"Don't." Booth barked, throwing his hand up, gesturing for them to stop advancing toward him. "Don't, just don't touch anything." He was circling her desk, pacing, searching for answers to unasked questions. Cam, Angela, and Hodgins stood outside Dr. Brennan's office door and watched, exchanging looks among themselves.

"Booth?" Cam stepped forward, about to cross the threshold.

She stopped momentarily when she saw him grab a pair of gloves from the box on the edge of Brennan's desk and struggle to put them on. The significance wasn't lost on her. Booth hated wearing gloves, avoided them if at all possible, everybody knew it after years of listening to his complaints. By his own account, the gloves were tight and restricting, uncomfortable, making it hard to examine evidence.

Cam took a couple of tentative steps into the office and watched her long time friend. Stiff and anxious, every muscle taut, his jaw tight and pulsing. She looked back over her shoulder at Angela and Hodgins. Her eyes grew wide with concern and she let out a sigh just about ready to speak when Booth's movement caught her attention. Grabbing a small padded envelope from the bottom corner, he flipped it over, and let the contents pour out and scatter out onto Dr. Brennan's desk. Pictures.

Clearing his throat, the small crowd of friends watched as his cheeks flushed.

Angela wiggled past her cohorts, drawn immediately to the pictures poured out on her best friend's desk.

"Okay, big guy, why don't you tell us what's going on here?" She tried to sound friendly and casual but her own sense of panic betrayed her. Booth didn't spook easily and he was clearly worried. He looked up, catching Angela's eyes, but didn't answer. Looking back down at the photographs, he started moving the pictures around so he could see them all. When he finally broke his silence, it wasn't to give answers, it was to ask questions.

"Did she say where she was going? Did she say anything, anything at all before she left?" His question wasn't directed at Angela, he eyed all three of them as he waited for any kind of response.

"Dude, I didn't even know she w-." Angela cut him off just as Hodgins stepped forward followed by Cam, all of them now gathered around the carefully arranged photographs.

"I did." She was reaching for the pictures when Booth shoved a handful of gloves in her face. "Maybe an hour ago." She looked across the desk at Cam. "We both did."

They were talking at the base of the forensics platform when Bren rushed by. There was nothing alarming about her behavior, just Brennan being Brennan. Intense, focused, pursuing some epiphany she'd just had, bag over her shoulder, pursed lips, arms swinging, she muttered something as she passed them. Something about the evidence and how it finally all made sense. Both ladies stumbled over the other's words as they added as many details as possible, trying to piece together what they remembered. "I thought she was going to see you, you know, to tell you about it."

He shook his head, letting his eyes fall momentarily closed as he forced himself to breathe. She'd left the Hoover the same way only a couple hours before her departure from the Jeffersonian, focused, intense, muttering, Booth explained.

"She must have opened that package when she returned." Cam added to the timeline. "It would have been waiting for her on her desk when she got in." She nodded a little as she spoke, eyes wide with concern.

The pictures. He was so wrapped up in his own worry that he hadn't even thought about all those pictures. Shots of him and Bones together the night of that 1930s dinner and dance at the Queen Anne's. After a long measured breath, Booth looked up.

"It was our cover, you know, discreet romantic getaway. It was all part of the act." His mouth felt dry, sticky, and his tone flat as he reasoned away the intimacy depicted in the photos taken that night. No one bought it, after years of these two beating around the bush all their coworkers saw in those pictures was a relationship deeply steeped in denial. Angela cut him off.

"Look...look here. This one's bent. See?" They all leaned in. There was a visible indentation. Dropping one hand she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small thumb drive, comparing it to the marks on the photo. Scouring the desk Booth lifted photos and envelopes, stacks of papers, journals, file folders, there was no flash drive to be found.

"Dammit. She must have taken it with her."

"And here, see someone slit the package open and taped it shut."

"I got the same envelope of pictures from Frank today." Booth reached into his inner suit coat pocket and pulled out a stack of photos. His gloved fingers sticking to the photographs, making it hard to thumb through them. "I got all the same pictures, with the exception of this one." He flopped down a picture of him and Don at the same themed event. "But, I didn't get any kind of drive and my envelope wasn't tampered with like that."

A loud snap broke the intense focus and all eyes turned to Hodgins as his gloved hand reached for the envelope. "I'm taking this." He looked around, Angela was glaring at him, her heart still racing from the startling noise. "What? There might be trace on it, maybe it can give us some kind of clues."

"Frank sent it." Booth grabbed the envelope back from Hodgins and flipped it over, tapping the sender's address in the upper left corner. They'd heard his name in case discussions, but still looked shocked at the ease and familiarity with which it rolled off Booth's tongue, like he was a friend, not a suspect.

Hodgins shrugged and was about to let it go when Angela interrupted. "Unless, someone else opened Bren's envelope and added the thumb drive to it." There were nods of silent agreement as Booth handed the envelope back to Hodgins.

Angela came around the desk, moving Booth over just a bit as she leaned down and started tapping away at the keys on Bren's keyboard. "She probably looked at whatever was on the drive. That must have been what she was ranting about." Booth looked up catching Cam's eyes across the desk. Booth swallowed hard and waited. "If she didn't delete them I can pull up what she was looking at. See, here, it loaded in her temp folder." Angela's fast paced clicks and clacks ended. Stepping back a little she clicked rapidly through what looked like another series of photographs. These weren't as posed as the pictures strewn out across the desk, they were definitely candid shots.

"That Bastard." Booth growled. Pictures of them in the cabana by the pool, at the tennis courts, the firing range. Most were more intimate, them lying on the chaise lounge together, kissing, her in his arms on the tennis courts, his hand high on her thigh. There was even one taken late at night by the pool when Bones had insisted she wouldn't be able to sleep without a swim. The shooting range was the only group of photos where they weren't pressed up against each other in some intimate position. "Undercover," he reminded the group, "that's it."

"I don't see anything in these photos, Booth, nothing earth shaking or case breaking." Angela moved aside and let him click through the pictures at his own pace.

"She must have seen something we aren't." His eyes darted frantically across the screen searching for some clue that would explain her sudden departure and complete radio silence. A second and third time through yielded nothing more. Cam, Hodgins, and Angela gathered around behind him as Booth sat down in her chair pulling himself up closer to the monitor, forcing himself to slow down, to look at it like she would look at it. "There!" Slapping the desk with both hands he bolted up from the chair. "See?" Everyone looked back at him blankly. "Frank." He pointed to the background. "Frank is right there."

"Which means?" Angela asked.

"Well, it means Frank didn't take these pictures, someone else did." No one seemed as excited about that as he was. Pulling the gloves from his hands he threw them in the trash and headed for the door leaving his bewildered team with instructions. "Angela, work your magic, see who's in the background of all those pictures, especially suspects, who isn't in them is as important as who is. Send the photos to my phone. Hodgins, get on that trace, see if you can narrow it down, somewhere on the grounds of the Queen Anne doesn't really help. I need you to be as specific as you can. I'm headed for the resort. If she calls let her know I'm coming and call me immediately."

"Booth." Angela called after him. Already outside her office and headed for the exit, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Do you still think she's in danger?"

It seemed like a ridiculous question even as it left her lips.

"Yes." He was somber, walking backwards for a couple steps before turning and running.

He was well on his way to the Queen Anne, speeding, weaving in and out of traffic. It was way too quiet and he had way too much time to think; reassuring himself wasn't working. The problem being, he knew something was wrong, just knew it. It was a feeling he knew all too well, a feeling refined over five years of experience and confirmed by countless times his hunches saved her life. The fact that she wasn't answering her phone added evidence to intuition. She'd answer, if she could, if it was nothing, she'd have no reason not to answer. There was something more going on and everything inside him screamed it was trouble.

His phone rang. It wasn't Bones, not her ring tone. Still he jumped to answer, hoping for good news.

"Before you say anything, she hasn't called." Angela could hear the muted sounds of his siren blaring in the background, and fought to breathe against the tightness of her chest. "I just wanted you to know that the computer's working on the facial recognition. And, I might have a reflection of the photographer. I'm still working on it."

"Good." There was a long stretch of silence before Angela filled the space with more information.

"Hodgins doesn't have anything yet, but it shouldn't be long." He nodded, she couldn't see it, of course, his mind was preoccupied, running through a million different scenarios that might be waiting for him when he arrived at the Queen Anne. It wasn't until Angela cleared her throat that he realized he never answered her.

"Good." He was nodding again. "Hey, Ange, I gotta…"

"I know."

"I'm almost there."

"Okay."

"Hey, from here on out just text me, okay?"

"Of course."

He could see the gates of the resort, he sped up, while under his breath a constant repetitious plea was working its way heavenward. He just wanted her to be alive, alive and safe. He couldn't lose her, not now, not before he had a chance to build a life with her, that would be cruel, a terrible injustice dished out by a vengeful universe.

Slamming the truck into park he jumped out, pulling on his vest and checking his weapons, the heavy sound of velcro and metal broke the silence of the isolated resort as he systematically ran himself through the paces. He could see Bones' car, right there in the front row of the parking lot, empty. He didn't stop, pressing forward, scanning the property as he advanced. Beatrice Fortney came running across the front of the grounds to greet him. He didn't stop for her either, taking the stone steps that led up to the lobby two at a time.

"Agent Booth." She turned and followed him as he bolted past her. "Agent Booth." He didn't answer. "Agent Booth." Booth was already through the lobby and headed out the back doors.

"Where's Frank?" It was the only acknowledgement Booth was willing to give her.

"I don't know." Chasing him she tried to keep up, her heels clacking loudly on the tile floors, her footing unstable as she slid just a little with each frantic step. "He's not answering my pages, he clocked in but his card hasn't been active since early this morning." Booth only nodded, moving quickly past the pool and tennis courts towards employee housing. "We looked in his apartment, he isn't there."

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago?" She didn't know, not exact details anyway, time seemed warped and distorted these last couple of days, her whole world turned on its head.

"Lelia?" Beatrice was doing her best to cooperate, trying to prove herself the kind of helpful a person wouldn't be if they were guilty. But, she was tired and frustrated, letting out a heavy, aggravated sigh, she answered.

"I don't know." He shot her a look that screamed irritation at her incompetence.

"Open it." She fumbled with the keys, her hands uncoordinated by nervousness. Following him through the gate, she meant to follow him. Booth tensed and turned abruptly, bringing his hand up to stop her. "Wait here. No farther." He'd already called in for support and meant to keep Beatrice busy waiting to guide them back to employee housing. She nodded in understanding.

Pulling his weapon, he training it with both hands as he moved quickly down the path. The resort was old, very old, and nowhere did it show it's age more than this part of the compound. Overgrown trees and brush cast deceptive shadows as he wound his way down the trail, his eyes darted, processing every detail surrounding him, every possibility, but he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to Bones.

Safety, when this was all over they would have a long talk about safety and protocol and not running off without telling him when they were hunting serial killers. In his mind, Booth lectured his independent minded partner. Then he prayed Bones would make some noise so he could find her, begging God to give him the chance to yell at her just one more time.

Booth was almost to Frank's bungalow, lining himself up against the wall next to the window he would roll just a little and be able to see inside. The glass was old, small square panes connected by raised metal work that was thick from years of layered paint. Water deposits and filth formed a heavy film making it hard to see anything with any clarity, but he was sure he saw movement.

In one fluid action, Booth was around the corner, kicking the door in, and charging into the small bungalow. Frank was on the floor, his hands duct taped behind his back, his legs at the ankles, with a cloth jammed deep into his mouth. His eyelids were heavy, as he fought to remain conscious. Booth slid down on his knees pulling the cloth out, holding Frank's head in his hands.

"Where is she?" Booth was loud and insistent. He could see Frank struggling to stay conscious and he needed answers before he passed out. His eyelids heavy, his body mostly limp, he jerked each time Booth reiterated the question. "Frank, Frank, where is she?" Frank was trying to talk, mumbling through a dry mouth, but guttural sounds were all he managed. "Come on, buddy, I need your help here."

"Heh...Heh...Hep." It was no use, he couldn't make it out, it was nothing more than nonsensical sounds.

"That's it, keep trying, Frank."

"Hep...Heb…"

A sharp gasp drew Booth's attention back toward the door.

"Hepburn." Beatrice locked eyes with Booth. She spoke flatly, knowing exactly what Frank was trying to say. "Hepburn," she repeated, swallowing hard, "he's saying Hepburn." She'd disobeyed Booth's orders to stay away, gathering up a security guard and a golf cart sometime after he left her at the gate to employee housing.

Booth could feel Frank move in his arms. Looking back down, he saw him close his eyes offering a feeble nod in agreement. Setting the man down on the floor, Booth was up and out the door within seconds. Beatrice backed quickly out to his way as he brushed past.

Pointing at the man with Beatrice, he spoke quickly. "You, stay here with him, he needs medical attention," then directed his attention to Beatrice. "What's Hepburn?"

"A cabin, a private cabin that hasn't been used in years."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Hello and Happy Spring!

Thank you for reading, for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! This has been such a fun story to write and I truly appreciate you taking the journey with me.

Questions, comments, thoughts are ALWAYS appreciated, they really keep me writing.

~DG