Dreams of Future Past
Chapter 1
Kate's fingers were slipping, and her feet could find no purchase. The man who had put a bullet in her chest had thrown her over the edge of the roof like a rag doll, but right now her thoughts were far from him. They were only of the man who said he loved her; the man who'd tried to keep her from plunging into the abyss; the man she'd pushed away. Her vision blurred, and her breath came in gasps as time swirled backward.
The line stretched around the block. She was cold. The bookstore was hosting signings in preparation for the Christmas rush. She could feel the wind chapping her cheeks as she thrust her gloved hands into her pockets and pulled her coat tightly around her body. She was going to see him. She had to see him. Richard Castle's books had been her lifeline. Every one of them had been on her mother's shelf. Kate could feel her presence as reading them swept her into a world where flawed men were nonetheless heroes who could love women of intelligence and strength. Johanna had possessed those qualities and more, and Kate wished she had her mother's faith that God never gave anyone more than they could handle. But it seemed that on that awful day when Detective John Raglan had shown up to break the heart-rending news, God had broken that promise. Kate was desperately trying to keep things together, both for herself and her father, who was seeking solace not in the pages of a book but the depths of a bottle. The line led to the source of the only comfort Kate had left, and she would stand in it for as long as it took to reach him.
The first thing Kate noticed about Richard Castle was his eyes. They were blue, but not the watery blue that gazed out blandly from the faces of bimbos. His orbs were tinged with gray and attention as he looked up at her and smiled. "Who should I make it out to?"
She swallowed as her throat tightened around the words. "Kate, my name is Kate."
He extended his arm to her. "Lovely to meet you, Kate, I'm Rick."
His hand dwarfed her slender fingers within it. She could feel the warmth from it flowing through her. She held on as long as she could until he gently pulled away to sign her book. "To Kate, may your days become brighter and your footsteps sure on the path ahead. Richard Castle."
It wasn't what she'd expected from the master of the clever quip. It was as if he'd sensed her grief. She couldn't help but smile back, even as tears threatened to well in her eyes. "Thank you."
Kate had only to glance at the crime scene to recognize the tableau. Sunflowers on the eyes and rose petals providing modesty for the body. It was from Flowers for Your Grave by Richard Castle. Her heart thudded against her ribs at the devastating possibility that Castle, Rick, could have something to do with the murder. It wasn't likely. Probably some deranged killer had used the book as a template for his crime. Still, she would have to question Castle. She had firmly commanded her face to show no hint of a smile at that thought - not in front of Ryan and Esposito. As she teased them about their lack of literary acumen, she worked hard to suppress her excitement at seeing Castle again.
The book party was raucous and full of sycophantic fans, mostly women. Richard Castle was talking to none of them. He was conversing with a teenager with red hair. She'd read somewhere that he had a daughter, although he made no mention of it on his website. If she were in his shoes, she wouldn't have either. There were too many crazies looking to kidnap the child of a famous actor or author.
She didn't expect him to remember her. It had been almost 10 years since she had been one of many fans vying for his attention. And she didn't really want him to. Then, she had been a teenager struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Now she was in charge, and she intended to stay that way. She flashed her badge.
She regarded him as he stared at her across the table in interrogation. He looked a little drunk and unlike most of the people she questioned, excited rather than scared to be there. And he was coming on to her. That was both exhilarating and disquieting. If the fact that a murder had taken place was disturbing to him, he didn't show it.
When she'd flipped through his file, he'd seemed more like a spoiled child than the compassionate man who'd read the sorrow in her eyes and written words of encouragement. Perhaps he'd changed - and not for the better. Or maybe the eyes of a troubled teen had seen just what they wanted to see. But, just for a moment, when he'd offered to let her spank him, she was tempted to take him up on it.
He kept gazing at her as they went through his fan letters together. He insisted that he was there for the story. When she challenged him to come up with hers, he was right on target. She felt as if he'd stripped her bare with just a few words. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She did neither. She couldn't understand her own feelings and she sure as hell couldn't understand his. That was the most maddening thing of all.
Kate could see the sympathy in Castle's eyes - oh God, those eyes - when he looked at Kyle. She was sure that the developmentally disabled young man had killed Alison Tisdale. It was her job to see that Alison and the other victims received justice. In some small way, it helped her feel a little better despite knowing that her mother had not.
Castle seemed more concerned with her suspect than closing the case. She was infuriated and relieved at the same time. This Castle was more the man she remembered; the one who had shown compassion to a girl he'd never met before and never expected to meet again. It was confusing. He was confusing her. She shook it off. She was the cop. He was only a writer, even if he was too insightful for comfort.
She saw the gun pointed at Castle's head, and she was terrified. She'd tried her best to keep him out of harm's way, but he didn't listen. He never listened. He did exactly what he wanted to do no matter what she did. Even handcuffing him hadn't helped. And now the idiot was going to get himself killed. She was wondering if she could make the shot; take out Alison's brother without hitting Castle, when Rick made his move, clocking and disarming the killer. When he'd smugly announced that he was never in any danger because the safety had been on the whole time, she'd wanted to kill him herself. But she still wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him so long and so hard that he would be as confused as she was. But she had a murderer to take into custody.