Chapter 37: Waking Up to Reality
Sleep eluded him no matter what he tried so eventually he gave up and when the night guard made his rounds, Booth stopped him and convinced him that he needed to use the phone. Fifteen minutes later, the call was made and Booth returned to the cot, his burden slightly less cumbersome than it had been. He closed his eyes, said one last prayer for her, and fell into an uneasy sleep.
"Which part of not doing anything stupid did you not understand?"
"Mornin' Caroline," he yawned.
"It might have been a good morning," she huffed, "if you hadn't decided to make phone calls instead of sleeping in the middle of the night like a normal person."
"Normal's boring," he smirked. "Did Max find anything?"
"Ask him yourself," Caroline shook her head and moved to the side to reveal Max behind her. "I have a job to do, so you two can just keep each other company for now."
The guard opened Booth's cell and ushered Max in, releasing the older man from his handcuffs none too gently and left them without a backwards glance.
"Nice digs," Max commented. "My old place was half this size."
"Glad you like it," he deadpanned. "What are you doing here, Max?"
With a shrug of his shoulders, Max took a seat on the plastic chair, acting for all the world as if he was just dropping by for a visit, "Apparently your neighbors don't like people poking around late at night and picking locks."
"What was wrong with the spare key?" Booth demanded. "I told you where to find it."
"The fake rock was there, but it was empty," Max explained. "There was a nice note from Temperance inside it though, telling you it was far too conspicuous of a hiding place. Good thing you never locked yourself out, huh?"
He grunted a response and found that he wasn't all that surprised by the news. Brennan had never thought highly of the rock even back when it was at his old place, though knowing that she'd taken the key out would've been helpful.
"Did you find anything?" he asked, not holding out much hope.
"She wasn't there, just like you said," Max's voice was grim, "and that big shoulder bag she always takes to work was still hanging in the hall closet. I might've gotten more if the cavalry hadn't shown up. Guess I should be glad they let me call a lawyer."
"You called Caroline?" Booth now understood why the woman had been so grumpy.
"You told me to," Max pointed out.
"I told you to call her if Bones wasn't there," he corrected, running a hand through his hair. Max gave him a look and he sighed, knowing there really wasn't anything else that could've been done. "Well, at least we know for sure now that she's missing. Not that that helps since we're both stuck in here."
"She's tough," Max tried awkwardly to comfort him. "She can get herself out of a tight jam when she needs to."
Booth knew that, but it didn't help him feel any better. The fact that she'd been taken successfully and without anyone realizing it for so long made him nauseous because it suggested that they were up against professionals. Couple that with how neatly Booth himself had been taken out of the equation and it was enough to spark the beginnings of full-fledged panic. Not that he was about to let that show to anyone, but it was still there and if he didn't get out soon it wouldn't be pretty.
Max started asking questions and Booth found himself telling Max about all the things that had gone wrong since they'd moved: the break-in at the lab, the shooting, even Victor. He'd hoped that by going over it again, either he or Max would pick up some kind of clue as to what was going on, but while they both determined Booth had been set up, they were no closer to figuring out who was behind it.
It was close to one in the afternoon when Caroline finally returned, only to let Booth know that Veers would be interrogating him within the hour. Sure enough, a few minutes later the guards took him out and marched him up to the interrogation room. Thankfully, they didn't run into anyone that Booth knew along the way, though it still felt humiliating to be led around in the Hoover and be put on the opposite side of the interrogation table with Caroline beside him.
Veers wasn't condescending, but he was blunt. He cut right to the chase and laid out a series of pictures from the crime scene, showing Victor in a pool of his own blood on the sidewalk, a neat hole in the back of his head. The other agent went over the witness accounts, looking pointedly at the striped socks Booth still had on from the day before.
"You and Dr. Arnold didn't get along, did you?" Veers asked.
Booth looked over at Caroline, who nodded, before admitting, "He and I weren't friends."
"Indeed not," Veers nodded. "In fact, according to the people I spoke with, the two of you clashed from your very first meeting. Quite the opposite of his first impression of Dr. Brennan, eh?"
Booth shrugged noncommittally, refusing to let any emotion flicker across his face.
"Witnesses say the two of you fought over her that first night," Veers went on, eying Booth closely.
It was an exaggeration and both of them knew it and again, Booth refused to comment.
"I fight with my secretary from time to time," Caroline spoke up. "Doesn't mean I'd kill her though, so either tell us why you're continuing to hold my client based on nothing but hearsay or let him go."
"I was just getting to that," Veers grinned slyly and Booth knew this wasn't going to be good. "While I'd agree with you that hearsay isn't much in court I think you'd both agree with me that DNA evidence is."
"What?" Booth exclaimed, wanting nothing more than to lunge across the table and wipe the smug smirk off of Veers' face.
Veers slid a report across the table and replied as Booth and Caroline leaned over it, "Care to tell me how you're going to explain to a jury why your DNA- DNA that was less than twenty-four hours old at the time it was retrieved- ended up under Victor Arnold's cold, dead fingernails?"
B&B&B&B&B&B&B
She woke up freezing, mind still sluggish, though at least her vision was not still impaired by flashing lights. Muscles that were stiff and sore from the day before protested heavily as she tried to stand up. Listing dangerously to one side, she attempted to right her world, leaning on the hay bale to keep her on her feet.
Once that was accomplished, she took a closer look at her surroundings. Rough, wooden walls penned her in a space that was roughly six feet squared. The lone hay bale was an island amid the dirt floor that reeked of feces and urine; which she suspected were from a horse rather than a human.
Sunlight filtered in through the slats of wood in the ceiling and she wondered if a full day had passed since her abduction. How much had Booth discovered thus far? Had any small clue that would lead him to those responsible been found?
The hinges on the door creaked, revealing the same man who'd taken her. A ski mask hid his features and he said nothing as he set a tray of food down on the floor and left. It wasn't much, but her stomach growled and she couldn't stop herself from trying to eat with her still-bound hands as quickly as she could. The fresh canteen of water tasted stale and metallic in her mouth as the water from last night had, but her parched throat didn't care.
A few minutes later, the man returned, this time, with heavy shackles for her ankles such as were used in prisons. After they were snapped on her ankles, he secured the two-foot-long chain to a stake that she hadn't noticed was beside the bale of hay, effectively trapping her in place. He then replaced the twine around her wrists with shackles that allowed her a modicum of freedom, but not nearly enough to free herself.
Apparently satisfied with his work, the man picked up the empty food tray and left, deliberately dropping a newspaper just outside the range of her chain. It took a great deal of effort and a hefty amount of pain to retrieve it, but she finally did, and she settled down on the hay bale to read it.
Despite the dingy light and her pounding headache, the large, bold font of the headline stood out to her loud and clear, "Local FBI Hero Arrested."