Ian

Chapter 1

Ian looked up from his drawing board as his father knocked on the door frame of his room. "How was your pre-party meeting with Gina, Dad?"

"Pretty much as expected. She screamed at me again for killing off Derrick Storm. She can't understand how bored I got with the character."

"We I do," Ian responded. "I've just started a new one. His name is Dweeby. He defeats super-villains by spewing an overflow of verbiage. Their heads explode. Very cool to draw. Wanna see?"

Castle walked behind his son to look at the sketches Ian was transferring to Bristol board. "Very cool indeed. I like the way you drew the brain splatter patterns, gruesome and fascinating at the same time. I wish I could think of a new character this interesting. I need some inspiration - besides Gina threatening to have Black Pawn dump me."

"Maybe you'll find some at the party tonight," Ian offered. "You usually find signing women's chests inspiring."

Castle sighed. "Nice, but wrong kind of inspiration. If I'm going to write a woman, I want her sexy, but not simpering, someone with a mind of her own."

"Well good luck finding someone like that at a book launch party Dad."

"Are you coming?" Castle asked. "Besides your gram and Gina you may be the only non-simpering presence in the room."

"Sure," Ian agreed, "I can practice sketching figures in the crowd. My art teacher gave us some new tips I want to try out."

Castle's fingers were cramping around his marker. Whoever would have thought that he'd get tired of adulation? He needed something new, really new. He was startled out of his private pity party when he heard a woman's husky alto voice behind him. "Richard Castle?"

Castle turned around see mesmerizing green flecked hazel eyes above knife-edged cheekbones. He held up his marker, drawing an uneven breath. "Where do you want it?"

"The Twelfth Precinct, actually," A slim-fingered hand stuck a badge in his face. "Detective Kate Beckett. I need to ask you some questions about some murders."

Castle gazed at the beautiful cop. Inspiration was looking him in the face. "Fine! Great!This should be interesting. Just give me a minute to make sure my son gets home okay. His grandmother is here but I don't know how much champagne she's had."

Castle pulled out his wallet to make sure Ian had cab fare and handed the money to his son, explaining why he had to leave. Returning to Beckett, Castle swept his arm forward with a little bow. "Lead the way, Detective."

Kate studied the file in front of her. "You've led an interesting life, Mr. Castle. Stealing a police horse? Nude?"

"I didn't steal it, I borrowed it," Castle protested. "I was working out a scene for one of my novels where Derrick Storm was chasing someone who broke in and tried to kill his um, companion. The horse was the only thing that was handy. He got the guy, too."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Yes I remember, I read the book. Hardly realistic. These days a cop in a neighborhood like that would be more likely to have a bicycle than a horse. But nude?"

"I wasn't," Castle argued. "I can't imagine how much that would chafe. The essentials were covered, it's just that the covering was very - brief. Anyway, the charges were dropped. The mayor's a fan. Obviously so are you, if you remember the scene. It was only a couple of paragraphs. But Detective Beckett, you said you wanted to talk about murders, not my equestrian pursuits. How can I help you?"

Beckett passed a photograph of a woman with flowers on her eyes and a body covered in rose petals, across the table. "Look familiar?"

Castle blanched. "Flowers for Her Grave. Someone actually committed a murder like this?"

Kate put another picture in front of him. "More than one murder."

Castle regarded the figure in the pentagram. "Hell Hath No Fury, except that the symbol on the chest is wrong. I can understand why someone might have trouble getting a copy of that book as a reference. It was definitely one of my less popular works. But who would murder someone this way?"

Kate leaned across the table, her eyes narrowing. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"What? You think I did this? Detective I only kill people on the page. It pays better. And there's no way the mayor could get me out of a murder charge. Obviously someone has developed an obsession with me or my books and is using them, if somewhat inaccurately as blueprints for murders."

"Perhaps," Mr. Castle," Kate acceded. "But I'll need to check your alibis for the times of death."

"Check away, Detective," Castle invited. "My life is, so to speak, an open book."

Kate put down the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Rick Castle had been exactly where he'd said he'd been during the time of the murders. He wasn't guilty. She remembered, even if he didn't, when she'd stood in line for an hour to get him to sign her book. She remembered curling up in misery after her mother died and running her fingers over his picture on a book jacket. Tonight, with a days growth of stubble defining his jawline, he looked even more handsome. In fact he was devastatingly handsome. But she couldn't afford to be devastated. She had a murderer to catch and Castle was still a potential source of information. There was work to do. Stiffening her shoulders, she returned to the interrogation room.

"Okay, Mr. Castle..."

"Rick, please," he interrupted.

"Mr. Castle," she repeated, "your alibis hold. So who would have an obsession with you or your work? Is any of your fan mail disturbing?"

"It is when someone sexts me a picture of something hairy that would have better remained a mystery," Castle replied, "but Black Pawn keeps files of my fan mail. They use them to build mailing lists to push my books. I can arrange to have them turned over to you, if we go through them together."

"Why do you want to do that?" Kate asked, feeling a discomfiting tingle of excitement. "Morbid curiosity?"

"No, because if someone is using my books to commit murder, I feel responsible. I want to help you catch them. No one knows my books better than I do. I think I can be helpful. Anyway, that's the deal. You want those documents, you cut me in. Or I could call the mayor."

Kate thought about what it would take to get a warrant for the records of a publishing company. Her chances were pretty slim. And even if she'd never admit it, Rick Castle had invaded her dreams on more than one occasion. Maybe this would be the way to get him out of her system. "Fine." she agreed.

Castle slipped off his shoes as he returned to his loft in lower Manhattan. Ian had a couple of hours left before he had to get up for school and Rick didn't want to disturb him. As talented as the boy was as an artist, his grades in anything except art were borderline at best. It wasn't that Ian wasn't smart. His memory was encyclopedic and he could help Castle work his way through the knottiest problems with his plots. Ian wasn't lazy either. But he inverted words, and letters often swam before his eyes. What was easy for the other kids was torture for Ian, even with the help of the best of tutors. Still the boy kept plugging away. He wanted to draw graphic novels and he was determined to succeed. Sometimes Rick wished he had Ian's guts. He padded quietly up the stairs to check on his sleeping son.