Hey folks!

Here's the next chapter. Thanks to those who pointed out the mistake in my last note. "Jif" is a brand of peanut butter here in the States, not "Jiffy". My bad.

Just a heads up that the next chapter may take a smidge longer than normal. I've been asked to do a work project for a company I used to work for a few years ago. I'll be working 12 hour days and staying in a hotel that I'm not sure has wi-fi, so that means I'll be essentially "off the grid" for the next week or so. But I promise to get right back to this story as soon as I get back .

Until then, on with the torture…..erm I mean fun… ;o)

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Chapter Three

Stupid TFTWNQ….

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"Dammit," the woman muttered, hanging up the phone and frantically dialing the same number again. She'd heard him pick up and say his name, proving that she'd gotten the number right. But before she could say a word the line had cut out on her end. The second time it rang and rang until voicemail picked up and she nearly cried. Knowing that staying in one place for too long was dangerous, she was forced to leave a message.

"Agent Gibbs, this is Dina Rissi. I don't know if you remember me, but you saved my life a few weeks ago and……I need you to do it again. Someone keeps threatening me. I don't know who…..but they keep finding me….no matter where I go. I don't know who to trust so….I'm trusting you. If you get this please come find me….at the only place I am safe….you should know where."

Worried that somehow her invisible pursuer would find a way to trace the call and listen in, she dared not say anymore and hung up. The bars on the cell phone showed that something was causing the reception to go in and out, she'd been lucky to get through long enough to leave a message. Looking one final time at the phone, she decided to get rid of it, tossing it into the bushes outside of her car window.

She knew that Gibbs (if he came) would probably be able to trace it, but she also knew that if he could then chances were her pursuer could too. She stayed in her car for another minute, looking around anxiously for any signs that she had been followed.

It had started pretty innocently the week before, an odd package of dead roses left at her doorstep and a card with nothing but a simple drawing of an arrow through a heart – a bleeding heart. Dina had thought nothing of it. She was quickly becoming a fairly well-known artist, even outside the small town where she lived in Arizona. Sometimes crazy fans came with the fame; it was all part of the game unfortunately.

Two days later another package arrived. More dead flowers and another card, this time with a message scrawled inside – "Your fault". Deciding that she needed to get away, Dina packed up a few things and went to stay with a friend, telling her that it had been too long since the two of them had enjoyed some "girl time". Barbara had happily invited her over and everything had seemed fine, until yesterday.

Barbara and she had been having tea on the porch and enjoying the coming sunset when Barbara's dog Dolly had started raising a ruckus. Barking loud enough to set off car alarms in the next county, both ladies were forced to get up and investigate, finding nothing amiss. Assuming that the animal had seen a critter running into the brush, they'd quickly forgot about the incident.

When Dina went to the guest room that night, she found another note on her pillow and had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping loud enough to bring her friend into the room. With shaking hands, she'd pulled open the envelope to read the latest message – "You can't run."

Acting like everything was normal, Dina told Barbara that she would be heading out early in the morning to go somewhere quiet and paint. She didn't want to endanger her friend, nor did she want her to worry. Waiting until deep in the night, Dina quietly stole from the house and put her things in her car.

With many glances in the rear-view mirror, she made it to her destination. Once there, she knew there was only one person she could trust and pulled out the business card.

Now as she looked around one more time, Dina finally decided that there was no time like the present. If someone had followed her there, they'd have had ample time to get to her already. She pulled her backpack from the car and threw it over her back.

Hoping that Gibbs had understood her cryptic message, she walked off towards her next destination. She had parked her car purposely far enough away that it would make it hard to guess where she was going.

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"Tony, will you knock it off?" Tim asked grumpily as his partner shifted restlessly in his seat again, causing Tim's seat to move around as well and bumping into the laptop sitting on the tiny foldaway table.

"It's these stupid airline seats. Why do they gotta make'em so freaking close together? A man of my height needs a little room, ya know?"

"Yeah well, I'm just as tall as you are and you don't see me squirming around like a five year old. Just sit still, will ya? I'm trying to get some work done."

Tony didn't reply, too busy trying to get comfortable. He knew that McGee probably did have reason to complain but the truth was he couldn't help himself. Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd been this uncomfortable on a flight, even riding in the back of a COD* with nothing but fabric straps holding him in.

They'd only been in the air for one hour of their three hour flight, but to Tony it felt like days. Maybe it was the after-effects of TFTWNQ, but suddenly every major muscle group he had was aching like crazy. Reaching down, he rubbed the long muscles in his thighs, trying to relieve the throbbing. The motion made his legs feel better, but that only reminded him how much the muscles in his back were bothering him.

"Let me out, Probie," Tony said finally, unbuckling his seat belt so he could stand up. McGee had offered to let Tony have the window seat, knowing that he'd probably have his nose buried in his laptop most of the time anyway.

"Where're you going?" McGee protested halfheartedly, already putting down the table and unbuckling his own belt.

"To the head, why? You wanna follow me or something? Look, I know you want to join the mile-high club, McGee, but I'm not really in the mood right now," Tony cracked, handily shifting the attention off of himself.

"Ha, you wish," McGee joked back and Tony raised his eyebrows in happy surprise.

"Nice comeback, Probie. Honestly, I'm proud of ya," Tony clapped his partner on the shoulder as he walked down the aisle. He didn't really need to use the facilities again, but sitting in the confines of his seat was downright tortuous and he needed to do something.

Walking a few rows back, he sauntered up to where Ziva and Gibbs were sitting. Sitting quietly in the window seat, Ziva was reading a book in a language Tony didn't even try to understand. In the aisle seat, Gibbs' head was leaning back into the chair with his eyes closed. Once again amazed at the ability of the older man to sleep anytime and anywhere, Tony chuckled to himself lightly.

Tony supposed it was probably the reason why the boss appeared to need a lot less sleep than any normal human being. He had apparently learned (from the Marines no doubt) to sleep whenever the opportunity raised itself, no matter how uncomfortable. Where other people needed a warm, comfy bed, Gibbs could simply close his eyes and be out cold in seconds.

Under his tutelage, his team did their best to adopt the strategy themselves. Tony could fall asleep nearly as easily and in almost as uncomfortable positions, but the boss was still the king. Later that night, when the rest of them were feeling exhausted and ready for sleep, Gibbs would still be wide awake, taking advantage of the couple hours of sleep snatched on an airplane.

"Good book?" Tony asked Ziva casually when he got close enough to be heard over the constant dull roar inside the cabin.

Ziva looked up with a smile. "Yes, it is. No matter how many times I read it, I can never seem to get enough. I especially like the part when they fly on the brooms."

At Tony's puzzled look, Ziva clarified. "I am reading the first Harry Potter book again."

"Wow, isn't this your third time reading them all?"

"Fifth," she went to put her nose back into her book, but paused to look at him more closely.

"Are you sure you are over your cold, Tony? You look flushed."

"It's just the change in air pressure, gets me every time," he started to walk past her seat, heading towards the bathrooms a few rows back. "Enjoy your book."

He was gone before Ziva could say anything else and she returned to her book with a shrug. The last time her partner had been acting strangely, she had assumed he was ill. Later she had found out he'd simply been undercover. She had learned not to jump to conclusions when it came to Tony. So if he said he was fine, despite how he may look, Ziva was more inclined to believe him.

In the seat next to her, Gibbs opened his eyes, having heard everything. Gibbs' ability to sleep anywhere had nothing on his ability to play possum when he wanted. With Ziva immersed in her book, Gibbs waited a minute or two until Tony passed by again on his way back to his seat. Casting a critical eye over his senior field agent, Gibbs immediately saw what Ziva had mentioned. The younger man did appear to be slightly flushed but he could see no other outward signs that anything was wrong.

Watching as Tony and McGee settled themselves back down into their seats, Gibbs decided that for once Tony was probably right and gave him the benefit of the doubt. He knew the younger man had been sick but everything seemed to indicate that it was nothing but a simple cold, maybe a flu. But truthfully the guy was looking better than he had in weeks, so Gibbs let it go. Closing his eyes again, the team leader really did go to sleep this time.

A few rows ahead, Tony was trying to get comfortable to no avail. As he struggled, rubbing a hand over his forehead and trying to get rid of the headache that had come out of nowhere, Tony grumbled silently to himself.

Stupid TFTWNQ….

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*COD - The C-2A Greyhound , twin-engine cargo aircraft designed to land on aircraft carriers, provides critical logistics support to aircraft carriers. Nicknamed the "COD" for its Carrier Onboard Delivery mission.