Booth was in his office before dawn the next day, having gone home just long enough to grab a couple of hours of restless sleep, a shower, and a change of clothes. After firing off an email to Hacker to plead for more time, he sent updates to both Caroline and Cam. Then he opened his photo viewing software and started going through Todd's pictures again.
More than seventy-two hours had passed with no word from Bones, and every additional minute made it less likely that he would find her. He knew that. He also knew he had to concentrate on the positives. Her passport hadn't been used at any border crossings, she hadn't turned up at any hospitals, and her name hadn't appeared on any police blotters. That was the good news.
But she also hadn't used her credit cards or her phone, and she wasn't answering her email.
And his only lead in the case had turned out to be a dead end.
Agent Shaw was still making calls, but for now Booth was reduced to sifting through book-tour pictures and hoping that something would jump out at him.
He reached for his coffee and took a gulp without thinking, then cursed when the scalding liquid burned his tongue. The ring of the phone, unnaturally loud in the silence of the empty building, made him jump, sending more coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup and onto his hand. He snatched up the handset with one hand and reached for a napkin with the other.
"Booth," he snapped, tucking the phone into the crook of his neck while he swiped at the mess and glared at the spreading stain on his last clean shirt.
"Hi, it's … it's Angela." She sounded taken aback, and Booth wanted to curse again, but at himself this time. She didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his bad mood.
"Yeah, Ange. Sorry. Spilled my coffee." He dropped the damp napkin in the trash, his eyes going to the blue-gray light outside his office window. "You're up early."
"Michael was hungry," she said, by way of explanation. "I assumed you'd be at work, so I thought I'd give you a call."
"I see." He leaned back in his chair, eyes on his monitor. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you heard anything new?" She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to.
"You know I would have called you if I had." He consciously gentled his voice, forcing back his own impatience in deference to hers.
"Do you think she's okay?" Controlled fear lurked beneath her words. She wasn't just worried anymore. Hell, they'd both careened past worried a long time ago. Booth let out a long, slow breath.
"I have to believe she is," he said. A click of his mouse sent a blurry image of an elderly couple off to the left while a businesswoman slid in from the right. "Try to be patient, Angela. These things take time." The advice sounded weak, probably because the needle on his own patience gauge had registered empty for days.
"We're still making calls," he said, "and we haven't finished going through these pictures yet. Something will turn up."
"Can I help?" she asked. "I'll do anything, Booth. Anything at all. I just can't stand this waiting."
He started to turn her down, then reconsidered. Maybe there was something.
"Do you have time to go through some pictures for us?" he asked. She was still an exhausted new mother, but Angela had the sharpest eyes of anybody he knew. If there was anything to be found in the photographic evidence, she'd be the one to spot it.
The eager relief in her voice was almost palpable. "I'd be happy to," she said. "Send me the files and I'll get started right away."
A movement at his door snagged his attention, and he looked up to see Agent Shaw. She wore an anxious, restless look on her face that told him she needed to talk, and she tapped one finger against the edge of the notepad she held in her hand. He waved her inside.
"I'll send the files now," he said to Angela. "There are a lot of pictures here. Bones's publicist is a real shutterbug. I'll also send the security footage we've gotten from the bookstores." When they'd learned that one of their best-selling authors was missing, the managers had been eager to help.
"Good deal. And Booth?"
"Yeah?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing exhaustion away.
"Thanks."
Doing something, no matter how trivial, was always better than just waiting. "You're welcome."
He ended the call and turned his attention to Shaw, who was standing in front of his desk looking decidedly uneasy.
"What've you got?"
"I don't know, sir. Maybe nothing."
He couldn't get a read on her. She seemed both thrilled and pissed about whatever she had discovered. "Don't just stand there," he prodded. "Spit it out."
Instead of answering she handed over the legal pad she'd brought in with her, keeping back a separate manila folder.
He raised his eyebrows at her as he took it. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"
She shook her head slowly. "I think you'd better read it for yourself."
He leaned back in his chair and skimmed through her neatly written notes. Then, in growing dismay, he read them again. Two words stood out against the pale yellow paper, words that made a sickening combination of rage and fear coil in his gut.
"You're sure about all this?" he asked her, clamping down hard on the wrenching emotions that threatened to spin him out of control.
"Yes, sir. I've double checked everything twice." She handed over the folder.
He heard Bones's voice in his head. Double-checked twice? Does that mean she checked it four times? But he kept the thought to himself as he flipped through the contents of the folder. First the rap sheet with the details of the sexual assault charge. Then the mug shot. Booth studied the photograph. Six two by the scale on the wall. Pale skin. Goatee. Narrow-set eyes and thin lips. Don Woods wasn't quite ugly, but he was no Prince Charming, either.
"The charges were dropped, but …"
"Dropped charges aren't the same thing as false charges," Booth acknowledged, without looking up. "He's in Atlanta?"
"Yes, sir. I've listed his current address on the third page. There's a sat photo of the home tacked behind it."
Booth flipped over and checked the address, then looked at the picture. Small house. Single story. What looked like a one car garage. There was a big magnolia tree in the front yard.
"He lives alone?" Booth asked, jaw clenched as he continued to study the photograph.
"His name is the only one on the lease."
He looked up. "You didn't contact the landlord?"
"No answer. I left a message, but …" She gave a light shrug.
He nodded his understanding. He didn't know anybody who would be eager to return a call from the F.B.I, and if this particular landlord was at all on the shady side, they could expect a callback about the time hell froze over.
Booth studied the photograph for a few more seconds before turning back to rifle through the rest of the information.
"This is good work, Agent Shaw." He closed the folder. "I'll arrange leave with Hacker." He reached into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and handed her a credit card. "Get us two tickets," he said. "First available flight." It would be hard enough getting Hacker to approve the trip. No way would they be allowed to expense it.
"Two?"
"Yeah. I want you to tag along." He didn't tell her that she might need to restrain him. She'd figure that out soon enough. And God help Woods if he'd laid a hand on Bones.
It was late afternoon by the time their flight landed in Atlanta. With no need to stop at baggage claim Booth led Genny on a beeline through the airport to the car rental agency. He sent up a prayer of gratitude when they arrived to find that nobody was in line ahead of them, and twenty minutes later they were on their way, Genny fiddling with the on-board GPS while Booth threaded the car through rush-hour traffic.
It was always strange having somebody other than Bones in the passenger seat. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, either. He'd partnered with other FBI agents, had even taken Sweets out from time to time. But nobody owned that seat the way Bones did. She belonged there, though she would no doubt argue that point, taunting him with obscure anthropological trivia until he huffed at her and cranked up the radio.
The fact was, he missed her. He missed her logic and her arguments. He missed her social missteps - even the cringe worthy ones. He missed her laugh. He missed the feel of her skin and the way her body moved against his and the sounds she made when he got her to stop thinking for a little while. But most of all he missed seeing that soft look in her eyes, the one that brought a lump to his throat and made his heart hammer in his chest.
He remembered the night he'd told Cam that he and Bones were together. It was a couple of weeks after Michael's birth, and he and Bones had decided that they wouldn't be stealing anybody's thunder by sharing their news with the world. He'd arranged to meet Cam for dinner at a little Italian place a few blocks from the Hoover building. After they placed their orders and had their first sips of wine Cam sat back, folded her arms, and gave him that no-nonsense stare that would have cowed a lesser man but which only made him grin.
"All right, Seeley. Out with it."
"What?" He tried for casual, missed, and reached for his napkin, ducking his head while he settled it across his lap.
"Seeley Joseph Booth. I've known you for a lot of years," She unfolded her own napkin and arranged it on her lap without looking down. "You think I can't tell when you're hiding something from me?"
He studied her, pondering his approach. The way he saw it he had two choices. He could carpet-bomb the news and then sit back and watch the fallout, or he could ease into it, which wouldn't be as much fun, but might be better for Cam's blood pressure.
To hell with it.
"Bones is pregnant," he said, with that same rush of elation and pride he still felt every time he said the words. "We're moving in together as soon as we can find a place."
Cam had been about to take another sip of wine. She hesitated for an instant before draining the glass, then lowered it just enough to eye him warily over its rim.
"What did you just say?"
"Bones is pregnant," he repeated patiently. "We're moving in together."
Cam set her glass down with an audible thud.
"How did that happen?" she asked. He opened his mouth to answer, but she snapped a hand up. "Never mind." With a jerk of her head, she signalled their waiter over for a drink refill.
"You know ..." she said when the waiter had left, "when I said you should follow your heart, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."
"Oh?" He was enjoying this way more than he should, but Cam was always so together. He couldn't resist the chance to throw her off balance. "Maybe you should've been more specific. Ouch!" He reached down and rubbed at his leg. "Really, Camille? You're going to kick me in the shin? Isn't that a little third-grade?"
"I would've kicked you in the ass if you weren't sitting on it," she snapped. She leaned in, her eyes darting fire. "What the hell were you thinking?"
He grinned at her, undaunted. "The way I remember it, we weren't doing much thinking at the time," he said, his body warming at the memory.
Her snort of derision drew curious glances from the next table. Cam ignored them. "I'm serious, Seeley. This is …"
Booth reached over to cover her hand with his. "It's a miracle is what it is," he said quietly.
Her gaze came up, and she studied him hard for a few seconds, her head canted a little to one side. "You're happy about this."
"No," he corrected. "I'm ecstatic." He and Bones may have come at this relationship a little lopsided, but now that they were there, he couldn't be happier.
Cam shook her head. "I knew you were in love with her," she said. "But a baby? Isn't it a little soon?" Their server arrived with their salads, and she waited until he left to continue. "You do know how relationships are supposed to work, don't you? You date for a while, you get engaged, you get married … Then you have a baby."
He hadn't really expected such a traditional view from her. "Bones doesn't do marriage."
She paused with her fork midway between her plate and her mouth, half of a cherry tomato caught neatly in its tines. "No marriage."
"Nope."
"And you're okay with that, good Catholic boy like you?"
He'd have to do his own soul-searching on that one. Cam couldn't do it for him. "Let's just say I'm living with it. For now."
"Uh huh." She popped the tomato into her mouth, watching him while she chewed thoughtfully.
"Look. Cam. There's a lot we haven't sorted out, but here's what I do know." He ticked his points off on his fingers, like he was making a case for the grand jury. "One. I love Bones. I tried not to. I tried to let her go. It didn't work. Crazy as it sounds, I can't imagine not wanting to be a part of her life. Two. Bones is pregnant with my kid, and there's no way that I'm going to be a drive-by dad this time around."
She swallowed, her gaze serious. "Have you talked to Father MacNamarra about this?"
Father Mac was his priest. Eighty years old, with squirrel-tail brows and eyes that could cow a mischievous ten-year-old one minute and soothe the broken heart of a bereaved parishioner the next, Father Mac would definitely have an opinion about Booth's decision. "Not yet."
"You know what he's going to say."
Booth knew. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to, either. But he didn't need Cam to remind him of that.
"This isn't about my faith, Cam."
"Isn't it?" she pressed. "As I recall, Father Mac is pretty old-school."
It was true. At the very least Booth would get a lecture about living in sin, but he'd deal with that when the time came. At any rate, it wouldn't change his mind. About anything.
"What about your grandfather?" Cam asked. Apparently she thought she'd made her point about the church. "Does he know yet?"
"No." Booth shook his head. "But he'll be thrilled." It was an understatement. Pops never missed an opportunity to tell Booth what a knucklehead he was for not snapping Bones up years ago.
"You should tell him."
"We're going to see him this weekend." Their server arrived, his arms loaded with plates and a fresh basket of bread. Booth sat back, arms crossed. "Now. Is the inquisition over?"
"One more question and then I promise I'll stop being all big-sister on you," Cam said.
Booth took a forkful of his lasagna, watching the cheese stretch and then break as he lifted it up. He grinned at Cam over the top of the steaming pasta. "And give up the chance to offer advice? No way."
Cam snorted. "Yeah, well, somebody has to keep an eye on you." She speared a bite of chicken carbonara. "Just look at the mess you get yourself into when I'm not around."
He raised an eyebrow at her and then slowly put down his fork. "Let's get one thing straight," he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "Bones and I are adults, not starry-eyed kids." He saw her wince. Ignored it. "And nothing about our having a baby together is a 'mess'." He picked up his fork again, but he didn't take his eyes off hers. "We've got some problems, yes. But they're our problems, and we're working them out in our own way and our own time. If you're not on board with that you need to let me know now."
She didn't say anything for several long moments. Then she shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. "I just don't want to see you get hurt," she said.
"This is what I want, Camille. What I've wanted for a long time. Besides-" He gave a quick, lighthearted shrug, hoping to lighten the moment. "No pain no gain, right?" He cut another bite of lasagna, pausing with it halfway to his mouth. "Now what was that other question?"
She took a sip from her refilled wine glass and dabbed at her lips with her napkin before answering. "I just wondered if the FBI was going to let you two keep working together."
His snort of amusement drew her eyes back to his over her bite of carbonara. "Yeah. Bones told Hacker that if she couldn't continue working with me, she wouldn't consult for the F.B.I anymore. And Hacker knows that if he loses Bones, he loses the Jeffersonian. He didn't put up much of a fight."
"I see." There was a twinkle in Cam's eyes, and he knew she was imagining the scene. Hacker was nearly as intimidated by Bones as he was enamored of her. "He didn't even quibble?"
"Not much, no. He just said to use Sweets as backup when she gets to the point where visiting crime scenes is an issue." He suspected Bones would never decide that on her own, so he'd have to keep a close eye on her. But he'd gotten pretty good at protecting Bones from herself over the years.
"Aha." She nodded in that way she had that meant she'd figured something out, and he eyed her quizzically.
"What?"
"It's the best of both worlds for Hacker, isn't it. He still gets to rely on the Jeffersonian's expertise, but he also has plausible deniability if something goes wrong. I always knew he was a smart bastard."
"Nothing's going to go wrong, Camille."
"I hope not," she said. "I really, really do."
But something had gone wrong. Maybe it wasn't the kind of wrong Cam had been warning him about, but the end result was the same. And the icing on the cake was that in spite of what he'd told Max, he couldn't help a niggling feeling that it was somehow his fault, that if he'd been with her or even talked her out of doing the tour all together, she wouldn't be missing right now.
A light touch on his arm drew his attention back to the present and Agent Shaw. Heat shimmered up from the pavement ahead of them as she pointed. "That's our exit, sir."
Lost in thought, he'd been driving on auto-pilot, barely aware of the heavy traffic. Reprimanding himself as he studied his surroundings, he nodded and made the lane change. He needed to focus. He wasn't any good to Bones if he kept zoning out.
They pulled up in front of the nondescript clapboard house about twenty minutes later and were halfway up the cracked walkway when Booth heard raised voices coming from pulled out his gun, released the safety, and edged up the steps, then nodded at Shaw as she took up a position on the other side of the door. There was a crash from inside the house, a howl of pain, and another crash. Booth pounded on the door.
"F.B.I!" he shouted. "Open up!"
Another crash with no verbal response had Booth yanking open the screen door himself. He swung inside and around the corner, gun raised and braced. Then he froze.
"Max?" What the hell? "What are you doing here?"
Max spun around, chest heaving. "Booth!" he panted. He broke into a wide smile and tucked his hands into his pockets, but not before Booth spied the telltale bloodied knuckles. "Imagine meeting you here."
There were three men in the room, two of whom Booth already knew. After a curt nod in Chuck's direction, Booth tilted his chin toward the man who was struggling to his feet, blood streaming from what looked like a broken nose.
"Don Woods?"
"Got it in one," Max said, clearly unrepentant. "We were just having ourselves a little chat," he said. "Nice of you to join us." He shot a quizzical glance at Booth's companion. "Who's your partner?"
"Agent Genny Shaw," Booth said tersely. He glanced over at her. "You can holster your weapon," he said. "I don't think any of these yahoos are going anywhere."
Shaw eyed the others warily. "Would you like me to call for backup, sir?"
"No need." Booth safetied his own weapon and slid it back into its holster. "This is Max Keenan," he said with a wave of his hand. "And that's Chuck Stevens." There was a grubby kitchen towel on the back of the couch. Booth snagged it and tossed it to Don, watching as the other man dabbed at his nose.
"You're lucky I got here when I did," he said unsympathetically. "Max has a tendency to kill people who threaten his daughter."
Don's eyes went wide as they shifted back to Max, and Booth saw Shaw's gaze sharpen as well when she realized who Max was and the possible ramifications of his presence.
"Now, Booth." Max dropped onto the couch, lifting his feet onto the worn hassock on the floor in front of it. "Don't scare the kid like that. It isn't polite."
"Why are you here?" Booth asked, eying Chuck's neat gray suit and burgundy tie. The man looked more like an insurance agent than the low-grade thug he was. Max and Chuck must have used a door to door salesmen ploy to get inside.
Stevens shrugged. "I'm just along for the ride," he said, that distinctive twang creeping back into his voice as Chuck donned his southern gentleman persona.
"Right." Kicking aside a broken lamp, Booth stepped closer to Don. "F.B.I," he said, flashing his badge for formality's sake. "Special Agent Seeley Booth. Tell me what you know about Dr. Temperance Brennan."
"I know that she's a bitch," Don said, then leapt aside when Booth lunged at him with a snarl of rage.
Booth watched in satisfaction as Don tripped over a rickety coffee table and landed with a whoosh of expelled air in an old easy chair, nearly sending it over backward. There was a snort of amusement from behind him, but Booth didn't turn around, too busy fighting the urge to add an imprint of his own knuckles to Woods's face.
"Better watch yourself, kid," Max said equably. "Agent Booth here is my daughter's boyfriend."
Booth straightened, taking a deep breath and consciously relaxing his fists.
"Sir?" Shaw's glance darted from him to Max. Her hand hovered over her holstered weapon. "Would you prefer I handle this interrogation?"
Booth shook his head. "Just keep an eye on those two clowns," he said. "Max claims he doesn't intend to kill anybody, but don't trust him for a second."
"You wound me, Booth." Max's innocent act was starting to get on Booth's nerves. "Surely you can trust me. After all, I'm practically your father-in-law."
Don shrank back against the ancient chair as if wishing it would swallow him up, but Booth only leaned closer, one hand on each armrest.
"Talk," he growled, pleased when Don cringed.
"I met her on the train." The desperate whine set Booth's teeth on edge. "She was hot, you know?" Don flinched at Booth's glare. "She was alone, and I was alone, and … Hell, how was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend? It isn't like she advertised it."
"You were an Amtrak employee," Booth said, only just managing not to snarl. "I'm sure they have policies against harassing the passengers."
"I didn't harass her," Don protested. "I just sent her a few notes is all. I thought she might want to hook up. You know, have a little fun, alleviate the boredom ..."
There was a sharp movement behind Booth's back, and he glanced up to see Shaw whip her gun back out. Her voice rang with an authority Booth hadn't heard from her before.
"Sit down, sir!"
Booth turned to see Max halfway off the couch. The fury in the older man's eyes matched his own, but Booth was damned if he was going to let that, or Max, get in the way of his investigation. He waited until Max shifted his gaze from Shaw to him, then shook his head slightly.
"Sit down." he said. "I've got this." He waited for Max's reluctant nod before turning back to Don. "Three notes, according to Amtrak," he said. None of which Bones had mentioned to him, but he couldn't think about that right now. "And then you accosted her."
The report Agent Shaw had shown him had been short but succinct. Hell, Bones had probably written it herself.
On the second night of the trip from Seattle to Minneapolis Don had turned up at the door to Bones's sleeper, tried to force his way inside, and when she pushed him out he'd dragged her with him, shoving her against the wall and, as the report put it, touching her inappropriately while making crude suggestions and threatening to hurt her if she didn't comply with his wishes. The mere thought of it made bile rise to the back of Booth's throat.
Bones had handled the situation neatly, though. According to her report she'd turned the tables on Don, slamming him face-first against the window while she yanked his arm up behind him hard enough to tear his rotator cuff. The summary didn't indicate her exact words, but whatever she'd said had ended the altercation, and she'd stepped back into the room, locking the door behind her. Then she'd called an attendant, filed her report, and apparently considered the matter ended. As far as Booth knew she'd never discussed the incident again, not even with Angela, who would have told him about it if she'd known.
"She got me sacked," Don said bitterly. "They cancelled my medical insurance. And my arm's still not right."
Booth wanted to hurt more than Don's arm. He wanted to take the man apart piece by piece. Hell, Max would help.
"Let me up," Max said, as if reading his mind. "I'll be happy to fix that arm for him."
Shaw's voice interrupted Booth's thoughts. "Sir …"
Booth looked up, saw the wary concern in her eyes, the studied grip of her hand on her gun, but she kept her voice too low for the others to hear.
"Don't let him get to you, sir. He isn't worth it."
Booth sighed. "I know." But he was slow to draw back, unwilling to give the slimeball in front of him any more wiggle room than he had to.
Don shot a grateful look at Shaw, and Booth almost grinned when her lip curled and her eyes flashed with disdain as she took a half step back, distancing herself from him.
"What did you do next?" Booth asked, drawing Don's attention back to the subject at hand.
Don glared at him. "What do you think I did? No job means no money. My ma had to send me a ticket so I could get back home. I've been here ever since."
"I don't believe you," Booth ground out. "I think you followed Dr. Brennan to Chicago looking for revenge." The thought of it turned his stomach, and he had to force the words past the sick fear that rose in his throat as he twisted his fist in a handful of Don's bloodied t-shirt with its British rock-band logo.
"What? No! I came straight back here!" Don tried to stand up. Booth shoved him back down. "I can prove it! Ticket stub's in the other room!" His right eye was swollen almost completely shut, but Booth saw the beginnings of panic in the watery depths of the other one. "Why do you care, anyway?"
Max answered the question before Booth could. "Because she's missing, you son-of-a-bitch."
"Mr. Keenan!" The whiplash crack of Shaw's voice snapped Booth's head up and around. "Step back!"
Max was on his feet, fury rolling off of him in waves. Booth was tempted to call Shaw off, leave the house, and pretend he didn't know Max was here. Instead he turned to Chuck.
"He's your responsibility," Booth said. "He brought you down here to keep him from killing this bastard. You'd better do that unless you want to be arrested as an accessory to murder."
"But he said-" Chuck's protest lacked even the faintest hint of authenticity. "He said he just wanted company."
Max nodded and sat back down. "That's right-"
"Bullshit." Booth said, interrupting before Max could start fabricating excuses. "Max Keenan is a sociopath, but he's a brilliant sociopath. He knows what'll happen to him if this jackass turns up dead. He brought you with him to be his guard dog, so be his god damned guard dog already."
Without waiting for Chuck's response Booth spun back to Don and hauled him to his feet. "You'd better hope you can put your hands on that ticket stub in a hurry," he said. "As a federal agent, I have to uphold the law, but Max here doesn't mind bending the rules when it suits him."
Don nodded and scurried out of the room. Booth caught Shaw's eye. "Go with him," he said. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."
Shaw nodded. Booth waited until she'd gone before turning back to Max and Chuck. "How the hell did you two find out about Don?"
"I know somebody who works for Amtrak," Chuck said. "After you left my place I shot him an email. He did some snooping. Got the lowdown on Don. Told me Woods had gotten fired for sexual misconduct, that some lady had chewed him a new one for making a move on her." Chuck shot Max a questioning glance, and Booth caught the slight head shake in response. There was more to the story, but Booth doubted he'd ever learn the truth. Not from these two, anyway. "I told Max," Chuck went on with a shrug, "and we wound up here."
Booth glared at Max. "I should've known you were putting one over on me at the bowling alley," he said, annoyed with himself. Max wasn't the kind of man who would sit around and wait for Booth to find his daughter.
Don walked back in before Max could answer. He waved a handful of paperwork at the others, a triumphant expression on his face. "See? I told you I had proof." From behind him, Agent Shaw gave Booth a slight nod. She'd examined the ticket and verified its authenticity. Apparently at least that much of Don's alibi checked out.
Booth took the ticket "According to this," he said, scanning it, "you left Minneapolis four days before Dr. Brennan disappeared." He looked up. "Am I supposed to believe that once you got here you stayed put?"
"My ma'll vouch for me," Don protested, looking from Booth to Max and back again. "I haven't left Atlanta since I got back."
"Your ma." Max's icy disdain was sharp as a knife-blade. "I bet you didn't tell her why you lost your job."
"Max …" Booth shot a glance at him. Max's jaw clenched, but he shut up. "Anybody else see you since you've been back?" Booth asked Don. "Clerk at the grocery store? Gas station attendant? Anybody?"
"Nope." Don shook his head. "I been pretty depressed. Ain't left the house in days."
Booth's cellphone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket without taking his eyes off Don. "Booth."
"Booth. It's Angela." She sounded tense. And there was something else in her voice, too. A kind of eager, dog-on-a-scent tone that brought Booth's head up and sharpened his attention.
"Hey, Ange. I'm kind of busy here. What's up?"
"I need you to get back here right away." He heard a faint click. Then another. "I think I might've found something."
Booth's pulse skipped, then raced ahead. "Yeah. Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can."
He ended the call, pocketed his phone, and lifted his head, considering what to do about Don. Woods probably wasn't his man, but Booth wasn't stupid enough to let the guy out of his sight until he was sure. Problem was, the FBI wasn't going to sanction a surveillance detail based on Booth's gut-especially when Booth himself didn't think the guy was worth the effort.
He shifted his gaze to Max and Chuck. The two of them certainly weren't his first choice, but right now they were all he had. "I've got a job for you two."
"Yeah?" Max asked eagerly. "You want me to break one arm or two?"
"None." Though Booth couldn't deny that the idea had merit. "I want you and Chuck to stick around Atlanta for a few days. Keep an eye on our friend here."
"Where are you going to be?" Max asked suspiciously.
"I need to get back to D.C.," Booth said. "I have a couple of leads I need to follow up on, and I don't want Don to disappear while Agent Shaw and I are running them down." He also didn't want Max getting into any more trouble, but he knew better than to say that out loud. "I'll keep you in the loop, but I need you to do this for me." He paused, saw the skepticism in Max's eyes, and pushed just a little bit harder. "I can't concentrate on looking for Bones if this guy isn't under wraps, but I don't have enough evidence to hold him." He glanced at Don, waited for the other man to meet his eyes. "Yet."
When he found Bones he would talk to her about filing formal charges, but he doubted she would agree. She was smart enough to know what her chances were of winning a case like that. Still, the threat of it might be enough to keep Don under control for a few days.
"My little girl is missing," Max said, obviously not happy. "And I'm just supposed to sit around here and wait until you call?"
Booth had expected reluctance. He just hoped it didn't turn into mutiny.
"Yeah, Max. That's exactly what I want you to do." He crossed the room and dropped to a crouch in front of Max. He saw the agony in the other man's eyes. The fear. The worry. They were reflections of his own feelings. "It's what I need you to do right now."
Booth watched Max look over at Chuck. Saw Chuck's faint nod. Max sighed and turned back to Booth.
"Fine," he said. "You've got three days. But if I don't hear from you I'm coming back to D.C."
"Fair enough," Booth said, with a silent prayer that he'd have Bones back long before the three days were over. "Thanks, Max."
Without answering, Max turned to Don. "You got anything to eat in this dump?"
Getting to his feet, Booth caught Shaw's eye. "Let's go," he said, with a glance at his watch. "Flight leaves in two hours."
*x*x*x*x*
Angela studied the monitors carefully. She didn't have much. Four photographs and a few seconds of grainy video. That was it. Still, what she was seeing in the images made her uneasy. She just wasn't sure it was enough to pin an investigation on. She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and glanced at her watch. Hodgins had phoned a few minutes ago to ask when she'd be home, and she'd had to tell him she didn't know. She was waiting for Booth. She wasn't going anywhere until she talked to him.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Booth appeared in her doorway with a dark-haired young woman in tow.
"Agent Genny Shaw," he said, apparently catching her curious glance. "She's been helping me look for Bones."
"Nice to meet you," Angela said, and received a polite nod in return. "Kind of small for an F.B.I. agent, isn't she?" she said to Booth.
He glanced over at Shaw, then back to Angela. "She holds her own." His gaze shifted to the monitors, but Angela caught the flash of quiet pride in Agent Shaw's eyes. "What've you got?" he asked.
"Not much," Angela admitted, "but I think it's worth checking out." She led them over to her work area. "These-" she pointed to the first monitor. She'd split the screen into quadrants, one image per quarter. "-are from the photographs that Brennan's publicist sent."
Only one of the pictures showed the face clearly. A woman. Angela judged her to be about five nine. Her dark eyes and hair, prominent cheekbones, and narrow facial structure were distinctive enough that Angela had noticed her immediately. When the woman had turned up in more than one of Todd's photographs, Angela had tagged the images and started reviewing the store footage again.
"She's in four of the pictures that Todd sent over. Two from Atlanta," she pointed them out on the top two quadrants of her screen, "one from Seattle," bottom left, "and one from Chicago." Bottom right. That one had been harder to spot, as the woman had been only one of many faces in a wide-angle group shot.
Booth shook his head. "Chuck Stevens was at every event, Angela. This is three stops. I need more to go on."
"Okay, then. How about this?" She'd queued up the video before his arrival, and now she reached for her remote. "This is the security video from the Atlanta store," she said. "Watch closely."
She hit the play button, then watched Booth as the feed spooled up on her larger main screen. It showed Brennan talking on her cellphone. There was no audio, but she seemed happy. Relaxed. At one point they saw her laugh.
"She was talking to me," Angela said, her heart aching as she wondered where Brennan was right now and whether she was okay. "She phoned me right after the Atlanta signing."
"I don't understand," Booth said. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Look here." Angela pointed to the bottom corner of the video.
"Right. The woman again. I see that. But we already knew she was there from Todd's pictures."
"Watch more closely." Angela rewound the video, hit the zoom button, and the three of them watched the woman pick up a book. "Look at her eyes and the angle of her head."
They watched her open the book and appear to study the inside flap of the jacket, but on closer inspection it became clear that she wasn't reading.
She was listening in on Brennan's conversation.
"Booth..." Angela waited until he looked over at her, then held his gaze, watching his eyes widen with alarm as she told him the rest. "We were talking about the baby."