Chapter 6
Booth tossed and turned, checked his cellphone half a dozen times, and finally sat up and snapped on the light.
Bones hadn't called.
She had called every day of the tour, including the past three nights, when he'd let her roll over to voice mail. Every. Single. Day.
Until the day he sent her a text message telling her he loved her.
He stewed. He worried. He paced the floor. Finally he snatched up his cellphone and dialed her number.
It rang four times and rolled over to voicemail.
He disconnected. Dialed again.
And got her voicemail. Again.
He called her hotel, asked for her room, and listened while that went to voicemail as well.
He was about to dial her cell again when his screen flashed with an incoming text message. He punched it open.
Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call.
*x*x*x*x*
Booth had spent the rest of the night trying to convince himself that the message he'd gotten had been intended for somebody else. It had been late when she'd sent it, and she'd probably turned her ringer off right after, not wanting to be disturbed while she slept. It was harder to explain why she wouldn't have answered the phone in her room, but he could almost chalk that up to a glitch or some kind of random hotel error. Nevertheless, anxiety had him pacing the floor rather than returning to bed, and the feeling hadn't subsided with the dawn.
Which was why he was at the Jeffersonian at eight thirty instead of the Hoover.
Booth found Angela in her office fussing over a new piece of equipment. She looked up from a thick manual she'd spread across its bulky surface, her lips thinning a little when she recognized him.
"Hello, Booth," she said, her tone and eyes cool.
He ignored her mood and gave the new equipment no more than a cursory glance as he moved into the room.
"Have you heard from Bones?" he asked.
Maybe Angela knew something he didn't, like if Bones was freaked out by the text he'd sent or still pissed off at him because of their fight. He wanted her to be freaked out or pissed off, because the alternatives were worse.
Angela flipped the thick manual closed and set it aside. "You haven't?" Her gaze narrowed as she echoed his thoughts. "Maybe she's still pissed at you."
"I got a text from her late last night," he said, ignoring the jibe. "But she isn't answering her phone or returning her messages."
Angela raised an eyebrow in a way that made his blood run cold. "What time last night?"
"A little after midnight."
"That's odd …" She reached into her desk, came up with her own cellphone. "I got a text from her around then, too. I was going to call her in a few minutes, try to get her to change her mind."
Booth's pulse kicked into overdrive. Please, God. Let her be okay. "What did she say?"
"Not much." Angela was busy punching buttons on her phone. "But I remember thinking it was odd that she used chat speak. Bren never does that. She says it's lazy." She handed him the phone. "Here."
Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call.
Bile rose in Booth's throat as the few bites of toast he'd choked down that morning turned to acid in his stomach. "That's the same message she sent me."
"Exactly the same?" Angela seemed surprised and more than a little alarmed, and Booth took comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one who found it odd.
He handed the phone back, nerves jumping. "Word for word."
"Bren never uses chat speak," Angela said again.
"I know." Booth blew out a breath and forced himself to slow down. He had to think, and he couldn't do that with his pulse pounding in his ears and his hands going clammy with sweat.
"Do you know if she sent the message to anybody else?" Angela asked.
He shook his head. "You were my first stop." He hoped she hadn't, that the identical messages were just because Bones had been in a hurry, but his instincts were telling him otherwise. He gestured toward her computer. "I already tried her cell twice this morning, but there was some kind of glitch with the phone lines and I couldn't get through to her hotel. Do you mind checking the number?"
Angela's fingers were already flying over the keyboard. "Try this," she said. "It's a different number from the one on her itinerary." She read it off. Booth punched it into his cellphone and waited impatiently for the call to be answered at the other end.
"Thank you for calling The Palmer House." The guy who answered on the second ring sounded like somebody's butler. "How may direct your call?"
"Temperance Brennan's room, please."
There was a brief pause, the distant click of a keyboard, and then the butler's voice again. "I'm sorry. Dr. Brennan checked out late last night."
Booth's gaze snapped up to meet Angela's more alarm bells went off in his head. "Did she say where she was going?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I wasn't on duty at the time."
Damn it. "Can you tell me who was?"
"That would be Miss Lamarre," the butler said.
"How can I contact her?"
"Miss Lamarre has already left for the day, but if you would like to call back this evening …"
"I'll do that. Thank you." Booth ended the call and shoved his cellphone in his pocket. When he looked up, it was to an openly worried Angela.
"She wouldn't run, Booth." There wasn't a shred of doubt in Angela's voice as their gazes connected. "Bren never runs from a fight. She only runs when she's scared. And she isn't scared of you. Not anymore."
Except for the fact that he'd told her he loved her. There was a chance that she still wasn't ready to deal with that. Without responding, he started toward the door.
"Booth. Wait."
He turned. "What?"
Angela opened a drawer and fished out a piece of paper. "There's something you should see."
Booth crossed back to take the the paper, scanned it, and felt the tension in his spine ratchet up another notch. "What the hell is this?"
"It's a description," Angela said.
"I can see that," he snapped. Height. Weight. Age. Eye color. "Who the hell is Chuck?"
"He's this guy Bren told me about. She said he turned up at every stop on her tour."
Booth stared at her. "Why didn't she tell me about him?"
"I wanted her to, but she insisted the guy was harmless." There was fear in Angela's eyes. "She made me promise not to say anything to you."
It was all Booth could do not to shake her.
"You should have told me anyway," he said, coldly furious. "If you had, maybe this wouldn't have happened."
"I'm sorry." She sounded as if she meant it, but he didn't care. Bones was missing, and Angela had withheld the one piece of information that might have kept her safe.
Booth shoved the paper into his pocket and turned away.
"Booth."
It was all he could do to keep his voice level as he glanced back at her, one hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"You have to find her."
He stared at her for a long moment in silence. "Oh, I will." His fingers tightened around the scrap of paper in his pocket. "You can bet on that."
And God help anybody who got in his way.
*x*x*x*x*
Cam was at her desk, her head bent over some paperwork. She looked up at his quick knock and gave him one of those ready smiles that lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.
"Booth! Come on in."
"Have you heard from Bones?" he asked without preamble.
She blinked and sat back in her chair, studying him carefully. "Why do you ask?"
"I got a text message from her late last night." He waited a beat. "And Angela got the same message a few minutes later."
Cam's smile faded. She reached for her phone, punched in a series of commands, and handed it over to him.
Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call.
"Damn it!"
He handed the phone back, suppressing the urge to heave it through the nearest window. "This is all you've heard?" he asked, aware of the tension in his voice but unable to do anything about it. "She didn't call? Didn't send any other texts?"
"That's it." Cam closed the folder she'd been working with and added it to a stack of others in her outbox. "You're worried about her."
"Damn right I am."
"Seeley …" Leaning back in her chair, Cam folded her arms across her chest. "Maybe she just needs to get her head straight. Give her some time. She'll be back."
He handed her the slip of paper Angela had given him and waited while she read through it.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, looking up.
"Angela. Apparently this guy followed Bones all over the country." He watched her expression darken as the implication sank in. "Still think I'm overreacting?"
"Why didn't Dr. Brennan tell you about this herself?"
"Apparently Bones thought he was harmless."
"Maybe he was. Fans can be pretty obsessive without being dangerous." Cam glanced at her watch. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, yet."
"So what, I'm just supposed to sit back and wait?" This was Bones they were talking about. If she was in trouble he wasn't going to wait another second to start looking for her, much less another twelve hours.
"I didn't say that." She gave him back the paper. "By all means, make some calls, see what you can find out. But I wouldn't take it to Hacker until you're sure."
Hacker. The man had stepped back graciously enough when Bones had broken up with him, but Booth still wasn't entirely sure his boss had gotten over her. How would he react when Booth told him Bones was missing?
"It is possible that Dr. Brennan was right about this Chuck person," Cam said when he didn't respond. "She's done other book tours. Maybe she knows this guy from before."
"And maybe he abducted her." The mere thought of it sent clammy fear arcing up his spine.
"And maybe …" Cam watched him as she repeated her point. "Maybe what she said in her message was true, and she just wanted some time alone. Did you talk to her last night?"
"I sent her a text after I left Founding Fathers." Cam didn't need to know the details. Those were between him and Bones. "She never replied."
Cam said nothing for several seconds. Finally she sighed.
"I don't know, Seeley. Maybe there is something wrong. But if there isn't, and you waste FBI resources looking for her ...?" She shook her head. "It could end your career."
"I don't give a rat's ass about my career." Booth put his palms flat on her desk. Leaned in. "We're talking about Bones, Camille. If anything happens to her ..." He shook his head as his throat closed over the rest of the sentence.
Cam studied him for a second, then nodded.
"Go," she said. "I'll put in a word with your boss. Maybe it'll help."
"Thanks." He spun away, already on the move again.
"And Booth?"
Already at the door, he paused and looked back.
"Good luck."
He didn't need luck.
What he needed was Bones.
*x*x*x*x*
Booth pulled the car door closed behind him, then reached for his seatbelt with one hand while dialing Todd's number with the other.
"Richardson."
"Todd. This is Seeley Booth."
There was a brief silence, and when Todd spoke again, his tone was icily formal. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Bo- for Temperance," Booth said, catching himself on the nickname. "Have you heard from her since last night's signing?"
"Just a text message around midnight."
Booth's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "What did the message say?"
"That's confidential information." Professional. Distant. With a hint of something else Booth couldn't quite name.
"Taking some time off," Booth recited. Experience kept his tone bland, but his grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "Will be in touch. Please don't call."
"What the hell ...?" Todd's voice was thick with suspicion. "How did you know that?"
Damn it. Booth fought for control. For calm. But his insides had turned to jelly. "Did she use chat speak?"
"Yes, but just one word."
"Please, right?"
"That's right." The concern in Todd's voice didn't even come close to what Booth was feeling. "What the hell is going on, Agent Booth?"
"I haven't been able to reach her," Booth explained. "She isn't answering her cell, and according to the hotel she checked out late last night. Did she say anything to you before she left the signing?"
"No. She seemed tired, so the manager called her a cab, and I sent her back to the hotel early. We were going to meet for lunch this afternoon, but when I got her text I assumed she'd changed her plans."
"I need the store manager's name and the name of the cab company."
"I don't know which taxi service it was, but give me a sec. I can get you the manager's name."
Booth got out his notebook and flipped to a blank page, then readied his pen.
"Got it," Todd said, coming back on the line.
Booth jotted down the information. "Thanks," he said. "Hey, Todd? Do you know anything about some guy who was shadowing Bones on the tour? Chuck something or other?"
"Stevens, yeah. What about him?"
Booth noted the last name. Circled it twice. "What can you tell me about him?"
"Nice guy," Todd said. "Good old boy type. Lives somewhere near D.C., I think. Why?"
"Didn't it bother you that he turned up at every stop?"
Todd laughed. "God, no. Chuck doesn't even twitch the needle on the scale of strange things obsessed fans do. He just really likes Temperance's books."
Which didn't mean a damned thing. Booth had encountered plenty of serial killers in his time who'd seemed perfectly normal right up until somebody put them under a microscope. He keyed the ignition, bringing the SUV's engine to life with a roar.
"I need you to do me a favor." Booth threw the car into gear and backed out of the parking space, phone still pressed to his ear.
"Name it."
"Stop by The Palmer House. See if Temperance left anything behind when she checked out. Call me back at this number and let me know what you find."
"I'll go right now," Todd said.
"Thanks."
Booth disconnected the phone and dropped it on the seat beside him as he pulled into traffic.
*x*x*x*x*
It was time to talk to Hacker.
After stopping by his office to check his email and phone messages in the vain hope that maybe there'd be news from Bones, Booth put in a call to Hacker's admin and requested an immediate appointment. He was lucky. Hacker was both in and available. In seconds Booth was on his way to the elevator. Once inside he adjusted his tie and straightened his jacket. He was taking a chance going straight to Hacker, bypassing his SIC and risking a reprimand in the process. But if he was going to get his ass chewed, he would at least look good doing it.
Hacker looked up from his computer at Booth's entrance. "Agent Booth. What a pleasant surprise." He waved Booth inside. "What can I do for you?"
Booth forced himself to speak in measured, even tones. "Bones is missing."
Hacker gestured to a chair, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean, missing? Has somebody filed a report?"
"Not yet." Booth would have preferred to remain standing, but he sat anyway. No sense pissing Hacker off if he could avoid it.
"Isn't she on one of her book tours?"
Booth nodded. "Chicago was her last stop. That was last night. Nobody I've talked to so far has seen her since she left the event."
"The message she sent me said she was taking some time off and that she'd be in touch." Hacker's brow furrowed. "Didn't she tell you?"
"She sent you a text?" Dread had Booth leaning forward in his chair. It seemed like everybody he talked to said something that ratcheted his fears higher. "When?"
Hacker reached in his pocket, came up with a cell phone. "Just before one. I didn't get it until this morning, but I thought it was considerate of her to let me know." He punched a series of keys, then gave Booth a curious glance. "It does seem odd that she wouldn't have discussed her plans with you, though."
"Can I see the message?" Despite his determination to stay calm, Booth heard the tension in his own voice.
Hacker's gaze sharpened as he handed over the phone. "What's going on, Agent Booth?"
It was the same message. Word for word. Letter for letter. Booth handed the phone back, punched up his own copy of the text and handed that over, too. Hacker glanced down. Shrugged.
"I'm afraid I don't see the problem. Frankly, I'm relieved she's taking some time off. Her work ethic makes the rest of us look like bums."
Booth dropped his cell phone back in his pocket. Jaw tight he took in a steadying breath. "She sent identical messages to Camille Saroyan and Angela Montenegro."
"Of course she contacted them. Dr. Saroyan is her boss, and Angela is her best friend." Hacker tilted his head, studying Booth. "What makes you so sure something is wrong?"
"Bones wouldn't send Angela the same message she sent to Cam," Booth said, "But there's also this." He fished Angela's description out of his pocket and handed it over. "This man has appeared at every one of Bones's signings," he said. "Don't you find that a little bit odd?"
Hacker scanned the paper, then shook his head with a wry grin. "You haven't had much experience with fannish types, have you, Agent Booth." He handed it back. "Did Temperance seem worried or uneasy when you saw her last week?"
Booth shook his head. "No," he admitted. "She seemed fine." Better than fine, in fact, but he wasn't going to go there.
Folding his arms, Hacker leaned back in his chair, his expression a combination of amusement and exasperation. "You two had a spat, didn't you. A little lovers' quarrel?" He shook an admonishing finger. "I warned you to keep your personal life out of the office if you wanted to continue working together."
"We didn't argue." It was a bold-faced lie, but Booth was willing to risk it if that was what it took to get clearance for an investigation.
Hacker leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed as he stared hard at Booth. The technique was a familiar one, designed to expose a lie, and Booth returned the look without flinching. Several seconds passed before Hacker broke the stalemate, his gaze flickering to his computer screen and then back again.
"Temperance is pregnant," he said, with an indulgent smirk that made Booth grit his teeth. "Pregnant women can be unpredictable. Give her time. She'll be back."
Maybe she did want some time to herself, but if that were the case she would have picked up the phone and told him so instead of sending him the same damn text message she sent to four other people. No. Something was wrong. He was sure of it. If Hacker turned down his request he would quit. He was going after her. No matter the cost.
"I'm sure she just wanted to be alone for a while," Hacker said again. "She said she'd be in touch, and I for one believe her." He held up a hand, forestalling Booth's argument. "You two aren't married. You aren't even living together. She isn't under any obligation to inform you of her whereabouts."
"Sir. Please. Just let me look into it. I'll take personal time if I have to." If Hacker said no, resignation was the next step, but Booth hoped it wouldn't come to that. It would be a hell of a lot easier to find Bones if he had the FBI's backing.
Hacker folded his arms on the desk and laced his fingers together. "You're really worried."
Understatements 101. Booth bit the inside of his cheek rather than make a smart-ass remark. "Yes. I am."
"What the hell is this?" Caroline's voice preceded her as she sailed into the room. She waved her cellphone at them. "Taking some time off, my ass! Dr. Brennan's already been gone a month. How much time does she need? We got dead people taking numbers out there." She turned on Booth, and he sank reflexively back into his chair as she wagged an admonishing finger at him. "You better have a chat with that girlfriend of yours, Agent Booth. Bein' pregnant ain't no call for her to be gettin' all flighty-like."
Booth flicked a glance at Hacker before returning his attention to Caroline. "She contacted you?"
"Hell yes, she contacted me. What do you think?"
"Can I-" He swallowed, certain he already knew the response to his next question. "What, exactly, did she say?"
She stared at him, eyebrow raised, then handed over her phone without a word. Booth checked the message and felt a muscle flex in his jaw. He passed the phone to Hacker, who scanned the screen, shook his head, and returned the phone to Caroline.
Caroline tucked it into her pocket, then eyed them, hands on her hips. "All right, you two. What aren't you telling me?"
"Bones is missing," Booth said. "Nobody's seen her since last night, and so far five other people have gotten the same message you did."
"You're pulling my leg." Caroline looked from him to Hacker and back again, her voice taking on a note of warning. "You better be pulling my leg, Agent Booth."
Booth shook his head. He wished he were.
"Then what the hell are you doing sittin' here?" Caroline's eyes shot daggers at him and Hacker by turns. "You should be out looking for her! You're FBI agents, for cryin' out loud. Isn't finding people what you do best?"
"All right!" Hacker threw up his hands. "I give up." He pointed at Booth. "You've got forty-eight hours to either find Dr. Brennan or find evidence that something's happened to her."
Booth sprang to his feet. "I'd like a junior agent to assist me," he said, taking advantage of Caroline's frowning expectation while he still could. "Give me Genny Shaw."
"Shaw." Hacker looked up from the folder he'd just opened. "Why?"
Booth shrugged. "She was helpful on the Broadsky case. I'd like to see what she can do with a little more leeway."
Hacker pursed his lips. Booth waited. Caroline glared. Finally, Hacker nodded. "All right, then. Tell SIC Broussard to give me a call if he has any questions."
"Yes, sir. I will."
*x*x*x*x*
Genny sighed, closed the folder, and added it to the stack in her outbox. She hated reviewing interview transcripts-listening to the recordings, checking them against the digital text, making corrections … It was scut work. Sure it was important, and she was meticulous about it. She did have her pride, after all. But she hadn't joined the FBI to do scut work. She'd joined for the same reason most people joined. Justice. Adventure. Prestige. She hadn't joined so that she could sit in a cubicle and listen to dry-as-sawdust interrogations all day.
She started to open the next folder, then stopped when a large male hand landed in the middle of it, holding it closed. Annoyed, she looked up, then jumped to her feet.
"Agent Booth! Sir! I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."
"Relax, Agent Shaw." He picked up the folder, glanced through it, made a face. "They have you reviewing transcripts?"
"Yes, sir." If he'd been one of her fellow junior agents, she might have rolled her eyes.
He slapped the folder on top of the others, hefted the entire pile, and dropped it on Agent Young's desk in the next cubicle.
"Not anymore," he said, while she contemplated Sebastian's reaction when he discovered that his workload had doubled while he'd been in the restroom. "Follow me."
He strode off without waiting for her, and she scrambled to catch up, trying to look dignified and professional as she scurried across the bullpen in his wake. He led the way into his office, pointed her to a chair, and closed the door. Then he crossed the room and leaned his hip against the desk. Arms folded across his chest, he studied her with narrowed gaze.
Genny straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and waited. She was the youngest of five, and the only girl, in a family that prized competition. Male intimidation tactics were wasted on her. Or at least that was what she told herself while her insides quivered like one of her mother's molded jello salads, and her palms grew clammy with nervous sweat.
Booth reached behind him and picked up a piece of paper. He extended it toward her. She took it reflexively, biting back the question that rose to her lips.
"It's a travel itinerary," she said after she'd scanned it. "For Dr. Brennan. I don't understand." She knew who Dr. Brennan was, of course, had even met her once or twice.
"She's missing." Agent Booth's tone was flat, but there was fire in his eyes, and behind it something else, something that looked very much like fear. "I want you to help me find her."
A case. A real, live, honest-to-God case. Excitement made her heart pound, but she locked down her enthusiasm. This 'real case' involved Agent Booth's partner. She needed to focus. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small notebook and pen she always carried.
"Has there been a ransom demand?" she asked, and saw a hint of approval in his eyes.
"No."
"Any contact from the victim?" She barely paused when he winced at the term. "Text message? Email? Phone call?"
"One text message. Sent between midnight and one AM to at least six different people."
"Contents?" She scribbled fast, not looking up.
"Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Please don't call." He might as well have been reading the instructions on a package of spaghetti for all the emotion in his voice. "Each recipient got the same message."
She glanced up. But before she could say anything, Agent Booth's jaw firmed.
"Yes. She's really missing, so let's skip that part, okay?"
Booth's cell phone rang, and he snatched it out of his pocket, gesturing to her to wait as he lifted it to his ear.
"Agent Booth," he said. Then- "Todd. Hi. Thanks for getting back to me."
Genny glanced down at the itinerary. Todd Richardson. Dr. Brennan's publicist. Her finger found the name, brushed across the contact information. She looked back up. Agent Booth was listening intently to whatever Mr. Richardson was saying.
"Okay," he said. "See if they'll let you pull the vase from lost and found. She's been saving those. If they give you any grief, have them call me. Anything else?" A pause, then, "You checked under the furniture, too?" He tucked the phone against his neck and reached for a notepad and pen. "Yes, I'll wait." He jotted something down, glanced up at her. Then he stiffened, his mouth drawing down in a tight, hard, frown. "Yeah," he said. "That's hers, too. Drop it in an envelope and send it to me here, would you?"
He gave the address in clipped, sharp tones. Genny saw his gaze drop to a photograph on his desk. She couldn't see the picture, but she knew it was one of his son. The name, Parker, came to her after a few seconds' thought. Cute kid.
"One more thing," he said. "Did you take any pictures besides the one you sent me?" Something eased in his expression as he listened to the response. "That's what I'm thinking, too. If you could send them on, I'll have a forensics team go over them." He made a note. Circled it. "Thank you, Todd. For everything. I appreciate it." Leaning over, he dropped the pad and pen on his desk, then straightened again. "I'm worried, too," he said grimly. "But I'll find her. I promise you that." He glanced at his watch. "Give me a call if you think of anything else, all right?"
He thanked Mr. Richardson once more and ended the call. Then he rounded the desk and dropped into his chair while Genny tried hard to pretend she hadn't just eavesdropped on the entire conversation.
"That was Todd Richardson, Dr. Brennan's publicist," he said, watching her. "He's still in Chicago, so I asked him to check out her hotel room."
Genny glanced down at the itinerary once more, drawing a sharp double line under the hotel's name. "Did he find anything?"
Agent Booth nodded, jaw tight. "I had some daffodils delivered at each hotel along Dr. Brennan's tour route," he said. His expression dared her to comment on the sentimentality of that. She said nothing. "When I saw her in California she told me she'd been saving the vases." He swallowed, his gaze going to the window. "She wouldn't have left one behind."
Genny wrote that down, not because she thought she might forget, but to give him a chance to pull himself together. When she looked up again he was still staring out the window.
Her heart ached for him. She'd heard the gossip about him and Dr. Brennan, of course, but she'd taken it with a grain of salt. Office rumors were like a game of telephone anyway, rarely more than a little bit true. Seeing him like this, though, with worry coming off him in waves even her emotionally oblivious little brother would've noticed, made her think that maybe the rumor mill wasn't so far off base this time.
"What would you like me to do, sir?"
He started at her voice, his gaze snapping back to her as if he'd forgotten she was there.
"I've got a lead I need to follow up on," he said. "After that, I'll take Chicago. I want you to work backwards from there. Contact everybody along the line-hotels, bookstores, train stations, car rental agencies-anybody she might have had contact with. See if anything jumps out at you."
"Yes, sir." She was on her feet, lists flashing through her mind.
"Agent Shaw."
"Sir?" She looked across, saw the worry in his eyes.
"We need to work fast on this one. Anybody tries to pull you off for a different project, you send them to me."
"Yes, sir."
As she left the room, Agent Booth was reaching for the phone on his desk.
*x*x*x*x*
Chuck set the six-pack of beer and his bag of groceries on the hall table while he dug in his pocket for the apartment key. He was fitting it into the lock when he sensed a looming presence behind him. Acting on instinct, he dropped and and spun, putting his back to the door and closing his hands into tight fists, ready to strike.
He came up facing a tall, lean man with fire in his eyes and a badge in his hand.
"FBI," the man said. Something about his stance made Chuck think of a starving mountain lion eying its next meal. "Special Agent Seeley Booth."
Shit. F.B.I.
And he'd been warned about Booth.
Chuck opened his hands, palm up, and dropped back against the door, forcing himself to relax.
"I did my time," he said. "I'm a model citizen now. Got me a steady job-" He rapped his knuckles against the door at his back., "-my own place …" Folding his arms across his chest, he lifted his chin. "What does the F.B.I. want with me?"
"The F.B.I.-" Agent Booth said as he pushed deeper into Chuck's personal space, "-wants to know why you spent the last month following Temperance Brennan all over the country."
Cops were all alike. Once a guy had a record there was no such thing as innocent until proven guilty. Chuck had done his nickel, kept his nose clean during and since, and now the feds wanted to yank his chain. It pissed him off. And if he put so much as a toe out of line, Mr. High-and-Mighty here would probably find an excuse to haul him in. Much as it galled him to play the patsy, he knew that the best thing to do was to act harmless and not too bright. With that in mind he dropped his shoulders, widened his stance, and adopted a self-deprecating smile, topping it all off with a casual shrug.
"I like her books," he said, reverting to the stronger southern twang that had served him so well before. "There's no crime in that, is there?" He noted the tightness of Agent Booth's jaw, the dark shadows under his eyes. This was personal. He'd known that from the moment the man had identified himself, but apparently his employer had left out certain relevant information. No surprise there, really. Still, it might've been nice to know.
"No crime in liking them, that is," he said with a light chuckle calculated to ease the tension. "Plenty of crime in the books, though." He shook his head, still smiling. "Them tales she tells are fine as frog's hair."
Agent Booth's expression didn't change. He glanced up and down the hallway. "We can talk about this out here," he said, in a quietly menacing voice, "and risk your neighbors finding out that the cops are on your case-" He tilted his chin toward the still closed door. "Or we can talk in your apartment." Hands on his hips, Agent Booth rocked back on his heels. "Your choice."
Some choice. "Where are my manners?" Chuck said, ladling on the charm the way his Ma used to ladle gravy onto grits. "Please, do come in." He reached over, snagged the grocery sack and beer, and used his other hand to open the door. " Why don't you sit on down?" he said, leading the way inside. "Make yerself t'home. I'll be back in a trice."
When Chuck came back from the kitchen, Agent Booth was surveying the living room. Chuck watched him take in the chain store furniture, the piles of books, the small TV. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and waited.
"How does a guy who lives like this-" Agent Booth waved an arm, taking in the modest apartment in one wide sweep. "-afford to follow somebody all over the country just to get autographs?"
"That's easy." Chuck dropped into his favorite chair. It creaked a complaint, a familiar sound that he ignored as he propped his feet on the coffee table. "I didn't."
Agent Booth took a threatening step in his direction, and Chuck threw up his hands. "Relax," he said. Geez, the guy was jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof. "I was jus' doin' a favor for a friend."
"A friend." Agent Booth repeated, clearly impatient. "I want a name."
The man was seriously wired, his hand hovering near his gun in a way that made Chuck more than a little uneasy. Problem was, he'd made a promise, and Chuck didn't like to break his promises.
He crossed his arms. "I ain't no snitch, Agent Booth."
Before he could take a breath Booth's hand was around his throat, and Chuck felt his head slam against the back of the chair.
"The name," Booth snarled. "Now."
Chuck reached up, caught Agent Booth's little finger, twisted hard, and watched in satisfaction as Booth let go with a sharp curse.
"I gave my word," Chuck said, unmoved by his opponent's snarl. "You want me to break that, you better have a damned good reason."
Agent Booth took a half step back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Temperance Brennan is missing," he said tersely. "And right now you're my prime suspect. Is that a good enough reason?"
Oh. Chuck blew out a breath. This was bad. This was very bad. He considered his options, but it was a short list.
"Max Keenan," he said, and watched the name register in Agent Booth's eyes along with a new flare of irritation.
"Max Keenan paid you to stalk his daughter."
"Not stalk," Chuck corrected, easing off the accent. "He just asked me to keep an eye on his kid." If she really was missing, he should probably get out of town for a while. Keenan wasn't going to be happy when he found out. "And he paid my expenses. That's all." Chuck lifted his hands, a supplicant begging forgiveness. "Look, I owed him a favor. Besides-" He reached over, picked up a book from the table next to his chair, and waved it at Booth. "I love Dr. Brennan's stuff. So free travel? Autographed copies? Hell, I thought I'd won the lottery."
Booth shook his head. "I can't believe he didn't tell me."
Chuck knew that look. He'd seen it on other people who'd had dealings with Max Keenan.
"Yeah, well that's Max for ya'," he said sympathetically. "He ain't big on tellin' other people his business."
"Right." Booth looked irritated all over again, but at least this time his ire was directed at someone else. "So … what? Were you on the train with her, too? The hotels?"
"Nah. Max said his girl was too smart for that. Said if she saw me anyplace other'n the signings she'd figure out somethin' was up." He grinned. "He said she'd spit fire if'n she found out he was having her followed, so I'd better be damned sure I didn't get caught." The memory still tickled Chuck's funny bone. He'd never known Max to be cowed by anybody.
"Did you see anything suspicious along the way?" Agent Booth asked. "Anybody who seemed a little too interested in Dr. Brennan?"
"Well, I …" Chuck scratched his head. "No, I can't say as I did. In fact when I got back I thanked Max for the vacation and told him I thought he ought'ta relax about his little girl. I mean, she's a grown woman, right? She don't need a babysitter." His gaze collided with Booth's. "Then again," he coughed, "maybe she does."
Agent Booth didn't respond to that. Instead he got to his feet and pulled a business card out of his wallet.
"Call me if you think of anything else," he said. "And stay close in case I need to talk to you again."
Chuck snorted. "Look around you," he said, gesturing at the modest apartment. "I'm not exactly what you'd call an international playboy."
Unimpressed, Booth crossed to the door. "I'll be in touch," he said.
Chuck waved a hand in acknowledgement. "I'll be here," he said.
He stayed where he was for a long time after the click of the latch indicated Agent Booth's departure. Max had asked him to watch over Temperance's book signings, and he'd done that, keeping a sharp eye on the girl at every stop but that last one. He hadn't seen a thing. Max might take that to mean he hadn't been paying attention, but Chuck had another theory. Maybe whatever had happened to her didn't have anything to do with the tour.
Max Keenan had helped him out of more than one scrape without asking for anything in return. Now his daughter was missing, and Keenan's kids meant more to him than anything else in the world. Hell, it was a well-known fact that Max had killed, maybe more than once, to keep them safe. The least Chuck could do was call in a favor or two of his own.
With that in mind he got to his feet, and after a quick stop in the kitchen for a cold beer, grabbed his laptop and settled back down in his chair.
He had some emails to write.
*x*x*x*x*
It was league night, so Booth headed over to the bowling alley to look for Max, still seething over the time he'd wasted tracking down Chuck. As he'd expected, he found Max ensconced with his buddies, downing beer, gossiping, and ragging on the other teams. He strode over, pulling up between Max and the alleys and ignoring the protests from the other players.
"I need to talk to you," he said, and watched Max's eyebrows wing up at his tone. "Alone."
"Now?" Max asked. "I'm in the middle of a game, here."
"Yes, now." Booth waited impatiently until Max excused himself and got to his feet, then led the way to the snack bar and gestured Max toward an empty chair.
"Why didn't you tell me about Chuck Stevens?" he asked, and saw Max's face go carefully blank as he sat back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach.
"I'm sorry. What was that name again?"
Booth felt a muscle clench in his jaw. "Chuck Stevens," he repeated. "The man you hired to track Bones during her tour."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Max cast a genial smile and a wave toward a fellow bowler before meeting Booth's eyes once more. "I think this impending fatherhood thing is messing with your head, Booth."
"Don't be an ass." Booth didn't have the patience for games right now. "Bones is missing."
Max's head snapped up, his eyes flashing as he stiffened. "What do you mean, missing?"
"Exactly what I said."
"But I got a text message from her just the other night."
"Let me guess," Booth said. "She said she was taking some time off, that she'd be in touch, and not to call."
Max's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"Because she sent the same damned message to everybody on her contact list." There was a crash of falling pins behind them, followed by a cheer. Neither man turned to look. "And I've wasted most of the last two days tracking down a suspect who turned out to be your hired goon."
"Chuck wouldn't touch a hair on Tempe's head," Max said dismissively. "He knows I'd kill him if he did."
Booth leaned forward. "You should've told me, Max."
"And risked having you tell Tempe?" Max shook his head. "No way."
Reluctant amusement tugged at the corners of Booth's mouth. "What's wrong, Max? Afraid of your own daughter?"
"Damn straight I am. And you should be, too, if you know what's good for you." The answering humor in Max's eyes faded as quickly as it had come. "What makes you think she's missing?"
"Bones wouldn't just disappear," Booth said, sobering. "That's your MO."
"Ouch. That's a little harsh, don't you think?"
Ignoring him, Booth ticked off the evidence on his fingers. "She checked out of her hotel early, she skipped out on a lunch date with her publicist, she isn't answering her cell phone or returning messages, and nobody's seen her-not ticket agents or hotel clerks or even the hospitals-since the night she checked out."
"You called the hospitals?" Max's voice rose on the last word.
"Of course I checked the hospitals. It's standard procedure." Booth didn't add that every time he'd punched in the number for another one he'd done so with his heart in his throat, terrified of what he might learn. But in the end, learning nothing at all had been even worse. "And I could've done that a lot faster if I hadn't had to take time out to figure out who the hell Chuck was."
"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" Max's gaze sharpened as he went on the offensive. "But frankly, I shouldn't have had to use Chuck at all."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you should've been with her," Max said, every inch the protective father. "She's pregnant, for God's sake. What were you thinking, letting her go off alone like that?"
"Right." Booth sat back again, arms folded across his chest as he eyed Max across the table. "Like I could have stopped her." Not that he hadn't tried, of course, but Max didn't need to know the details of that particular conversation.
"Maybe not, but you could've been there for her, kept an eye on things yourself."
Booth stiffened. "I would have if I could have," he said tersely. "But I'm a working stiff, just like you are. I couldn't take that much time off. Speaking of which-" He studied the man across from him, noting the ten-dollar haircut and cheap, polyester bowling shirt. "-You aren't exactly rolling in dough yourself. Where'd you get the money to pay Chuck's expenses?"
Max wagged a finger at him. "That's none of your business," he said. "And stop trying to change the subject. You're my daughter's partner-or whatever the hell the two of you are calling it now. You're supposed to protect her."
"Yeah, well that'd be a hell of a lot easier to do if you didn't keep getting in my way."
"Hey, somebody's gotta look after my girl." Anger rose in Max's voice. "You got her pregnant. If you aren't going to make an honest woman out of her it seems like the least you could do would be to keep her and that baby safe."
In a flash, Booth was on his feet. He grabbed a handful of bowling shirt. Twisted. Pushed. And had the satisfaction of watching Max's eyes widen as his head slammed back.
He leaned in. "Bones is my life," he ground out. "I would do anything. Anything. To protect her." He eased his grip a little and straightened up. "And our relationship is our concern. Not yours."
"Sure it is." Max pushed his hand away and tugged his shirt back into place. "It just seems to me," he said calmly, "that if you really loved her you'd take better care of her."
"Right." Booth dropped his hands to his sides, but he didn't relax his stance. "The way you took care of Christine."
Pain flared in Max's eyes, and Booth felt a rush of remorse. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "That was out of line." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'm not thinking clearly right now."
Max raised his hands, palms forward, and shook his head. "No," he said. "You're right. I screwed up." He got to his feet, and for the first time Booth thought he looked old. "Don't let what happened to my wife happen to my daughter," he said. "Find her, Booth." He rested a heavy hand on Booth's shoulder. "Find my little girl."
Booth watched him walk away, watched the slope of his shoulders and the unfamiliar droop of his head.
"I will," he said quietly. "I'll bring her home, Max." He watched the other man's slow progress back to his team. "Bank on it."