Chapter One

"I don't know why the hell this couldn't have waited a couple of months," Special Agent Seeley Booth shouted over high winds and the steady thrum of a diesel engine. Sleet stung his cheeks and, despite about six layers of winter gear, he was cold and damp and cranky as hell.

"This kind of find could be crucial to our understanding of the Gormogon murders – not to mention the number of unsolved homicides we might be able to resolve, from this single sculpture," his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, yelled back at him. "Just because the remains are old doesn't mean it shouldn't be treated the same way we would any crime scene. We need to be there."

He knew all that, of course. He just didn't know why retrieving the remains meant the entire team had to make a trek out to some godforsaken island ten miles off the coast of Maine in the middle of winter. He didn't say that, though – they'd already been over the argument half a dozen times, and he knew Bones well enough to know that him bitching about it wouldn't change her mind.

He could just make out a blur of black rock on the horizon, barely visible through spitting sleet and freezing rain. It was the kind of sight that might have been beautiful in the right circumstances – like if he were watching it on a big-screen plasma TV, for example, curled up on a Sunday afternoon with Bones in his arms and some good Scotch by his side.

Booth's stomach lurched with another wave. He clenched his teeth against the seasickness that had pretty much killed everyone's enthusiasm about this expedition. Honest to God, if they survived this boat ride, he was gonna kill Sweets – he didn't even care if the shrink was still recovering from the bullet that had almost taken him out a couple of months before.

We have an opportunity to put this to rest, Booth, the kid had said – gaunt and pale after the shooting, his eyes shadowed. The Gormogon case did something to this team; it did something to Zack. This is our chance to set things right. We can give Zack a chance to prove to himself – and everybody else – that he's not the monster he's convinced he is. And then, of course, Sweets had played his Ace. When I thought I was going to die, this was the one thing I wished that I could change. Please, Booth – help me set this right.

Booth looked around at the rolling seas and the dark grey sky, thought of the last time they'd gone up against Gorgonzola, and sighed. Yeah, he was gonna kill Sweets.

"I thought the ferry would be larger," Bones yelled in his ear, pulling him back to the present.

"Yeah. I think we all did, Bones."

They stood port side, shoulder to shoulder, with their gloved hands tight on the cold steel railing. Bones was the only one who didn't seem bothered by all the tossing on the waves – well, Bones and the damned dog, Booth thought, casting a glance at the collie sitting at Bones's knee. Dosha's sleek muzzle was pointed up like she was sniffing the salty air, her mouth stretched back in an unmistakable doggy grin. Not for the first time, Booth marveled at just how pretty the dog had gotten in a matter of a couple of months. When they'd first brought the collie home, she'd been malnourished and mangy – now, thanks to Bones's attention, Booth was pretty sure Dosh could give the dogs at Westminster a run for their money.

"We shouldn't be much longer – you can go below if you'd like," Bones hollered.

He shook his head. His hand slid closer to hers; she set hers on top and squeezed, her blue eyes on fire and that breathless laughter in her voice – that unreserved way she got when she made some science-y discovery he didn't get, or she was driving a little too fast or playing a little too hard. It had been a while since he'd seen that look.

Booth pushed the nausea back and shook his head again, enjoying the feel of her shoulder next to his.

"Nah, Bones – I'll stay out here. We'll ride it out together."

She tipped her head against his shoulder. "Just like always," she said.

And just like that, freezing rain and a gang of squints and an old bunch of bones on an island in the middle of nowhere didn't seem like such a bad thing. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, Bones," he said, softer now. "Just like always."


Once they hit shore, Booth went back in the boat cabin to see how everybody had fared. Bones was already off the dock and halfway up the hill before the rest of the squints had taken their first shaky steps on dry land.

Cam leaned forward with her hands on her knees, her hair a whole lot messier than usual and her naturally dark complexion about three shades lighter than normal.

"I'd like to go on record now as saying, I hate Gormogon," she said.

"Yeah, well," Booth said, "You could've stayed home. I mean… These are bones we're talkin' about here, right? Not exactly your area."

Cam shook her head, that hint of steel in her eyes that had always gotten to him when they were dating.

"Uh unh. My team doesn't go through this without me. We were in it together last time – it's no different now." She looked out at the rocking black waves and the snow-covered island they were about to set up camp on, her resolve obviously shaken. "But, really, would it have been too much to ask for Arthur Graves to set this whole thing in motion sixty years ago, somewhere a little more hospitable? Acapulco… Miami? Why don't we ever get called in on cases somewhere nice?"

She wiped her mouth of what Booth suspected was the remnants of the lobster roll she'd had before they left the mainland, after it had made its second appearance. His stomach took another turn.

"I'll talk to Werner," he said, working up to a sympathetic smile. "Maybe next serial killer…"

"A girl can dream, right?" She grabbed her bags, took another steadying breath, and headed for the dock. "I'll see you up there, Seeley."

Hodgins was loaded down with gear, chasing after Angela – who, at seven months' pregnant, looked like this was the last place on the planet she should be. Since she was the only one who'd ever set foot on Monhegan before, and they'd gotten the tip about the skeleton from a friend of hers in the first place, she'd refused to be left behind. Booth still felt uneasy as hell about that particular decision.

"I swear, honey, you're gonna love it," she was saying to Hodgins. "The inn is beautiful – you'll see. I'll be fine."

It made Booth feel a little better that, aside from Bones and Dosha, Angela had handled their trip across the sea the best. Sure, she looked a little like a penguin when she was leaving the boat, but otherwise she seemed fine. All the same, he'd be glad when they had the skeleton and everybody was safely back on the mainland.

With everybody else unloaded, Booth went to the back of the cabin. He tried to keep the concern from his face when Sweets met his eye, his face even paler than ever, those circles under his eyes standing out like they'd been colored in.

"I'm fine, Booth."

Okay – so maybe he wasn't so good at looking unconcerned.

Sweets stood with some difficulty, then swayed for a second or two before he took a shuffling step forward.

"I could get you a chair or something," Booth offered. "I saw one stowed away on deck."

"I haven't needed a wheelchair in over a month," the shrink said. He shuffled another few steps. "I'm not going back to one now."

Booth had to hand it to him – whatever he might have thought of Lance Sweets before, most of that had changed since the shooting. There was no doubt in Booth's mind now: Sweets was a fighter.

But, again, not the reason Booth was there.

The real reason Booth was there held up his handcuffed wrists, tossing his head to try and get a lock of floppy hair out of his eyes.

"Are these really necessary?" Zack asked. "We're on an island ten miles out to sea, surrounded by ocean water with a median temperature of 30-degrees Farenheit during the winter months. You really think I'm going to make a run for it?"

"Sorry, Zack," Booth said, though he didn't really feel that sorry at all. "It's nothing personal – just following the rules. Sweets signed off on you coming out here to help with the case, but I'm the hired gun that makes sure nothing goes hinky."

"If by hinky you mean an escape, I can assure you I have no intention of trying anything. I don't even want to be here. I told you – I would have preferred to stay in the loony bin. Particularly since you wouldn't allow Greta – "

"Don't start," Booth said. "I don't wanna hear anymore about your imaginary movie star girlfriend or how much help she would've been on this thing."

"She isn't imaginary, and she's not a movie star. She's named after a movie star," Zack said. He stood when Booth gave him a tug, and kept talking while they left the shelter of the cabin and headed into the cutting wind. "And she would have been a great deal of help – she's studied secret societies for many years. That's the reason she introduced herself to me in the first place."

"A blonde bombshell named Greta Garbo who has a thing for secret societies and serial killers just happens to show up in the nut hatch one afternoon to talk to you, and nobody else so much as catches a glimpse of her." Booth felt his tension ratchet up a notch, despite everything Sweets had told him about how safe they all were with Zack around. "Yeah, I can't imagine why anybody would have a problem with that."

Sweets caught his eye; Booth clamped his mouth shut. He was supposed to be diplomatic, he knew.

"Zack, you knew that we couldn't have just allowed someone with whom you're having a romantic relationship to come with us on something like this," Sweets said.

They'd just stepped off the landing and onto the hard-packed snow of Monhegan Island's main road. The shrink was breathing hard, his color as grey as the fog coming up off the water. Booth checked his watch; the lack of sun had left him disoriented. He was relieved to find it was only a little after one o'clock.

Zack looked like he might keep arguing, but then he seemed to notice the shape Sweets was in, and fell silent. Booth cleared the way for the squint to go ahead of him. Sweets followed behind, still slow, his silence saying more than words ever could about the toll this trip was taking.

Not for the first time, not for the last, Booth wondered what the hell they were doing here.