Disclaimer: See ch. 1

Spoilers: Through the Season 4 finale just to be safe.

A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize profusely for the extremely long wait between chapters. School kicked my ass towards the end of the semester. It seemed I didn't have a free moment at all between work, final papers, projects, and exams. I promise now that school is out, updates will come much more frequently. I'd also like to thank everyone who has been reading and commenting. I realized I've been forgetting to say thanks in my A/N's and I have had nooo time to respond individually. Honestly, you guys are the ones who keep me writing. Without you I would have given up long before now. But I could never do that to you :) So this chapter goes out to all of you. Thanks! And enjoy!

"Mmm, Bones."

He rolled onto his side towards her and felt…nothing.

"Bones?" Booth's eyes snapped open and he jolted up in bed. His sharp eyes took in the open bathroom door and the empty chair beside the bed before he called out again just to be sure.

"Bones?"

No answer. The room was empty.

Where the hell was she? Why couldn't the woman ever stay where she was put? She was always running off to do "important" things and getting herself into trouble. Unless…what if she wasn't the one causing the trouble this time? There was still some sicko out there with a vendetta against her. And, oh God…

He was out of bed before the thought could fully form, and headed across the room to cram himself into his clothes. Gun. Where was his gun? He was shoving his feet into sneakers when the door opened behind him and he whirled around so fast his head spun.

"Booth? What do you think you're doing?"

She stood there in the doorway, head cocked to the side, one hand on her hip the other holding a foam tray with two coffees on it.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

He stared at her a long moment before answering.

"Where were you?" He was finally able to force out.

"I went to get coffee." She held up the tray as evidence. "Why are you out of bed?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before letting it out.

"Do me a favor, Bones, and from now on, let me know if you plan to disappear."

"Wha…"

"Just promise me, Bones. There's somebody out there who wants you dead, and I wake up and you're missing. Just don't take off like that again, please." My heart can't take much more, he added silently.

She blinked at him, her blue-grey eyes wide. Then she nodded.

"Yes, alright."

"Good," he said with a sharp nod. "Good."

"You still shouldn't be out of bed," she reminded him.

His head did hurt like hell, but he wasn't about to admit that to her. "Bones, I'm fine," he lied. "Now let's get the hell out of here." He glanced around quickly. "Where's my gun?"

"Captain Westin has it," she informed him. "I told him I would take it, but he thought it would be better if he locked it up at the station until you could pick it up."

Booth gritted his teeth. The fucking imbecile.

"Are there cops here?" He asked her.

She shook her head. "I haven't seen any."

He felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. "You're kidding me, right? Someone tried to blow us up and he doesn't even put a couple of uniforms on us?" And I don't have a fucking gun.

She shrugged.

"The son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath. Anything could have happened. Someone could have come in and hurt Bones while he was out cold. They could have dragged her away and he never would have known; wouldn't have been able to…

He pushed the thought from his mind. None of that had happened. They were fine. Focus, Booth.

"So, we're supposed to just chance it and drive over to the station with no firepower." He closed his eyes as the events of the previous night floated back into his head. "And what exactly are we supposed to drive?"

She sat in the chair beside the bed as he paced the room, his hand restlessly combing through his hair.

"I can call the rental agency and have them send another car," she suggested, taking a sip of her coffee. He reached over and grabbed the other cup from the tray. Tons of sugar. Just as he liked it.

He nodded. "Yeah, okay. And I'll call Cullen while you do that."

"Uh, Booth, we can't use cell phones in a hospital."

His eyes narrowed and glanced around at the hospital-y machines. "Shit. Grab your stuff," he told her as he stuffed his badge in his pocket and threw his jacket over his shoulder. "I'll get signed out and we can make our calls from the waiting area. I'm not gonna risk standing outside in the open."

"I really don't think the doctors will let you leave, Booth. You took quite a blow to the head. You really should…"

"I'm fine, Bones," he told her again. "Let's go."

Ten minutes later, he'd charmed the female doctor into letting him leave, and he and Bones were in the waiting room making their calls.

"I need agents here as soon as possible," he told Cullen. "This is getting completely out of hand and the locals are idiots."

"Most small town cops are when it comes to stuff like this. The worst they ever see is domestic abuse or teen runaways. They don't know what to do when it comes to stuff like this. I'll get you a team on the next flight out. How are you and Dr. Brennan holding up?"

He glanced over at Bones and noticed the confused look on her face as she spoke into her phone. He'd ask her what was up once he hung up with his boss.

"We're hanging in there," he told Cullen.

"Alright. Keep your head down until the backup gets there. And good luck, Agent Booth."

"Thank you, sir."

He hung up the phone just in time to hear Bones give a breathless, "Yes, thank you. Good bye." And turn to him with wide eyes. He took in her expression; confusion mixed with…fear.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

She shook her head, but it was more like she was trying to sort something out in her mind than she was answering his question.

"Bones?"

Her eyes met his, her mouth opened and closed.

"What is it?" he asked her, taking few steps closer until he could place his hands on her shoulders.

"My old rental car, the one that wouldn't start…"

He let the silence stretch for almost half a minute before he couldn't take it anymore.

"What about it, Bones?"

"It was sabotaged," she said, anger and indignation breaking through the fear and confusion. "Some lines were cut. That's why it wouldn't start."

His heart thudded in his chest as his mind sorted through all of the implications of what she was telling him.

"Booth, did you hear me? It wasn't natural wear and tear. Someone…"

"Someone didn't want you driving yourself back to the hotel that day," he finally said. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he pulled her closer as his eyes surveyed the room as if expecting to find the culprit here among the nurses in scrubs and the children with runny noses.

She was speaking to him, but his mind was buzzing with possible motives and suspects.

"Hart," he gritted out.

She paused midsentence. "What?"

"Hart drove you back that day, remember? Who else would want to strand you at the university? He probably wanted some alone time with you. Stalkers live for that kind of stuff. And then at the signing last night he…"

She brought her hands up to his forearms and squeezed gently. "Booth, this has gone far beyond stalking. Someone tried to kill us last night."

He couldn't stop himself from pulling her into his arms and leaning down to bury his face in her hair. "God, I know," he whispered.

"What are we going to do?" She asked against his shoulder.

One hand stroked her hair as the other held her tightly to his chest. He was crossing that line again, but he was damned if he'd care.

"We're going to get my gun, and then we're going to talk to Hart."

The rental car was dropped off at the door, and they brought the driver back to the rental agency before heading over to the police station. Booth was twitchy and on edge the entire way. Temperance had never seen him like this. Every time a horn blew or a dog barked, his hand would fly to the spot on his belt where his gun usually hung.

Twenty minutes later, Booth had his gun back and they'd endured a lecture from Captain Westin about the proper channels for warrants and the collecting of evidence and testimonies. Booth just rolled his eyes, told the Captain that he'd called in the FBI, and escorted her back out to the car.

"We're really going to Logan's house?" She asked as she buckled her seat belt.

"We really are."

"But Captain Westin said that we had no probable cause and that nothing you found would be admissible…"

He cut her off with an upraised hand. "I'll find probable cause, okay? Just trust me here, Bones. This guy feels off to me. He's the only one you've refused anything besides that creepy co-ed, he was mysteriously there to come to your rescue when your car was sabotaged, and he was acting freaking weird last night just before someone tried to blow us up. What did he say? That you'd regret not speaking to him? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was it. Well, a nice bomb on the undercarriage would definitely be calls for regret."

She did trust him. Implicitly. And she agreed with him; Hart did seem to be a likely suspect. But if they flew in there and found the damning evidence, what good would it do? The court would throw it out because Booth didn't have a warrant…or jurisdiction, really…

"Booth…."

"Forget it, Bones. We're checking him out."

He had a determined glint in his dark eyes that told her it was useless to argue. Booth wanted to look in on Logan; Booth was going to look in on Logan. But he was injured, and she didn't have a gun with her to back him up, and she couldn't let anything happen to him.

"Shouldn't we wait for the FBI team, I mean…"

"They might not be here until tomorrow," he told her. "This asshole could have run by then."

"He could have run by now," she reminded him.

"We'll see. When we get in there, you stay behind me, you got it?"

She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Don't argue with me, Bones. You don't have a weapon here, and you're the one he wants dead." It killed her, but she gave in, knowing that if he needed her to, she'd fight to the death to stop someone from hurting him. He peeked over at her long enough to see her nod of acceptance. "Good."

Hart lived in a modern one story place with grey siding and fake white shutters on the windows. The grass was green, and Mr. Hart had obviously hired a landscaper to do the yard, as was evidenced by the eclectic display of decorative trees and flowers. His car was parked in front of the garage.

"Remember, Bones, stay behind me."

"Yes, Booth, I remember. I have a very good memory."

He rolled his eyes and led the way up the walk to the front door. His eyes narrowed when he realized it was cracked open. Never, in his entire career as an FBI agent, had that ever been a good sign.

"Stay back," he whispered to Bones as he unholstered his gun and pushed the door inward with his foot.

The front room appeared untouched. It was a living room from what he could tell. The faded blue couch faced an entertainment center. There was a dark wood coffee table and two matching end tables. The lamps were obviously second-hand.

Booth moved to the door on his right. It led to a kitchen. An old, used-to-be-white fridge and oven were stuck in between the wood-paneled cabinets. A scarred wooden table and four chairs filled the center of the room. The tile was stained and cracked in places.

A door at the back of that room led to a short hallway. Bones was entering the hallway from the living room entrance when he spotted her.

"Get behind me," he ordered her in a whisper.

Her eyebrows drew down, and that scowl that told him she was about to disregard his commands came onto her face.

"Do it," he gritted out. "Now."

Her eyes rolled so far back in her head he was afraid they might actually get stuck back there, but she did move behind him before poking him in the back and demanding that he continue his search.

The small bathroom at the end of the hall yielded nothing but an ugly shower curtain and a hamper full of dirty clothes.

Booth deduced that the final door led to the bedroom. He made sure that Bones was behind him where she was supposed to be before he toed the door open and glanced into the room.

"Shit."

"What is it?" Bones whispered from over his shoulder.

"Stay there," he ordered her, then peeked around the door to be sure he wasn't about to be ambushed. There was no closet, but two tall chests full of drawers. Booth was pretty sure a bad guy wouldn't be hiding in one of those.

"Can I come in yet?" Bones asked from the hallway.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Just…no, Bones. Okay?"

"Booth, is everything…"

The door was pushed open, and before he could reach it to block her view, Bones peeked into the room.

"Oh," she said shortly.

He moved quickly to her side, not sure of her reaction.

"You okay, Bones?"

She peeled her gaze away from the sight before her and her eyes met his.

"I deal with dead bodies every day, Booth."

But her voice was a bit breathy and her eyes were unfocused and he knew she wasn't totally unaffected by this.

"It's a little different when it's someone you knew…isn't it?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. In a shaky voice, she answered him, "yes, yes it is."

Booth followed her gaze back to the bed where Logan Hart lay dead, a bullet wound horribly obvious in the middle of his forehead.

Booth's mind reeled. This was it. This was where it all led. Right here to Hart. Who was conspicuously dead.

"He's not the stalker," Bones chose to point out.

Booth chose not to comment.

"He knew something," she said.

He nodded, still unable to speak. Where had he gone wrong? Where had he miscalculated? Where was the real stalker? And how long before he got what he was after? Booth's body rebelled at the thought and he had to force his jaw and his fist to unclench.

"The stalker killed him." Bones looked up at him, obviously expecting a response this time.

"Who's the investigator here?" He asked her with a half-smile, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

"We are…"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, Bones. The stalker probably killed him."

She nodded. He glanced down to see her still watching her dead ex-boyfriend. Her lip was caught between her teeth, a very uncharacteristic action for her. And very telling. She was feeling insecure and confused and scared.

Before he could take the action himself, he felt her soft hand brush his and she intertwined their fingers. He squeezed her hand gently.

"What do we do now?" She asked.

It took a moment for him to answer her. He was too busy fighting the urge to take her into his arms and carry her the hell out of here.

"We call Westin. Then we wait for the FBI agents Cullen is sending."

He flipped his phone open as he said it and selected Westin's name from the list.

"Captain Westin," the other man answered.

"There's something you need to see. Get over to the Hart residence, now. Bring the coroner." He slammed his phone shut on the Captain's irate demand that he explain.

"C'mon," he told Bones, using their joint hands to pull her closer. "Let's go wait in the kitchen."

A/N: Dun, dun, dun! Anyone expecting this turn of events? No? Well, it is a Bones fic, so you had to know I was going to throw a dead body in there somewhere. Thanks again for reading and don't forget to let me know what you thought!

On a side note: To my Plum fans, I've got another fic in the works! I haven't started posting it yet, but I will as soon as I've got a few more chapters written. But first, I need your help with a couple of things. Check out the poll in my profile to vote on some aspects of my new fic. The current one will be up for a week or two, and then I'll put up the next one (I think I have four, total). Thanks so much!