A couple of hours before lunch on Monday morning, I washed over the bar top with a rag. Andy was sitting on a stool on the customers' side of the bar, talking about God knows what (I stopped paying attention five minutes ago) while I got ready for the lunch rush, when college professors and day workers got their hour-long breaks and popped in for some alcohol that they would later deny they'd had.

"…is, you haven't worked for an entire three days at once ever since you met those people." I tuned back in to the KFRAndy Radio Show when I heard the pronoun "you" again. The radio show joke thing was barely an exaggeration; when someone doesn't tell him to shut up, Andy talks incessantly. "And the papers I got today, they said you were excused because of a federal quarantine."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I would've called, but I was busy being tested for valley fever," I said offhandedly, before I realized how weird it was to say that sort of thing so casually.

"You what?" Andy asked again, before shaking his head and hands violently. "No, no, no. Don't tell me. I get that you're working big important FBI cases, but when are you going to quit and come back to your job? You know, reality?"

I sighed loudly. I really don't like having this conversation with Andy, of all people. The door opened with a soft squeak and my lips quirked upwards slightly at the familiar suited figure walking in and up to the bar. "Maybe when you get arrested, I'll take a break, because then I won't have to deal with you," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" Andy asked, turning his ear to me curiously.

"Nothing of importance."

Booth let his hand land solidly on Andy's shoulder and my boss just about fell out of his chair, yelling out in surprise. I smirked as Andy turned to see Booth and nearly had a heart attack. "Hey, we don't have any drugs or anything, and we only sell to people of age, okay? We check for ID!" Andy justified desperately, frightened of Booth. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not interested in your alcohol sales," Booth said, reflecting my thoughts. "I'm here to borrow your barmaid." He gave Andy an annoyed look.

For a moment, Andy looked between Booth and I in confusion, then realization, then disappointment (in me, I presume). "Oh. You want Holly again, right? What is it, Agent…?"

"Special Agent Booth," Booth corrected, emphasizing his correct title. "I do want to take Holly with me for a while, and being as she's being hired by the FBI, you can just expect to have her back when we're done with her and in the meantime, be prepared to get her her paycheck at the normal time, thanks." Booth decided that Andy was scared enough and he nodded to the "EMPLOYEES ONLY" door back behind the bar. "Go on. FBI confidentiality," he prompted.

Andy didn't really have a choice. With his head down, he let his arms slide from the table as he forced his body to move off the chair and around the bar. He moved back behind the display and storage and to the door, and slipped through it, letting it swing shut behind him.

"He's irritated that I've not been around to keep Jeff from sneaking the alcohol at break time," I guessed. "What's up with you this time, Booth?"

Booth took Andy's seat and made himself at home. He swung his arm up onto the table and propped his heels up against the support of the stool. "Holly, what would you say if I invited you to go to LA with Bones and I?"

I raised my eyebrows. Was this some kind of joke? I played along anyway. It's not like he would come here for no reason. "I would say that that would be lovely, but it's not going to happen, so was there a point to that question?"

Booth groaned and covered his face with his hands for a moment. Did I miss something obvious again? I wondered to myself. Booth sat up again. "Holly, I'm inviting you to go with Bones and me to Los Angeles for a case!" He did a happy little jig from the stool. I opened my mouth to speak, but he raised a finger up to stop me. "And before you ask, I've already got it covered. The FBI's booked rooms for Bones and I, so you can bunk with her, at a hotel right in the middle of the city! Meals and necessary store trips can be charged to the FBI's tab, so it's pretty much no money out of your pocket to go to another big city that is across the country to solve another murder!"

I let go of the rag and leaned forward so far that my elbows touched the bar top and I balanced myself like that, with my forearms pressing against the counter. Los Angeles? No expenses? Murder investigation? Hm. That's pretty much already answered itself. "Alright," I said slowly. "When do we leave?"

"Now!" Booth jumped up from his chair and grinned hugely at me. He made a big 'come on' motion with his hand. "Bones is waiting outside in the car! Our flight leaves in an hour!"

"So I don't have time to go get packed?" I stated bluntly, reminding him of that little detail.

"Why do you always find fault in my plans?" Booth complained. "Didn't you hear me? Meals and necessary store trips can be charged to the FBI's tab. You can just go to the LA mall for things you need!"

"And what about plane tickets?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "You're not that great of a vacation planner if you don't account for these things."

"Already booked!" Booth crowed, and then motioned for me to hurry and pantomimed running. "So come on, what are you waiting for? "I knew you'd want to come, so I had the FBI get yours when I scheduled Bones's."

"You couldn't have known for sure that I'd be up for it!" I argued, coming the long way around the employee's entrance to the back of the bar.

Booth gave me this look of amusement and raised his eyebrows in a challenge. "Or can I?" He asked. "Bones is waiting in the car," he added, before I could tell him that no, he couldn't have known my response for certain. "Let's go live in Los Angeles!" He cried, throwing his hands up in the air above his head while he walked down the aisle back to the door. I bet he has absolutely no idea how ridiculous he looks doing that.

Three hours later, I was in Los Angeles, California, riding in the back of a black convertible mustang with the roof down, wearing the five-dollar blue plastic sunglasses from Walmart and singing along with Carrie Underwood on the radio. Oh, yeah. This totally beats working in the bar.

The sun was out and the clouds were scarce, but those that were there were white and fluffy. Palm trees provided fleeting shade along the local streets from where they'd been planted on the median dividing the traffic. So far, the most colors I've seen are green and orange. The tall buildings reached into the sky and cast large shadows over their smaller neighbors, and I have to say, it's pretty damn awesome to be in Los Angeles.

Brennan rode shotgun, her arm resting just inside the car and her window rolled all the way down. The wind whipped through her hair, which was the reason that both of us had our hair up in ponytails. She had on plain sunglasses that she'd bought from the sunglasses aisle at Walmart, while Booth took my lead and got silly kids' sunglasses, except his were a bright orange. His window was completely rolled down, too, and he was driving.

As Before He Cheats ended and the radio station started an advertisement for a cinema film, Brennan frowned and looked to Booth, voicing her thoughts candidly. "This car doesn't feel very FBI-y."

Booth stopped smiling and he looked to Brennan indignantly. "Bones, this is a 1966 mustang! It's a classic! What goes better than that with the FBI?"

I leaned forward as best as I could with my seatbelt fighting against me. I set my arms on both of the adults' seats and looked to Booth curiously, bringing up what I'd noticed earlier at the car dealership. "How come you made the dealer write "sedan" under "model" on the rental agreement?" Brennan looked at me in shock and I nodded, and she looked around me to glare at Booth.

Booth tried to turn the conversation around. "Come on. We're in California!" He took his eyes off of the road for a minute and pointed at a tree. "Look at the palm trees!" He looked back to the road again and his hand moved back to the steering wheel. "We don't see a lot of those in D.C.."

Brennan huffed and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. I thought that that would be the end of the argument, but a minute later, Brennan looked over to Booth again. "You know, I'd like to drive sometimes."

Booth pretended not to have heard her. "Our contact out here is Special Agent Trisha Finn."

"I'm an excellent driver," Brennan told him, not willing to drop the subject as quickly as he was.

Booth couldn't ignore her for a second time without starting a fight. He scoffed lightly, not wanting to give up the driving rights of the car. "Okay, Rain Man."

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said, slightly confused.

"I am always going to drive." Booth stated simply and looked over at her for as long as he could without risking a car accident. "You know that, right? Me behind the wheel and you over there on the grandma side."

Brennan scowled at Booth for a moment before the frown slid away. Instead she looked out the window casually. "I'm not above telling Deputy Director Cullen what kind of car you rented." She said, her voice completely even.

And so, five minutes later, it was the same exact scene, except Brennan was behind the wheel while Booth was busy pouting with his arms crossed in the backseat of the car while I lounged shotgun. Thumbs-up for women commandeering the car!

"Do you want to drive on the way to the hotel?" Brennan offered to me, looking back and forth between the road and I.

"Nah. I don't have a license," I said, waving my hand lazily. "I know how, but it's not legal, so it's not a good idea."

Booth jumped at this and leaned forward again, putting his arms on the side of the front seats the same as I had. "Whoa. You're a seventeen-year-old without a license? You do realize that you can get one, don't you?"

I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to bop his nose to get him to go back to the backseat. Hey, if he's close enough for me to do it, then it's his fault. "Of course I do. I had a permit, but then I changed foster homes. Anyway, it's not like I have a car to drive."

"Well that's what we've got to do while we're here!" Booth declared. I could hear the excitement in his tone. "Get the junior agent-squint a driver's license! There's always those times when you have to wait for a warrant or something."

I bit the inside of my cheek, looking up at the sky. I refrained from reminding Booth that registration for a license costs money, because he still thinks that I'm living off of funds from my foster family (who may or may not all be dead or living happily in Venice. Who knows?). Well, I guess I'm getting a license. What the hell, it's Los Angeles.

I took my sunglasses off and squinted against the brightness that I'd grown unaccustomed to. I folded them up and hung them off of my shirt, looking around the airstrip. A plane flew overhead, close enough for us to have to wait for it to pass in order to hear each other talk. Los Angeles has a great cityscape, but the airport is out in the more desert-like area.

I looked over to Special Agent Trisha Finn as Brennan looked around and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. I'm with you. I miss the car's air conditioner. Finn was in her twenties and she had pretty blonde hair that was slightly curly. Despite that Booth was trying to be professional and was wearing his suit, Finn was apparently more used to adapting to the heat, and she wore slacks and a short-sleeved blouse instead.

"Agent Finn, why was the body removed from the crime scene?" Brennan asked, sounding upset.

"Call me Trisha, Dr. Brennan." Trisha pulled a rolled-up map from her brown shoulder bag. "The body was removed because parts were visible to arriving flights." She unrolled it and passed it to Brennan. I walked closer to the anthropologist to see the map. It was basically a tourist's guide to the airport and the immediate surrounding area, but out by the airstrips and a bit out into the desert were several orange points. "Here's a map of the crime scene with a legend. Now there's a marked cone at the location of each body part, and we have photographs that correspond to each cone."

I looked to Trisha inquisitively, recognizing the method. "Is that protocol, or did you use that method because it's in Dr. Brennan's most recent book?"

Booth seemed kind of proud. "She got that method from me," he said, pointing at Brennan and then himself.

Brennan seemed to have lost interest in the side conversation. She looked from the map up and around us. "This is not a dismemberment," she stated clearly and firmly.

"Are you sure, Bones?" Booth asked uncertainly. "I mean, this is Los Angeles. You know, they're pretty showy."

"That's nice. Stereotyping body dumps by the city in which they occur," I said, rolling my eyes slightly. I observed the map critically. I had to agree with Brennan; it probably wasn't dismemberment. The body parts had been so many and so randomly scattered, it seemed more like scavenging by big animals than a body dump.

"Is it possible that the body parts were ground up in a landing gear, then dumped when the airplane landed?" Trisha suggested.

"The dispersal rate is wrong," Brennan stated, disregarding the theory. "It looks to me like the body was pulled apart by a pack of dogs." I mentally applauded myself. Way to go, Holly!

Trisha sighed. "More likely coyotes."

"Coyotes at an airport?" I asked, surprised. "Really? That happens?"

"We've got coyotes everywhere, Miss…?" Trisha trailed off, and I remembered that I hadn't actually introduced myself. Well done, Kirkland. Great job.

"Kirkland," I finished for her, and waved slightly. "Hello. Holly Kirkland. I'm Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's consultant from D.C.."

"I'd like to see the remains now," Brennan announced, interrupting the conversation. To be fair, she didn't have to give us any time at all for it, but she gave us a minute, anyway. And besides, a dead person is probably more important than coyotes in Los Angeles.

Los Angeles's police department provided us with a nice lab and the basic equipment that Brennan and I would need to do basis evaluations of the remains of the person who had been taken apart and scattered across the airfield. The body pieces were lain out in as close to anatomical order as we could get, but there was still a bit of sinew and tissue clinging to some of the remains. Trisha looked a little green and Booth seemed uneasy, even though I'd have thought he'd be getting used to it by now. Brennan and I were pretty much unaffected, and we were wearing latex gloves and ready to work.

"I need all the dirt, silt, bits, and pieces collected with the body parts sent back to the Jeffersonian immediately," Brennan stated, knowing that either Booth or Trisha would make sure that happened.

"You know what I like?" Booth asked, although no one really seemed inclined to answer, so he answered the question himself. "When there's no flesh on the bones. It's just a… personal preference."

Brennan picked up a severed humorous with blackened muscle tissue still clinging to it. I had to admit, I'd been slightly hungry a minute ago, but now it's gone. Like, wiped from existence. "There's not much left, anyway," Brennan said, as if to make Booth realize that it wasn't that bad.

Trisha took a single look at the severed arm that Brennan held and took a very sharp breath. "Ew," she muttered, raising her hand to the side of her face to block it away. "Dr. Brennan, as a screenplay writer myself, I'd be happy to help you in any way I can with regard to your movie," she offered, sounding very hopeful."

"Excuse me?" Brennan asked, looking up from the humorous, caught off-guard.

I gave Trisha a long look. "Really? Someone's been killed and their body torn apart by coyotes, and you're thinking about a screenplay?"

"Well, it's just that someone told me they're thinking of making your book into a movie," Trisha stammered, a bit flustered now that she'd been called on her priorities. Brennan seemed sort of distant, like she was only half paying attention to the blonde agent.

"Say something, Bones!" Booth urged.

Brennan blinked and shook her head to herself a little bit. "Well, all I know is that I'm supposed to meet some big movie producer while I'm here, if I have time. Which I probably won't," she was quick to add. "Does the pathologist need any further access to the remaining soft tissue?"

Trisha seemed surprised by how quickly Brennan could jump from topic to topic. "Uh, no. He got everything out of it that he could." She reverted back to her own interests. Brennan set the humorous down and lifted the cranium, turning it around delicately. "So, my own screenplay is about this FBI agent who finds herself on the trail of the former boyfriend-" She gagged as Brennan peeled away the remaining skin tissue from the cheek of the cranium. "Oh, uh, God!" She looked like she was about to be sick.

"It's alright if you have to leave," I said, not sure whether to be sympathetic or relieved that she couldn't deal with it. I mean, if she's gone, at least I don't have to listen to her talk about screenplays anymore.

Trisha took my offer to heart and walked across the room and out the door as fast as she could, covering her mouth with her hand. I sighed and shook my head.

Brennan stopped removing soft tissue and held the cranium up at eye level, studying it very closely. "This is not good," she announced. I moved around to her side of the table to see what she'd found on the bones and I cringed.

"Dear God," I voiced my opinion with a bit more horror than maybe I needed to. "This is really very not good!"

"Yeah, thanks for that insight," Booth said, rolling his eyes and looking pointedly at the dead body on the table.

"No," Brennan disagreed, running her gloved fingertips along the side of the cranium. "I mean, the architecture of the skull has been radically altered."

Booth seemed disturbed by this sentence, although he took the chance and guessed, "You mean, by rotting and being eaten by coyotes and having the face ripped off by you?"

I shook my head, my ponytail rubbing over the back of my neck. "No. I think that whoever this was had… a lot of plastic surgery done on them."

Brennan looked to me and nodded in agreement, but she was still frowning because of the unpleasant discovery. "The cranium is largely mutilated. I'm not sure I'll be able to tell who this was."

The three of us looked around each other, unsettled. Booth had a sort of 'uh oh' look on his ace. Brennan couldn't seem to put the cranium back down on the table, both abhorred and fascinated by all of the remodeling and scarring done to the bone. If I hadn't been wearing gloves for the examination, I would have covered my face with my hands. Who would do that to themselves? Mutilate their appearance so much that not even their bones can give their identity?

The rest of that day had consisted of familiarizing ourselves with the city. To Brennan, that meant buying a map and studying it. To Booth, it meant taking us everywhere in Los Angeles we could possibly need to go to. We'd gone to a mall and while I'd gotten my necessities at a chain store, Booth had looked in a toy store for Parker and Brennan had gotten herself another book to read in her spare time, having finished her other one on the plane.

Then instead of letting us just eat there, Booth made us eat ice cream in the food court while he went to check out a registry for me to get a license. I was surprised that he was serious about getting me licensed, but it appeared that he really was. So while he was out making an appointment for me to register and be evaluated, as well as for the company to retrieve my records from my learner's permit from the legal system (it hadn't been revoked because of bad driving; it had been rendered useless when another foster family changed my last name again, and then hadn't let me go renew it), Brennan and I were being forced to eat Neapolitan ice cream while looking through tacky fashion magazines, just for the lack of anything else to do.

When Booth got back, he drove us to a fancy LA restaurant, where he made Brennan and I have dinner with him. ("Would it really kill you to eat at a nice, local restaurant? That's what tourism is about, Bones!" "But we're not tourists, we're crime-solving partners that came down here to solve a murder." "But we're also tourists until tomorrow at seven in the morning!")

After that, we got to go back to the hotel. It was lavish and four- or five-star, but I guess that's a good thing about the Jeffersonian and FBI paying for our trip. We had a pool on the roof and Brennan and I shared a room with Booth just across the hall. We set our alarms for six in the morning and from there, we listened to Booth complain about not being tourists anymore until he got coffee from the Starbucks in the lobby.

The monitor in the morgue lab was successfully set up. Brennan accepted the incoming Skype call on her computer, which was hooked to the large screen, and after a minute, the pixilation fixed itself and there was a clear picture of Zach on the screen. Brennan studied the bones while I adjusted the audio link. Finally finding the volume controls, I gave Brennan a thumbs-up.

"Are you getting the feed, Zach?" Brennan asked.

Zach crossed his hands behind his back and looked straight at the webcam, so it seemed like, even though he wasn't looking at me, I almost felt like it. "Yes, Dr. Brennan. I'm looking at the x-rays you beamed me."

"I'm going to have the bones cleaned, but there are still vestiges of flesh," Brennan continued, her hands resting on the edge of the exam table while she focused on talking with Zach.

"Hodgins got the clothing remnants and silt this morning," Zach put in.

"Are you there, Ange?" Brennan asks, dismissing Zach for the moment.

Angela pulled Zach out of the way of her computer and stood in front of the webcam, smiling through the computers with her control pad against her side. "Is it sunny, sweetie?" Angela gave Brennan her charming smile. I noticed that we were going with the Los Angeles look today, even though she wasn't actually with us. The makeup and floral blouse just seemed like it had come out of one of the magazines Brennan and I had looked through out of boredom. "Come on. Tell me it's sunny!"

I walked back into view of the monitor, satisfied with the volume, and picked up a pair of gloves from the little glove box on the table. I blew into one of them, stretching out the blue latex, and then replied to Angela, "Oh, it is sunny, alright. It is so sunny that I nearly died of heat stroke at the crime scene yesterday." Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but whatever. Who's counting?

"Holly?" Angela seemed taken by surprise. "Sweetie, I didn't know you were going to LA with them!" She looked back to Brennan with her hands on her hips, almost like a scolding mother. "Bren, why didn't you tell me that you were taking Holly?"

"Holly's there?" Zach's voice asked suddenly, and he pushed his way back into the frame. He stepped in front of Angela curiously.

I waved at him through the webcam. "Hi, Zach."

Angela thought that that was enough proof for Zach, and she pushed him away again so that she had the screen to herself. "You said you sent the entire skull. Do you want a reconstruction?" Instead of sending all of the remains, we'd just sent the skull, so that Angela could help us with identity and Brennan and I would still have something to work with.

"If you can," Brennan said, sounding hesitant.

"If I can?" Angela repeated, sounding offended as she overly accented her words. "Have I ever failed you?"

"This one's different," Brennan said, sounding very distressed just by remembering the mutilations. "You'll see what I mean when you get it. Zach?" She called.

Zach pushed his way back in front of Angela, who looked disgruntled as she was blocked again. "Here, Dr. Brennan!"

"I make this a young woman," Brennan prompted her intern.

"Early twenties, from the look of the x-rays," Zach promptly replied, smiling slightly in pride.

"Cause of death?" I asked, not necessarily trying to come off as though I were quizzing him. I just wanted to know what he thought.

"I see evidence of stabbing," Zach said with a slight grimace. I couldn't blame him; of all causes of death, I think gunshot would be my most preferred, just because it's fast. I can't stand the thought of being alive with a knife in my stomach or something. If humans were meant to have metal twisting up their insides, then it wouldn't be a deadly procedure. "One hit to the sternum, two to the pistoli cartilages."

"So she was stabbed by someone standing in front of her," I nodded to myself. "Which means it probably wasn't a blitz attack."

"Is that relevant?" Brennan asked, looking to me with her eyebrows raised.

I held out my hands in a half-shrug. "Well, Booth will certainly think so. It means that she probably saw the attack coming, which also means that she might have known her killer."

Brennan nodded her head slightly and I knew that she was acknowledging the logic in the theory. "Estimated time of death?"

"Degradation of the remains suggests the body was left out in the open between a week and ten days. The marks on the bones suggest carnivorous feeding beyond insects, birds, and rodents." Zach said.

"Coyotes," Brennan said simply as an explanation.

Zach was surprised. "They have coyotes?"

"Welcome to Los Angeles," I chuckled. "We've got beaches, alcohol, swimsuit models, and wild animals strong enough to tear you apart when you die."

"That explains the dispersal of the remains," Zach stated mildly. "A pack of coyotes finds the body, pulls it apart, and spreads out to eat in solitude."

"The teeth are veneered," Brennan said, slightly confused.

"The jaw has been broken and reset, same with the right leg. Have you seen any movie stars yet?"

"No. Why?" Brennan asked, now definitely confused by the question.

Zach shrugged halfheartedly. "Apparently, it's a contest when you go to LA in which the winner is the person who sees the most celebrities."

I made the two-fingered peace sign with my hand and flashed it to the webcam for Angela and Zach to see. "I'll keep an eye out for James Roday, Matthew Gubler, and Cary Elwes, in that case."

"I don't know who they are," Zach admitted.

Angela rolled her eyes fondly at Zach's obliviousness, and I told him who they were. "They're all actors. James Roday plays Shawn Spencer in Psych, Matthew Gubler plays Spencer Reid in Criminal Minds, and Cary Elwes played Westley in The Princess Bride."

"Please tell me that those mean something to you," Angela half pleaded with Zach.

Zach frowned. "I'll go google them," he said, before walking out of the screen.

Angela watched him until he left her office, and then looked back to the webcam she was using to talk to us. "You do have a whole skull, right?"

"Yes," Brennan answered with a quick nod.

"So why is this going to be so difficult?" Angela asked with a worried frown, trying again to get information about the skull and why reconstruction might be difficult. She tapped her control pad's stylus against her opposite wrist.

Brennan dodged around the question again. She was clearly unnerved by the prospect of having so much surgery done that it mutilated bones. I understand that – I'm disturbed by it, too. I get caring about looks, and wanting pretty clothes and shiny hair. I can even understand why people strive to change their appearance – losing weight, using cosmetics, et cetera. What I can't understand is why people would try to change their basic architecture. I mean, if you've got a scar on your face, talk to a dermatologist, not a surgeon. "You'll see," Brennan promised Angela. "Ange, on the iron age project, Goodman does this thing. Hodgins isn't going to like it."

"What thing?" Angela asked.

"What iron age project?" I asked.

Brennan looked to me while she quickly explained, "The Jeffersonian has been charged with authenticating remains believed to be dated back to the iron age." She looked back to Angela. "He theorizes in a way. It sounds like he's making stuff up. It's… hard to explain, but it's going to irritate Hodgins."

"Honey, you're in California." Angela stated, like she thought that Brennan had actually managed to forget. "Forget the iron age. Say these words: sky bar. Go there tonight. Both of you. Tell me everything." She ordered, before ending with, "When you go somewhere like Los Angeles, you're supposed to end the day on top of a roof, kissing a guy whose last name you might not know."

Brennan and I looked at each other and then said "No" in exact synchrony.

Zach came back and stole the spotlight from Angela again. He pulled the webcam so that it angled towards him. "I googled the films. While you're there, you might find it iconic to also look for a white male named Thomas Gibson, if you're into Criminal Minds." I blinked. I really hadn't expected Zach to say anything like that, but it was definitely amusing. "Dr. Brennan, one of these x-rays shows two dark clumps near the pelvis."

"Behind what's left of the spleen," Brennan murmured, moving her hands slowly down the body, like she was feeling for the anomalies.

Booth entered the room noisily, his shoes thudding on the floor. "I got a list of missing persons, women in their early twenties." Without warning, Brennan pushed back some of the remaining flesh and ripped a dark tan thing from the body. Booth grimaced. "Do I really have to be here for this part?"

"Do you think she swallowed that?" Zach asked from over the speakers.

"Could be because she was a drug mule," Booth suggested.

Brennan made a face of distaste as she held it up. "It's a breast implant."

I pointed at Booth. "Those come with serial numbers. The bureau should be able to trace it back to the surgeon and the surgeon is legally bound by the investigation's cause to give us an identity."

Brennan nodded slowly and set the implant in a stainless steel tray. "We should be able to identify our victim in a couple of hours."

A/N: Hello! Someone PMed me with the question of why the fonts change from normal to bolded. Honestly, I have no idea why that's happening, because the document I use has it all in the same format. I also have a comment I wanted to reply to, so I thought this was the fastest way, since others are probably wondering the same thing.

LunaEvanna Longbottom asked why Holly and Brennan's backstories are so similar. I thought this might come up, but I can't really explain without giving away information vital to future plots. However, I promise that there is an actual good explanation for it that will be given away eventually - I didn't just rip it off of Brennan's character.