Disclaimer: "Bones" is the property of Fox Broadcasting, Kathy Reichs, and Hart Hanson. The following story was written for pleasure only and not for personal profit in any way.

Chapter 3

It was nearing twilight as Booth headed towards the warehouse. He wished Brennan would have been at the lab and been able to come with him. Partly because he knew how much she liked the fieldwork, and partly because big empty buildings were easier to search with a partner. Booth parked his vehicle as soon as he was in sight of the old warehouse. Silently he got out, drawing his gun as he went. He made his way along the edge of the road, keeping as close as possible to the embankment and staying in the shadows creeping out of the forest whenever possible. As he got closer, he could see the abandoned building across a wide parking lot. To the right of the building, a dark sedan was parked in the shadows. All was dark and still, no sign of movement from within. Two large bay doors stood open, allowing him a nice view of the interior of the building. There was a light on near the back of the large room. To the left of the building there were some trees and he opted to approach from that direction in the hopes of remaining concealed for as long as possible. Making almost no noise, he made his way towards the open building. He crept up to the side of the building and, seeing no sign of occupants, edged his way though the closest door and behind a stack of barrels. As silently and as quickly as he could, he began moving towards the back of the building. A noise caught his attention; a door, possibly to an office, opened and two people were talking. Booth strained to catch what they were saying.

"Well, pack up, we're leaving tonight. Donavan has not reported in and I don't like it. Now that we have what we need, it is time to move back to the boat."

The door shut and the man started walking towards the open bay doors. Booth edged around the barrels that concealed him, waiting for the man to get close enough. In one fluid movement he stepped out from behind the barrel, raised his gun and said, "FBI-- keep your hands where I can see them." The man stopped, a few feet from where Booth stood, surprise showing clearly on his face. A small smile lit his features as he looked at the gun and the man holding it. "Why, Agent Booth, this is a pleasant surprise."

The casual demeanor irritated Booth. He had been involved in cases against this man in the past. He had an air of civility that had always bothered the FBI Agent because he knew that underneath the facade he was capable of cruel torture and murder.

"It's over, McGregor, I am here to take you in."

Again, the man smiled. "That is very kind of you to offer, but I am afraid that won't fit into my agenda for this evening. You see, I have some other business to attend to."

"Well," said Booth, gun steady, as he aimed at the drug lord, "I am afraid I just ruined your plans."

"I think not, my good Agent," the man replied with an air of confidence that annoyed Booth to no end. He had to play along until he figured out what McGregor was hiding.

"What makes you so sure?" he questioned. Booth was good at reading people. McGregor seemed smug, like he had something working to his advantage, something Booth didn't know about yet, and he didn't like it. Of course, he could just be bluffing, but McGregor was not the kind of man to bluff. He believed he was smarter and superior to those around him and he preferred to flaunt his advantages, so whatever it was, it was most likely real.

The man chuckled softly. "You government hypocrites think you know everything, but two can play at that game."

The man was toying with him and Booth knew it.

"You see, Agent Booth, a couple weeks ago your little agency seems to have detained my right-hand man. Now, you and I both know that for any company to run smoothly, one needs his employees."

Booth's eyes narrowed. "Your 'company,' as you call it, smuggles illegal drugs into the United States for distribution. You destroy lives, you torture and brutally murder any who get in your way. That is hardly a business and your 'employee' was caught with over two hundred pounds of heroin, not something that we can just overlook."

"Tsk tsk, Booth, you do have a way of making it all sound so bad. I'm a businessman; I need to get my employee back so that I can get on with my business. Do forgive me, but I need to be going, so if you could just step aside…"

"McGregor, for a smart man, that is a pretty dumb request. What makes you think I am going to let you walk out of here tonight?" Booth said, adjusting his grip on his gun. If the man made a run for it, he would shoot.

"Oh, my dear Agent, I don't believe you have met our guest. HAROLD!" he yelled. "Do be so kind as to bring out the good doctor to meet our friend, Agent Booth."

Booth's stomach dropped; great, a hostage. He hated hostage situation, and the title "doctor" always brought the same person to his mind.

The door at the back opened again and a man stepped out pulling a woman roughly by the arm and holding a gun to her head. She was gagged and her hands bound behind her back. She had a cut on her eyebrow and a bruise rising on her cheek. She looked at him and his worst fears were confirmed, but he worked fast to hide the fear on his face.

"May I introduce Dr. Temperance Brennan," the drug lord said, in a friendly yet mocking voice. "She's a fairly well-known Anthropologist and best-selling author, perhaps you have heard of her? As I understand it, she even does some work with the FBI occasionally."

"A hostage, McGregor? I would have thought that was a little beneath you," he said, trying to keep his voice even and detached.

"Hostage, my good man? No, she is our guest," he said with a wicked smile. "She has graciously agreed to help in our negotiations with your little agency for the return of my employee."

Booth could feel the color draining from his face; he could see in his mind all victims suspected to be connected with McGregor and his drug operation, who had been so brutally and viciously murdered. His stomach was twisting in knots, but he had to keep his cool.

"What makes you think the FBI will negotiate with scum like you?" he spat, fighting hard to keep his head.

"Now, there is no need for hostilities. My sources tell me she is quite accomplished in her field and a valuable, rare resource. Surely that is of some value to you and your little federal buddies."

There was a taunting, mocking tone to his voice and it was all Booth could do not to shoot him on the spot.

"Besides," he continued, "she's quite spirited and I think she will prove to be lovely entertainment until negotiations can be completed."

Booth caught the implication behind his words and his hand twitched; he longed to shoot the man before him, with all his fake civil pretenses, but he had to keep calm and find a way out of this. His eyes flashed to Brennan, begging her to play along. It seemed McGregor didn't know about the partnership between them and he hoped to keep it that way.

"I can make you a better deal, McGregor. She is a civilian, a scientist. She is not connected with the FBI. I can give you something better," he said, with all the cockiness he could manage. "Take me in her place."

Brennan made a muffled cry and started to struggle, only to be jerked backwards by her hair. His eyes flashed to hers again, silently begging her to go with his plan. Quickly he looked back to McGregor. There was a calculating look in the drug lord's eyes. No doubt he was trying to think it though quickly, looking for any tricks or set ups.

"That is very noble of you, what is she to you?" he asked, eyeing the Federal Agent with curiosity.

"Like I said, she's a civilian; there is no reason to involve anyone else in this. Let's just keep it between you and the FBI. We took down your right-hand man, think about it McGregor," Booth continued. "An FBI Agent as a hostage; 'employee' for 'employee' as you put it." He could see his reasoning working on the man.

"She stays here and you come willingly?" McGregor stated, still eyeing Booth with a calculating stare. "A federal Agent is much more to my liking, although admittedly you won't be as much fun. Very well, I think we have an agreement. "Harold," he said over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Booth's face. "Escort the good doctor to a chair and make her comfortable."

Booth watched as the man roughly dragged Brennan to a chair and began tying her to it.

"Wait," said Booth, "let me call someone to come get her. It could be days before she is found out here."

The drug lord's eyes narrowed, as he considered the request. "Very well, Agent Booth, because I am a businessman of high standing, I will allow you to make your call; but let me warn you, one funny word and that will be the end of the Dr. Brennan."

With slow, measured movements, Booth pulled his phone off his belt, dialed the familiar number and placed it to his ear. It rang twice before a voice answered, "Doctor Hodgins."

Booth switched to autopilot, using all the formalities he was used to when dealing with people he didn't know. "Yes, this is Special Agent Booth with the FBI, Doctor Temperence Brennan is at the Brackenyard warehouse, off the Old Jefferson Highway, and needs to be picked up."

"Booth, what-" Hodgins started, but Booth snapped the phone shut.

The drug lord was staring at him with a smug expression on his face. Booth slowly bent down and set his service gun on the ground. With the same exaggerated slowness, he removed the .38 from his ankle and set it next to his service gun. Slowly he straightened back up, hands in the air.

"Harold," the drug lord called again, a look of triumph in his eyes, "would you please come carry Agent Booth's guns for him and escort him to the car." The man standing behind Brennan moved forward, towards the unarmed Agent.

Booth looked at Brennan; he knew her well, he cold see the anger in her eyes at what he had just done, the frustration at her own helplessness in this situation, and the fear underlying it all. A small smile lit his face. She would have to understand, she was his partner, his friend, and from the first day he took her into the field with him, she was his responsibility. It was his job to take care of her and he would do that job, whatever it cost him.

Harold approached Booth from the side and quickly secured his hands behind his back. Once they were secure, he punched him, hard in his left side, just above the kidney.

The pain was evident on Booth's face, but he made no noise. Brennan was still staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. He gave her the slightest of nods, as he allowed himself to be drug sideways towards the waiting car. When they reached the vehicle, Harold punched him again in the side and then brought his elbow down hard against the top of Booth's shoulder. Again the Agent made no cry of pain; but as he fell slightly forward, the man behind him shoved him hard into the back seat, slamming the door behind him.

McGregor turned to Brennan, inclining his hat, "Good day to you Doctor," he said, a malicious smile on his face. He then turned and went to the car. As he shut his door, the car sped towards the road and was soon out of sight, leaving Brennan alone in the warehouse.

To Be Continued...