She steadies her breathing, pressing herself back against the wall. The footsteps approaching from the left are fast and heavy, accompanied by frantic shouting. She only catches a few words in the jumble but she knows that they've got no idea where she is. Still, as they run past, she holds her breath, watching the four of them barrel toward her distraction.
The echo of their boots fades and she slips out from the shadowed hall. Her shoes don't make a sound on the marble floor as she dashes down the galley, hugging the walls in case one of the men return for a more thorough search of the hidden areas.
The showroom isn't large compared to the rest of the place. Just five cases, glass bottoms and open tops that let the recessed lights in the ceiling send rainbows onto the walls. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, short nails scratching at the soft black fabric. It'd be so easy to take one of the emerald bracelets and those opal earrings with all of them just sitting out there in the open.
No. Just the necklace. The museum just wants their necklace back.
It's the furthest case from the door and the gems sparkle at her as she slides her fingers under the thick silver chain, lifting the necklace out of the case. She pauses, just for a moment, waiting for the alarm to sound. No click or blaring siren. No lowering of steel doors, trapping her inside. Either the guy feels secure in his fortress of a house or his security system is much better than her intel told her.
Just in case there's a silent alarm, she quickly tucks the necklace into the velvet pouch in her bag, and turns to leave.
She retraces her steps back down the hall, running through the blueprint of the building in her mind. It should be the third door on her left that leads to the courtyard. She hears a pair of solo footsteps coming back toward her and the adrenaline makes her fumble with the knob before sliding in through the crack between the frame.
It's a close call, her hand shaking on the doorknob as she listens to the person run past. Once she is certain the snick of the metal won't alert anyone, she releases the knob and sprints off across the open-air courtyard. She wedges the toe of her boot into one of the cracks in the stone wall, lifting herself up and over.
Tucked back into the shadows, she checks her watch. She has about an hour to grab her bags and get to the airport.
The sheets are cool against her body as she stretches her legs out, pushing one of the pillows off the bed as she flexes her arms over her head.
She's been home for a day. No more hotels across Europe or leaving in the middle of the night to get to the next location. No, she's under her own blankets now. She has a week off for vacation before she needs to worry about being sent out on another mission.
She plans on using every hour of this week to relax. To stay in her pajamas and read. Maybe she'll get dinner with her friends one night but the rest of it is reserved for herself.
Kate scrapes a hand over her hair, tangled and still slightly damp strands catching at her ears as she rolls to face the window. Sunlight peeks through the lightweight curtains, only slightly deflected by the building next to hers. Not nearly dark enough to go back to sleep. She really should have invested in those blackout curtains when she moved out of the tiny sublet into this place.
She shivers when her feet hit the hardwood, snagging the throw blanket from the chest at the foot of her bed. Her jaw cracks as she yawns on the walk to the living room, coffee already brewed thanks to the timed machine, a gift from her father. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she pours some into a clean mug. The first sip makes her swear, swallowing hard as she yanks open the fridge to check the date on the carton for the cream. Kate tosses the liquid into the sink, watching the pale brown stain the basin for a moment before pouring more coffee, keeping it black and bitter. With the cup cradled close to her chest, she goes up the stairs to the terrace.
The chill of the morning breeze nips at her when she sits in the wrought iron chair, propping her feet up on the low stone wall. Kate balances the coffee mug on her knee as she relaxes into the chair, calling up the Times on her phone. There is a single mention of the return of the stolen jewels to the Irish History Museum but nothing about who delivered them to the curator. Good.
In the middle of an article on a politician who was hospitalized overnight for a blood clot, her phone vibrates.
"Beckett," she answers.
"You're back," says Washington.
She curls her toes against the stone. "Can't give me a day's peace, can you?" she groans, taking a sip of her coffee. "What's up?"
"Got something for you." Before she can protest, the words already in her throat, he continues. "You'll want this one. Hawaii."
"I'm on vacation."
"Vacation in Hawaii would be nice," he suggests.
Kate shakes her head even though he can't see the movement. "No. A job in Hawaii is not the same as vacation in Hawaii. I'm taking a break. A week, sir. I just want a week. Goodb-"
"Wait! Beckett, it's part of the Charlotte Hotel theft."
She pauses.
"Got you," he chuckles. "Source says he might have a lead on some of the diamonds. In Hawaii. I figured you'd want to be in on it but if you're on vacation..."
"Give me another day, okay? E-mail me the info and I'll look for flights tomorrow night."
She hangs up on him, putting the phone in her lap. Was a single week really too much to ask for? One week is all she wanted. A week to get back in touch with her own life, to settle down again before throwing herself back into work. But the Charlotte Hotel theft is different. That one's personal.
That was her mom.
That was the one that killed her.
No. She's on vacation.
Kate turns her phone off and puts it on the little table. Vacation. She can do this. She can sit on her terrace and drink her coffee and watch the sun rise against the neighboring building.
Except the breeze picks up, ruffling her unbrushed hair and tickling a chilly line over her collar so she gathers her things and moves back into the warmth of her apartment. The sun still seeps into the living room windows which means it's flooding her bedroom too. Going back to sleep isn't going to happen, especially not with even the hint of this case stuck in the back of her mind.
The clock on her microwave says it's nearly six forty five. The coffee shop down the block doesn't open for another fifteen minutes but that gives her time to get dressed. She can stop by the Duane-Reade and grab some food on the way back.
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose green top, she regards the still-dark phone on her dresser. She needs to turn it on and see if Lanie's around for breakfast. She ignores the messages that pop up from Washington, scrolling through her contacts to her friend's name.
"Hey, Lanie," she says, switching the phone to speaker so that she can brush out her hair and talk at the same time.
"You back from Ireland?" her friend asks.
"Yeah."
"Gonna tell me about it?"
"Nope," Kate says, as she reaches back to braid her hair. "Can't. You know that."
Lanie sighs. "Worth a try. You at least find some hot Celtic guy to loosen you up?"
Kate ignores her friend. "Listen, I'm going to grab breakfast. Want to meet up?"
"Can't. Already at work and just waiting on a double homicide to get to me. But how about dinner sometime?"
She flips back to the earpiece, cradling the phone in the curve of her shoulder. "Sounds good." She hears the swish of the autopsy doors. "You've got to go. I'll call later and we can figure out a day, okay?"
"Stay safe, Beckett," Lanie warns before the phone goes silent.
When she looks down at the screen, there's another message from Washington. She deletes it without reading past the first few words. She slides her feet into the flats, tucking her phone and wallet into the pocket of her light summer jacket before starting down the street for the coffee shop.
She buys a medium coffee and a slice of banana bread and starts back toward the apartment. It's warm, the wind playing with the short strands of hair that escaped from her braid. She walks slowly, watching the toddlers playing on the little playground in the park near her building. It makes her wonder if her mother was ever the parent running after her child, making sure she didn't fall on the monkey bars or if Johanna sat back and let her daughter make her own mistakes and learn from them.
"I need you on this. Today."
She jumps. Some of her coffee sloshes out of the cut in the lid, burning her hand. "Shit, Washington," she hisses, turning to face the man sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree. "Sir, I said I'd do it tomorrow. Give me the day."
Washington gets on his feet and follows her as she circles the park. "I know. But there's new information You need to be there now."
"Respectfully, I really don't. I want to be in my apartment. Goodbye, sir."
"Beckett." He says it just loud enough, with just enough steel behind it, that she pauses. "Castle's going after the jewels too. He's there now."
She spins, her eyes narrowing. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."