Thank you so much for reading and for your feedback - it's much loved! This chapter is a little shorter, but there will be more to come soon. :)
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"C'mon, Sweets, let's go! Chop! Chop!" Booth commanded, dragging Lance out of his office.
"Is he always this demanding at the start of a case?" Lance asked Caroline.
"I have a feeling Agent Seeley Booth has a lady friend waiting for him," she replied.
"Hey – I just don't like my vacation being interrupted – especially by a bastard like Broadsky," Booth excused. "Now what've we got on him?"
"The security tapes are all blank after midnight. Nothing phony about 'em before that," Caroline answered.
"Even the ones on the outside?" Booth inquired.
"I'll call the prison. Meantime, you boys better not just sit around lookin' handsome," she advised.
"I'll pull up a suspect list. Broadsky still has a few people who'd do him favors. And someone has to be helping him," Booth said.
"Yeah, with his leg being injured, he couldn't have gone far without it," Lance agreed. "Was there anyone interviewed the last time that seemed like they still had ties with Broadsky?"
Booth thought for a moment, then pulled out the previous list.
"Leishenger's dead . . ." Booth said and looked at the rest of the possibilities.
"Did Broadsky have any family?" Lance asked.
"Just the girlfriend," Booth answered. "But she could be our key . . ."
"You think she helped him escape?" Lance wondered.
"Your tapes are on their way. Any luck finding suspects?" Caroline inquired.
"We think Broadsky's girlfriend might have some information for us. Sweets is gonna interview her," Booth answered and looked at Lance who nodded in agreement.
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"Hey, Bones," Booth greeted her over the phone late that night. "We finally tracked down Broadsky. Turns out, after talking with Broadsky's girlfriend, Broadsky has a son with her – Jordan Randall. And Randall drove a black Prius with unregistered plates out of state the same night Broadsky went missing. They're in a small town outside of Wheeling, West Virginia."
"Are you there right now?" Brennan asked.
"Yeah, in some flea-bag hotel waiting for Broadsky to show his face," he replied. "I'm takin' a break – Sweets is my lookout guy right now."
"I hope you're not staying there, Booth. You could contract multiple communicable diseases from a place like that," she told him.
"Yeah, I know. I borrowed your x-ray vision thingy and this place is disgusting," he agreed.
"It's a black light, Booth," Brennan corrected him.
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I may have to stay here if Broadsky doesn't come out soon. I need a clear shot," he explained.
"Be careful . . . Tell Dr. Sweets to do the same. He isn't suspicious of your calling me, is he?" she wondered.
"Nah," Booth lowered his voice and walked in the bathroom out of earshot in case Sweets came back inside. "I told him you wanted to know what was goin' on because of the situation. He knows you're still my partner and you care."
"Good. The last thing you need right now is one of his psychological analyses," she remarked. "Do you need my help with anything? Aside from sharing more memories of my mother, Dad's been trying to distract me with board games and poker."
"Is it working?" he asked.
"Games that have very little intellectual stimulus?" she answered.
"Right. But cards – I bet you're kicking his ass at that and lovin' it!" Booth guessed.
"My dad and I did have a few enjoyable rounds of Blackjack. But I'd rather be in the lab or in the field assisting you," Brennan replied.
"I know. Look, I'd better go before Sweets thinks something's goin' on," he said.
"I think my dad already does. He continues to ask me questions about my recent sexual partners and yours as well," she added.
"I doubt he asked that, Bones," Booth smirked.
"Well, that is what he was referring to," she argued.
"So what did you tell him?" Booth asked.
"I said that I preferred not to discuss it with him, and that your sexual encounters were your personal business," Brennan told him.
"I'm impressed . . . He didn't buy it, did he?" he assumed.
"He didn't question me anymore . . . however, every time I mentioned your name or that I hoped you were alright, he smiled at me as if he was aware of something I wasn't," she answered. "Of course, he has always assumed that you and I were more than partners."
"True. It'll be fun stringin' old Max along for a few more weeks," Booth mused. "Your dad's very perceptive, but we won't let him have the satisfaction of knowing it just yet."
She giggled.
"This is going to be quite enjoyable . . . But you should go," she advised.
"Right," he agreed, reluctantly.
"Booth?" Brennan said.
"Yeah, Bones?" he answered.
"Please be careful," Brennan pleaded.
"I will. I'll call you tomorrow morning . . . And I – you know," he told her discreetly.
"I love you, too," she said, hanging up.
Booth smiled. He'd never get tired of hearing her say that. But as he walked back up to the roof, he realized he needed to get the stupid grin off his face before he gave himself away.
"You and Dr. Brennan had a very long conversation," he observed.
"So?" Booth shrugged.
"Would you like to discuss it?" Lance offered.
"It's none of your damn business, Sweets! Now tell me what you found out," Booth snapped. Honestly, that kid needed to get a life of his own.
"Dr. Brennan must be going through a difficult time right now. She'd worked closely with Vincent and developed a bond with him as his mentor. To watch him die in front of her has to have a traumatic effect on her life. On yours, too, Agent Booth," Sweets analyzed. "And now her partner is facing danger, once again, at the hands of the man who killed her intern. I'm sure you guys had a lot to say to each other."
"Look, Sweets. I told you this is not the time," Booth insisted.
"It's perfectly natural for two surviving victims to seek support in one another after a tragedy. They share common interests and fears, a mutual understanding of each other's emotions. It's a great coping mechanism," Lance continued.
"Put a sock in it, Sweets!" Booth demanded. "Bones and I are fine – we don't need you constantly analyzing us! Just stick to helping me take down Broadsky and everything can get back to normal again – me and Bones in the field and you in your little shrink office . . ."
"Ah! And that right there is a perfect indicator that you are not fine. Denial that something is wrong yet the admittance that you want your life to return to how it was–" Lance relentlessly continued.
Booth grabbed Lance by the collar.
"Sweets, I swear to god, if you don't shut your freakin' trap I'll –" Booth threatened, until he noticed someone moving on the opposite side of the hotel. "That's Broadsky!"
"What? Where?" Lance asked.
"There – getting ice out of the machine," Booth pointed.
"How can you tell it's him?" Lance wondered.
"Jesus, Sweets! Weren't you paying attention while I took a break? Because he's got a crutch, he's favoring his left leg, and he just came out of room 107," he explained. "I don't have time to babysit you on this! Move! We've gotta be quick. What's the wind speed?"
"4 mph from the northwest," Lance said.
Booth lined up his target, but wasn't fast enough. Broadsky had gone back inside.
"Damn it!" Booth exclaimed.
"Wait – Booth, he's coming out again – with Randall. They're headed for the car," he noticed. "Wind speed is 2 mph northwest."
Booth aimed the gun and fired. Broadsky instantly fell to the ground. However, Randall instinctively fired back. Booth took a shot at him merely a second afterward and attempted to protect them both . . . then everything turned black.