Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed! *cough* even though I think that only two of you are commenting *shame shame* Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Adding Insult to Injury . . . to Injury

It took Parker and Elliot less than one minute to escape the jail, the bomb a few cell blocks down providing a nice distraction for the pudgy, backwoods cops. None of which even guessed that the bomb (which harmed no one . . . that really matters) could possibly be a distraction.

"There was an explosion in the jail!"

Booth was pouring sub-grade coffee from the machine down the hall from the broom closet that served as his office, when the small cop ran past. He noticed with somewhat satisfaction at his horror, that it was the same cop who was hitting on Brennan.

"There was an explosion in the jail!" Now he realized what the man was saying . . . no more satisfaction. He took off running in the direction the man had run from, "Shit." Booth knew what this meant, Elliot Spencer had escaped.

"Good news guys," Hardison leaned back on the couch, "No fuzz on the block, I think we got away."

Elliot was in the kitchen, an ice pack on is shoulder. After Parker and he had left his jail cell, an awesome chase scene took place; apparently Sophie spent some time in Tokyo drifting as well as grifting. "Who was that guy?" Even though he had been in jail for five hours, everyone knew he was talking about Agent Booth. "Is he with McGill?"

Sophie was at his left shoulder, taking the ice pack in one hand and resting the other palm on the injury, "It's swollen, Elliot, I think your arm is dislocated."

Elliot growled lightly, "I know, I'll fix it later."

Hardison was pulling up the profile he had searched before, this time searching all hits. "Agent Seeley Booth."

When his picture pulled up on the screen, Parker squeaked; when the man wasn't carting off her friend to jail, he was quite as attractive as his name.

"He was a sniper for a time for the US," (Elliot scoffed), "He's been an FBI agent for years. He's been in newspapers numerous times over the last five years with a Dr. Temperance Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist." He paused his impromptu side show, "The lady in purple," as it continued, Hardison laughed, "Hey, get this, just last week he singlehandedly took down four members of the Secret Service! Wow, if this got out those agents would be screwed!" He paused again, waiting for something along the lines of "oooooo, Hardison, however did you find that out?" No such luck and he sighed, "Brennan works for the Jeffersonian in Boston and I hacked into the surveillance."

Nate was the only one who noticed Parker's squeak and was trying hard to ignore it. "Can you hack into the computer systems? Why are they after Elliot?" He looked at the man, "Well, other than the obvious."

"Simple," Elliot pushed himself off the bar and walked into the living room, "they think I killed him," he pointed to the screen where Hardison had pulled up a live feed of the forensic platform where Willy Carson lay. Everyone looked to the monitor. Suddenly the gravity of the situation hit them, Elliot was in deep trouble, and the only way that they could get him out would be to plan the best con that they had ever done. When they looked back, Elliot was nowhere to be seen.

It was disconcerting to the rest of the team how silently the brawny man could move.

When Nate found Elliot later that day, he had his left wrist tied to the banister in the stairwell. The ice pack had made the swelling go down a bit in his shoulder but now it lay discarded next to his feet. "Elliot, McGill knows you're back."

Elliot grunted in acknowledgement, putting his hand on his shoulder. In one motion he yanked his body back and, with a POP his shoulder was back in place.

"And this Agent Booth is after you."

Another grunt as Elliot replaced the icepack and untied his wrist.

"This entire con is at stake now. We missed our chance at the party. Not long after you were carted off, McGill left and we couldn't follow him . . ."

"What are you saying?" Elliot spat curtly.

Nate wasn't afraid of Elliot, no one was in the group, but he was cautious of what he had to tell him: "I think you should sit this one out."

"No," Elliot's back was to the bottom of the stairs, "I messed this up, I'll fix it."

As Nate rubbed the bridge of his nose, he really wished he had a drink; vodka, straight up, or maybe whiskey. Honestly! it was like he was raising a bunch of children, really mentally disturbed children! "It's not that I don't think you can do it, I am just thinking about what is best for the team." He could see that he wasn't getting anywhere. "Go down to the cafeteria, get some juice, hit the gym some-thing just stay close. Okay?" he patted the hitters good shoulder before going back through the door into the hall.

As much as he hated to admit it, while Elliot descended the stairs to the gym, he realized Nate had a point. In fact, he was so caught up in this thought he ran right into a woman who was jogging up the stairs when he rounded the corner to a landing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

The woman's soft drawl knocked Elliot flat against the stairs. "MaryLee, how the hell did you find me?"

The girl's eyes widened at how easily she had found him. "I am so sorry Elliot," she was sitting at the other end of the landing, a few steps down with her elbows on the flat ground, "I didn't know the agent was there. You have to believe that I didn't want Daddy to find you." She saw that Elliot didn't believe her. "You don't remember, do you?" She sighed, "Four years ago, the week before . . . you know . . . we stayed here. You said you loved it . . . that's how I found you. Don't worry, no one else knows. We need to talk . . ."

By this time, Booth was all but fed up with the whole police force in that town. They had the "best and brightest" out searching for Elliot Spencer but to no avail.

"Booth," Brennan knocked on the door frame before coming in. "Still no word on Spencer?" The look on Booth's face told the answer to that. "I spoke with the coroner; there is no scanner in Texas. If you still want the tests done we will have to leave on the earliest flight back to Boston. Before your injuries heal."

Booth had been ready for this flight before Elliot had escaped and already had his ticket in his hand. "Do you think any information we get from this will be helpful?" He was still crestfallen over losing the perp. "Will it be worth losing a day on the trail?"

Bones leaned against the door way, "You thought it would five hours ago and I trust your judgment." She made a small "come on" motion, "Let's go."

With a grin, Booth got up and followed her. Soon they were on a plane bound for Boston.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this installment of The Seeley Booth Job. As always: REVIEW!