A/N: This chapter was supervised by my boyfriend so, hopefully, there aren't that many errors. The first chapter will also be corrected as soon as we both have time. Darling, this is dedicated to you, for all your love, support and above all things, patience with me.

In the woods, Tony, McGee and Ziva stepped carefully, trying not to erase anything that could be hidden amidst the mud, leaves and branches. The winter wasn't helping: the rain on the previous night had probably washed away any evidence left... and sunset was close, although it wasn't even 1700 yet.

- I give up! – Tony exclaimed, sitting on a long tree log – The Boss is out of his mind, there is nothing here but mud. Look at me, I'm covered in mud!

- Gibbs will kill us if we go back empty-handed. We've been safe until now just because there's no mobile phone service out here.

- I'm with Tony, Ziva – McGee sat too, wiping the sweat from his forehead – We've been here for hours, we've searched all the damned woods three times. If there was any evidence, the rain washed it away.

- It's weird… - Ziva insisted.

- What? Gibbs's behaviour?

- No… the lack of evidence. If I learned something since I got into this agency, is that there is always something to find… however tiny or unimportant it might seem at first.

- It was the rain, as McGeek said. Missing your computers, Probie?

- Yeah, a lot. I'm starting to freeze.

Ziva ignored them - The girl's body and clothes were dry, she was left here after the rain. Can't you see it?

Both men coughed, trying to hide the shame.

- That's… hum, very perceptive, Ziva.

- No, it's not, and you know it. If you weren't so keen to return to headquarters, you would have spotted it too, hours ago.

- So, why aren't there any traces of footprints or anything around the body's dumping area?

- I… don't know, McGee… the soil…

- The soil was certainly soft and slightly wet, ideal to leave nice, well-defined footprints – Tony teased, digging his boot into the damp ground, leaving a perfect boot-mark on it – See?

- There were marks but… - Ziva tried to recreate the scene – bike marks…

- That's it! – McGee exclaimed.

- What about it, Probie? The young couple that found the body was riding bikes.

- Yes, and we assumed those were the marks we were seeing. But what if they weren't?

- Abby would have spotted two sets of bike marks in the photos. And so would you, Ziva, when you took them.

- Not if they belonged to equal tires – Ziva realised what McGee was thinking – We must go back to D.C., we have work to do on those bikes and tires.

- Not very promising work… it's just a guess.

- Do you have a better guess, Tony?

- So out of thousands of tires in D.C., Maryland and Virginia, we just happened to get two equal sets? One from the murderer and the other from two innocent bikers?

- That's Abby's job. And it looks like you are no bike expert. Some bike tires models sell better than others.

- I'm with Ziva, Tony.

- Ten minutes ago you were with me, Probie. Traitor. Ok, one poor guess is better than nothing. Better than the mud, at least. But if it doesn't pan out, you two better deal with Gibbs.

.

At the MTAC, Jenny waited in one of the comfortable armchairs for the technicians to finish setting up communications with Iraq. In times like these, she was very fond of the darkness of the room. Nobody needed to see the Director distressed and anxious.

- Director?

- Yes?

- Connection established. When you are ready.

She rose to her feet – Get it on the screen.

The multicoloured bars disappeared from the screen and she faced a military camp in Iraq. A tanned man was sitting in front of the camera, looking stern. The entire base camp buzzed behind and all around him. Men were carrying heavy rucksacks while another group was busy around a military Lorrie, loading it with something that was beyond her sight.

- Lieutenant Tucker reporting to the Director of NCIS. What can I do to help, madam?

- Lieutenant Tucker, I'm going straight to the point.

- Yes, madam.

- Is Chief Petty Officer McMillian available?

- He is supervising some works, but I can get him here for you, madam. Just a second. Excuse me.

Jenny saw him getting away from the screen and waited. They didn't take too long and she didn't know if it was good or bad. She would rather face an entire squad of armed terrorists than be the bearer of bad news.

- Chief Petty Officer McMilian, madam.

- Lieutenant Tucker, may you leave us alone?

- Yes, madam – once again, he disappeared from the screen.

She used those few seconds to observe the man in front of her. Early thirties, dark blonde hair, tanned skin as all the others in there, fair eyes and strong complexion.

- At the risk of sounding rude, madam, am I in some sort of trouble? It's never a good thing to hear from the NCIS around these parts and to have the director addressing me personally...…

- Chief Petty Officer McMilian, I'm afraid I don't have good news…

- Madam…?

- Your daughter, Elizabeth Holly McMilian, was found dead this morning.

The blankness in his face made it even worse. The entire face had hardened into a wax mask, painful to watch. Jenny decided to give him some time.

- Lilli… is dead? – he finally managed to say. He was fighting tears at the corners of his eyes.

- Yes. The NCIS is currently investigating and we will update you about any event until the case is solved. Also…

- Madam… she is only eight years old…

- I know… - her professional tone had gone softer – I am so sorry…

- Thank you – he had given up the fight and the tears were now rolling down his face – How…

- She was found in the woods just outside Richmond, Virginia. Asphyxiated.

- Any clues on… who did this?

- No, not yet, but I can assure you than we have our best team working on the case.

- Thank you, madam…

- I'll need to ask you some questions, Chief Petty Officer McMilian. Who was taking care of your daughter while you are out?

- Her nanny… Sarah, Sarah Johnson. I have no other family besides Lilli… I had to hire a nanny. Haven't you talked to her yet?

- No, but we will. Thank you very much, Chief Petty Officer and again, I'm sorry for your loss. We'll keep in touch…

- Sorry to interrupt madam, but I will return to D.C. as soon as possible. I won't stay here while my daughter is lying cold on an autopsy table. The NCIS may then get in touch with me at my own address – his features were now cold as ice.

- Alright. But, Chief Petty Officer, I know what you're thinking about, and I strongly advise you not to go that way… – she felt like a hypocrite. After all, she too had gone that way - followed it to the very end - to avenge one of her own. Not that she was proud of it now.

- Pardon me, madam, but I don't know what you are talking about.

- You know, Chief Petty Officer McMilian. As I said, we'll keep in touch. In Iraq or here in D.C.

He just nodded, his grief striking him again at full force. Jenny signalled to the technicians, indicating that the communications were over. Slowly, she removed the headset. She definitely hated being the bearer of bad news.

Downstairs, Gibbs was fighting with his mobile phone. Annoyed, he tossed it at McGee's directions, forcing him to grab it quickly if he didn't like to end up with a black eye.

- Find out what the Director wants.

- It's only a text message Boss, not an encrypted communication.

- Just read it.

- "CPO McMillian notified. Investigate Sarah Johnson, nanny."

- Sarah Johnson? – Tony asked from his desk – They couldn't have hired a nanny with a more exotic name? I don't know, Savannah Martinez perhaps? There must be thousands of Sarah Johnson!

- Would you trust your child to someone with a name like that? – Ziva didn't even bother looking away from the computer screen.

- No, but I don't think that's ever going to be a problem. I'm very conscious about my lifestyle. I'm fully aware that I have no time to spread or raise little DiNozzos, however cute and adorable they would be.

- And annoying too. But I don't think Chief Petty Officer McMillian knew that his country would be going to war as soon as he had a "little McMillian", so a nanny was really the only-

- DiNozzo, David, will you two shut up and work? – Gibbs shouted from his corner.

- Sorry, Boss. Eyes on the screen.

- There's 670 women named Sara Johnson – McGee interrupted, turning his computer's screen to face the rest of the team – In Virginia, Maryland and D.C.

- Start filtering them. Age, job… Couldn't the Director at least have asked him what the hell the woman looks like??

- You talk too soon, Special Agent Gibbs - He'd been interrupted by no less than Jenny herself, standing right in the middle of the bullpen, holding a file in her right hand - Here, Jehtro. Sarah Johnson. Not that you actually deserve it – she dropped it onto his desk, heading towards the lift.

- How the hell did she…

- That's the Director's job, DiNozzo - Ziva mocked - but don't worry about it. You'll never get there anyway.

- Shut up, Ziva.

- "Sarah Marie Johnson, Caucasian, born on September 8th, 1985 – Gibbs read – Last year student in the Waverly University, Mathematics"… isn't this the same university as your sister, McGee?

- Yes, Boss.

- It may come in handy. "Full and Part-Time nanny. Parents…" there's nothing of interest in here – he threw the file back to his desk.

- Am I the only one that thinks the nanny is dead too? – Ziva asked.

- I'm afraid not – McGee answered.

- Then why dump the little girl in the woods and take the nanny to some other place?

- I hate to say this, but you may have a point there, Tony.

- Watch and learn, Probie.

- Since everyone seems to agree that the nanny, dead or alive, is the answer to solve the case, why are you still sitting so comfortably in your desks?

- What do you mean, Boss…

- Get your asses out of here and go look for the girl. McGee, Ziva, go to the McMillian house and process it, from top to bottom. Tony, you come with me, we're going to trace a perimeter around the house and search for Sarah Johnson.