so well they might not ever find her. It hurt more to miss Gibbs and to think of him never seeing his child. At just over thirty weeks the baby was active, doing rolls and kicking wildly. Over the past few weeks she had felt a delicate tightening of her belly. If she guessed correctly they were Braxton-hicks contractions; her body preparing itself for the eventual birth. Lately though that tightening had gotten stronger more rhythmic and closer together. She was afraid and hated that fear. She wasn't afraid of giving birth alone, not much anyways. It was fear of an early birth without the proper supplies and it was what would happen after she gave birth that worried her. She knew deep in her soul Locke would take her child, and kill her. She doubted that had been his intention when he'd taken her. He'd been too determined to make her understand how he felt for her how they belonged together but now he seemed to simply be waiting for her child to arrive.
She paced the room not bothering to count her steps anymore; she only left the room when forced. She had the ability to walk anywhere in the warehouse but that too she refused. She wanted no part of his world and now with her body rebelling she didn't want to do anything to bring on labor sooner. She had to work hard not to think of what Gibbs must be going through. He surely believed her dead by now and she couldn't blame him. Had it been reversed she might have wanted to keep believing but time was cruel. For the first two weeks she'd thought perhaps they would find her but that hope had faded. Her hands clenched in the fine silk of her gown and she had to fight the grief of all she and Gibbs had lost. The mirror caught her attention and she didn't recognize the beautiful woman there. The gown was one of many provided by Locke her only choices in clothing. He told her she would look like the queen she was and the dresses were just that softly draped gowns befitting a woman of ancient Egypt. The collar also fit the period. Her hair which she fiercely refused to wear down was a crown of braids that she only undid and redid when he wasn't in residence. The make-up was of the same style, she tried to refuse that but he'd struck her hard across the face and she hadn't resisted again after that. The actual crown of bronze laurel leaves in her hair was ridiculous but again something he wouldn't budge on. If she was awake she was required to wear it. Every time she gave in it was for the sake of her baby. She often had to give in.
She'd had grown used to bathing in a copper tub he would pull into her room every morning. She'd even grown used to room that passed as her bathroom. She felt slightly sick when she thought of how he dutifully emptied the chamber pot like pail he left for her. She'd been forced to accept a lot, including the fact that he carried a handheld detonator with him at all times. She couldn't be sure it was the real thing but she wasn't fool enough to test him.
Candles flickered in the room her only source of light, he'd been careful to leave her nothing electric nothing she could potentially use against him or to thwart the collar around her neck. Sometimes the frustration with her own inability to save herself was enough to drive her to tears but even that she would not give him.
She sat back on the bed and picked up the book she'd been reading. As much as she hated being grateful for anything she was grateful he continually provided her with books. It kept the madness at bay, the yawning loneliness.
This book was on philosophy and she was enjoying it, as much as she could anyways. She had only a vague concept of time based on her own internal clock and the fact he kept a rather regular schedule of meals. Inside the drawer of her nightstand she kept hash marks as each day passed but it was the closest thing to a calendar she had.
She had tried making a weapon but each morning and each night he thoroughly searched the room and she was afraid if he found something he might indeed harm her. He wasn't stable one day conciliatory the next brimming with rage. So she fought every instinct and just existed connecting with the baby, savoring every moment as though it was the last. Just last night she'd carefully pulled a page from the book and using eyeliner as a pencil written Gibbs a letter. A vain attempt on the off chance someday this place was found. Using eyelash glue she'd fixed it to the bottom of the drawer of the nightstand and begun to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable.
Tonight though she was restless, her body demanding movement, dinner would be coming soon and yet still she was forced against her better judgment to leave the room. Her bare feet touched the cool cement floor outside her door and she shivered. He'd never allowed her shoes, lightweight slippers of the finest fabrics enough to keep her feet warm but nothing that that would have aided her should she have tried to flee. This night would not end like the others somehow she knew tonight would be a turning point. She walked along the floor until she came to the center of the warehouse. There were windows here but she never got close to them, terrified she would set off the collar on accident. The windows weren't covered but then who would bother to look in the windows of a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The days of solitude had taught her that wherever she was being hidden was not somewhere easily found. She never heard the sound of vehicles except for Locke's as he drove up. Similarly nothing but the sounds of nature greeted her either in the morning or at night. The windows only revealed a scattering of trees and empty fields all around. As she looked out at that night she felt a shiver despite the humid warmth of the building.
Something was raising the hairs on the back of her neck and it wasn't because Locke sitting at an ornate desk in the center of the room had noticed her. That made her skin crawl in an entirely different way.
"You ventured out. I'm surprised." He watched her stare at him with disdain and the unwillingness to speak as always. He had to clench his fist to keep from striking her. He had to be more careful now, he suspected the baby was giving her difficulties and he didn't want any risks. He watched her glance to the window and laughed. "You are welcome to look out the windows Ziva the collar will not go off unless you step past the threshold, or try to open them." He watched her hand go to the collar he thought she might speak but she only frowned. Those dark eyes looking upon him with the same haughty disdain they'd held on the first night he'd taken her. He couldn't help but smile thinking about how the blood on his hands as he'd entered her house had caught her off guard. She'd put up a good fight earning them both a handful of bruises and herself a bloody nose until he'd pressed the Taser to the swell of her belly. Only then had she become the agreeable woman he'd known she could be. The fact she would not speak to him was a frustration but nothing that he couldn't force when he was ready for now he was going just a bit easier on her. Delivering her child early would do neither of them any good.
He watched her step silently around the room, her face revealing nothing of what might have brought her out of her self-imposed isolation. Perhaps she had finally resolved herself to the idea that they both held the same purpose; justice for the living. The fact they went about it differently wasn't so big an obstacle that they couldn't overcome it.
Ziva had been drawn out of her room and even now her gaze was drawn to the window. For an insane moment she thought about Gibbs watching her through that very window gun in hand. That scared her as much as the collar around her neck. She had no idea what would happen if he shot through the window. Simply opening it would set off the charges; she had to believe one breaking would at least set off the one in that window and possibly the collar. Despite the fact she didn't believe he was really there watching she shook her head into the night. Perhaps she was going mad, it had been so long since she'd spoken to anyone but the baby it wasn't impossible. Still she allowed herself to connect with the darkness to believe for just a moment indulging the insanity that he was out there waiting to save her.