If there were ever two words to send a chill down Castle's spine, they were 'It's Kate'.
"I'm on my way," he told Ryan, fighting to keep his voice neutral as he threw open the door. Hanging up and shoving his phone into his pocket, he pulled it closed behind him; in his haste, he didn't bother to lock it. He simply took off down the corridor, walking at top speed, unable to think of anything but Kate. Ryan hadn't elaborated, hadn't told him what had happened. Castle hadn't asked him to. Now, that seemed the obvious thing to do, and he cursed himself for not thinking to demand that Ryan tell him exactly what was wrong with Kate.
What was wrong with Kate… he hated even thinking it. Hadn't she been through enough already? Her mother's murder, her apartment exploding when an obsessive Nikki Heat fan was trying to kill her, being locked in a freezer, nearly drowning, PTSD… she'd been shot, for crying out loud! There had to be a limit to the number of terrible things that could happen to a single person, especially a single person as amazingly good as Kate. She didn't deserve any of this. He supposed that as a homicide detective, she couldn't help but go looking for trouble… but trouble didn't find Ryan and Esposito the way it found her. It simply wasn't fair.
And so, with a thousand thoughts running through his mind – none of which were likely to help whatever the situation with Kate was – he headed for the Twelfth.
Forty minutes later, he was standing just outside Kate Beckett's apartment. He'd driven like a maniac to the precinct, only to be ushered into Ryan and Esposito's car. No one spoke much during the drive. Ryan didn't say a word; he seemed to be on the verge of tears, forcing himself to remain strong, afraid that opening his mouth would ruin his act, blow his cover. So when Castle asked what – exactly – was going on, it was Esposito who responded, telling him, in as few words as possible, that Kate had vanished.
Vanished. As in, into thin air, without a trace, vanished. Neither was exactly true, Castle realized, as he stepped across the threshold into Kate's home. A vase lay, shattered, on the ground, tiny bits of colored glass scattered around; popcorn littered the floor, having spilled out of a bright red plastic bowl; there was a dark red stain on the carpet, and for a terrible second, Castle thought it was blood. Then, seeing the broken wine glass on the ground next to it, he relaxed. Red wine. Not Kate's blood. Just red wine.
Still. Vanished. Disappeared. Gone.
And that other word, the one everyone seemed to be avoiding, as if uttering it would somehow make it true.
Kidnapped.
"Signs of a struggle." Castle looked up at the voice – a woman in a Forensics jacket was speaking to Esposito. She had a round face, pale skin, wide brown eyes, and dirty blonde hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She was young, younger than Beckett – mid-twenties, probably – and she held a clipboard in one blue-gloved hand and a ballpoint pen in the other.
"Entry doesn't appear to have been forced," the Forensics woman continued, tapping her pen against the top of her clipboard. "Possibly she knew the perp, but I'd say it's more likely that she opened the door to see who it was." Lowering her clipboard, she pointed at the broken vase with her pen. "I'd guess she picked that up and smashed it into her attacker's head. There's no blood on the vase, but look." She crouched down next to the vase, placing her clipboard on the ground beside her, and pulled something out of her pocket – tweezers. Using them, she picked something extremely small up from the floor next to the vase, placed it in the palm of her hand, and held it out for Esposito to see.
Moving over to have a look, it took Castle a few seconds to figure out what the tiny fleck of white in the Forensic woman's hand was. He landed on the word a split second before Esposito said it.
"Dandruff."
"Exactly." The woman shoved the tweezers back into her pocket and brushed the dandruff off her hand, picking up her clipboard and standings. "There's also a bit of blood nearby – a trail of drops, actually, leading to the bathroom. I'd guess that one of them ended up with a bloody nose, most likely the perp, and he went to grab a tissue after knocking Beckett out."
There it was. Up until then, the nameless blonde Forensics woman had not said Kate's name. Up until then, Castle had been able to make-believe that this was just another case, not a case centered around one of the people he cared about the most.
Not anymore.
"Whether it was Beckett, her attacker, or both who ended up bleeding," the Forensics woman was saying. "She didn't go down without a fight."
"Of course she didn't." Castle's words were soft, barely audible, and the misery in his voice was very nearly palpable.
"Mr. Castle." She recognized him. Of course she recognized him. "Forgive me for being blunt," she said, "but I was under the impression that you shadowed Detective Beckett as inspiration for your character of Nikki Heat."
Under the impression… as if she didn't know. There had been a freaking magazine article on it, for crying out loud. Everyone knew. "That's right."
"Well… again, forgive me… if that's the case, what purpose do you have here?" Her lips were pursed, her head tipped to the side. "What reason do you have for coming?"
Castle looked up, disbelief and something close to anger on his face. "I'm helping to find my partner," he replied; his tone was quiet, but deadly. "I'd say that's a pretty good reason."
"Right. Of course. Sorry." Without another word, she turned and scampered away.
Esposito turned to Castle. "Cut her a little slack, okay?" It was a suggestion, not an order. Not a demand. "Avery's new."
"Esposito, Kate is missing," Castle replied. There. He'd said it. It didn't make it any more real. Not any more real than it already was. "Until we find her," he continued, "I'm not cutting anyone a little slack."
Esposito nodded. "Okay, bro." He didn't argue. He just turned and went to talk to one of the other Forensics. Ryan was still standing in the doorway, clutching a pad of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. The tip of the pen hovered just above the pad, ready to jot down notes from witness statements, but Ryan didn't look like he was going to be writing anything any time soon. He nodded curtly at Castle, his mouth still firmly shut, and turned away.
