Simultaneously, Booth and Brennan realized that, if not technically alone, they were at least beyond the reach of anything but their own conscience. Awareness crackled, rippling in an electric current that thickened the air around them. It was impossible not to think of the kiss they'd shared, of that one breathtaking moment when the world shrank to the touch of his lips on hers. Lost in the memory, there might have been a second kiss, if not for the timely interruption of the driver.

"Train station, right? That's what the dispatch said. 30th Street Station or Broad Street?"

Brennan straightened abruptly, shocked at her behavior. Had she leaned toward him? Surely not . . . Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Booth give the bottom of his coat a discreet twitch over his lap. Her head turned sharply toward her own window.

"We, ah, we're on the Marylander. I believe that departs from the Broad Street Station."

"Right you are," the woman said cheerfully. "Nice train, too. Where are you folks headed?"

"Washington, D.C."

She nodded wisely. "I thought that might be the case, especially with your husband in that spiffy uniform. Nothing like a man in uniform, I always say! I guess that's one good thing come out of this danged war. Now listen, if you two want to have a little cuddle before you get on that train, well you just don't pay me no nevermind. Been a lot more than that back there but me, I never see nothing."

The relentless, avid gaze glued to the rear-view mirror suggested otherwise. Mortified, Brennan stole a glance at Booth only to find him staring out of his window and hiding a grin behind one hand.

She quickly corrected the woman. "We aren't husband and wife. I work for the Treasury Department and the captain is traveling with me on temporary assignment."

The sizzling connection between her passengers clearly outweighed the innocuous explanation, at least for the driver. "Oh. Temporary assignment, is it? Well, that's something, I suppose."

Booth managed to turn a bark of laughter into a cough. Barely maintaining a straight face, he swiveled toward Brennan. "That reminds me, Doc, what's the plan when we get to DC? I probably need to find a hotel, at least until we leave Monday morning."

Brennan was grateful for the change of subject. "Officers who need short-term housing are being billeted at the Hotel Stratford. I've booked you a room there. Breakfast is included, and dinner if you choose to eat there."

He raised his eyebrows. "No offense to Uncle Sam, but I'm familiar with BOQ. How bad are the bedbugs?"

Brennan was quick to reassure him. "No, it's a very nice hotel. There were grumblings from the owners when the Army took over for the duration of the war but I know several officers assigned to the Treasury Department who are staying there. They seem quite pleased. Of course, I've only been in the restaurant," she added. "They don't allow women on the upper floors anymore. Apparently, the men were bringing in prostitutes."

The driver, still eavesdropping, gasped in shock, turned a mottled shade of red, and quickly focused on the road ahead. Busy foraging inside her handbag, Brennan missed the reaction, and missed, too, the somewhat surprised look on Booth's face at her matter-of-fact tone, until she located the small white card she'd been searching for and glanced up. His expression gave her a moment of pause.

"Is something wrong?" When he merely shook his head, she frowned and offered him the card. "This is the hotel's business card. The address is on the back, if you want to go there directly after we arrive."

He studied the card in silence for a moment. "What about you? What are you going to do when we get there?"

"I'm planning to go straight to the Treasury Department. I want to return the paperwork I took with me for you to review, and there are a myriad of final details that I should check."

Booth was quiet for a minute longer before one shoulder lifted in a shrug that matched the odd, half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I guess I'll go with you then. No sense hanging around an empty hotel room all day."

A flash of warmth spread through her body at the realization that he was no more ready to part from her company, even temporarily, than she was from his. His gaze felt like the touch of a feather against her skin when his eyes skimmed over her face as if committing each feature to memory.

"That would be fine," she managed, swallowing past a suddenly dry throat. "I could introduce you to the others. And there's plenty of work still to be done before we leave on Monday."

Without breaking eye-contact, Booth leaned forward, his head dipped low, as if he were bowing from his seat. His voice was a husky, sensual feast. "Consider me at your service."

For the rest of her life, Brennan would remember that moment and wonder how she might have responded. Unfortunately, the taxi driver, who had once again been paying too much attention to the fascinating couple in the back seat, suddenly slammed on her brakes, filling the cab with the screech of metal and rubber, and careening to a stop with barely an inch to spare from the bumper of a car parked outside the train station.

Booth reacted so quickly that when Brennan automatically reached out to stop herself from smacking into the seat in front of her, she found herself instead tucked safely behind a broad shoulder, with the length of one long arm stretched across her chest and his hand locked around the top of the open window. He was so close that the brim of his hat bumped against her forehead . . . so close, that looking into his eyes, she discerned the faintest difference in the velvet brown irises around the inky black pupils . . . so close that his breath fanned across her face, warm and tinged with a hint of the morning's minty toothpaste . . . so close that the long, flat curves of his lips were a tiny heartbeat away . . .

"Whew, that was a close one! Sure glad I don't have to explain another fender bender to my dispatch! He gets awful perturbed at hearing about those." The driver half-turned to look at them as Booth and Brennan pulled back to their previous seats. Taking their somewhat ragged breathing to be the result of the near miss, she gave them a reassuring nod before pushing her door open. "Gets the pulse racing, doesn't it? But here you are, safe and sound! Let me get your bags out of the trunk."

Booth shot Brennan one last, unreadable glance as he tugged at the door handle. She stayed in the empty car a few minutes longer, waiting for her racing heartbeat to reach something resembling a normal rate. When she finally got out, Booth was reaching for his wallet. She hurried over.

"Oh, no, I'll pay for the cab."

He handed the driver a crisp dollar bill and fished in his pockets for change. "I got it."

"But - -"

"I've got it."

He needed only a pair of faded blue eyes to look exactly like his grandfather. Frustrated, Brennan only just refrained from stomping her foot. While she had accepted the old man's chivalrous generosity with only minimal protest, she was determined to be treated as an equal by the grandson.

"Oh, for goodness sake. I'm not paying for it personally, it's coming out of the budget for the trip! We've already saved the Treasury Department the cost of two night's hotel stay. It can certainly pay for the cab!" When he merely dropped a quarter into the woman's hands and picked up their luggage, she huffed. "Fine. At least submit a chit for reimbursement."

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Booth followed after her when Brennan stuck her handbag under her arm and marched toward the entrance to the station, not bothering to hide his grin at the outraged set of her shoulders. There came a time in a man's life, he decided, when he just had to say to hell with the risks and take a chance on what he wanted. Having a woman like Temperance Brennan walk into his own life was such a moment for him. His grandfather was right - women like her didn't grow on trees.

He acknowledged silently that the same reasons for staying away that he'd lectured himself with only the day before were still valid. The war was still going on. He would still be returning to his squad in two months, give or take a week or so. And when he got there . . . Well, he knew the odds, had known too many pilots - good men, brave men - whose planes never came back. He also knew he'd been flying on a borrowed nickel well past the time the debt should have been called in. But whenever that last flight came for him, he'd be damned if he climbed in the cockpit still wondering what might have been.

Staring at the shapely figure striding in high dudgeon before him, Booth had another thought: Good and decent woman she might be, it was also obvious that Temperance Brennan had a river of hot blood flowing in her veins, and unless he was wrong - and his gut told him he wasn't - she was as affected by the chemistry exploding between them as he was. Add it all up, and what he saw was an uncommon woman, beautiful and brilliant, and he'd be a fool if he didn't explore their connection further.

And Pops hadn't raised a fool.

He caught up to her when she stopped just inside the terminal and opened her handbag again. Almost immediately, a helpful porter approached. Nearly as tall as Booth, and of a similar, broad-shouldered build, he was older by at least a decade, with dark, smooth skin, a liberal amount of gray in the hair that showed beneath his cap, and a uniform so crisp, it might have just come from the laundry.

"Here now, let me take those for you, sir. Can't let my boss see our passengers carrying their own bags when I got a pair of empty hands."

Booth handed over his duffle with a murmur of thanks but added a warning when the porter reached for Brennan's suitcase. "Careful with that one, it's full of books."

The porter picked it up and oof'ed dramatically. "Yes, sir, it surely is. How many you reckon are in here?"

Knowing Brennan's eyes were on him, Booth deadpanned, "All of 'em."

The porter laughed as Brennan frowned, then smoothly changed the subject. "Well, don't you worry about it, I got it now. Name's Reggie, by the way. Where are you headed? You got your tickets already or do you need to go to the window?"

"We have our tickets," Brennan answered, holding the palm-sized paper rectangles out for his view. "We're on the Marylander at 10:30."

Reggie nodded and led them off to the right side of the terminal. "I know just what track that's on so you just follow me and I'll get you there in a jiff. That's a nice train," he added over his shoulder, as he wove skillfully through groups of people dressed in their Sunday finest, waiting at the ticket windows or moving at a clip toward the tracks. "They just called for boarding, too, so you got plenty of time to find a good seat. Now if I was you, I'd find me a seat in the dining car and stay for the whole trip. You got the air conditioning. You got them nice armchairs that swivel around. And if you get hungry, well, you can just have you a sandwich and a cup of coffee brought right to you. They also got oysters fresh out of the Chesapeake that make some pretty fine eating. Yes, siree, that's what I'd do, go right to the dining car."

Walking at a brisk pace to keep up, Booth waited until Brennan shrugged noncommittally before he responded. "That sounds fine to us. We'll take your advice, thanks."

Reggie glanced back with an approving nod. "Yes, sir. Dining car it is! My friend Harvey works that car. I'll make sure he takes real good care of you."

He led them to an ornate car occupying the center position in a train pulled by an engine painted a gleaming gold. A baggage handler reached for Brennan's case but she held out a hand to stop him.

"Do you think we might be able to find space for these inside with us? There are papers inside my case that I'd rather not have out of my control."

Reggie hesitated only briefly before giving them a broad smile. "You know, I just bet Harvey has a hidey-hole where he can store these for you. We'll take care of you, count on it."

He bounded up the steps and through the open door as if the bags he carried weighed nothing, moving ahead of Booth, who took advantage of the steep stairs to steady Brennan with a hand on her elbow as she climbed up into the cool interior of the dining car.

He looked around, impressed despite himself with a luxury that he'd only rarely experienced. Plush carpeting in a swirl of crimson and gold muffled their footsteps. Tables covered in immaculate white cloth and set with dinnerware rimmed in gold set beneath the windows, between high-backed padded benches covered in dark green leather. At either end of the car, pairs of armchairs in the same green leather bracketed smaller round tables, covered with the same snowy cloth. He whistled under his breath, suddenly grateful that he'd taken the time that morning to dress in his full uniform instead of the rather scruffy leather pilot's jacket that he usually wore.

"Harvey! I got some real nice folks here for you. I need you to take care of them, hear?"

"Like I need you to tell me that," came the reply. The man that followed the rich baritone voice was a surprise; barely reaching Brennan's shoulders, he had lined brown skin and a head full of white hair that matched the dinner jacket he wore with a natty black bow tie. He also had a ready smile as he nodded to the two of them. "Pay him no heed. I've been riding trains since he was in diapers."

"Bragging about being as old as Methuselah," Reggie tsked. "Oughta be shaving a few years off, if you ask me."

Reggie dropped the bags he held and the two men exchanged a friendly, back-slapping hug.

"This here's Captain - -" He paused expectantly, and looked at Booth.

"Booth."

"Captain Booth and his missus. They're getting off in Washington DC. I told 'em that the dining car was the best place to stay for the whole ride. Only thing is, see, they want to keep their things with them. You got a little place we can hide this stuff away for a little while?"

Booth waited for Brennan to rectify Reggie's assumption that they were a married couple, as she had been quick to correct the driver earlier, and was surprised when she didn't. He was far more interested in the awkward attention she gave to closing her purse than to Harvey's momentary pause at the request to bypass the baggage car.

"I tell you what, let's put them in here," he said finally, opening a tall, narrow cabinet near the car's entrance where a few cleaning items were stored. "I think they'll just fit. And you folks can sit right here," he added, with a wave toward one of the pair of armchairs. "If that suits."

"That suits us just fine. Don't you think, dear?" Tongue firmly in cheek, Booth laid one hand in the center of Brennan's back and guided her to the seats. When she glared at him as she sat down, he gave her a cheeky grin before pressing a quarter into Reggie's hand. "Thank you for your help. Much appreciated."

Reggie tipped his hat to Brennan. "I hope you have a nice trip. If you come back through Philadelphia, you look for ol' Reggie again, okay?"

Harvey raised one hand in farewell. He stepped to the side as another group of passengers boarded, answered a question about seating, then turned back to Booth and Brennan.

"I'll be back as soon as the train gets going. If you want anything to eat, the menu is on the table."

Booth nodded as the old man walked away, then sat down, twitching the bottom of his coat into place as he settled into the armchair. He took his hat off and set it in the middle of the table, running the other hand over his hair to smooth any mussed strands back into place. Across from him, Brennan watched with what was left of the glare she'd given him earlier.

"The 'dear' was unnecessary."

Booth shrugged, unperturbed by the hint of irritation. "Well, you didn't correct him . . ."

"Because he was trying to be helpful, not salacious like the taxi driver," she hissed, looking around carefully for anyone who might be listening in. "I didn't want to embarrass him."

"Lighten up, Doc. I won't hold you to it . . . Probably."

The sparkle of temper in her eyes only enhanced their lightning-struck beauty. His smile was pure flirtation; when she dragged her gaze from his and raised a gloved hand to toy with the top button of her jacket, he knew a moment of smug, male satisfaction.

"You always talk like that? Using a ten dollar word when a nickel will do," he added, when she looked at him again. "Salacious. You could have just said nosey. Should I buy a dictionary for this trip?"

He wasn't surprised when her chin went up. "There's nothing wrong with having an extensive vocabulary. And as you knew exactly what I meant, I doubt a dictionary will be necessary."

"Just checking." Booth managed not to laugh when he reached for the menu, but only just. Deliberately ignoring the frown directed at him again, he smacked his lips. "Let's see, what looks good. Feels like a long time since breakfast, doesn't it?"

She laid her handbag on the table next to his hat. "Not really."

"Ah, that's right. You slept late again."

"I beg your - -"

Her mouth snapped shut when Booth winked at her. Cheeks flaming, she turned her chair toward the window and ignored him.

Booth laughed quietly to himself. Yeah, sometimes a man just had to say, to hell with it, and take a chance.

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