Passions Present: Flowers for Your Grave
By Dana Keylits

Epilogue

I awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the darkness that surrounded me, my mind hazy, recalling the vestiges of a disordered dream, disturbing images compounded by my own perceived paralysis. I opened one eye and was thrust into the present, suddenly aware that the screaming noise in my head was actually the piercing ringer on my cell phone. I reached out blind to the bedside table and, getting lucky on the first try, snatched it up, desperate for the chaos to stop! I glanced at the clock and did a double take when I realized it was six o'clock at night. Had I really been asleep all day?

I'd been up most of the night before finishing up a case with Ryan and Esposito, and had stumbled into my apartment in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted, hungry, but grateful that we'd solved the case. Captain Montgomery had told us to go home, but hadn't gone so far as to relieve us from being on-call should another body drop.

And now, judging by the number on my caller I.D., another body had dropped.

Bette came strolling into the bedroom; a mug of steaming coffee perched in one hand, the newspaper in the other. She smiled at me, and then gave me a disapproving look as I tapped answer on my phone. I held up a staying finger when she tried to steal the device from me.

"Beckett." I listened as Ryan filled me in. "Flowers over her eyes?" I questioned, knowing right away what we were dealing with. I glanced over at my bookcase, the ancient hardcover of Richard Castle's novel wedged indelicately between two others. "Okay, I'll be there in thirty." I threw back the covers just as Bette sat on the edge of the bed, handing me the hot mug, steam spilling over its edge. I sat up and cradled it in both hands, inhaling it's soothing scent, savoring it's rich flavor as I took a sip, its warmth cascading down my throat, spreading across my chest like a favored blanket.

"Another case?" she questioned, the look of disappointment on her face giving me pangs of guilt.

I leaned forward and kissed her softly, her lips were warm, gentle, just what I needed and I lingered for a minute, my tongue lazily skimming her bottom lip before I pulled away, my eyes still closed, savoring her.

She giggled. "There'd be more of that, Kate, if you didn't have to run off to work."

I groaned, tossing my phone on the bedside table. "I know. I wish I didn't have to go. But, I'm on call." I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, stretching. I lifted my camisole top over my head and tossed it into the wicker hamper housed in the corner of the room. "I need to get dressed. Is there anything in the fridge I can eat before I go?"

She was behind me before I'd even finished the sentence, her hands slipping around my waist, her lips at the back of my neck. "I can think of something else you could eat before you go," she whispered with that deliciously velvet voice of hers.

I smiled, leaning against her, a familiar twinge tickling my belly as her hands mapped my upper body, gently massaging my flesh, teasing me, coaxing me,tempting me. I turned in her arms, framing her face with both hands as we kissed, slow and sweet, our tongues waltzing lazily from my mouth to hers and then back again.

Until, finally I pulled away, groaning. "Ugh, I have to go. God, this is so not fair," I complained.

She slapped my ass as I walked away. "No shit," she agreed.

Dressed, armed, my badge firmly secured to my belt, I ran a hand through my short hair and sauntered into the kitchen, just as Bette put a plate of warmed up leftover Kung Pou chicken on the counter top.

I sat on the high-top stool, picking up my fork. "Ohhh, you're so good to me."

She flashed me a smile. "Don't forget it, either."

"Oh, I wont," I promised with a lilt of my eyebrow. "Don't worry, you'll be handsomely rewarded."

She threw the empty leftover containers in the trash, pulled out a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a glass. She held it up to me as if in toast. "Good."

I frowned. "I want," I whined.

"Later. Finish eating. Go to your crime scene, and then get back here as soon as you can so we can try and salvage some of this night. Okay?"

"You'll wait up?"

She nuzzled up to me, kissed me quickly, the alcohol on her lips a temptation to just ditch the case, stay home with her, drink wine, make love, laugh, play, enjoy ourselves.

It was tempting.

"I'll wait up," she promised.

Chapter One: Meeting Castle

"You like him."

"I do not like him!"

"Kate. Yes you do, you always have. You've read every single one of his books," she held up two fingers. "twice."

I threw Bette my best oh please look before depositing my NYPD issued Glock 17 in the top drawer of our dresser. I spun around to face her, smiling as she lay coyly beneath the quilt, her feminine shape perfectly outlined by the thin comforter. "Well, if I ever did like him, which I didn't, I mean," I struggled with the cuffs on my oxford shirt, "I liked his writing, but not him - then I certainly do not like him now."

She giggled, like she always did, and most of the time I liked it, except when we were fighting, and then it felt like condescension or manipulation, or perhaps both. Her giggle was like a purr, like a velvety cat-like piece of musical wonder, and it always made me weak in the knees.

"What did he do that has your knickers in such a twist?" Bette asked, closing her book and setting it on the bedside table. She'd clearly abandoned the idea of finishing the last chapter before falling asleep, having removed and folded her glasses and positioned them atop the voluminous novel. She sank down against the pillows and watched me, her eyes glowing with amusement at my outrage.

"He's a child," I explained, inelegantly unbuttoning my cranberry colored shirt as I went on a mental trip down the previous six hours. The case I'd caught was the murder of a woman that could have come straight from the pages of a Richard Castle novel. The staging of the body surrounded by flowers, including two that covered her eyes, were a direct reference to Flowers for Your Grave. Since we'd had two previous murders that were also rip-off's from Castle's books, I'd decided to pay a visit to the celebrated author.

What a fucking mistake that had been.

"Do you know that he asked me to spank him?" I huffed, unzipping my pants and trying like hell to not be distracted by the lilt of Bette's perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Can you believe it?" I shook my head, pushing my pants down to my ankles and stepping out of them.

"So, did you?"

I looked down at her sharply, folding the dress pants and laying them carefully over the back of the accent chair in the corner. I'd take them to the drycleaners tomorrow. "Did I do what?"

She grinned. "Spank him."

My jaw dropped. "What? No. Why would you even ask me that?"

She rolled onto her side, propping her head in one hand. She pulled back the covers to my side of the bed and patted the mattress. "I was just kidding, Kate. Come here," she ordered with one knee-weakening whispered command. I pouted for a minute, and then hitched one knee onto the bed, and then the other, and before I knew it, I was crawling towards her wearing nothing but my bra and panties. She met me in the cradle of her arms, and I coiled around her, my whole body relaxing as she arranged the covers over me. I melted into her. "You don't get to be on his side, Bette." I looked up at her. "Okay? I get to bitch about him, and you always have to take my side."

She traced the line of my jaw with the tip of her forefinger before skimming it over my lips. "Okay," she replied.

And then her mouth was on me, her tongue was in me, and all thoughts of Richard fucking Castle were relegated to the deepest dustiest corners of my mind.

Her lips were soft but her kiss was firm and in just two breathtaking seconds, she'd unfastened the front clasp on my bra and groaned as my breasts spilled into her palms. I reached for the hem of her nightshirt, lifting it up and over her head, her dark curls spilling around her shoulders as I tossed it to the floor.

"You're not wearing any underwear," I accused, feeling the tickle of downy hair against my thigh.

"I know," she croaked, her supple lips ghosting my throat. "I've been waiting for you." She scraped her teeth over my sensitive flesh and I bucked against her, sharp runs of pleasure radiating from my belly, inspiring a soft whimper from low in my throat. She inched down my body, taking one nipple into her mouth, cupping my other breast with her hand, her fingers expertly rolling the already hardened nub between them. She sucked on the nipple and then let go with an audible pop."I've been waiting for this," she growled as she inched lower, her hands caressing every inch of my naked body, kneading the gentle rise and sinewy curve of muscle like a master masseuse, commanding an army of goose-bumps to stand at attention atop my warming flesh. She curled her fingers beneath the waistband of my cotton bikini underwear, tugging the fabric down my legs, her fingernails gently scraping my skin on their way down, tickling the arch of my foot as she slipped the soft cotton bikini past it. She gently pushed my legs apart with her knees and then dipped her head between them, staring up at me with dark, hooded eyes. "And this, Kate, I've been waiting for this."

Her tongue laved my inner lips before circling my clit and I cried out, my hands desperately clutching the bottom sheet that covered the pillow-top mattress. "Bette, God." My eyes fluttered closed and I bit my bottom lip, surprised by the swiftness and intensity of my response to her touch.

She hummed against me, the reverb of her voice vibrating against my clit and another wave of pure pleasure rippled through me. I adjusted my hips, swaying them slowly back and forth as her tongue established a steady tempo. She reached up with one hand and palmed my breast, her fingers knowing exactly what to do, and I arced towards her, every care or worry or problem of my day sloughing off of me like melting snow, and all that existed was her, was us.

I don't know exactly what I said, but I know a string of dirty words must have tumbled from my mouth because she laughed, even as she was doing what she was doing, she laughed, which made me laugh, and before I knew it, I was laughing and coming at the same time.

She held her chin firmly against my clit, diffusing the waves of my orgasm as they expanded and rippled throughout my body, an admiring hum rising from her throat. And when I was finally still, satiated, purring with satisfaction, she slowly climbed back up me with a cat-like grace, her tongue tracing a path from my naval to my lips, where it slipped into my mouth and I slowly moaned from the heady experience of tasting myself from her.

"Mmmm, Bette," I whispered. "...you know just what to do to me."

Stretching my body from toe to top, I raked my fingers through my short hair, leaving parallel lines in their wake, a child-like mewling sound passing my lips. I rolled on top of her and slipped my leg between hers, grinding my hip against the soft mound of hair at the apex of her thighs, pinning her to the mattress. "I'm so glad you were waiting up for me."

She grinned, her eyes like pools of desire, and I was momentarily lost in their mysterious obsidian reflection. "I'm glad I could be of service," she whispered as she gently scraped her fingernails over my back in lazy haphazard patterns. "The antidote to a crappy night."

I skimmed my lips over hers, my tongue darting out to playfully lave her bottom lip. "Oh, you're more than that," I replied. "You're like oxygen."

She was already up and dressed by the time I opened my eyes, the steaming mug of coffee on the bedside table my tell that she had either already left, or was about to leave for work. Bette was an art broker, and part-time curator at the Met, and she had some big important meeting today with a woman who had more money, and more art, than she knew what to do with.

I threw back the blankets and swung my legs over the side of the bed, picking up the mug of coffee and inhaling its delightfully rich aroma. After taking a sip, I padded into the bathroom, peed, washed my hands, and then threw on a robe and slippers.

Back in our bedroom, I rolled open the old rustic barn door that Bette had found at the Re-use Center, exposing the living room of our Soho condominium, a high ceilinged industrial loft that we'd had converted into a sprawling eclectic living space, and found Bette standing with her back to me at the butcher block counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

We had been the first of twenty tenants to move into the converted warehouse, which had quickly filled up with other owners, mostly artists and musicians. I'm pretty sure I was the only cop, much less the only civil servant, and I never would have even been allowed to buy here if it weren't for Bette. Buildings like these were pretty exclusive to artist type folks. And, the closest I'd ever come to even taking an art class was posing in one, without a stitch, of course. Bette had talked me into it, daring me to be adventurous, and I'll have to admit, it was quite a heady experience.

I strolled up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. She leaned in to me, smiling, and patted my arm with her hand, murmuring a good morning even as she kept studying the packet of papers on the counter in front of her. She was smartly dressed in a black custom tailored suit and white high collared blouse. Although Bette and I were the same height, she was wearing heels today, so she towered over me. "Thanks for the coffee," I said, walking around the counter to open the fridge and peruse my breakfast options. "And, thanks for last night."

She glanced up, closing the file and tucking it into her elegant leather brief case. Her lips bowed into a mischievous smile, she replied, "No. Thank you." She raised an eyebrow. "For both times."

I giggled, pulling out a carton of yogurt and a fresh peach from the refrigerator. "That wasn't me, baby. That second time was all you."

"Well, whatever," she said, closing the briefcase and sliding it off the counter. She held it with one hand while reaching across the counter to pull me in for a quick kiss with the other. "It was amazing." She tasted like raspberries and I licked my lips as I watched her walk towards the front door. She grabbed her purse and keys from the hooks that hung from the brick wall, and then spun around. "What time do you think you'll be home tonight?"

My stomach dropped. "Ugh. I'm not sure. Castle is sending his fan mail over and I have to go through it all to see if our killer sent him any."

Her eyebrows shot up and a devilish grin curved her lips. "Ah, another date with Richard Castle, huh?"

I dropped my spoon against the countertop a little more forcefully than I'd intended and made a face. "No," I scowled, my hands on my hips. "No, definitely not. He's sending the letters, not bringing them in person."

"Uh huh," she said, her hand turning the deadbolt.

"I don't need some cocky self-absorbed writer in the way while I investigate these murders. We've gotten what we needed from him, if I ever see him again, hopefully it will be at a book signing and not a crime scene."

"Right," Bette sing-songed as she opened the door. "Well, call me later? Let me know when I can expect you? I'll make dinner."

I crossed the room and kissed her goodbye, "'Kay. Good luck with that Peabody woman."

"Thanks," she held up two crossed fingers. "Keep your fingers crossed."

I nodded, kissed her again and then closed the door behind her. I spun around and checked the clock. Shit! I was running late. As I walked past our massive bookcase to get to the bedroom, I spied all of Richard Castle's novels. Digging through the front hall closet, I found a medium sized cardboard box that was currently housing old hats and gloves. I emptied the contents onto the closet floor, and then filled it with the hardcover novels. I placed the box on the counter so I wouldn't forget to take them with me when I left for the Precinct.

Esposito and Ryan were gonna love this assignment. Read all of Castle's books to see if we can predict when another murder might happen. I could already hear them bitching about it.

They hadn't bitched so much as judged. Especially Espo, who couldn't understand why I enjoyed reading the macabre books. Either you get it or you don't, and I didn't need to justify my taste in reading material to a man who's bookcase was probably filled with sticky-paged back-issues of Penthouse. I wanted to tell him as much, but opted for a more diplomatic response instead, explaining my curiosity about how people could do these kinds of things to one another and reminding him that in the pages of those novels, a clue might exist that could help us solve this case, and prevent another murder. With a nod of his head, he quietly accepted my explanation and returned to his desk to begin reading.

Castle had sent over his fan mail, as promised, three boxes of them, and when I'd returned from lunch, I directed them to be placed in the briefing room. Just then, Esposito strolled up, a file in his hand.

"Did we hear back from the Lab?" I asked.

"Yeah, scene was negative for DNA and prints. Just like Fisk," he replied. "Guy's careful," he offered, frowning.

"What about Tisdale and Fisk. Any connection?"

Esposito tilted his head towards Captain Montgomery's office. "Other than your boy there? No."

I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. Castle. Richard fucking Castle was standing in Montgomery's office, his suit jacket hooked to his finger and slung over one shoulder, a cocky smile on his face. I spun back around. "What's he doing here?"

Esposito grinned, his brown eyes shining with amusement. "Maybe he likes you."

I made a face, about to toss out a smart-ass retort when Captain Montgomery called me into his office.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, a smile plastered on my face.

"Mr. Castle's offered to assist with the investigation." My CO informed me.

I shifted from one foot to the other, responding sarcastically, "Really."

Castle cocked his head and continued to grin at me. "It's the least I can do for the city I love," he offered.

Ugh. I was gonna vomit.

"Considering the nature of the crime scenes, I think it's a good idea." Montgomery stated quite matter-of-factly.

I paused, thinking over my options. The last thing I needed was for some cocky millionaire playboy mucking up my investigation. I looked from Castle to Montgomery. "Sir," I blurted. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Castle was still grinning at me and it took everything in me not to stick out my tongue at him. What was it about this guy that turned me into a petulant adolescent? I raised an eyebrow at Montgomery. "...in private?"

Montgomery shoved his hands into his front pockets. "Nope," he replied, much to my disbelief. As my jaw dropped and I watched the Captain walk away, Castle inched closer, standing directly in front of me, that same boyish grin brightening his features. I screwed up my face, narrowed my eyes, and forced myself not to scream.

Fuck.

I turned on my heel and marched towards the briefing room. Dammit. I resented the hell out of this.

And yet somehow, some part of me, some small part of me, was secretly excited, secretly enjoying this, secretly pleased.

And, I hated myself for it.

A/N: Yes, I have finally written it! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like it. Mad thanks to KB for helping me get "unstuck" with the storyline. Chapter 2 will be coming soon.