"This guy probably never sleeps alone."

"Why do you think that?"

"He's got two six-packs of beer sitting in the fridge. Not a drop of hard liquor in sight."

"Except this."

Ziva picks up an untouched cocktail sitting on the countertop beside the sink. She takes one sniff of it and gags.

"If smells could kill. . ." The back of her hand touches her nose. "I think we just found our murder weapon."

"He couldn't have made a cocktail here." I shake my head.

She crouches down by the doorway. "Neighbors said this was a notorious party house. Maybe someone brought in the mixers."

"Must have taken them with them, too."

"Seems like a lot of effort for a couple of drinks. Wasted effort."

Ziva and I walk into the living room to see Tony and McGee standing by the beer pong table instead of taking pictures.

". . .you may not use me to get over your writer's block."

"McGee has writer's block?"

"No, McGee does not."

The probationary agent refers to himself in the third person while Tony simply nods his head.

"Just do what you did last time." Ziva shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "Write about us."

"My character better get her name changed legally." I grimace at the thought of McGee's choice in alias names.

He sighs exasperatedly. "Okay, I've told you guys a million times. The book is not about you."

"No, of course not."

The three of us answer simultaneously.

"It's about Special Agent Tommy."

"And Officer Lisa."

"Don't forget about Agent Madeleine."

"DiNozzo!"

"And L.J. Tibbs."

The blue Ford Ranger pickup truck is nowhere near the driveway of Petty Officer Cove's house, meaning the attacker has it. But before we can put out a B.O.L.O, Ziva receives a call from the Norfolk Police.

Snap!

"How are you feeling?"

I look up and see Tony's concerned face.

"Well, I've been better, but. . .I'm alright."

A small but reassuring smile appears on my face, and he returns it with a gentle grin.

"It felt nice, you know, to have you come over again."

"It felt nice to be there."

"Hey!" Gibbs struts over to the back of the pickup. "You two find anything?"

Startled, I let out a gasp.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, we found the blanket that was likely used to cover the body, seeing as it's covered in blood."

"Or bodies."

He walks away with his cellphone pressed against his ear.

"McGee?" Ziva calls out to him. "McGee, you look like you've seen a goat."

The agent glances in her direction. "Huh? Oh, ghost. Seen a ghost. Yeah" He corrects her. "Do you know what déja vu is?"

"Bien sur." She obliges. "My French is better than my English."

"I can vouch for that." I raise a hand.

"McGee, get this towed back to lockup."

"Abby's got something."

That night, while Abby deconstructs the cocktails from the crime scene, McGee reveals the drink recipe is straight from his book.

And so is Petty Officer Cove.

The next morning, Tony and Gibbs pay a visit to McGee's publisher, Lyndi Crawshaw. And that night, McGee gives us the first draft of his next book.

"Done."

Tony sets aside the stack of papers.

"So?"

"I'm confused."

McGee coughs loudly. "This isn't a critique, okay? We're trying to find something use — confused by what?"

"The plot, the backstory. Pretty much everything." The senior field agent states. "The whole thing doesn't make sense."

"Ziva, what about you?"

"Um. . .I'm not as confused as Tony."

"Eva? Please tell me you have something else to say?"

"It's just a rough draft, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Tony furrows his brows. "Who's the killer anyway?"

"I don't know yet." McGee replies.

"There's your problem." He clasps his hands together. "I mean, you always have to know where your story is going. That's fiction writing 101."

"Not the way I choose to write."

The two stare at each other for a few long seconds.

"Can we focus on the problem here?" McGee practically pleads. "We've got a missing person, and our only lead is my book. And we don't even know how it factors in."

"We do now!"

The stern stature of our boss approaches the cluster of desks.

"The letters were written by the same person." Gibbs sits at his desk. "He thinks the book is real."

"And believes Petty Officer Cove is a part of it." Ziva states.

"It means we're going to have to go everywhere he's been."

"Well, we've already done that, though. His home, his work, his hangout spots."

"I'm not talking about Petty Officer Cove. I'm talking about your good old boy with the pickup truck Cameron Meyer."

So the first thing next morning, we spread out in the High Side Creek, which is where we find two bodies: Petty Officer Cover and a John Doe who's supposed to be another character from the book.

Once McGee admits his books are based on us, we realize we're all potential targets for this sick, psychopathic killer.

"Did you read the part where Tommy and Madeleine are getting back together? He's really hit a writer's block, hasn't he?" My hand touches the button to Forensics.

"Yeah, right." With a shake of his head, Tony scoffs. "The way Tommy stands in front of her house in the pouring rain with an engagement ring?"

"And how they confess their true feelings for each other? It's completely unrealistic."

"It could never happen in real life."

Abby tells us the name of the obsessive fan, the only one to have touched the back of the stamp on the envelope.

Todd Ryder, the match to the print she tracked, leads us all the way back to the publisher.

"I actually trusted her."

McGee stares into the interrogation in disbelief, his hand clutching a coffee cup tightly.

"There is no way you could have known, McGee." Ziva assures him.

"She's right, McGee." I smile in comfort. "It's not your fault."

"But if you even think about writing a third novel, I'll kill you." Tony threatens.

"When Abby finds out who her character really fell in love with, you will already be dead."

"And if you do, please — I am begging you — change Madeleine's name to something other than a cake."

Gibbs finally enters the room, and Crawshaw sings like a canary. She admits the only reason she had Todd send the letters back to the agency is because stalkers create press and sell more books.

"She's lying."

"Of course she is."

"If she is, she's quite good."

"She publishes fictional novels for a living." Tony looks over at Ziva. "She knows how to tell a good story."

McGee continues to stare into the room. "I'm with Ziva. This woman lives to sell books."

Unfortunately for the case, Crawshaw isn't the one we're looking for. Abby compares it to the mystery blood found on the petty officer, which isn't a match.

"I've read this a thousand times, and I've come up with nothing."

"Then maybe we should spitball ideas and see what sticks."

Tony, McGee, and I are rendered silent.

"What?" She looks between the three of us. "Did I say it wrong?"

"No, you actually got it right. . .for once." I silently applaud her. "And it's a good idea."

"Campfire."

The four of us pull out our chairs from behind our desks before gathering in a circle in the center of the bullpen.

"We know there's a killer on the loose. One down, two to go. And he's already killed number two." Tony starts us off.

"In your book, Cameron Meyer and Jared Brenner only have two things in common."

"The extortion of money and the murderers of a convenience store clerk."

"Could the killer be seeking revenge for the clerk?" I cross my legs, one over the other.

"No. The clerk's a throwaway character. I didn't even bother to name him." McGee shoots down the thought. "Besides, the stalker letters are fake, so we don't even know that he's delusional."

"He murdered two characters in a work of fiction, McGee." Gibbs walks through our circle, his usual cup of coffee in hand.

"Okay. So he's probably delusional." The semi-famous author admits. "But that doesn't mean he's looking for revenge."

"You gotta have motive, Probie."

"Well, I'm not convinced that the answer is in my book, Tony."

Ziva snaps her fingers. "Maybe the answer is in how he got the book."

"He definitely didn't get it from Crawshaw." McGee mentions. "She'd never do anything to jeopardize sales."

"It means he got it from you."

McGee leaves for his apartment, where the typewriter and original drafts of his books are. Gibbs ends up sending Tony to assist him.

They figure out the killer has been accessing McGee's typewriter ribbons, which not only contain the stories but also freewriting.

The third one to kill ends up being Abby, a.k.a. Amy Sutton.

We find her in the sisters' home with a man pointing a gun to her head. Tony and I walk in through the back, and McGee and Ziva go with Gibbs.

"Drop your weapon! Now!"

"He said drop it!"

"Agents DeVito." He glances towards us. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You don't know it yet, but your partner's in danger!"

McGee, the only one who recognizes the killer, convinces him to lower the gun and step away from Abby. Once he does, Tony takes him out.

"Why did he call us Agents DeVito, McGee?"

"Uh. . ."

"Did you write about us getting married to each other?"

". . .maybe."