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Chapter 8

Brennan got out of the shower and wrapped up in a fluffy hotel bathrobe. It was so comfortable that she considered stealing it; her ethics were the only thing that kept her from stuffing it in her suitcase with the rest of her things.

After working with Booth for so long, she was starting to have selective hearing when it came to mores and regulations – or maybe it was a genetic predisposition, a gift from Max Keenan and his life of lies. She wondered what she would tell Hannah about her family—families' pasts. She told herself she would never lie: this child would get the absolute truth from her when she wanted to hear it…

… if they both survived long enough.

She had to admit she hadn't really thought this whole thing through – being a mother wasn't something she'd ever envisioned herself doing. She didn't dislike children, and on a subconscious level she understood she needed to protect them to ensure the propagation of the species. In case of disaster, women and children first; it wasn't a chauvinistic statement, it was the human race asserting its own survival.

Motherhood had never been a dream of hers; even before her parents' disappearance, she had no expectations towards having children. Their abandonment just reassured her she did not belong in the structural idea of a family.

Taking in Hannah was different though, she told herself. This was a child in danger. She could leave Hannah in the hands of the Swiss adoption system, but it was too dangerous for her to remain in such proximity to Liechtenstein; plus Brennan was convinced no one would be able to protect the child without knowing her true identity.

And anyone who knew would be in mortal danger.

A skyline view of Prague from her bedroom window told her it was dusk, and she knew her motorist would arrive soon to take her to the airport. Rome was next, and it made her think of Angela for some reason. The book tour was going fantastic, and she would probably feel more proud if her mind wasn't so preoccupied.

She rummaged in her suitcase, smiling as she found the toy pig that Booth had given her so long ago. She didn't know why she carried it with her whenever she was out of town, but it was just something she'd started doing. Cursing their separation, she vowed to re-gift the toy to Hannah in three days when she arrived in Lugano.

Dressing herself was simple enough, and she was glad to see that the bags from under her eyes were almost gone. She had just finished packing when she heard a knock on the door; a glance at the nightstand alarm clock told her that the motorist was about five minutes early.

She hauled her suitcase into the living room, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at full attention; she tried to justify the gut feeling as a manifestation of her rational fears regarding her current situation.

Something stinks, Booth's voice warned her in her mind. Grabbing a vase from a center table, she tip-toed to the hotel room door. She could see shadows moving in the half inch space between the door and the floor. Two separate shadows, two individuals.

She glanced at the windows, knowing full well that she was on the thirtieth floor, and they were not an acceptable means of escape.

Call security!

She reached for the phone on the other end of the room. The sound of the dial tone was pierced by the sound of a bullet, quickly followed by the sound of the hotel door giving in to force, probably a kick. She turned towards her attackers, vase in hand.

Without second-guessing herself, she charged towards them, hitting one with the vase and elbow punching the other. The one hit by the vase recovered faster, tripping her and throwing her to the ground. A knee was pressed onto her back, and she felt her lower right floating rib giving under the pressure. Ignoring the pain as best as she could, her teeth lunged for the arm in front of her that tried to gag her; blood filled her mouth and she spit it out, feeling a second knee join the first.

She backwards kicked the assailant on top of her, but her position didn't allow her for much force or angle. She felt blood sliding down her back, probably from her short-lived mandibular attack; gathering all her strength, she tried to headbutt the guy on top of her, but she only succeeding in getting a good look at the incoming blow to her head before losing consciousness.