Ziva pressed her hand over her mouth when she found that she was unable to stifle a yawn. Her catnap had done little to relieve the fatigue that had been steadily settling into her muscles since early in the afternoon. She reflected that she might feel more refreshed if not for the rude awakening she had endured.

She glanced over her shoulder. Asleep with his head tilted back on the headrest, Tony was in the back seat, his mouth hanging open. She was tempted to try flicking pennies into it, but the memory of her earlier actions stopped her. Nothing about them had involved thought; her body had simply sensed a threat and responded. She wouldn't admit that she'd come terrifyingly close to cutting his throat. She was pleased when his take-home lesson turned out to be 'don't sneak up on Ziva.' The consequences of his internalizing 'Ziva could kill you' were more disquieting than she cared to consider. She decided to let him sleep.

She faced forward again, watching Gibbs argue with the guard in the small security building at the entrance of the gated community Dr. Marvin Franklin called home. They'd gone to the hospital, navigating its maze of corridors with considerably more success, only to find that he had gone to lunch and never returned. The administrator who had met with Ziva and Ducky had begrudgingly given them Franklin's home address. Not that it was doing them much good.

The security guard was waving his arms over his head in the manner one would use to attract the attention of a passing ocean liner if one were trapped on a desert island. Ziva laughed as a tiny golf cart with an orange strobe responded to his frantic summons. Tony stirred behind her, muttering, "On your six."

"Tony?"

"Wasn't me." He shifted slightly.

She pinched his knee gently. "Tony?"

"I didn't touch your ass!" he half-shouted as his eyes shot open. "Ziva…I, uh, you…I was dreaming."

"You certainly were," she replied, looking at him significantly. She loved watching his discomfiture under her gaze sometimes. She'd never been able to sustain the upper hand with so little effort – at least not with someone she considered worth dominating. She often wondered if he was playing the same game she was or if things were just unfolding like this.

Her train of thought and their stare both broke when Gibbs yanked the car door open. "They're letting us in on the condition that Gary Coleman over there comes with us."

"Nice pop culture reference, boss. What you talkin' bout, Willis?" He looked at them both expectantly but was disappointed. "Is he coming with us or are we going in the golf cart?"

"We're following him," Gibbs answered.

Five minutes later, Tony tapped Ziva's shoulder. "Wanna get out and walk?"

She turned to look and found that he was leaning forward, his chin almost resting on the shoulder he'd just touched. "You're always complaining about Gibbs and my driving. Why don't you just enjoy the ride?"

"He complains about my driving?"

"Not at all, boss." Tony leaned back. "I was just saying that it's kind of embarrassing when the squirrels are going faster than we are."

"I don't think the rodents are judging us, DiNozzo. And anyway, we're here."

The security guard was already ambling up the front walk of a rather large home. The three NCIS agents jogged past him, ignoring his objections. Gibbs knocked sharply on the door. It creaked slightly as it swung open without warning. Gibbs removed his gun from its holster, prompting Tony and Ziva to follow suit. He stepped into the foyer, glancing left and right before beckoning to his agents. Ziva made eye contact with him as he pointed her up the stairs.

She entered the house with Tony at her side, focusing on the staircase as he broke to the right. Keeping her body low, she rapidly ascended the stairs. The hallway had a short section to the right and a longer one to the left. She stepped into the first door on her right, a bathroom. Clear. The next door led to what appeared to be a guest bedroom with a small closet. Clear. She entered the third room, an office. It was empty, but something felt wrong. She glanced around. No computer. That couldn't be a coincidence.

A woman's scream suddenly filled the house. Ziva tightened her grip on her gun as she sprinted back to the stairs. Concerned only for the safety of the person in distress, she balanced lightly on the curving banister and let gravity take over. Her momentum carried her forward when her feet hit the floor. The noise was coming from the kitchen in the back of the house. She stopped short of a blood pool, barely maintaining her balance as Tony collided with her back.

Gibbs stood on the other side of the kitchen, pulling the security guard away from their crime scene. "Either of you recognize him?" He pointed to the body lying in large pool of blood on the white tile.

"Yes. It's Dr. Franklin," Ziva replied. The man still looked nervous, despite the fact that he was sprawled across his kitchen floor, dead. She leaned forward, keeping her feet planted to avoid stepping forward and contaminating the crime scene. Other than the obvious, the kitchen looked spotless and normal. A small object in the corner caught her eye. She couldn't make it out with the lights off. It was a squarish lump. With tassels? A sofa cushion?

Tony grabbed the back of her windbreaker just as she was about to lose her balance. Her back made contact with his chest for the second time since they'd entered the kitchen. The little incidental contact didn't mean anything. She'd certainly been closer to him. She still enjoyed it. "Thanks."

"Anytime." His hand released her jacket but lingered on her back.

Gibbs didn't pay any attention to their inadvertent rapport. "Tony, call the locals. Ziva, call Ducky." He spared a disgusted look for the security guard. "Maybe you should go back to your little cart."

The man nodded weakly and stumbled toward the front door. Ziva pressed her third most used speed dial number. A sleepy voice answered, "Donald Mallard."

"Sorry to disturb you, Ducky."

"Aaah, Ziva. It's never an imposition. What can I do for you?"

"We've got another body connected to the Neal case."

"Not another brother?"

"No." She hesitated. "I'm afraid it's Dr. Franklin."

"You're kidding." He paused. "He seemed like a brilliant man. He might really have made a difference. Well, you might as well give me the address."

She hung up a few minutes later, walking back to the threshold of the kitchen. Gibbs still stood in the space between the island and kitchen proper. "First impressions?"

"Not a suicide?"

"Nice work, DiNozzo."

Ziva tried not to giggle; giggling was out of character for her. He brought out the worst…no, a different side of her. Her eyes flitted back to the unidentified object in the corner. "I think the killer used a homemade silencer."

"Oh?" Gibbs questioned. His tone contained no disbelief, just need for confirmation.

"It looks like there's a couch cushion over there." She pointed toward the corner. "The killer fired through it to muzzle the noise of the gunshot."

"Muffle," Tony corrected softly. His voice felt very close to her ear.

Gibbs didn't notice. "Do we have booties and gloves in the car?"

"We have gloves but no booties, boss," Tony replied. "Should I call McGee to bring the truck?"

"Yeah. Wait, no. He hasn't called us about the source of that email yet. We'll just wait 'til Ducky gets here."

"Tony could help me clear the rest of the second floor in the meantime, Gibbs," Ziva suggested.

"Do that. Then do the basement."

Ziva eyed Tony before moving toward the stairs. "I'd cleared the rooms to the right when the guard, um, informed us about the situation downstairs."

"You can say it. It was a girly scream." She was halfway up the flight of stairs before he noted, "By the way, nice work on the banister there, BatGirl."

She almost tripped on the last stair as she turned to smile at him. "I do what I can. I suggest we clear the rooms to the left, then recheck the ones to the right."