Here you go guys! I hope you like the update; it would have come sooner but I've had exams this week - gah! Please review, and give me any tips - I'am always open to advice. Also, thanks to everyone who's been reading; this story's popularity means a lot to me. :)

KT X


9:14 A.M

The case was moving slowly, to put it mildly.

Esposito and Ryan had been gone for a half an hour, so were due back sometime soon.

Castle sat linking paperclips together absentmindedly, watching the board as though her were waiting for one of the pictures to move. Beckett leaned against the end of her desk with her arms folded, moulding some Blu Tack in her hands as if by the very movement of it something substantial would miraculously appear, for which she could use the malleable putty to add something, anything, to the board.

When Kate's computer notified them that she had an e-mail, it was salvation to them both, and Castle shifted out of her computer chair and into his usual one. For once, she didn't mind.

"That's Gregory's financials," she stated and sat up straighter, relieved she finally had something to work with.

Castle leaned in to view what was on screen over her shoulder, then, inhaling deeper, leaned in a little closer. "You smell like cherries," he whispered and she smiled, remembering way back when she'd wanted to employ some of her hand-to-hand combat training after he'd commented on her scent. Now, she bopped her head to the side so it lightly bumped his, then bent forward so she could see her computer screen without the heady haze of Castle clouding her vision.

"There's no money," Castle observed.

"That's right..."

Beckett continued to peruse the figures, praying something would come up. "There!" she declared triumphantly. "He tried to make a payment and he tried to make it twice; both times it bounced."

"Making for one angry guy deprived of his riches. Wow, fifteen thousand dollars?"

"More like fifteen thousand motives," said Esposito as he and Ryan entered the bull pen and approached Beckett's desk.

"Route it," Ryan said.

Beckett clicked on the attempted – and failed – transaction to find out who it was destined for. The detectives and Castle grew anxious as the system continued to load, searching, searching... Bingo!

"Diego Mendoza..." Esposito said. "Why do I know that name?"

"He recently took over the Cazadors," Beckett said, with that tone of realization, close to fear, but more with the subtext, I don't want to go there.

There was silence.

Complete silence in the bull pen, surrounded by the cacophony of noise that consumed the break room, the copy room, adjacent offices, the elevator, the stairwell, the interview lounge. Everywhere was busy and bustling as usual on a Saturday now that shifts had started, but the four of them gathered around the computer sat in silent astonishment.

Beckett turned and looked at Castle, her mouth open, her eyebrows pinched.

He reached for her hand under the desk.

9:30 A.M

Castle watched uncomfortably as Beckett spoke with Gates in her office.

Through the glass he could see that Gates was as uneasy as the rest of them at the idea of getting caught up in a gang war. There was ample evidence to suggest that it was a bad idea, and Castle knew from his own experience that it was dangerous. He remembered the gang altercation that hit the wire when he was following Detective Slaughter – possibly the most terrifying week of his life. Castle shuddered when he remembered how bad a driver Slaughter had been.

At last Beckett returned to her desk. The others waited to hear what she had to say.

"Gates said to wait for phone records to come in then make our move, but she doesn;t like the idea of us heading out," she said, pressing her lips together; she also did not want to go.

She wasn't afraid, but she knew it was dangerous. She didn't want Castle in the firing line, or for any of them to be at risk in a gang's home environment, where they had the upper hand. Once they did go, they'd be taking back-up with them, possibly even a SWAT team.

But, mostly, she was indescribably terrified at the idea of Castle being in the firing line.

9:35 A.M

They knew the phone records shouldn't take long as the subpoena for Gregory's financials had been filed at the same time as that for the information on his sim card.

Beckett approached the whiteboard and wrote 'Cazador?' on it beside 'Westie' and 'Rourke.' If this was a gang war then they'd need to get involved with several other task forces in the precinct and communicate with them. To Beckett they were all suspects, but to the Gang task force they may be sitting ducks, or to the Vice cops they might be very close to a conviction. None of them could be sure what the other was up to, making it particularly difficult to plan a raid.

"So, our vic is in deep with a Cazador, and jumps in with the Westies in the hope they'll bail him out," Beckett began a theory thread.

"But he doesn't act quickly enough and the Cazadors take him out," Castle finished. "But why would he turn to another gang for money?"

"Good question. Maybe he just went to them for protection?" She suggested.

"Well, like Rourke said, he was pretty new to the gang. He was green. So surely they wouldn't have cared about losing him?"

"Hmm," was all Beckett said, glaring at the board, trying to find the link.

She knew the Cazador wouldn't break. Of couse he wouldn't; even if they had him on drug possession or baring an unlicensed firearm, threatened him with charges, he wouldn't cave. Kate had dealt with these people before, she knew their tells.

The shaky guys gave in to pressure. Too much remorse or too little was a giveaway. Asking questions, trying to take control, suggested the interrogatee had something to hide. And finally dominance. Whoever had the upper hand, and Beckett always tried to keep it, could conceal their knowledge effectively. If a Cazador was in the box he would fight for dominance. He would try to make her feel small, objectify her, look at her like a piece of meat. These guys were seasoned, far more than the Westies, who needn't be because they were more discrete. The Cazadors were prepared for a fight because they were loud, so they had to be.

9:49 A.M

Beckett took Castle's wrist without a word and led him down the corridor, past holding, to the window overlooking the apartment buildings that opened out onto Thirteenth Street.

She turned to him and he held her, providing her comfort while her mind raced. He said nothing, knowing he need not, but quietly enveloped her in the safety of his firm embrace.

"Castle," she whispered hoarsely.

"Kate," he said quietly.

"Please don't come."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Kate, I want to," he pulled back and held her shoulders, rubbed the tops of her arms.

"Why?" she asked after a moment, and for one bizarre second she thought she might cry.

"I want to be there to protect you."

"With what?" she asked, a lump in her throat. If the Cazadors got hold of them – which they certainly could – they'd kill Castle to get to her. Because if she was the one they killed, they'd learn nothing, and then they'd be at greater risk because the NYPD doesn;t just let a cop death slide.

"You're vast arsenal or rapier wit?" she repeated something she remembered from years before, the night Castle had stayed "To protect her" when Jordan Shaw had joined them for her Crazed Fan Case.

Castle only smiled. "I love you," was all he said. Three simple words.

And she knew what was contained in them and she hated it, wanted to hit him for even suggesting it, knock some sense into him, or maybe even just burst into tears and cry against his chest.

"No," she said almost inaudibly, shaking her head.

Castle said nothing. He didn't need to, he knew she understood. And he wouldn't change his mind.

Should the need arise, he'd jump.

He'd take a bullet for her.