Chapter 3

It had been three hours since Brennan had last seen Booth. Several times, she had picked up the phone to call him, but passed on the idea. Booth would call if he had found something.

The cursor blinked with the seconds, the page remaining blank. Perhaps her heroine anthropologist should experience something as psychologically toiling as Brennan had. She sighed at the idea. Her books already contained too much information about her life. Hell, they were practically biographical. Rubbing her eyes, Brennan leaned back in her seat. She was tired, sleep having eluded her for many nights.

For today, her work ethic was destroyed. Leaning forward again, she brought up Internet Explorer and navigated to her email inbox. A few junk items, a letter from her publisher pressuring her to pen another novel. And something else? Brennan clicked it, scrolling down to read the text:

My Dearest Temperance,

How, oh how, did I come across this adress you wonder. I am a killer my dear.

The FBI is turning in circles trying to find me. I elude them, so I can do anything.

How is the wound? I heard you survived. I must admit, before you, I had much

more affinity for the dead. You renewed my interest in the living. It's been a long

time; I almost forgot the smell of blood.

Until Next Time,

J.R.

Her heart raced and her breathing shallowed. How had Rolph obtained her email? Scooting away from her desk, she punched the numbers to phone Booth.

30 minutes later

Booth stood, pacing by the door, eyes narrowed. A computer specialist and intellegence expect had arrived with him. His brown hair was mussed, kind blue eyes consumed by the sharp black frames. His long, boney fingers pecked away at the keys on Brennan's desktop.

"I may be able to pull up the information regarding the account this email was sent through. As far as tracking the orgin of the email, that will be near impossible," Max Lucas explained.

"Why?" Brennan questioned.

Lucas shot a look to Booth, who ran from his stare and went to looking at the floor. Lucas shifted his eyes back to Brennan, the warmth of them flowing in to her. Unlike Booth, Lucas seemed to have a calming effect on her.

"Tracing this kind of thing is very difficult. If I did try, the chances I would get accurate information would be very low."

"So you aren't willing to try?" Brennan frowned

"I hate to play good cop, bad cop here," he said sheepishly,"But I would hope for some solid evidence. Maybe if Rolph tried to contact you via email, he will try a handwritten letter or moveable type, something that is more solid science as of late than that of email traces."

Maybe there was a reason why he was in a lab, analyzing data. Rolph was good and he wouldn't write a letter to Brennan. It would be too easy to trace. And besides, if he was able to deliver a handwritten message to her, it meant he was close. The thought sent shivers up and down Brennan's spine.

"I don't want to get another letter," Brennan frowned.

"I am sorry Dr. Brennan. I don't know you, but I do not want you to recieve another letter either."

Brennan tried to contain her agitation. Not with Lucas. The guy had tried after all. It bothered her that Rolph was playing head games and she did not know how to respond to it.

"Do what you can Max, then get back to me," Booth said slapping him on the shoulder. Max shot another look to Brennan, as if asking for her approval. All she could do was nod. Max shoved his glasses back onto his nose and then stood, grabbing his briefcase. He stopped at the door of Brennan's office and gave her a small smile.

"I'll do what I can Dr. Brennan. I promise," he said gently.

"Yeah, you do that," Booth butted in, ushering him out of the door. Max threw a wave back to Brennan and then disappeared. His willingness to help and kindness struck Brennan, and she was touched by his gestures.

"He is a nice guy, Max is," she told Booth, sitting down again at her desk.

"Yeah, well he isn't the only one trying to help you out and keep you alive," Booth scoffed as he closed the door to her office.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Brennan grumbled, sorting through autopsy files.

"I bust my ass every day trying to do my job and keep you safe. It gets tough you know."

"Your job description doesn't include babysitting me," Brennan spat to him.

"The hell it doesn't. You were standing beside me and got shot. You almost died Temperance and it would have been my fault."

"If this is a conscious thing, don't dwell on it. You don't need to keep me in your sight to make you feel all good about yourself." Her words were becoming more intense and hateful. She felt a twinge of guilt, but she had never asked Booth to save her.

"You know what, fine. If you don't need me, then I don't need you," he blurted out.

"Oh, so you are just going to solve these murders on your own? Have at it then."

"You know, I managed to function witthout you for several years as an FBI agent. Bad guys still got caught," he said matter of factly.His eyes showed his quiet rage and frustration with her. She knew he had every right to be pissed at her. Her behavior was less than warm at the moment.

"Then why are you still standing here Booth? Maybe you should place a call to have the body of your murder victim in there transfered the the FBI forensics team. They might cherish the work, since everyone seems to bring their problems to me."

"I thought we were in this together. You implicate the bad guy, I arrest them. That was the deal."

Brennan said nothing, only offering him a grunt. Booth paced back and forth angrily. She couldn't remember at what point she had stopped looking at the the files she had been sorting through. They now sat scattered around her desk. Booth gritted his teeth and shook his fists at her. He let out an angry growl and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"Good luck catching Rolph then. Don't coming whining to me when he is on your doorstep," he blurted out.

The words hit Brennan right in the heart and slashed at her emotional state. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes the longer she had to process his comment. She fought not to let them fall, but before she knew it, one trickled down her cheek. It was becoming increasingly hard to see as the tears kept coming. Booth tried quickly to cover his actions.

"Hey, I didn't mean..."

"I think it is time for you to leave now," she said bringing her tear filled eyes to meet him. He started to protest, but she shook her head. His jaw clenched and she watched as he opened the door and slammed it behind him. A picture frame on her desk fell from the rattle and she collapsed back into her seat, sobbing for what had just happened between them. How would she ever fix this?