Jacob K. Javits Convention Center, New York…

Ricki Castle wasn't actually her name, but in her opinion, it looked a lot better on the New York Times bestseller list than Rebecca Abigail Rodgers. Besides, she was far from the first author to use a pen name.

She just legally changed to her pen name for convenience's sake.

As much as Ricki loved book signings, seeing lines wrapping around the block full of people eager for a few seconds of her time and her barely legible signature, truth was she loved conventions even more – especially if she was invited to speak at a panel. Something about people turning to her for insight or advice into the craft of writing that stroked her ego just right.

So here she sat, at the world-famous New York Comic Con, her black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wore her best royal blue button-down, keeping the top three buttons undone. A black blazer and navy blue jeans completed the look.

Ricki wasn't just here to speak on the Women in Fiction panel – of the six planned speakers, she and a comic book writer named Gail were the only women – she was also celebrating the fact that her creative meal ticket, CIA hunk-a-thon Derrick Storm, was now the star of a graphic novel.

Thankfully, Black Pawn had worked closely with Marvel Comics to ensure a faithful transition from novel to sequential art. It was far better than the Unholy Storm movie they made, which wound up going straight to video after a myriad of script and casting issues. It was so bad that when Black Pawn asked about movie rights for the forthcoming Storm Fall, Ricki said no without hesitation.

But Ricki, her publicist, Paul, had whined. Think of the millions!

Ricki already had millions. Paul was just worried about his damn commission.

Pushing logistics of the publishing world aside, Ricki put on her best smile and sat up a little straighter when a skinny boy, probably no older than 15, approached a microphone standing among the crowd. She clutched her own mic in both hands, resting in her lap. She knew it looked suggesting as hell, and she didn't care.

After all, Ricki Castle had an image to live up to.

"Ms. Castle…" The boy swallowed, clearly nervous. "Is it true that Storm Fall will be the last Derrick Storm novel?"

Ricki rolled her eyes, but the smile never faltered. "First of all, Ms. Castle is my mother." Scattered laughter from the crowd. Ricki slipped her hand over her ponytail before flipping it in front of her left shoulder.

"And yes." She sighed, perhaps a little too dramatically. "Storm Fall will be the last book in the Derrick Storm series."

A hushes murmur came over the crowd, and the boy apparently forgot the one-question limit, because she leaned toward the mic again, with a renewed sense of bravado. "Then what's next?"

Truth be told, that was a good question. Ricki didn't have an answer. Well, she didn't have a good answer, because technically, "I don't know" was an answer. She sighed, trying to keep it light to fit the celebratory mood of the convention, squinting her brown eyes and shrugging her shoulders.

""Well, Alexis starts high school in the fall." Ricki's face brightened considerably at the mention of her daughter, who lived with her in their loft in SoHo. Alexis was bright beyond her years and, arguably, far more mature than Ricki. Given Ricki's personality and her rocky relationship with Alexis' father, Martin, she wasn't sure where the redhead got it.

It certainly hadn't come from Ricki's mother, Martha.

A faceless voice jumped from the crowd. "You're not retiring, are you?"

Ricki smirked. "Please! Patterson will off Alex Cross for good before I stop writing." A playful remark, knowing full well the rest of her poker buddies would needle James Patterson over it the next time they all met for cards, laughs, and drinks.

"You know…" She chewed on her lower lip, glancing at the ceiling in thought. "I'm not sure. Just…be on the lookout for something new and exciting whenever the inspiration strikes. In the meantime, there's always my new Derrick Storm graphic novel. I'll be signing copies at the Marvel booth at 3:30."

Flashbulbs exploded, the crowd murmuring and clamoring for more of Ricki's time. She smiled and waved before glancing into one of the cameras, giving her best seductive look, and blowing a kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, Ricki was sure she saw a fanboy faint.

Downtown New York…

"Allison Tisdale, 20 years old. She's a social worker." Javier Esposito read off the facts as Kate Beckett walked into the crime scene, purpose in each step and focus in her steely gaze. The detective focused her green eyes straight ahead, even as she slapped on baby blue latex gloves and joined Lanie Parish, the ME, by the body.

"Don't let the elaborate staging fool you." Lanie glanced up at her friend, clicking her pen and making a note on her metal clipboard. "Cause of death is two gunshots to the chest."

Kate chewed on her lower lip, brushing a strand of her short hair – brown with a hint of red. Recognition threatened to overwhelm her. Not because of the victim – she'd never met Allison Tisdale – but the staging. The naked body, covered in red rose petals, giant yellow sunflowers covering her eyes.

A crime of passion, this wasn't. Nor did it appear to be a revenge killing or some other mundane motive – unless the killer was using this elaborate, purposeful staging to throw them off the scent. Kate filed that thought away for later, choosing instead of focus on the body in front of her.

"This look familiar to anyone?" Kate's eyes surveyed the others.

Lanie and Esposito glanced at each other and shook their heads. Detective Kevin Ryan – looking every bit as Irish as the name suggested – came over from across the room, the knot on his blue tie so big Kate thought she could land a plane on it.

"I think I know." He gave his partner a smug grin. "Our killer was a fan of mystery novels. Ricki Castle books, to be exact."

"Pretty big fan, too." Kate nodded, wandering to Allison's head and crouching to get a better look at the flowers. "Our killer re-enacted a murder from Flowers for Your Grave."

"No kidding." Ryan shook his head. "How much more obscure can you get?"

Lanie and Esposito exchanged another glance, before Esposito arched a brow at Kate. "You actually read that mess? Ryan, I get, but you?"

Kate shugged, trying her best to be nonchalant. "Sometimes."

Lanie sauntered past her friend, placing a glove-covered hand on her shoulder. "Girl, would it kill you to have some fun in your life?" She waved off Kate's look of confusion and indignation. "I mean, really, curling up with Castle books on a Friday night? Why not go live a little? Pick up a man…hell, pick up a woman, if you want."

Before Kate could respond, Lanie pointed at her. "A little lipstick wouldn't hurt, either."

Jacob K. Javits Convention Center…

This part was less fun. The Storm Fall launch party that Paul and the big wigs at Black Pawn sprung for amid the convention. The hype surrounding the graphic novel was nothing but fun, but Ricki was suddenly reminded of just how exhausting launching her novels was anymore.

She waved at a throng of fans, wearing a pair of sunglasses to shield herself from the flashbulbs. They were no more numerous than at the panel earlier, but in the confined space tucked in the back of the convention center, they seemed far brighter.

Combine the lights with the thumping bass pouring out of the speakers – a DJ for a book launch? – and Ricki found herself battling one hell of a headache.

Leaning in, she whispered to Paul. "Why does the publicity push get bigger with each novel?"

Paul smirked, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Price of fame."

"This will be my twenty-first bestseller." She shrugged. "Shouldn't 'new Ricki Castle novel' suffice by now?"

Before Paul could answer, Ricki slipped away from him, wandering down the steps leading off the stage, waving at more fans and pausing to sign a few autographs. A nameless blonde approached her, breath reeking of alcohol, pushing down the front of her chest to show her ample cleavage.

Old hat by now, Ricki knew what she wanted, scrawling black Sharpie across the woman's skin.

Capping the marker, Ricki wandered to the bar without acknowledging the other woman's thanks. Alcohol sounded really good at the moment, and Ricki gave the bartender a thankful glance when he already had a glass of champagne at the ready. She downed half of the glass in one gulp and sighed.

"You used to have fun at these things." A flighty voice broke through the din.

Ricki turned and gave a forced smile. "About fifteen books ago, mother."

Martha gave a dismissive wave of her hand, her emerald dress going surprisingly well with her red hair. The older woman's eyes scanned the crowd, even as she spoke to her daughter. "Oh, lighten up, Rebecca." Ricki cringed every time her mother used her given name. "The booze is free, the fans are in love with you, and I'm willing to bet at least half of them want to sleep with you." Martha's eyes lit up. "Oh, speaking of…"

The older woman clapped her hands together. "No ring!" Martha grabbed the flute of champagne from Ricki's hand, downing the rest and setting the glass on the bar. "Look out, everyone! Mama's on the prowl!"

As Martha wandered into the crowd, Ricki could barely make out the sing-song "Don't wait up!"

Ricki sighed and shook her head, leaning her elbows on the bar and casting a sideways glance at another, much younger redhead. "Why did I let you talk me into coming here?"

"Don't look at me, mom." Alexis shrugged, but the look in her eyes told Ricki she was actually enjoying herself. "It's your book, your party."

Ricki cringed, waving for another drink. "It's just…it's so predictable now."

Alexis folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows arched. She enjoyed giving her mother a hard time like this. "What, looking for something other than chests to sign?"

"No." Ricki sighed again, tugging on the collar of her white button-down. "I mean, yes. I mean…" She shook her head and twirled the Sharpie in her free hand, sipping on her new drink. "It's all so fake, so…shallow."

"But…you do shallow."

Ricki flashed an annoyed glare at her daughter, but instantly softened. "I used to be cool. I used to be the talk of the town, the kind of person whose exploits wound up on Page Six while the book sales skyrocketed. Now I'm here at the bar, hanging out with my just-teenage daughter on a school night."

Ricki frowned. "Why are you here, anyway? Don't you have boys to chase after or wild gossip to spread with your friends?"

Alexis shrugged. "I never miss your launch parties."

"And I love you for it." Ricki smiled, a little more genuine than before, but still pained. "I mean, you gotta live a little, though. Like, when I was your age…wait, no. I can't tell that story. It's wildly inappropriate." Ricki smiled. "Which is sort of my point. Don't you want wildly inappropriate stories you can't share with your children?"

Again, the redhead shrugged. "I'll just tell them what it was like raising you."

Ricki's eyes narrowed and she hunched her right shoulder. "Funny…" She looked at her drink again and sighed, downing the rest of it in one gulp, ignoring the burn slithering down her throat. "It's all the same…Oh, I'm your biggest fan…You're my favorite author…Would you please sign my underwear?" Ricki shook her head. "Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

As if on cue, a voice from behind grabbed Ricki's attention. "Ms. Castle?"

Removing the cap from her pen, and ready with her Ms. Castle is my mother quip, Ricki spun on the balls of her feet. "Where would you like it?"

Facing the source of the voice, her eyes were instantly drawn to a golden shield. Without registering it, her eyes followed to the person holding the shield and…oh, hello there. A woman not much shorter than Ricki, brown hair cropped in an adorable style, outfit nearly identical.

And her eyes. Oh, those green eyes…Ricki could already feel herself getting lost in them.

Ricki swallowed, the corners of her mouth threatening to curl into a smile.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." The other woman, hottie that she was, placed her badge on the holster on her belt and approached. "We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight."

So struck by Detective Beckett, was Ricki, that she barely noticed Alexis over her shoulder, yanking the Sharpie out of her grasp and whispering in her mother's ear, "That's new."

Ricki swallowed again, finding herself speechless for the first time in a long, long while.