The next morning, Lance made a point to show up early to Bruenner's hotel. He'd even managed to call her cell phone before she was even awake. He could barely hide a smug grin as he pulled around to a parking space near her room. The Bureau had put her up in one of the nicer, long-term, franchise hotel chains. Instead of rooms, the suites were more like cottages, each with their own postage-stamp-sized garden complete with just-blooming spring flowers. All in all, the place was pretty swanky.

Lance quickly found room 4B and knocked on the front door. He waited for a couple minutes before knocking again. A couple more minutes passed, and Bruenner still didn't answer the door. Lance knocked again, a little bit louder this time. He was about to knock on the door for a fourth time when a dripping wet Bruenner flung open the door wearing a towel, a very menacing glare and not much else. Lance swallowed compulsively. She definitely wasn't hard on the eyes.

"Dammit, Arturo, how'd you get here so fast?"

Lance checked his watch. It was just past seven-thirty and he'd probably called her about fifteen minutes before. "I didn't want to be late."

Bruenner harrumphed as she walked back towards the bedroom. "I just made some coffee, and there's a breakfast bar in the lobby. My key's on the table."

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. Pocketing the key card, Lance went off to partake of the breakfast bar. Although it wasn't really all that much, he decided to take his time in order to give Bruenner a chance to change into something more substantial than a towel. He put a couple of bagels and two single-size serving containers of cream cheese into a sack and headed back to Bruenner's room. He was relatively surprised to find she had turned on one of the satellite music stations. Some classic rock song from the mid-Eighties blared out of the television speakers. Bruenner was nowhere in sight, so he just assumed she was still getting ready. He was right in the middle of spreading cheese on the second half of a bagel when Bruenner grabbed the first half.

"Help yourself," he groused.

"Thanks," she replied, sitting down at the table and propping her feet up on a chair. Aside from the lack of shoes, Bruenner looked ready for a hike in the woods. She was wearing another pair of jeans that accentuated her long, lanky legs and a light blue, long-sleeved, v-neck t-shirt layered over a white tank top. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail. "So, where are we going?"

"Hell," Lance replied, absolutely deadpan.

Bruenner blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Mooney's place. He calls it Hell's Mountain."

"Any particular reason why?"

Lance shrugged. "Make it sound scary, I guess. Lots of battles have been fought around there: Civil War, Indian raids, even some Revolutionary War skirmishes happened up there."

"Sounds like a fun place," she remarked. "And what about Mooney?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think he has Sarah?"

Lance shook his head and took a bite of his own bagel half. "He's pushing ninety, Bruenner, and he rarely comes down out of those hills."