Ziva wished she'd had more time to sleep after spending the almost the entire night searching freezing parking lots and roadsides. She rested her elbows on her desk and made tiny circles with the tips of her fingers as she massaged her temples. McGee had taken Maureen Thompson, Sgt. Neal's fiancée, home, as her SUV was still being examined in the garage. She hadn't taken the news of his death well.

Ziva slowly folded her arms in front of her and rested her head on them. McGee would be gone for at least another twenty minutes and Gibbs had just gone upstairs to brief the director. She decided with a little luck she might be able to catch a quick nap. She could sense that luck was not on her side as something small and cold hit the nape of her neck. The ice cube slid back, necessitating her reaching back to catch it at her collar. Head still resting on one arm, she reached into her top desk drawer and rummaged blindly. Finding what she wanted, she held it up. "You do that again and I'm throwing this back at you."

"No need to break out the knives," Tony answered. "Crazy chick."

She dropped the knife on her desk and looked up, settling her chin on her forearm. "No, the crazy one just went home with McGee."

He rolled his chair over to her desk. "She just found out the guy she was gonna marry is dead. It's normal to cry and freak out a little. I think it'd be weirder if she didn't."

"Perhaps, but that was excessive." She held up her wastebasket for him to examine. "I used fewer Kleenex when I had that sinus infection last winter."

"Yeah, I forgot how much you love the crying." He grinned, propping his cheek against his hand. "Think about it this way – how would you feel if I died?"

She buried her face in her arms again. "I'd hide the evidence, make it look like an accident and flee the country. They'd never get Israel to extradite. Wake me when Gibbs gets back." He was tapping his forefinger on her head almost immediately. "Tony, I said when…"

"When what, Officer David?" Gibbs stood in the spot where Tony's chair had been moments earlier. "What did we find out from the fiancée?"

Ziva blinked hard, groping for her keyboard. A license photo appeared on the plasma. "Maureen Thompson is a nurse at Georgetown University Hospital. She last saw Sgt. Neal yesterday morning when she picked up the car. She arrived at the hospital just after noon and worked a double shift. We'll confirm that when we're there."

"Did she explain why her parking permit was registered to her fiancée's brother?"

"Yes. Doctors get better parking spots than nurses and he did her a favor. Not the first one either; he also introduced her to his brother."

"You said she last saw him when she picked up the car?"

"They didn't live together. She said something about being 'old-fashioned,' whatever that means."

Tony had sidled up next to her. "Oh, you know, she churns her own butter, knits her own sweaters by the light of candles she made herself, that kind of stuff."

"She's not Amish, DiNozzo. Do you have anything useful to add?"

"Actually, I do." He pulled the remote from Ziva's hand and clicked it several times. A photograph of a shoeprint appeared on the screen. "Sneaker print from the roadside where we found the Mercedes. Nike running shoe, size eight, men's. Or, size ten, women's. I noticed the former future Mrs. Neal was wearing Nikes."

Ziva pursed her lips. "They were Adidas and her feet were smaller than mine."

"Right." He paused as he looked at her a moment longer than necessary. "Anyway, we've got a series of prints from a right shoe that abruptly stop about twenty feet up the road. What we do not have are tire tracks. So how's this sound? Sneaker guy gets out of the Mercedes, walks to the getaway car, where he gets in the passenger side. We could be looking for a two-man team here, boss."

"Yeah, or three, or eight, or a busload of tourists. Find me something concrete."

"Wow, my timing is getting just as good as yours, Gibbs!" Abby was still wearing her jumpsuit from the garage. "When no one came back to hear about the cars I thought I'd come up to see if I could catch the camera guys in action. No such luck, I guess."

"What have you got, Abs?"

"The Explorer looks clean, but I pulled a bullet from the front passenger door of the Mercedes." She held up a glass jar. "Same caliber as the bush bullet. I should be able to match the striations, if they match, of course. DNA will take a few hours, but I can already tell you that the bullet from the hedge is the one that killed Dr. Neal. The car has a lot of blood in it, mainly on the right side, and the right rear window has a half-moon shattering pattern at the top where it was open. I got fingerprints off the driver's side door, steering wheel and gearshift, but I haven't had time to compare them to the brothers yet."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I think I really like it when we can get the crime scene delivered by flatbed."

Gibbs smiled as he shook his head. "Nice work, Abs." He turned to Tony and Ziva. "You two…"

"Oh, make them do the chicken dance!" Abby interrupted. "What, you made them make out earlier."

"That was just a misunderstanding. Anyway, I talked to Georgetown Hospital this morning. They're willing to do whatever it takes to cooperate."

"That's generous," Ziva said, "and what do you mean, 'misunderstanding'?"

"He didn't mean anything." Tony grabbed arm and pulled her toward the elevator.

"I need my coat." She leveled a glare at him. "What, exactly, did I misunderstand?"

"Nothing, Ziva. We should really be getting to the hospital."

"Take Ducky with you," Gibbs called.

Ziva looked curiously at Tony as they stepped into the elevator. "Ducky? Is Gibbs expecting us to find a body?"

"I think he's suggesting that even though you're fluent in 800 languages, we still need someone who speaks 'doctor.' It's like sending McGeek when we need an ambassador to the nerds."