Thank you for your continued interest in my story.

I don't own Bones.

Ooooooooooooooooo

Police Chief James Benson hated what he was about to do, but he was never one to put off something just because it was going to be unpleasant. After entering the Lab, Benson moved down the hallway to Booth's office, knocked on the door frame and waited for an invitation to enter the room.

Surprised, Booth looked up and smiled. "Hey, Chief . . . come in. What can I do for you?"

Crossing the room, Benson held out his hand and shook Booth's hand as he leaned over the man's desk. "Yeah, I thought I'd better talk to you since I'm sure the FBI probably won't . . . the bastards."

Puzzled, Booth pointed to the chair in front of his desk. After Benson was seated, Booth asked him, "What's up?"

"Detective Carlson did a runner." Embarrassed, Benson explained, "His Captain said that the man has been acting strangely for weeks but no one knows why. Agent Harris told me that he was going to send over some agents to pick up Carlson this morning since they finally got a warrant, but Carlson didn't turn up at work this morning. I had a BOLO put out an hour ago, but so far we haven't been able to find him. I know the FBI put out a BOLO too."

Curious, Booth leaned forward. "Do you think someone warned him?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Benson responded, "I have no idea. Heather Taffet has turned out to be quite a surprise. Every time I turn around, I find out she had one more accomplice. So far we've turned up three and I guess it's possible that there are more and we just don't know about it. She had quite the little organization, I can tell you. They were all loyal as hell too."

Suspicous of the Chief's motives, Booth leaned back on his chair and stared at him. "Why are you here? A phone call would probably have been enough. It's not like I work for any law enforcement agency."

His countenance grim, Benson cleared his throat. "I had two of my detectives go over to Carlson's house and while they were searching it they found one of those sick wall of death things that psychos seem to love."

Shaking his head, Booth knew he wasn't going to like the answer to his question. "Who's on the Wall of death?"

Unable to stall any longer, Benson shrugged his shoulders. "He has pictures of you plastered on a wall in one of his bedrooms. It looks like he's been stalking you for a few months. I don't know what he has against you, but I thought I'd better come over here and let you know. If Carlson has a stick up his ass about you then you're life is probably in danger. I've seen the pictures and I'm pretty sure he was planning on killing you."

Disgusted with the situation, Booth shook his head. "I don't even know Carlson . . . Maybe he and Clary considered me a target since they kidnapped me and it failed. Clary came after me because he thought I might have remembered seeing him when he kidnapped me. I didn't see anything, but I guess that didn't matter . . . Maybe this is all part of that."

Shaking his head, Benson conceded Booth's point. "Maybe . . . I don't know. I just know Carlson is running lose and he's been obsessing over you and that definitely is not a good thing."

"Thanks for letting me know." Standing, Booth leaned on his desk. "I have a meeting I need to get to in twenty minutes. I appreciate you letting me know about Carlson. I'll keep my eyes open, but if the guy is smart, he's probably already left the District."

Benson stood up, leaned over and shook Booth's hand. "Good luck. I'll keep you up-to-date."

After the Police Chief leave his office, Booth exhaled deeply and rubbed his hand over the area where Clary had shot him months earlier.

Oooooooooooooo

Entering the parking garage, Booth walked from the elevator over to his truck. Entering the Ford Explorer, Booth placed his keys in the ignition and felt the end of the barrel of a gun placed at the back of his head. Freezing, Booth glanced in the rear view mirror. "What do you want?"

Not willing to let Booth have the upper hand, the gunman bumped Booth's head with the end of the barrel, leaned forward and placed his arm around Booth's neck. "Pull your gun out of your holster, roll the window down and toss it out along with your phone . . . Do it or I'll blow your brains out right now."

The pain from the barrel hitting his head radiating across his head, Booth slowly reached for his gun and then his phone and did what the gunman told him to do.

Releasing his arm from around Booth's neck, the gunman pressed the gun against Booth's head. "This is all your fault. Doug is in jail because of you. They're going to try him for the murder of that rich bitch and he might fry. I ought to kill you right now."

Calmly, Booth stared in the mirror at his assailant. "Go ahead . . . if you're going to do it just do and finish it, but keep in mind that's a fast track to the death penalty."

Bumping Booth's head again with the barrel, the gunman snarled at him. "Shut up . . . I need to get out of the District and you're going to take me. I know they have a BOLO out for me, I'm not stupid. A pal of mine gave me a heads up when the warrant was issued for me . . . I know the fucking score."

Certain who he was talking to, Booth gritted his teeth. "Look Carlson, it's useless to run, you know that. Just give up now before you get killed. Make it easy on yourself."

Snorting, Carlson pressed the barrel against Booth's head again. "No way man. A cop in prison doesn't do well. You should see the bruises on Doug. This is your fault. If you had just left things alone and let Heather take the fall we'd all be okay, but no you had to go looking for anyone working for her. You just couldn't leave it alone."

White stars floating in front of his eyes, Booth closed his eyes and then opened them again. "You kidnapped me and almost killed me, but I'm at fault." Laughing sardonically, Booth muttered. "You've got to be kidding me."

Tapping Booth's head with the gun barrel, Carlson sputtered, "You son-of-a-bitch. Start the fucking truck and let's get going. I want you to drive me to Upstate New York. You get me there and I may just let you live."

Not willing to go along with the man, Booth shook his head. "Why the hell would I drive you up to New York? You're going to kill me, so let's drop the pretenses, you and I both know that. The hell with that, just shoot me now and get it over with."

Furious, Carlson ranted at Booth. "Are you nuts? Do you really want to die? Shit! Drive me to New York and I promise not to kill your partner how about that? If you make me kill you then I'll get your girlfriend to drive me and I sure as shit will kill her when I get where I'm going . . . Now let's go."

His head hurting where Carlson had hit him, Booth exhaled deeply. "You touch her and I'll . . ."

Tapping Booth's head again, Carlson screamed. "Just start driving asshole and I won't go near her. I'll be in New York for God's sake."

Stars swimming before him, Booth fumbled with his keys and started up the truck. Pulling his seat belt on, he backed the SUV slowly out of his parking space. Glancing at the elevator, he saw Angela step out of the car, phone in hand talking to someone. Turning his gaze straight ahead, Booth drove slowly down the ramp and out of the parking garage.

Angela, vaguely aware that Booth was passing her, waved her free hand as she continued to talk on the phone.

Ooooooooooooooo

Taking I-70 northwest, Booth drove quietly, thinking of his limited options. Carlson sat on the back seat staring at the back of Booth's head. "As soon as we get to Hagerstown take I-81 north."

His head hurting, Booth tried to concentrate on his driving. "What do you plan to do when we get to New York?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Carlson replied, "I have relatives in Canada." Smirking the gunman leaned forward and pressed the barrel of his gun against Booth's head. "You know, I think I've changed my mind. I am going to kill you and then someday I'm going to come back down here and I'm going to look for that bitch Temperance Brennan and I'm going to tell her how I killed you and then I'm going to kill her, but first I'll . . . ."

His eyes on searching the road up ahead, Booth decided that they were far enough away from D.C and his wife. "Good luck with that."

Suddenly turning off at the next exit, Booth raced down the off ramp.

Carlson threw himself back against the seat and screamed at Booth. "Stop . . . stop, what are you doing?"

Spying an overpass ahead, Booth aimed his truck right for it.

Terrified, Carlson moved back against the front seat, grabbed Booth around the neck and placed his gun against the side of his head. "Stop, I'll shoot . . . stop damn it!"

Laughing, Booth kept his foot pressed on the accelerator. "Go ahead, shoot." Just as his truck approached the bridge columns, Booth crossed himself. "Forgive me. I love you Bones."

Ooooooooooooooooo

So what do you think of my story?

A/N: for those of you who are a little upset with me, just remember that I am a big B&B fan. Trust me!