The ride back to the station was short, considering it was Sunday and still pretty early. Beckett drove in silence, face forward, not revealing any of her thoughts or feelings.

"Are you going to say anything?" Castle asked after an eternity of silence.

"Just another murder investigation," she replied, as they pulled up to a light.

"It's not just another murder investigation, Beckett. There was a threat. Whoever did this is coming for you now. We need to think about getting you some protection …"

"We need to focus on the evidence and figure out why Miss Swan was killed," she said, steadily.

"She was killed because she was Nikki Heat. The only other possible Nikki Heat is you. How can you not understand it?" he said, exasperated.

"I understand it just fine, Castle. But what am I supposed to do? Go hide under a rock until this guy is found?"

"That would be a start …" he answered seriously.

"That's what these psychos want. They want to scare us, to disrupt our lives, to make us hide like cowards …"

"What 'us'?" Castle interrupted. "He threatened you, only you."

"He's just some deranged fan trying to get a name for himself. We see these kinds of cases all of the time, Castle. We can't run and hide. We just do what we always do—examine the evidence and figure out who this guy is."

"Your life is in danger, Kate. He wants to kill you," he whispered ardently, feeling tears come to his eyes. He quickly looked out the window, trying to get a hold of himself. His emotional response would only drive her away.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Castle," she said, pulling into a spot across the street from the precinct. "Maybe we'll get lucky and get some prints and have this wrapped up by brunch."

Castle tried to smile, but failed miserably. They got out of the car and went inside the station.

"No prints?" Beckett asked Ryan, who was sitting on the corner of her desk. They had been able to rush processing considering the public nature of the case and it being a Sunday morning.

"None."

"None?" she asked in disbelief. "That must have been 50-square feet of fabric, plus the straps, and the note, and …"

"None on the body either. And no hairs, no skin underneath her finger nails, nothing," Esposito followed up.

"What about witnesses? How can a parachute with a body drop from the middle of the sky in Manhattan without anyone seeing it?" Beckett asked, incredulous.

"It was early. No one was out. The witnesses didn't notice it until she was almost on the ground," Ryan answered.

"How is this even possible? Was she tossed out of an airplane? Pushed off a skyscraper? Thrown out of a window? Don't parachutes need a while to open fully?"

"I would think so, but we haven't got a clue yet. We actually have a base jumper-slash-parachuter coming in. He should be here in twenty," Esposito told her.

"Is Lanie done with the autopsy?" she asked.

"Just about. She's 99 percent sure she was strangled. Miss Swan's windpipe was crushed and broken blood vessels in her eyes are consistent with strangulation," Ryan replied.

"Then why the parachute? Why not just toss her in a dumpster? Why the grand entrance?"

"Maybe it's just that. He wanted to make a big deal of it. He mentioned that this was a dress rehearsal. Maybe he is trying to set the stage," Castle offered.

"We don't even know where she was killed," Beckett sighed, running her hand through her hair. "Any ideas?" she asked, looking up at the guys.

Their blank stare was her answer.

"Maybe we'll know more once the autopsy is complete," she said, firmly. "In the meantime, let's figure out who manufactured this parachute. I doubt many New Yorkers are buying parachutes, so maybe we'll get lucky. Also, let's analyze the paper and ink from the note. Canvass the area again, this time widening the radius—maybe there are other witnesses we missed."

"Got it, boss," Ryan replied. He and Esposito quickly walked back to their desks.

Kate watched them walk away and then reluctantly looked at Castle, who was silent in the chair beside her desk. He was fiddling with a rubber band.

"What?" she snapped at him.

"Nothing," he told her, wincing at her tone, though not surprised by it. He had seen Kate like this before. He knew better than to say anything to her right now.

"I know you, Castle. You always have something to say. So, what it is?" she said, her tone still antagonistic.

"You wouldn't listen to me anyway," he replied honestly.

"What do you expect me to do? Go to some safe house and wait for this guy to get caught?"

"I didn't say that," he answered noncommittally.

"So, what then?"

"I just wish you would think about your safety. This isn't some random killer. He wants to kill you."

"Not me, Castle. He wants to kill Nikki Heat. You're the one who made us the same person."

He looked up at her, wounded, and she immediately looked away.

"You think this is my fault?" he asked, sincerely surprised. Beckett was not usually one to place blame.

"That book didn't write itself. I never went looking for you to write a book about me. I never asked for any of this," she said, pointedly.

"Well, I know, but … I thought … I didn't think …" he stumbled.

"Like it or not, this is one of your deranged fans, Castle," she said, bluntly.

"I'm not the enemy here, Beckett," he told her quietly.

"No, you just invited him out to play," she said, sounding suddenly tired. She stood up and began to walk away. The boys looked up at them then.

"Wait," he jumped up. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to Lanie. Maybe she's found something."

"Okay," he said, standing up. "Let's go."

"Go home, Castle," she said curtly. "I'm not in the mood to babysit today."

Shocked, Castle watched her walk away. He glanced over at the guys, who gave him sympathetic looks before returning to their work. Usually, he would have followed her, chased her down, joked around until they were good again. But he knew to back off now. He didn't know why he was the enemy, but there was no way he was going to make it worse.