"Roy Taylor?" I guessed, grabbing some latex gloves from a sterile cart and blowing into them to stretch out the rubber. Zach looked up briefly from the now clean bones laid in anatomical order on the exam table of the bone room.

"Yes."

I shrugged to myself. I expected as much. "Notice anything new without the flesh?"

Zach moved back slightly and to the side, pointing at an area on the cervical vertebrae at an angle so that I could see, too. "There's some damage to the facet joint and foramen on C-4 on the right side of the neck."

I hummed a few notes of a song that had been on one of Brennan's new CDs. Music has always helped to ground me, and though I do so quietly, I hum to myself pretty often when I'm trying to focus. Sometimes I don't even realize it – as when I'd been singing lowly to Madonna on the Olivos case. "That suggests that his head was forced that way, which is consistent with the conclusion of another person in the wall with him."

Zach nodded, but continued quickly, like he thought he would lose my attention. "One other thing – I was looking at the skull through the microscope. I came across a slight depression. It's barely discernable."

"A slight indentation?" I repeated.

"It could be congenital or a bone anomaly. I plan on asking Dr. Brennan to take a look."

I nodded. That seemed like a plan. As far as the differentiation between the two goes, I don't really know quite what to look for. It's not like I see skeletons all the time, although admittedly I have been seeing more in the last month than I have ever before. No surprise there, huh? "Do you mind me asking if you go on vacation?" I asked, nearly timid. It was kind of a personal thing to get into (or at least, it seemed like it), but when Brennan and Booth had been arguing, it made me wonder what the normal rate of vacations is for people. Because I don't really get them, except sometimes we have more help so I'm given a few hours off, at most a day.

"I do not mind." I let out a small breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding. "I take my vacation when Dr. Brennan takes hers. Do you have vacations?"

I blinked. It seemed like he was trying to make conversation, because from what I understood, he would usually just answer and leave it at that. "Not really. Sometimes I get a little time off, if the bar isn't understaffed. I usually just read or attend seminars. What do you do?" I returned the thought.

"I go back home to Michigan to see the family. I have three brothers and four sisters."

I looked down. I wished I could relate to that. Okay, so maybe I could deal without the seven siblings, but it would be nice to at least have a person or people to belong with. "Big family. Do you have fun?"

"God, no," Zach said quickly, shuddering. "I made the mistake of telling them I work with corpses and skeletons. They think I'm a freak."

"You're not," I said sharply. I knew firsthand what a freak was, and I also knew how it felt to be classified as one. Even from strangers, it can hurt. Sure, it makes me mostly angry or irritated, but if it'd been from someone I knew closely, someone who was family? It would hurt my feelings! "Generally, in modern society, death is something to be feared and so the study of anything related to it is frowned upon in public. Because when people fear, they sometimes turn that the wrong way and lash out." I paused. Zach knew this; why was I trying to defend him to himself? "If they're mean to you, then why do you go?"

"It's my family," Zach said simply, looking to me with an underlying note of confusion, like he felt that I should understand this. "They love me."

"Right," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. If someone's rude to me, I don't want to see them. But then again, I don't have a family, so I don't know what it's like to be in one. "Sorry. I shouldn't have pushed."

"I require no apology, although the thought to my emotions is appreciated."

"Work it out! That's right, good, good!"

I can honestly never say I thought I'd end up in a hip hop dance class. I wasn't even entirely sure if there were any in DC., but I guess so. Eve Warren's brother, George Warren, taught the classes and the admission fees were his salary. Everyone was wearing tight, short-sleeved shirts and gym shorts. A water dispenser with disposable paper cups was on one side of the room; the water level seemed pretty low. He should refill that. The floors were covered with dark blue exercise mats.

George looked up from putting his class through a vigorous routine when we entered. The little bell pinged as the door opened and faded away as it closed behind our trio. "What do you want?"

Booth pulled out his badge and displayed it to George Warren with an expression of boredom, looking around the hip hop studio like he wanted to leave. "Special Agent Booth, FBI. These are my associates, Dr. Brennan and Miss Kirkland."

Brennan was bobbing her head slightly and watching the dancers with interest. "What do you call this?"

"The Crump," George answered, an expression of pride flitting across his face. "The kids come here and they dance." He paused, surveying Booth. "They don't gangbang, so what do you want? You didn't come here for a dance lesson."

"I think I'd rather drown than wear shorts that short," I agreed.

George looked like he remembered that his class could hear what we were saying. He shook his head, sighed, and beckoned us with one hand to follow him into an office, most likely his, with the door open. He went in first, bending down to affectionately ruffle the short brown hair of a toddler who was playing with a set of plastic neon blocks on the floor. "Hey, Maya. How're you doing, baby?" He lifted her up, supporting her against his waist, and carried her out of the office. "Come on now, we're going to go outside, and you're going to play with the rest of the kids, okay?" He set Maya down on her feet and she wobbled off to one of the female dancers, who had taken a water break.

I watched the child for a moment. That was most likely Eve Warren's kid. How would she handle possibly growing up without a mother or father? Well, at least she had George – for now, anyway – and he seemed willing to care about her.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions about your sister, Eve," Booth started, getting ready to get into the questioning.

George sighed. He seemed disappointed, but not surprised. "What has she done now?"

"When was the last time you saw her?" I asked, trying to ease into it. I've been around Booth long enough. A month is long enough to pick up some pointers on tactfulness… right?

"About six weeks ago when she dropped of Maya. Why, is she missing?" Oh. Well, I guess I still can't be subtle.

"Dropped her off and left?" Booth asked.

George nodded, rolling his shoulders to work out kinks from his dancing. "She told me she needed me to watch her for a couple of days and left me some money."

I nodded. Eve had probably known she was getting mixed up in something, and given her daughter to her brother for her child's safety more than as a way to get high and wasted. Well, that's what I'd like to think, anyway. "Do you happen to have a recent photo?" I asked, glancing back out at Maya as she played with a blonde-haired dancer. "We don't need to take it, but we will need to photograph it so we can print it out."

George picked up a small frame from his desk and held it out to me. It was a simple polished wooden frame, with a layer of glass separating the world from the photograph of Eve Warren smiling with Maya in her lap. "Evie said she had cleaned herself up. Said she was turning her life around, and I believed her." George scoffed. "But she never came back. That little girl out there, that's her daughter. She's like a daughter to me, too."

I held the picture up for Brennan, who was getting the camera on her phone active to take a picture and then have Angela blow it up and print it off. "Didn't it bother you that Eve never came back? I mean, didn't you go looking for her?" Booth asked George.

George shook his head, seeming to become sadder by the minute. "I learned to let her go. Eve, I mean, she's had a lot of problems. Drugs, hanging out with the wrong people." Brennan got the picture and saved it, so I turned back to George and returned the photograph. "If I track her down and she takes Maya before she's ready –" He paused and I nodded, understanding what he meant. Eve wouldn't be stable enough to keep Maya safe and healthy. "I'm not letting anything happen to that little girl."

"Did you know Roy Taylor?" I inquired, changing the line of questioning.

"I met him," George confirmed. "Deejay Mount – I like his stuff. I play it for the kids."

"We have reason to believe that she was with him the night that he was murdered."

"Murdered?" George repeated. I cringed. I shouldn't have been so direct.

"Yeah."

"You can't find Evie?" He confirmed, growing more distressed.

"No," I told him honestly. "But we're working on it."

"Oh, man…" George messed up his hair, brushing it back with his hand. The unkempt look worked for him. "She told me she loved him, and that she and Mount were gonna take Maya out of DC., give her a better life – the one we never had."

Brennan, Booth, and I didn't know how to respond to this, so Booth bowed his head in respect for a few seconds before changing the subject. "You said she gave you some cash?"

George collapsed back on his chair, slamming his elbow onto the table and supporting his head. He looked dizzy. I looked around for a water bottle, found his travel mug, and handed it to him. "Yeah, for Maya," he answered, his focus not completely on us anymore.

Booth withdrew his wallet from his pocket. "I'll buy what you have, two dollars to one."

"Sure, whatever, man."

I looked out through the window. Maya was giggling and laughing as the same blonde dancer lifted up the girl and spun her around, laughing with her. She was so incredibly lucky; it was clear just from watching that not only was her brother watching out for her, but that everyone else here had a soft spot for her, too.

I made myself comfortable, once again sitting on the top rail of the platform's side railing. I had my hands holding loosely to the rail on either side of me and my heels were pressing against the lowest rail. Hodgins was sitting at his little desk with his Petri dishes, clipboard, and microscope, his eyes pressed to the rubber lenses, while Booth paced across a little ten-foot space on the platform behind the entomologist, ranting about possible scenarios.

Hodgins sighed once again as Booth paused to mutter to himself. "You may want the stooges at the FBI, who are experts due to your so-called drug war, to run a comparison. But I'd say the methamphetamine on these bills matches the meth found with deejay Mount behind the wall," the scientist interrupted the agent's pacing, getting irritated with the constant distraction. The difference between Booth and I, even though I was closer to Hodgins, I wasn't incessantly mumbling. I was being quiet.

Booth brightened for a moment, his slowed pacing renewed. "My guess is that Eve was with Mount the time that he was murdered. How about this?" As he walked by this time, he clapped Hodgins on the back. It didn't seem like it was meant to be mean, but Hodgins lurched forwards slightly and grimaced. "Deejay Mount rejects Eve because of her questionable past. So, hey, she gets mad, wants to leave with some money, so-" Booth stopped short when he saw the blank stare Hodgins was giving him. "What?"

Hodgins gave a seeminly-patient look to the speculative investigator. "Yeah, I don't really think much about that kind of stuff. I'm more about bugs and minerals. Sorry."

Booth took on a pleading expression, his eyes widening so he was imitating a very, very large puppy. "Come on, Hodgins. Hey, you're a smart guy!" He encouraged. "You're a smart guy, look up from your microscope, huh? These are real people we're trying to figure out here!" He cooed like he thought he was talking to a dog. Hodgins and I exchanged disturbed glances, but I shrugged and so Hodgins stared at Booth again. "Okay," Booth sighed, giving up.

Hodgins rolled his eyes at Booth's disappointment, humoring him so that he would stop pouting. "Maybe she was just using Mount, setting him up so she could get his drugs and money."

Booth clapped, his eyes lighting up as the other man played along. "Very nice, Hodgins!"

Hodgins lightened up at the praise, grinning slightly and getting caught up in the cheer. "The real question is, where does she go next?"

Booth clapped again and pointed at Hodgins excitedly. "You're on fire, man!"

"That would be after she left her brother's place, because then is when she met her untimely end." Hodgins smirked, satisfied with his own conclusions.

Booth beamed. "You know what? I'm going to turn you into an investigator yet!"

Hodgins looked positively horrified, the smile sliding off of his face faster than I could snap. "No, no, no!" He quickly denied, shooting it down and looking back to his microscope, shaking his head and exhaling deeply, like he'd had a nightmare. "Bugs and slime, dude. That is where I'm happy!"

Brennan and I stood side by side with Booth further back in the room. Angela's large computer monitor was emitting a bright orange light as it recreated the events leading to the deejay's murder. Brennan spoke up, adding the commentary as the sequence of events progressed. "The damage to his C-4 vertebra was the result of his head being twisted so far to the right," she said as the glowing figure turned his head to look backwards.

"He was moving this way, toward Eve." Angela rotated the pan of the recreation so that the wall on the inside of the club turned translucent and both figures were visible.

"I think he was chasing her," Booth supplied.

"And that's based on?" Brennan prompted.

Booth sighed exaggeratedly. "The money and the meth," he explained crankily. "She left that corridor carrying money saturated in the same meth that killed Mount, and she was moving fast."

"She didn't even stop when her belly ring was ripped out," Angela agreed, wincing.

"Money is a pretty good reason to be chased," I admitted reluctantly, chancing a glance at Brennan. I didn't want her affronted because I was siding with Booth. "Especially when you're not very well-off, financially." I sighed and looked back to the computer, fixing my gaze again. I should know. "But then why wasn't he facing her?"

"It got tight back there," Angela's computer did the calculations based on the blueprints the manager had provided. "Down to fifteen centimeters. Eve ripped out her belly ring here, and then left a smear of blood until the corridor widened down here." The computer simulation showed a darker orange when the blood trail started. I paled and shivered, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Oh, God," Brennan moaned, breathing deeply and looking away.

"What?" Angela asked, looking between Brennan and I in concern.

"That just makes me a little sick," Brennan said, shaking her head to try to brush off the queasiness.

Angela watched the color return to Brennan's cheeks, amused. "You pick dead bodies out of mass graves, but yanking a belly ring makes you sick?"

"Moving on, okay?" Booth urged. He had his mouth covered with his hand. "I've shot a lot of people in my time and I have to admit, that whole belly ring thing makes me nauseous, too."

Angela shook her head, barely containing a few giggles. "Anyway, at this point, Mount must have looked behind him, but kept going. Then the passageway narrowed, so he couldn't turn back toward Eve."

"So if he couldn't even turn his head, then there's no way Eve could reach past his body to shove the meth in his face. Which means she didn't kill him," I rationalized.

"A third person surprised him, and that's why he turned his head. To look." Booth looked half like he wanted to growl and half like he wanted to smile, now that they'd narrowed down the suspect pool.

"So someone was chasing Eve, but Mount's body prevented the third party from getting to her, so she escaped for the time being. But he did get to Mount, shoved the meth in his face, and killed him, so there'd be no witnesses." I held up my arms, looking back to Booth. Who deserves the badge now, huh?

Booth rolled his eyes at me, refusing to inflate my ego. "But the real question remains; who the hell is this third person?"

I smirked over the interrogation table at Oakes, Randall Hall's colleague. Booth had picked him up, having figured out he was undercover, and had now released me on him to make it look to anyone unwise to his disguise like it was a normal interrogation. After all – I was still here, working interrogations, so why suddenly stop for the one person?

"Why the hell did you pick me up, kid?" Oakes demanded roughly, getting fed up with my smug expression. To be fair, he'd lasted a while.

"Aw, you know why we brought you in," I said, pouting at his rudeness. I narrowed my eyes. "Agent Booth gave you an opportunity to contact him and explain yourself, but you didn't do that, and that's rude. So, what are you? DEA? D.C.P.D.? Metro?" I listed off the crime-fighting organizations that were local to the area as they came to my head.

Oakes puffed. "Special Agent Ronald Oakes," he corrected pompously.

"FBI," I acknowledged grudgingly. It meant I now had little leverage over him, and when people rubbed me the wrong way, I liked to exercise advantages to make them back down to me. After being attacked in many ways through my life, I like to feel dominant. I don't want to slam people around or anything, but if people seem threatening, feeling like the alpha of the situation just makes me feel more secure.

Oakes nodded, pleased that I understood that I couldn't boss him around as much. "My orders were not to break deep cover for anybody. Out of deep regard for my FBI brother, I gave Agent Booth 'the nod.'"

"Oh, yeah," I said, dragging out the vowels sarcastically. "Yep. The nod. It's a universally-recognized gesture symbolizing only that someone is undercover. Now cut the excuses, Oakes. Whether or not you like it, I am in the position of authority here. And I know that it must kill you to take orders from a kid, but remember, you don't work for the FBI. You're just here for questioning." I grinned inwardly; I could turn his own excuses on him and he couldn't do a damn thing. Score one for Holly.

I didn't like the way Oakes was watching me. It wasn't in a perverted way, but he was keeping his cool and seemed to be sizing me up, judging how to manipulate me. He raise his chained wrists slowly and pulled, emphasizing the handcuffs. "You have any keys for these cuffs?"

I stared him back, keeping myself calm in turn. I didn't want to give him what he wanted. I discreetly pushed the key further into my pocket, disguising the action by brushing off my jeans. Of course, Booth had taken away his weapon and had given me the key, telling me that sometimes it was okay to take off the cuffs if it was used as a bargaining method. "Nope," I lied blatantly. "Listen, man, you've got to work with us here. We're conducting a homicide investigation, and I need to know whatever it is you know."

Oakes dropped his hands, realizing that, even if I was lying, he couldn't do anything about it. Trying to intimidate me would only further enforce the belief that he should be handcuffed. "I'm fifteen months on the task force investigating the links between the urban music business and gang activity."

"And you slithered your way to being Randall Hall's right hand man." My tone gave off the question clearly. Why him? Explain now or you'll be cuffed for a long… LONG… time.

"Randall Hall is a clean alias." Oakes scrutinized me for a reaction. "You ran him, right?"

"No red flags came up when the names of the employees and other allegiances of the club were ran through the system," I said, bored. Where was this going?

"Exactly." Oakes gave a sneaky half smile. He liked knowing more than I did. "His real name is Terrence Baskin. Now we know that he's pushing meth through that club, but we can't get enough to touch him. Our informants disappear, by getting bought off or killed."

"What does that have to do with this murder?" I demanded. Was he wasting my time? If so, I'm going to switch places with Booth and let him lead while I watched from behind the one-way mirror.

"The night that deejay Mount disappeared, Hall got ripped off for a mountain of meth and a ton of cash," Oakes added matter-of-factly.

I gave a soft sigh. Now we're getting somewhere. "So the deejay ripped off Hall? And Hall killed the deejay."

Oakes chuckled slightly at me. I glowered. "No. Doesn't fit. Mount was into Jesus, not chalk. As for the murder? Hall's people do that type of stuff for him." He sighed, leisurely bringing his closed and bound fists up to the table to rest, pointedly reminding me of the handcuffs. "So, if anybody asked, what did Booth say my cover is?"

"Unlicensed weapons charge," I recited.

Oakes laughed shortly. "So I don't get my gun back."

"Not until hell freezes over," I agreed, smiling at him mockingly.

Oakes stood up, taking this as his sign that he could leave and go back to booking for the removal of the cuffs and the grant of freedom. "Keeping my cover… if we meet up again, hit me."

I brightened, smiling sincerely. "Oh, man. Thanks. You just made my day!"

Back in the club, we were in the back office. The rug looked new and the cleanness didn't fit with the environment. I had my suspicions that there might be a particularly morbid reason for that, but I figured it was just paranoia and depression coupling with that I didn't like Randall Hall to begin with. Even when I'd been all doped up on meth and high as a freakin' airplane, he'd bothered me more than Tessa had when she'd gotten all close to me and stared at my eyes just to comment on how dilated my pupils were. I mean, yes, lady, I know I'm intoxicated. Thank you for breaching my personal bubble to tell me what I already know!

Hall hadn't provoked us into taking him into custody yet, although the longer we were there in the unnecessarily large, furnished office, the more my hands itched to pin him to a wall. The furniture was expensive, which fit with the idea that he was pretty much a drug lord, and the office was more like a one-room apartment with a bathroom back in the corner. I'm pretty sure the guy lives here. Oakes was sitting at a table, reading today's newspaper, with the headline facing us. It was pretty clear he was eavesdropping, since he hadn't turned a page the whole ten minutes since we got here.

Speaking of the headline, it appeared that the media still didn't think they'd worn my story enough. Not quite the headline, but an article in bolded font off to the side was stating the now-infamous Holly Elena Emily Anya Kirkland (they were now saving their ink and space by editing my name slightly, so that it was now Holly Emily Kirkland – don't they know that's rude?! I could sue them for misrepresentation!) was working on a federal case once more, even though "eyewitness reports tell us that she had gotten exceedingly violent at the crime scene, threatening a weapon and fighting off attackers, and throwing an unidentified male into the wall, revealing the club as a crime scene." It was really getting old to see my name and picture in the paper. With how much heat I'd been getting lately, I'm beginning to consider giving myself a makeover or something, except without makeup. Then maybe I'd get a break.

Hall was laughing at us. He was rude and condescending and, quite frankly, I could understand why someone would want to kill him. I mean, I kind of want to! "I've been investigated for a year. Why do you think they never got me on anything?"

"Because you're a cheating, thieving, conniving, lying, manipulative, insolent, aggravating, homicida – oh. That was rhetorical." I started to guess.

Brennan nodded her head to the side slightly like she couldn't help but agree.

Hall leveled his gaze at me, sharp and rude. I couldn't help but feel like he was imagining cutting my throat. "No. Because Terrance Baskin is my past. I am one hundred percent clean now. This is my life now, this and my record label. Not crystal meth, not murder, not gangbanging."

"Yet, much of the iconic quality of urban music lies in the perceived or actual rivalry between the principal artists," Brennan pointed out. I smiled dazedly to myself. I'd been wondering where the anthropological facts had gone. I was starting to worry for a little while.

"Not to mention that many of the female buyers of the music like to see when the different artists are pitted against each other. Something about men fighting is supposedly hot and irresistible." I shrugged, disturbed. "Personally, all I think it is is annoying."

Hall's lips quirked as he looked to Booth. "Where did you find them?"

Booth pointed at Brennan and I in order. "Museum, ghetto bar."

"Oh, that's nice," I responded, rolling my eyes. "Was the rivalry between Mount and Rules strong enough to lead to murder?"

Hall shrugged, bored with the questions and our presence. At first he'd been enjoying himself in a pointless way, like he enjoyed playing word games. Now it seemed that, since our patience had mostly run out, he wasn't in the mood for it. "Sure, they were both capable. Add in the fact that Mount was sleeping with Rules's girlfriend, Eve. In fact, Rules build himself a studio around that time. He poured cement for the pad a day after they disappeared."

"So?" Brennan prodded, not getting what the slimy jerk had implied.

I turned slightly to Brennan, keeping my voice down as I explained. Since she tolerated me, I felt like I owed it to her to keep her in the loop, even though how she managed to miss that went right over my head. "He's saying he thinks evidence implicates Eve Warren."

I raised my volume and cleared my throat. "Alright, hero conference!" I called, snapping my fingers. Brennan looked confused, but I looked from her, to Booth, and then raised my eyebrows, she nodded slightly like she understood. I glared icily at Hall and Oakes. Booth got it to begin with and he moved so Brennan and I were in a close triangle so we could whisper.

"Hero conference?" Really, Booth? That's the first thing you ask?

"Yes. Because we are trying to catch a bad guy, and that's pretty much all superheroes in modern culture are good for. That and wearing their clothing incorrectly."

"I don't understand," Brennan interjected.

"Don't complain, I wish I didn't."

"Look, whatever, can we just wrap this up?" Booth shifted his weight. Hall bothered him almost as much as Hall bothered me. "What do we think?"

I sighed, looking back around the rug-covered cement floor before looking back up to my partners in crime. Well, justice. Law enforcement? Hmm, I need to think of a term that sounds catchy with "partners in…". "I think we need a way to find a corpse under cement."

"Can you get a warrant?" Brennan looked to Booth inquisitively.

Booth shook his head just barely, a look of helplessness on his face. "For a look around the premises, maybe, but not to tear it up."

After a moment of silent thought, a smile slowly grew on Brennan's face. "Let me make a phone call," she requested.

Brennan's phone call turned out to be to an officer with a search dog. The large black van's trunk opened with two doors to show the ginger woman's animal, a huge dog that looked like a mastiff or some sort of breed resembling that. The handler, Maggie, had light red hair tied in a messy bun and a dull green vest. She had a leash and collar in one hand, and seemed very affectionate to the dog.

Brennan pet the dog's head kindly. "Tootie has traveled the world finding dead bodies."

I reached out my hand to the dog, who sniffed it and then nosed my hand up onto his head. He looks big and hulky, but I think he's just an affection-loving puppy who just happens to not be a puppy. At all. Booth watched the dog interact with Maggie, Brennan, and I skeptically. "Does Tootie always drool like that?" He asked uncertainly. Brennan gave him a very fierce glare and the dog whined pitifully. Booth returned Brennan's look. "What, I'm going to hurt his feelings?"

"It would seem that way," I stated simply.

"Tootie is the best cadaver dog in the world, Agent Booth," Maggie defended the canine with a sharp glare at Booth.

Brennan nodded, looking up to the investigator as she continued to pet down the dog's flank. "It's true. If you were a dead body, you'd want Tootie looking for you." Actually, if I were a dead body, I wouldn't want anything. You know, seeing as "dead" is the operative word here.

Maggie had the dog jump out from the truck and start towards Rules's studio. The dog wore a thin harness with the FBI emblem and a label stating that Tootie was a certified search dog. Maggie let the dog pull her once inside as he sniffed around the new carpeting. He was obviously well behaved. He was calm, task-oriented (as far as I could tell), and Maggie gave the long leash a lot of slack.

"How can it smell anything buried under a building?" Booth asked me, following us all in uncertainly. He was clearly reluctant to give up the investigation to an animal.

"Dogs have much keener senses of smell than humans," I explained matter-of-factly. "And I don't mean that they just have a good sense of smell. I mean, they can smell putrefaction and decomposition when there is almost no trace left. You've heard of rescue dogs saving children in the Arctic?" I motioned towards Maggie and the mastiff. "This is essentially the same thing."

"He can," Brennan agreed, having hung back slightly so that she could hear us. "Once I saw Tootie find a dead body wrapped in plastic under concrete after four years."

Maggie glanced over her shoulder, not giving Booth the respect of looking at him while she talked. "Tootie can smell decaying blood on a tooth six feet underground. I mean, so what if he drools a little? What's up with that?" She rounded on him as the dog sniffed, muzzle pressed against the ground. "You know, your eyes are kind of close together, but I don't comment."

Booth grumbled what sounded suspiciously like an insult under his breath before holding his hands up. "I apologize."

"Is he sincere?" Maggie asked me.

Wanting to just get this over with, I nodded slightly. "He's trying to be," I lied.

"Alright then, we accept," Maggie told Booth with a decisive nod, while the dog started to circle. The big mastiff whined and then laid down on the carpeting, resting his muzzle on his crossed front paws. Tootie looked up with big, sad eyes and whined again.

"Good boy, Tootie," Maggie cooed, stroking his head. The dog leaned into it, but stayed planted firmly right where he was. "He found something.

Booth scowled down at the canine. "Maybe he's just lazy," he suggested.

Brennan knelt down by Tootie, holding up a stick of pasty white chalk. "Lying down is his indicator," she told Booth, giving him a sharp expression. She wasn't being so much defensive of the dog anymore as she was just upset with Booth's attitude. "Tootie found it. There's a body under here." She started kneeling over the animal and drew thick white lines on the carpet with the chalk in a wide circle around the mastiff. "You should get a warrant to bring in a jackhammer for the floor. I'd start digging here."

I stood with Booth and Tessa up on the high balcony overlooking the examination platform of the Jeffersonian. Tessa had a professional suit on with a blue striped tie, having probably just gotten away from the office. Booth had changed into a different shirt under his black FBI jacket. I was leaning up against the rail, alternating from looking down to Brennan, Zach, and Hodgins as they examined the skeleton of Eve Warren and watching Booth and Tessa interact.

"You're going to Jamaica for the weekend?" I repeated Tessa, reaching up to brush some hair out of my face. "That sounds awesome. Congrats, bros."

"Um, it's a bed and breakfast," Tessa added, continuing the conversation after taking a glance to Booth. It seemed like she wasn't sure whether or not he was cool with me knowing his plans. He just shrugged. "There are these coral cliffs, snorkeling, and kayaking."

"That sounds really cool!" I smiled graciously at her. Despite many people's opinions, I do have manners and I know how to be polite. I just choose not to most of the time. In all actuality, I can be quite charismatic. "You'll have fun. Jamaica's supposed to be a great place for a vacation. You'll be pretty far from law enforcement and crime." I think part of what made their relationship interesting was that Booth was an arresting officer, and Tessa was a lawyer. Cool, no? It's like a bowtie and tuxedo combination.

Brennan cleared her throat. I jumped slightly. I'd been paying so much attention to Booth and Tessa I'd forgotten about watching the platform. Brennan hadn't taken off her lab coat yet, and she was patiently waiting for an opportunity to share.

Tessa placed her hand on Booth's shoulder and kissed him quickly on the lips. "I'll talk to you later," she promised, before taking the shirt Booth had changed out of and moving quickly away. I looked at her retreating back. There was definitely a lack of comfort around Brennan. But then I looked back at Booth and smiled impishly.

"No. No, don't start on me," the agent warned, waving his finger at me. "Normal people kiss. It's something children don't understand."

"Yeah, there's totally no teenagers making out and having sex in this country," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

Booth stuttered. "Just drop it, okay!"

"Believe me, if I'd been planning on holding onto it, you would most definitely know."

"It's Eve Warren," Brennan said once Tessa was out of earshot. "The dentals confirmed it."

"Eve Warren," I repeated softly to myself. I closed my eyes briefly, thinking about her brother and the little girl – Maya – that the dead mother had given birth to. Then I shook myself out of it. This was not my job. My mission here was to find her murderer, not to worry about her family. "Cause of death?"

"Same as Mount," Brennan said, giving me a slight look of understanding. She must have realized that I was thinking about the girl, who would grow up without a mother, like I did.

"Meth overdose." Booth rubbed his hands together. He didn't seem to notice Brennan's and my temporary grief.

"It was pushed in the face," Brennan added, "But there's more. I don't think that Rules killed her."

I frowned. "She was buried under his studio, though."

"But her wrist was broken," Brennan said. My eyes widened and I face palmed.

Rules had shattered the bones in his dominant wrist and was still in a cast. No way could he fight her.

"Bone damage indicates that Eve was taken from behind and smashed into a wall," Brennan narrated as Angela made the holograph reflect her words. "Her skull shows damage to both the infraorbital and supraorbital margins and the zygomatic process."

"Her head got an ouchie," I translated for Booth's benefit.

Booth narrowed his eyes at the hologram. "Zygo – zu – what –" After a few tries to pronounce 'zygomatic,' Booth gave up entirely with a groan of frustration. "Whatever. You said she was killed by crystal meth."

"She was," Brennan nodded quickly, not giving Booth time to say that she was being typically confusing. "She would have been hurt, and stunned by the blow, but not killed, and certainly not immediately."

"A bag of crystal meth was placed over her face, actually ground into her wounds, and into the airway," Angela explained further, cringing back from her own holographic display as she spoke. I had to admit, even to me, that was some serious anger.

"And there is no way that Rules could have smashed her into a wall," I added, clarifying the situation before Booth had time to ask more unnecessary questions. I pointed to the hologram as the already created scenario continued to play in glowing orange pixels. I spoke without the scientific terms to make this discussion go quickly. I want the person responsible for Eve's murder apprehended as quickly as possible. He left her daughter parentless, and I knew how horrible Maya would feel in later life about not having known her biological parents. "Eve's right wrist was twisted behind her back, damaging both her elbow and shoulder as well. For that to happen, the assailant would have needed to twist her arm with his right hand, while jamming the meth up against her face with the other, both with a large amount of force."

Booth snapped his fingers as he began to understand. "But Rules had been shot twice in the hand. He had nerve damage."

Brennan smiled slightly. "There is no way he had the strength to kill Eve Warren."

Booth stomped right on out of the interrogation room not ten minutes after he'd gone in. Brennan and I watched from behind the one-way mirror. I had my arms crossed and smirked the whole time. He'd declined my offer of assistance, stating that "I got this down pat." For emphasis, he'd pat his own shoulder. Then I'd watched smugly as he got absolutely nowhere in the interrogation with deejay Rules.

"That kid's head is twisted," Booth declared, his face slightly red in his severe irritation.

I rolled my eyes. "Are you done?" He gave me a fish-eyed look. "Don't be an idiot, Booth. I'm not saying we give up. I'm saying you let me help, because I know the community that he lives in."

Booth looked seriously miffed that he couldn't get anything out of the deejay. I'll bet he wants to book him and see if he'll crack, but I know that that will only discourage him further from talking. A proud man like Rules won't want to give in to pressure. Instead, he twitched very slightly and threw both hands out towards the door back into the room. "Knock yourself out!"

I shook my head, picking up one of the spare earpieces on the desk. I brushed back my dark hair and turned it on, hooking it to my ear, and then pushed my hair back down to hide it. Taking a moment, I undid my somewhat neat appearance. I reached up to my hair and ruffled my fringe so it fell into my eyes. I tossed my head, forcing the bangs to flop out of my eyes, and I pulled my hair back. I used the rubber band on my wrist to haphazardly tie my hair in place. With that, I walked off to the door and shoved it open, confidently stepping in and shutting it behind me.

I pulled the chair across from the deejay away from the table, sending it in a slight whirl so the back faced the table, and sat on it backwards, reaching out with my hands to tap the table. I love acting tough. "You did not murder Eve Warren," I stated simply.

Rules chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He thought I was bemusing. "This is a weird kind of interrogation. Cops are telling me what I didn't do."

"Well, then do me a favor and tell me Booth is wrong. Confess to a murder," I prompted.

"Hell, no, dude!" Rules scoffed, crossing one arm across his chest and the other, his injured one, moved from the table to his lap. "What do you think, I'm some kind of idiot?"

"Then do me a favor and deny it," I countered calmly. It seems like interrogation has actually helped my patience a little bit, which is kind of ironic when I think about it. Or maybe it's just made me better at repeating inner mantras to stay calm.

Rules leaned back in his table, his lip curling slightly. "See, you've got tricks. You're going to twist all my words 'round, so I'd better not say anything at all."

"But you didn't kill Eve Warren," I reiterated, blinking owlishly.

Booth groaned from behind the mirror. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Hush, Booth. I want to hear what she says."

Note to self: Thank Brennan for getting Booth to be quiet later. It's hard to focus with his nagging in my ear.

"So you say," Rules countered. "The Rules says say nothing."

I arched an eyebrow at him, the perfect picture of cleverness, if I do say so myself. "Yet you want us to hold you in the station, because your business will go through the roof if you get nailed for Mount's murder."

"What?" Brennan exclaimed. I ignored her. This would work better if Rules didn't know I had a skeletal expert and federal agent talking in my ear while I tried to cut bargains for information.

"'Sactly," Rules nodded, looking at me appraisingly. "Why should deejay Mount get the bump, huh? Maybe it's my turn." His righteousness could be played.

"So I'll make you a better deal," I proposed. I always love a challenge. I consider this a game to me, because how it ends depends on how I react. "You tell us what we need to know, and I'll make sure those charges get laid against you. You'll be put in the remand center."

"For how long?" Rules seemed to think I might be tricking him.

I let a contemplative hum escape. "Depends on what you tell us."

I could imagine Brennan shaking her head, her brunette hair flying as she tried to reevaluate her knowledge on the situation. "Hold on, is she negotiating to put this guy IN jail?"

"And to make it better, I'll charge you with Roy Taylor's murder, too." I sighed for show. "Then again, you could always lawyer up. But if you get one of those moron attorneys, then you'll only be thrown in lockup for, oh, I don't know – a month, at most."

"Sweet," Rules cheered very slightly, a satisfied, sly expression on his face. "I'm in."

"Where am I, backwards world?!" Brennan cried in confusion.

"So what information do you have?" I prompted.

Rules leaned forwards, looking me in the eye like he was trying to prove he was sharing as much as he could. "Look, I can tell you all why Mount got killed, but you'll have to figure out the rest on your own." I nodded to show I was listening closely. "Mount was going to jump."

"You mean commit suicide?" Brennan questioned, sounding surprised.

"No!" I said, accidentally speaking out loud. Well, at least she would hear. To cover up my mistake, I added, "He wasn't really going to jump labels, was he?" Rules nodded in a 'what can I say?' manner. "Deejay Mount was going to leave Basement Records." I grinned slightly. That implicated Randall Hall.

"Look, all he needed was the money to buy himself back. That's why he got himself killed. Now if Hall finds out that I told you all that much, I'm going to end up some dried-out mummy in a wall, too."

"So you believe Randall Hall is capable of murder?" I prodded, intrigued.

"Maybe not on his own, but he's not past hirin' a guy," Rules said, scowling at the thought. I sort of agreed. I mean, if you're going to kill someone, at least have the decency to do it yourself.

"Okay. And then what about Eve?"

"Man, Eve couldn't kill nobody!" The deejay whined. "You know, sex them to death, maybe, but that's about it." I snickered. "There's one more thing, though. The next day, Hall built me a new studio. He took it out of my money, too," he added crossly.

I grinned to myself. There we go. All evidence points to the guy I dislike. This may be about as good as most peoples' Christmases. "So, you going to put me in jail?" Rules asked hopefully.

I stood up, turning the chair back and shoving it in. I beckoned him to stand up. "Well, you were very helpful. It's the least I can do to charge you with murder," I said, winking as he laughed.

"And there we go," I said as Brennan, Booth, and I strode up the stairs to the examination platform. "I told you I could help, but no~!" I was still gloating a little bit about my success and his utter failure.

"Yes, we've been over this," Booth growled, put off. "How about this? Hall has motive to kill Mount. Why? Because he's jumping labels, and he's running away with some girl who is stealing Hall's meth and money."

Brennan took some latex gloves that Zach offered her and blew into one, stretching it out. "I'm starting to see how this whole motive thing works."

"Thank you," Booth said, nodding victoriously.

"It's still murky psychological guesswork, though." Booth's smile slipped off of his face and I practically heard it hit the floor.

"Dr. Brennan, I found a mark on Eve Warren," Zach said once the dialogue ceased for a moment. He walked nimbly over to the monitor and computer keyboard and mouse. "It's on the manubrium." He clicked a button on the mouse and the x-rays and close ups showed in different windows on the monitor. A little darkened fracture was on the bone.

"Compare it to the mark on Mount," Brennan ordered. Zach nodded to himself and moved back to the first exam table, which held the deejay's remains.

"Okay, so Eve tells Mount that she wants to start a new life. She steals the drugs and the money, thinking that she and Mount can build a new future for themselves and her baby girl," Booth theorized sensibly.

"That's a story, Booth," Brennan stressed. "You need to find something real."

"But why?" Booth argued with feeling. "It feels real to me! Eve is a woman in love, trying to escape a world that's just crushing her." Brennan blinked and spared a quick glance to the picture of Mount and Eve standing together and smiling at the camera. "Mount finds out how much trouble the woman he's in love with is in, so he gives up his own life to protect her. That's not enough, though. They were looking for a better life and they wound up dead."

I sighed at that; why did love cause so much trouble? Although most little girls should, and its healthy for children to, I'd never believed in true love, no matter how many times I watched Cinderella or The Little Mermaidor any other sweet Disney movie. Actually, somehow I always manage to find fault in the "Prince Charmings." For example, Cinderella's prince wanted a trophy wife more than he wanted someone to love; he wanted someone good at everything that he could show off. Maybe it's just me that thinks that way; I do overthink simple things sometimes.

"It looks like a match," Zach announced. He pulled both images into separate windows and minimized them before putting them up side by side on the monitor. They were nearly identical, and the variation left could be left to force or angle.

"What the hell is that?" Booth asked, frowning at the screen.

"I'm not sure," Brennan replied. "It's a bone dimple. But they both have it, so it can't be genetic. Something external caused it, but I'm not sure what."

I growled to myself and hit the back of one hand against my other's palm. "Randall Hall is behind this! He killed both of these people and left a little girl to grow up with only an uncle that won't really understand." I took a deep breath; I was getting emotional, showing too much of myself. Don't feel it. Don't let it show. It was one of my own mottos. "We know that he did it, but we can't touch him! There's no evidence linking him to the drugs, the cash, or the bodies except for a couple of bone anomalies!"

"I'll keep looking at the remains, and maybe find the evidence we need," Brennan volunteered.

Booth shook his head fervently, clearly in agreement with me. "I can't let it stand. You know what? I'm going to spread the pain, alright? That's my new motto." He turned his back to us, starting down the stairs to leave.

I brightened slightly, turning and running to follow. "Oh, let me assist! I am absolutely brilliant at spreading pain!"

Brennan stripped her gloves off with the faint snaps of rubber. "Wait! I can help spread pain, too!"

Brennan, Booth, and I lied in wait for Hall in his own club. I lounged on the sofa, ignoring the cigarette odor and the little puffs of smoke that clouded for a few seconds when I moved too much. Oakes was sitting at a table, reading the newspaper, while Booth read a magazine, only half paying attention. Brennan was looking around, skimming through some of his books.

When Hall came in, he looked like he was about to lecture us, but Booths spoke before he could. "We know you did it."

"What?" Hall asked, deciding to play dumb.

"You killed Mount in that wall so that he wouldn't leave your label," Booth stated coolly.

"And you killed Eve Warren," Brennan added.

I stood up from the couch, cracking my knuckles intimidatingly. "You murdered her in cold blood and buried her under deejay Rules's studio. This is going to remain an active crime scene." I narrowed my eyes. "Did you know Eve had a daughter? She's a toddler. Her name is Maya. What is Eve's brother going to do when she asks about her mother? Sorry, Maya, but you're never going to see your mommy again because a coldhearted, petty bastard decided she wasn't worth life? If I were as idiotic as you, I'd kill you right here!" I glared at him fiercely, fire sparking in my eyes.

"It's harassment," Hall accused, very carefully not reacting to my accusations. "I'll sue."

"Oh, I'm going to harass you every chance I get!" I promised.

Hall lifted his cane from the ground, grasped the steel, curved top, and shoved it at me, hitting me just above my breasts with the metal tip. "I'm not somebody you want to mess with," he warned.

I scoffed, pretending not to feel the painful sting of where the cane had connected with my body. I mean, ouch, that had a bit of a bite to it. "Did you just… poke me?" I demanded, my voice lowering dangerously. I took a step closer to him. My tall height made me a bit taller than him and he shrank back slightly. I doubt he did it on purpose. I turned to Brennan and Booth, who had just stood up at the assault. "Did he just poke me with his little toy stick?" I asked them, laughing harshly.

Hall threw his weight to his other leg, pulling his cane back to his side. I glanced to Booth and Brennan, about to ask if Booth could arrest him for assault on a minor, when I saw Brennan's expression. She was completely zeroed in on the cane. I changed my gaze. The rounded steel that Hall held onto came to an end that was sculpted to look like a serpent with its fangs bared wide. The metallic tip had a sharp point; that's why it had hurt when he'd jabbed me with it. That, and he'd hit me right over a bone… the manubrium, to be exact, just like he probably had with Eve and Mount, although admittedly, he must have done it harder to them. "This is my place," Hall declared, getting worked up. "If I want to poke someone, I do it."

Brennan took the next opportunity. When Hall lifted the cane to take a step, she lunged and grabbed it. Oakes pulled a concealed weapon on Booth, who had drawn his own gun when Hall had started to fight back on Brennan. I made a jump at Oakes, tackling him to the ground and wrestling the pistol from his grasp and then turning it on Hall. Booth picked up the cane which had fallen to the side through the scuffle. "How easily do you think I scare?" He complained, holding either side of it and bringing his knee up to snap it.

"Don't break the cane," Brennan yelled at him. "Arrest him and confiscate the cane as evidence! I need the cane."

"Arrest him for what?" Booth asked her, holding the cane up in the air with one hand. "He's the guy who pointed the gun at a federal agent!" He pointed at Oakes, whose gun I still held.

"For assaulting and threatening a minor," I supplied. "Did you see that?" I gestured to him, carelessly pointing the gun at him. "He hit me in the chest with a metal cane! That is rude!" I turned back to Oakes for a moment, waving the gun in the air. "And the next time we have to take a gun away from you, I'll shoot you with it!"

"Fine, here." Booth passed off the cane to me and pulled handcuffs from his belt. "Randall Hall, I am placing you under arrest, alright? For the assault of a minor."

Hall sneered. "This will never go to court."

"You want to make a bet on that?" I challenged, before brandishing the cane, reaching out, and whacking him with it. "It's not a nice feeling, is it, Mr. I-Can-Poke-People?"

I tightened the straps around the protective vest, carefully not to actually touch the graduate student. Zach flinched slightly as I yanked back on the securing strap. "Sorry," I apologized, loosening it slightly. "But hey, it's better to feel like you're wearing a corset for a few minutes than to have a permanent injury."

I stepped back and walked around to face Zach, pulling on the vest strapped tightly around his torso. Zach was pulled forwards, too, and I smiled, satisfied. I reached to the desk and pulled a dark blue slate of molding clay, the type that the Jeffersonian used to make molds of injuries. I held it out to Zach and he took it, holding it up in front of him. "Here?" He asked. We were trying to replicate the angle that Hall had hit me at, because I'm about Eve Warren's height. I compared where he was holding up the clay to where I'd been hit.

"A little higher," I corrected.

Hodgins rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming. "Oh, yes," he grinned manically. "I love my job."

"Ugh, don't break him," I requested, rolling my eyes. Hodgins picked up Hall's cane and swung it around, getting a feel for the weight, and Zach swallowed nervously.

The security system beeped as Angela stepped up on the platform. "Get this, I called Tessa to tell her a couple of places she should check out in Jamaica, but she's not going."

"What happened?" I asked, pouting slightly. I'd have loved to tease Booth one last time about a vacation with his sexy lawyer friend.

"Well, she said something came up at work, but, I know the truth," Angela sighed.

Hodgins looked over to Brennan. "How many times do you want me to poke Zach?" He asked excitedly.

"Just once, but as hard as you can," the anthropologist replied quickly.

"As hard as he can?" Zach repeated, looking affronted. "Why don't I hit him as hard as I can?"

Hodgins gave him a look that suggested Zach was being silly. "Because you have arms like noodles, while I'm vigorous and burly."

"Oh, so that's what they're calling it now," I said, going along with it.

"Hey!"

"What truth?" Brennan asked Angela, going back to the Tessa-Booth topic.

Meanwhile, Hodgins planted his feet firmly and held up the cane, before thrusting it forward and hitting Zach square in the center of the clay. Braced by the vest and clay, Zach only stumbled slightly, but his eyes flared as he grunted. "Is that all you got, burly boy?" He challenged with sharp bravado. Hodgins gave him another of those looks and snatched away the clay block.

"They got freaked out by stage six," Angela sighed again, feeling very bummed out.

"What's stage six?" I asked tentatively, not sure I wanted to know.

Angela sighed again, this time more theatrically. "How does a teenage girl not know the six stages of romance? One, spend the night. Two, spend the weekend. Three, exchange keys. Four, sexy weekend getaway. Five, extended vacation. All inevitably followed by six; move in together." I frowned uneasily. If I met a guy I liked, I wouldn't spend the night with him before hanging out with him in a few public places first, just to make sure he wasn't some psychotic or anything. Angela clearly wasn't thinking these steps through.

Brennan clearly agreed with me that Angela was making these up. "I'm an anthropologist. I know the stages of everything, and you made those up."

"I did not," Angela denied.

"Yes, you did," Brennan stayed firm.

"They got to stage five, and they balked," Angela shrugged like that solved everything.

"Not Booth. Booth does not balk," Brennan denied.

"Sweetie," Angela smiled supportively. "It's always the guy."

Brennan disagreed, shaking her head vigorously. "Booth is not a balker," she maintained.

Hodgins looked up from the clay. "The mark on Mount and Eve, they're the same. And they came from the cane."

I shook my head, pursing my lips furiously. "He just can't resist hitting people with that stupid cane. Hall is the killer."

"Send the cane, the photos, and the medium to the FBI," Brennan commanded. "Let them confirm the match."

"What?" Hodgins pouted. "Let them have all the glory?" He was very disappointed. I guess I'm a bit late realizing that this lab is not very professional.

I stepped up to Zach, avoiding actually touching him as I started pulling back the straps of his vest and loosening the safety equipment from him. "My chest hurts," Zach whimpered.

Brennan shook her head, fond of her intern. "Yeah, all the glory," she told Hodgins, coming up and patting Zach on the shoulder.