A/N: I apologize for my lack of an update last week, but my motivation sort of vanished when writer's block encroached on my personal space. I fought it down last night, though, and managed to finish this one off. It's pretty long, so I hope that makes up for the wait!
I still don't own them, sadly enough.
Chapter 18
October 11th, 2011
He had made breakfast for her every morning, so she wasn't surprised in the least when she slid out of the otherwise empty bed in the morning to find the smell of pancakes and bacon fresh in the air. In the kitchen, she found him humming happily to himself, hovering over the stove with a spatula in hand, and she took a moment to lean against the wooden door frame to observe.
The night before, the cabin had been warm with the fire going and the blankets curled around their bodies as they sat on the couch and traded the conversation back and forth between baby books and her latest manuscript. In the light of the new morning, though, a chilly wind had picked up outside and was whistling through the trees. The carpet was thin, and the rooms were cool despite the small fire he must have started when he woke up. He wore a bathrobe loosely around his shoulders, and she could see that he was wearing sweatpants underneath, but was willing to be that was his only attire at the moment.
At first, when they had arrived, she thought she might get bored with so much time away from work and the strict stipulation from him that casework was an off-limit topic. "This is a vacation, Bones. Not a working vacation." She realized now that she should not have worried, though: Booth was all the entertainment she could possibly need. He had brought along board games and a deck of cards, but the past few nights whatever they were doing tended to get forgotten as they got lost in their conversations and forgot all about whose turn it was.
In some ways, she felt like she was just meeting him for the first time. All these years getting to know him, and there was still so much to learn; there was so much of him left to explore. She knew he felt the same way about her. They talked like teenagers on a first date, popping questions at one another out of mere curiosity and often finding so much more behind them once the idea was sparked into the air.
Booth has asked her, at one point, about what her favorite toy had been as a child. Her first thought had been to say, as she had when Angela had posed this question, that she hadn't possessed a favorite toy. Or many toys at all, really. But truthfully, that wasn't the best answer. There had been a time before the microscopes and the dead animals.
"I don't remember much about it," she had told him, "But my father talks a lot about a Chatty Cathy doll that I enjoyed immensely."
From there he had told her about a signed baseball bat he'd had when he was twelve, and a toy soldier set he had found in the attic that Pops had played with when he was a child.
It was conversations like that which she found most enjoyable. There were rough patches in the timelines of the stories they were telling, but they stuck to the joyful parts of the experience. Found the happiness in the memories, with help from one another. She found it surprising, and she found that she couldn't imagine talking like this with anyone else. She had never, before Booth, lost track of time just talking. And never had someone else's company been all she needed for happiness. Not like this.
He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye as he turned to get something from the refrigerator, and she smiled as he met her gaze. "Morning, Bones."
"Good morning," she echoed, stepping all the way into the kitchen to embrace him and give him a quick kiss. "You're up early today." Generally, thus far on their vacation, she had woken up to find him just starting their breakfast. Today, he looked close to finished.
He shrugged. "Hungry?"
"As long as that bacon isn't for me."
"It never is," he replied with a laugh, spinning away from her to take the eggs off the burner and dump them, half and half, into the two waiting plates. Toast already sat on each, and he handed hers to her with a gesture to the peanut butter and jam sitting in wait on the island. She accepted it graciously, picking up the butter knife he has set to the side and deciding on the jam.
She glanced up, spreading a thick glob of the jam onto her toast, as he collected the sizzling bacon to add to his own dish.
"So, what's the plan for today, my lovely Bones?"
She raised an eyebrow at the 'my,' in that sentence, but didn't correct him. It had become a common saying for him, and there was always a lightness in his voice. A gentle teasing that seemed to underline the heavier connotation. She was his, just as he was hers. And she had stopped correcting him on the lovely a while ago. Hard to argue when he had that charming air about him.
"Your turn, I think."
"And what was your turn, exactly?"
"I decided that we'd go to bed early last night."
"That doesn't… oh, fine. How about…" he paused, thinking to himself. "Well, we could make mac 'n' cheese for lunch."
"We did that Saturday," she reminded him. "When we got here."
"Doesn't mean we can't do it again," he said, wagging his eyebrows.
"I hope you aren't going to pass this down as your idea of 'healthy eating' to our daughter."
"Is that a yes?"
She laughed out loud. "Fine. It's a yes. My question is… what are we going to do the rest of the day? This is our fourth day away from work… I think you're running out of ideas."
"No, I think you are," he said, leaning forward so their faces were only inches apart across the island.
"Oh, really? Then what are the rest of your brilliant plans?"
"Well, Bones… I was thinking how nice it would be if we actually got ourselves a summer home."
She raised an eyebrow. "Booth, you insist on being equal financially in how we handle our living situation. Don't you think it might be just a little difficult to keep that up if we purchase another place?"
"It could be your Christmas gift to us?"
She shook her head at him. "You are unbelievable, you know that?"
He raised his hands defensively. "Alright. So maybe it occurred to me… that it might be a little upsetting. To you, I mean. Keeping your money to yourself like that."
"Oh?" she asked teasingly.
"Yes. So… I figured you would like… an opportunity."
"So this has nothing to do with you wanting this for yourself?"
"Bones, you wound me. This is for our little Bones. And Parker. Besides… remember how I tried to convince you to get a place back when we found baby Andy? Hmm?"
"I remember. We can… look into it."
He beamed, and she chuckled. He fascinated her, sometimes. But she had to admit, she did like the idea. A getaway. A place that belonged to them, that they could escape to when the work got to be too much. A place they could bring their daughter when they felt the darkness of their world starting to close in, starting to reach into their lives, into the places that they never wanted it to see.
Yes, she agreed with him. A summer home might be a great idea. Knowing him, he was going to regret not contributing to the financial burden at some point, so she decided that, should she go through with his plan, she simply wouldn't tell him how much she paid. It would be easier that way. And, she reminded herself, had she bought a place before they got together, he would have had no trouble with enjoying the benefits now.
She would bring that up when and if he ever went back on his decision.
"When I asked about the rest of your plans, you know," she started, "I meant for today."
He grinned cheekily. "I know."
"Well, now that you've gotten your admittedly interesting, long-term plans out of the way… what are your plans for us today? Outside of mac 'n' cheese," she added quickly.
He laughed. "Right. Outside of mac 'n' cheese. Hm."
"You don't have any, do you?"
"Not really, no. Looks like we're winging it, Bones, unless you've had something up your sleeve this whole time and have just been enjoying watching me fail?"
"I've got nothing," she conceded honestly, drawing her brows together. "Although winging it doesn't sound half bad. I do wish I was earlier along, though… we could go hiking." She glanced down at the admittedly large bulge of her stomach, wondering if hiking was an acceptable activity for a pregnant woman, specifically one who had already endured a threatened miscarriage.
"Hey, we make do with the limitations. Tell you what, why don't we go for a walk? Not too far, just to get outdoors for a while. There are a couple of trails that the guy we're renting this from told me about. We could check out one of the ones geared towards beginners."
She tried not to let show just how much that idea excited her. She didn't want him getting the idea that she was unhappy otherwise, which was only slightly true, but true nonetheless as far as he would be concerned. Pregnancy was limiting, she had discovered. She felt like she was always looking over her shoulder, always reading the fine print, and she could already see the ramifications ahead of her. She wondered how long it would take to get back in shape; back at top-notch with her martial arts skills, back to the firm body she had once possessed.
And then she considered to herself the rest of the details. How many times had she looked over a skeleton and informed Booth that the victim had given birth. Her own pelvic girdle was already widening in preparation. Those tell-tale signs would appear in her skeletal structure, just as the ones from the rest of her past would. A timeline of her life.
This was most likely the only positive mark that would be found, she reflected. She had broken bones, and there was scarring in places that she knew showed up on x-rays. All of that pointed to pain and suffering. This… this pointed to a better direction. A positive future.
She found that she enjoyed that thought a great deal.
The walk, as Booth had promised, was not a long one. Brennan was frustrated, though, by how easily she became tired, and when they returned to the cabin she was out of breath and in need of rest. In her eyes, Booth was the one who looked the worse for wear, though. He scrambled around, eyes wide and sweat on his brow as he doted over her despite her—admittedly only half-hearted—protests.
The dizzy spell came suddenly, when she attempted to stand up to get her slippers from across the room. Booth had gone to find her an ice pack in their luggage that she remembered packing but not unpacking, and when he returned he found her sitting on the edge of the couch, feeling shaky as she supported her head in both hands.
"Bones?"
"Stood up too quickly," she announced without looking up.
She could practically feel the worry that was radiating off of him.
"Dizziness?" he demanded, crouching down in front of her so she had really no choice but to lift her eyes and meet his. She nodded, and he frowned. "And… is that it? Just the dizziness? No back pain, no cramps..?"
"None of that," she reassured him. "And no bleeding that I can tell. I just suddenly felt really dizzy. It's probably from the exercise and the fresh air, combined with my sudden shift in equilibrium… what are you doing?"
He was no longer listening to her, but was instead hitting buttons on her phone. She reached to take it back from him, but he paid no attention. "I'm calling your doctor," he said simply.
She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that he was being overprotective and that she had a logical explanation, but then she let it snap shut again. Was she really sure of anything? Could she be sure of anything? She was not an expert; this was not her field of study. And so far, she had proved to be highly uneducated in the subject. Despite her confidence that this was okay, that it was nothing to worry about, his fear got to her, and she found herself nodding.
He was right.
Better safe than sorry.
Although, she pondered, what choice did she really have in the matter? She remembered the haunting words that her doctor had spoken not so long ago. If the miscarriage began… there was really nothing they could do to stop it.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
Genny Shaw was honestly sick and tired of the undercover life. A few weeks ago, she had felt the strain. But now it seemed like a steady expansion in her chest; the weight was growing and dragging her down gradually, day by day. She wondered helplessly, at points, how the other girls did this for a living.
Her job, for certain, was not nearly as difficult as theirs. She was, as many of them put it: just a server. She wore the skin-tight sequence-covered outfits and the heavy makeup. She curled her hair and let one of the other girls, who claimed her name to be Tracy outside of her stage name of Glimmer, do it up every night in a fancy but 'sexy' swirl. Glimmer was one of the dancing girls, though. One of the ones that got called away from delivering drinks to the seating area so she could climb up on stage with the others for one of the nightly shows.
Shaw pushed back the bile in the back of her throat as she remembered the first night she had worked there. The cliental was not high class. They were young and old, but all of them wore the same kinds of slimy expressions and fancy jackets. To her, they were all the same, one and all. In her time, she had been clubbing plenty of times, but she had never been to one like Blue Fish.
Then again, she had never been out clubbing during the weekdays. The weekend was remarkably different, with a college atmosphere. She wore a red vest and her hair up in a neat ponytail on those days, still hiding behind the thick mask of makeup but otherwise feeling more like herself. The guests were a more even mix of women and men, and they mingled appropriately, more interested in picking each other up than running their eyes over the servers and the dancers who just swayed on the stage to the thrumming music.
That was another thing. She was certain her hearing would never be quite the same. It reminded her, honestly, of the summer in high school when she had worked at Abercrombie & Fitch, and had been forced to shout when asked a question by a customer. It should have been in the job-description: must possess strong vocal chords and night-vision.
The longer she spent there, the longer she felt like the place was wearing on her, though. Lance had even noticed the shift, asking with greater frequency about how she was handling the job. She always waved him off, insisting that she was fine and that it just made her tired after spending the whole night on her feet in ridiculous heels. For the most part, he bought it, but recently she could see the doubt more plainly on his face. He was starting to get the idea that she was not doing as well as she claimed.
She honestly had no idea what she was going to tell him when he finally voiced all of the concerns that she had been watching build up in his eyes. It wasn't like she could quit this job, no matter how much good that would do for her. This was something that she had to see through until the end; for the sake of the FBI and for hers as well. She was not a failure. She was not the kind of person who gave up.
On days like this one, though, she couldn't deny considering the idea.
She got home from a long night at work feeling more drained than usual, having gotten barely any sleep the day before. Sweets was waiting for her, and for the first time she found herself irked by his presence. She was tired of worrying about him being worried about her, and she was sick of being worried about herself. As if she were slipping off of a cliff, she felt the shift inside of her, pulling her away. Was it not enough, what she was doing for the FBI? At first, taking this task had seemed like such a good idea. Finally, there was something she could do that would make a difference. Something beyond showing up at crime scenes only to be told to talk to the neighbors. This was supposed to be a change for her, the sign that her bosses trusted her and believed she was capable of so much more. The lack of Booth's support at first had been crushing. He was the best agent in the FBI, as far as she was concerned. Hacker seemed to agree on that, too, from what she had seen of what Booth was allowed to get away with and the way he seemed to be able to choose his own cases and handle them as he saw fit with barely any intervention. She wanted that someday; a team of her own and the lead on investigations.
Only, things were no longer following that perfect plan which she had formed in her head. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. It no longer felt like this investigation was going anywhere. In fact, it was beginning to feel like this was her new life; a server at a scummy club who was barely getting by, living in a too-small apartment and finding her only solace in imaginary video-game landscapes with a boyfriend she was starting to feel like she barely knew.
It was tough, not being herself. It made her wonder; who was she, if she was supposed to be these two very different people at the same time? What if she didn't like who she was when this was all over?
"Good morning," Sweets said, and she tossed her coat over the back of the couch, not even bothering with the closet.
She shrugged in response, and headed towards the bedroom. He trailed after her.
"Long night?"
"Yes," she said tightly, hoping that would discourage him. He leaned against the doorframe as she stripped off her high heels and the fishnet stockings that had been a part of tonight's attire.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
For a psychologist, he really couldn't take a hint. Or he was overriding his other judgment out of his misguided attempt to try and 'make things better' for her. Since working with Booth and Brennan, she had come to learn a lot about things between the partners and Sweets. And along the way, she had learned—mostly through Brennan—of his past with them, and how he had sometimes intervened in the wrong places. She had been perhaps a bit too nosey in these instances, digging deeper and—surprisingly—getting actual answers in response.
Sweets, she now knew, had a tendency to get too invested. As Booth put it, he liked to meddle in the personal lives of others. She liked him, she really did… but she was starting to see the truth to that. He was kind, and there was something adorable about the way he stumbled over his words. She liked the sheepish smiles he gave her when he ran out of things to say, and the way his hair curled across his forehead. Through all of that, he was trying. He was trying really quite hard, and it hurt her to admit it… but she thought maybe he was trying too hard.
Shaw did not consider herself to be an expert on relationships. Far from it. But she could tell that this wasn't going to end well if he didn't learn how to give her space and how to stop being so panicky and… well, clingy.
"I think I'd like some time to myself," she said bluntly, finally coming up with words to express exactly how she was feeling. And that was it, plain and simple. Time alone—why had it taken her so long to figure out that was what she needed? More than just a few moments. She needed a few days where she could simply crash and figure things out. Gather her thoughts, figure out what she was doing and what she wanted to be doing when this case finally, eventually, came to its conclusion.
He was frowning in typical confusion, as though her words were foreign to him.
"What?"
She sighed, tipping her head back as her hands lifted automatically to find a comfortable resting place on her hips.
"Give me a few days, alright, Lance? Go… back to your own place for a little while."
"For… for your cover, though…" he said, sputtering helplessly, looking for excuses.
Her exterior crumbled a little, but she held her head high. She had never been a woman who let men run her life. When she wanted something, she was going to get it. And then she was going to feel guilty as hell for days, maybe hate herself a little bit and drown her feelings in ice cream before succumbing to that guilt as well and going overboard on the treadmill and the punching bag… but in the end, she was going to do what she knew was best for her. That was who she was.
"That's work," she said simply. "I will see you… for work."
His frown was only deepening, his mouth hanging open somewhat and his eyes filled with more questions than she could answer. He only voiced one, though, and it was the one she had been expecting.
"Are you breaking up with me, Genny?"
Gratified that this question was easy, at least, she shook her head. "No, I'm not. I just need to have some space for a while. This case is a lot of work, and I think that mixing my personal life into it is really just not helping matters."
"So this is… what, then? A break?"
She softened. "Yeah, Lance. A break. When this case is over, though…"
He nodded. "When this case is over," he repeated, turning away.
Why was it that those words no longer held the same promise they used to? Why was it that it sounded almost as though this case… might never end?
She let herself consider, shivering slightly as she heard the door of her apartment close behind him, if there was a light still shining at the end of the tunnel. Because she had certainly lost sight of it, and with a sigh she dropped heavily onto the edge of the mattress.
There would be another long night ahead of her, all too soon.
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
"There was really no reason to come back early," Booth said as they set the last of their luggage down inside of the house.
Brennan shrugged. "I know that. But… we have obligations here. And if anything should happen, I don't want to be far away from medical professionals."
He couldn't argue with that. Dr. Lee had been reassuring over the phone, promising that dizziness was an expected symptom of any pregnancy, and that the real warning sign would show itself if the bleeding started again. With Brennan's confirmation that she had not had any cramps or signs of bleeding since they had faded after that first panicked appointment, Booth had been willing to relax.
That was easier said than done, when it came down to it. Brennan was ready with her logic and her reassurances, but all of it went straight over his head when her fear was just as palpable as his own. It was there, in her eyes, in her posture, in the pale complexion on her face and the line of sweat beading her brow. She was just as scared as he was, although this time she wasn't admitting it. He wasn't pushing, though, realizing that this time she needed to be reassuring; she needed to be the rock out of the two of them. He wasn't going to question that and tear down her rationality to expose the dark, cold weight of terror that they both had in common.
He bustled through the house, moving the suitcases to their bedroom, and she drifted away down the hallway. He didn't question it, focusing on his task and knowing that she would come back and insist on helping in only a few moments. She was probably going to look to see what they could salvage into a dinner, and his mood brightened at the thought. They had gotten cut short from their macaroni 'n' cheese, having been forced to settle for greasy takeout food on the drive home, and he was looking forward to getting his promised meal for supper. He would even go out and get any ingredients they were missing, if necessary.
"Booth!" she called, and his head snapped up at once. He dropped the stack of his jeans that he had just pulled free of the squished suitcase contents and headed for the hallway. She was not upset, nor was she panicked. She was merely calling him to come to her, and his curiosity was piqued. Maybe she had discovered that they didn't have enough macaroni in the cupboard?
But she wasn't in the kitchen, and as she called again, he followed her voice up the staircase to the room at the top, where he found her standing in the door, hands pressed to the noticeable bump of her stomach, a smile planted firmly on her face.
"Look," she said simply, head tilting towards the room as she stepped out of his way.
He remembered, in a rush, that they had given Angela a key so she could get to work on her baby shower gift. The nursery, when he stepped in, was nothing like the room they had left behind before embarking on their mini-vacation. The walls were a soft pastel green with white trim, and tall blades of grass in a darker shade had been painted around the entire length. There were oversized butterflies and ladybugs, all slightly unrealistic in their cuteness and the brightness of their colors. Two decorative flower-shaped rugs were on the floor, one in front of the crib and the other by the door where he stood now. The ceiling was baby blue, with puffy white clouds shaped like various animals and objects. He spotted what was clearly a bunny rabbit near one shaped like a toy airplane.
"Wow," he said softly, taking it all in.
"She's amazing, isn't she?" Brennan said softly, a warm prideful edge to her voice. My best friend, her words seemed to say, and Booth grinned at her. He owed Angela for this, and he knew it.
"It's perfect," Booth said simply. "Absolutely perfect…"
Brennan drifted further into the room, and stopped in front of a blank section on the wall, an area that had not been closely filled with plants or animals or cute insects. Booth stepped closer as well, and noticed that the picture frame hung in the center of the space held a note.
"Space Reserved," Booth read with a short chuckle.
Brennan's eyes were alight with recognition. "She mentioned something… she's waiting on the baby's name, Booth. So she can do something special."
He nodded. That was Angela, through and through. "Looks like we're going to have to work on helping her out with that one, aren't we, Bones?"
~BxBxBxBxBxB~
October 25th, 2011
Booth stood in the center of the Jeffersonian lounge, arms crossed, watching the others settle into the couches and chairs at the center. The dull buzz of the platform activity below made for calming background noise.
Shadwick was being arrested today; possibly at this moment. Hacker had picked out the team, combined with two or three members of Culver's own, and Booth had been offered a lead. He had turned it down, though, telling Hacker that he would be there for the interrogation and even take lead on that part of the investigation, but he would not go on the raid.
Hacker had needed no explanation. None was really needed, with how obvious Brennan's pregnancy now was. She was showing to an extreme, and he couldn't remember when he had first realized it. To him, it seemed that at one moment she had been as thin as always, and then the only in between had been a soft roundness to her waist.
Booth wasn't going anywhere; he was determined to prove that to her. He had seen far too often the things that could go wrong out of a simple arrest. The risks were too great. He wasn't going to put them through that, and put the livelihood of the family they were building together at stake. No, he would wait until Shadwick was arrested and then move forward with his own specific brand of investigative style. He would get the same results, without the leg-work. Besides, he was a senior agent in a large-scale operation. He had the luxury of turning down an offer like that one.
"Hacker has to take Shaw out of the field, now, right?" Angela asked after a lull in the conversation. It was clear she had been contemplating the question for a while now, and her brows were drawn together seriously as she glanced around at the group and finally focused on Booth, seeking her answer.
The young agent had grown on all of them. They were worried about her.
He found that he was, too.
"Ultimately, Hacker will make the call."
"Which means she stays in the field," Angela said flatly, eyes flashing.
"Most likely," Booth admitted after a beat.
"He's going to get her killed," Hodgins reasoned, shaking his head, blue eyes wide.
"Agent Shaw is very competent," Brennan pointed out, but there was a hesitation in her voice, and Booth knew that she felt some of the concern that they were all sharing. Shaw's competence wouldn't do her an ounce of good if the drug lords she was pitting herself against figured out why she was actually there, in the middle of their operation.
"The raid is going to happen soon, possibly even tomorrow," Booth offered. "And once we begin the full-on prepping for that, Shaw will be taken out of the situation for certain."
Angela nodded, but she wasn't completely satisfied. Booth wasn't either, honestly, but it was the best he had at this point. It was all they could work with.
They had invested too much in Shaw's involvement to pull out too early. He understood that, in a way that the squints might not. But he also saw it from their perspective, worried about the safety of someone they considered a friend.
He wondered what Sweets thought of all of this, and tried to imagine Brennan going undercover, at a club, without him, for several months. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought, and he found himself stepping closer to her without ever deciding to move. He would not be okay with that; not in the least.
"So what do we have on Shadwick, to prove he's the killer?" Cam said, garnering everyone's attention. She was trying to give them a fresh focus, to keep them on point, and Booth recognized this and took her lead.
"We have the footage of him entering Kaminski's apartment."
"Yes," Angela agreed. "And with the arrest you'll be serving the search warrant, right?"
The warrant had gone through a day later than expected, but ultimately they had held off for the extra time in between then and now because of Culver's intuition that they needed more time to get info from Shaw, without having Shadwick go skittish on them. So they had held off now for what Booth considered to be far too long, and they had gained very little fresh intel from Shaw's efforts. The cloned cell phone had told them several things, though, in the interim, and this was not something he could deny.
Two weeks ago, they had learned the location of one of the warehouses being used as a storage facility. Culver had quickly taken the initiative on that one, setting up surveillance and looking into the history of the place and the area. Then, last night, they had made the connection to two other warehouses, and a trucking company. Culver had what he wanted.
And now they were bringing in Shadwick, to find out what they could from him, and charge him with the murder they believed he had committed.
This was the longest murder investigation he had worked, besides those which remained cold to this day. He was relieved to think that it might be coming to a close at long last.
"Yeah, they'll search his house when they arrest him," Booth confirmed for Angela. "The odds of him still having the laptop are limited, though. He probably destroyed it immediately, or erased it and sold it on the street."
"If he's smart, then it's been destroyed. No matter how thoroughly you think you've deleted something… it lives inside that computer forever. You get that laptop, erased or not… I'll pull up everything that has ever been on it," the artist said.
Booth nodded. "If luck is on our side."
"So, beyond that, what have we got that can nail him on the murder?" Wendell probed, speaking up for the first time.
"Not too much," Booth said honestly, looking around and finding only unfortunate agreement on the faces of his coworkers. They really didn't have much in the way of proving Shadwick's guilt in the murder. There was no evidence from the scene that pointed to him. In fact, a lot of it, namely the stabbing and the undressed state of the victim, still pointed to a female killer. At the very least, though, Shadwick had been there in the aftermath. He had seen the body when he was stealing that laptop; there was no way he could have missed it. So, someone had beat him to the task, then. Because surely he hadn't expected to get the laptop without a fight, and from the surveillance it didn't look like he was worried about whether or not Kaminski was home.
Had he thought Kaminski was out, for some reason or other?
Or had he known that the man on the inside of the apartment was dead? And if that was the case… then how had he known?
"It's possible he didn't actually do it," Hodgins pointed out, speaking Booth's thoughts for the group. "Sure, he's got motive. But he doesn't seem to have a knife with him, going in or out of the apartment in that footage. And why the hell was Kaminski practically naked?"
"Maybe Shadwick walked in on something," Angela suggested, raising an eyebrow.
"If that's the case, then where did the other person go?" Wendell asked.
"We did have a theory, early on, about a rope off of the balcony," Brennan remembered, but her tone was that of a skeptic.
"That is a possibility, but then she would have had to climb up that way, too," Cam noted. "Every visitor to that apartment can clearly be seen entering and leaving before the next arrives. None of them encountered each other."
"Well, who were our other suspects, then, if we think Shadwick is innocent? Of the murder, at least. We all know he's guilty of the drug trafficking." Wendell again.
Booth did a mental rundown. "Tania Averitt, she was the married one. Anna Hardwick, the one that was crying in Selena's apartment. Liz Parish, the newest girlfriend. Taylor Madison, the one night stand. Wayne Falkner, the angry coworker." He ticked them off on his fingers. Five in total, although he was pretty confident that they could get rid of Falkner, who seemed to just generally dislike him rather than want him dead. That, and he was the only male suspect and they seemed to be looking for a female.
"Kaminski was a reporter," Angela started. "Tania had the most to lose if he brought her infidelity to light."
"True, but Liz and Anna were both heartbroken," Booth pointed out.
"And Taylor was present the day of the murder, within the timeframe," Cam reminded them.
Booth nodded, conceding her point. "We still need a motive, though. Jealousy? Regret?"
"Passion," Hodgins posited, grinning. Angela shot him a look.
"What if one of them was hired to kill him by the drug lords?" Wendell suggested suddenly.
All eyes turned towards him. "So one of them would be an actress, playing the role of innocent while planning to kill him the whole time they were dating?" Hodgins said, his eyes lighting up.
Conspiracy theorist, Booth thought with an amused shake of his head.
"It's not impossible," Cam said thoughtfully. "They did raid our lab, steal all of our evidence, and get away practically unscathed."
Booth's gaze flicked towards his partner. And nearly killed Bones in the process, he thought privately.
"That's true," Angela agreed.
"Taylor makes the most sense," Hodgins was continuing. "She works for them already! She's like the family hit-woman. She just swoops in, gets him interested, and then lets him take her home with him. And then… BAM! She kills him."
"Except for the fact that the drug lords want her dead," Booth said flatly.
Hodgins went silent. "Damn you and your logic," he muttered.
"In Taylor's position, Kaminski's story works out in her favor. She was unhappy with her situation, but like most girls in that line of work, unable to get away for fear that they would suspect she knew too much and kill her, her family, or all of them. If Kaminski pulled it off, she would have gotten away and had the chance to start over," Cam said.
"So she found the body," Booth agreed, following their logic. "And then..?"
"She panics," Hodgins picked up, "Checks to see if he's alive, but he's not. She considers calling the police, but she barely knows this man. He asked her to his apartment one time. She doesn't want to be charged with the crime and she certainly doesn't want to put a spotlight on herself."
"So she decides it's better to leave, and takes off," Wendell put in.
"Which is when Shadwick arrives and takes the laptop," Brennan finished.
"Alright," Booth said. "So Kaminski is dead when Taylor arrives. Who was there right before her?"
Angela went to get her laptop, and they crowded around the table to watch as she played through the footage. Liz arrived first, staying the longest before departing at five o'clock. And then Tania rounded the corner and let herself in. Ten minutes later, she was gone. After that, Taylor arrived, and Angela stopped the footage.
"Tania," the artist said definitively. "Ten minutes… that's plenty of time to commit murder. And she's wearing dark clothing. There's no way to tell if there's blood on it with this poor resolution."
"And Taylor got no answer when she knocked," Cam added. "She got the key from under the mat."
"So we bring in Tania?" Brennan queried.
Booth phone was ringing in his pocket. Sweets.
"Booth."
"Shaw isn't at her apartment," Sweets said without preamble. "She's not working, and she didn't leave a note."
"When was the last time you saw her?" Booth demanded, turning to put his back to the others. They were silent, though, and he knew they had picked up on the anxious note in his voice. They knew something had happened.
"I… I don't… yesterday, I think. She sort of called for a break with us, and I haven't been around here much since, and so I didn't think anything was off when she didn't call, because she hasn't been calling, and I haven't been visiting, only I didn't hear from her for her work report like I'm supposed to, since she said our professional relationship hadn't changed, and—"
"Hey, easy. Slow down, Sweets."
"She's gone," Sweets said loudly. "Booth, something's happened to her. I just… I can feel it, okay?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm at her apartment. And I'm telling you, it looks perfectly normal, only she's not here, and she should be…"
"I'll be right there," he said, and hung up. The others were staring wide-eyed when he turned back to face them.
"Sweets thinks Shaw is missing," he said darkly. For the life of him, he hoped that this was Sweets overreacting. But somehow, he knew that he wasn't.
He had that same feeling in his gut that Sweets had just explained.
Something was very wrong.
Don't make me beg, people. Just hit the button... :)
