Kidnapped

by FaithinBones

A body is found in an abandoned warehouse that sets off a search for a missing FBI Agent.

(After 'The Change in the Game')

A/N: This story is for GalaxieGurl. She was my 2000th review for my story 'Day after Day' and I promised to do a story for her. This story idea comes from her. Warning: this story is rated T for a reason.

I don't own Bones, but you know that.

Oooooooooooooooooo

Metro Police had received a call about a body found hanging in an abandoned warehouse. Upon arriving they found a man of about 40 years of age hanging from a beam by a braided cord made of thin nylon ropes. The Detective in charge of the scene surmised that it had taken a while for the victim to have died as the cord had stretched as the body was either dropped from the beam overhead or was pulled up until the toes of the victim just touched the floor. His neck didn't snap. He strangled slowly and painfully.

Once pictures were taken of the victim and the coroner ruled that the man was officially dead, the body was cut down, Detective Swartz pulled on some latex gloves and looked through the pockets of the dead man. His finds included a pair of dice, an old-fashioned gold colored lighter and an FBI badge. "Shit, this is not good." Swartz showed it to his partner and shook his head. "A murdered FBI agent, just great."

Curious, Officer Swanson, moved a little closer to the body and stared at the piece of rope that had circled the victim's neck before being cut off. "How do you know it was murder and not a suicide?"

Swartz swept his hand around the area. "No ladder . . . how did he tie the rope up there? It's a new rope . . . his hands were tied together before he died . . . see the bruising around the wrists. He fought hard to try to free himself. Whoever killed him freed his wrists after he died. It would be tough to haul yourself up and hang yourself with your hands tied together then cut the ropes off after you hanged yourself."

His cheeks a deep red, Officer Swanson wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

Showing a little mercy on the young officer, Swartz smiled. "Hey, you learn from experience and by asking questions. Don't worry if the answers are obvious to everyone else. If they aren't to you then you learned something."

"Thanks." Swanson appreciated that the detective wasn't making fun of him. "I'd like to be a detective someday.

Placing the FBI badge in a plastic bag along with the dice and the lighter, Swartz closed it and looked down at the victim. "I'm pretty sure this case is going to be taken from us, but that's the way it goes. Another lesson for you Swanson, the Feds will always take over if one of their own is involved in a case. Don't take it personal. It's politics. You get used to it."

Oooooooooooooooooo

Brennan was called to come down to the coroner's office for the Metro Police to do a body identification. She hadn't been told who the victim was but she assumed that she supposedly knew the victim or at least they thought she did. Once she arrived, Detective Swartz met her in the lobby and spoke to her. "Dr. Brennan, I'm Detective Jaime Swartz. You may not remember me, but you identified my cousin's remains a few years ago, Corporal Ted Ardoin. He was killed in an accident involving a military transport plane and you helped identify his body and everyone else killed in the crash. My family appreciated you giving us closure . . . Anyway, I called you down here because I need to see if you can identify a body we found in a warehouse this morning . . . Um, the FBI Badge on the body belongs to FBI Agent Seeley Booth."

Stunned, Brennan placed her hand over her mouth. "No, that can't be. Agent Booth is in Philadelphia visiting his grandfather. He's been there for the last three days . . . I will need to see the body, but I can assure you, it's not him."

Since the identification would either prove her right or wrong in a few moments, Swartz led her to the viewing room and allowed her to look at the body while the coroner stood by.

"I can confirm that this is not Agent Booth." Brennan was relieved. "I do not know who this man is, but just to make sure you understand why this is not him, if you will look at his upper right torso you will see there is no scar. Agent Booth has a scar there." She rolled the body slightly and checked his right hip. "He should also have a scar here, an injury he received when he was a boy . . . This is not Agent Booth. Why did you think it was him?"

Glad that this was a case of mistaken identity, Swartz grabbed a bag from the coroner's hand and showed it to Brennan. "Agent Booth's personal effects were found on the body. Dr. White was sure this wasn't Agent Booth since he met him last year when Dr. Saroyan was working here temporarily, but we had to be sure. Same build, coloring, hair color, but he said the face wasn't his. We just needed to be sure . . . protocol you know."

"I understand." Brennan stared at the personal effects and felt a shiver run down her spine. "Those appear to belong to Booth . . . Let me try to call him." Worried, she pulled her phone from her purse and called her partner. When her call was sent to voice mail, she called Hank Booth. After a quick conversation, she found out that Booth had left Philadelphia the previous morning. After she assured Hank that everything was fine, she called Agent Burns. "Charlie, have you heard from Agent Booth? I'm trying to contact him."

No, Dr. Brennan. I haven't heard from him since he left for his trip up to Philadelphia. Hold on, let me check with Agent Randall and see if he's heard anything . . . Agent Randall said he hasn't heard from Booth either. Do you think something's wrong?

"A body was found in a warehouse this morning in the District. Metro police asked me to look at the body because they thought it was possible that the victim was Booth, it's not, but the victim did have some of Booth's possessions including his ID and badge."

Damn it! Look, I'm going to send Agent Randall over to Metro. Who should he see?

Glancing at the detective, Brennan answered the question. "Detective Jamie Swartz. He should be able to give Agent Randall the particulars of the crime scene and he has Booth's possessions. Booth's grandfather said he left Philadelphia yesterday morning."

Got it. I'll let the Deputy Director know what's going on. I'll get back to you.

"Alright. Please keep me in the loop." Brennan was as calm as she could be. Panicking would not help the situation and she knew that objectivity was needed. "Detective Swartz, an FBI Agent is on the way to see you and the Deputy Director is being informed as we speak. I'm going to return to the Lab. Please keep me informed."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan." Swartz handed the bag back to the coroner. "We'll find Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan."

She heard him, but she was already on the way out of the room. She had to get back to the Lab and talk to Cam and Angela. Her mate was missing and he needed to be found.

Ooooooooooooooooo

He didn't know where he was. The room was dark and smelled damp and moldy. The floor he was lying on felt like a rough cement floor. When he had awakened, he'd found that his wrists were tied together as well as his ankles. He'd wriggled his body until he was sitting up and leaning against a wall, but he was uncomfortable. The back of his head was sticky, he had a headache and his neck felt like it had been burned. Calmly, he had called out, but no one had come to see about him and he wondered if whoever had kidnapped him planned to let him rot where he was.

Feeling lethargic, he stared straight ahead in the darkness and realized that he had company. "Who are you? Did you bring me here?"

The figured sat on the floor and continued to stare at him without responding. Glaring at the man, Booth tried to figure out how he could see him in the dark. There was no light in the room, but he clearly could see the man. "Say something you son of a bitch." When he got no reply, he shouted. "Say something you asshole. Who are you? What do you want?" Still not moving the figure seemed to fade from sight and that left Booth wondering if he was being played with. "It won't work. I'm a United States Army Ranger or I used to be. That means I'm not going to fall for your shit. You hear me? Do your worse . . . Asshole." Frustrated, he leaned his head back against the wall. "You little pipsqueaks think you can break me? Good luck with that." Booth licked his lips. Thirsty, he decided to close his eyes and rest. Thinking about how thirsty he was wouldn't help at all and there was no way he'd beg for water.

Oooooooooooooooooo

It was quickly determined that Booth had been kidnapped. The FBI used the GPS in Booth's SUV and found it off of highway 95 at the Elkridge exit at the R&R Taqueria parking lot. There was a small amount of blood on the ground next to the driver's side of the truck. It was type O positive which was Booth's blood type. They'd need to run a DNA test to verify if it was his blood, but for now they assumed it was his. There was not enough blood to think the agent was dead, but there was enough to let them know he was probably injured. Hodgins was sent to the parking lot along with several FBI techs and once they had collected every particulate they could find including Booth's phone which was found under the truck, they returned to the Lab with the SUV in tow.

There was an APB out for Booth and the Howard County Sheriff's office and several FBI agents were checking in with businesses between I95 and the Taqueria to see if anyone remembered seeing the Agent.

Brennan had waited at the Lab and once the SUV was delivered, she watched as Hodgins and two FBI techs went over the truck very carefully looking for any clues that might point to where Booth was and who had taken him.

While she waited, Detective Swartz and Agent Randall interviewed every business in the vicinity of the warehouse where their murder suspect had been found and collected camera footage from any business in the area that had them. Once they were done, Randall brought copies of the DVDs to Angela so she could work on them. The FBI and Metro police had copies and they were also going to peruse the footage, but Randall felt that Angela would be an excellent set of eyes since she had a reputation for finding things that were overlooked by others. The missing agent was the responsibility of the FBI, but he had a murder to solve and he could use the help.

Ooooooooooooooooo

Suddenly he was awake. Booth was still in a dark room and he was thirstier than he was before. Shifting against the wall, he noticed two men sitting on each side of him staring at him. Since the room was pitch dark, he surmised that they had a light focused on them so he could see them, which he found bizarre. "What the hell do you want?" The men didn't respond but continued to stare at him. Booth thought it was possible that they were trying to use some mind games on him and decided to ignore them. Sooner or later, he knew that they would talk to him, after all why kidnap him if they didn't want something from him? "Fine, fuck off."

A squealing came from across the room and a rectangle of bright light suddenly appeared bathing part of the room in light. Booth noticed the two visitors he'd had moments ago were gone, but decided it was just some trick being played on him.

A masked-man, entered the room and squatted down in front of Booth. "Well, well . . . How's it going Agent Booth? . . . Not talking to me? . . . Fine. You probably wouldn't remember me if you saw me, you people never do, but the mask is to make sure you don't see me. I don't plan on killing you, Agent Booth . . . yeah, I see you're surprised, but the whole point of this thing is not to kill you. I have something else planned." The masked man pulled out a bottle from a plastic bag he'd carried in, opened the bottle and stared at it. "Thirsty?"

Booth stared at the man and refused to answer. He wasn't about to play this bastard's game.

Apparently amused, the man chuckled. "Well, I know you are, so I'm going to hand you the bottle. If you try anything, I have a guy outside that will kill you. I don't want to kill you, but I need this to play out the way I need it to . . . Tad, say something so Agent Booth knows you're there!"

Something. The voice appeared to be outside of the room a few feet from the door though Booth couldn't see anyone.

"Always the smart ass." Handing the bottle to Booth, the masked-man made sure Booth had the bottle in his hands. "I'm not about to untie you, so make sure you don't drop the bottle. Drink don't drink I'm not sure I care right now."

Carefully, Booth drank the water until the bottle was empty. Not sure if he'd get anymore, Booth decided to not take a chance. Once it was empty, he dropped the bottle and stared at his captor.

"A few years ago, you humiliated me. You were looking for a kidnapper and I had nothing to do with that, but you humiliated me to try to get some information from me . . . It was an abuse of power. I made a formal complaint, but it never went anywhere. You bastards are all the same. You run over normal people to get what you want . . . I tried to let it go, but it's been eating at me like a cancer." The masked man picked up the empty plastic bottle and threw it at Booth hitting him on the chest. Booth made it a point not to react. "Everyone always treats me like shit. I made a few mistakes and the police have been on my ass ever since . . . I lost my girlfriend because of you. The federal prosecutor prosecuted me for assault of a minor and with my bullshit record I got jail time. This is because of you." He raised his voice. "I didn't do anything, you sorry son of a bitch." He paused and drew in a few deep breaths. "I want to humiliate you. I need you to feel the pain of being laughed at, for being accused of something you didn't do. You're going to pay for what you did."

Booth noticed the two men were back and this time he could see that they were wearing United States Army uniforms. Since they made no move to communicate with him, Booth turned his attention back towards his captor and smiled. "Go for it."

Furious, his captor stood up and slapped Booth as hard as he could. Booth reacted by laughing. "That's all you got?" He'd been tortured by professionals and this punk had no idea what he was doing.

Surprised, the man stepped back and shook his head. "You think you're tough. You won't be for long." Pulling an object from his bag, he aimed a taser at Booth's leg and shot him. Once the agent was helpless and lying on the ground, the man removed a bottle of Scotch from the bag and poured some of it in Booth's mouth, making sure the agent swallowed as much of it as he could then poured it over his clothes. "Man, I bet you were seeing some interesting shit before I came in. It's a good thing I had enough to do this twice . . . Scotch and sleeping pills. Shame on you Agent Booth. You're a disgrace."

Ooooooooooooooooooo

The FBI was contacted by Prince George's County Sheriff's department about their missing agent being found at the Holy Cross hospital. Two men had drove up to the emergency room and pulled a man out of their dirty tan colored van, dumped him on the pavement and left. A security guard had noticed the development and had run outside, but he was unable to get a license number from the van. With the help of several nurses, the man who had momentarily awakened only to fall back into unconsciousness was carried into the hospital and a doctor examined him. Though the man reeked of alcohol, Dr. Gilbert didn't assume anything and did a thorough examination. He found his patient had a contusion and cut on the back of the man's head that he'd not received in the driveway. There was a burn mark on his neck, a burn mark on his left leg and a bruise on his left cheek. He ordered a toxicology report and admitted the unconscious man into the hospital.

The toxicology report came back with some alcohol in his system. His BAC was a 0.09, so the man wasn't technically drunk. He also had a large dose of Eszopiclone in his system which concerned his attending physician. Alcohol and Lunesta didn't mix well and could cause serious complications.

In the meantime, security had contacted the Sheriff's department who had sent out a deputy. Deputy Smith had recognized Booth from the APB that had been put out on him and contacted the Sheriff who called the FBI. As soon as the FBI Deputy Director was notified, he made arrangements for Dr. Brennan and two agents to drive up to the hospital and verify if it really was Agent Booth. If it was the agent, then arrangements would be made to bring him home.

Once they arrived at the hospital, Brennan and the agents were shown to Booth's room where they found the agent unconscious. Worried, Brennan had insisted upon looking at his chart which the hospital administrator provided her. The mixture of alcohol and eszopiclone worried her. The attending physician admitted that he was worried too. "It's not an overdose, but he's ingested more of the medication than he should have."

"Or someone forced him to take it . . . it looks like he was tasered twice." Brennan checked the burn marks and noted the tiny holes in his skin. "He was kidnapped two days ago from a restaurant in South Laurel. The FBI and the Sheriff's department has been looking for him ever since."

"Yes, I was told that by Deputy Smith earlier." Dr. Green bit his lower lip. "Whoever gave him that stuff was playing with fire. When he wakes up, he may suffer from memory loss, anxiety, aggression, confusion, hallucinations . . . that may have been the point. Someone must really hate Agent Booth."

Agent Randall nodded his head. "We're looking for the bastard right now." The Agent admired Booth and he was worried about what was going to happen to him. "Is he going to be okay?"

Dr. Green stared at Booth for a few moments. "He should be, but he's going to have a few problems when he awakens. Once the drug is out of his system, I think he'll be fine . . . He's not a regular user of Lunesta is he?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, Booth doesn't use drugs to help him sleep. He is sensitive to anesthesia, so his surgeon has warned him to avoid sleeping agents. The fact is, he doesn't like to take drugs of any kind since he seems to react to them in unpleasant ways."

"I see." Dr. Green was glad that Booth wasn't habitually using a sleeping agent. "If you'd like to transfer him to a hospital closer to home, I can arrange that or you can keep him here under our care."

"I think it would be best to transfer him to George Washington University Hospital in the District." Brennan held Booth's hand and stared at the red marks on his neck. "His physician works out of that hospital. So does his neurologist."

Concerned, Green flipped through Booth's chart then looked back at Brennan. "Why is he seeing a neurologist?"

"He had a brain tumor two years ago, cerebellar pilocytic astrocytoma." Brennan gripped Booth's hand harder, remembering a time when she had thought she might lose her partner and friend. "Dr. Goodrum was able to remove the entire tumor. Booth has annual checkups and so far, there has been no recurrence of the tumor. Dr. Goodrum thinks he has a good chance of it never returning."

Still concerned, Dr. Green held the chart by his side and shook his head. "Make sure you have Dr. Goodrum examine Agent Booth. He's been tasered twice, he has a scalp laceration on the back of his head, he was fed alcohol and Lunesta . . . someone really wanted to do a number on him."

"I will, Doctor." Brennan placed her free hand on the side of Booth's face. "We will find out who did this and why."

Ooooooooooooooooooo

When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was he was lying in what looked like a hospital room. Wondering why he was there, he moved his head and stared at the man standing at the foot of his bed. The man was a stranger and Booth wondered what was going on. "Who are you? Where am I?"

A movement near his bed caused Booth to turn his head again and spied Brennan standing up. "Bones, where am I? What's going on?" He moved to sit up, felt dizzy, decided that sitting up wasn't a bright idea and lay back down. "I was at the retirement home visiting Pops . . . I think I was . . . This is wrong."

The man at the end of the bed moved to the right side of the bed and stared down at him. The stranger was acting oddly and Booth didn't like it. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

"Booth, who are you talking to?" Brennan wanted to assure her partner that he was fine, but she was certain he wasn't.

"This guy here. I . . . Who is he?" Booth continued to stare at the stranger who didn't react at all. "You didn't say where I am."

Concerned, Brennan grasped his hand and squeezed it. "Booth look at me . . . at me, Booth." Once he was looking at her, Brennan gave him a small smile. "You were kidnapped three days ago. We got you back yesterday. You're in George Washington University Hospital at the moment. Dr. Goodrum has been by to see you and he will return in about two hours."

"Wait!" Booth started to panic. "Wait . . . Dr. Goodrum? Is my tumor back? Is that's what's going on?"

"No, Booth, listen to me. You were kidnapped three days ago and you were found yesterday. Dr. Goodrum checked on you when you were brought in because you were tasered and apparently you fell to the ground and hurt the back of your head." Brennan kept a firm grip on her boyfriend's hand. "Luckily, you didn't land on the spot where you'd had your surgery since that area of your skull is vulnerable. Dr. Goodrum said that you're fine . . . He'll be back this afternoon to talk to you about it, but you're fine. There is no tumor and your skull is not compromised."

Relieved, Booth saw the stranger move to the foot of his bed again and he was starting to get annoyed. "Who the hell is that guy? Why doesn't he say anything?"

Careful to keep her eyes on Booth, Brennan cleared her throat. "When you were kidnapped you were tasered, given alcohol and eszopiclone . . . Lunesta. That drug is used to help people sleep, but it does have side effects which can be accentuated with the introduction of alcohol . . . you're suffering from hallucinations at the moment. I am the only in the room with you right now. There is no one else in the room with you besides me."

"Bullshit!" Starting to get agitated, Booth pointed at the stranger who started to fade away. Afraid that he was losing his mind, he watched until the stranger was no longer in sight. "He's gone . . . he was right there. I saw him. My tumor . . ."

Calmly, Brennan placed her hand on the side of Booth's face and forced him to look at her. "Booth he was never there. You are experiencing hallucinations and this doesn't have anything to do with a tumor. You were drugged." She wanted to exude a calm demeanor and she was managing it, but she really was afraid. She'd only ever seen Booth this confused once and that was when he'd been under the effects of the tumor. "Give it time, Booth. You're going to be alright. I promise."

Worried that he'd never be alright, Booth grabbed Brennan's hand and held it tightly. "I trust you, Bones . . . I have to trust you."

Ooooooooooooooooooo

Detective Swartz received a call from Angela and met her in her office as soon as he could. "What did you find, Ms. Montenegro?" The victim in the warehouse hadn't been identified yet, but the DNA tests the coroner had run might help when they were completed. The man wasn't in any missing person's database for the state of Maryland and Virginia and he was holding off until he had the DNA tests to expand his search.

"I checked the traffic cameras in the area of the warehouse and I think we found what we're looking for." Angela picked up her remote and started the video segment on her Angelatron. "This van appeared three blocks from the warehouse on the day we think the victim was killed. This is an industrial area, but we're looking for a late model tan colored van with no logos on it . . . That matches the van that dropped Booth off at the hospital. I used the traffic cameras to track the van for six miles until he turned onto the highway . . . Now, at first I wasn't able to see his license plate because there was dried mud plastered on the plate, but as you can see in this shot the mud had crumbled off in spots probably because of the potholes on the roads in the warehouse district. I can't see all of the license plate, but I can tell what state it's assigned to and I have three numbers and one letter. Now when I ran these tags numbers against vans in West Virginia, I was able to identify several vans that might fit the bill. I looked through the list of owners and I found a name that we should consider." Angela flipped through some information and zoomed in on the suspect she was concerned about. "Gregg Liscombe. He was a suspect in a string of kidnappings four years ago. It turns out it wasn't him, but he and his girlfriend, Lola had roughed up two of the kidnapping victims before the girls were kidnapped and the prosecutor went after them for assault and battery of a minor. Lola got probation because she testified that Gregg had been the one who had beat the girls up to scare them. Gregg got three years in prison and he was released six months ago . . . It can't be a coincidence. I think he killed the man in the warehouse and he kidnapped Booth."

Swartz watched everything that Angela had to offer and considered what she had to say. "Do you have an address for Liscombe? I think he may be our guy."

Pleased that the Detective agreed with her, Angela handed him a slip of paper with an address. "Unfortunately, you don't have jurisdiction in West Virginia, but the FBI does. I know you want answers for the victim in the warehouse, so I'm giving you this information so you can approach the FBI and ask to be included in Liscombe's arrest. They'll consider Booth's kidnapping a priority, but you can remind them that you have a murder victim that needs justice too." Angela wanted Swartz to close his case since he had treated Brennan with decency and respect when he had called her down to identify the body that had been found in the warehouse. That made the detective one of the good ones as far as Angela was concerned.

"Thanks, Ms. Montenegro." Grateful that Angela was helping him, he held up the slip of paper and waved it briefly. "I appreciate this."

"You're welcome." Angela turned off her Angelatron. "I want the murderer of the man in the warehouse found and the kidnapper of Booth. I'm sure they're the same person and I think you do too."

After he slipped the address in his jacket pocket, Swartz started to walk toward the door. "I think we all do. I'll let you know how this turns out."

Oooooooooooooooo

The hallucinations had stopped, but Booth was having trouble controlling his anger. He tried to rein it in, but any little thing that didn't seem to go his way made him angry. It worried him, but Brennan assured him it was temporary. "Why don't I remember being kidnapped? I don't remember anything from the time I left Pops' retirement home until I woke up in the hospital? Will I remember some day?"

"I don't have an answer to that question, Booth." She understood that he was frustrated, but he was alive and he was recovering and that was the important thing to Brennan. "Dr. Goodrum and Dr. Carson have agreed to let you go home this afternoon. I plan to take you to your apartment, so you can be surrounded by your things. It might have a calming effect on you." At least I hope so.

Grateful, that he was in a relationship with Brennan, Booth snagged her hand and kissed the back of it. "Don't think I don't appreciate what you're doing for me, Bones. I do . . . I'm grateful that you've been staying with me in this hospital room because I sure as hell hate being here. I don't know why the kidnapper didn't just kill me. It's weird that he just tasered me, filled me up with drugs and Scotch and dumped me at a hospital. That doesn't make sense to me at all. What was he trying to prove and why kill someone to make it look like it was me? That didn't stand up as soon as you saw the body. This whole this is just bizarre."

"I agree, but I hope when the perpetrator is caught, he or she will explain why they did what they did." Leaning over, Brennan kissed her mate gently on the lips. "I love you, Booth."

Her lips a reminder that so much had changed in his life in the last few months, Booth returned her kiss. "I love you too, Bones. I love you too."

Oooooooooooooooooooo

To say that Gregg Liscombe had been shocked when the FBI had swooped onto his property and arrested him would be considered an understatement. He had been so careful to cover the license plates on his van with mud. He'd worn latex gloves during the kidnapping and he'd made sure Agent Booth's phone had been left behind. When Miller had been killed, he and Tad had been careful to wear heavy duty gloves while they had touched Miller and had used an abandoned warehouse. Now he and Tad were at the Hoover and he was trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Maybe Tad screwed up. I knew I should have done this alone. I knew it.

"Why am I here?" Liscombe felt nervous and afraid. "What did I do?"

Agent Randall and Detective Swartz sat on the other side of the table and flipped through folders, taking their time, allowing the suspect to sweat a little. Randall had allowed the Detective into the interrogation room because it was possible that they might solve two crimes and he didn't want to pass up that opportunity.

Pulling out a picture from his folder, Detective Swartz flipped it around and placed it on the table so the suspect could see it. "Shawn Miller . . . He's from Bluefield, West Virginia, just like you and Tad Mercer are . . . Do you know him?"

Careful to keep to the truth as much as possible, Liscombe shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, he owns a restaurant or works there, I'm not really sure which. I've been in his place a few times . . . He looks dead. Is he dead?"

Swartz wanted to laugh but suppressed that impulse. "He looks dead to me . . . He was found hanging in a warehouse here in Washington D.C. Those nasty bruises on his neck are where the rope squeezed the life out of him."

His lips between his teeth, Liscombe decided not to comment.

The detective shook his head and picked up a sheet of paper from the folder. "We had the rope analyzed. The one used to hang Shawn. You know . . . DNA?" Swartz watched his suspect lick his lips. The man was nervous that was for sure. "You look like a smart guy and probably wore gloves when you hauled Miller up and hung him, but you didn't wear gloves when you strung the rope up over the beam. You must have been scared and sweating like a hog because we found your DNA on the knot and part of the rope near the beam. Don't forget you're a convicted felon and your DNA is on record. We matched the DNA on the rope with your DNA and we had a match."

"Now wait a minute . . . just wait a minute." Liscombe was on the verge of panicking. "Yes, I tied the rope to the beam, but I didn't know that Tad was going to kill Shawn . . . Tad wanted to scare Shawn, that's what he said. The guy dated Tad's mother and dumped her. It broke her heart and she tried to commit suicide. Tad said he wanted to teach Shawn a lesson about treating his mother like shit. Tad tied the rope around Shawn's neck and made him stand on a box. Tad pretended to hang Shawn by pulling on the rope, but Shawn started calling Tad really bad names then he called Mrs. Mercer disgusting names and Tad lost it and he kicked the box away from Shawn and let go of the rope. Shawn was dead before I could stop Tad. This was not my fault."

Amazed, Detective Swartz couldn't believe Liscombe had volunteered that information. "Shawn died by strangulation, you could have stopped it." Closing the folder, he waited for Agent Randall to take over. He had what he wanted.

Certain that Liscombe wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, Randall opened up a laptop he had sitting near his elbow, pulled up a file, started a particular video, turned it to face the suspect and watched to see how he reacted.

Trying to not admit to anything else, Liscombe stared at the screen and saw his van running for several minutes on the street moving away from the warehouse where Shawn had died, then video of his van pulling into the hospital parking lot and dumping Agent Booth on to the paving and then his van pulling away. He was so nervous, but he knew the tags were covered in mud and not recognizable. Last but not least, his van appeared on a traffic camera a mile down from the R&R Taqueria on the same day that Booth had been kidnapped. Damn Big Brother anyway. What right do they have to record cars on the roads? What gives them the right to spy on American citizens?

The video finished playing and Agent Randall closed the laptop. "Your van leaving the warehouse, your van leaving the hospital, your van in the area where Agent Booth was kidnapped on the same day on the same morning . . . Well?"

He felt sick, but Liscombe knew that he had better not admit to anything. Kidnapping a Federal Agent could put him away for life. Nervously, he pulled his hands from the table and placed them on his lap. He had meant to humiliate Booth, but his plan was falling apart and it didn't seem like Booth had been suspected of anything other than being kidnapped.

Opening the folder in front of him, Randall showed his suspect a picture of Liscombe's van plates. "They had mud on them and we couldn't see the numbers until a few more blocks from the warehouse. As you can see, West Virginia tags and we can see most of the tag." He pulled another picture from the folder. "Your van at the Holy Cross Hospital. We didn't get your tag numbers there, but same color, make and model and the same missing paint on the passenger door as your van." The Agent shook his head. "Kidnapping a Federal Agent is a federal crime. Add that to the murder in the warehouse and we're talking death penalty . . . Why not kill Agent Booth? Why kill Miller and not Booth? I don't get it."

"That doesn't prove it's my van." Liscombe was shaking, but he wasn't going to admit anything. "There are thousands of tan colored vans in this country."

Slowly, Agent Randall removed some pictures and reports from the folder and allowed the trembling young man to see them. "We got a warrant and searched your property and that includes the storm shelter at the back of the property. We found blood there and it matches Agent Booth. A few strands of his bloody hair was found stuck to the back wall in the shelter, I guess where he leaned against the wall . . . we found an empty water bottle with his and your finger prints on it. We analyzed the few drops of liquid left in the bottle and they contained Eszopiclone. Agent Booth had Eszopiclone in his system when he was examined at Holy Cross Hospital along with Scotch whiskey. There were traces of Scotch on the floor in the shelter near where Agent Booth's bloody hair was found . . .Why'd you kidnap Agent Booth? Why not kill him?"

Resigned that he wasn't going to be able to escape what he had done, Liscombe stopped shaking and cleared his throat. "A few years ago, Agent Booth hauled me into this building and humiliated me. He was looking for a kidnapper and he didn't believe me when I told him I didn't have anything to do with it . . . I had a record for peeing in public and the prosecutor made a big deal about it because some school aged girls saw me. I didn't know they were there. I was drunk and I had to go so I whizzed in a fountain . . . That makes me a pedophile or something and I'm not . . . Agent Booth hit me to make me tell him what he wanted to know. My girlfriend roughed up two of the girls before they went missing not me, but I ended taking the blame and I did some time for that. It was bullshit. Lola hit them, but she said I did it because I'm a perv. They believed her, the bitch . . . his partner, Dr. Brennan hit me on the ear and he congratulated her, the piece of shit. I had nothing to do with that kidnapping. I just happened to work at a fun house where one of the bodies was found. I filed a complaint, but the FBI doesn't care about suspects getting hit. They just want results. That's what I was told. He hit me . . . me! I was supposed to take it and then jail for roughing up girls and I didn't do it? I wanted to humiliate Agent Booth. Make him look like a drunk on a lost weekend. He deserved more, but I didn't kill him. That wasn't the plan. I just wanted him to feel what I felt. Humiliated and scorned by his peers, by people in authority that don't give a shit about the truth. He'll remember for the rest of his life that he was kidnapped and there was nothing he could do about it. I made him drink Scotch. I poured it on his clothes and he couldn't stop me. He'll remember what I did to him for the rest of his life and he'll know what real humiliation is."

"We found the Lunesta bottle in your house." Pulling a pill bottle enclosed in a baggy from his jacket pocket, Agent Randall laid it on the table. "This belongs to your mother. Did she help you set this up?"

"What? No! You leave my mother alone damn it!" Starting to panic again, Liscombe stood up and waved his hands around. "I took that bottle from her. She takes that shit too much anyway, but she doesn't know what Tad and me were up to. She's innocent. You leave her alone."

Since he believed Liscombe, Randall nodded his head and placed the bottle back in his jacket pocket. "I'll go along with that for now . . . If you plead guilty to accessory to murder and the kidnapping of a Federal Agent, we'll leave her alone. If not, we may have to bring her in and maybe charge her with accessory to the kidnapping. It is her bottle of pills."

Frightened and feeling nauseous, Liscombe sat back down. "She's my mother. She's never done anything wrong, nothing . . . I'll plead guilty if you leave my mother alone and take the death penalty off the table. I'll plead right now. Leave my mother alone . . . please."

Agent Randall nodded his head. "I'll have the prosecutor talk to you and have you plead to her." Moving a blank piece of paper towards the young man, he placed a pen on top. "Write down what happened from the murder to the kidnapping. Ms. Julian will be here by the time you finish writing. Be precise."

A tear fell down his cheek while he pulled the paper closer. "You cops always have a way of humiliating someone. If I don't do what you ask, you'll humiliate my mother and she couldn't take it. She's delicate, but you don't care. I'm used to being humiliated, so what the hell."

Ms. Julian, who had observed the entire interrogation from the observation room, smiled and nodded her head. "You bibitte. You were a scummy little weasel four years ago and you're a scummy little weasel now. Nothing is your fault except when it's all your fault."

Ooooooooooooooooo

It had been a week since he'd been kidnapped and Booth was feeling better. His sleep had been disrupted for most of the week, but the previous evening had seen him sleep an uninterrupted sleep. He had two more days off from work before he'd be able to return to his office. He dreaded what was lying on his desk. He assumed no one had pitched in and done his work for him and he knew that he would be working on paper work for at least two or three days. Pouring a cup of coffee into a mug, he placed it on a tray with a bowl of cut up fruit and some toast spread with apple butter. Satisfied that the tray was neat, he picked it up and carried it to the bedroom. Once in the room, he stood next to the bed where his partner lay and smiled. "Wakey wakey, Bones. Rise and shine."

Grumbling, Brennan rolled over and looked up at her boyfriend. "What time is it?"

"Sit up, I brought you breakfast . . . it's 9:30." Once she was leaning against the headboard, Booth placed the tray on her lap.

"9:30? Well, I suppose that is to be expected when my boyfriend wouldn't let me go to sleep until two this morning." Brennan picked up the coffee mug and sipped some of the dark hot liquid.

"Me? . . . You were the one that attacked me last night . . . but who cares. You can do that anytime you want to." Booth had enjoyed quite a few hours of heavenly sex with Brennan the previous evening and he felt like his world couldn't get much better. "What would you like to do today?"

Brennan swallowed her bite of toast and grinned at her boyfriend with what she hoped was a sexy come-hither look. "I want today what I got last night."

Sitting next to Brennan, Booth plucked a strawberry from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. "I think I can manage that . . . I feel a lot better Bones. Once I fell asleep, I didn't wake up until nine this morning . . . I think the drugs have finally let me go . . . Thanks for taking care of me. I mean, I was seeing people that weren't there and my temper . . . man I felt so out of control. I still don't remember being kidnapped, but I guess that's okay . . . Caroline says that Liscombe pled guilty and he's agreed to thirty years. His pal Tad won't plead, so there's going to be a trial and Liscombe is going to testify against Tad. That's why thirty years instead of life . . . I won't have to testify since I don't remember anything that would help with the case . . . I'm glad I took Dr. Goodrum's advice and never used sleeping drugs . . . I'm nuts when I take that shit."

"Well, you were also fed alcohol, but yes, sleeping agents would do you more harm than good." Brennan used her fork and stabbed a strawberry. "I barely remembered who Gregg Liscombe was when I was told he was the one who had kidnapped you."

Booth hadn't remembered Gregg at all. "Well, he remembered me . . . his plan was stupid. Why not dump me near a homeless shelter? His plan might have worked for a little while . . . maybe . . . He was stupid four years ago and he's stupid now."

"He said he didn't want you to die, so I think that is why he dropped you off at the hospital." Brennan shook her head. "Still, his plan was nonsense. I know you don't take sleeping pills. The only drugs you take are Advil and aspirin and the occasional muscle relaxer although you shouldn't take those because you become quite silly when you do."

Chuckling, Booth leaned over and kissed Brennan. "I'm sorry I was a pain in the ass this week. I know I was angry all the time, but I couldn't get a handle on why and I know you kept telling me it was the drug, but it seemed like it was me and not the drugs . . . Thank you for everything. I don't know if I could have got through this by myself."

"Of course, you could have Booth." Brennan returned his kiss "You're strong and you've been through much worse than this. Liscombe was incompetent and for that I am grateful. We've dealt with Howard Epps, the Gravedigger and Jacob Brodski. Liscombe was merely a bump in the road."

"Yeah, I guess so." His hand running up and down Brennan's bare leg, Booth smiled at her and kissed her once more. "Are you going to eat breakfast all morning or do you want me to give you what you asked for?"

Handing the tray to Booth, Brennan moved towards the middle of the bed. "You're the one whose dawdling Booth. Come here and give me what I want."

Oooooooooooooooooo

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