Beatrice Fortney was within the proper height range and certainly had the strength to have committed the murders, Brennan thought as she stood alone in the dark observation room. But, and it was a big but, her whereabouts during the murder of Oliver were well documented. All the other cases had timelines too open to really pin down an exact time or place. Each having a window of a few days for time of death, each committed somewhere within the vicinity of the Queen Anne, at least within a fifty-mile radius. Which led Brennan back to the irritating fact that they still had no solid evidence pointing decidedly toward one culprit. Maybe she didn't commit the murders by herself. Maybe Booth was right, maybe the women colluded.

While she may not have done the actual killing, Beatrice could be an accomplice. She could have provided valuable help by finding remote locations for the other kills or helped with the disposal of the bodies. The grounds of the Queen Anne were vast and no one knew them better than Beatrice, who was raised there.

Marilyn Monroe who, in real life, preferred to be called Kitty even though her given name was Patricia Grace and Kitty was more commonly a nickname for Catherine, was still very much a suspect and was sitting just beyond the glass in the interrogation room of the DC office of the FBI. Brennan, who was tired and very irritable, watched, studying the physicality of the older woman. She was shorter than Beatrice and certainly no match for her strength. Stabbing a large man, like Oliver, was physically no easy feat. He seemed healthy enough, certainly strong enough to fend off a woman Marilyn's size.

Brennan shifted her weight and let out a frustrated huff. There was no one there to hear it. Booth and Sweets were both in the interrogation room with Marilyn. She was left alone to, "observe the physicality," of their suspects, at least that's the reason Booth insisted she be there. With one arm wrapped around her waist, she caught herself subconsciously fiddled with the fingers of her other hand, trying not to nibble around her nail bed. It was a nervous habit she picked up in foster care. One she controlled most of the time, unless she was extremely tired or overwhelmed. Today she was both.

Her mind drifted to Booth. They'd been back for a couple of days now, both days busy enough to keep their interactions completely professional. Brennan wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Though she relished their stolen moments and the reassurances Booth offered in the face of her own worries. She was sure everyone knew their secret, even though no one had said anything about it. Truth was, they'd been particularly careful. Still, every look her co-workers gave, every off hand remark, every joke about their time at the lover's retreat, every pregnant pause or sideways glance, caused her momentary panic. Booth did his best to convince her that they always treated them this way, especially after undercover cases. They and their non-relationship, relationship were a source of great entertainment for their co-workers. It was worse this time, Booth argued, because the nature of their assignment was all about being a couple.

Booth.

Both nights they'd been back she'd worked late at the lab. One night she ended up falling asleep at her desk, the other saw her staggering home to her apartment, alone, to sleep for only a couple of hours before she headed back to the Jeffersonian. He was patient with her, understanding, maybe too patient. She told him she wasn't avoiding him, that she wanted to be with him at his apartment or hers, but the case needed her expert attention. She'd neglected it long enough while they were undercover at the resort. It was a complicated case and her interns were not her, she explained. She suspected Booth didn't believe her. She suspected he thought she was using work to avoid him.

The buzz of her cell phone against her leg startled her back from deep within her own thoughts. Fumbling through her pockets, she finally retrieved it. It was a text from the lab. Cam ran a tox screen on Oliver which yielded some interesting results. Oliver was drugged at the time of the murder. Traces of fentanyl were found in his blood, fentanyl and alcohol. That wasn't a surprise, liquor was available in abundance at the resort. Taking that into consideration, it was possible, even with her limited strength, Marilyn may have been able to overpower him. Leaning forward, Brennan held down the speak button on the small microphone centered by the two-way glass allowing her to communicate directly into Booth's ear. Then watched for his subtle acknowledgment of the information and stepped back. Her brain already factoring in this new information as she watched Marilyn carefully.

There was still one suspect left to consider. Lelia was the smallest of the women, but very strong and more physically fit than Marilyn (Kitty or Patricia, neither name seemed to fit after getting to know her as Marilyn), possibly even stronger than Beatrice. Lelia was passionate about her loyalty to the women she'd served over the years. They were her life, her friends, her complete social circle. However, she seemed too small in stature to have committed Oliver's murder, certainly shorter than the height range Hodgins and Clark had estimated from the angle and depth of the stab wounds. Normally, she wouldn't be considering her for that reason alone.

"Did you see Oliver that day?" The question caught her attention pulling her gaze back up to the glass. Marilyn hemmed and hawed, doing her best to avoid answering.

"Yes," her posture changed, "in passing." She fidgeted in her seat more so than she'd done the entire interview. She appeared flustered and evasive. When asked to elaborate on her answer Marilyn was vague at first, finally explaining in more detail. As it turned out, Oliver was in the salon that morning. He was coming in as Marilyn was leaving. "Lelia tried to have someone else cover Oliver's appointment. It wasn't planned." She argued in defense of her friend. "But, Andre was ill, he didn't come into the salon that day. It wasn't planned, she had no choice." If she drugged him Lelia could have followed him after the appointment and committed the murder herself.

Beatrice had been flustered the day before, on the tennis courts, interrupting their game to speak with Marilyn urgently. Both women, Beatrice especially, were worried about how Lelia would react to Oliver being back at the resort with yet another partner. That much was obvious.

Brennan closed her eyes momentarily, taking another long breath. Booth was right, though she hated to admit it. Her presence during these interviews seemed to have some merit. Booth had been trying to get her out of the lab since they returned to DC. Maybe it was her own shift in paradigm with the change in their relationship, but it seemed like he wanted her there, with him, more than was their custom.

"You're my partner, Bones, of course I want you there. I need you there." He tugged on her sleeve, letting his hand slide down her arm until he was playing with her long graceful fingers, enticing her, inch by inch, away from her meticulously laid out set of bones. He knew her, knew how to play her, and it frustrated her to no end, mostly because it worked. Here she was, standing alone in the observation booth, dutifully being his partner, participating in the investigation the way he wanted her to, not in the way she'd serve him best.

At that very moment Booth turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder at her through the mirrored glass, and flashed that handsome smile she had such a hard time resisting. She shook her head. Damn him.

She smiled back, even though she knew he couldn't see.

They were finished with Marilyn, at least for the moment. Gathering papers, straightening folder by tapping them on the cold metal table, both men stood and made their way out of the room.

"Can I go back to the lab now?" That was her less than cordial greeting when he finally appeared in the observation room, Sweets right on his heals.

"Oh, boy," Sweets whispered under his breath. There was obvious tension between the two which seemed to be doubling, maybe even tripling, with every interaction.

"No." Booth's eyes widened as he shot her that "dial it back" look he always gave her when she was hovering around the edge of doing or saying something socially unacceptable. "We're waiting on Lelia, the hair lady-"

"Stylist, Booth, hair stylist."

"She should be here soon." Booth snapped. "There's no point in taking you back and then turning around to come get you."

She didn't respond, just shot him a nasty look.

Sweets chuckled nervously like a kid caught between arguing parents. Both partners turned and glared at him. Scrambling to change the subject, he blurted. "Hey, you know, as long as we have a few minutes we could sit down, maybe fit in a little session while we wait, a kind of undercover debriefing."

The nasty looks turned into a death glares as the partners turned and walked away. Sweets followed them, continuing to badger them about the precarious balance they maintained as partners and the pressure of being undercover as lovers at a romantic getaway. He wanted details, he argued, so he could better help them. Booth grabbed Bones by the arm, pulled her into his office, and closed the door in the young psychologist's face, waving goodbye through the glass.

"He knows." Booth shushed her as he methodically closed the mini-blinds and blocked Sweets youthful pleas of rejection one glass wall at a time.

"He doesn't." He spoke softly so as to avoid arousing any suspicion. "And he won't if you just act normal."

"Normal?" She questioned, looking rather skeptically at Booth.

"Normal, as in normal for you, like you would normally act, not like normal, like everybody else would act." Moving her again, he pulled her away from view, toward a corner of the office where no one could see them, not even if they peeked through the cracks in the blinds, which he wouldn't put past the determined psychologist still hovering outside his office. "Just be yourself, Bones, like you would be if, you know...what happened…" he gave her a look, a conspiratorial look complete with a little waggle of his eyebrows, "never happened."

Grabbing his lapels she both tugged him close and turned them all at the same time, pulling him into a deep and desperate kiss. His deeply satisfied groan of pleasure and relief, left them both laughing.

"I miss you." His whispered confession tickled her ear and she found herself leaning into his lips, nuzzling closer.

"Hmmm...me too." Letting her eyes close, she took a moment to just breath as her hands drifted over Booth's scruffy cheeks and strong jaw. "I mean, I miss you too, not me, I don't miss-" Cutting her off with another kiss he pulled her hips hard against his own eliciting a soft moan of pleasure.

"Not tonight. You won't miss me tonight. There will be no working." His hands drifted along her hips as he spoke, moving up along the small of her back in constant comforting motion until one worked its way up to her face, cradling it, his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek. "Dinner at my place, some good food, some good wine, a long hot bath." Swaying her lightly back and forth in his arms he let the gentle motion, like a slow dance, woo her. "Maybe an early bedtime, maybe a little -" A sharp tap on his office door broke the spell.

Both partners let out exasperated huffs of frustration. This wasn't going to be easy.

Booth pulled away, rubbing his face as he made his way to his office door. Greeted by an overly enthusiastic Sweets announcing that Lelia arrived and was waiting in the interrogation room for them, Booth let out an obvious sigh of frustration. Holding open the door to his office he motioned for Bones to join him letting his hand fall to the small of her back as she walked past him. He whispered something to her as she passed, something he started doing since their return.

"Attagirl." Her entire demeanor softened. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled letting out a beautiful low chuckle before answering.

"Right back atcha, Booth."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N I am sorry I've been so absent, that pesky thing called life just kept getting in the way. I promise I won't abandon this story, though, regardless of what craziness ensues. I want to especially thank those that have reached out to me with compliments and encouragements. I have needed them and they are the reason there is a chapter 10.

Anyways, thank you for the continued support for this story, the love and especially the patience through it all.

Please leave a review, I cherish them all, I really do.

~DG

PS I am working on my gift for the Bonesology Valentine's Day Challenge. Hopefully, that will be ready to post this next week I'm excited to be participating in that. And then I can get on with Chapter 11 of this story!