Good Monday Morning, my lovelies! Thanks so much for all of the wonderful reviews! For you guests asking questions and making suggestions I can't address directly, please see my profile page under notes for this story.
Smut warning for this chapter. :) Though, assuming you read my first story, I shouldn't really need to warn anyone. ;)
Enjoy! - Christi
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Chapter 2
True to his word, Booth was back to pick Brennan up shortly before dinner time, and he explained that he'd been able to get Rick Turco to meet them at the diner. Over the summer, they had introduced the rest of the team (apart from Cam) to the diner, and it had quickly become a favorite among the group. They still paid the occasional visit to Sid, but the Royal Diner was close enough that they could walk from the lab.
Although Booth hadn't liked the idea of someone like Turco tainting what he felt was 'their place,' there hadn't really been time to be sentimental about it. They sat across from him at one of the tables next to the long row of windows, and Brennan quickly understood her partner's low opinion of the man. Turco claimed not to have known about his client's heroin habit, but with his next breath, he was saying that his job was to make problems go away.
"You mean like when Lynch's wife found out he was sleeping with other women?" she asked blandly.
That's my girl, Booth thought with a smirk.
"Alright, anything I say-strictest confidence, correct?" The partners nodded. "Warren Lynch brought me in to deal with a blackmailer."
"Warren Lynch was being blackmailed?"
"By one of his girlfriends?" Brennan added.
"That would be my assumption, yes. I'd paid them off before, but this was a much bigger deal, more serious. Had to be the heroin, right?"
"How'd it play out?"
"I negotiated the payment from a mil to a quarter million, paid 'em off. That was three days ago."
"How?" Booth pressed.
"Dead drop at Rock Creek Park."
"And you have no idea who it was."
"No, I got a phone call. When I traced it back, it dead ended on a stolen cell phone."
Booth sighed and contemplated the man for a moment. His story was certainly plausible, but Booth felt compelled to doubt its validity. He didn't trust the guy in the slightest, and Turco was certainly not short on reasons to lie to them-the most heinous possibility being that he had murdered Lynch himself.
They left the diner a short while later and made their way home. They lived within walking distance of the very same park Turco had mentioned, and although it was a large park, Brennan couldn't help but feel a little nervous. They'd come to enjoy taking their runs through the park together, and she made a mental note to limit her exercise to the daylight hours in the future.
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Booth woke her a little earlier than usual the following morning and pulled her into the shower with him. Shower sex was still their thing, and they had gotten the logistics down to an art, really. Whether he took her against the tiled wall or from behind under the stream of hot water, both were equally satisfied.
He watched her get dressed in a snug pair of dress pants and a ridiculously low cut black top, glancing at the clock to gauge whether or not they had time for round two.
"I feel like this particular shirt should really only be for personal time," he murmured against the skin of her neck. His arms snaked around her waist smoothly from behind her, and she shivered at the sensation of his warm breath across her skin.
"Is that so?" she asked coyly, one hand drifting upward to curve over the back of his neck.
"Mmhmm…" He continued to kiss his way slowly toward her lips.
"Don't you think that's just a little hypocritical?" she smirked.
"Hypocritical?" he asked, ceasing his attentions and turning her in his arms.
"Yes. Worrying about who might stare at me at work, when you told me only yesterday not to worry about Cam's flirting and staring?" Brennan's lips were curved into a provocative smile, but Booth could read the hint of jealousy still lingering beneath her expression.
He groaned appreciatively at the gentle forward thrust of her hips against his, and he noticed that her nimble fingers were quickly undoing the buttons of the shirt he'd just put on. Booth captured her lips in a passionate kiss and began to pull the too-revealing shirt over her head.
"You don't have to worry, baby," he told her between kisses. "I belong to you… and only you."
"Prove it," she whispered breathlessly, her pulse quickening at his clean, masculine scent and the sensation of skin against skin. He gasped a little at her words and made quick work of their remaining clothing. Their tongues mated wildly, and she pushed him steadily backward until his calves hit the side of the bed, forcing him into a sitting position.
Booth looked up at her in admiration. She really did have an incredible body. He knew she worked hard to maintain it, but her beauty seemed so effortless that it frequently scrambled his wits simply to look at her. He shook his head slightly in amazement and couldn't let another second pass without capturing the hardened tip of her breast between his lips. She clutched his broad shoulders in response, moaning softly at the contact.
Brennan moved her legs to straddle his as she stood before him, and Booth's fingertips glided slowly up her thighs, seeking the slick flesh between them. She cried out as he slid on long finger into her heat, then another. He worked her slowly toward her release as he used his mouth to tease and tug her nipple with prodigious skill.
It felt amazing, but it wasn't what she wanted-what she needed. Brennan pulled his head back from her chest and crashed her soft lips into his, encouraging him to scoot backward slightly on the bed. He remained sitting up, however, and that was perfect. She settled her weight on her knees, which she placed on either side of his hips, and sank slowly onto him. Booth palmed her hips gently and allowed her to set the pace.
Brennan wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her chest to his. Each roll of her hips brought her breasts tighter against him, and Booth moaned at the exquisite feel of her. Their position was extremely intimate, and he couldn't resist the urge to bring her lips to his once more. Their breath came together in short, pleading gasps, each of them wanting more.
"Say it," she begged. He didn't need to ask what she meant.
"Yours," he groaned against her lips. "I'm yours, baby." Brennan ground her hips faster and harder against him, feeling her release approaching. She moved her head to press her mouth to his neck, nipping and suckling gently, intentionally marking him. The eroticism and intimacy of her actions brought Booth closer to his own climax.
"Mine…"
"Yours…"
They traded the words back and forth in time with each thrust, each of them laying claim to the other until they tumbled over the edge as one, crying out together with their release.
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Their morning activities made them only slightly late for work, and no one but Angela seemed to notice. Miraculously, the artist managed to keep her remarks to herself, though her grin did widen significantly when she got an eyeful of the mark on Booth's neck. Booth pulled Brennan into her office and away from Angela's observant gaze to say a quick goodbye before he headed to the Hoover. They agreed to get lunch at the diner later.
Brennan climbed the platform to join Zack, who was waiting to present his completed skull reconstruction. Cam was standing quietly next to the exam table as well, but Brennan ignored her for the moment. She studied the skull carefully for a few moments before nodding.
"You did a good job," she commended him.
"Given your heroin bombshell, I went back to what tissue remained and found traces of laudanine and reticuline, alkaloids found in the opium poppy," Cam informed her.
"I'd like Angela to do a facial reconstruction," she said to Zack before turning her attention to Cam. "Confirm my finding?" Cam nodded.
"It's handy having a pathologist right in the building," Zack commented.
"To turn opium into heroin, it's exposed to hot acetic anhydride, which produces eighteen neutral impurities. The ratio of these impurities indicates the heroin's origin; in this case, Mexico," Cam added.
"Mexican heroin is very common. I wonder if there's anything we can do to narrow it down further…" Brennan trailed off, allowing a falsely vapid smile to grace her features. Cam smiled as well, unfooled but willing to play along.
"Gas chromatography shows there's also fentanyl in the heroin."
"What's that?" Brennan asked vaguely.
"This reminds me of when you interviewed me to be your grad student," Zack said naively before addressing Cam. "She knows what fentanyl is."
Cam smiled and nodded, and Brennan dropped the ignorant facade with a roll of her eyes.
"It's a narcotic which boosts the effects of heroin. According to Metro cops, fourteen addicts ODed this week, off this one shipment."
"Have you told Booth?" Brennan asked.
"No, I'll leave that up to you," she answered with another smile. "How'd I do?" Brennan didn't answer, and Cam left the platform, her cheerful smile still in place.
"I thought she did very well," Zack announced. Brennan refrained from rolling her eyes and refocused on the case.
"You said you had something else to show me?"
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The something else turned out to be an experiment involving the controlled burning of a fabricated skeleton covered with spam. Zack and Hodgins had approximated the temperature and duration of a car fire if the gas tank had been full. After the twenty minutes had elapsed, Hodgins killed the flames inside of the glass enclosure.
"That's still a significant amount of spam," Brennan said skeptically.
"According to the fire department report, the car burned for forty minutes, it still took four minutes to put it out," said Hodgins.
"Which means there was extra fuel," Zack surmised.
"And the extra glass you found?" Brennan asked.
"Five gallon mason jars."
"Six of them," Zack added.
"Filled with gasoline," Brennan concluded.
"That or moonshine," Hodgins snickered.
"Why does the whole lab smell like a luau?"
Three heads turned toward the doorway where Cam stood, looking nervous and slightly alarmed at the flames that still licked over the spam corpse. Brennan spoke up first.
"Zack and Hodgins are proving there was extra accelerant in Lynch's vehicle."
"Using what medium?"
"Artificial bone covered with spam."
"Turn this off," Cam said quietly. The other three turned to her in surprise at her strained tone. Hodgins looked at Brennan, who nodded her assent, and only then did he comply with his boss's request. This action did not go unnoticed by Cam, who clenched her jaw a little in response.
"Why wasn't I told about this?"
"I encourage independent inquiry," Brennan answered, chuckling.
"Your encouragement does not signify my authorization. If it happens again, I will take action. And I'm from New York, which means that I will take New York action. Am I clear?"
"Not at all," Brennan replied, confusion etching her features.
"I'm from Michigan," Zack said robotically.
"Dr. Saroyan means she'll make us watch musical theater," Hodgins joked.
"Wrong New York," Cam replied smoothly. "I'm more from the get-mugged-in-broad-daylight tradition. This is not a high school science fair, this is the Jeffersonian Institute. Unauthorized experiments will get you fired."
"But… we're Hodge-Podge and Zackaroni," Zack said weakly, referring to the rather ridiculous nicknames she'd given them while Brennan had been on vacation.
"And they work for me," Brennan added.
"You know, what I'd really like to do here is enjoy a meeting of the minds, but if you insist on an organizational pyramid, I will be at the top." Cam walked away brusquely, and Hodgins huffed a sigh before turning the flames back up to full force.
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Booth arrived a little after noon to pick Brennan up for lunch, and he caught on to her foul mood immediately.
"What's wrong?" he asked in concern. "You were pretty happy when I dropped you off this morning. Now you look like someone ticked you off. Someone compromise the remains?" he guessed.
Brennan rolled her eyes a little and launched into an explanation of Cam's reaction to Zack and Hodgins' experiment.
"Spam?" he asked for clarification, opening the glass door and following her into the diner.
"There were mason jars in the backseat, intended to break when the train hit."
"And they got this with spam?"
"Yeah, spam," she answered, taking a seat next to him at the long counter.
"Mmhmm… And Cam, she got all...bent out of shape?"
"She wants to authorize all experiments," Brennan announced incredulously.
"Great, you know Zack and Hodgins… They do an experiment with fake bones in spam."
"What's your spam fixation?"
"Defense lawyer hears spam, he makes a joke, the jury laughs, and everything we get from the Jeffersonian is framed as 'goofy science.' You know, from a bunch of squints with no connection to the real world."
"That wouldn't happen," Brennan disagreed, bristling slightly at his choice of phrase and recalling the way he'd accused her and her team of that exact shortcoming during the Cleo Eller case.
"Oh really, and the time you dropped a dead monkey down the elevator shaft-"
"No, that was to show…" She caught sight of his goofy smile and laughed warmly. "Okay, I take your point."
He leaned in to kiss her lightly, and Brennan felt her mood lift significantly. Ten minutes in his company, and she felt the tension she'd been carrying all morning almost melt away. How did he do that?
They took turns trading the case information they'd learned over the course of the morning, and she managed to swipe nearly half of his fries. He pretended to be frustrated over it, and she pretended to be contrite, earning herself one more perfect kiss before the ringing of his phone interrupted them.
"Booth." He grinned at her indulgently as she stole yet another french fry. "Patch me through," he said into the phone, listening for a moment before his smile slid from his face. Brennan watched him, growing concerned as his expression became even more grim. "When? You get the doer? ...Thanks for the notification."
"What?"
"The man who was charged with murdering your mother…"
"The pig farmer. Vince McVicar," she supplied.
"He was killed. Today, at Alexandria Federal Holding Facility."
Brennan looked back at him in shock, tears springing to her eyes as she quickly realized the implications of the man's death.
"I don't… He was the only connection to my father. His trial was going to be my…" She trailed off, shaking her head and willing her tears not to spill over. "How am I ever going to find out what really happened?"
"We'll figure it out, Bones," he told her gently, trying to reassure her.
"How are we going to find my father? It's clear that he won't simply approach me. He was there, in that house with me, Booth. He was close enough to kill a man right up the stairs from where I was tied up, and he couldn't even stick around long enough to make sure I regained consciousness."
Booth turned their bodies to face one another and held both of her hands briefly to his lips before brushing her hair back from her face.
"Bones, he was hiding from the FBI. He's the one who called me to tell me where you were so that I could come for you. Max knew that if he'd stuck around, he'd be arrested." Brennan closed her eyes, unable to draw much comfort from his words.
"What that tells me is that even after helping me like he did, he still values his own freedom more than my well-being."
Booth sighed and leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. He realized that the part of her logic she was missing was that her father loved her. Clearly there were bigger factors at play when it came to Max Keenan; things they didn't know yet. But as much as he wanted to reassure her of her father's love, he knew that she wasn't ready to accept it yet. So instead, he remained silent, allowing her to lean on him and draw the strength she needed.
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Booth and Brennan gathered around the Angelator with Cam and Angela later that evening to take a look at her facial reconstruction, and the results were alarming.
"That's not Warren Lynch. How accurate is this thing?" Cam asked.
"It's not the machine that's accurate, it's Angela. And she's good," Brennan defended her, shooting a loaded glance at Booth that easily communicated her frustration with the newcomer.
"That is not Warren Lynch," her boss repeated.
"Hey, Zack provided the skull, and this is the face that goes with it," Angela insisted. Booth spoke up anxiously.
"Could it be the wrong skull?"
"Zack doesn't make that kind of mistake," Brennan contradicted. "He's also very good."
"What about dental records?" Cam inquired, running through her mental list of problems that were bound to fall at her feet now.
"I'll check them for tampering," Angela volunteered.
"So you're certain that the body in the car…"
"Is not Warren Lynch," Brennan finished Booth's statement. "Absolutely certain."
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"Angela says the AUSA was angry with her," Brennan informed her partner from the passenger seat. They were staking out a known drop location of the heroin dealer who was pushing the overly-potent drug they'd found in their victim's system.
"Lisa Supek?"
"Yes, apparently she blamed Angela for the mistaken identity when in fact it was Angela who revealed a fraud."
"Typical," he muttered, his eyes scanning across the street to the alleyway they were watching.
"Ange said that… Cam stood up for her," Brennan admitted quietly. Booth glanced at her with raised brows and nodded.
"Sounds like Cam. I really do think things will be great once you all get your feelings worked out."
"Feelings aren't a factor, Booth. She's been acting like…" she struggled for the right words.
"Like she's in charge?" Booth asked with a tiny smile. Brennan rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. "You know, you're cute when you're flustered." She shot him a look of mock contempt and turned her attention back to the street.
"Hey, that's our guy!" she exclaimed, moving to open her door. Booth reached across quickly to stop her, holding the door closed and shushing her impatiently.
"No, no, shhhh. What we gotta do is wait until he deals. Catch him in the act."
"We wait? For how long?"
"However long it takes." His arm was still across her torso, and their faces were mere inches apart. The temperature in the car seemed to rise by several degrees, and she arched a quizzical brow at him.
"Well, what do we do while we wait?" she asked suggestively.
"Not that, Dr. Brennan. Behave yourself."
"Not what, Agent Booth?" Her tone was innocent, mocking him.
"You know what."
"I'm sure just...one kiss...wouldn't hurt," she insisted. He grinned at her affectionately and closed the distance between their lips. They kept the contact light and soft, chaste even, compared to their usual kisses. It was incredibly sweet, and when they pulled away from one another, it was with a fair amount of reluctance.
They sat for another few minutes, watching the short, bald drug dealer glance shiftily around the scene, and Brennan's focus began to wane slightly.
"We're on," her partner announced abruptly, and they both got out of the car to run quickly toward the alleyway. When they reached him, the prospective buyer had fled, and the drug dealer was furiously attempting to swallow the heroin he'd been attempting to sell.
Booth stopped him before the drugs had made it down his throat and didn't hesitate to make his point very clear. Brennan was slightly alarmed as she watched her partner intimidate the junkie. He made clear and concise threats, seemingly playing the roles of bad cop and worse cop simultaneously, and it paid off. The repugnant man gave them a name, Ray, to whom he had sold heroin three days prior. After Booth released him, Brennan stepped closer to the man.
"I feel I should alert you. There's an additive in this heroin that causes overdoses."
Booth watched the drug dealer's eyes travel the length of her body and hastily pulled her away and out of his reach. As he led her away, he heard the man's voice behind them.
"Hey, where'd you find her?"
"Piss off," Booth replied irritably. His phone began to ring from his pocket, but he kept an arm around Brennan's waist as he answered it. "Booth."
"He should warn the other addicts," Brennan said.
"Yeah, like they do on a pack of cigarettes." Booth directed his next words into his phone. "When? ...Thanks."
"What?"
"They found Warren Lynch."
"Where?"
"In the hospital. He's brain-dead."
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They made a stop by the hospital on the way home, but the report had been accurate-Warren Lynch had severe brain damage in addition to broken ribs, legs, pelvis, spinal damage, and severe internal bleeding. His doctor informed them that he'd been thrown out of a speeding car and was most likely only still alive because he'd already been unconscious at the time. Some of his injuries were from a physical assault.
As they lay in bed that night, Booth's mind drifted back to their lunch conversation. With Vince McVicar now dead, Booth wasn't sure yet how best to proceed with the search for her father. He was trying to secure a visit with the man who'd taken out McVicar, but other than that slight possibility, there were literally no leads at this point, nothing left that could be connected to Max Keenan. His heart ached for Brennan, knowing how much she'd been counting on McVicar's trial to reveal the truth of what had happened back then as well as to provide them with clues of her father's current whereabouts. Now there was nothing, and she still needed peace.
Booth's arms tightened around her, and he caressed the bare skin of her back in soothing, rhythmic patterns. He knew she wasn't asleep yet, and he guessed that her beautiful, brilliant mind was keeping her awake.
"Bones."
"Mmm?"
"You haven't been out to your mother's grave since the funeral. Maybe we could go tomorrow?" She looked up at him with confusion in her eyes. "Or the next day, or whenever this case is done," he amended, assuming that she wanted to focus on their jobs before taking time for a trip to the cemetery.
"Why should we go?"
"To...you know, to visit. To talk to your mom."
"But...she's dead. She can't hear anything," she replied, furrowing her brow even more at his suggestion. Booth breathed a sigh and did his best to put his thoughts into words that would make sense to her.
"Yeah, that may be true, but… It helps, Bones. Sometimes just saying certain things out loud, whether the person can hear you or not, can make you feel better. And it's good to remember the people we've lost. Visiting their resting places is a way to do that." She still looked a little skeptical, and he decided to appeal to her academic side. "Come on, I'm sure there's an anthropological lesson about visiting burial sites." He quirked a playful brow at her, and she chuckled.
"Are you actually requesting an anthropology lesson?" she asked, eyes twinkling. Booth grinned back affectionately.
"Oh yeah, baby. Talk squinty to me."
Brennan laughed and shook her head at him before kissing him softly. He was right of course; there were numerous cultures with similar burial traditions. While she didn't understand the logic of it, she knew that it was a common practice and a means of seeking peace after the death of a loved one.
"I think I'll spare you…this time," she told him, still smiling. "In this area, you may actually have more insight than I do, but why are you bringing it up now?" Booth pressed his lips to her forehead briefly before answering.
"Maybe… Maybe it might bring you some peace. I know you're upset about the news we got today, and I'm disappointed too. But whether we're able to track down your father or not, talking to your mom might help."
She was silent for a few moments, digesting his words. He was worried about her, that much was obvious. She wouldn't have been able to see it in anyone else, but Brennan had become very adept at reading Booth. Perhaps not as well as he was able to read her, but she'd certainly gotten better at it. She highly doubted that talking to a granite headstone would make her feel any better, but she was willing to try if it would ease his concern.
"Okay… But let's get this case closed first."
"Okay? Really?" That was too easy.
"Yes. If you think it will be a positive experience, then I'm willing to try."
He smiled and kissed her sweetly, drawing her even closer in his embrace.
"I love you," they both whispered simultaneously. Brennan chuckled softly and released a sigh of content before both slipped into peaceful dreams.
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Booth had developed a fairly strong stomach over the past year as Brennan's partner, but Angela's recreation of the victim's elbow and shoulder being dislocated still made him feel a little queasy. He didn't want to see it again, but the squints were stuck on exactly how the injury had happened to a corpse.
"Run it again," he instructed Angela, wincing at the image a second time. "It's like he was putting his jacket on."
"Corpses don't usually do that."
"These injuries occurred when the corpse was forced into a jacket," Zack agreed, looking appreciative of the revelation.
"Most likely by two people," Angela suggested. Booth switched her focus to the traffic photograph she'd been working on. It turned out that she'd been able to get a reflection of the car in the next lane from the shiny surface of Lynch's car. She showed him an image of the man driving next to Lynch.
"I don't know if that's any use to you."
Turco. Of course.
"Yeah. That's of use," he replied grimly.
"Booth, do either of these count as experiments?" Zack asked nervously.
"Cause if they do, we could both get fired-by your old sweetheart," she added with a smirk.
"Mind your own business, Angela," he muttered back. Booth turned on his heel and left her office, glancing at Brennan through her office window as he passed through the lab toward Cam's autopsy room. Brennan had buried herself in research at her desk and didn't see him. Booth sighed, hoping he'd be able to get her out of there for lunch later.
He found Cam easily enough, and he gazed around the autopsy bay curiously. It was directly across from Brennan's office and had the same array of windows and blinds, but it was big enough to contain the equipment she needed to do her job. She smiled warmly as he entered, and Booth quickly relayed Zack and Angela's findings.
"Of course, Angela and Zack are scared that this counts as an experiment and you're going to fire them," he told her facetiously.
"Ah! I am getting through," she replied, grinning mischievously.
"Why'd you take this job, Camille?" It had been bothering him. Although they hadn't been intimate in years and Cam had the tendency to be an incorrigible flirt, Booth was concerned that she might have had an ulterior motive beyond that of a nice lab and great salary.
"Why shouldn't I, Seeley?"
"Because it's basically herding cats, and you're a dog person."
"Dogs herd cats."
"Dogs...don't do that."
"Chase 'em up trees, whatever," she smirked. Booth had had enough of the playful banter.
"Seriously, Cam. Why'd you take this job?"
She turned to an instrument tray and picked up a gruesome-looking tool.
"These are titanium rib-clippers from Germany. My last job used bolt cutters from Home Depot. These are much, much nicer." She placed them back down and continued, "This autopsy table has downdraft ventilation. No rotting corpse smell, Seeley. My last table didn't even have a drain. Think about that: leaky corpse, no drain."
He cringed and could imagine the smell all too easily, but he wasn't reassured by her little speech.
"So you took this job for better equipment."
"I've spent my whole professional life in basement rooms with no windows. Now I'm in the Jeffersonian Institute. ...What?" she asked, trying to decipher his uncomfortable expression.
"Gotta ask…"
"You so do not," she told him, catching on to his implication.
"Did you take this job because of…" he gestured to himself. Cam laughed and shook her head.
"Nothing to do with you."
Booth nodded, hoping she was telling the truth, and decided to shift the conversation elsewhere.
"I need Bones this afternoon."
"Okay," she said agreeably. She'd been surprised at the nickname he'd dropped at the crime scene the other night. For one, Dr. Brennan didn't seem the type to tolerate something like that in a professional setting. And Cam couldn't help but notice that Booth had never given her a nickname.
"It's about her mother's murder and her father's disappearance," he added.
"Plus she dedicated her book to you, so…"
"It's a legitimate case, Cam," he replied a little defensively.
"I know. I read the file."
Booth nodded and turned to leave, but she stopped him with a question.
"Why hasn't she confronted me?" Cam asked. It wasn't the question she'd wanted to ask him. What she really wanted to know was who was responsible for the hickey on his neck, if for no other reason than to confirm her suspicions.
"About what?" he stalled.
"About me...being parachuted in over her head? She finds me intimidating, right?" Booth laughed at her presumption and shook his head. Cam was a little offended at his derision. "Hey, I intimidate people!"
"Yeah, Bones doesn't intimidate," he replied, still smirking.
"Then...what?" she pressed. Booth regarded her briefly, trying to determine how best to describe Brennan's process.
"Have you seen the way she stares at human remains before she makes a decision?"
"Yes…"
"You're human remains, and...she hasn't made a decision yet."
"How do I help her make the right decision?" she asked, watching him back toward the doorway.
"Go for the truth. You know… take care of her people. But don't try to intimidate her. That'll only end up embarrassing you," he chuckled. "Which reminds me… the flirting… you've gotta stop that. You don't know it, but that's embarrassing you too. Bones-"
He was interrupted by his cell ringing, and he knew from the caller ID that he needed to take the call immediately.
"Booth."
Cam eyed him speculatively, wondering if he'd been about to say what she thought he'd say. That he and Brennan were together. She'd neither seen nor heard anything to confirm her suspicion, but Cam was an intelligent woman. There was something going on there, even if it wasn't official.
Booth closed his phone after a few brief words and excused himself quickly, telling her that he and 'Bones' would actually be leaving now rather than that afternoon. Cam watched as he crossed the lab to Brennan's office and entered without knocking, and Brennan was out of her seat within seconds, trading her lab coat for her blazer and hurrying out of the sliding glass doors with Booth's hand at her back.
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"They're sure this is the man who killed McVicar?" Brennan asked as they waited to be shown into a room at the prison. Booth nodded grimly.
"Name's Mitchell Downs."
A door opened nearby, and they were shown to a table occupied by a prisoner who was wearing a rather bemused expression. The partners sat next to one another on the opposite side, and Booth spoke first.
"Mr. Downs, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI; this here is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. We have a few questions for you regarding your confession to the murder of a fellow inmate. Vince McVicar?"
"Got no reason to lie. Facing life at least. Probably going to get executed."
"What did you do?" Brennan asked, slightly disturbed by the man's nonchalance.
"Mr. Downs killed his entire family," Booth revealed.
"I killed your friend 'cause he cut in the cafeteria line to snag the last orange juice. Broke off a sharpened toothbrush in his jugular," Downs gloated.
"Mr. Downs, the man you killed-" Brennan began.
"McVicar."
"-He's not my friend. He killed my mother."
"You come to tell me thanks?" he smirked.
"No. McVicar was my last chance to find out some things. He might have known something about my father. I… I can't ask my father because he left a message on my answering machine telling me not to look for him…" She wasn't sure why she'd told him that, but her words seemed to have an impact on Downs.
"I'll tell you what. Maybe… look at McVicar's murder as a second message from Max. One he didn't use a phone for." He turned his head to signal the guard that he was finished. Both partners' eyes widened at his words.
"I never said my father's name was Max."
"I'm done," Downs told the guard.
"Did you perform a hit for Max Keenan?" Booth asked urgently. But the man didn't answer, and Booth rose from his seat, repeating his question a second time.
"Take it as a sign from God," Downs advised.
He disappeared through the doorway to be led back to his cell, and Booth looked back at Brennan cautiously. His mind was racing, and he knew hers must be as well. Booth motioned her out of the room, and neither spoke until they reached the SUV.
"That's what happened, isn't it? My father hired a hitman to kill Vince McVicar?"
Booth winced a little at the pain in her voice and reached over to hold her hand.
"I don't know, Bones." The more he thought about it, the less surprised he was. Max Keenan had killed the man who had hurt his daughter. Why would the same not also be true for the person who'd murdered his wife? Brennan was shaking her head with her lips pressed tightly together, trying to make sense of it.
"How am I going to tell Russ that our father ordered the death of another human being?"
During their visit to her brother's home, they'd told Russ about the circumstances surrounding Brennan's kidnapping. After his initial anger that such a thing had happened to his sister, he'd voiced his disbelief that their father could kill someone. Booth had then given him more details about Brennan's rescue, and she'd backed up his story. Russ had been left in shock, still unable to reconcile the father he remembered with the man being described to him: someone who could commit a murder so quickly and efficiently. After he'd had time to think it through, however, Russ had admitted to both of them that if someone were to hurt either of his stepdaughters, he'd want to kill the person responsible.
Booth had agreed with Russ's sentiments. If someone had killed Brennan or hurt his child, he'd have wanted to take them out himself.
"Look, Bones… If he did that, and I'm not saying it happened that way…" Downs was a criminal after all and might have been lying, he thought. "But if he did, then he took out the man who murdered his wife."
"Good people don't commit murder or have other people kill for them. Good people don't even know how."
Booth winced a little at the implication, but he knew she wasn't talking about him. She'd made it quite clear that regardless of how many men he'd killed, it had never been murder. Brennan had insisted that there was a difference, even if the lines were blurred in Booth's mind.
"Well, your father buried your mother in a pair of new shoes, in a cemetery, with her dolphin belt buckle that reminded her of you because you both loved dolphins."
"That does not make him a good man," she argued.
"People can be more than one thing," he told her. "Look, we were at a dead end, alright? Now we know that your father was able to get to Mitchell Downs and persuade him to kill McVicar. If we find out how he did that, we're that much closer to finding out what happened to your old man. I mean that's...if you still want to find him," he hedged.
"I do," she insisted.
"Okay. Silver lining, right?" Apparently she knew what that meant, because she didn't ask him to clarify, but Brennan turned to gaze out the windshield as he drove back to the lab.
She was wearing her 'lost little girl' expression again, and her eyes were misty. Booth squeezed her hand gently and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the smooth skin. He wished more than anything that there was a way to make this right for her. Unfortunately, Booth was fairly certain that if they ever did find Max Keenan, the situation would become more complicated than it was already, and he wondered how much more his Bones could take before she broke.
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You know what to do!