Close Encounters 17: On the Secret Service
for cartographical,
my very own little jungle parasite,
whose story it is anyway
It wasn't home, but it would have to do.
Kate settled stiffly into the chair in the spacious living room and surveyed the layout of their cover apartment. On an sports agent's accountant's salary, her husband Richard Rodgers did fairly well for himself; they apparently collected a few nice art pieces, had expensive furniture, bought expensive spring water in glass bottles.
The living area offered large windows to the city beyond, while the master bedroom was off the hallway to the right. A second room was set up as a study just before it, but it could easily have been a guest room. The kitchen was to the left of the front door, just beyond a seating area that included a gas fireplace. Since it was an open floor plan, the dining room merged seamlessly between the living room and kitchen.
Modern, spacious for the city, a little room to grow.
She liked it, strangely enough. She liked the whole place. It seemed right for a woman who'd found love with an accountant, a woman who'd left behind all her dark places.
"I hate it," Castle called out from the bedroom.
She tried not to laugh; it hurt too much. Her ribs were hot knife points into her vital organs. "Oh, sweetheart. That's because it doesn't have a panic room."
"Exactly," he said with relish, coming down the hall and into the living room with the dog at his heels. "How the hell are we supposed to get any sleep?"
She didn't expect to be spending the night - they'd arrest her soon enough - but she didn't say that. "I'm sure we'll think of something," she murmured.
He sank down onto the arm of her chair and she felt it shudder ominously. "Get off, super spy," she laughed. "You're gonna break the chair."
He gave the chair a scowl and stood up again, turned to Kate once more. "Get up, then. Sit somewhere I can get close."
She grunted, tried to keep the laughter from cracking her ribs. "Fine. Then help me up. I can barely move."
"You did too much," he murmured, suddenly soft, all the bluster gone from his voice. He eased her upright, took her weight as he got her to her feet. "You should rest. Sleep if you can. I've got ice packs. I may only be an accountant, but I still know how to take care of you."
She melted into him, caught off-guard by the tenderness. She'd been steeling herself for battle this morning, armoring her heart and her hope against the reality of her situation, but he'd just knocked it all down, found the darkest, most vulnerable part of her.
"I love you," she murmured.
He cupped the back of her head and pressed in as close as he seemed to dare, but she didn't care about her ribs. She wedged herself into his arms, as tightly as she could, even if it hurt. He brushed a kiss to her forehead, traveled down her eyelid and her cheek, like he couldn't reassure himself about her continued existence.
"Thank you," she whispered, "for taking care of me."
His grip tightened reflexively, making it hurt, but she needed that too. His kiss dusted across her lips and he sighed. "When we're done with this, when it's settled out, I want to take you away."
"Away?"
"For - fun," he garbled, like the words were strange in his mouth. "A second honeymoon or - just - I want to love you right."
"You do," she assured him, trying to press closer, closer. It wasn't enough and she knew she kept accidentally flinching. "You love me just right, Castle." She curled her arms in against him, her cheek brushing his. "But I won't say no to some fun."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere?" she asked.
"Anywhere. Anything. Any-"
She laughed and curled her fingers in his dress shirt; he'd dressed up for this. Like he had to make a good impression, the accountant husband. "Then Cyprus. We were interrupted last time."
"You got so drunk," he laughed. The sound bounced around in the space, echoing, and she could see how her alias liked this apartment so much. It filled up when he laughed.
"I may have been buzzed," she allowed.
"You were drunk. Happy drunk."
"You made me happy; the drunk was incidental."
He grunted, appreciating that one, apparently, and he finally released his too-tight embrace, though he didn't let go. "Okay. Cyprus. We'll celebrate - without the drinking - and be plenty happy." His thumb was skimming a circle around her belly button.
"I'm happy now," she said. And yes, she couldn't breathe deeply and it hurt to just stand here, but she actually was.
He stared at her a long moment and then his hands cupped her jaw and he kissed her. He kissed her like she had something special and he was hoping to find it too.
Castle broke down the layout for his wife, but he made her stay on the living room couch, brought in the pieces of their security system for her inspection. Sasha stayed with her, the puppy's head in her lap as if to weigh her down, keep her there.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was unraveling, falling apart around him despite his best efforts.
"Espo is right next door with surveillance on the roof, the hallway, the elevators, the lobby, and the entrances. There is roof access and escape if necessary." He handed her the schematic on his phone. "You press this and you get to see what he sees."
"It's like a portable panic room," she murmured, lifting her face to give him a wink.
"Not even close," he growled. Panic room meant safe and closed up and no one could get to them. This was just knowing who was coming to take Kate - and he didn't like that. "The couch here converts, so does the coffee table."
"Converts... into a bed?"
He snorted and sat down, landing hard on the padded ottoman the security schematic called a coffee table. He thumped his fist into it and heard the echo of steel. "It's reinforced, holds an arsenal. So does that couch you're sitting on. Trigger release is on the phone, or you can fumble around underneath. Let me show you."
He stood once more, ran his fingers under the lip of the padded ottoman. It came open silently and he raised the lid, showed her how to detach it to use it as makeshift shielding. In the base were the weapons stored for easy access, everything ready to go, and he brought one out carefully.
"A Glock," she murmured, rousing. He watched her sit upright and take the weapon from him, handling the matte black semi-auto with precision. Even with her ribs so bruised she could barely breathe, Kate Beckett was adept; she was a professional and paying strict attention, and he knew he could count on her if the worst happened.
She had his back.
"Four more in here, as well as an automatic shotgun."
"I miss ours at home," she sighed. "The one we brought back from the Congo. That piece handles so smoothly."
"This one has a catch at the trigger," he admitted. "Designed that way - to make you hesitate and think about it or some shit."
She smiled at him, that slow smile of heat and suggestive behavior, and he had to take the weapon back from her before he got too caught up in it.
"All right. Enough of that, Beckett. Now. The couch does the same," he muttered, replacing the Glock. She did this to him every time - how easily he fell into wanting her. It seemed to be worse now because he couldn't touch her without hurting her ribs, like wanting what he couldn't have.
His phone buzzed suddenly in Kate's hands, making her flinch. Castle stroked the side of her neck in apology, taking the phone from her to check the ID. "It's Mason."
He answered, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder so he could offer Kate a hand. The dog jumped off the couch, and Castle helped Kate upright even as Mason started in on it.
"Fuck, man. What the hell? I come home to this?"
"Mase. It's just kind of a-"
"Fucking mess. You saved my ass in Prague - me and Marin both - and so we owe you. I'm here. Whatever you need. Mitch says you're at the apartment. I'll come spell the new guy, take a turn on watch."
"Mason, we're-"
"I got this. You're covered." And then the phone clicked off. Castle met Kate's eyes with a shake of his head.
"Mason's coming?" she smiled.
"Yeah, sounds like it. I don't know where his wife is. Or if she even came in with him."
"I'd like to meet her, if she's in. He's a little hot-headed, but he's a good man."
"Sure," Castle grumbled, but he helped Kate get her balance and then nudged her towards the bedroom. "I'll show you the features in the bedroom."
"You're just trying to trick me into bed."
"Do I have to trick you to get you into bed?"
She would have bumped his hip or nudged his shoulder, he knew, but because she couldn't, she pinched his elbow instead, the skin right above where it was sensitive. He hissed and shot her a dirty look for it, found her laughing at him silently.
"You never even tried the tricks," she told him. "You just bullied your way in."
She woke alone with a shout, panic skittering down her ribs and made her breath too short.
"Hey, you're okay," he murmured, crawling into bed with her.
She clutched hard at his shirt, bewildered by the dream and the way it burst across her vision even now.
"Kate, hey, what is it?" He was drawing an arm under her neck and tugging her into place where he wanted her. "Tell me. You need to talk about it."
No.
Still the horror was scalding, a thing she couldn't flinch away from, not now. Castle was trying to be easy about her ribs and she didn't need easy - she needed hard. Something to jar her awake.
"You were having a dream," he said. "I could hear you all the way from the kitchen."
That was a shove in the right direction. She fixed her eyes on him and let it out of her mouth. "He died right in front me. Malone died right in front of me."
"I'm so sorry, Kate," he whispered. His forehead came down to hers and his hand to the back of her head, so heavy. She slid her knee between on his on the bed and tried to find a place that didn't hurt with every breath.
Talk, keep talking. Find words for it because already it was dragging her back into sleep and she couldn't do that again.
"Mal was - like a little brother," she rasped. "Kind of a dork. And happy, and always trying to please me. And then he'd do some annoying thing and be all proud of himself. He came up to me on the sidewalk out of breath because he'd been hurrying. Hurrying to meet me."
She fell silent, heard the whimper in her throat she couldn't contain. Castle's fingers curled in her hair, cupping her neck, the pressure building behind her eyes. It was too bright for this, still only one in the afternoon, such a beautiful blue sky coming in through the window over his shoulder.
"What else, Kate?" he murmured. "Tell me."
"He had some printouts in a satchel. That's all. Just printouts with misspellings we'd found and wanted clarification. But he was so eager to do it right. He put them in a locked case. It - it saved my life."
"How's that?" Castle husked. His voice was right at her cheekbone, his body a wall before her, his arms around her to keep her off her bad hip. She was trapped. It felt good to be caught.
"Bracken was worried it had something important. Some damning piece of evidence. And he wanted me to open it. They weren't going to keep my alive for long, but it was just enough time to get my hands free. Malone saved my life."
He let out a ragged breath at her jaw and nudged his nose against hers, his cheek scraping as his kiss grazed her ear.
"I saw him shot in front of me," she whispered. "He was - so surprised. And then the blood bloomed so big on his chest that I remember thinking it had to be a Springfield Rifle because the entrance wound was so - he bled so much."
Castle grunted and his grip at her neck made her suck in a too-deep breath, the ache everywhere now, every bone, and deeper. She hoped, suddenly - like a blaze of fire in the darkness - that the ache didn't touch the little thing curled inside her. She didn't want the baby to feel this.
"It was a .45-70," he confirmed. "Accuracy of about 300 yards, unless it's a professional sniper, then maybe 600. Prelim ballistics suggest drive-by, shooting on approach from the SUV that came up behind you."
Over before it had started.
She nodded, her hand gripping his forearm, trying to ride out the agony that had built between her ribs just as clearly as the ache pressing deeper. It could've been her - a poorer shot wouldn't have taken into account the rainbow effect to the bullet's trajectory or perhaps misjudged it, and she'd be the one on the sidewalk in blood.
"I don't want to think about it," she moaned.
His fingers pressed between her vertebrae, bumping along her spine at her neck. "Then don't. Don't, love. I just - I'm glad to hear it, to know, and I think it's better out. Not trapped inside."
Instinctively, her response was no. But she'd been so long in therapy now that she knew how to drag it out of herself and offer it up. And maybe it helped, having Castle share the weight of Malone's blood blooming like a rose on his chest.
Maybe sharing the burden would keep it from weighing down and drowning the fragile thing inside her.
She dozed with him that afternoon, and she thought maybe he actually had fallen asleep a few times under her. He wasn't soft by any means, but he was strangely comfortable. The mattress was just like their own at home, but her body ached too badly to let her have meaningful sleep.
Sasha came and went, not looking happy about the strange-smelling apartment, but she jostled the bed whenever she jumped up with them, and it startled Kate awake every time. Castle would pet them both, Kate as if to keep her settled and the dog in greeting.
She woke once in the middle of some kind of paralyzing nightmare, grateful when it didn't cling, and she shifted away from Castle, overheated. She knew then that he'd fallen asleep - and deeply - because his arm flexed around her ribs and made her breath catch, but he was too out of it to hold on to her. She slid out of bed trying not to wake him - or the pain lying in wait in her bones.
Sasha jumped down with her, rubbing against Kate's leg as she padded ahead of her through the hallway. Kate moved slowly, getting water from the fridge, and finally came back to the bed. She was restless and her ribs ached, so she stayed upright, sipping her water, and Sasha looked up at her from the floor as if equally unsettled.
Kate found herself drawn to the news from the outside world, clicking on the television and watching it on mute. The station was showing the lurid video footage of her bashing Bracken in the face with her weapon at his fundraiser. It'd been the right move at the time; she didn't regret it. But it certainly looked bad.
And then the closed captions came up on the screen and gave details, private details, and she jerked towards the remote to turn the volume up. The news anchor blared through the speakers and Castle grunted awake, but she couldn't look away from the television.
"What the hell?" he groaned. The dog whined from the floor and scuttled off, back down the hallway.
"How do they know that? How do they know-" She cut herself off, swallowing hard and pressing her lips closed. Her stomach churned and she stared at the television, assaulted by her own life.
The anchor was doing an in-depth report on Detective Beckett's 'lurid' past, her mother's crime scene photos on a slideshow. And then the information about her mother's murder that had never gone to the press, that had been held back because of its distinguishing characteristics: the pattern of knife wounds.
And then video footage of Coonan's body as it was being wheeled from the offices of his charity, just weeks after his own brother's death, the sheet pulled over his face. The Westies were being interviewed on camera about how it was a police vendetta, how she'd have taken them all out if she could. She was clearly crazy; she wanted revenge.
"Kate," Rick said quietly.
"No, how could they know this? The knife wounds and Coonan and-" She felt his hand on her shoulder but she wouldn't let him draw her back into an embrace. "This isn't normal stuff - they didn't have time to dig up archival footage of Coonan's death - not to mention your father had the CIA scrub that site clean. How did they ever get this?"
"From Black," he said finally. "Don't think he hasn't been saving up every damaging thing on you he possibly could, waiting for a day like this. He's connecting the dots for the press, for the FBI, for the public. In fact, I'm sure this was all his idea, his doing - sic Bracken on you and hope you guys did his dirty work for him, take each other out."
"And we did," she whispered. Her guts twisted and she pressed her hand to her stomach, tried to hold herself together. "Bracken came after me and I killed him. And now look."
"Bracken came after you," Castle growled. "He kidnapped you and would have shot you in the woods, Kate. You and our son. You did exactly what you had to do."
She closed her eyes and sank back into the mattress, but Castle caught her, dragged her against him. It hurt, God, it hurt, but she needed it. Needed something to keep her together. Onscreen, pictures of Coonan and his charity work were slowly poisoning the world against her. Coonan had stabbed Castle that night, but of course, that was never mentioned.
And never could be.
Castle turned her towards him, away from the tv screen. He cupped his hand at the back of her neck, his forehead pressed to hers. "You did exactly right. There was nothing else you could have done. We're going to beat this because you didn't do anything wrong."
She hadn't done anything she didn't have to do. But to kill a man? To kill him, when her whole life she had wanted to be better than him. Better than that.
If she could've gotten her hands on a weapon before his fucking goons had kicked her, she'd have killed him then. Before he ever aimed at her.
For Malone. For the baby. For Castle.
For her mother.
And while she was still attempting to come to grips with that, the news report went on, playing an audio file and publishing the transcript on the screen.
It was her voice. It was her broken, dark voice, hers alone, no one else on the recording.
She was talking to herself. She sounded insane.
"That's - oh God - that's from when the NSA bugged my apartment," she moaned. "Fuck, Castle. I sound unhinged."
Castle cursed and turned off the television, and for a brief moment, she thought he might pick it up and throw it across the room. But instead he only turned to her and brought her in against his chest.
It was agony - every movement was agony - but she didn't let go of him.
"You aren't that," he rasped. "You aren't like that any more, Kate. We're done with that. We can prove that's not you."
But the problem was, there was no proof to offer up. They couldn't call in Dr King for her defense; he was a CIA shrink and for the sake of the agents who came to him, he couldn't be burned.
She had no way to prove she wasn't that insane, obsessive woman - no way to prove that she had found her own kind of closure in this, her work with him at the CIA. Because no one could know about the CIA, no one could ever find out.
Castle stroked the hair off her neck, tried to ignore the faint sheen of tears in her eyes. She was struggling not to let it affect her, and he saw the battle on her face, but he knew it had to be done. Not just because they couldn't show weakness right now, but because they both had people depending on them.
"You need to call your dad again," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I know it's not-"
"You're right," she rasped. "No, you're right. He'll be watching this."
"That's not you, Kate," he insisted. "It wasn't even you when that was being recorded. It's a one-dimensional look. It's not the whole picture."
"I sounded fucking insane," she said bitterly. Her hand came up between them and she hid her eyes, a shuddering breath out. "Fuck. Castle."
She moaned but it ended with a growl, stiffening her spine. She sat up straighter, avoiding his eyes, but he knew it was only in an effort to keep control of herself. Her hand was at her ribs protectively, the pain of it shadowing her movements.
She was so vividly determined, so unstoppable. And yes, that had fed her obsessive investigation into her mother's murder, but if she hadn't been that person, if she wasn't so good at pressing on to her goal, then that death would have broken her long ago.
"The hell of it?" she rasped, giving him a crooked smile that didn't look at all amused. "The hell of it is, that's me. That's still me. I just did that to you, Castle. I got obsessive and stupid over the regimen, and I hurt you and-"
"Stop," he growled, gripping her by the arm. "Stop. It's not you."
"It is," she said, her voice final. "And I'd love to say it won't be me in the future - that I've seen the light. But when it comes to you-"
"I know," he said tightly. "I already know. We've hashed this out a thousand times. But Kate, don't you see that's exactly why that voice on the recording isn't you? Because you aren't about death - you're about making it right, making life good for us. You carved out a place for us where no one else would've been able to even stand. You're so strong, Kate; you don't let anything stop you. Especially when it's for us."
He wanted to be what she needed right now, but she sat away from him, her fists in the mattress, her chin tilted up as she struggled with it. He knew it was bad - it was so bad - having her private life picked apart, taken out of context; Kate was just so intensely reserved that this was worse for her than most.
"I know it sounds bad. But they don't know us, Kate. Remember? Deleware didn't know us; Black has no idea. You and me, Kate." He tried to find a smile. "Well, and now the little wolf, too."
She hunched her shoulders, wrapped her arm around her ribs as despair rolled across her face. "Oh God, how in the world can I think I'm going to be any good as a mother? Fuck, Castle, I'm damaged. I'm just-"
"Kate," he growled, gripping her by the arm and drawing her into him. "We're all damaged. At least knowing it, we know how to fix it, we know how to make up for each other. You and I - we just keep getting better."
She closed her eyes, her throat worked; he touched his forehead to hers and tried to breathe past the furious grief in him. She didn't deserve this; she was more than this. And for it to cause her to doubt the only thing they'd wanted for so long now - unacceptable. Not for a second was he going to let her drown in this.
"Those recordings - what they're saying about you - I was there for that. Don't forget that Coonan tried to kill us both, and I killed him in self-defense. Not you. So they've got their facts wrong. What they're saying is wrong, Kate."
"I know," she said, nodding at him. Her hands were in fists on his thighs and her forehead rolled against his as she sighed. "I know. I just - this is crap timing, isn't it? It's the worst time to have this, and I'm doing a crap job right from the start because the public exposure is the one thing we can't survive. What kind of mother-"
"No," he said, sitting up to frame her face with his hands and make sure she could see how serious he was. "You're here; you're alive. And that's part of what makes you the only one who can be good as his mother; you will never give up, Kate. On him. On me."
"But that's what got us here," she growled. "My damn obsession."
"No. I don't accept that. It's more than obsession."
"Not much," she said bitterly.
"It's love," he insisted. "So much love." He drew her arm away from her ribs, slowly to keep from collapsing her, rubbed his thumb over the cradle of her palm. "Kate, I saw it from the first moment I laid eyes on you. How you love with everything - intensity and passion and feeling. I wanted that for myself, I wanted that passion directed at me. I'd never had that before and I'd needed it."
She swallowed hard and her fingers curled around his. Castle shifted to the headboard, drew her side to his chest so she could lean into him.
"I didn't make it easy," she rasped. Her fingers hooked in the buttons of his shirt and he covered her hand with his own, squeezing.
"Oh, love, nothing easy is worth it."
"Even Tunisia?" she muttered. Her head shifted, lifting from him, her face turned away. "The Congo was worth it?"
He grinned because he couldn't help it, because it welled up in him so quickly, and he stroked his thumb under her frown, eased the corners up. When she glanced at him finally, he ran his fingers down her throat and then between her breasts, skating down to her abs before flirting around her belly button. "Kate? Kate, the Congo was this."
She sucked in a breath, her head dropped so he couldn't see what she was thinking.
It took a long time of silence, but she finally cleared her throat and faced him, eyes fierce and determined once more. All of the disquiet was gone.
"You're right. I need to call my dad," she said. "Do you have the phone?"
"Hey, it's on," he called back to the bedroom. "Kate, it's on tv right now."
Castle stood in front of the television set in the living room, staring at the special report on the noon edition of the local NBC affiliate. He heard the sound of the dog's toenails against the wood floor first, and he glanced up to see Kate and Sasha coming into the room. Kate was still on the phone with her father, but she lifted her chin and nodded to the television.
"Just started?"
"Yeah," he said.
"That was fast," she muttered. "Dad? Yeah, it's on right now. Okay. Yeah, you can call me on this if you need to. It's a burner but our numbers are being forwarded. Bye. Love you too."
"Did you tell him about..."
"Our little wolf?" she said, a smirk playing with her lips. She looked a lot better now, even if she was still holding herself stiffly. "No. We said we'd wait. It's too early."
"Right," Castle said, but he was distracted by the anchor onscreen. "Wow. Look."
Kate came to his side then, took his hand. He squeezed and they watched together as a different story was told. At first, Kate was so taut beside him that he thought she might hurt herself, but as the reporter went on, as the facts were made known about Bracken, she eased.
"It's not about me," she croaked.
"No," he said firmly. "It's about him. That's the real story. What Bracken did. Has been doing this whole time. Everyone in this city should know."
The phone in her hand chimed with an alert - the security system messaging them - and Castle plucked it from her fingers to check the security camera feed.
"Oh, it's just Mitchell coming up," he said. "And Ryan and Reynolds are with him."
"Did Mason get here?"
"Yeah, he's next door to relieve Esposito of guard dog duty, but Espo won't leave." Castle released her hand and moved for the front door, scooping up the Glock from the kitchen counter. He pressed his body to one side of the door and waited until the knock.
"Who is it?" he called out.
"Don't be an asshole," Mitchell barked through the door. "I can see us on the security cams - and I know you can too."
Castle heard Beckett chuckling even as he flipped open the deadbolts, but he didn't care - he'd rather be safe than sorry. He turned the lock and then unhooked the chain, opening the door for them. Mitchell shoved his way inside, giving Castle a dirty look, and Ryan and Reynolds followed in his wake.
Mitch went straight for Beckett and gave her a gripped-shoulder embrace; Kate looked startled, too slow to return it, but Castle could see how that had pleased her. Sasha stood away from the newcomers, giving them careful looks from the side of her eyes, keeping close to Beckett.
"Mitch," Kate said. "We were just watching the news."
"It's good. I laid it all out for her."
"The anchor?" Kate said, nodding her head towards the tv. "She's cute too."
"She's prickly," Mitchell sighed. "But we got it - it's everything she can legally say - and the rest of it she just keeps using alleged and we're covered."
"How's it feel to be a civilian?" Kate said.
"Boring already." But Mitchell didn't look put out by it.
Ryan grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the television, so Castle waved to Reynolds to take a seat as well. He didn't have anything to offer them - and it felt strange, this limbo. Like no one knew what to say to each other. Didn't help that the dog seemed to feel like their friends were intruders; Sasha was pressed hard against Kate's legs, the fur up on her back, teeth not yet bared but close.
Castle covered her muzzle with his hand, made her head dip into the submissive posture. "You're fine, Sasha. Kate's fine. Be nice."
Mitchell sank down on the couch and inclined his head to the seat beside him. "Sit, Beckett. You're freaking out the dog. And you standing all rigid like that is making me hurt just looking at you."
Castle laughed through the dirty look Beckett sent them both, and she finally sat down as well. A little gingerly, a little stiff, but she seemed to be carrying it easier. Sasha lowered herself to the floor at Kate's feet, but her eyes followed Mitchell's movement, apparently assessing him as the threat.
"So," Mitchell started. "All this stuff that's been leaked to the press - the footage of you, Beckett, and what happened with Coonan? My question is-"
"How'd they know?" Castle jumped in. "I've been thinking the same thing."
Kate let out a breath. "Coonan was cleaned up by Black - the CIA covered it up very well. Not a word got out. But now the news has video footage?"
"It's not right," Ryan said. "Espo and I were with the NYPD then and we didn't hear anything about it. When Beckett took time off because of Castle being stabbed - we had no idea what was going on."
"Black did the job," Castle answered. "So it's got to be him giving the news their story."
"Yeah, but how?" Mitchell inserted. "Malone..."
Everyone went quiet for a second, respect and horror in the room with them, and then Mitchell shook his head, kept going.
"Malone was the one who went through everything with a fine tooth comb - our whole network. And then Ryan - when you came on board, you guys worked together to debug the thing. So how's Black got access?"
"Our firewall is bulletproof," Ryan boasted. "I watched that man build it. I know no one's getting in."
"If he's getting to all those files on Coonan, then he's getting in," Mitchell said, jabbing a finger at Ryan as he did. "It's not bulletproof."
"And I'm saying it is," Ryan argued. "If he has access, he has a damn login and password, because you can't just back door into our system."
"Login and password," Kate mused softly. "Listen. Deleware was Black's man all this time - but who else is still his? Who else does he have working for him?"
Castle rubbed a hand down his face, still standing behind the couch, a weight settling over him. "If he's not hacking our system, then he's got someone on the inside. That's what you're saying."
Kate glanced over her shoulder at him, lifted her hand to touch his elbow. "I believe Ryan when he says it's not getting hacked, that there's no back door for Black to come through. Malone had been on it since..."
Castle nodded, put a hand out to Ryan to keep him in his seat. "I agree. I know he worked - he did good work for us. But that means there's a plant in our section."
Mitchell shifted his elbows to his knees and the dog lifted her head to look at him, warning him with a growl and a baring of her teeth. Mitch gave the dog a dismissive gesture and stood. "No, it's not just a plant. We have a fucking traitor."
Just then, the front door burst in and Esposito came inside, followed closely by Mason.
Esposito shifted on his feet for an instant, as if he didn't know what to say now that he was here, and Mason took over the job.
"Four SUVs pulled up outside - government plates. Two NYPD cruisers flanking them. Beckett, they're here for you. They've issued a warrant for your arrest."
No, Castle thought.
It was too soon.