Chapter Seven

Brennan was prioritizing a mental list of things she needed to do with regard to the site when Booth joined her. Once she knew if they were dealing with a grave-robber or an over-active imagination, she'd know where to begin. The two young hikers were waiting for them just outside a concession stand.

"They don't look as nervous as they did yesterday," Booth commented.

"Nervous?" she asked, studying them with a scientist's eye.

"Yeah. They were fidgety yesterday." He paused, causing her to glance in his direction. He was smiling broadly when he explained, "Today they're just star-struck."

She didn't have a chance to ask him to explain himself. "Dr. Brennan," the blond man said, rushing forward with hand outstretched. "My name is Brad Meyer. It's a pleasure to meet you."

A little voice told her that this was a situation in which pleasantries were called for. Disturbingly, the little voice sounded a lot like Booth. She smiled and shook the young man's hand. "Thank you for coming out here this morning. I know you must be worried about the storm."

The other man stepped forward. "John Thomas, ma'am. It's no trouble."

Booth cleared his throat and took over the conversation. "We'd like for you to take a look at the photographs of the scene that were taken after you reported it. Tell us if anything looks like it's out of place."

John whistled. "You think someone might have messed with it?"

"Not necessarily," Brennan explained. "There are some minor inconsistencies with the photos and your statement."

"Brad's your man, then." Johntook a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets. "He's practically got a photographic memory. Show him the photos and he can tell you if a bug moved an inch."

Brennan looked to Brad, who was nodding in agreement with John. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Brad smiled and looked at her with an appraising gaze. "Yesterday, your hair was pulled back into a loose tail at the base of your neck -- I like it better down, by the way. You were wearing a light blue tee shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots -- maybe Timberlands. The blue of your shirt brought out the color in your eyes -- they looked more like aquamarines -- today, they look grey, like storm-clouds. You should wear blue more often. You were wearing a necklace, American Indian in origin, brown beads with some turquoise."

Booth had inched closer to her while John was describing her, and she could feel him at her side. The kid was a little disturbing, but good. "Show him the picture, Booth."

Without a word, Booth handed Brad the photo depicting the skeleton in its entirety. He studied it for a moment then pointed. "The rifle's gone." He turned the photo so Booth and Brennan could see, and ran his finger along the backside of the skeleton. "It was here," he explained. "Like the guy was wearing it on his back."

Brennan sighed. Someone had tampered with her dig, and she was doing well to contain her anger. She was about to thank the young man when he said, "The arm is moved, too."

"What?" Brennan looked at the picture again, studying the arm bones. They were wrapped around the box, as if hugging it to the ribcage.

Brad pointed, again. "Right here. See how he's holding this box? This arm was lower and there was something else there. I didn't get a good look at it but it was small and just under the box."

Brennan sent Booth a significant look. Without pause, he pulled a terrain map out of his back pocket. "Would you be able to show us, on this map, the path you were taking that led you to the remains?"

"You didn't have to bite his head off," Brennan remarked. She was walking behind him as they made their way through the woods.

"I didn't bite his head off." Booth paused, checked his compass, adjusted their heading, and set off again.

"I was an Army Ranger," she retorted, her voice deep. "I know how to read a map and compass."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Okay. I did not sound like that." She was smiling broadly, no doubt pleased that she'd needled him into a reaction.

"You really did," she replied.

They'd been walking for over an hour, following the same path that the men had followed. It was just after noon, and the day was hot, though a steady breeze was blowing through the pines, causing the trees to sway and creak. Booth found the whole situation slightly creepy. According to the map, they were getting close to the site and he was hoping that Brennan wouldn't take too long poking around so they could get back before the weather began to turn.

He made a face at her and turned back to the path, taking another moment to recalibrate their heading. "It shouldn't be much further," he said.

She didn't reply, but he kept going, listening to the sounds of the woods around them. He'd walked several yards before he realized that what he wasn't hearing was a second set of footsteps behind him. Confused, he turned and found . . . nothing.

Brennan was nowhere to be seen.

"Bones?" He retraced his steps, his hand instinctively on the butt of his gun. "Bones!"

"Here," she said, stepping out from behind a large scrub palmetto. Relief faded to anger and he found himself counting to ten in his head.

"What the hell . . .?"

"The guy," she began. He noticed that she held something in her hand -- something that she kept turning over and over with her fingertips.

"What guy?" he asked, back on alert.

She shook her head and motioned for him to stay where he was. When she was at his side, he reached out and took hold of her arm, stopping her and forcing her attention to him.

"What are you talking about? Bones, don't do that! If you're going to stop, you have to let me know so when I turn around to check on you, you're not gone." Ten, apparently, hadn't helped assuage his anger. Next time, he'd try twenty. In German.

She frowned and pulled back a little, causing him to release her arm. "It was the man from the site, yesterday, the one who was watching me. He can't talk -- or doesn't talk -- one or the other. He gave me this."

She placed the item in Booth's hand. It was another button. "He took this from the remains," Booth deduced. "He probably took the rifle and the plates, too."

"That's quite a leap," she parroted his earlier words. Looking around, she scanned the woods in all directions. "I don't think he took the items, but I think he knows who did. He was afraid."

Booth was determined to get to the bottom of . . . whatever was going on . . . and turned to march back to the palmetto outcropping. Brennan's hand on his arm stilled him. "He's not there, Booth. He took off as soon as you called for me."

He sighed and hung his head, gathering his thoughts. "You can't keep doing that," he said. Off of her confused look, he explained. "Every time you do something like that," he gestured to where she'd disappeared, "my heart practically stops. You're so focused on what you're doing that you don't take into account that the strange looking guy in the woods might not want to give you a button. He might want to hurt you." His voice softened. "It's my job to keep you safe, Bones, but you make it extremely difficult."

Their eyes met and locked, and then Brennan broke into a wide smile. "That's sweet but unnecessary."

Booth rolled his eyes, smiling because he couldn't help it when she smiled. "I wasn't trying to be sweet," he argued. "I was trying to awaken your sense of self-preservation."

"Understood." She pointed in the direction that they'd been headed before her unscheduled stop. "That way?"

"Yeah, that way." Booth let her lead, following close behind, where he could keep an eye on her.

"The last flight out is at seven." Brennan looked up from her laptop as Booth finished packing. "You should just make it if you leave within the next few minutes."

"I don't like leaving you without a car," he groused, shoving his shaving kit into a side pocket in his suitcase. "What if something happens and you need to get somewhere quick?"

"We've already covered this." She leaned against the headboard and watched him walk around the room, giving it a last once-over before he could consider himself packed. "I can't drive you to the airport because you don't want me on the road in the storm and I wouldn't be able to make it back in time, according to your conservative estimates of travel time and distance."

"You drive too fast," he commented without looking up.

"And you don't have time to take me into town to the nearest rental car company and still make your flight," she continued, ignoring his commentary on her driving. "I'll take a cab into town tomorrow and pick up a rental. It's really nothing to worry about."

He closed and locked his suitcase and gestured to her computer, now sitting beside her on the bed. "Any changes?"

She shook her head. The storm was still headed in their direction, and it wasn't letting up. "At least it's not getting any stronger," she said. "It's almost a category three as it is."

He picked up the case and walked toward the door, pausing while she collected her laptop and joined him. With one hand on the door handle, he said, "I guess it wouldn't do any good for me to try and convince you to come with me and come back here after the storm blows through?"

She found his concern comforting. "You've already tried that. No. I can't. I don't want to waste any time and flying back and forth will. The sooner I can get back out there, the better. I have a grave robber to worry about. What if there's something more out there and he gets to it first?" He turned the handle and opened the door. They both stepped into the hall. "Thank you, though."

Booth waited while she fished her room card out of her back pocket before asking, "For what?"

"For being concerned." She smiled at him. "It's nice." They stood in the hallway, neither saying a word, for a long moment. Brennan sighed and pointed out, "You'd better get going. Traffic might be heavy."

"Yeah," he agreed, making no move to leave. He set his suitcase down and took a step toward her. "I hate having to leave you here," he explained. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful," she huffed playfully.

"All evidence to the contrary," he teased in return. Then, she was in his arms. Booth was hugging her, tightly, and she couldn't return the gesture because she was holding her laptop. She tensed at first, and then relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'll be okay," she whispered. "I promise."

As quickly as he'd grabbed her, he released her and took a step back. "You'd better," were his parting words as he picked up his suitcase and walked down the hall.

She watched him leave, waiting until the elevator door closed before entering her room. Her blood was still humming from his hug -- which didn't seem like one of his so-called friendly hugs -- their dynamic seemed to be changing, and she found that, while it was a little frightening, it also seemed completely normal.

Knowing that dissecting her relationship -- or lack thereof -- with Booth would drive her insane if she kept at it for too long, she instead focused on the photos that he'd left with her. She took out a notebook and began making notes about what had happened that day -- her conversation with the hikers -- and her lack of conversation with the ragged-looking man in the woods, organizing her thoughts and formulating a plan of attack.

Time passed, and she realized that there was nothing more she could do until morning. Bored, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the button that the man had placed into her hand, turning it over and over. She knew that there was more to the story and wished she had the missing piece. Unsolved mysteries annoyed her.

She was putting the button on her nightstand when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display and answered.

"Hi, Angela." Brennan settled against her headboard and turned on the television, changed the channel to the local, evening news, and muted the sound.

"Are you riding out the storm?" her friend asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Booth tried to talk me into leaving and it didn't work. Don't even bother. Besides, I don't have a vehicle."

Angela hummed her disapproval then asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Why does everyone suddenly think I can't take care of myself?" she asked, laughing incredulously.

"Was that a rhetorical question?" she retorted, and Brennan could visualize her friend's eyebrows arching up her forehead.

"Yes," she allowed. "It was completely rhetorical. I guess I'm a little edgy."

"I would be, too, if I were in the crosshairs of a hurricane."

"It's not that." Brennan waved off her concern about the storm -- really it was only on the edge of her awareness, anyway -- and explained. "Booth hugged me before he left. It wasn't anything . . . anything. It was just . . . different."

Angela was quiet for a moment. "He cares about you, Bren."

"I know he does, and I care about him, too," Brennan said. "This was different, though."

"Good-different or bad-different?" Angela asked.

"Just different. I can't explain it any better than that." Brennan frowned at her admission. She was a scientist and a writer -- she should be able to articulate anything. This, however, stumped her.

Angela sighed. "Don't think about it too much, sweetie. You're going to analyze this hug to death and it will lose its special-ness."

Grinning, Brennan pointed out, "I don't think that's a word."

"Whatever. It fits."

"It does," she agreed. A gust of wind rattled the window just then, and she noticed that the rain had started to fall. "I should probably go," she said. "The weather is starting to turn and I should get my phone and my laptop on to charge, just in case we lose power."

"Good idea," Angela agreed. "I'm going to keep an eye on the news and I want you to call me as soon as you can, okay?"

Brennan was about to agree when there was a knock at the door. "Hang on, Ange. Someone's here."

"Who would it be?" Angela asked.

"Maybe the hotel staff checking on the guests," Brennan reasoned. She opened the door without checking the peephole and was stunned at who she found standing, dripping wet, in the hallway. "Booth?"

He smiled sheepishly at her and shrugged, his wet tee-shirt clinging to his chest.

"Booth is back?"

Brennan had momentarily forgotten that she still had her phone to her ear but snapped into action at Angela's words. "You're soaking wet!"

"Why is Booth back?" Angela asked.

"I don't know. I have to go. I'll call you when the storm passes." She hung up before hearing Angela's response.

"Can I come in?" Booth asked.