A/N: SO sorry about the delay. I've been super lazy and for some reason, lost motivation to write this fic. I promise I have a long term plan for this one but classes have started back up and things with my sorority have been keeping me insanely busy. It's a small update, but hey, it's better than nothing :)


With the sirens blaring and lights flashing, Booth and Teddy made it across town in record time. Agents swarmed in on Anton Igorovich's house and with a battering ram posed at the ready, Booth silently counted down from three to give the SWAT agents the go ahead. They were met with no one as the door exploded open and the agents moved quickly through the house. Booth led the way into the first room. White sheets covered the furniture as if the room hadn't been used in years. They moved into what looked like a library. The shelves were empty and the room held no furniture. The kitchen was another story. Russian newspapers and magazines littered the kitchen table and there was a steaming cup of coffee sitting right next to the sink. Right off the kitchen, there was another sitting room. A TV was on mute and a warm tray of food sat on an end table. Parker put his hand on a seat.

"It's still warm. Someone was just here," he said quietly. Booth began checking closets, his gun at the ready. One door was locked, but the knob wiggled when he touched it. With one hearty tug, he yanked the door open and found a set of steep wooden steps. He moved slowly, trying to keep the stairs from creaking as he stepped down one by one. The stone cellar was cold and the dim light at the center of the room was on.

"It's clear!" Booth called back up. The rest of the house was clean. Booth walked out the back door for some fresh air, while the crime scene techs worked on the space. He paced in the small backyard taking in is surroundings. There was a flower bed on one side of the yard that hadn't been taken care of in sometime. The dilapidated garage stood at the other end of the yard, spiking some sort of emotion in Booth. Pulling his sidearm back out of the holster, he moved slowly to the side door. He scanned the back alley quickly, making sure no one was about to sneak up on him. Using his shoulder, his body took most of the impact as he broke the door down and scanned the musty garage. Someone was laying on the cement floor. Keeping his gun out, Booth moved slowly to the man and kicked away the gun that was inches from the motionless body. Booth checked his pulse and when he found it was faint, he radioed for EMS and agents to accompany the man. When the ambulance appeared in the alley, he finally saw the man's features in the headlights of the emergency vehicle. Pavel Stanislav was barely hanging on. The emergency technicians brushed Booth out of the way to save the Russian's life. Teddy appeared by his side and waited for Booth's explanation.

"He was expendable. He was only the muscle. Igorovich didn't need him anymore."

"Booth, you didn't…"

"No, I found him like that. Why didn't your agents have the back covered?"

"We did," Teddy pointed to a car coming down the alley. The ambulance loaded Stanislav and rushed to the nearest hospital. The car took the place of the emergency vehicle and two junior agents stepped out.

"Agent Parker, we tailed the van for a while until they caught on. A normal pursuit turned into a chase and we lost 'em," one agent said. She looked mildly terrified and her partner, who looked more like a high school mathlete, seemed to be hiding behind her.

"Did you even get the plate number?" Booth asked.

"There were no plates," the second agent told them. He shrugged and when Booth's glare seemed to be boring holes into him, added, "It was just a white, unmarked van with no plates."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll get pulled over for no tags," the first agent tried.

"Lucky isn't good enough!" Booth roared and sent the two agents scattering.

"Sarge, come on, let's go see what the techs have."

Teddy led the way back into the house where Marcus met them in the kitchen. "Found this all over the floor, on the bottom of shoes we found in the closet and on hand towels in the bathroom," he told them, holding up a swab of what looked like grease.

"What is it?"

"I think its motor oil. I'll have to make sure back at the lab, but it smells like it."

Booth began to pace, going over every case detail in his mind. And when his mind drifted back to his father-in-law and his allegedly dead suspect, things all started to come together.

"I gotta get back to the Hoover. Ted! Let's go. I know how to find them."