In Search of a Hero

Long Train Running

Simultaneously, Booth and Brennan realized that, if not technically alone, they were at least beyond the reach of anything but their own conscience. Awareness crackled, rippling in an electric current that thickened the air around them. It was impossible not to think of the kiss they'd shared, of that one breathtaking moment when the world shrank to the touch of his lips on hers. Lost in the memory, there might have been a second kiss, if not for the timely interruption of the driver.

"Train station, right? That's what the dispatch said. 30th Street Station or Broad Street?"

Brennan straightened abruptly, shocked at her behavior. Had she leaned toward him? Surely not . . . Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Booth give the bottom of his coat a discreet twitch over his lap. Her head turned sharply toward her own window.

"We, ah, we're on the Marylander. I believe that departs from the Broad Street Station."

"Right you are," the woman said cheerfully. "Nice train, too. Where are you folks headed?"

"Washington, D.C."

She nodded wisely. "I thought that might be the case, especially with your husband in that spiffy uniform. Nothing like a man in uniform, I always say! I guess that's one good thing come out of this danged war. Now listen, if you two want to have a little cuddle before you get on that train, well you just don't pay me no nevermind. Been a lot more than that back there but me, I never see nothing."

The relentless, avid gaze glued to the rear-view mirror suggested otherwise. Mortified, Brennan stole a glance at Booth only to find him staring out of his window and hiding a grin behind one hand.

She quickly corrected the woman. "We aren't husband and wife. I work for the Treasury Department and the captain is traveling with me on temporary assignment."

The sizzling connection between her passengers clearly outweighed the innocuous explanation, at least for the driver. "Oh. Temporary assignment, is it? Well, that's something, I suppose."

Booth managed to turn a bark of laughter into a cough. Barely maintaining a straight face, he swiveled toward Brennan. "That reminds me, Doc, what's the plan when we get to DC? I probably need to find a hotel, at least until we leave Monday morning."

Brennan was grateful for the change of subject. "Officers who need short-term housing are being billeted at the Hotel Stratford. I've booked you a room there. Breakfast is included, and dinner if you choose to eat there."

He raised his eyebrows. "No offense to Uncle Sam, but I'm familiar with BOQ. How bad are the bedbugs?"

Brennan was quick to reassure him. "No, it's a very nice hotel. There were grumblings from the owners when the Army took over for the duration of the war but I know several officers assigned to the Treasury Department who are staying there. They seem quite pleased. Of course, I've only been in the restaurant," she added. "They don't allow women on the upper floors anymore. Apparently, the men were bringing in prostitutes."

The driver, still eavesdropping, gasped in shock, turned a mottled shade of red, and quickly focused on the road ahead. Busy foraging inside her handbag, Brennan missed the reaction, and missed, too, the somewhat surprised look on Booth's face at her matter-of-fact tone, until she located the small white card she'd been searching for and glanced up. His expression gave her a moment of pause.

"Is something wrong?" When he merely shook his head, she frowned and offered him the card. "This is the hotel's business card. The address is on the back, if you want to go there directly after we arrive."

He studied the card in silence for a moment. "What about you? What are you going to do when we get there?"

"I'm planning to go straight to the Treasury Department. I want to return the paperwork I took with me for you to review, and there are a myriad of final details that I should check."