Thanks to Lisa, my lovely proofreader, and to all of you for the comments.
Part Four
It was a frustrated man who sat across from him, barely able to stay in his seat as his hand tightened around the plastic receiver of the phone he held.
"The bitch is alive. She survived," was all he said, his features arranged in a disgruntled expression.
The prisoner in the orange jumpsuit felt his jaw drop, glancing over his shoulder at the guard before leaning closer to the plastic window, his voice dropping to below a whisper. "How can she still be alive? You said the brakes were going to fail, that her car would be totalled?"
"She swerved," his visitor informed him darkly. "Some idiot went to cross the road so she tried to hit the brakes early. If she hadn't..."
If she hadn't, she wouldn't have realised until she was near the end of the street, nearing the bend in the road that would take her away from the river. If she hadn't, there would have been no buildings to crash into, just the watery grave they'd meticulously planned for her.
The man in the orange jumpsuit didn't comment; he didn't know what to say. Nothing he could think of would make his visitor feel better, and nothing would ease the feeling beginning to blossom in the pit of his stomach that he'd made a serious mistake in going along with his visitor's plans. His heart was pounding, pushing the blood through his veins at a dizzying rate.
"It'll be okay," the man visiting him said after a long pause. He attempted a smile but it was obviously forced. "The next one won't be so lucky."
It felt strange to be walking into Ziva's apartment block when they weren't going to see the woman in question. McGee and Tony exchanged a look as they used the key she'd given them to get past the security door, each checking around uneasily to see if they could spot anyone that looked out of place or seemed suspicious.
Both were a little disappointed when they didn't.
In silence, which was unusual for them, they made their way up to the top floor of the building and began systematically knocking on doors, questioning those who answered about what had happened the night before, asking whether they'd seen anyone unusual lurking around the cars parked in the street.
Most of the neighbours they spoke to expressed concern when they heard about the accident, some looked confused and didn't seem to know who Ziva was. No one had witnessed anything and they were beginning to get frustrated when they knocked on the final door, that of the neighbour who lived in the apartment directly below Ziva's own.
The man who answered joined the majority in being concerned about the Israeli when they explained what had happened. "Oh, God, is she okay? I saw her just this morning – she always says hello when I see her in the hall."
Tony gave him a small smile, a little amused at the evident crush the man seemed to have on their colleague. "She'll be fine. What we really need to know is if you saw anyone acting suspiciously in the area last night, anyone who looked like they didn't belong or were new to the area?"
"You think it was deliberate?" The man – Aaron Kirk – stared at them in shock, his blue eyes wide. "Why would anyone want to hurt Ziva? She seems so nice! And – and she's a cop, right? I'm sure someone said she was a cop..."
"NCIS," McGee corrected, fighting the urge to show him his badge again. "We're considering all possibilities at this point," he lied smoothly, "but, in the interests of our investigation, it could help us narrow down what actually happened if you can remember whether or not you saw someone last night."
Aaron frowned, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes narrowed as an expression of concentration passed over his features. "There was a guy hanging around the street when I got in last night," he said eventually, slowly as if considering his words. "I didn't see him clearly but I remember thinking he looked jumpy, especially when he saw me."
Both McGee and Tony stood up straighter, tension filling them. "What time would this have been?" Tony asked tersely.
"Around midnight, maybe? I was at a friend's house... A lady friend," Aaron clarified with a lopsided grin. "I didn't get back till late."
"Could you describe him for us?" McGee reached into his pocket and pulled out his notepad and pen. "Anything would help, what clothes he was wearing, whether he was tall or short, thin or thick build..."
"Mid-height," Aaron said after a moment, "thin, almost scrawny, I'd say. He was wearing jeans, couldn't tell you what colour, and white sneakers. I remember that because I thought they stood out. A dark jacket, not sure what colour because it was dark..." He shook his head and shrugged. "I'd say he was young, younger than us, but I don't know for sure. That's just... That's the impression I got. I can't really tell you any more than that, I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. Thanks." McGee finished writing everything down and flashed him a smile. "You've given us something to work with, which is more than we had before so thank you."
Aaron's expression brightened visibly at the thanks. He stood straighter and gave them a nod. "Tell Ziva I hope she's okay?"
Tony nodded, distracted, and reached into his cell phone so he could update Gibbs and Ziva herself. "Will do. Thanks for your help."
The two agents left the building feeling as though they were finally getting somewhere, both hoping they'd taken the first pivotal step towards catching the people responsible.
There was no music playing to greet him as he stepped off the elevator, something Gibbs knew was never a good sign. His hand tightening around the Caf-Pow he'd brought her as a peace offering, he walked into the lab cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for the forensic specialist.
She sat at her computer, her back to him. He thought he saw her tense as he approached but she made no move to acknowledge his presence. Setting the Caf-Pow down on the workbench beside her, Gibbs studied her when she still didn't react.
Her face was paler than usual, the shadows under her eyes more pronounced. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her brow but, as he watched, she lifted an unsteady hand and wiped it away.
Her eyes were fixed on the screen in front of her so Gibbs let his own gaze linger on her for a while longer. It was only when she reached for the new Caf-Pow he'd put down beside her that he turned his attention to her computer screen and joined her in watching the security footage she'd got from the CCTV cameras in the area of Ziva's apartment.
"You find anything?" He asked after several long moments of silence stretched out into minutes. He braced himself for a flare of her temper and was both relieved and concerned when it didn't come.
Abby shrugged one shoulder, taking a long slurp from her drink before answering. "Nothing yet."
Her answer was short, her voice subdued. Gibbs looked at her in concern. "You feeling okay, Abby?"
"Fine."
Her fingers moved over the keyboard, pausing the footage before he could press her. He glanced back at the screen, eyes narrowing at the shadowy figure that had appeared in between two cars parked on the street outside Ziva's apartment – one of them belonging to the woman in question.
"He looks familiar," Gibbs murmured, though the man's face was partially obscured by the shadows cast by the overhead street lights. "Can you get a close up...?"
Abby did as he asked without comment, a sigh the only sound to escape her.
The image was too grainy, too dark to make out any distinct features but Gibbs was certain the man he was looking at was the person responsible for tampering with Ziva's brakes.
"I'll start a search," Abby said before he could comment, her voice uncharacteristically flat. "It's not likely we'll get a match without a clearer picture of his face but something might pop."
"Great." He hesitated, knowing it was his cue to leave but reluctant to do so with so much tension between them. "That's good work, Abby."
Instead of kissing her cheek, he lay his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, giving it a squeeze before leaving the lab.
He missed the tear that ran down her cheek or the desolate expression that arranged her features as she turned her head and looked at the image of a woman who couldn't possibly be there.
"I told you, he's just not interested," Abby murmured, a second tear joining the first.
The hallucinated form of Kate Todd stared back.
No fingerprints and no results in the search for the man Ziva's neighbour had seen. McGee kicked his door shut, feeling an ounce of satisfaction at the way it banged back. He regretted it, though, when his foot began to ache and his dog, Jethro, barked as if in admonition.
Pausing to stroke the dog behind his ears and reassure him that all was well, McGee continued on his way to his bedroom, shedding his clothes on the way.
In no time at all, he was back in the living room, his suit and shirt exchanged for a comfortable MIT t-shirt and sweat pants. Detouring to the kitchen to give Jethro his evening meal and grab a bottle of beer for himself, he returned to the living room to sit at the desk where his prized possession sat waiting for him.
The old-fashioned typewriter had been an impulse purchase on an internet auction site some years ago and he hadn't looked back since. Not only had it helped him produce two bestselling novels he'd had published under his penname of Thom E. Gemcity, it had also withstood various attempts at taking out his frustration on the keys.
Writing, even when he had no intention of letting anyone see the end result, did wonders for improving his mood. It didn't matter if the words on the page didn't make sense or if he tore the pages from the typewriter and shredded them almost immediately, just the act alone managed to appease him in ways nothing else could.
As if sensing his master's mood, Jethro settled himself on the rug in front of the fire and soon began to snore, the soft noise joining the sound of his fingers tapping the keys.
Engrossed in his words, in creating a world of his own and characters to inhabit it, McGee didn't notice the faint scent of smoke slipping beneath the door into his apartment.