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It was the only scenario that made sense, when she stopped to think about it.
She should have seen it sooner. But so much had happened. Naturally, their primary concern had been to save Cam. And they’d succeeded. Even though Epps’s game wasn’t over, they had all breathed a sigh of relief. Booth had sent her home to rest (with a strike team standing guard in and around her building) And so, Brennan’s mind had had time to process facts that had heretofore been pushed into the background.
And she knew.
The plaster dust. The hip hop music late at night in the apartment undergoing renovation next door—perfect for covering suspicious noises. Epps had been cutting his way into her home while she’s been in bed with a pillow over her head trying to sleep and cursing forgetful workmen. While Hannah had been tossing and turning on the fold-out sofa in the living room.
He could have had them both then. But he’d wanted to play first. Wanted to gloat.
Brennan could have called Booth. Could have told the agents. But she wanted this particular game over. And the most efficient way to do that was to play into Epps’s hands.
So she’d put on a CD, turned on her shower, situated herself in the corner of her bathroom, taken the safety off her gun, and waited.
The look on Epps’s face when she’d stepped into the doorway, gun drawn, had actually been fairly priceless.
She was almost sorry when Booth had appeared. Brennan knew that there was only one logical resolution to the problem that was Howard Epps—his death. Granted, the courts were already working on that, but not quickly enough to save two more innocent people. Brennan was prepared to resolve the problem herself. Booth, on the other hand, was duty bound to bring Epps in. And he’d tried. Even when Howard had thrown himself off her fifth-floor balcony rather than return to prison.
And Brennan knew that Booth was beating himself up for not being able to hold onto him. For not being able to save Epps's life.
Completely illogical. But very much like Booth, Brennan reflected, watching him drink his coffee. One of the agents had put on a pot while they dealt with....clean up. Brennan and Booth were sitting at Brennan's dining room table, answering questions when needed, and staying out of the way when not.
"The unit on the ground saw what happened," Agent Rose paused to say to Booth. "So did the sniper across the street. You tried to save him."
She should have seen it sooner. But so much had happened. Naturally, their primary concern had been to save Cam. And they’d succeeded. Even though Epps’s game wasn’t over, they had all breathed a sigh of relief. Booth had sent her home to rest (with a strike team standing guard in and around her building) And so, Brennan’s mind had had time to process facts that had heretofore been pushed into the background.
And she knew.
The plaster dust. The hip hop music late at night in the apartment undergoing renovation next door—perfect for covering suspicious noises. Epps had been cutting his way into her home while she’s been in bed with a pillow over her head trying to sleep and cursing forgetful workmen. While Hannah had been tossing and turning on the fold-out sofa in the living room.
He could have had them both then. But he’d wanted to play first. Wanted to gloat.
Brennan could have called Booth. Could have told the agents. But she wanted this particular game over. And the most efficient way to do that was to play into Epps’s hands.
So she’d put on a CD, turned on her shower, situated herself in the corner of her bathroom, taken the safety off her gun, and waited.
The look on Epps’s face when she’d stepped into the doorway, gun drawn, had actually been fairly priceless.
She was almost sorry when Booth had appeared. Brennan knew that there was only one logical resolution to the problem that was Howard Epps—his death. Granted, the courts were already working on that, but not quickly enough to save two more innocent people. Brennan was prepared to resolve the problem herself. Booth, on the other hand, was duty bound to bring Epps in. And he’d tried. Even when Howard had thrown himself off her fifth-floor balcony rather than return to prison.
And Brennan knew that Booth was beating himself up for not being able to hold onto him. For not being able to save Epps's life.
Completely illogical. But very much like Booth, Brennan reflected, watching him drink his coffee. One of the agents had put on a pot while they dealt with....clean up. Brennan and Booth were sitting at Brennan's dining room table, answering questions when needed, and staying out of the way when not.
"The unit on the ground saw what happened," Agent Rose paused to say to Booth. "So did the sniper across the street. You tried to save him."
