"Martin, the Director on Line 1."

He picked up the phone. "Martin Danberg, sir." (Pause)

"Yes sir, I understand. She is apparently on the island of Melos in the Aegean Sea. Mr. Castle is not with her. She appears to be on an extended vacation." (Pause)

"Sir, I would request an entry in my service record indicating that the actions we are considering are legal…yes sir, I understand…a drone and Hellfire missile will not work. But sir, terminate with extreme prejudice?..." (Pause)

"Yes sir, I'm on my way." Hanging up, he punched the intercom button. "Susan, get me on the evening American flight out of Dulles to Rome. Call the station and tell them I'm coming…and will need further transportation to the island of Melos. Thanks."

He hoped that Susan had overheard his conversation with the Director. Might come in handy at a Congressional hearing if things went south on this one.

He punched the intercom button again. "And after you're done booking flights, could you get me Jordan Shaw please? Thanks."

The sun slipped above the azure Aegean Sea, casting the landscape in harsh morning light. The white sand of the beach was warm beneath her feet as she jogged along the coast heading towards the stone amphitheater that was to be the sight of her trial. This was to be the day that determined if she was ready to rejoin the New York Police Department. It was to be a tough, vigorous test, for a reversal here meant much more than the need for additional training and conditioning. It meant a probable end to her career as a cop, and she did not know what she would do if that happened.

The months since her brutal beating at the hands of Cole Maddox had been particularly hard for New York Police Department Detective Kate Beckett. Medical care and physical therapy had helped repair the most serious damage to her left arm and shoulder. At five foot nine inches and 135 pounds she looked like the epitome of a physically fit woman nearing her mid-30s.

But the damaged inflicted by Maddox had been much more than physical. For while her wounds had for the most part healed, her ability to overcome the fear of being badly beaten again if she should encounter Maddox presented a more formidable challenge she had yet to overcome. To put it bluntly, Kate Beckett was afraid; afraid of being beaten again, afraid of posing a danger to her fellow detectives on her team, and afraid that her inability to deal with a physical situation would put her lover in harm's way.

Chief Gates had sensed the problem when she was debriefed by Doctor Burke. She had not accepted Beckett's resignation; there were bureaucratic paperwork wickets to be cleared before the detective's hasty action would be reflected in the 12th Precinct's personnel roster. Gates had hoped Beckett would continue seeing Burke, her medical benefits were still extant, and was relieved when the doctor expressed to the chief, despite doctor-patient privilege, his belief that she was not ready to return to full active duty.

Beckett's relationship with Castle had certainly helped in the healing process. She felt loved in a way that she never been since her mother's passing. He was lavish in his devotion and attention to her needs, sparing no expense. She was eating better than ever before, spending about half her time either in his loft or out at the Hamptons, with the full acceptance of both Martha and Alexis. Her sex life, once almost an afterthought in the daily grind in the 12th, was now a much larger part of her life. She found her physical relationship with Castle both liberating and celebratory at the same time. And even though she had stayed away from the 12th, she and Castle had spent considerable off duty hours with the boys and Lanie.

But…but…something was still not right. Rick knew it. Early on he had sensed her hesitation when they talked about her going back into the line of work she was clearly good at, maybe not with the NYPD, but perhaps in another local area, or the Hamptons, or even as a private investigator. But over the ensuing months, Castle began to feel that it was more than just hesitation and uncertainty on her part. Sometimes at night, after a oftentimes torrid bout of sex, as they were both drifting off to sleep, his hand would inadvertently drop on to Kate's left shoulder or finely muscled abdomen. She would flinch, sit up, and vainly try to suppress a mild tremor that was clearly evident even in the dim bedroom light. Castle had initially been able to ease her back down into a horizontal position, wrapping his arms around her to still her trembling. But of late, his lover would resist his efforts, get up, put on a robe, and go into the study or living room were Castle would find her laid out in an uneasy sprawl or wrapped in a fetal position in the morning.

She refused to talk about it, saying it was just his hyperactive imagination that perceived her "problem." So he elected to try all sorts of remedies. At his instigation, almost nightly sexual activity pushed the envelope, physically, further than either of them had ever gone with each other. They had enjoyed numerous weekends in the Hamptons away from both Martha and Alexis, had camped for a week in the Adirondacks, and had even taken a long hike on part of the Appalachian Trail that traversed New York and Massachusetts. Kate's endurance, stamina, and strength were better than he ever recalled. She could outlast Castle easily now, be it on a hiking trail, running along the Long Island Sound, or in bed. But still…still…something was not right. He sensed it, and did not know any further remedies he could suggest.

Beckett, of course, did know. She was afraid. Not the post-traumatic stress disorder she had suffered from previously after being shot, but a different kind of fear, that of physical confrontation. Even with the bruises to her neck, sides, and abdomen long since healed, she could still feel Cole Maddox's clubbing blows to her neck, the repeated knees into her stomach and groin that had preceded her being thrown off the hotel roof. She had tried all sorts of physical activity to overcome her fear. Aside from the normal conditioning and strength routines, she had increasingly worked on a heavy bag, not at the 12th Precinct gym, but at a private gym that Rick frequented when the "fatigue" of writing required some physical outlet other than sex. She would finish a strenuous workout soaked in sweat, take off the light gloves, strip down and take a long hot shower…and then at night…in bed…her fears would return.

Beckett finally decided she needed to face her fear of a physical encounter head on. Boxing or martial arts was an option, but she knew she needed to be placed in a situation where her very existence would again be called into question. Yes, Maddox was probably available, if she really wanted to die, but barring that, she needed to participate in some sort of encounter where she would be tried physically far beyond the acceptable norms of western culture, or at least the laws of New York City.

In the early fall an opportunity arose. Paula was insisting that Castle go on a European book tour. The Nicki Heat series was as popular internationally as stateside. Translations into Spanish, German, Italian and French guaranteed any book signings in European capitals would be well attended. The publisher was willing to bankroll a four week tour, recognition that like the movie industry, the book publishing business was getting an increasing part of its revenues from foreign sales.

Castle was willing to go, as long as Kate could go with him. The publisher said "yes," after Nicki Heat was the subject of the bestselling series, but the writer was surprised when his lover suggested she spend most of the month somewhere in the Mediterranean, soaking up the sun, and continuing her physical conditioning, while he faced his devoted fans in Paris, Berlin, Warsaw, Prague, Vienna, and Rome. Castle was surprised and somewhat disappointed that "Nicki Heat" would not be with him. But her enthusiasm for her "southern venture" as she called it was infectious. He agreed, and told the publisher he would cover Kate's travel on his own.

And as usual, he knew someone…who knew someone…that suggested that what the New York detective was looking for in terms of climate, relaxation, and physical training could best be found on the Greek island of Melos in the Aegean Sea southeast of Athens. There were quaint resort villas to be rented, gorgeous beaches for sunbathing and running, and a gymnasia as it was called on the internet, that featured physical conditioning in the classic manner of the ancient Melonians and Greeks.

The two lovers would part company in Paris. Rick would begin the "rigors" of book signings and starlit parties, while his better half caught a flight to Athens, and headed south on a tourist boat that made weekly calls at Melos. No internet, no phones…God what would he do? He would miss her so much. But Kate was clearly happy with the overseas arrangements. The day before they flew out of JFK she had her long tresses cut back to the shorter version she had worn when she had first met Castle more than four years ago.

He packed three suitcases for the book tour. She packed for the Greek isles and Mediterranean in an overnight bag suitable for a weekend in the Hamptons.

In Paris they had one day and night together. They took in the Louvre, where one of the exhibits they viewed was the Venus de Melos. The ancient sculpture, though shorn of its arms over the centuries, was the embodiment of classical beauty in ancient times: thick thighs, large breasts and, at least by modern standards of beauty, a bit overweight. As Castle lay in bed at night, gazing at the toned muscles, firm curves, and strong thighs of his lover, he whispered, "Kate, don't turn into a modern version of that woman."

Beckett rolled towards him, her lithe frame punctuated by breasts perfectly proportioned for her size. "Don't worry Rick. I'll be a good girl. No Greek goddesses for me. Think Xena Warrior princess instead."

Castle momentarily fantasized on Beckett being dressed up in black leathers and silver studs, but drove the vision out of his mind. It would be hard enough being away from her almost a month; no need to think of her as some modern day Athena smoting the Trojans before the mighty gates of Troy. Instead, he whispered, "And let your hair grow back out," and kissed her lightly on the shoulder. She needed no further invitation and rolled on top of him for their final bout of torrid lovemaking before going their separate ways.

About the time Castle began his third day of book signing at still another Parisian bookstore, the tourist boat tied up at the wharf in Melos. Beckett lightly stepped on to shore and looked for the owner of the villa she had arranged to stay at for her sojourn. A stooped, weathered old man lingering at the edge of the crowd of people debarking for what the tourist pamphlets promised to be a "very peaceful place for a rest, full of lots of magic places where times seems to have stopped."

A brief nod of the head assured Beckett that he was her man. Closing him, she queried, "Kate Beckett…?"

He smiled. "Yes, so glad to meet you. I trust you had a safe trip. These are difficult times for us Greeks, with the economy. There are so many cutbacks affecting the tourist trade. I hope the food and courtesy of the crew met your approval."

"Yes, everything was fine," she replied, but admitted to herself she was glad to be on dry land again. A sailor she was not.

"Good, I am Artemis. I own the villa you are staying in, and the gymnasia that, if I understand Mr. Castle correctly, you want to use during your stay with us."

The Greek and New York detective began walking up the hill together, deep in conversation as to what she wanted to experience during her stay. At one point in the conversation he stopped and shook his head. "No, I will not arrange that. What if you are hurt?"

Beckett replied, "I will sign whatever release forms you require. You will not be liable. I thought you had agreed to my terms with Mr. Castle before."

"Yes, I did. But he did not mention that." Of course he didn't, thought Beckett, because I never told him.

"Well, you have your money…and I suspect Rick has been overly generous to ensure you fulfill my every desire. I will not be a bother to you. I am here for a special purpose."

"Artemis, you need to help me on this. I know of no other way to get my life back. I love Castle, but do not know if that will be sufficient for me for the rest of my life. I need a job, and being a cop is what I know…and do best…or at least it was. But I cannot return to active duty the way I am right now. I need my confidence restored…I am tired of being afraid."

Nearing the top of the hill, the wizened Greek looked at her. Tears were welling in her eyes, her left arm grasping his in desperation. He stopped. "Okay, I will see what I can do. I think I know of a place that might have what you are looking for. I will not promise…but will make every effort to find what you want."

"Thank you," Beckett replied, and lightly kissed him on his forehead. "Now show me my villa."

Beckett slowed down to a walk as she neared the top of the small rise on which the gymnasia was located. In the early morning light she looked around her, but could see no sign of her opponent, or anyone for that matter, enroute. So she elected to do some additional bending and stretching before the beginning of the contest. The hot Mediterranean sun felt good on her smoothly taught muscles. The low angle of the sun cast a sharp shadow on the ground below, elongating her firm curves, and stretching out her already long legs and firm, strong thighs. "How Castle would love to see how I look now," she thought. "No Venus de Melos here!"

She felt good. The sun, heat, and Mediterranean diet had further improved her already sleek body. She had always been proud of her physical attributes, and almost two weeks on Melos had done nothing but accentuate her highly toned figure, improving what already had made her the envy of the other female cops in the 12th, or in the entire NYPD for that matter. Her running briefs were high and tapered sensuously towards her groin, the fine chord at their top gliding over her shapely hips. Her running shirt, knotted about her waist, covered her sports bra ripe with the swell of her breasts. No, she wasn't a Marilyn Monroe…or a Venus de Melos…type. She smiled thinking of Castle's concerns, but her breasts, "points way up firm and high" as Bob Seger had sung in "Night Moves," complemented the rest of her body's overall layout. Even thinking about her body resulted in a gathering warmth in her center, betraying her longing for Castle, to lay with him, to feel his own heat, his lips, those delicious fingers that always knew what she wanted…and where. Oh how she longed to feel him, long and engorged, within her to the hilt. She missed him, God how she missed him.

But this had to be done. Either she could…or she couldn't…go back to the 12th. She had to know…and she thought that in the end Castle would understand why she had done what she was about to do.

She entered at the top of the ancient stone amphitheater of Melos, built during the 5th century BC after the sacking of Melos by the Athenians (yes Beckett did read). The "NYPD Homicide Hottie" as she had once been described in a magazine article (which she hated and blamed Castle's publisher for) marveled at the ancient construction hewn out of the side of the hill above an inlet from the Aegean. But any contemplation of ancient rites and times were stillborn as she spied her opponent on the floor of the theater, still deeply enshrouded in morning shadows.

Beckett carefully walked down the steps of the amphitheater towards the rock strewn floor. Approaching the bottom, she could more clearly see her adversary. She noted the muscularity in the thick shoulders, pronounced pectorals, and broad back of the woman whom Artemis had told her was a Sicilian bouncer in one of the local bars. Her thick, hard calf muscles and quadriceps that rippled at the slightest movement offset narrow hips and a firm, tight waist. Her breasts, larger than Beckett's but still reflective of an athletic woman who worked out, were covered in a leather-stretched halter, laced together with whipcord at the front. A matching leather-framed muslin wrapping covered her womanhood and buttocks. Her forearms, biceps and triceps stood out in bold relief, attesting to many hours in the local gymnasia. With the exception of dark hair visible under armpits, her entire body shimmered in a light coating of oil which she apparently had just finished applying

Beckett's request had been granted. Artemis was convinced that any male opponent he selected would be noticed by the local constabulary and cause all sorts of complications. But more latitude would be granted to a female adversary, and however reluctantly he had followed the American's wishes. He had chosen well. Zenobia, probably not her real name but no one cared to know since she was taking her wages under the table, was a bouncer at one of the local bars. Her normal prey were drunk northern European or American tourists who were getting too familiar with the barmaids who were willing to meet their demands…but only up to a particular point. When the customers got too familiar with the help, Zenobia would be called upon. Though her services were infrequently required, she kept in shape for any possible infraction. So when approached by Artemis, who had seen her in action, she responded willingly, particularly when accompanied by an amount of cash worth more than a month's work in the bar. So an American woman wanted a fight in the ancient arena? That was a strange request, but she had never backed away from a challenge, particularly one that paid so well. With the wages earned for this single encounter she could return to Catania on the next boat. Let the games begin.