A/N: First off I'm sorry for the long update time. I have the shitty excuse of having gone on a vacation, in which I had no desire to even look at a computer. So here's the new chapter that is long owed to all of you. I also want to apologize for some god awful spelling and grammar mistakes made in the last chapter. I abhor proof reading but I'll try and keep a closer eye on things next time. Reviews are good.

O'Leary's Meats resided in a large brick building in the south of DC. It had a storefront as a regular butcher, and the rest of the building was converted into an essentially huge freezer. It had about eight people working in any one shift, including the manager Mike O'Leary, founder and operator. This was the information Booth was filled in on along the way there. None of it mattered much to him, other than which of those employees was Brennan's stalker. They were pulling up to the butcher in a matter of minutes, having broken a number of speed limits and traffic laws on the way there. Hodgins had insisted on coming along. Ever since the incident in the parking garage, he just felt…invested.

"Booth, maybe I should do the talking in there. You could go…check things out, talk to some employees?" Hodgins asked carefully.

"Not happening Jack. You're the squint. I'm the FBI agent. I ask the questions."

"Be that as it may, you are also the guy who has been biting off everyone's head off at the drop of a hat." Booth turned and glared at him for a moment. "Tell me I'm wrong man!" Hodgins exclaimed after a beat of silence. Booth shrugged, knowing Hodgins was right.

"I'm going to ask the questions. I'll let you comes in. I'll try not to bite anyone's head off."

"Fair enough," Hodgins relented. They parked into front of the building, and decided on going into the store front first. A tall burly man around 55 years of age was manning the counter.

"Are you Mike O'Leary?" Booth prompted.

"Yes I am. What can I do for you?" O'Leary was from Boston, and his southie accent caused "you" to come out as "ya" Booth flipped out his badge, and O'Leary straightened noticeably.

"I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI. I'm going to go ahead and make a long story short here by telling you that we are in the middle of a murder investigation, and we have evidence that points back to your business as the origin of the murder weapon."

"Way to ease into Booth," Hodgins muttered. Booth ignored him. O'Leary sighed, looking very tired.

"Look, I got nothin to hide. Take a look in back if you'd like."

"We'll do that. But first, have any of your employees been acting suspicious lately? Taking odd hours off work?"

"Not that I can think of. Only thing that comes to mind his Lewis Owens. He's one of my best guys, but he rolled in a couple hours late last Tuesday, looking a little worse for the wear. Said he's been in a car accident, and he was driving a rental. He's a pretty dependable guy so I didn't think to much of it."

"Owens here now?"

"Yeah he picked up an extra shift today. He'll be in the back. Carving station." He jerked his thumb towards the door behind him. Booth nodded and moved to the door.

"Stay here Hodgins. Watch for anyone trying to make a break for it." Hodgins waved his hand in agreement, though how he was going to stop anyone from leaving, he didn't really know.

Booth made his way into the back part of the building, following the grinding sounds being made by the hand held saws used to slice apart large pieces of meat. There were only two men at work at a large metal table. One was short, thick, and in his mid-forties. The other one Booth recognized as Owens by the healing cuts on his face. He was young, maybe 24, with steady hands and darting eyes. He saw Booth coming and flicked off the saw. Booth approached slowly and put his hand beneath his coat, allowing it to rest on his gun.

"Lewis Owens? I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI. Just wanted to ask you some questions." Owens stared at him, not speaking, for a good ten seconds. The, calm as you please, he bolted. He shoved a rib cage he had been working on forward, then shot toward the large open loading bays located near the store front. Booth moved after him, wondering to himself why they always choose to run. He was worried when Owens leapt from the building a full fifteen paces ahead of him. He reached the loading bay just in time to see Hodgins shoot out of the store front, sprint after Owens, and tackle him squarely around the waist.

Hodgins was not the most imposing man around the lab. He had kind eyes, a jew fro, and a less then impressive height. But the dude was actually kind of ripped. Years with a diminutive stature had taught him that what he lacked in height, he could make up for in muscle and speed. Which is how Owens was brought to the ground with a gasp as 165 pounds of scientist landed on top of him. Unfortunately, Hodgins was a bit over zealous, and took pleasure it ramming Owens's head into the ground, effectively rendering him unconscious. Booth jogged up a moment later, checked Owens's pulse, and breathed a sigh of release when he felt it beating fast but steady. He glared at Hodgins.

"You realize that we're going to have to wait for him to wake up now right?" Booth growled. Hodgins looked down at Owens, then back to Booth.

"Yeah," he conceded. "But it felt really good."