"Two bourbon." I set the glasses down on the bar in front of two big men and gave them a look while they pulled the glasses closer. One of them misjudged where his mouth was and splashed a lot onto his shirt. I rolled my eyes, sighing internally. "Those are your last shots. This establishment reserves the right to cut off drunkards." The law gives us that right, too, but hey, you're morons at a bar and leering at a teenager, so I doubt you care.

One pouted while the other laughed at his friend wearing the alcohol. I shook my head and turned around to the counter where we kept our supplies and got a napkin for the other, turning and handing it to him.

"C'mon, babe," the other one slurred. "Just one more."

"You're too intoxicated to even leer at me effectively. No more for you." I took a wet wash cloth and took it to the table, cleaning up the mess before the bartop started to get sticky from spilled beverage. Yeah… my job sucks.

A dark hand reached forward to mine and I continued to rub at the bar, not even looking up. "I'm a minor. Touch me and you will never chase women at bars again." The threat was mild, as far as bartime threats go. I've used far worse, but I guess I was in kind of a good mood.

"Holly!" I looked over to Jeff in irritation. The other employee nodded to the guys emphatically with a roll of his eyes. "Andy said to take off. I'll get these two."

I nodded and set the cloth bag down on the staff's counter. "Got it." I reached behind me, patted my back pockets to make sure I still had my wallet and keys, and then reached up. I pulled at the band in my hair and let it fall down from the ponytail. I caught my reflection in a glass and paused. I looked tired, with my eyes darker than normal and my skin flushed. To be honest… I am tired. I've been spending most of the past month with Booth and Brennan and then I have to work overtime to make up for it. That, on top of the stress of having a stalker now and getting nightmares when I do manage to sleep, is wearing me thin. I think it's only a matter of time before I pass out.

Still, two days now and no sign of Laurier. That alone is enough to cheer me up slightly so I shook my head, letting my hair knock itself out of the awkward shape it had been held in, and left from behind the bar, raising one hand up into the air lazily in a goodbye as I opened the door.

I didn't wait for it to close before I took off.

I was humming a song that had played over the speakers softly on the bar's radio as I walked down the street, keeping my head down inconspicuously when I heard a rattle as my keys fell out of my pocket. I turned around and looked at the house keys on the floor, sighing for a long moment, before I bent down to lift them up from the ground.

Bam!

A loud noise ripped itself from my throat, somewhere between a scream and a growl. I straightened back up, keys hanging off of my hand half-forgotten as the window in the pawn shop right next to me turned opaque and then shattered, falling in crystal pieces.

Bam! An old mustang parked just in front of me gained a visible dent in the hood and I heard something ricochet. A moment later another storefront window rippled and fell apart.

Bam! I turned out of instinct, my hair flying around my face and nearly blinding me when I stopped. I stumbled and my ankle caught on my other leg in a rare show of disconcertion and then I pitched forward, losing my balance. The keys flew from my hand and landed somewhere in front of me and I reeled my hands, landing painfully on the concrete. The hair moved a little too late and I saw the shadow of the car.

Bam! Another gunshot. There were few people on the street but I heard a couple of people screaming, but the shots just kept coming towards me. Someone's shooting at me. I thought it distantly but the fight-or-flight instincts were pushing me to hidehidehide because no matter how hard you try, you can't stop a bullet mid-flight. I saw the shadow of the mustang and I pushed myself forward, army crawling. Even through my sleeved sweater I felt the sting of uneven concrete biting into my arms and legs as I shoved myself forward with the heels of my shoes. Once I got far enough I rolled to the left. I fell off of the sidewalk and the few inches to the road, pain shooting up my hip at the impact, and then went under the car.

I breathed deeply, stopping and staring up at the underside of the mustang.

This is not a friendly neighborhood, but the only times I've ever heard gunfire before was during a gang fight gone badly and then again in a small shop robbery. This was clearly way out of both leagues; I would have heard of any impending rumbles, and the fire was clearly concentrated on me.

Shelter. Now that I had it the gunshots stopped but I still felt exposed and endangered, but someone had shot at me when I couldn't see, which likely meant they shot from a vantage point. Sniper? Not your mediocre crackhead with a shotgun, then. Likely not a military sniper - I'm not sure why my thoughts jumped to that, but it's probably because I know one. Booth. The police would be called. It would only be a matter of time before they got here.

And until then, I would be perfectly content with hiding under the mustang.

All of my exhaustion seemed to have been wiped away like grime and I finally realized what I'd been denying for years; I don't enjoy safety. I'm an adrenaline junkie, addicted to the rush of danger.

But damn, I should probably wait for police before crawling after my keys.

The local police showed up around seven minutes later. I actually counted to sixty several times, but I was probably off a bit. But when I heard the footsteps and saw the uniform pant legs of the officers and they called out for anyone, I grit my teeth and rolled out from under the car.

I was interrogated roughly about what the hell I was doing under a car but then once I explained with a voice that I would later deny was shaking that I had been hiding from shots concentrated in my general direction, the policeman who seemed in charge took me by the shoulders and motioned me over to one of the squad cars. I shrugged his hands off but he popped the trunk wide opened, urged me into sitting on the edge, and he pulled a big, soft, heavy orange blanket around my shoulders.

I just sat there dumbly for a while during their scope of the crime scene, only stopping to give my name and say that no, my guardians are gone and yes, I do know what a gunshot sounds like and no I'm not a fucking idiot and yes I can tell when someone is trying to kill me.

The police gave me a ride to the FBI and one of them walked in with me to the security desk. It was awkward, to say the least, and I was very uncomfortable sitting behind the grates protecting the driver from the convict. I felt like I was being accused of something, even though I was being treated too much like a victim for my tastes. By now I was sincerely pissed off by the babysitting and unwanted attention - I was being coddled like a child, swaddled in blankets and offered coffee. If I wanted coffee I'd get it myself. But they didn't listen, instead signing me in.

"Miss Kirkland," the security guard on duty dipped her head to me politely when she saw me, but her smile slipped away when she saw the policeman walking on my heel. "Is everything alright?"

"You know this young lady?" The officer had a slight twang like he was from the southern states. He seemed surprised.

"Of course." The guard looked to him in confusion. "She was Agent Booth's charge."

He didn't catch on to the past tense. "Sorry, is she the daughter of an agent here?"

That made me snap. Why does everyone just assume my parents are present in my life?! "I can talk for myself, officer! My father is absent and so is my mother and I doubt I'm going to get killed in this building so please go attend to your own job!"

Needless to say, that didn't end on a very pleasant note, but either way I ended up with a security escort to Booth's office after it was relayed that someone had tried to snipe me.

I stepped into Booth's office, my cheeks burning red in embarrassment as the guard left me at the door, calling for Booth's attention before walking away. I crossed my arms defensively as Booth stood up, curious and slightly alarmed by my unexplained presence.

"Hey, kid. Everything okay?"

I almost didn't want to tell him, but I knew if I walked out without doing anything then I'd probably get hauled right back up. I looked down to the carpet in agitation. "The police brought me here," I said through grit teeth.

Booth groaned softly, moving around the desk and then sitting on the edge, facing me. "What did you do, Holly?" He didn't seem angry, just concerned.

Deep breath. Here I go. "Someone fired shots at me on my way home from work," I said bluntly. "Just past five p.m. I left the bar and down the block a little ways, someone starts taking shots at me from higher ground."

Booth was up like the desk was on fire almost faster than I could process. "Someone what?!" His voice thundered loudly and it sent my mind back to when that furious tone had been used - I tended to get beaten not long after. As he moved towards me I flinched and took a step back. Booth stopped with obvious efforts at self-control, and he took a step back, raising his hands like he was showing me he was unarmed and not a threat.

My voice started out small and I knew it, so I strengthened up. "Nearly half a dozen shots were fired and concentrated in my direction." I looked up to his eyes, searching warily for anything to be alarmed of, and was relieved to see concern and anger, but the latter wasn't directed at me. "I wasn't hit but the first would have been a kill shot if I hadn't happened to drop my keys."

Booth's arms tensed and I could see he was fighting not to do something - knowing him he would either hit something or gather me up in a hug just to make sure I wasn't lying about being shot. I was glad that he refrained from assaulting the furniture or wall though, because I knew the reason he wasn't was because he was taking care not to startle or scare me.

"Someone tried to kill you." The control in his voice was too tense, too mechanical, too… monotonous. "Someone tried to snipe you."

"Yes, I noticed," I replied dryly. "Chill out, man. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal!" He snapped, but kept himself from advancing. I merely blinked. He started pacing and I watched uncertainly. Was he angry because someone shot at me, or angry because someone shot at me? If I knew which of the reasons was getting him so riled up I could try to calm him down - lawbreaking, or threatening me?

"I'm fine," I settled on saying. "No one was hit but a couple of windows and a mustang. And the ground."

Booth stopped and then pointed at me, his eyes almost pained. "That's the problem, right there." He drew a big circle in the air and then jabbed his finger at me again. "You don't get that it's not okay with me for people to try to kill you."

"Actually I do get that. And I support your opinion on the topic fully."

"No, you support that it's illegal," he stressed. "You don't get that I'm angry because it's you that was shot at." It did make more sense - people fired guns at others all the time but I don't think I've ever seen him this angry about that. "You are my charge, Holly," he growled, reminding me a lot like a wolf - protective but dangerous. "Even if not legally, it is my responsibility to make sure these cases don't get you hurt."

"There is not any way of knowing why someone shot me," I pointed out before frowning. "Hey, if I'm calm about it then you have no right to get so worked up. I'm the one who someone tried to snipe, so if anyone has a right to bitch, it's me."

Booth shook his head and moved back around to his desk, lifting up the black phone from the receiver. "Ortez," he growled under his breath, but I still heard.

"Yeah, Ortez put out hits, but they were called off," I reminded him, taking a step closer after pushing down the nerves that told me to run away from the angered male.

"Gangbangers aren't known for their obedience, Holly."

"Yeah, well neither am I, but I'd honor my word. There are gangs in my neighborhood, people who don't like me, and just plain bastards. There's no proof of any connection to the Jeffersonian or FBI. I was in your… care… in the first place because of my own meddling," I recalled, grimacing around the word "care." People don't just care about me.

He lifted the phone up to his ear, disregarding what I was saying. I wish I'd never told him. If he's overreacting this much about someone he barely knows, God help whatever idiot decides to threaten his child.

"Who are you calling?" I asked, crossing my arms and looking up. My hair covered my neck and the sides of my face, giving me a sort of illusion of safety with the lack of exposure of my neck. The scratches on my elbows and knees smarted under my clothes.

"Bones," Booth answered without thinking, already tapping in her phone number. He looked up to me, his eyes flashing as they landed on me again. "You aren't going to be left alone until we get whoever it was behind bars."

"What?!"

"You heard me!" Booth was not normally this aggressive, but anger makes everyone act more harsh than normal. I was only thankful I wasn't the target this time. "You are staying with me or the squints or someone I can vouch for at all times."

"What about when I need to eat? Or sleep?" I protested. I knew it sounded crazy - my life was threatened and I was worried about my privacy.

"We'll feed you," he answered me confidently, having already thought this far ahead. To give him credit, he does think fast when the situation calls for it. "And either we can sleep at your home or you can stay with someone. You're more than welcome to stay at my place. Hodgins, he's got that big house of his, I'm sure he's got great security if nothing else. Bones can fight, she can protect you."

I nixed those ideas immediately - to myself, anyway. Letting them feed me any more than they already did with spontaneous meals at the Chinese restaurant would put me further in their financial debt when I could barely afford my own living finances already, and no way in hell can they go to either of my addresses. At one, they see proof I don't actually live there and in the other, they're handed proof that I'm lying about where I do live! I don't want to impose on anyone but more than that, I'm terrified of these things getting out and being cast aside for dishonesty. "I can protect myself!"

"Not against a moving bullet. This isn't up for discussion!" Booth listened to the phone ring with one ear but filtered through my indignant protests with the other.

I've always wished someone would care about me and want to protect me. But I never wanted it to possibly come at the expense of the only positive relationships I have aside from the few people I've met through Booth and Brennan - Amy Morton, for example, who I haven't seen or heard from since the Howard Epps catastrophe. And why should they care, anyway?! I can take care of myself, and if I'm offed, it's not like it's a big pain in their backs. "I'll discuss it as long as I like," I sulked.

"Hey Bones, listen, we've got a situation here…"

I waited for a moment and my arms half uncrossed, one straightening while the other's hand slid to my elbow, holding on weakly. I felt embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed, and most of all angry. Someone had shot at me and just because of that, now I can't be self-reliant like I've always been. And now Booth thinks I'm so delicate that I need constant supervision? But mostly, right as I get everything in order - paychecks from the bar, an actual mental exercise of solving cases, physical health sharpened by practice in the field and more consistent eating habits, positive relationships with people around me, an actual sense of pride and satisfaction, and a legal file to keep my stalker away - someone decides to try to kill me and upsets the entire strenuous balance that I've only had perfected for two days.

I sat down in the chair in front of Booth's desk meekly, feeling useless and chastened and utterly stupid while he explained to Brennan.

"What? No… No, we don't know who, and no she's not… I mean, I don't-" He pulled the receiver back for a moment to look at me. "Aside from gunshot, are you hurt at all? Threatened? Messages, phone calls, notes?" I shook my head. Laurier had been stalking me but he was an obsessionist; he fantasized and adored, but he would never try to kill me. He was too much of a clumsy moron to be that good with a gun, anyway. "No. She says no…"

I listened to this for several minutes with only the background noise of the clock ticking and suddenly Booth's computer dinged with a mail notification. He switched the phone so he held it between his ear and shoulder and opened his email to check while Brennan seemed to take the lead of the conversation.

"But I don't… Bones, she was just shot at, okay?!... No, I don't think it's a good idea - she's not going to stay with someone she doesn't trust!" Well, at least they know that much, I thought wryly. "Someone tried to kill her, she has to stay with one of us! Our people, remember? Our people protect our people."

I'm… one of their people?

Finally he gave a frustrated but resigned sigh. "Yeah. Fine. Look, she needs to have a guard at all times, I'm getting a guy to come with us. Meet you at the lab then… no, he's FBI… she hasn't met him but I don't intend on them necessarily being alone… it's the manpower we need, it's just the assurance." Pause. "Well, I don't think they've met, anyway… yeah, fine, we'll see. Talk to you soon, Bones." He hung up the phone and then gave me a tense, reassuring smile. "Congratulations, Holly. You get your own set of bodyguards and a nice couple of murders to pass the time."

"Oh, that's better than a nice book any day," I replied scathingly. Hopefully he'd know I didn't mean it as cruelly as I said it.

One phone call later - this one short and sweet - and then another face came to the office. I nearly cursed under my breath as it opened and my shoulders squared defensively as Kenton stepped into the office.

I met Special Agent Jamie Kenton merely on his own whim when I'd sulked in the FBI waiting room downstairs, and after explaining about human parthenogenesis, apparently I was labeled as a cool enough kid, and he volunteered his services to me in the event when I needed them. Only two days ago I'd gone to him to have a restraining order filed.

"Holly, this is-" Booth rose from his seat to introduce the two of us to each other but was interrupted.

"Miss Kirkland?" Kenton's eyes shifted between Booth and I incredulously. "This is who you need me to help guard?"

The slight smile of apprehension on Booth's face faded to a frown of suspicious confusion. "You know each other?"

I waved to Kenton with one hand lamely. "We met in the lobby a few days ago," I answered, shooting Kenton a meaningful look. Please don't tell him about the restraining order. On top of how much Booth is overreacting now, I'd hate to see him if he knew I had been stalked, too. I'd probably be involuntarily handcuffed to him. I nodded cordially. "Agent Kenton."

Booth took a deep breath and then sighed, shaking his head up at the ceiling. "Well, this does make things a bit simpler," he admitted, grudgingly relieved to have gotten through that one unscathed.

Angela crooned to Brennan hopefully when Booth and I reached earshot of the Jeffersonian platform. Usually I'm allowed to trail behind Booth by a few paces; no luck this time. No, he and Kenton had me practically sandwiched between them, stationed on either side of me unfailingly like a pair of bodyguards. That's probably exactly what Booth told Kenton they were meant as. Even if he was overreacting, the extents Booth went to were touching.

"Did you meet him on the website I told you about?" Angela eyed Brennan, hope shining in her eyes.

I made a face as Booth swiped his security card and stepped up, Kenton and I following right after. "You're dating online?" I asked Brennan, more than a little cynical.

"Well, it's a practical way of objectively examining a potential partner without all the game play," Brennan explained with a little shrug, seeing no issue with it. Online dating is okay; I admit it works sometimes, but honestly, I'd rather meet someone myself rather than be paired up by a computer.

"Oh, sweetie!" Angela ran over to me past the bones - sinew still clinging to a filthy skeleton with what looked like dried cement around the bones of the feet was actually more appealing than being escorted by two admittedly built FBI agents at the moment - and she enveloped me in a hug, forgetting the no-touch policy for about ten seconds as her arms went around my neck and slid over my upper arms, leaving me completely unable to push her away without getting violent, something she must have known I wouldn't do. My arms pinned to my sides, I squirmed uncomfortably, glaring at her hair in my face. You planned this position, you evil witch of hugs and smiles.

"Can't breathe. Suffocating on the caring," I said, slightly choked due to discomfort. When Angela actually listened and let go, I remained stiff as a board, instead eyeing around wearily in case Hodgins, Zach, Brennan, Booth - or, God forbid, Kenton decided that I was emotionally distraught and needed the comfort of close physical contact.

"Well, aren't you just a bundle of cheer," Angela rolled her eyes sarcastically before she turned serious and concerned. "Are you okay?"

"We heard you were shot." Zach pulled the puppy dog eyes that would have almost made me give into another quick hug if that was their purpose. His floppy hair trailed over his forehead and he frowned, looking hurt.

"I was shot at," I corrected. "Not shot. Big difference there, Zacky." I frowned momentarily and blinked; I hadn't intended it, but 'Zacky' just came out. No one seemed to question it (though Angela grinned and Hodgins had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop from chuckling) so I just awkwardly stood there, not correcting it.

"Either way, you are not to be left alone," Brennan informed me earnestly, sounding almost concerned and maternal in the way she talked. "Your safety is currently very high priority."

"Really?" I pointed with one hand low to the guy on the table. "Because I'd say his health is a lot worse than mine right now."

"At least this one probably deserves it," Hodgins whistled, shaking his head and then gestured grandly from me to the table. "Xena, meet who is probably Jimmy Cugini."

"No way." My eyes widened and I took in the dead mass with a new sort of awe. "James Cugini?" Hodgins just nodded and I followed suit in understanding, still sort of stuck on that.

James "Jimmy" Cugini is sort of like an organized crime legend. He was a big name with anyone who knew anything about crime because of his high-ranking position as a big man in the mafia, but he disappeared right after I turned eleven a little over six years ago, last seen at his daughter's dance recital. From that night onwards, his whereabouts were unknown and never heard of again.

"A mob case. Wow."

Angela looked up from me finally after a long moment of close scrutiny and she smiled prettily at Kenton. "Hi. I'm Angela."

"Special Agent Jamie Kenton." He dipped his head to her in a chivalrous hello. "Hi, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan gave him a smile that lasted a couple of seconds in welcome. "Hey."

"You two know each other?" Judging by the skepticism in Angela's voice as she looked at Brennan, she was probably wondering why Brennan kept meeting all these "hot FBI agents" and remained at platonic levels with them.

"I was at the bureau when Booth took his coffee cup," Brennan explained, smirking over at Booth at the memory. "Apparently, they're both the world's greatest FBI agents."

Booth beamed. "That's right!" He agreed proudly without missing a beat. He thumped Kenton on the back, his arm brushing my shoulders as he reached around me to do so, and I grimaced. I don't know how much more touching I can take before I snap someone's arm. "Kenton is working the Cugini case. He's one of the original investigators. This is Brennan's brain trust."

"Your victim is over here," Brennan told Kenton, motioning with one hand to the human remains on the table in rough anatomical order.

"So, what if your computer date happens to be a psycho?" Booth asked, eyes glinting as he teased his partner.

"Oh, please." Angela rolled her eyes at the prejudice against the methods. "Only about a billion people date online."

"Yeah. I have," Hodgins pointed out, raising one hand momentarily.

Booth sighed in disappointment. "Whatever happened to seeing someone across a crowded room, eyes meeting… that old black magic gets you in its spell…"

I looked up at him with one eyebrow raised. "You know, for a former veteran and current homicide investigator, you seem rather illusioned about how socialization works this century." Booth scowled at me playfully.

"Are you here for a reason? Because… Kenton is handling this." Brennan cut to the chase, tipping her head in question while Kenton sent Booth a "I'm-the-favorite" sort of smirk.

Didn't Booth say something about two murders? I specifically remembered that from his office. "We have other remains to look at," I told Brennan with a grin. Despite having been nearly assassinated only a little over an hour ago, I was still unnaturally excited about seeing another corpse.

"Yes, I'm already looking at them." Brennan frowned slightly at me, probably wondering if I had hit my head while dodging those bullets.

"No, not the Cugini case." Booth frowned over at the bones and waved a hand in that general direction. "Kenton will babysit him. These remains are fresh. And look, we have a car, we have bulletproof vests in the back, we've got our junior agent-squint…" Booth trailed off like he was trying to urge her into it by temptation.

My eyebrows drew closer together as I frowned contemplatively at the ground before I faced Booth again. "What do bulletproof vests have to do with anything?" I figured it out almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth. "Oh, come on!" I complained loudly.

"No, Holly," Booth's voice was firm and left no room for any arguments, no matter how much I wanted to protest. "You are getting the most safety we can give you."

My head fell back and I groaned loudly to the ceiling. It ignored me but I swear the ignorance was more of a sucks to be you than an I'm an inanimate object.

"I was told that our friend in the cement shoes took precedence," Brennan objected, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes darted to me from Booth for only a moment but I saw a little smile trying to tug at her lips.

I sent her a wounded, pleading puppy dog look. "Don't smile! It's not funny!"

Booth didn't want to reopen the argument for more debate so he just ignored my complaints and whines. He levelled a look to Brennan, the most serious he's been since we left the FBI building. "That was before we found someone tortured and ripped apart by dogs."

I sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Okay, you're right, that is going to cheer me up a bit more than a normal book." I'm not psychotic, honest; I'd just much rather be doing something productive than uselessly sitting around while these people sacrifice time and effort for me. At least in murder cases I can do something in return.

Big dogs barked and growled, making low, threatening noises in their cages before lunging forward towards the wire bars and snapping their yellowing teeth, glistening with red stains and saliva. "They must all be rogues," I said out loud, speaking to Zach over the noise.

The body was in an old warehouse. The floor was grey stone but a lot of it was covered in dull red. When I first stepped in I seriously felt my stomach do a flip and try to eject itself. The stench was nauseating at first before I got used to it after a few minutes. It smelt like blood and raw meat and like how a slaughterhouse must smell.

A long chain dangled from up above and the remains were of a poor man or woman with their wrists and feet bound. A blood red gag was tied around their face and pushed into the open mouth cavity. A hook was attached to the end of the chain and while they had been alive, they had been bound and gagged and hung from the hook. The hair was a long, snarled, bloody, gross mess, and the eyes were gone - blood poured from the dark sockets and I had to gag and look away. The flesh was torn and stripped away and covered in bites, what little skin remaining lacerated and stained pink. Tendons and ligaments were ripped, muscles and tissue and bone visible.

The dogs had been let loose when the body was found by reports of disturbance and the FBI sent animal control, but there were nearly a dozen and they were all feral, the big breeds like huskies and shepherds. The fur around their muzzles and paws was sticky and matted with the victim's blood.

Brennan knelt by the gory corpse, still hanging by the wrists. She held a sleek silver voice recorder in one hand. "Ninety percent of the flesh is missing because of mutilation and post mortem anthropophagi caused by canine scavenging."

I scowled and pulled uncomfortably at the heavyweight bulletproof vest Booth strapped tightly to me before he let me come anywhere near the crime scene. "I just hope the poor bastard was dead before the dogs got loose." There were chains about five feet long at various points on the wall; it was a safe assumption that the dogs had been lured and chained beforehand and let free once they had the scent of blood.

"Do they really have to stay here?" Zach asked unhappily, eyeing a big Aussie with long, uncombed and matted fur snapping its jaws at one of the handlers.

"Forensics need to get blood samples and excretions for Hodgins," I replied with a scowl over at a particularly snappy German Shepherd that growled at me like it wanted to add me to the menu. "And then they have to get tagged for euthanization. They're wild and they ate a human, they have to be put down by animal control."

"Something's bothering me," Zach confided, lowering the polaroid camera in his hands and turning back towards the body. I turned to stand next to him. "How did the dogs get the eyes without mauling the skull?"

I paused. "Good question." I raised my voice to shout to Brennan, content with staying at least three feet away from the beginning of the blood stained concrete. "Dr. Brennan, what happened to the eyes?"

She sent a glance over to Zach and I and then looked to our feet, seeing us staying deliberately away from the blood. She looked back up at us with a raised eyebrow but answered the question. "Gone."

I nodded slightly. "Figured that out ourselves. What, chewed out, torn, gouged?"

Brennan nodded at the last one quickly. "Yes. There are scrapings in the orbital cavities much rougher than the knife scarring. It was done with a different weapon," she concluded. Zach frowned at his camera and I looked away from the hollowed eye sockets.

Booth stood by Brennan's side, the reason Zach was with me instead of examining the body with Brennan. According to Booth, there are some rules for me. Someone trustworthy has to be with you at all times. I have to know where you are at all times. You aren't allowed to touch any potentially dangerous equipment. I'm pretty sure he suspects that someone might still be after me - either that or his overreaction has reached new heights. I think the last one was meant in case of sabotage. Sabotage! Overcautious much?

I mean, what?! Who would break into a lab or storage facility to sabotage the equipments just to kill me?! Who the hell would want a seventeen year old kid dead that badly?

Booth turned away from the body, eyes flashing in pain as he raised his hand to his forehead. "Son of a bitch!" He cursed.

I tipped my head to him, clued in. "Have you seen this before?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Two years ago, we found a seventeen year old girl in a tool shed, bound, slashed, eyes gouged out, nothing for her parents to identify. The suspect was Kevin Hollings - everything pointed to him but I couldn't get the hard evidence, so the D.A. refused to prosecute." He was starting to ramble, speaking too quickly now and getting riled up again. "He's twisted, Holly. It's all like a game to him."

"Did he use dogs before?" I asked, shooting another dark look at one of the monsters in question. Booth shook his head and I nodded towards him. "So he's making the murders more complex, more elaborate. He's testing you, Booth. One time, though, he'll just go too far and we'll catch him." I wished I felt as confident as I sounded, but this one was one sick puppy.

No pun intended.

Brennan leaned back slightly and reached for her phone with the hand that also held the recorder, digging into her pocket while she eyed the victim somewhat sadly. "Well, I can determine the kinds of weapons and cause of death. Hodgins might find something useful in the dogs…" She trailed off as she saw the caller ID and she raised the phone up to her ear. "Brennan," she answered expectantly. "Just working."

With a slight crack and a ripping noise, one of the remaining ligaments tore and the weight of one arm fell off of the victim's mangled corpse and onto the ground.

"Bag that," Brennan ordered Zach quickly, before going back to her phone. "Yeah, of course. I'm starving." I stared at her, open-mouthed.

How can she be hungry while looking at this?!

"Seven thirty, okay, yes. I'll meet you there. … Okay. Bye." She pulled it away and shut it and then looked up to Booth. "My reservation just got pushed by a few extra minutes."

"Oh, a few extra minutes," Booth smart mouthed in irritation. "Great."

"What?" Brennan asked him, looking up with a wounded expression.

Booth looked away. "Nothing."

"You disapprove?"

"I said "great!""

"With attitude!"

"Don't go overboard with psychology. It's not your thing."

Brennan's temper reared itself indignantly. "Look, I am an adult, Booth! I see men. I go out with them on occasion. I sleep with them."

I sighed, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. "Okay, that's nice, Dr. Brennan."

"You know what? That's cool, but you don't even know who this guy is that you're meeting!" Booth argued, protective of his self-reliant partner. Huh. Deja vu.

The look he got in turn for his unwelcome protection was hotter than fire. "I have trekked through the Tibet, avoiding the Chinese army," she snapped the reminder fiercely. "I think I can handle meeting someone for dinner!"

"Fine, you know what?" Booth threw up his hands while Zach and I watched the heated exchange in unease. "You have fun with… Dick431 or whatever his username is."

"Yeah, I will," Brennan retorted.

"Good."

"Thanks."

"Fine."

"Good." With an air of finality, she clicked the recorder on again. "Victim is female, late teens to mid twenties. Knife marks on the bone is evidence of deep cuts, probably to open up the flesh…" she faltered for a moment and her eyes flickered over to one of the growling menaces in a crate.

"... To make it more appetizing for the dogs," I finished for her, closing my eyes briefly. This is, by far, the most horrific murder I've seen. This bastard is going to have hell to pay.