The Taking, Part 2
It's been so long since I posted part one of this story that I'm just going to repost it here again. (And it's been so dead here that I don't know if anyone is reading it. But here it is all the same)
Part two of "The Taking" deals primarily with the relationship between Grace and Morgan. I wanted to explore all the anger and hostility that built up in their marriage and I decided to use the trauma with their sons as a vehicle for exploring it. References "Victims of Victims" and "Tsuris." Hope you like.
Profiler: The Taking
Rating: R for violence, sexuality, salty language.
Pairing: Vaguely Grace/George; Vaguely Grace/Bailey; some Goat; mostly VCTF friendship.
Fandoms: This is my first cross-over with “Bones.” Temperance Brennance, Seeley Booth, and the Grave Digger are all property of Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs, and Fox. I’m just borrowing them for a while.
A/N: On the “Profiler” side, I didn’t have info on Morgan’s back-story so I took liberties and made it up. This takes place during the imaginary fifth season, with the assumption that the VCTF hasn’t closed. This takes place in a future season of “Bones” which has not yet taken place. (Yeah, I know I’m crossing time-lines here. For it to be season 4 of “Bones” it would have to be season 12 of “Profiler.” Just suspend your disbelief for a bit.)
Atlanta, Georgia
“Grace, let’s go! We’re late already!”
“Just give me another ten minutes,” Grace replied, not looking up from the mummified body lying on her autopsy table. “I’m almost done here.”
“You were ‘almost done here’ two hours ago,” George reminded her. Even without looking up, she could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Now I really mean it.” She leaned her elbow on the table for leverage and began to extract a tissue sample from the intercostal space between the victim’s 6th and 7th ribs. “I just want to get this last bit of trace-“ She trailed off as she extracted the tissue and placed it on a slide.
“Grace, this banquet is really important to John and we promised we’d be there. This guy has been in a metal box in the ground for nearly a decade. I think he’ll survive until tomorrow.”
Grace looked up, startled. “What time is it?”
“4:30.”
“The banquet doesn’t start until seven, you nut.”
“And if I don’t get you out of here to get home, showered, changed, and the boys settled in, we’ll never make it on time. Everyone else left half an hour ago.”
Grace finally looked up from the body. “I’ll get done quicker if you finish inputting his data into NCIC. I want to cross reference this with all known interment cases, see if this guy is the first victim of this type.” She handed him the digital mic she had been using to dictate her findings. “I’ll get him in storage and wash up.”
“Make it snappy,” George replied, sitting down at her computer to input the data. “I don’t want to miss the open bar.”
Grace rolled her eyes at him and grinned as she rolled the gurney back into the refrigerator.
Washington, D.C.
“Bones, you might want to take a look at this.”
Agent Seeley Booth entered Temperance Brennan’s office at his usual fast clip. He spun her laptop around to face him, pulled up the web browser, and began entering a web page.
“Excuse me! I was trying to work. I have an article due to the National Journal of Anthropology on the Latin-American subculture-”
“Bones, that’s fascinating. Regale me later. Look what came up on NCIC.” He spun the lap top around to face her again and watched as she read.
“An interred body found outside of Atlanta, remote location, body buried inside an unidentified metal container, remains mummified.” Temperance looked up at Booth with a vaguely confused expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t see why this is relevant to me.”
“Okay, well, let’s see if I can fill in a few blanks. Almost two years ago you and Hodgins were locked in your car under a strip mine, left for dead. You decided to blow the car up, you operated on Hodgins without anesthetic- is this ringing any bells?”
He could tell from her face that it was, and was suddenly sorry he hadn’t taken a more sensitive tack- she was obviously trying not to re-live those hellish 12 hours. Brennan hadn’t made more than a cursory mention of these events in the last two years. Although it would have seemed to most people that she was just being typically introverted Brennan, he could tell from long experience that she had been more affected by it than she cared to admit, and more scarred than she’d ever be willing to show.
“Yes, the Gravedigger. It’s all coming back to me now,” she replied in her mildly sarcastic way. “And you think this case in Atlanta might be the Gravedigger.”
“He hasn’t struck around here in the past few years. Maybe he’s moving South. Or maybe he started in the South. His first victim was never found. Maybe this is it.”
“Tracking the migrations of serial killers is your job, Booth, not mine.”
“But examining the body to see if it really is a Gravedigger victim is yours, Bones.” He perched on the edge of her desk and gave her a winning smile. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t want to go down to Atlanta. Mint juleps, magnolia blossoms, Southern belles, plantations-“
”The 12th highest crime rate in the country, humidity, smog-“
”Oh please. You live in the city with the seventh highest crime rate in the country. Bones, look, if you don’t want to wrangle with the Gravedigger, fine. Leave the wrangling to me. That’s why I’m FBI. But at least help me out by taking a look and seeing whether this guy is a genuine Gravedigger victim or just a copy-cat. Either way, it’ll get you out of the city for a few days.”
Brennan finally nodded. “All right. Which agency put it in to NCIC?”
“One I’ve been dying to meet for years now,” Booth grinned. “The VCTF.”
Atlanta, Georgia.
The banquet ended at ten. After several hours of dining, dancing, and partaking at the open bar, Grace and George were both feeling a warm glow that stopped just short of actual drunkenness. George stopped in at Grace’s place for an impromptu night cap, and a promise to fix her malfunctioning home computer. Grace paid the babysitter and checked on her boys, then came back downstairs to where George was shaking martinis. Her computer sat humming on the corner desk.
“You know, it’s a good thing I don’t do this very often,” Grace said, sinking down onto the sofa and kicking off her heels. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much to drink.”
“Tell me about it.” George loosened his tie and settled onto the love seat opposite. “That was an awesome evening. Did you see the way Rachel and John were staring at each other?”
“She’s working some kind of magic on him, that’s for sure. I haven’t seen him smile like that since Kate died.”
George grinned. “Speaking of smiling- Bailey sure looked like the cat that ate the canary when you snuggled up to him for that slow dance.”
“I didn’t snuggle!” Grace protested.
“You so did.”
“I was letting him lead!”
“You were plastered against him. I couldn’t have fit a sheet of paper between your bodies.”
“I was not- Oh, fine.” Grace threw up her hands. “I was snuggled up to Bailey. Happy? It was-he just felt so nice!”
“I’ll bet.” George raised his eyebrows in a way that made her blush.
“Look, the fact that we’re both apparently fantasizing about the same man is a little weird to me.”
“Ah ha!” George set his drink on the side table and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You admitted it! You said it! You’ve been fantasizing about Bailey!”
“What, and you haven’t?” Grace shot back.
“That, my dear, is entirely beside the point,” George grinned. “Are you asking him out?”
“What?! No! Jesus, George, he’s my boss, my divorce was just finalized, I have two kids- I’m in no shape to have a relationship right now, mentally or physically.”
“Oh, Gracie.” George shook his head sadly, suddenly serious. “You are way too hard on yourself.”
“I’m not hard on myself, I just know what’s possible and what isn’t. A relationship with Bailey is NOT possible right now, not like this.” She sipped her drink, leaned her head back on the couch and shut her eyes.
“Hey.” She heard the rustle of material and felt the sofa give when he sat down next to her. Then his hand was on the side of her face, his thumb stroking up and down her cheekbone. “Don’t give up on it before it’s even happened. You’re amazing- you’re the only one who can’t see it. ”
Grace opened her eyes and smiled up at her best friend. “You’re so sweet to me.”
“Hey, you’re the only person who’s stuck by me through all of this crap over the last year and a half. I should be treating you like a princess.”
Grace lifted her head and raised her upper body enough to meet his lips with hers. It was a gentle, easy kiss, friendly and sweet, no pressure or promises. George sank down next to her on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug. They lay like that until both of them had fallen asleep, still in their party clothes.
***
Grace woke to a splitting headache. The room reeled as she sat up and tried to take stock of the situation. The back of her neck felt like it was on fire and she clamped her hand there, hissing when her skin seared like a bad sunburn.
“What the hell-“
Why was she on her couch in a black party dress?
Why was her neck burning and her head spinning?
And why was George slumped over the arm of the sofa next to her?
“George-“ She took his shoulder and shook him hard. “George, wake up.”
He groaned softly and blinked. “What the- oh, my neck.”
“I know, mine hurts, too.”
“Grace?” He looked around, blinking slowly. “Why- why am I here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Last thing I remember we were working on the mummified man from the vault container.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead, fighting nausea. “Didn’t we- we had John’s banquet to go to.”
George looked them both over. “Based on our clothes, I’d say we went.” His eyes lit on the martini glasses sitting on the table by the sofa. “And came back here for a drink.”
“This is more than a hangover,” Grace responded. She checked the clock on the mantle, saw that it was 4:42 am. “Oh, lord. The baby should have woke me up for his feeding. I slept right through it.” She rose unsteadily and headed for the stairs. “Let me check on the boys, then see if we can piece together what’s happening.”
George sat on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands, wondering what the hell had happened between 4:30pm and 4:42am to make him lose twelve hours worth of memories. It must have something to do with the pain in the back of his neck.
He was just mulling that over when Grace’s scream erupted from upstairs.
***
The phone barely registered through Bailey Malone’s haze of dreams. It wasn’t until the fifth ring that he finally reached over to grab the receiver and bring it groggily to his ear.
“Malone.”
“Bailey, they’re gone!”
Grace, her voice ragged, frantic. Bailey jerked upright in bed, fully awake.
“Grace? Grace, slow down, who’s gone?”
“My boys! Someone broke into my house and took my boys!”
He was out of bed and pulling on pants, yanking his gun out of the gun safe and his badge from his dresser drawer.
“When did this happen?”
“I- I don’t- Georgie wasn’t up for his normal feeding, he wasn’t crying, I went to see and- the window- the alarm--”
“Where are you, Gracie? Is there anyone else in the house?”
“George is. We woke up and-- we can’t remember, I mean--” She choked. “I don’t know what happened, neither of us do, we can’t-“
“Did you call the police?”
“I hit the panic button on the alarm but nothing’s happening!”
“I’ll call it in myself. Stay put. I’m on my way to you now.” He hung up the phone and continued dressing.
As he was pulling on his shoes there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. His nineteen-year-old daughter, Frances, was silhouetted in the doorway, blinking sleep from her eyes.
“Daddy, is everything okay? I heard the phone ring.”
Bailey smiled at his daughter as he quickly tucked in a shirt and secured his badge to his belt. Just a year ago she wouldn’t have been at all concerned with late night phone calls ... hell, a year ago she wouldn’t have been home to hear them. College had certainly done her a world of good, he reflected. It was just too bad a call like this would interrupt their time together.
“There’s an emergency at Grace’s, Frannie. I have to go.”
Frances frowned. She’d met the men and women her father worked with at social gatherings and her occasional foray into his office. She wasn’t particularly close to any of them but she knew them all by name and reputation. She’d never spent any amount of time with Grace but she did feel indebted to the woman who had helped her father convalesce after she’d accidentally shot him two years ago.
“Can I, you know, do anything? Do you need someone to drive you over so you can take notes or whatever it is you do?”
Bailey hugged his daughter around the shoulders. “You go on back to bed, sweetheart. If I need anything, I’ll call. I promise. Thanks for asking.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Frances ran a hand through her hair. “Tell Grace I hope everything’s okay.”
“Will do.” He grabbed his car keys from the dresser and swept past Frances into the hallway. “I’ll call you later, sweetie. Get some more sleep.”
“Be careful, Daddy.”
And then he was out the door. Frances heard the roar of his Expedition starting in the garage and felt the slight vibration of the garage door going up and then back down. She bit her lip, frowned, yawned, and went back to bed.
***
Grace’s two-story Victorian was dark when Bailey pulled up. He hurried up the front steps and into the house, drawing his gun and flashlight as he did so, noting that the front door was unlocked and the alarm pad dead on the wall.
“Grace?” he called, swinging the light from corner to corner. “Gracie? George? Answer me!”
“Bailey, up here,” came George’s voice from the upstairs hallway. He sounded clear-headed enough, a fact that went a long way in reassuring Bailey.
“Stay put, let me clear the downstairs.” He checked each room, each closet, noting anything obviously out of place. Alarm pads were dark and night lights failed to glow. No power.
“Bailey?” George called down. “Everything okay?”
“It’s clear.” He holstered his gun and took the stairs two at a time.
George was kneeling next to Grace in the upstairs hallway. She was lying on her side on the floor, curled almost in a ball, her cheek resting on the cool wood paneling. George was holding a washcloth to the back of her neck.
“Grace?” Bailey joined George on the floor and exchanged glances with the younger man when she didn’t respond. He reached to touch her shoulder. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“Might not be a bad idea.”
“I’m okay,” Grace murmured. “Dizzy. Need to breathe.”
Bailey checked her pulse quickly, reassured when it was strong and steady. “Stay with her, Georgie. I’m going to have a look in Jayson’s room.”
Bailey pushed open the door to four-year-old Jayson’s room with a gloved hand and looked around, repeating his own mental notes out loud, as was his habit. “At first glance, no sign of forced entry. Window’s locked, blinds undisturbed. Blankets on bed in disarray but no visible physical evidence to indicate a struggle or use of force. Night-light in the corner is out, as is the alarm clock and the smoke detector. Power must have been shut off in the breaker box.” He prowled around the room, eyes scanning, then opened the adjoining door to baby George’s nursery.
It offered a different picture from Jayson’s room. The window here was open and the curtains were blowing in the breeze. The alarm panel, smoke detector, and carbon monoxide detector were all dead. Bailey crossed to the window and looked down. A tall metal utility ladder was braced against the outside wall.
Bailey walked back out to the hallway. Grace was sitting up now, looking woozy. When she saw Bailey, she tried to stand but wavered. Bailey caught her arm and lowered her back to the floor.
“Easy. Don’t stand up yet.”
“My boys. Did you find anything?”
“The window to Georgie’s room is open. Do you keep it unlocked?”
“Of course not!”
“Okay. Okay, just asking.” He patted her arm gently. “Do you have an extra key hidden someplace that a neighbor or friend knew about? Or do you have someone who comes inside during the day to clean?”
“No, I-“ She looked from Bailey to George and back again, as if perhaps they had answers. “Oh god, how did this happen?”
Bailey shook his head. “We can only speculate about the point of entry, at least until we know more but ...” He trailed off as he realized that that wasn’t what she meant.
Grace raised a trembling hand to her mouth, looking slightly sick. “I mean, how did this happen to me?”
***
John and Rachel were barely sober. John’s banquet had been the catalyst that turned their flirtatious relationship into something much more serious. They’d barely made it back to John’s apartment before they were on each other, tossing clothes aside, kissing hungrily. Lovemaking, napping, and more lovemaking had left them both warm and drowsy, wanting only their beds and each other. A late night emergency case was the last thing either of them had in mind.
“What’s going on?” John wondered, yawning as he shifted his Porsche down Peachtree Street. “What’s the big emergency?”
“Mmm, don’t know.” Rachel was sipping on an enormous cup of coffee and trying to keep her eyes open. “Bailey’s text just said get to the office.”
“Better be good,” John mumbled. “He took me away from some of the best sex I’ve had in a while.” He leaned over at a red light to nip at Rachel’s neck. “How about you?”
“It’s the only sex I’ve had in a while.” She slid her hand to his crotch and rubbed lightly. “But it was good.”
Rachel’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and nudged it open, all business. “Rachel Burke ... Hey, Bailey.”
John glanced over in alarm when her voice rose an octave. “WHAT? ... Is she all right? ... No, I- Oh, Jesus--Are you with her? ... No, we’re on our way right now ... We’re just coming off Peachtree and headed for the 15 ... I’ll call Georgia State Police right now, have them send out an Amber Alert ... I’ll do that as soon as we get to the office ... Right ...Bye.”
“What is it?”
“Grace’s sons were taken from her home sometime in the last 12 hours. Bailey wants an Amber Alert out now.”
John slammed on the accelerator and flipped the switch to turn on his siren. “Is she okay?”
“She was hit with a stun gun. So was George. I guess he stopped at her house for a night-cap after the banquet. Either way, neither of them can remember anything about the last 12 hours. As soon as we hit the Command Center, we need to start compiling offender lists-- known pedophiles and convicted kidnappers, anyone recently paroled with a history of violence toward children. We need to cross-check addresses of known offenders with Grace’s neighborhood, the neighborhoods surrounding Jayson’s school and George’s day-care, and any place Grace and the kids frequent. Maybe someone’s had an eye on them for awhile.” She started dialing in the number for the Georgia State Police. “Let me get this alert taken care of.”
John gunned the Porsche up the on-ramp to the interstate and headed for the VCTF’s downtown offices, speedometer pushing 90.
***
“In most cultures it is common courtesy to call ahead before arriving at someone’s place of business at 6am,” Brennan commented.
“In most cultures sane people wouldn’t be up this early,” Booth shot back, steering the rental car out of the lot at Hartsfield International.
“Actually, the phrase ‘early to bed, early to rise’ is-“
”Bones, that is a thrilling lecture, I’m sure, but I have no clue where I’m going. Maybe you could, I don’t know, read those MapQuest directions for me.”
Brennan raised her eyebrows and began steering Booth in the direction of the freeway.
Once they were headed toward downtown, Booth began to map out their plan of attack.
“We’ll hit the VCTF first, see if anyone’s around this early. I’m sure they’ve got some poor squint who lives in the lab or the office. If no one’s there, we can grab a little breakfast, take a walk to Turner Field-“
”What’s Turner Field?”
“Home of the Braves.” Booth couldn’t keep a grin off his face.
“Who are the Braves?”
Booth turned to stare at her incredulously and started to drift into the HOV lane. A sharp word from Brennan had him steering correctly again.
“Geez, Bones, you really do live under a rock, don’t you? The Atlanta Braves. The baseball team. You DO know what baseball is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know what baseball is,” Brennan replied drily. “I just don’t happen to feel any compulsion to follow it.”
“Parker and I do. The Braves are his favorite team. I’m going back to DC with the biggest load of Braves memorabilia known to man.”
“Well, have fun with your baseball. I’ll just stick around the lab . . . Turn right. You’re going to miss it.”
They walked from the underground parking structure to the ground level entrance to the unassuming building that housed the VCTF. Though it was barely 6:30, a guard was posted just inside the glassed front doors. When Booth flashed his badge, he opened the door and allowed Brennan and Booth to enter.
“A little early to be out, Agent--”
“Booth. This is Dr. Brennan. We just came in from DC. We’re looking for Bailey Malone.”
“He and his team came in 45 minutes ago. Are they expecting you?”
“They aren’t. But we have some information that may relate to a current case.”
The guard got on his radio and called up, then offered them a terse nod. “He’s waiting on you.”
Stepping out of the elevator into the VCTF’s Command Center was like stepping into a different world.
“Woah,” Booth muttered. “Mission impossible. We don’t have anything like this in DC.”
“Agent Booth?” A tall man with dark hair and a face scarred by years on the job stepped forward. Despite his incongruously casual clothing, he radiated an air of authority. Booth knew without having to be told that this was Bailey Malone.
“Agent Malone, I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We’re sorry to barge in on you this early.”
“It certainly would have been easier to call,” Malone agreed. “I’m afraid we can’t offer you much help with whatever case has brought you here today, Agent Booth, we have an in-house matter that must take precedence over anything else.” He gestured to the Command Center where his team was gathered. Pictures of two young boys were lit on the large screen. “My CME’s children were taken from her house early this morning.”
Brennan’s body went whip tense. “They were kidnapped?”
Malone turned his intense eyes on her. “That’s right.”
“Was there a ransom demand?”
“Not yet.”
“Any physical evidence at the scene of the abduction?”
“Hardly any trace. Is there something you aren’t telling me, Dr. Brennan?”
Brennan was staring at the picture of the boys intently, her eyes feverishly bright. “Agent Malone, could I see the remains your CME posted about on NCIC?”
Malone looked curious. “How is that-“
Booth had finally caught on to Brennan’s line of thought. “Agent Malone, I can explain everything. But I strongly suggest you let Dr. Brennan take a look at those remains. If she finds what I think she’s going to find, we might have some answers for your CME about her children.”
“Bailey?” a voice called from the Command Center. “What’s going on?”
A curvy brunette with dark curls and a worried expression came up the steps to join Malone. She hugged her arms to her chest as if cold. Booth took note of the way Malone’s eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he took a protective step closer to her.
“Grace, this is Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan from DC. They want to see the remains you posted about on NCIC.”
“I realize now is not a good time,” Brennan interjected quickly, “but I think it might help us find your children.”
“Of course. Tell me what you’ve got.” Grace began walking toward the morgue in quick strides. Brennan quickly caught up to her and the two women left Booth and Malone trailing along in their wake.
“What exactly do you think you’ve found, Agent Booth?” Malone asked as they followed the women to the morgue.
Booth met Malone’s eyes and shook his head. “Trouble. Big trouble.”
“He’s called the Grave Digger,” Brennan said, her voice clipped to business-like efficiency. Booth could tell she was uncommonly nervous, though, based on the way her hands were playing with the strand of ornamental beads she wore around her neck.
“He’s a serial kidnapper who’s been working in and around the DC area for the last eight years that we’re aware of. Two years ago the remains of two of his victims were uncovered in Rock Creek Park. They had been buried in a beer fermentation tank. Heavy rains and wind washed away enough top soil that the tank became exposed. Hikers called it in to DC PD, thinking they had found a UFO.
“When my team and I began examining the remains of the boys and the tank, evidence began jumping out at us. When it became apparent we had found a Gravedigger victim, we began attempting to uncover his identity. My colleague, Dr. Jack Hodgins, and myself were abducted from the parking garage at the Jeffersonian later that day by the Gravedigger and buried in my car under a strip mine in Virginia. Agent Booth and my team found us before our air supply ran out.”
Booth interjected, “She’s being too modest. Their air supply DID run out. She and Hodgins punched into the spare tires for more air before rigging the car battery to explode and crawling through five feet of dirt to the surface.”
Brennan waved away the praise. “The victim currently lying in your morgue shares very specific commonalities with the other Grave Digger victims that we know of. Dr. Alvarez and Agent Fraley were both tasered, which is also part of the Grave Digger’s MO, and Dr. Alvarez’s children are missing. Despite the notable absence of a ransom demand, it’s still only logical to assume that the Grave Digger has Dr. Alvarez’s sons.”
“But until we get the ransom demand what can we do?” Fraley asked. He was sitting next to Alvarez, his hand close to hers on the table, the sort of non-touching that he often found himself engaging in with Brennan, the desire to soothe tempered by the volatile emotional state of the woman sitting inches away.
“That’s what I’d like to know. What ARE you doing about this?”
Alvarez whipped around so fast Booth had to fight the impulse to pull his gun. A tall, greying man was standing in the doorway, accompanied by a petite blonde with deep green eyes and a figure that would stop traffic. From the tightening in Alvarez’s jaw, Booth quickly surmised this was her ex-husband and the new girlfriend.
“No way,” Alvarez ground out, fists clenching, pointing at the blonde. “Not her.”
“Grace-“
”NOT her. She’s not a part of this.”
“She’s going to be the boys’ stepmother. That makes her a part of this if I say so.” The man took a combative step forward and the blonde rested a hand on his arm.
“Morgan, it’s best if I wait outside-“
”No, Gwen, you’re staying right here. She has to get used to this.”
Alvarez was glaring daggers at her ex-husband. “If you think I’m going to allow her to-“
John Grant took that moment to step forward and interject smoothly. “Actually, Mr. Ballard, I’m afraid Grace does have a point. Miss-“ He peered at the blonde, obviously waiting for her to fill in her last name.
“-Hudson. Gwen Hudson.” She extended a hand, which Grant took cordially.
“Miss Hudson doesn’t have the security clearance to be inside the building at this time. Your security clearance still stands, sir, but I’m afraid we don’t have the time or resources to run a background check on your friend.” He flashed a smile at the blonde that managed to be both charming, apologetic, and slightly malicious all at once. “I’m sorry, Miss Hudson, but we can’t allow you to stay. There is sensitive material pertaining to open cases on just about every desk in this room and we here at the Bureau just can’t take a risk with unsecured civilians in the building. I’m sure you understand.”
The blonde nodded gracefully, though Booth was fairly sure she knew she’d just been conveniently shunted aside to pacify Alvarez. “Of course.” She turned to her boyfriend. “Morgan, you’ll keep me updated?”
“Of course.” He reached out to stroke her hair back from her face and gave her a reassuring smile. “Keep your Blackberry on. I’ll send updates every half hour. Take the car ... I’ll call you later.”
She crossed to the elevator and punched the down button, busying herself with her Blackberry to avoid the awkward tension that filled the air. The doors slid open and she disappeared inside. As soon as the doors closed, fury replaced the carefully neutral expression on Ballard’s face.
“You’re an unbelievable bitch, Grace!”
“Pot, kettle, black, Morgan! Jesus Christ, how could you bring her here, NOW of all times? My sons are missing-“
”OUR sons-“
”And you come waltzing in here with that tramp you’ve been bopping behind my back for the last year and a half and expect me to treat her like a member of the family? I don’t suppose you’ve switched from liquor to dope, by any chance, have you?”
Ballard rolled his eyes. “Very mature, Grace. I can’t wait to see how you handle yourself in court.” He walked forward into the Command Center, taking in the files, the phones, and the group of people seated around the table. “So, what exactly are you planning on doing about our sons?”
“Everything that we can.” Alvarez followed her ex as he walked around the Command Center, clenching her hands. It was obvious that having him in the building was rocking her confidence.
“Which is what exactly? ‘Everything that you can’ looks a great deal like sitting around on your ass!”
“Morgan, you have to understand that the person we’re dealing with-“
“Is a kidnapper, right? He wants money, I have money. Get him on the horn, I’ll pay him whatever he wants. I just want my sons back in one piece.”His lips twisted in a bitter scowl. “And when I get them back, I’m arranging for a custody hearing..”
“What?!”
“Your job is a threat to their safety, Grace! They were kidnaped by a psychopath, one that YOU came in contact somehow in this insanity you call a job. Exactly whose fault do you think this is?”
“My job-“
”-has ruined everything! My life, my sons’ lives--”
“That’s not true."
“You know damn well it is! We wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for your insistence on trying to keep up in a man’s world. For as long as I’ve known you you’ve been nothing but an overgrown tomboy, playing with guns and blood and knives. And now look at you-“ He eyed her scornfully. “Mid-40s, divorced, addicted to your job, a mother who can’t even protect her sons.”
Alvarez’s face flamed with color. “Oh, and you’re man of the year? Mid 50s, dating a woman 20 years younger ... oh, and so cowardly that you walked out on your pregnant wife and refused to see your newborn baby for the first two months of his life. You’ve got it all together!”
Ballard pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial. “I’m calling Conrad. This is insanity.”
Quick as a snake, Alvarez slapped the phone out of Ballard’s hand. He whirled on her, eyes flashing, and swung an open palm at her face. Alvarez ducked the blow, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and shoved him hard against the nearest wall. Booth resisted the impulse to pull his gun, though he noticed his hand wasn’t the only one that went to his belt.
“Don’t you ever threaten me again!” Ballard squirmed and Alvarez leaned in, planting her palms deep into his shoulders. “You do NOT want to start a war with me, Morgan. I am doing everything I can to get my sons back. Unless you can find some way to help, get the hell out of here and let me do my job.”
As quickly as it began, it ended. Alvarez dropped her hands to her sides. Ballard remained backed against the wall, staring with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Alvarez murmured, and then fled up the stairs and down the corridor.
Fraley was up and following her down the hall while everyone else tried to find something to do to avoid having to look at Ballard, who was still leaning against the wall, looking rather shell-shocked.
Malone stepped over to the older man and, placing a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close. Ballard, perhaps thinking he’d found an ally, looked up with an expectant expression.
“You ever raise a hand to her again, I swear to God it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
The smile slid off of Ballard’s face and he shrugged Malone’s hand off. “She isn’t yours to protect.”
Booth was fairly certain he and Ballard were the only ones to hear the next words from Malone’s mouth--“Think again.”
***
George found Grace in the morgue, vomiting into the stainless steel sink. He crossed to the mini-fridge and fished out a bottle of water.
“Here, honey, rinse your mouth” He laid his hands on her shoulders, steadying her when she swayed. “It’s okay.”
Grace raised a tear-stained face to look at him. “I can’t believe I did that to him.”
“You had every right. He said some awful things.”
“I’ve never done that to anyone before. I never even hit my sister when we fought. I can’t believe-“ She shuddered and retched, leaning back over the sink. George held her hair back from her face, rubbing her back gently as she began to sob in earnest.
“God, George, what the hell is happening to me?”
“Your sons are missing, your ex-husband is out in the Command Center acting like a complete asshole, and your temper snapped.”
“God, how am I going to get through this?” Grace straightened and leaned against the edge of the sink, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“By taking it one minute at a time.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” He squeezed her shoulders, worked the tense muscles with strong fingers until she started to relax in increments. “You’ll get through this. We’ll get through this. We’re a team and we’re going to see this through to the bitter end, whatever that end may be.”
Grace pressed a balled up fist against her lips. “What if I lose them?” she whispered between her fingers. “God in heaven, George, if I lose my babies I have nothing left to live for.”
“Don’t think it. Don’t even consider it. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth have all ready established some good leads. We’re going to find them. We’re going to get the boys back. You keep believing that, Grace, believe it with every breath you take. Believe we’re going to find them.”
There was a soft knock on the door. Grace looked up to see Morgan hovering in the doorway.
“If this isn’t a good time-“
“No, it’s fine.” George quickly spoke for Grace. “She’s just feeling a little queasy. Grace, there’s some ginger ale in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.” He hurried out the door, leaving Morgan alone with his ex-wife.
“You always did have a nervous stomach.”
Grace laughed weakly. “Not the best trait for a competent medical examiner.”
“It never slowed you down, though. Not even when you were pregnant with Jayson.”
“That was a nightmare. I was sick every morning for the first five months.” Grace took a small sip of water and wiped her eyes. Morgan reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief.
“You still went into work every morning, though.” He laughed softly. “Remember the day my car broke down and you had to drive me to work?”
“I had to pull over on the highway ... twice,” Grace said, remembering only too well the morning in question. “I was miserable!”
Morgan leaned against the sink and gave Grace a small half smile. “I remember the day Bailey called me and told me you’d gone into labor at a murder scene. God, I was a wreck. I wanted to start driving to North Carolina the minute Bailey told me what happened but he convinced me to stay put.” He smiled. “I left work early and went home. I paced back and forth in the yard with Foxy, smoking endless cigars. All I could think about was how scared you must have been, how upset you were that I couldn’t be with you, and how upset I was that I couldn’t be there to hold your hand.”
“Sam was with me,” Grace recalled. “She was amazing. A rock.” She smiled. “John told me later that Bailey was pacing outside, too, smoking cigars, just like you were.”
“He chartered a plane for me,” Morgan said. “Did he ever tell you that?”
“No,” Grace replied, surprised. “He never mentioned it. I was asleep when you got to the hospital, I guess.”
“He did. He chartered a plane, flew me up there, brought me to see you in the hospital. Talked non-stop about what a great woman you were, how much he respected you, how glad he was he got to work with you. I was so envious that he got to see this side of you that I never got to see, this brilliant M.E. who always had the answers. I felt like I was missing part of you.
Morgan stepped closer and reached out hesitantly to touch Grace’s hand. “When I got to the hospital he brought me to your room. You were sleeping so soundly. But when I leaned over to kiss you, you woke up, and you smiled at me, and you said my name like it was the only thing in the universe that mattered to you. I took you down the hall to the nursery and we looked through the glass at Jayson, so tiny, so sweet, and I never wanted anything more in the world than the three of us together.”
Grace’s lips were trembling as she tried to hold back tears. “It was good for awhile. We were good for awhile. I couldn’t understand what happened.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Morgan confessed. “I didn’t-“ He blew out a long breath. “I didn’t do right by you, Grace. I admit that. I should never have let things go so far with Gwen. I should have tried to talk to you instead of letting my feelings about your job get in the way.” He bit his lip and looked at her. “What I’m trying to say is that I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you. We both made a lot of mistakes. I can admit that. I shouldn’t have said what I did out there.”
Grace looked away, searching for words. Finally she said, “I was so mad at you. I still am mad at you. Not just for the affair ... for the way you treated me when you found out I was pregnant again.”
Morgan hung his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am-“
“I don’t want you to apologize,” Grace cut him off. “I just want you to know how hard it was for me, knowing that you wouldn’t stand by me when I needed you. You accused me of having another man’s child when I’d never been with anyone else the entire time we were married. You left me when I needed you most.”
Her voice was rising but she couldn’t stop it, anymore than she could stop the words pouring from her in a torrent.
“You wouldn’t answer the phone when I called to tell you that we were having a baby boy. You didn’t have anything to say to me when I started having complications. And when I went into premature labor right here in my office, it was George who called the ambulance, who rode with me to the hospital, who held my hand. When he called you to tell you what was happening you never picked up the phone.
“And then here you come, almost a year later, blaming me for my sons being kidnapped, telling me yet again that I’m not good enough, that I’d let you down, and that’s why you’d given up on me ... on us.”
“Grace, I-I wish I could tell you I felt differently. I wish I could make myself feel something less hateful and hard. But-“
“But that’s just the way you are. And this is just the way I am. We’re never going to change, Morgan.”
“So where does that leave us?” he asked.
They broke off the conversation when Grace’s inter-office line rang.
“Alvarez.”
“We’ve got a ransom demand on line 1,” John reported.
Grace slammed down the phone and bolted from the morgue, Morgan hot on her heels. She burst into the Command Center at such a hard run that she turned her ankle on the stairs.
“George, put it on the speaker!”
A voice that sounded as though it had been distorted through a media player cut through the speakers.
“Grace and Morgan Ballard, your sons have been buried alive. Transmit two million dollars to the following account in Bahrain. When the wire transfer has been made, we will call with coordinates for their retrieval. This will be my last communication. You have ten hours.”
Part two of "The Taking" deals primarily with the relationship between Grace and Morgan. I wanted to explore all the anger and hostility that built up in their marriage and I decided to use the trauma with their sons as a vehicle for exploring it. References "Victims of Victims" and "Tsuris." Hope you like.
Profiler: The Taking
Rating: R for violence, sexuality, salty language.
Pairing: Vaguely Grace/George; Vaguely Grace/Bailey; some Goat; mostly VCTF friendship.
Fandoms: This is my first cross-over with “Bones.” Temperance Brennance, Seeley Booth, and the Grave Digger are all property of Hart Hanson, Kathy Reichs, and Fox. I’m just borrowing them for a while.
A/N: On the “Profiler” side, I didn’t have info on Morgan’s back-story so I took liberties and made it up. This takes place during the imaginary fifth season, with the assumption that the VCTF hasn’t closed. This takes place in a future season of “Bones” which has not yet taken place. (Yeah, I know I’m crossing time-lines here. For it to be season 4 of “Bones” it would have to be season 12 of “Profiler.” Just suspend your disbelief for a bit.)
Atlanta, Georgia
“Grace, let’s go! We’re late already!”
“Just give me another ten minutes,” Grace replied, not looking up from the mummified body lying on her autopsy table. “I’m almost done here.”
“You were ‘almost done here’ two hours ago,” George reminded her. Even without looking up, she could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Now I really mean it.” She leaned her elbow on the table for leverage and began to extract a tissue sample from the intercostal space between the victim’s 6th and 7th ribs. “I just want to get this last bit of trace-“ She trailed off as she extracted the tissue and placed it on a slide.
“Grace, this banquet is really important to John and we promised we’d be there. This guy has been in a metal box in the ground for nearly a decade. I think he’ll survive until tomorrow.”
Grace looked up, startled. “What time is it?”
“4:30.”
“The banquet doesn’t start until seven, you nut.”
“And if I don’t get you out of here to get home, showered, changed, and the boys settled in, we’ll never make it on time. Everyone else left half an hour ago.”
Grace finally looked up from the body. “I’ll get done quicker if you finish inputting his data into NCIC. I want to cross reference this with all known interment cases, see if this guy is the first victim of this type.” She handed him the digital mic she had been using to dictate her findings. “I’ll get him in storage and wash up.”
“Make it snappy,” George replied, sitting down at her computer to input the data. “I don’t want to miss the open bar.”
Grace rolled her eyes at him and grinned as she rolled the gurney back into the refrigerator.
Washington, D.C.
“Bones, you might want to take a look at this.”
Agent Seeley Booth entered Temperance Brennan’s office at his usual fast clip. He spun her laptop around to face him, pulled up the web browser, and began entering a web page.
“Excuse me! I was trying to work. I have an article due to the National Journal of Anthropology on the Latin-American subculture-”
“Bones, that’s fascinating. Regale me later. Look what came up on NCIC.” He spun the lap top around to face her again and watched as she read.
“An interred body found outside of Atlanta, remote location, body buried inside an unidentified metal container, remains mummified.” Temperance looked up at Booth with a vaguely confused expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t see why this is relevant to me.”
“Okay, well, let’s see if I can fill in a few blanks. Almost two years ago you and Hodgins were locked in your car under a strip mine, left for dead. You decided to blow the car up, you operated on Hodgins without anesthetic- is this ringing any bells?”
He could tell from her face that it was, and was suddenly sorry he hadn’t taken a more sensitive tack- she was obviously trying not to re-live those hellish 12 hours. Brennan hadn’t made more than a cursory mention of these events in the last two years. Although it would have seemed to most people that she was just being typically introverted Brennan, he could tell from long experience that she had been more affected by it than she cared to admit, and more scarred than she’d ever be willing to show.
“Yes, the Gravedigger. It’s all coming back to me now,” she replied in her mildly sarcastic way. “And you think this case in Atlanta might be the Gravedigger.”
“He hasn’t struck around here in the past few years. Maybe he’s moving South. Or maybe he started in the South. His first victim was never found. Maybe this is it.”
“Tracking the migrations of serial killers is your job, Booth, not mine.”
“But examining the body to see if it really is a Gravedigger victim is yours, Bones.” He perched on the edge of her desk and gave her a winning smile. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t want to go down to Atlanta. Mint juleps, magnolia blossoms, Southern belles, plantations-“
”The 12th highest crime rate in the country, humidity, smog-“
”Oh please. You live in the city with the seventh highest crime rate in the country. Bones, look, if you don’t want to wrangle with the Gravedigger, fine. Leave the wrangling to me. That’s why I’m FBI. But at least help me out by taking a look and seeing whether this guy is a genuine Gravedigger victim or just a copy-cat. Either way, it’ll get you out of the city for a few days.”
Brennan finally nodded. “All right. Which agency put it in to NCIC?”
“One I’ve been dying to meet for years now,” Booth grinned. “The VCTF.”
Atlanta, Georgia.
The banquet ended at ten. After several hours of dining, dancing, and partaking at the open bar, Grace and George were both feeling a warm glow that stopped just short of actual drunkenness. George stopped in at Grace’s place for an impromptu night cap, and a promise to fix her malfunctioning home computer. Grace paid the babysitter and checked on her boys, then came back downstairs to where George was shaking martinis. Her computer sat humming on the corner desk.
“You know, it’s a good thing I don’t do this very often,” Grace said, sinking down onto the sofa and kicking off her heels. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much to drink.”
“Tell me about it.” George loosened his tie and settled onto the love seat opposite. “That was an awesome evening. Did you see the way Rachel and John were staring at each other?”
“She’s working some kind of magic on him, that’s for sure. I haven’t seen him smile like that since Kate died.”
George grinned. “Speaking of smiling- Bailey sure looked like the cat that ate the canary when you snuggled up to him for that slow dance.”
“I didn’t snuggle!” Grace protested.
“You so did.”
“I was letting him lead!”
“You were plastered against him. I couldn’t have fit a sheet of paper between your bodies.”
“I was not- Oh, fine.” Grace threw up her hands. “I was snuggled up to Bailey. Happy? It was-he just felt so nice!”
“I’ll bet.” George raised his eyebrows in a way that made her blush.
“Look, the fact that we’re both apparently fantasizing about the same man is a little weird to me.”
“Ah ha!” George set his drink on the side table and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You admitted it! You said it! You’ve been fantasizing about Bailey!”
“What, and you haven’t?” Grace shot back.
“That, my dear, is entirely beside the point,” George grinned. “Are you asking him out?”
“What?! No! Jesus, George, he’s my boss, my divorce was just finalized, I have two kids- I’m in no shape to have a relationship right now, mentally or physically.”
“Oh, Gracie.” George shook his head sadly, suddenly serious. “You are way too hard on yourself.”
“I’m not hard on myself, I just know what’s possible and what isn’t. A relationship with Bailey is NOT possible right now, not like this.” She sipped her drink, leaned her head back on the couch and shut her eyes.
“Hey.” She heard the rustle of material and felt the sofa give when he sat down next to her. Then his hand was on the side of her face, his thumb stroking up and down her cheekbone. “Don’t give up on it before it’s even happened. You’re amazing- you’re the only one who can’t see it. ”
Grace opened her eyes and smiled up at her best friend. “You’re so sweet to me.”
“Hey, you’re the only person who’s stuck by me through all of this crap over the last year and a half. I should be treating you like a princess.”
Grace lifted her head and raised her upper body enough to meet his lips with hers. It was a gentle, easy kiss, friendly and sweet, no pressure or promises. George sank down next to her on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug. They lay like that until both of them had fallen asleep, still in their party clothes.
***
Grace woke to a splitting headache. The room reeled as she sat up and tried to take stock of the situation. The back of her neck felt like it was on fire and she clamped her hand there, hissing when her skin seared like a bad sunburn.
“What the hell-“
Why was she on her couch in a black party dress?
Why was her neck burning and her head spinning?
And why was George slumped over the arm of the sofa next to her?
“George-“ She took his shoulder and shook him hard. “George, wake up.”
He groaned softly and blinked. “What the- oh, my neck.”
“I know, mine hurts, too.”
“Grace?” He looked around, blinking slowly. “Why- why am I here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Last thing I remember we were working on the mummified man from the vault container.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead, fighting nausea. “Didn’t we- we had John’s banquet to go to.”
George looked them both over. “Based on our clothes, I’d say we went.” His eyes lit on the martini glasses sitting on the table by the sofa. “And came back here for a drink.”
“This is more than a hangover,” Grace responded. She checked the clock on the mantle, saw that it was 4:42 am. “Oh, lord. The baby should have woke me up for his feeding. I slept right through it.” She rose unsteadily and headed for the stairs. “Let me check on the boys, then see if we can piece together what’s happening.”
George sat on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands, wondering what the hell had happened between 4:30pm and 4:42am to make him lose twelve hours worth of memories. It must have something to do with the pain in the back of his neck.
He was just mulling that over when Grace’s scream erupted from upstairs.
***
The phone barely registered through Bailey Malone’s haze of dreams. It wasn’t until the fifth ring that he finally reached over to grab the receiver and bring it groggily to his ear.
“Malone.”
“Bailey, they’re gone!”
Grace, her voice ragged, frantic. Bailey jerked upright in bed, fully awake.
“Grace? Grace, slow down, who’s gone?”
“My boys! Someone broke into my house and took my boys!”
He was out of bed and pulling on pants, yanking his gun out of the gun safe and his badge from his dresser drawer.
“When did this happen?”
“I- I don’t- Georgie wasn’t up for his normal feeding, he wasn’t crying, I went to see and- the window- the alarm--”
“Where are you, Gracie? Is there anyone else in the house?”
“George is. We woke up and-- we can’t remember, I mean--” She choked. “I don’t know what happened, neither of us do, we can’t-“
“Did you call the police?”
“I hit the panic button on the alarm but nothing’s happening!”
“I’ll call it in myself. Stay put. I’m on my way to you now.” He hung up the phone and continued dressing.
As he was pulling on his shoes there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. His nineteen-year-old daughter, Frances, was silhouetted in the doorway, blinking sleep from her eyes.
“Daddy, is everything okay? I heard the phone ring.”
Bailey smiled at his daughter as he quickly tucked in a shirt and secured his badge to his belt. Just a year ago she wouldn’t have been at all concerned with late night phone calls ... hell, a year ago she wouldn’t have been home to hear them. College had certainly done her a world of good, he reflected. It was just too bad a call like this would interrupt their time together.
“There’s an emergency at Grace’s, Frannie. I have to go.”
Frances frowned. She’d met the men and women her father worked with at social gatherings and her occasional foray into his office. She wasn’t particularly close to any of them but she knew them all by name and reputation. She’d never spent any amount of time with Grace but she did feel indebted to the woman who had helped her father convalesce after she’d accidentally shot him two years ago.
“Can I, you know, do anything? Do you need someone to drive you over so you can take notes or whatever it is you do?”
Bailey hugged his daughter around the shoulders. “You go on back to bed, sweetheart. If I need anything, I’ll call. I promise. Thanks for asking.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Frances ran a hand through her hair. “Tell Grace I hope everything’s okay.”
“Will do.” He grabbed his car keys from the dresser and swept past Frances into the hallway. “I’ll call you later, sweetie. Get some more sleep.”
“Be careful, Daddy.”
And then he was out the door. Frances heard the roar of his Expedition starting in the garage and felt the slight vibration of the garage door going up and then back down. She bit her lip, frowned, yawned, and went back to bed.
***
Grace’s two-story Victorian was dark when Bailey pulled up. He hurried up the front steps and into the house, drawing his gun and flashlight as he did so, noting that the front door was unlocked and the alarm pad dead on the wall.
“Grace?” he called, swinging the light from corner to corner. “Gracie? George? Answer me!”
“Bailey, up here,” came George’s voice from the upstairs hallway. He sounded clear-headed enough, a fact that went a long way in reassuring Bailey.
“Stay put, let me clear the downstairs.” He checked each room, each closet, noting anything obviously out of place. Alarm pads were dark and night lights failed to glow. No power.
“Bailey?” George called down. “Everything okay?”
“It’s clear.” He holstered his gun and took the stairs two at a time.
George was kneeling next to Grace in the upstairs hallway. She was lying on her side on the floor, curled almost in a ball, her cheek resting on the cool wood paneling. George was holding a washcloth to the back of her neck.
“Grace?” Bailey joined George on the floor and exchanged glances with the younger man when she didn’t respond. He reached to touch her shoulder. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“Might not be a bad idea.”
“I’m okay,” Grace murmured. “Dizzy. Need to breathe.”
Bailey checked her pulse quickly, reassured when it was strong and steady. “Stay with her, Georgie. I’m going to have a look in Jayson’s room.”
Bailey pushed open the door to four-year-old Jayson’s room with a gloved hand and looked around, repeating his own mental notes out loud, as was his habit. “At first glance, no sign of forced entry. Window’s locked, blinds undisturbed. Blankets on bed in disarray but no visible physical evidence to indicate a struggle or use of force. Night-light in the corner is out, as is the alarm clock and the smoke detector. Power must have been shut off in the breaker box.” He prowled around the room, eyes scanning, then opened the adjoining door to baby George’s nursery.
It offered a different picture from Jayson’s room. The window here was open and the curtains were blowing in the breeze. The alarm panel, smoke detector, and carbon monoxide detector were all dead. Bailey crossed to the window and looked down. A tall metal utility ladder was braced against the outside wall.
Bailey walked back out to the hallway. Grace was sitting up now, looking woozy. When she saw Bailey, she tried to stand but wavered. Bailey caught her arm and lowered her back to the floor.
“Easy. Don’t stand up yet.”
“My boys. Did you find anything?”
“The window to Georgie’s room is open. Do you keep it unlocked?”
“Of course not!”
“Okay. Okay, just asking.” He patted her arm gently. “Do you have an extra key hidden someplace that a neighbor or friend knew about? Or do you have someone who comes inside during the day to clean?”
“No, I-“ She looked from Bailey to George and back again, as if perhaps they had answers. “Oh god, how did this happen?”
Bailey shook his head. “We can only speculate about the point of entry, at least until we know more but ...” He trailed off as he realized that that wasn’t what she meant.
Grace raised a trembling hand to her mouth, looking slightly sick. “I mean, how did this happen to me?”
***
John and Rachel were barely sober. John’s banquet had been the catalyst that turned their flirtatious relationship into something much more serious. They’d barely made it back to John’s apartment before they were on each other, tossing clothes aside, kissing hungrily. Lovemaking, napping, and more lovemaking had left them both warm and drowsy, wanting only their beds and each other. A late night emergency case was the last thing either of them had in mind.
“What’s going on?” John wondered, yawning as he shifted his Porsche down Peachtree Street. “What’s the big emergency?”
“Mmm, don’t know.” Rachel was sipping on an enormous cup of coffee and trying to keep her eyes open. “Bailey’s text just said get to the office.”
“Better be good,” John mumbled. “He took me away from some of the best sex I’ve had in a while.” He leaned over at a red light to nip at Rachel’s neck. “How about you?”
“It’s the only sex I’ve had in a while.” She slid her hand to his crotch and rubbed lightly. “But it was good.”
Rachel’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse and nudged it open, all business. “Rachel Burke ... Hey, Bailey.”
John glanced over in alarm when her voice rose an octave. “WHAT? ... Is she all right? ... No, I- Oh, Jesus--Are you with her? ... No, we’re on our way right now ... We’re just coming off Peachtree and headed for the 15 ... I’ll call Georgia State Police right now, have them send out an Amber Alert ... I’ll do that as soon as we get to the office ... Right ...Bye.”
“What is it?”
“Grace’s sons were taken from her home sometime in the last 12 hours. Bailey wants an Amber Alert out now.”
John slammed on the accelerator and flipped the switch to turn on his siren. “Is she okay?”
“She was hit with a stun gun. So was George. I guess he stopped at her house for a night-cap after the banquet. Either way, neither of them can remember anything about the last 12 hours. As soon as we hit the Command Center, we need to start compiling offender lists-- known pedophiles and convicted kidnappers, anyone recently paroled with a history of violence toward children. We need to cross-check addresses of known offenders with Grace’s neighborhood, the neighborhoods surrounding Jayson’s school and George’s day-care, and any place Grace and the kids frequent. Maybe someone’s had an eye on them for awhile.” She started dialing in the number for the Georgia State Police. “Let me get this alert taken care of.”
John gunned the Porsche up the on-ramp to the interstate and headed for the VCTF’s downtown offices, speedometer pushing 90.
***
“In most cultures it is common courtesy to call ahead before arriving at someone’s place of business at 6am,” Brennan commented.
“In most cultures sane people wouldn’t be up this early,” Booth shot back, steering the rental car out of the lot at Hartsfield International.
“Actually, the phrase ‘early to bed, early to rise’ is-“
”Bones, that is a thrilling lecture, I’m sure, but I have no clue where I’m going. Maybe you could, I don’t know, read those MapQuest directions for me.”
Brennan raised her eyebrows and began steering Booth in the direction of the freeway.
Once they were headed toward downtown, Booth began to map out their plan of attack.
“We’ll hit the VCTF first, see if anyone’s around this early. I’m sure they’ve got some poor squint who lives in the lab or the office. If no one’s there, we can grab a little breakfast, take a walk to Turner Field-“
”What’s Turner Field?”
“Home of the Braves.” Booth couldn’t keep a grin off his face.
“Who are the Braves?”
Booth turned to stare at her incredulously and started to drift into the HOV lane. A sharp word from Brennan had him steering correctly again.
“Geez, Bones, you really do live under a rock, don’t you? The Atlanta Braves. The baseball team. You DO know what baseball is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know what baseball is,” Brennan replied drily. “I just don’t happen to feel any compulsion to follow it.”
“Parker and I do. The Braves are his favorite team. I’m going back to DC with the biggest load of Braves memorabilia known to man.”
“Well, have fun with your baseball. I’ll just stick around the lab . . . Turn right. You’re going to miss it.”
They walked from the underground parking structure to the ground level entrance to the unassuming building that housed the VCTF. Though it was barely 6:30, a guard was posted just inside the glassed front doors. When Booth flashed his badge, he opened the door and allowed Brennan and Booth to enter.
“A little early to be out, Agent--”
“Booth. This is Dr. Brennan. We just came in from DC. We’re looking for Bailey Malone.”
“He and his team came in 45 minutes ago. Are they expecting you?”
“They aren’t. But we have some information that may relate to a current case.”
The guard got on his radio and called up, then offered them a terse nod. “He’s waiting on you.”
Stepping out of the elevator into the VCTF’s Command Center was like stepping into a different world.
“Woah,” Booth muttered. “Mission impossible. We don’t have anything like this in DC.”
“Agent Booth?” A tall man with dark hair and a face scarred by years on the job stepped forward. Despite his incongruously casual clothing, he radiated an air of authority. Booth knew without having to be told that this was Bailey Malone.
“Agent Malone, I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We’re sorry to barge in on you this early.”
“It certainly would have been easier to call,” Malone agreed. “I’m afraid we can’t offer you much help with whatever case has brought you here today, Agent Booth, we have an in-house matter that must take precedence over anything else.” He gestured to the Command Center where his team was gathered. Pictures of two young boys were lit on the large screen. “My CME’s children were taken from her house early this morning.”
Brennan’s body went whip tense. “They were kidnapped?”
Malone turned his intense eyes on her. “That’s right.”
“Was there a ransom demand?”
“Not yet.”
“Any physical evidence at the scene of the abduction?”
“Hardly any trace. Is there something you aren’t telling me, Dr. Brennan?”
Brennan was staring at the picture of the boys intently, her eyes feverishly bright. “Agent Malone, could I see the remains your CME posted about on NCIC?”
Malone looked curious. “How is that-“
Booth had finally caught on to Brennan’s line of thought. “Agent Malone, I can explain everything. But I strongly suggest you let Dr. Brennan take a look at those remains. If she finds what I think she’s going to find, we might have some answers for your CME about her children.”
“Bailey?” a voice called from the Command Center. “What’s going on?”
A curvy brunette with dark curls and a worried expression came up the steps to join Malone. She hugged her arms to her chest as if cold. Booth took note of the way Malone’s eyes softened when he looked at her, the way he took a protective step closer to her.
“Grace, this is Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan from DC. They want to see the remains you posted about on NCIC.”
“I realize now is not a good time,” Brennan interjected quickly, “but I think it might help us find your children.”
“Of course. Tell me what you’ve got.” Grace began walking toward the morgue in quick strides. Brennan quickly caught up to her and the two women left Booth and Malone trailing along in their wake.
“What exactly do you think you’ve found, Agent Booth?” Malone asked as they followed the women to the morgue.
Booth met Malone’s eyes and shook his head. “Trouble. Big trouble.”
“He’s called the Grave Digger,” Brennan said, her voice clipped to business-like efficiency. Booth could tell she was uncommonly nervous, though, based on the way her hands were playing with the strand of ornamental beads she wore around her neck.
“He’s a serial kidnapper who’s been working in and around the DC area for the last eight years that we’re aware of. Two years ago the remains of two of his victims were uncovered in Rock Creek Park. They had been buried in a beer fermentation tank. Heavy rains and wind washed away enough top soil that the tank became exposed. Hikers called it in to DC PD, thinking they had found a UFO.
“When my team and I began examining the remains of the boys and the tank, evidence began jumping out at us. When it became apparent we had found a Gravedigger victim, we began attempting to uncover his identity. My colleague, Dr. Jack Hodgins, and myself were abducted from the parking garage at the Jeffersonian later that day by the Gravedigger and buried in my car under a strip mine in Virginia. Agent Booth and my team found us before our air supply ran out.”
Booth interjected, “She’s being too modest. Their air supply DID run out. She and Hodgins punched into the spare tires for more air before rigging the car battery to explode and crawling through five feet of dirt to the surface.”
Brennan waved away the praise. “The victim currently lying in your morgue shares very specific commonalities with the other Grave Digger victims that we know of. Dr. Alvarez and Agent Fraley were both tasered, which is also part of the Grave Digger’s MO, and Dr. Alvarez’s children are missing. Despite the notable absence of a ransom demand, it’s still only logical to assume that the Grave Digger has Dr. Alvarez’s sons.”
“But until we get the ransom demand what can we do?” Fraley asked. He was sitting next to Alvarez, his hand close to hers on the table, the sort of non-touching that he often found himself engaging in with Brennan, the desire to soothe tempered by the volatile emotional state of the woman sitting inches away.
“That’s what I’d like to know. What ARE you doing about this?”
Alvarez whipped around so fast Booth had to fight the impulse to pull his gun. A tall, greying man was standing in the doorway, accompanied by a petite blonde with deep green eyes and a figure that would stop traffic. From the tightening in Alvarez’s jaw, Booth quickly surmised this was her ex-husband and the new girlfriend.
“No way,” Alvarez ground out, fists clenching, pointing at the blonde. “Not her.”
“Grace-“
”NOT her. She’s not a part of this.”
“She’s going to be the boys’ stepmother. That makes her a part of this if I say so.” The man took a combative step forward and the blonde rested a hand on his arm.
“Morgan, it’s best if I wait outside-“
”No, Gwen, you’re staying right here. She has to get used to this.”
Alvarez was glaring daggers at her ex-husband. “If you think I’m going to allow her to-“
John Grant took that moment to step forward and interject smoothly. “Actually, Mr. Ballard, I’m afraid Grace does have a point. Miss-“ He peered at the blonde, obviously waiting for her to fill in her last name.
“-Hudson. Gwen Hudson.” She extended a hand, which Grant took cordially.
“Miss Hudson doesn’t have the security clearance to be inside the building at this time. Your security clearance still stands, sir, but I’m afraid we don’t have the time or resources to run a background check on your friend.” He flashed a smile at the blonde that managed to be both charming, apologetic, and slightly malicious all at once. “I’m sorry, Miss Hudson, but we can’t allow you to stay. There is sensitive material pertaining to open cases on just about every desk in this room and we here at the Bureau just can’t take a risk with unsecured civilians in the building. I’m sure you understand.”
The blonde nodded gracefully, though Booth was fairly sure she knew she’d just been conveniently shunted aside to pacify Alvarez. “Of course.” She turned to her boyfriend. “Morgan, you’ll keep me updated?”
“Of course.” He reached out to stroke her hair back from her face and gave her a reassuring smile. “Keep your Blackberry on. I’ll send updates every half hour. Take the car ... I’ll call you later.”
She crossed to the elevator and punched the down button, busying herself with her Blackberry to avoid the awkward tension that filled the air. The doors slid open and she disappeared inside. As soon as the doors closed, fury replaced the carefully neutral expression on Ballard’s face.
“You’re an unbelievable bitch, Grace!”
“Pot, kettle, black, Morgan! Jesus Christ, how could you bring her here, NOW of all times? My sons are missing-“
”OUR sons-“
”And you come waltzing in here with that tramp you’ve been bopping behind my back for the last year and a half and expect me to treat her like a member of the family? I don’t suppose you’ve switched from liquor to dope, by any chance, have you?”
Ballard rolled his eyes. “Very mature, Grace. I can’t wait to see how you handle yourself in court.” He walked forward into the Command Center, taking in the files, the phones, and the group of people seated around the table. “So, what exactly are you planning on doing about our sons?”
“Everything that we can.” Alvarez followed her ex as he walked around the Command Center, clenching her hands. It was obvious that having him in the building was rocking her confidence.
“Which is what exactly? ‘Everything that you can’ looks a great deal like sitting around on your ass!”
“Morgan, you have to understand that the person we’re dealing with-“
“Is a kidnapper, right? He wants money, I have money. Get him on the horn, I’ll pay him whatever he wants. I just want my sons back in one piece.”His lips twisted in a bitter scowl. “And when I get them back, I’m arranging for a custody hearing..”
“What?!”
“Your job is a threat to their safety, Grace! They were kidnaped by a psychopath, one that YOU came in contact somehow in this insanity you call a job. Exactly whose fault do you think this is?”
“My job-“
”-has ruined everything! My life, my sons’ lives--”
“That’s not true."
“You know damn well it is! We wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for your insistence on trying to keep up in a man’s world. For as long as I’ve known you you’ve been nothing but an overgrown tomboy, playing with guns and blood and knives. And now look at you-“ He eyed her scornfully. “Mid-40s, divorced, addicted to your job, a mother who can’t even protect her sons.”
Alvarez’s face flamed with color. “Oh, and you’re man of the year? Mid 50s, dating a woman 20 years younger ... oh, and so cowardly that you walked out on your pregnant wife and refused to see your newborn baby for the first two months of his life. You’ve got it all together!”
Ballard pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial. “I’m calling Conrad. This is insanity.”
Quick as a snake, Alvarez slapped the phone out of Ballard’s hand. He whirled on her, eyes flashing, and swung an open palm at her face. Alvarez ducked the blow, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and shoved him hard against the nearest wall. Booth resisted the impulse to pull his gun, though he noticed his hand wasn’t the only one that went to his belt.
“Don’t you ever threaten me again!” Ballard squirmed and Alvarez leaned in, planting her palms deep into his shoulders. “You do NOT want to start a war with me, Morgan. I am doing everything I can to get my sons back. Unless you can find some way to help, get the hell out of here and let me do my job.”
As quickly as it began, it ended. Alvarez dropped her hands to her sides. Ballard remained backed against the wall, staring with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Alvarez murmured, and then fled up the stairs and down the corridor.
Fraley was up and following her down the hall while everyone else tried to find something to do to avoid having to look at Ballard, who was still leaning against the wall, looking rather shell-shocked.
Malone stepped over to the older man and, placing a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close. Ballard, perhaps thinking he’d found an ally, looked up with an expectant expression.
“You ever raise a hand to her again, I swear to God it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
The smile slid off of Ballard’s face and he shrugged Malone’s hand off. “She isn’t yours to protect.”
Booth was fairly certain he and Ballard were the only ones to hear the next words from Malone’s mouth--“Think again.”
***
George found Grace in the morgue, vomiting into the stainless steel sink. He crossed to the mini-fridge and fished out a bottle of water.
“Here, honey, rinse your mouth” He laid his hands on her shoulders, steadying her when she swayed. “It’s okay.”
Grace raised a tear-stained face to look at him. “I can’t believe I did that to him.”
“You had every right. He said some awful things.”
“I’ve never done that to anyone before. I never even hit my sister when we fought. I can’t believe-“ She shuddered and retched, leaning back over the sink. George held her hair back from her face, rubbing her back gently as she began to sob in earnest.
“God, George, what the hell is happening to me?”
“Your sons are missing, your ex-husband is out in the Command Center acting like a complete asshole, and your temper snapped.”
“God, how am I going to get through this?” Grace straightened and leaned against the edge of the sink, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“By taking it one minute at a time.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.” He squeezed her shoulders, worked the tense muscles with strong fingers until she started to relax in increments. “You’ll get through this. We’ll get through this. We’re a team and we’re going to see this through to the bitter end, whatever that end may be.”
Grace pressed a balled up fist against her lips. “What if I lose them?” she whispered between her fingers. “God in heaven, George, if I lose my babies I have nothing left to live for.”
“Don’t think it. Don’t even consider it. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth have all ready established some good leads. We’re going to find them. We’re going to get the boys back. You keep believing that, Grace, believe it with every breath you take. Believe we’re going to find them.”
There was a soft knock on the door. Grace looked up to see Morgan hovering in the doorway.
“If this isn’t a good time-“
“No, it’s fine.” George quickly spoke for Grace. “She’s just feeling a little queasy. Grace, there’s some ginger ale in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.” He hurried out the door, leaving Morgan alone with his ex-wife.
“You always did have a nervous stomach.”
Grace laughed weakly. “Not the best trait for a competent medical examiner.”
“It never slowed you down, though. Not even when you were pregnant with Jayson.”
“That was a nightmare. I was sick every morning for the first five months.” Grace took a small sip of water and wiped her eyes. Morgan reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief.
“You still went into work every morning, though.” He laughed softly. “Remember the day my car broke down and you had to drive me to work?”
“I had to pull over on the highway ... twice,” Grace said, remembering only too well the morning in question. “I was miserable!”
Morgan leaned against the sink and gave Grace a small half smile. “I remember the day Bailey called me and told me you’d gone into labor at a murder scene. God, I was a wreck. I wanted to start driving to North Carolina the minute Bailey told me what happened but he convinced me to stay put.” He smiled. “I left work early and went home. I paced back and forth in the yard with Foxy, smoking endless cigars. All I could think about was how scared you must have been, how upset you were that I couldn’t be with you, and how upset I was that I couldn’t be there to hold your hand.”
“Sam was with me,” Grace recalled. “She was amazing. A rock.” She smiled. “John told me later that Bailey was pacing outside, too, smoking cigars, just like you were.”
“He chartered a plane for me,” Morgan said. “Did he ever tell you that?”
“No,” Grace replied, surprised. “He never mentioned it. I was asleep when you got to the hospital, I guess.”
“He did. He chartered a plane, flew me up there, brought me to see you in the hospital. Talked non-stop about what a great woman you were, how much he respected you, how glad he was he got to work with you. I was so envious that he got to see this side of you that I never got to see, this brilliant M.E. who always had the answers. I felt like I was missing part of you.
Morgan stepped closer and reached out hesitantly to touch Grace’s hand. “When I got to the hospital he brought me to your room. You were sleeping so soundly. But when I leaned over to kiss you, you woke up, and you smiled at me, and you said my name like it was the only thing in the universe that mattered to you. I took you down the hall to the nursery and we looked through the glass at Jayson, so tiny, so sweet, and I never wanted anything more in the world than the three of us together.”
Grace’s lips were trembling as she tried to hold back tears. “It was good for awhile. We were good for awhile. I couldn’t understand what happened.”
“I’m not sure I do,” Morgan confessed. “I didn’t-“ He blew out a long breath. “I didn’t do right by you, Grace. I admit that. I should never have let things go so far with Gwen. I should have tried to talk to you instead of letting my feelings about your job get in the way.” He bit his lip and looked at her. “What I’m trying to say is that I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you. We both made a lot of mistakes. I can admit that. I shouldn’t have said what I did out there.”
Grace looked away, searching for words. Finally she said, “I was so mad at you. I still am mad at you. Not just for the affair ... for the way you treated me when you found out I was pregnant again.”
Morgan hung his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am-“
“I don’t want you to apologize,” Grace cut him off. “I just want you to know how hard it was for me, knowing that you wouldn’t stand by me when I needed you. You accused me of having another man’s child when I’d never been with anyone else the entire time we were married. You left me when I needed you most.”
Her voice was rising but she couldn’t stop it, anymore than she could stop the words pouring from her in a torrent.
“You wouldn’t answer the phone when I called to tell you that we were having a baby boy. You didn’t have anything to say to me when I started having complications. And when I went into premature labor right here in my office, it was George who called the ambulance, who rode with me to the hospital, who held my hand. When he called you to tell you what was happening you never picked up the phone.
“And then here you come, almost a year later, blaming me for my sons being kidnapped, telling me yet again that I’m not good enough, that I’d let you down, and that’s why you’d given up on me ... on us.”
“Grace, I-I wish I could tell you I felt differently. I wish I could make myself feel something less hateful and hard. But-“
“But that’s just the way you are. And this is just the way I am. We’re never going to change, Morgan.”
“So where does that leave us?” he asked.
They broke off the conversation when Grace’s inter-office line rang.
“Alvarez.”
“We’ve got a ransom demand on line 1,” John reported.
Grace slammed down the phone and bolted from the morgue, Morgan hot on her heels. She burst into the Command Center at such a hard run that she turned her ankle on the stairs.
“George, put it on the speaker!”
A voice that sounded as though it had been distorted through a media player cut through the speakers.
“Grace and Morgan Ballard, your sons have been buried alive. Transmit two million dollars to the following account in Bahrain. When the wire transfer has been made, we will call with coordinates for their retrieval. This will be my last communication. You have ten hours.”