c h a p t e r  8  : 

Hands slack in his suits pockets, jacket fallen open, Gaspard waited. Agents, local police, all did their thing around Rachel Cross's home. He tried not to stare, tried not to look out of place – but he did. Uncomfortable he rolled his shoulders back, tilting head from side to side. His tiny buzz was wearing thin.

Stomping on the wooden stairs rattled him from his concerns. A young boy, age of six, appeared. Pale faced, trademark blonde hair that ran in the family, and a lopsided smile that resembled something of Gaspard himself.

A young nanny stopped behind the boy, her hands rubbing his shoulders, "Rachel will be right down."

Gaspard should have looked closer at the woman before him, but his eyes were glued in the boy in front of him. He knelt down on a knee so he wouldn't tower over him, a small smile contained. "Hey there, Logan."

Logan's small eyebrows furrowed and he looked up to the nanny in question before back to him, "Do I know you?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Yeah, but I haven't seen you since you were this big." He held fingers up leaving little space between the pads, enough to fit a green-pea.

Logan laughed out.

"Come on. Let's let the man do his job." The nanny smiled warmly at Gaspard nudging Logan toward the rooms' door as Rachel quietly stepped down the stairs appearing in his sight for the first time in too long. 

- 2007 -

"Rachel Cross."

"Gaspard Booth."

They took each other's outstretched hand. She smiled. He tried.

"You look relieved." Rachel said while lowering herself into the chair Gaspard had pulled out.

He came around the white cloth draped table loosening the ever annoying tie, "Well, it is the internet. Pictures can be–"

"–Fake, outdated. Stolen from a Victoria's Secret magazine?"

"Exactly." Gaspard settled himself knowing his real reason for this 'blind-date.' "So, um, tell me something about yourself Rachel."

She looked stunning ... that tight red dress and soft blonde ringlet curls pinned to the side. The way she played with the napkin near the tables edge told him she was nervous being put on the spot. Yeah, well, if I had a sister who might be a serial killer, I'd be too.

"Oh, today is my ... birthday." Rachel replied shyly.

Gaspard felt a small surprised laugh well up in his throat, "And you're spending it with me? No friends?"

"I'm kind of a loner."

"And ... you don't like your family?"

"No family to like."

Lie. Rachel has always been close with her sister Katherine. Gaspard pried further,

"Oh come on, everyone has a family."

"Technically, yes. But not everyone knows or even wants to know who they are. Ready to run yet?"

A playful scoff left him, "Not a chance. You, Rachel Cross, are by far, the sexiest friendless girl that I have ever met."

"Hello, Gaspard."

"Rachel."

"I'm Agent Jennifer Zang, Miss. Cross. I understand you wanted to speak to Mr. Booth."

He stood there motionless. He wanted to go back to that time eight years ago. Maybe if I'd just kept my damn mouth shut—

"Yes," Rachel stood taller, the years of stress caused by her older sister had changed her. It made her hard. "But, I need to speak with him alone, please."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Jennifer said. Two alpha females stared eye to eye, both over a case and both over him.

"I'm afraid I have to insist." Rachel broke the silence and nodded her head for him to follow.

Gaspard followed her through the modern decorated house. Vases filled with flowers were set about, while pieces—of what Gaspard wouldn't consider art—lined almost every wall. But no family photos. Not even of Logan.

They stepped into a small sitting room, bright with white walls, and an Agent stood near the window writing in a notepad. Rachel spoke up, "Would you excuse us for a minute?"

There was an awkward silence as the man left. Gaspard stood, eyes shifting from wall to wall not looking in her direction ... but he felt her eyes.

"How's your heart?" she asked.

He gave a little shrug, "Same."

Rachel sat on the sofas very edge, looking up to him. "But you're drinking too much."

His throat cleared ready to break the start of an unneeded lecture, "Have you heard from her?"

"Yes, a week ago. Actually, this came for me." She pulled out an envelope. "I thought you should see it. How does she know?"

Gaspard greedily took the creamy envelope in his hands, eyes looking over the familiar cursive words, reading every detail. "She doesn't. She's guessing. No one needs to know about this. It's not gonna help us find her." He folded the letter slipping it back into the envelope handing it back to her. "We have two killers out there now. She's got help."

Rachel's voice was full of dread. "Katherine's always teaching. It was ingrained in her, so that makes sense .... It makes sense she would find a student."

"Where do you think they would go? Think she would leave the country?"

"No. Katherine's not looking for her freedom."

"She wants to keep killing .... "

"Well, she's good at it." Rachel ran a hand through her now dyed brown locks.

It must've been an attempt to look less like Kate. Gaspard shook his thoughts, "I need to find her, Rachel. And I don't think I know how." He sat across from her on coffee table thinking of ways to gain her help. " ... I'm sorry I didn't call you."

Her light colored eyes swiveled to his face, "It's been six years, Gaspard. I got the hint. I mean, I know -- I know that when the FBI found out about us that was difficult for you."

His eyebrows furrowed having forgot that that was the excuse he had used. "No. No. That's not why I didn't call." –It was because of your sister– "You deserve more. I belong in your past. I belong in Logan's past ... I work better in people's pasts, I always have."

Tears built in her eyes and he couldn't look at her straight, dropping his head to study the carpet until she spoke wiping at her face. "Uh, um, the girl safe? The, the, one you knew--"

"Natalie Huard? Yeah. Yeah, she's under protection." he stood, "She's good. She's a nurse now."

"I'm glad someone was able to get beyond this." Her voice sounded strained, "I'm sure that upsets Katherine."

He tensed. That caught Gaspard's attention, "Why's that?"

"She fancies herself, Edgar Allen Poe. That was the impetus for trying to write her own novel. Poe died with an unfinished manuscript. Finishing it was Kate's sort of way of finishing what Poe started."

He couldn't get out of that house fast enough. Jogging down the steps he was more than aware of the rhythmic pulse that made him deaf to Jennifer's heeled boots behind him.

"What was that in there?"

"It was personal." He shouted over his shoulder. He was getting sick of this woman and her largely grown nose.

"What do you mean 'personal?'"

"We have to get to Natalie's," Gaspard insisted stopping next to the sleek black FBI vehicle.

"What did she tell you?" Jennifer demanded.

"Kate is going to make a move. She wants to finish what she started. And that would be, Natalie Huard."