A/N: Sorry for the delay. Been busy preparing my class for back-to-school and actually starting school. lol I'm really hoping to finish this story before September 17th. If it doesn't happen, just a little reminder that this is an ALTERNATE season 8. Which means that if it does end up being finished after Season 8 has started, nothing shown in the real season will pop up in this story (just in case some wise ones decide to review the story, pointing out inaccuracies between both storylines - like it has happened with several of my other AU stories). Anyway, have fun reading and don't forget to leave your review on your way out (anonymously or not!)!

The buzzing jolted Booth from his sleep. Heart racing, he turned his head towards the new alarm clock. 7:00 glowed back at him. Flinging his arm over, he turned off the incessant buzzing. Sitting up in his bed, Booth tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His night had been short and had done nothing to erase the guilt he was currently feeling.

It had washed over him as soon as he had calmed down. When the last bullet had hit the target, he had instantly felt guilty, guilty to have let the situation get to him. He thought of his daughter who was still growing up somewhere. There was no way he could regret having her in his life, no matter what would happen between her mother and him.

Leaving the shooting range, he'd gone back to his office and had worked late into the evening, searching for more information on Helena Moscovitch's last known whereabouts. He knew the records by heart, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. Were the calls to Washington the key to the mystery? Who did the private numbers belong to? Techs were still working on that.

He'd come back home later than usual, giving up on forgetting what he had found on his partner's computer. Angela had promised to inform him as soon as she had learned where the file came from. He had yet to hear from her.

A quick, steamy shower was all it took to wash away his fatigue. Dressed, with his hair still wet from the shower, he made his way to the kitchen. His uneasiness grew with each step.

He couldn't pinpoint what had caused the uneasiness to settle in. Yet, something seemed out of place. His eyes roamed the downstairs area. Nothing in the entrance seemed to have moved.

Pulling his gun from its socket on his belt, Booth slowly climbed down the remaining steps, his eyes darting left and right. His gun still raised, he checked the front door: locked. The entrance cleared, he moved into the living room. Everything seemed in order there too; so why was he getting the strong feeling someone had been inside his home?

His question was answered in the kitchen. On the table stood his laptop, cover open, its screen blank. Slowly, he made his way to the small device. He hadn't used the computer since the previous week; the lid should have been closed. Looking for something to cover his fingerprints, he spotted a wash cloth on the counter. With his fingers wrapped in the cloth, he turned on the laptop.

He waited anxiously, memories from the previous day zooming through his mind. Would this be a replay of the day before? Would he find a suspicious file on his laptop as well? As the desktop background appeared before him, he could spot nothing out of the ordinary. Not wanting to take any chances – he'd heard of hacked laptops being turned on by distance – he immediately turned it off and took out the battery.

Then, a thought hit him. Fetching his cellphone from his pocket, Booth dialed the number of the security company. A clerk on the other side of the line asked him for his password, which Booth provided. Several minutes later, after listening to the sound of typing, he finally got the answer to his question.

"Your alarm was deactivated between 3:32 am and 4:47 am."

Booth could feel his heart beating in his chest and his throat felt dry. His gut feeling had once again been proven true.

"Are you sure?" he managed to ask.

"Yes I am, sir. Why are you asking?"

"Because I'm not the one who deactivated it."

Silence followed his response.

He had immediately called his boss and had demanded that a team was sent to his house in the following hour. The Deputy Director had, at first, denied his request, stating it was Washington Police Booth would have to call. After minutes of arguing that he didn't want anyone else but the FBI to search his home, desperately trying to keep Pelant's name from falling from his lips, his boss agreed to send a team. Booth thanked him.

When the techs had arrived, Booth had taken control of the operations. He'd demanded that the house be tested for fingerprints (though he knew they'd only find his own fingerprints), the laptop was sent to the FBI tech-lab for analysis, and Booth ordered others to search his house for any kind of wiring or spying devices they could find. Whoever had been inside his house had been there for at least 90 minutes and Booth was sure the stranger hadn't spent that time surfing the Internet.

"I have to go to work," he had informed one of the technicians. "Call me if you find anything."

As he stood in Angela's office, he wondered how the techs were doing. A new security system was being installed at that moment. He knew it wouldn't prevent anyone as tech-savvy as Pelant to walk into his house uninvited, but it would give him some peace of mind against the regular criminals roaming the neighborhood.

"I heard about the break-in," Angela said as she joined him in her office.

"We can hardly call it a break-in," Booth replied. "There was no sign of forced entry and nothing was stolen."

Angela shuddered.

"It's still creepy to think that someone walked in your house while you were sleeping upstairs."

Booth simply shrugged. He preferred not to think of it. He found solace in the thought that Christine hadn't been in the house when it had occurred.

"Have you had any luck with the file on Bones's computer?"

"I could only figure that the file was created over the weekend. I still don't know if it was created on Brennan's computer or if it was somehow placed there."

Seeing Booth's crestfallen expression, she quickly added:

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more. There's… there's something else you should know too. I had to turn the file over to Flynn."

Booth's eyes widened.

"Why?"

"It was evidence in the investigation," she replied, biting her lower lip. "I had to."

Booth's jaw clenched. For some reason, he hadn't thought of that. He had no doubt Flynn was currently gloating at the situation, only too happy to incriminate Bones even more with each written word. The thought of it made Booth sick. He needed to put a stop to this situation once and for all.

As though reading his mind, Angela went on.

"There is one solution."

Booth stared at her in surprise.

"I have this friend. She works for the FBI in Quantico. She's a computer whiz and a very efficient hacker. You ask, she finds. If you want, I can ask her to hack into Brennan's computer and look at the file. If anyone can tell us when and how the file was created, it's her."

Booth pondered the option. Angela's offer was tempting yet it would, of course, go against FBI regulations since the evidence technically belonged to Flynn's investigation. Were anyone to find out, the three of them could definitely lose their jobs.

"Who is this friend?" Booth asked, sensing his professional ethics begin to waver.

"Her name is Penelope. She's… special. You'd like her. She really is the best at what she does. I'm sure she could outwit Pelant if she tried."

Booth chuckled.

"She can't be that good."

"She was on the FBI's most wanted list for hackers."

"I guess it's worth the shot. Thanks, Angela. I really appreciate it."

He had been about to leave when Angela called him back.

"Cam is only trying to do her job. After everything she has seen, she only wants to look at the evidence. I think deep down she knows Brennan couldn't have killed anyone."

Booth let out a long sigh.

"The only evidence we've got is a chapter from a book. For all we know, you could have killed Helena Moscovitch and written a chapter about it."

"Just, don't be mad at Cam. She's only doing her job."

Fists clenched.

"I'm getting very annoyed with hearing that. If everyone here would be doing their jobs, we would have found who has killed Helena and Evan, and Bones would still be here."

With anger boiling once again in his veins, he left the Jeffersonian.

"Angela told me what happened in her office."

The ride back to his office had calmed him. By the time he had reached his office, Sweets on his heels, his temper had settled down.

"It's none of your business, Sweets," he replied as he continued towards his office, deliberately avoiding the psychologist's eyes.

"It is my business as you are my colleague and my friend."

Booth stopped short of his door and spun around to face him.

"You really want to talk? Fine, we'll talk! I'm just tired of everyone calling my girlfriend a murderer. I'm tired of having to answer to the same questions about how I'm doing and how I'm feeling. I feel fine! Can we now please go back to what happened to Helena Moscovitch and find her murderer?"

Turning around, he walked in his office and slammed the door. Sighing, Sweets walked off towards the elevator.

In his office, Booth sat down at his desk and dropped his head in his palms. He'd meant what he'd told Sweets. He was tired of all the questions but, more importantly, he was tired of feeling always so angry at the world. Every day, he felt his temper rising at every irritating thing. He felt angry at the system for being fooled by a professional hacker; he felt angry with the Squints who only saw the logical sides of situations; he felt angry with his partner who had abandoned him in a moment of need; and he felt angry with himself for not having been able to protect his family.

A knock at his office door made him look up. Expecting to see Sweets still standing on the other side of the glass door, he was surprised to see a woman standing with a tall and skinny girl by her side. He motioned to them to come in.

"This lady here wishes to speak with you, Agent Booth," the older woman said.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I'll take it from here."

When the door had closed behind them, Booth motioned to the girl to take a seat. Shyly, she took a step forward and sat down.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Please don't tell my brother," the girl pleaded. "He doesn't know I am here."

Booth said nothing, unsure what to say.

"'My name is Agatha Moscovitch, I think I know who killed my mother."

The young girl sat in front of them, much like she had done the previous Wednesday. Yet, this time, the pre-teen sitting across from Sweets resembled nothing like the one who had been in his office the previous week. Her demeanour had changed radically: the shy and submissive teenage girl was gone and had been replaced by a confident 12-year-old who stared directly at them.

"Before I say anything, you have to promise me you won't tell Janis I came here. He… um… He doesn't know I'm here. He didn't want me to talk about this."

Sweets nodded. Booth, beside him, simply stared at the lanky pre-teen who resembled her mother at the same age.

"We can't promise he will never know, especially if you will need to testify in court, but we're willing to keep this a secret for as long as we can. What did you want to tell us?"

Agatha took a deep breath.

"My mother had been seeing someone. A man, I mean."

"Okay," Sweets replied slowly, glancing over at Booth. "Do you know who he is?"

The young girl shook her head.

"I don't know his name. Janis and I only saw him a few times when he would pick up my mom. My dad didn't know, see? She would go with him on weekends when Dad worked overtime. It wasn't often. Maybe once or twice a month."

Sweets and Booth exchanged another glance.

"Do you know what she was doing with that man? How long were they gone for?"

"Well…" Agatha said, hesitating. "My mom told us she was doing computer stuff."

"What kind of computer stuff?"

Agatha shrugged.

"I think she mentioned Web pages or something. I think Mom wanted to create a website for her class or something. She taught art in middle school. She wanted to show off her students' creations or something. That's what she told us, anyway."

"Do you think this man could have killed your mother?"

"I don't know, but…"

Again, the same hesitation; what was Agatha keeping from them? Sweets waited patiently, not wanting to pressure her.

"The day my mom disappeared, I saw him."

"You saw him."

It was more a statement than a question. Agatha nodded.

"Outside my school. I sit beside the window in math class and since I seemed to be the only one in class who understood what Mr. Lawson was telling us, I zoned out and looked outside. That's when I saw him. He was just sitting on the bench, as though he was waiting for the bus."

"And what time was that?"

"It was thirty minutes before the bell. He was still there when the bell rang. I got up and went to my locker. I waited for Janis and we headed outside. The man was still there. Janis saw him too. The man didn't see us or, if he did, he didn't recognize us. We sat behind a tree, so we had our backs to him. We waited a few minutes but when we turned around, he was gone."

"Can you describe the man to us?"

Agatha nodded.

"Thing is, I've only seen him a couple of times and it wasn't from up close or very long. I can do my best."

"Your best will do," Booth replied, stepping in the conversation for the first time.

He gestured to Sweets for a pen and a piece of paper. Sweets pulled a small notebook from his pocket and handed Booth a pen.

"He's tall… But I don't know how tall. Taller than Janis and me, I think. He has blonde hair. Short. I don't know the color of his eyes though."

"Is he young or old?"

"Everyone looks old to me, Dr. Sweets. I'm 12."

Sweets chuckled at the pre-teen's comment.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Is he old like a grandfather would or old like your father?"

Agatha seemed to ponder both choices.

"I'd say more like my dad. I don't know anything else."

"What type of clothing was he wearing? Do you remember?" Booth asked, looking up from the notebook.

Agatha shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I think he was wearing jeans and a green shirt, but I don't remember."

"It's okay, Agatha. You've done the best you can. Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?"

This time, the girl shook her head.

"Why do you think this man killed your mother?"

The girl shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe by the way he was just sitting outside our school or by the way he simply disappeared before my mom arrived. I'm sorry I don't anything more. I hope I haven't wasted your time."

Sweets thanked her and offered to drive her to the bus station. Booth followed them outside and headed towards his office unaware of the pair of eyes following them at a distance.

I have to apologize for the crossover. It was too tempting, especially since I was in a "Criminal Minds" mood when I first wrote that chapter! :P