There's Always a Story – XX

Summary: No, this is not the smut version – that would be XXX. This is the version of what happened to Beckett during my story There's Always a Story, so you might want to read that first for context. And once again, the death of a major character is mentioned. Definitely AU.

AN: And now it's Tuesday again – where does the time go? (Except for watching the men's high dive event in the Olympics…very impressive. And Michael Phelps has some of the longest arms in the world.) Wow, before you know it, it will be Christmas. Thanks again for all the reviews, follows, and favs.

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Chapter 3 – Deception

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Beckett wasn't sure how long she stood in the room, watching the monitors as the people at … her funeral dispersed until only 4 people were left.

Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie stood with Jim Beckett as he watched the casket being lowered into the ground.

Beckett recognized the plot – it was the one next to her mother's. The enormous granite headstone that she had insisted on getting to honor her mother had room for her mother's name, her father's name, and her name when the time eventually came.

She just didn't think that she'd go before her father.

That shook her back to reality – no matter what Dr. Krish said, she had to get out of here, get back to New York, let them know she was indeed alive, and find whoever had done this. She wouldn't, couldn't rest until she did so.

She turned and quickly walked back up the stairs.

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"Tonight, we have a lovely Coq Au Vin with croissants," said the cook in a French accent as Beckett walked into the dining room, "followed by pistachio financiers."

"I thought it was lunch time," Beckett frowned, looking at her watch.

"Ah, no," said the cook. "It's almost 8 pm. You missed lunch."

Beckett nodded, slightly confused. She didn't think that much time had passed while she was in the room. She tapped the front of the watch and noticed that 2 pm still displayed.

"There you are," said Simone as she walked into the room. "I was getting worried. You missed lunch."

Beckett took a breath and ran a hand through her short, dark hair. "I was reading in the library and must have fallen asleep. And I think my watch is broken. It's been running slow all afternoon."

"Then we'll have to get you a new one," Simone said cheerfully. She shot a glance at the cook as Beckett sat down.

"This smells wonderful as usual, Marguerite," Beckett commented as she placed her napkin in her lap.

"Thank you," the cook answered, smiling proudly. "Just let me know if there's something special you want. I've been told my American dishes are just as good as my French cooking."

"No, that's not necessary," Beckett smiled as she shook her head.

"Well, I've got some good news," said Simone as she walked over to the wine rack.

Beckett's head snapped up but her hopes were crushed when Simone simply said, "Now that you are no longer taking pain medication, you can have some wine with dinner. We have a nice selection of reds – what would you like?"

"Whatever you're having," Beckett replied.

"Ah, this one," Simone said, picking up a decanter.

Beckett looked around. "Is Dr. Krish joining us tonight?"

Simone shook her head. "No, he and Baudin left early this morning. They had urgent business elsewhere and will be gone for several days."

"Thanks," Beckett said, nodding. She paused. "Have you heard anything yet?"

Simone shook her head with a slightly sad smile. "No, but I'll let you know as soon as we do. Now, let's eat up before it gets cold."

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Beckett was so wired that evening that she found sleep impossible and her mind raced, trying to plot a course of action.

Maybe there was a way to get into the computer room and make contact with her dad, or Espo and Ryan. If not them, then maybe the US embassy and let them know what was going on.

She waited until after midnight before quietly opening her door and slipping out into the darkened hallway. There was no light coming from Simone's room so Beckett assumed she had gone to bed.

Beckett paused as she reached the first floor, listening to see if anyone was moving around, and could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen.

Surprised to see light coming from under the door, Beckett quietly approached and stopped by the door. She could hear Marguerite humming to herself as she moved around, clattering dishes.

Beckett quickly took several steps back into a side hallway as the door opened and Marguerite walked out, carrying a large covered basket.

The cook whistled to herself as she walked down the hallway past the library and then stopped in front of a closet that Beckett had found when she was exploring. Marguerite leaned forward to look into the mirror to the side of the door and used one hand to brush through her hair as she looked at her reflection.

Beckett frowned as a green light scanned Marguerite's face and the door opened to reveal the inside of an elevator car. That certainly wasn't there when Beckett had opened the door to check it out.

Marguerite stepped inside and pressed a button.

Beckett waited until the door closed and then raced into the library, heading to the back and opening the secret door.

She quietly crept down the stairs just as Marguerite walked into the computer room where Baudin sat, watching the feeds.

Baudin swiveled in his chair and smiled at Marguerite. "You're late with lunch," he said in a definitely non-French accent. British perhaps, Beckett thought.

Marguerite tsked at him as she laid out the food. "I wouldn't let the wicked witch of the East hear you say that. You know how prickly she is about protocol."

"Yeah, yeah," said Baudin. "Besides, I'm not even here."

"And she could make that permanent," Marguerite reminded him with a slight frown. She looked at the feed. "Anything yet?"

Baudin shook his head as he took a bite of the sandwich and chewed. "Nah. I think Mr. Smith has lost his marbles on this one. No way the Dragon's going to come out of hiding for this."

"Perhaps," said Marguerite.

"Got any wine in there? And maybe that sexy French number?" Baudin asked as he reached for the basket.

Marguerite slapped his hand away. "No wine – you're on duty – and no French maid outfit. I'm saving that for Morocco. To go with this French accent."

"Hmm," Baudin rumbled as he laid the sandwich down and pulled Marguerite towards him. "Then how about a little afternoon delight?"

Marguerite laughed slightly and sat on his lap as she kissed him.

Beckett rolled her eyes at the couple and then quickly walked back up the stairs. She was sure she wouldn't get any more useful information tonight.

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The next night, Beckett was waiting in the hidden room when Marguerite walked in to the computer room with the basket.

"Any luck today?" Marguerite asked.

"Nah," answered Baudin. "Just Mr. Beckett and this guy," he said as he rewound one of the feeds.

"Is that Richard Castle?" Marguerite asked curiously.

"Yeah, you know him?" Baudin asked as he pulled up the man's profile.

"One of New York's most eligible bachelors. He writes murder mysteries – just finished a series of James Bond books," she replied. "What's he doing there?"

Baudin shrugged. "Apparently he knows the mayor of New York and he asked him to write articles about Beckett and Montgomery."

"Does Mr. Smith know?" Marguerite asked.

"He does now," replied Baudin as he pasted the writer's picture into an email.

"What's he doing?" Marguerite asked as she looked at the video. "Is he talking to her grave?"

"Yeah," said Baudin. "Here, listen…" he turned up the speakers so that they could hear what Castle was saying.

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After that, Beckett was in the hidden room each night, listening as Baudin replayed each day's tape for Marguerite.

"Got to give it to him, he's persistent," Marguerite commented.

"Yeah, in a pathetic way," replied Baudin. He was suddenly alert as something on the tape caught his attention. "No – wait – what did he say?"

He rewound it to a particular spot:

"I know your secret, Kate, and I want you to know that it's safe with me. I took the…items…so your friends wouldn't find them when they go back to your apartment. And I asked your father if he would be okay with me reopening your mother's case—"

"No, no, no, no, no," Baudin said as he punched a button on the console. "That's not good."

He waited for a few moments as the video feed switched to a man sitting at a desk. "Sir, Mr. Smith, it's me – apparently Detective Beckett was still investigating her mother's death and Castle found the files – he's going to reopen the Johanna Beckett case."

"I see," came the quiet reply. "Well, there's no need to panic. We'll just see how this plays out." He paused thoughtfully. "And maybe this will work in our favor. We've been looking for a way to cut the albatross from around our neck. Call me if anything else comes up and I'll look into things here."

Beckett stepped back against the stair well as a pit of fear grew in her stomach. What Castle was doing – it wasn't safe – they had gotten to her and Montgomery at the precinct and he had a daughter to protect. He wouldn't see it coming.

And she couldn't do anything about it from here. So she had to leave, she decided as she walked out of the hidden room, and the sooner, the better.

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After that day, Beckett started to carefully hoard items she would need for her journey out of here. She would take an extra bottle of water or an extra roll when no one was looking and hide them in her room.

Her return each night to the hidden room to hear what Castle had to say fueled her determination and made her focus.

The plan was simple – walk until she found someone who could help her. She had no clue how far from civilization she was but she was lucky that she spoke the native language and she was confident that she could do it.

Several days later, both Simone and Marguerite were waiting for her when she walked into the dining room for the evening meal.

Marguerite had laid out the fine china on the table along with lit tapers, giving the room a festive atmosphere.

"Good news," said Simone with a bright smile. "Everything has been arranged and tomorrow is moving day."

"Oh," Beckett replied, hiding the fact that this news came at a very bad time.

"I thought you'd be pleased," said Simone. "I know how anxious you've been."

Beckett nodded. "I am – very pleased." She shrugged and smiled slightly. "It's just that it's been a while so I didn't expect it."

"It took time to get all the gears moving," said Simone as she held up a glass of champagne. "So tonight we celebrate – a toast to a new life, a new beginning."

Beckett nodded as she picked up her glass. "To a new life," she said as she clinked glasses with the other two women. She'd just have to leave tonight then.

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"Oh," Beckett moaned as she rolled over in bed and struggled to sit up, holding a hand to her throbbing head.

She didn't remember falling asleep last night, much less going to bed with her clothes on.

And no, she was supposed to be gone now – have already left in her desperate bid for freedom. If they found her now, all her planning would go to waste and she couldn't protect anyone.

She took several deep breaths to quell the queasiness in her stomach and then pushed herself off the bed. If she was quick, maybe there was still time.

She grabbed one of the long sleeve shirts from the dresser and quickly tied the end of each arm and then the bottom and stuffed it with the bottles of water and food she had hidden.

She then tied it to her back to create a faux backpack and walked to the door and opened it slightly, listening.

The house was quiet, so maybe it was still early and no one else was up.

Beckett quickly walked downstairs to the front door and opened it, only to raise her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

She couldn't tell if it was just coming up or going down, but if it was setting, that meant she had slept all day. And if it was evening, why hadn't they woken her up?

Curiosity got the better of her and she walked back to the kitchen and found no one there.

There were dishes in the sink and coffee in the coffee pot, but it was cold.

What the h was going on?

Beckett turned and quickly walked back outside, looking around the front of the chateau. Yes, it was definitely darker out now, so the sun was setting.

The beauty of the area was wasted on her as she looked around, noting the tire impressions in the dirt road that led away from the chateau in the fading light.

Something large and heavy had definitely been here not too long ago – a moving van perhaps? But why would they leave her behind?

Beckett followed the tracks to the blacktopped road and then looked down the way that the muddy tracks led.

They had to be going to a main road and she might be able to flag down a car there, she surmised and started walking at a brisk pace.

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Several miles later, Beckett stopped to catch her breath and balled her fists in frustration. The winding road she was on seemed to lead to nowhere and the tracks had long since faded – in fact, in the bright moonlight, she thought she had seen that group of trees before. She was probably going around in a long circle.

There were no lights in any direction and she didn't hear any road noises, so she was no closer to civilization than when she started out.

Beckett took a sip of water from one of her bottles and decided on her course of action.

At this point, her only option was to go back to the house and see if she could find some way to contact someone from there.

Beckett was about to start back when a loud noise shook the area and she turned towards the direction she had come to see flames in the distance.

The house! No! Or yes, she thought as she started to run towards it. Someone would see the fire and come investigate. She just had to make sure she was there when they did.

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By the time she reached the house, it was totally consumed by the flames, the sparks and flames jumping wildly as the firemen tried their best to keep the fire from spreading into the adjacent woods.

Panting and holding her side, Beckett burst through the trees and stumbled up to one of the fireman standing beside a fire truck.

"Aide – je besoin d'aide," she said breathlessly, leaning over to put her hands against her legs, trying to catch her breath, but the smoke and acrid smell in the area made it hard. "Aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît?"

The man just stared at her as she took a coughing breath to start again. "Les gens d'ici—"

"Ma'am," he said in a heavy North Texas drawl, putting up a hand to stop her in mid-sentence, "do you speak English?"

Beckett frowned at him in confusion. "Of course I do – but why do you? Aren't we near Paris?"

"Yeah, Paris, Texas," the fireman said. "Ma'am, are you hurt? Were you in the house? Did you hit your head?"

She pushed past him and stared at the US and Texas flag decals on the side of the cab of the fire truck, her mouth hanging open.

No, this wasn't happening. But it was and confusion was suddenly replaced by fury. If she had known that she was in the States, they would have never been able to stop her from leaving, so that's why they lied.

"Son of a b..." Beckett ranted, reeling off a litany of profanity that she had learned during her stint in Vice.

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