Chapter 1

Booth finished brushing his teeth and padded to his bed, looking forward to slipping beneath the covers and having a long, restful sleep. He had just closed a particularly difficult case, so he had not had a chance to get a decent night's sleep in almost a week. Of course, he was accustomed to lack of sleep. His job at the FBI was not conducive to a regular nine to five schedule. But he could not complain too much. He loved his job, loved how he could fulfill the boyish fantasy of "catching the bad guy" and bringing justice to the families of all the victims.

Outside of work, his life was good. No, it was better than good. It was excellent, everything he had ever dreamed of. He was finally involved romantically with his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, affectionately called Bones by him—and only him. It was amazing to think that he could now kiss her whenever he wished (okay, not whenever he wished, for they had agreed to remain completely professional at work), that he could wake up next to her in the morning. In fact, in the past month since they had agreed to pursue a romantic relationship, he had spent more nights with her than without her. Not that he minded. As far as he was concerned, a night not spent with Bones was a night wasted.

He supposed he would have to mark the current night down in the "wasted" category. She had been finishing up an identification when he had stopped by the lab with dinner earlier that night. Although she had stopped work to eat with him (surprisingly without too much struggle), she had refused to come home with him, claiming she still had a great deal of work to do. He had offered to wait with her, but she had taken one look at his appearance and told him he needed to go home and get some sleep. He knew it was pointless to argue with her; it usually was. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have to admit that he truly did need the sleep. And so he had returned to his apartment alone and was now climbing into bed alone. It felt empty without her.

Despite Booth's feeling that something was missing, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, the sleepless nights finally catching up with him. Unfortunately, he was jerked awake after far too short a time asleep by the ringing of his cell phone. It took his tired brain a moment to register what the sound was; when it finally did, he raised his torso up, supporting himself with one arm as his other hand searched for the phone on his nightstand. He happened to catch the numbers on the clock as he put his phone to his ear. 2:13. Who the hell was calling him at 2:13 in the morning?

"Yeah?" he questioned gruffly, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Booth?" Even with his brain muddled from sleep, he still registered the slight waver in Brennan's voice. Something was wrong. However, it was her next words which caused him to sit straight up in the bed. "I'm scared," she told him.

"I'll be right there." He practically jumped out of bed, wide-awake now. Temperance Brennan was not a woman who admitted she was scared. Sure, Booth knew when she was scared; he had seen uncertainty on her face enough times to recognize it. But she never told him she was frightened. She was strong; she refused to allow herself to rely on someone else. The fact that she had told him she was scared implied that something serious was going on.

In no time at all, he had pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Grabbing his keys, gun, badge, and phone, he was out the door, practically running to his SUV. He thought about putting the siren on, but it really was not needed, for the streets were virtually empty due to the early hour. In no time at all, he was pulling into the parking structure of her apartment building. He swung the wheel, pulling the SUV into the parking space and slamming on the brakes. Throwing the car into park, he pushed the door open with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary, slamming it behind him as he rushed into the building. He turned toward the stairs; the elevator was much too slow. His long legs made quick work of the two flights, and he was soon standing outside her room. He was relieved to note that the door was closed, and a quick test of the doorknob told him that it was also locked.

Quickly, he pulled out the key to her apartment and inserted it in the lock. Fear coiled in the pit of his stomach when he noticed that the lights were off in the apartment, and he did not immediately see her. His gun was out of its holster almost immediately, held at his side in a grip that might have seemed casual at first but which allowed for him to raise it quickly if needed. Before he went too far into her apartment, however, he heard soft sounds coming from the direction of her bedroom. He crossed the room quickly, no longer bothering to be careful as he pushed open to the door to the bedroom. He found her curled up in the center of her bed, her legs hugged to her chest. Immediately, he returned his gun to its holster, rushing to her side. "Bones, Temperance," he said, climbing onto the bed next to her and pulling her into his arms. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he did not need to. Words were rarely needed between them. Silently, she raised a slightly shaking finger to point at something which rested at the edge of the bed.

He reached out to pick the object up, turning it carefully over in his hands. It was a silver lighter with an ornate engraving of an E. He looked at her curiously. "There's something I haven't told you," she said softly, speaking into his shoulder, her voice muffled by his shirt so that he had to strain to hear her. He was silent, tacitly encouraging her to continue. After a brief pause, she did. "I told you that I didn't have the best luck with foster families. I moved around a lot. One of the first things you learn in the foster system is that there are three types of foster parents. There is the most common type who really don't care too much; I ended up with a lot of those. I could deal with them. I stayed out of their way, and they usually stayed out of mine. Then there are the really good ones, the ones that you rarely find. They're the ones who actually care about your well-being, the ones who genuinely want to help you. I had one foster mother like that; unfortunately, her mother got pretty sick, so she had to move back home to care for her. And then there are the bad ones, the ones who only want to foster to exploit the children. They're more common than most people realize. It's why we try so hard to get out of the system. Nobody ever listens to us when we tell them what's going on. And so we're forced to run away; it's why so many foster kids end up on the street.

I had a couple of the bad parents. You've already heard about one. But he wasn't the worst. The worst was the last one I had. Brett was his name. Brett Earl. He had a temper; the smallest thing would set him off. I was staying with him and his wife and another foster girl Jenna who was fifteen at the time. I was seventeen; I had four months left in the system, and I was counting down the days.

Brett beat up on me and Jenna quite a few times while we were there, but I just gritted my teeth and let him. It was easier that way. I didn't have too much longer left in the system, and after my previous experience, I knew no one would believe me. Brett was careful; the bruises he left never lasted for long, and he never did any damage which was noticeable if we were wearing clothes. Well, one day, Jenna decided she had had enough, and when Brett came to hit her, she stood up to him. Tried to stop him from hitting her. He picked up a bookend from the shelf and raised it above his head. I knew what was coming, and I stepped forward to help her, but I was too late. Before I really knew what was happening, he had hit her over the head with the bookend. Hard. Hard enough to make her fall to the ground.

I went to her side, noticing that her head was bleeding quite profusely. When I put my fingers to her neck, I couldn't find a pulse. I told him this, and he just looked at me with his eyes taking on an expression I knew portended him hitting me. I managed to deflect the blow, but that didn't stop him." Her tone had become almost clinical as if she was describing a piece of evidence. He knew that the tone was simply her way of coping, of compartmentalizing, and he held her closer to comfort her. She had stopped crying now, but he could still feel her shaking slightly in his arms. He only wished he could take all her pain away.

"He came at me again, so I ran out of there. When he caught me, he pushed me up against the wall with his hand at my throat. I couldn't breathe. I thought he was going to kill me. He leaned in close and told me that if I told anyone what had happened that night, he would hunt me down and kill me. And then he laughed and told me that on second thought, he would just kill me anyway.

I kicked his shin, and he released his grip enough for me to wriggle free. This time, he came at me with the same bookend he had murdered Jenna with. He struck me in the back of the head, too, but since I was running, it was only a glancing blow, not enough to kill me, but enough to render me unconscious.

When I came to, I was in a shed he had behind the house. I could smell gasoline. Looking over, I saw that Jenna was lying next to me; it looked like he had doused her in gasoline. And from the smell of my clothes, he had doused me, too. I didn't see him in the shed, so I figured that he had gone back to the house to retrieve a match or something. But I didn't feel like waiting around to find out. I got up and ran out of there as fast as I could. I didn't stop running until morning when I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I slept on the street with the other foster kids who had run away. It wasn't the most comfortable place, but I was safe. They understood what I had been through; even though they didn't know me, they would protect me.

I stayed there for a couple days. I managed to get some clothes and a little bit of money, enough to make it up to the New Jersey. I had already received acceptance to Princeton, and I managed to convince them to let me move in early. I got a job on campus which, with my scholarship, provided me with plenty of money to live off of.

I never saw Brett again. I didn't want to. I still think about that night. I wonder if I could have saved Jenna if I had been just a little bit quicker or more willing to stand up to him-"

"Shh, Bones, none of this is your fault. You were just a kid. You did everything you could do. Don't blame yourself."

"But I was there, Booth, and I didn't stop him."

"From what you just told me, I doubt you could have stopped him, Bones. Why didn't you ever report what he did?"

"I couldn't. No one believed me the first time, and they certainly wouldn't this time."

"I doubt that. If you report a murder to the authorities, they tend to take it seriously. It doesn't matter who it comes from."

"I couldn't report it to the authorities, Booth."

"Why not?"

"Because Brett was a cop. He was the authorities. And he had a lot of friends in the department. There was no one I could turn to."

"So you retreated into yourself?" Booth guessed.

"I decided that my main focus in life would be work. Forensic anthropology was an easy choice for me. I wanted to help victims like Jenna, people who were so unidentifiable by conventional means, people who would just be forgotten or discarded. Because they deserve better. It doesn't matter who they are or whether or not they were in the system. Everyone deserves respect."

"You're exactly right, Bones." He turned and pressed his lips to her temple.

"There's a note in the lighter," Brennan muttered. Booth flipped it open, catching the small piece of white paper which floated out. Turning it over, he barely managed to make out the hastily-scrawled words in the dim light of the room. The note simply read, "I found you, Tempe. Just like I promised." The words made Booth's blood run cold, and he unconsciously pulled her closer. He would protect her, no matter what it took. She meant too much for him to lose.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, Booth, but I didn't know who else to call."

"No, Bones, you don't have to apologize. You never have to apologize for being afraid. I'll let you in on a secret." He pulled back slightly so that he could tilt her chin up so that they were face to face. "I'm scared sometimes, too."

She gave him a watery smile, and he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips. When they slowly separated, he gently lay her back on the bed. "Why don't you try to get some sleep, Bones? I'm going to call in a couple agents, get them to set up a perimeter around your apartment. This guy's not getting anywhere near you." He started to get up, but she grabbed his hand before he could move.

"Booth, could you just. . . stay here for a little while? I don't need a bunch of agents. All I really need right now is you." He looked down at her pleading blue eyes, still wet with tears, and he immediately put his phone away. He could not deny her anything. Slipping out of his pants and t-shirt, he lay down next to her, tugging her gently into his arms. She curled against his body, letting his familiar warmth comfort her and chase away the demons that the note had brought back. She was no longer the scrawny foster kid. She was a strong, independent woman now. And she had a family. He was lying right behind her. They may not have been traditional, but they were family. And that was all that mattered.

Booth wrapped one arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on her stomach. His fingers lazily traced the smooth skin of her stomach, soothing her into sleep while his other hand played with her hair. He felt her slowly beginning to relax in his arms and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She sighed softly when his warm lips touched her skin, and he smiled. Her breathing was growing deeper and more regular, and he knew she was close to sleep. He continued his gentle, soothing caresses for a few more minutes until he was sure she had succumbed to slumber before silently slipping out of bed. He walked into the living room so as not to disturb her as he called in backup. Once he was assured that agents were on their way, he made his way back to the bedroom, slipping under the sheet behind her again. For now, he could sleep soundly, knowing that the woman who was more important to him than life itself was safely in his arms.

Booth awoke first the following morning and was happy to find Brennan still fast asleep in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple before slipping out of the bed and padding into the kitchen. A quick check out the window ensured him that agents were indeed watching the apartment, and he relaxed slightly. Once in the kitchen, he began to pull out all the necessary ingredients for omelets, moving around with practiced ease. He had been at her apartment enough to be comfortable in her kitchen. It was a nice feeling.

As he finished chopping the peppers, he heard a noise behind him and turned quickly to find a tired-looking Brennan shuffling into the kitchen. He flashed her a smile. "Breakfast should be ready in about ten minutes. Coffee's over there." He pointed to a pot he had started earlier. She nodded, taking a cup and sipping gratefully. He turned back to the omelets, cracking the first egg.

After they had eaten and dressed, Booth called in more agents to search the apartment for any signs of Brett Earl. Brennan had recovered from her fright and spent most of the time ordering the agents around and warning them to be careful around her expensive artifacts until Booth finally convinced her to back off. Another agent who Booth introduced as Hathaway walked over to interview them. "Dr. Brennan, I understand you found the lighter when you arrived home last night?"

"Yes, I got home around 2:00 in the morning. Nothing seemed amiss at the time; my door was still closed and locked, and everything looked to be in place. But then when I got into my bedroom, I found the lighter on my pillow." Brennan's voice was devoid of any emotion as she spoke, and Booth watched her carefully for any sign of the fear she had shown last night. But it seemed to have completely disappeared; determination now replaced it, a determination to find Brett Earl.

"And did you handle it?"

"Yes, Booth and I both handled it."

Hathaway made a note on his chart. "You said you had an idea of who the lighter belonged to?"

"Yes, his name is Brett Earl. I knew him a long time ago. He promised-" Here, she paused briefly, collecting herself. Booth placed a comforting hand on her lower back. "He promised that he would kill me. He almost did, too. He doused me in gasoline, but I got away before he could light it."

"I guess that explains the lighter. What exactly was your relation to Brett Earl?"

"He was my foster father."

"And why did he threaten to kill you?"

Brennan looked to Booth who nodded, silently telling her that he would support her no matter what she decided. It was her decision how much she should tell. "I witnessed him murder another foster girl," Brennan stated finally.

Hathaway's pen paused in mid-sentence, and he looked up at Brennan, confusion etched on his face. When she gave no indication of offering a further explanation, he turned to Booth who remained similarly stony-faced. "And you didn't report this murder at the time?" Hathaway asked.

"Earl was a cop. There was no one to report it to. Now, if you don't have any further questions, I think I'm going to make sure that they don't harm anything." With that, Brennan stood. Booth followed after her, shaking his head when Hathaway made a move to follow them. Booth knew that she was not going to answer any further questions. And once she made up her mind not to do something, it was impossible to change it.

The agents found nothing that gave any indication of Earl's whereabouts, and they packed up two hours later no closer to finding him than they had been when they came in. "I want to get the lighter to the lab," Brennan announced as they left. "Hodgins might be able to find particulates on it which could lead us to Earl."

"Whoa, slow down, Bones. You're not going anywhere. You're too close to this one. The guy is after you, for crying out loud. You're not going to go harrowing off to the lab; you need to stay somewhere where it's safe."

"Booth, the security at the lab is excellent. He's much less likely to get to me there than he is to get to me here."

"I seem to remember that the security at the lab has its own set of problems."

"That was a fluke, Booth."

Booth looked at her, noticing the fierce determination shining in her eyes. He sighed. "Fine, Bones. But I'm coming with you. Until this guy is in custody, I'm sticking to your side like glue." She nodded curtly and entered her bedroom to retrieve her coat. He followed her out of the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them.

When they reached the lab, Hodgins was already on the platform studying something on the computer monitor. When he heard the beep as Brennan scanned her id card, he turned to face the partners. "Dr. Brennan, I heard what happened. Anything we can do to help catch the bastard?"

"I'd like you to analyze this and see if you can find anything," she said, handing Hodgins the silver lighter. He examined the object for a moment before nodding.

"I'll get back to you as soon as I can," he promised.

Brennan turned to Booth who was finishing up a conversation with someone on the phone. "That was Charlie," he explained as he hung up. "Apparently, Brett Earl disappeared off the face of the earth about ten years ago. He and his wife split, and that's the last official record of him. There's no death certificate, no driver's license, nothing. Charlie's still digging to see if he can find something, but it's not looking good. If Earl was a cop, he knows how to hide."

"Find a picture of him from ten years ago and have Angela run it through the aging program. We can at least get a face for him," Brennan said. Booth nodded, already dialing. As he turned away to speak with the person on the other end, Brennan heard Cam's voice behind her.

"Dr. Brennan. I didn't expect you in today," Cam remarked.

"I need to work," Brennan explained. Cam nodded.

"If you need time,. . ."

"I'll be fine. I just want to find this guy."

"Well, we're all here to help." Brennan nodded in thanks, turning back to Booth who had finished the phone call.

"They're faxing the photo over now," he told her. "Hopefully, Angela will be able to do something with it. In the meantime, I think we should go speak with the ex-wife."

The drive to the address provided for Lauren Earl took about fifteen minutes. Booth and Brennan barely spoke on the way, but the silence was a comfortable one; it was one of two people who had known each other long enough that no words were needed between them. Brennan pretended not to notice the dark-colored sedan that had been following them the entire trip, only once coming close enough for her to make out the two men wearing sunglasses and dark suits that screamed FBI sitting in the front seats. She thought Booth was being paranoid, but she had long ago accepted that he was often over-protective and had realized that it was rarely worth arguing over. If she complained, he would simply flash her his charm smile and explain that he was only looking out for her best interests.

Booth stopped the car outside of a run-down house nestled in a grove of trees. He stepped out of the SUV, sliding his sunglasses onto his face as he peered up at the sagging roof and boarded windows. "Nice place," he remarked sarcastically.

"How could anyone live here?" Brennan questioned, stepping toward the house.

"Some people don't mind squalor," Booth told her, following her lead with his hand at her back. When they reached the front door, he raised the ancient brass knocker and knocked loudly. "Ms. Earl?" he called out. "Are you home?" He received no response, so he knocked again. "Ms. Earl?"

"The car's in the driveway," Brennan observed, nodding to an old station wagon.

"Yeah. I'm not getting a good feeling about this. Step back, Bones." He turned so that his shoulder was facing the door, lowering it so that he could get more force.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" He looked over at Brennan who simply turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Oh." Booth straightened, turning to follow her inside. "I guess that way is a bit easier." Brennan shook her head, stepping through the dusty foyer and into the small, dirty kitchen. Flies buzzed around a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"Somebody lived here," Brennan pointed out.

"But probably not recently," Booth said, crinkling his nose as the smell of rotting food wafted over him. He swatted a fly away from his face.

"Ms. Earl?" Brennan called loudly.

"I don't think she's here, Bones," Booth said, following her into a dusty living room. Brennan, as usual, ignored him.

"Ms. Earl?" she shouted again, now heading for a creaky wooden staircase. Sighing, Booth followed her. A quick check of the rooms upstairs told them that she was not in the house. Somewhat frustrated, Booth followed Brennan back into the kitchen. As he was swatting flies away, he heard Brennan's voice. "Booth?" Turning, he found her standing by a glass door which led to a small porch that opened into the backyard. "I think I found Ms. Earl," she told him.

He followed her pointing figure and saw what looked like the remains of a bonfire on the grass. What interested him most, however, was not the burnt wood. It was the charred skull sitting half-buried near the bottom of the pile, one empty eye socket staring up at him like some kind of creepy omen.