A/N – Thank s to all of you whom have been so kind as to keep reviewing – it's helpful to know if the direction of the story is still well received. This update is shorter just so I can perhaps update more frequently. I wanted to get this out to you this morning, and I will update again later today or tomorrow evening. Enjoy :-)

Previously on Mistaken Identity (Chapter 19) . . .

"Do you recall hearing anything being said between the time you were tazed and injected with the knockout drugs?"

Burton nodded his head in the direction of the one of the men behind Booth – the man knew his boss was signaling him to grab an instrument of his choice from the 'tool box'. Within under a minute he had produced an item and handed it to his boss. Burton just smiled when he looked at what had been presented to him.

A pristine silver scalpel.

*BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB**BnB*BnB*

Mistaken Identity

Chapter 20

Booth's Hell . . .

Booth could hear one of the 'henchmen' walk away – Booth kept count of the number of steps he took just to get his bearings on the approximate size of the room. He had also listened to how many steps the apparent leader took when he first came into the room. He knew that the only entrance/exit to his prison, was 9 steps away, located in front of him, but then slightly to the right.

He heard the man rifling through what sounded to be tools of some kind. He could hear several metal instruments as they clanged together – the sound made the hair on the back of his sore neck stand on end, not needing to be a genius like Bones, to figure our what was going on. He hated having the hood over his head preventing him from knowing exactly what to expect. But he knew from past experience with torture, that rendering the victim blind in any capacity, was yet another form of torture since it left the victim more vulnerable. Not knowing what kind of pain would be inflicted on him next, gave his torturer 110% of the control.

Had Booth been able to see what was coming, he would have had the slight advantage of being able to mentally prepare for the pain - or the stab wound, or the burn – whatever it was, just knowing what type of pain, or where on the body it would be inflicted, made it that much easier to bear.

However slight the advantage of seeing was, he would trade anything if they would just take the damn cover off his head.

"Let me ask you again Special Agent Booth," the man said as he spit Booth's name out as if it were vinegar on his lips. "Just in case just didn't hear me through the hood covering your ears. Do you recall hearing anything, or anyone, between the time that you were tazed, and injected?"

**silence**

Burton waited patiently as he walked up to Booth, now standing so close to the trussed up agent, that Booth could actually feel the man's hot breath on his face.

"You want to know if I heard anything?" Booth finally replied, his voice sounding raspy from thirst. "Or, if I heard one of your hired thugs annoying voices? Is that what you are asking me?" He was stalling for time and he knew he was being very obvious about it. He also knew that annoying his torturer wasn't the smartest move in the book, but in a way he found himself wanting to piss the man off.

He knew that words were his only weapon at this point, being that any physical confrontation was out of the question. But Booth had learned over the years that the right choice of words could also make a man feel vulnerable – almost as much as the ominous hood on his head was doing to him. Then just as he suspected, his mimicking of the questions was rewarded with a punch to the gut. All of his breath felt like it was sucked from his body by the blow. Especially since he hadn't been able to see it coming and flex his abdominal muscles – which is what he usually did when he saw a fist coming towards his mid-section.

"Ooommpphhh!" was the God awful sound that escaped through his clenched teeth.

Burton got the scalpel ready, pressing it onto Booth's neck., dangerously close to his jugular vein. Booth could tell it was either a box cutter, or a scalpel, based on the small size and extreme sharpness of the blade.

"One more stall like that G-man, and you just might find yourself bleeding like a stuck pig. With that he made a swift move with the blade, leaving a one inch cut on his victim's neck. Not hitting any major blood vessels but bleeding slowly none the less. "Now I trust that you will answer me accurately this time?"

Booth decided to play along for now, he knew this was going to be a long and painful day regardless. "Yeah I might have heard some voices. But that doesn't mean I recall what was said." he lied.

"Okay then, maybe all we need to do is – jog your foggy memory then - yes?" Burton once again nodded towards Nik and Sam who moved forward and each grabbed a hold of each one of Booth's shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

Booth tried to struggle against the hold just to piss them off, only to be stopped in his tracks when he felt the same sharp instrument as it was now cutting into his bare chest. He knew any movements would only worsen the damage so he again gritted his teeth against each other, breathing through his nose to calm himself down. He had learned as a POW that it helped if he forced his mind to go somewhere else. He thought of the one thing, or person, who made him happy no matter how bad his day was going.

He thought of Bones.

Jeffersonian Lab . . .

Bones – while looking into a microscope, double checking the identifying tags that Hodgins had uncovered from the remnants of the bombing device, making sure they didn't miss anything. When she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, losing all train of current thought as a flash of Booth's face, that appeared to be grimacing in pain, took over her thoughts.

She looked up from the microscope, he rmouth hanging open and all color draining from her face. Angela was standing across from Brennan, preparing information so she could put the pieces of the busted incendiary device into her 'Angelator', giving them a 3-D view of the bomb and making it that much easier to track down the manufacturer and purchaser.

"Bren, what is it?" she asked with concern. "What did you find?!" her exotic eyes wide in excitement and worry.

"Uh - umm, nothing, really." she replied, though her eyes told a different story.

"No, come on Brennan, I know that look and that is not, nothing. You either found something, or remembered something. So which is it – spill!" she demanded as she proceeded to walk around the table between them, coming to stand right next to her friend.

"Well, uhh, No, it's silly. I - uh."

"Brennan what is it? I have never seen you so flustered before and we have known each other for years! You saw something. It was Booth wasn't it? You had a moment of clarity my friend, didn't you?!"

"What? No Ang, I don't know what you are talking about. You are not making any sense." Brennan pounced back, standing up straighter as she attempted to act normal.

"Ohh-ho-ho – but I do. I'm right, aren't I? You sensed him, you sensed Booth – and something is wrong! You better tell me Brennan cuz I will not stop hounding you until you do." she stood her ground firmly, turning Brennan's shoulders so they were now face to face.

"It's crazy . . . it's impossible." Brennan started to cave, trying to find a rational reason for what she had just experienced. "It was Booth, you are right, I did see him. His face flashed into my mind out of the blue and he looked like he was in pain Ang, he was suffering."

"Oh sweetie, come here." pulling her friend into a hug Angela was amazed that Brennan actually admitted that. "It's okay Brennan, he is okay – and we have to believe that! Okay? Listen, you need to stop questioning it and use it to your advantage." she advised.

"What?! Angela, you are the intuitive one, not me. You and Booth are the ones who believe in auras and gut feelings, and psychics. I only believe in things that can be explained logically and scientifically, so don't try to get me to conform - because I won't!"

"Okay Bren, then let me ask you this. Do you want to see Booth again? Do you want to find him, alive and well?"

"Of course I do Angela. What the hell kind of questions are those?!"

"Brennan, then you just need to humor me, humor Booth. Please, just humor us by not pushing away any sudden thoughts of Booth. There may be some psychic connection between you two, like it or not, that we could use to help us figure out where they are holding him! Come on Brennan, what have you got to los-, uh never mind, stike that." she backtracked, realizing just how much they did have to lose. Booth.

"Come on, what do you say? If you won't do it for me, then do this for him." she finished with her rant and waited for a reaction.

"Alright fine, I'll do it. But you need to tell me how to do that, because I don't know what is happening, or how it is even possible."

"Of course Bren, of course I will help you. But you have to promise me you will stop trying to analyze it and just go with it! Okay? Promise me - pinky swear."

"Okay, I promise. But I'm sorry I draw the line at that whole 'pinky swear' thing Ang - that's just ridiculous."

Brennan conceded as she was then once again lost in her own thoughts – 'Where are you Booth? What are you trying to tell me?" she thought as she blinked rapidly to prevent the quickly building tears from spilling out of her tired electric blue eyes.

To Be Continued.

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