Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing here but the idea.
Author's Note: This is written from Brennan's POV.
We raced back to the motel, breathless by the time we stood outside our room. I reached into my pocket for the key and slipped it into the lock. Before I even turned it the door swung open. I turned to look at Booth, a stunned look on my face.
"Didn't we lock this when we left?" I began to doubt myself, was about to make my way inside, but a hand on my arm stopped me. I turned to face Booth and found him holding his FBI-issued firearm, finger hovering above the trigger. "Where were you hiding that?" I asked incredulous as I eyed up his tight-fitting tee and his shorts.
His eyebrows wiggled slightly as he brushed past me. "Maybe you can find out later."
I blushed as he cautiously made his way inside, motioning for me to stay put. He disappeared into the room, moments later returning, the gun safely holstered. "It's empty," he said, moving back inside. I followed. "But whoever was here was after something."
The room had been turned upside down. The sofa had been upended, the t.v. smashed. The drawers of the vanity table had been carelessly thrown onto the bed, the contents on the floor. Our clothes had been pulled off their hangers and discarded like pieces of rubbish, and I could see a similar scene of destruction in the bathroom.
"Who would do this?" I made my way to the vanity unit and began to carefully put my underwear back in the drawers.
"My guess is it has something to do with Edward Ryan," Booth replied. I turned and saw him holding up the manila file, only now it was empty. I cursed under my breath.
"Now what?" I moved to the closet and started to hand our clothes back up.
"We can't stay here. Whoever did this knows where to find us. I'll try and find us somewhere else by this evening. In the meantime I think you should go to the morgue and finish identifying the remains. I'll drive you, then head on up to the crash site to see Meden."
I frowned. "Why can't I come to the crash site." I began to gather my kit items, thankful that I had hidden my laptop under the bed yesterday.
Booth sighed wearily. "Because, Bones, you'll be safer in a locked building than out in the open. There's more security up at the morgue." He glanced at me, his features softened. "No-one will get to you there."
I knew that there would be no point in arguing and followed Booth to his car instead.
The morgue was empty when we arrived, the only personnel being the security guard sat in the entrance. He was a short, stocky man who looked to be about fifty, and he nodded by way of greeting as I swiped my access card. I stood in the doorway and Booth handed me my kit bag.
"I'll be back at six to take you to the motel," he said, his hands jammed into his pockets. "If you need anything, call me." He smiled and reached out a hand. It lingered by my cheek for a moment before he pulled it away, aware that the security guard was watching.
I nodded silently and slipped inside. Cautiously, I made my way down the corridor, my ears tuned in to even the smallest of sounds. Once I was in the main examining area I locked my bag away and wheeled my first set of remains into the office I had used the day before.
I worked quickly and quietly, cataloguing injuries and distinguishing features before comparing them with the pile of case files that had not yet been assigned to a body. At lunchtime I dug an apple out of my kit bag and ate quickly, not wanting to waste any time. I then continued with my work.
At five to five my cell phone chirped and I quickly pulled off my latex gloves. "Brennan."
"It's me." I could hear the sound of a mechanical digger in the background. "I've been held up at the crash site. I'm going to be at least another hour," Booth shouted.
I sighed, looking at the pile of files I had not managed to match up. "That's fine. I have some more work to do here." I glanced at my watch. "I'll be in the lobby at six." I ended the connection and turned back to my work.
At six o'clock I had failed to match any more files to the remains. I tidied up my work area and scrubbed my hands before making my way through the quiet building. When I got to the lobby I found the security guard dozing in his chair. A line of drool hung from his chin. Peering through the darkness I could see a car parked at the far end of the lot and assumed Booth was waiting for me.
The night air was cool, a soft breeze rustling through the great elm trees that lined the street opposite. I studied the car closely but realised it wasn't Booth and turned to go back indoors.
The car sprung to life as my back turned and I froze, lit up in the headlights. I willed my feet to move as the car hurtled towards me. Part of my brain identified it as being the one that shot at me the day before, and I realised the danger I was in. When I finally found the courage to move my feet and yell out, it was too late. As I hit the bumper and was thrown into the air, my thoughts were of Booth.