Summary: Booth and Brennan find themselves in over their heads when a dangerous man takes a special and possibly lethal interest in them.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story unless otherwise noted.
A/N: This is my first story. I am not asking that you 'be nice', as many first-time posters request. I would like to hear your constructive criticisms as well as the (hopefully) praise. However, please respect me and my work. On a less serious note... I'm hoping that this will be fun for all of you who stick with it. I'll post as often as my life and creative juices allow. I have this story all planned out, but I have no idea if it's going to turn into a monster with a mind of its own or be complacent. We'll see.
Special thanks to rightersblock for encouraging me to post and for being willing to be distracted : )
Light. Rainbows. Stars. A vast, unending, black sky. It would have been romantic if it hadn't been so incredibly artificial. The windowless club could barely contain the bouncing refractions of the strobe lights that erratically traced the forms of the young and attractive. The extensive bar was busy mixing exotic drinks and serving imported beers. A heavy concentration of the colored lighting was directed toward the adjacent stage where a talented jean-and-t-shirt-clad band was just getting the night started. Though there were a few tables downstairs, the area was mostly reserved for dancing, which was more popular after a few drinks had been downed. At each corner of the club was a spiral staircase leading up to the more relaxed atmosphere of the second floor. It overlooked the dance floor on all sides. Several well-dressed couples sat at the high tables that littered the space.
The fairly new nightspot was a regular appointment for most of the young lobbyists, politicians and business types who worked around the Mall and on the Hill. But the club was not only popular for hook-ups and a good time. Its three private conference rooms tucked away behind the second-floor bar were frequented by another side of high society—the side that involved violence and intimidation. Business was conducted quickly and laws were broken under the ignorant noses of those who helped make them. Cameras were hidden everywhere in the club, even in places that they shouldn't have been. They broadcasted the video feed to an old shipping warehouse in a decaying and forgotten section of the city. The mob knew every titillating secret of anyone that visited the club. The amount of valuable information that dangled from the loose lips of slightly intoxicated young people was amusing.
Angela Montenegro was oblivious to the high drama as she searched the crowd for a familiar face. She was sure she told him to be there at eight o'clock, but she couldn't find his curly head anywhere. Angela felt a little remorse for talking him into coming. Dr. Jack Hodgins was a wonderful man, but he fell firmly into the 'squint' category. As soon as she mentioned the club's name, he had started to babble on about some conspiracy involving the mob or something crazy. Angela had laughed at him. She shouldn't have laughed this time.
"Ange!" Angela looked up and saw him above her, waving from the second floor. She could feel her whole face break out in a foolish grin. Oh, to be in love.
"How do I get up there?"
"The stairs are over there. Hurry up, you're late." Smiling, he disappeared from her sight. Angela moved down the bar toward the stairs, unaware that interested eyes were now watching her from eight different angles. One of those pairs of eyes was associated with an unusually deep voice that now split the silence of the dim room.
"Tell me who that beautiful woman is. Tell me who she was talking to upstairs and check him out too." The room fell still again marked only by the rhythmic clicking of seven keyboards. The Voice remained hovering behind four computer screens, each containing six video blocks. The computer operators were acutely aware of his commanding presence behind them as they enlarged and minimized the camera views at his direction. A few minutes passed. Finally, The Voice turned to check the progress of his researchers. One of them stood.
"Well?"
"Angela Montenegro and Dr. Jack Hodgins. She's an artist and he's an entomologist. Works at the Jeffersonian Institute."
"Who does she work with there?"
"Dr. Camille Saroyan is her superior. She works directly under a Dr. Temperance Brennan."
"That name sounds familiar." The keyboards continued to click.
"Brennan is in direct contact with the FBI on most of her cases. Special Agent Seeley Booth is her liaison."
"Booth. I am very familiar with that name."
"Would you like us to pursue this lead, sir?" The question went unheeded. The silence was heavy and the room seemed to shrink. "Sir?"
"Yes." All of the men in the room felt the release and began to breathe again. "I want pictures, schedules, audio, past cases. I want to know everything about Booth. Everything." The keyboards started up again with a new determination.
Please let me know what ya think!
