Author's Note: Okay, so clearly this is going to be more than four chapters. Oops.
The two-hour drive from Manhattan to the Hamptons had gone by in silence, both Richard Castle and Kate Beckett too wrapped up in their own minds for conversation. He'd kept the radio silent throughout the drive as well, for which Kate had been grateful. Her mind was so cluttered with the events of the past day that she couldn't focus on anything else.
Even as impressive as Castle's house at the Hamptons was – when they arrived, she'd quipped, "Wow, are you rich or something?" and for a brief moment, things felt like they were back to normal.
But as soon as she entered the house, the reality came crashing down on her again. Kate had to suck in a deep breath to keep herself together – she was not about to have an emotional breakdown in front of this man – hoping she could fight the tears off when he turned to give her a reassuring smile and take her bag.
Castle had insisted that no one outside of the redheads and select people at Black Pawn knew about this place – one thing she could honestly say about the writer was that he was never one to flaunt his wealth. It flew in the face of his debonair playboy persona that allegedly helped books fly off the shelves, but it was refreshing, and she appreciated not only that, but the seriousness with which he was treating this situation.
Even if he was spending too much time beating himself up over it.
They'd eaten dinner in relative silence – more accurately, he ate dinner while she merely picked at it. Kate had expected him to chide her for it, as he often had over her less-than-stellar eating habits, but he surprised her by simply taking her plate when he was finished, wrapping it in tin foil, and placing it in the fridge.
He was being thoughtful, courteous. No jokes, no inappropriate comments, none of that maddeningly adorable theorizing he would do on those long days at the precinct. Kate wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so serious for so long, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was the guilt or merely a realization of just how deep they were in this.
Maybe it was a bit of both.
She couldn't place why, but Kate wanted to let him know that she didn't blame him for any of this. He'd actually been extraordinarily trustworthy in this entire mess, from offering that money to dislodging himself from Coonan so Kate could get a clear shot to securing the files after Montgomery's assassination to refusing to let Kate deal with this on her own.
Castle was no longer just an occasionally useful, albeit annoying, civilian consultant. She was no longer just his muse. They were partners, in the most unorthodox sense, yet it worked. As much as Kate appreciated Detectives Ryan and Esposito, loving them like brothers, fact was no one had her back like Castle.
Castle had disappeared after dinner, and given how spacious the house was, there was no telling where he wound up. Kate had chosen to lounge about in the living room, both to enjoy the view overlooking the water as the sun went down and to give herself some alone time. She'd barely had any since discovering the tape, and as great as Castle had been, she needed some time without him around.
But as she figured would probably happen, tears burned her eyes the second he left the kitchen. The enormity of the situation was sinking in all over again – not just the realization that she'd stared the man who killed her mom in the eye, not just the fact that it wasn't random gang violence, but also the fact that Roy Montgomery – her mentor in every sense – had at least known about it the whole time.
For years, he had kept silent – and when he finally fessed up and started giving Kate answers, someone put a bullet in his head. Every time Kate closed her eyes, she could still see the blood and the bits of skull on the floor in his office.
Roy had said he was protecting Kate by keeping quiet, and they killed him as soon as he started talking. The detective half-expected there to be a knock on the door at any minute, and for her to be greeted with the barrel of the gun upon opening the door.
But no knock came. The only sound was that of the waves crashing into the shore.
Within minutes, the quiet solitude got to be too much, and Kate lifted herself off the couch in search of her partner. She wanted to tell herself that he was off somewhere writing, that he was putting the finishing touches on Naked Heat, but something told her he was burying himself in that file – because that was exactly what she would do.
Sure enough, when she stumbled upon Castle's office, she saw the way the lamp on the table illuminated him, papers strewn about the surface of his desk as he studied each one with a frown. He furiously jotted down notes, and Kate couldn't help but notice that there was no high-definition monitor near his desk like there was in his loft.
She knocked on the door to announce her presence, suppressing a grin when he jumped a little.
"Beckett."
"Hey." She stepped into his office, at once comforted by the myriad of bookshelves surrounding the walls. It reminded her of his loft, and she couldn't help but let her eyes dance over the spines in an effort to see what authors he enjoyed reading. "Find anything?"
The crease in Castle's brow deepened. "Whatever happened to Raglan?"
"Retired," she answered.
"And what about…" Castle glanced at one of the sheets of paper with a squint. "Gary McCallister?"
"Far as I know, he retired too."
Castle scooted aside in his chair as Kate wandered deeper into his office and came across to his side of the desk. The gray NYPD hoodie was far too big on her, seemingly swallowing Kate whole, but Castle still drank in the sight of her because with her hair up, a strand or two breaking free, she was still adorable.
And she still smelled like cherries.
Clearing his throat, Castle sat up a little straighter. "This is mostly a money trail," he said. "We're talking large stacks of money, and I'm thinking, this is the trail that leads to the mafia random ring Montgomery talked about."
Kate nodded. "The one he was in on with Raglan and McCallister."
"Right. And there was a lot of money in this," Castle added, fishing through a stack of papers before showing Kate a series of highlighted numbers. "But see here? Starting with the week after Bob Armen's death, every time they got a big deposit, a chunk of that money got wired to another account."
Kate nodded, the proverbial light bulb going off. "They were cutting Bracken in on the profits."
Castle frowned. "You think?"
"Remember the tape? Bracken told them he was covering for them, and he threatened to expose them."
"And the money was to keep him quiet." Castle nodded. "But what would Bracken need the money for?"
Kate shrugged. "He was still Assistant DA back then. Maybe he used the money to fund his Congressional campaign."
Castle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "He wouldn't be the first politician to ride a wave of dirty money into office." Sinking back into his chair, a day's worth of stubble dotting his cheeks, Castle shook his head. "We need to get a name to go along with this account number. We need the proof."
Kate frowned and folded her arms over her chest. "Who needs proof? It's a great story."
She was teasing him; he knew she was teasing him. He briefly let a smile creep onto his tired features, but it disappeared almost immediately. "Yes, I may have on occasion gotten carried away with the storytelling, but…" Something unfamiliar crossed his face, and Castle shook his head. "Beckett, we have to get this right. I can't – we can't – mess this up."
"We won't," Beckett assured, placing her hand on Castle's shoulder. He glanced at the hand, which was barely poking out of the sleeve of her hoodie, before his blue eyes flicked upward to meet her hazel ones. "I want this just as bad as you, if not more."
The soft smile that crept onto Castle's face almost melted Kate, and he reached up to place his hand over hers. It was by far the most intimate they had been to this point, and yet Kate didn't see the need to end the moment. He clearly needed reassurance, to be assuaged of some of the guilt he was still carrying around. And she needed to know that her partner still had her back, that no matter how deep she went down the rabbit hole this time, there'd be someone holding onto her shoe, ready to pull her back at a moment's notice.
"I sometimes forget you live with this every day," Castle said, averting his gaze.
"You're right, I do," she countered, leaning against the edge of his desk. "But there's one key difference this time: I'm not alone." When Castle opened his mouth to say something, she grabbed his shoulder and shook her head. "Look, I meant what I said last night. And I know…I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know, and I know our arrangement isn't exactly normal."
Castle smiled, more genuinely this time, before it morphed into a smirk and a shake of his head. "Well, I'm not exactly known for doing things the normal way, Beckett."
"I just…" Kate huffed a sigh and shook her head. She was terrible with words. "This isn't what you signed up for when you started shadowing me. Following me for book research is one thing-"
"This isn't about the books anymore," Castle interrupted, turning so he could face Kate full-on. "Hasn't been for a while."
Kate's words stuck in her throat, and she was taken aback by his brazen honesty. It was such a rarity between them, speaking what was truly on their minds, and Kate couldn't help but wonder why he would choose now of all times to give voice to something they both knew was there but didn't want to acknowledge.
Her mouth closed, and then Kate cleared her throat. "Castle…"
"I know, timing sucks." The writer offered a rueful smile and a shrug. "But you mean a lot to me, Kate. Have for a while, and I still kick myself over how I violated your trust."
"But I forgave you for that."
"And I'm grateful to this day," Castle said. "I know trust isn't easy for you to give, Kate, and even harder to mend. I'm honored that you forgave me, and if I'm being honest, I wanna help bring down Bracken to show my gratitude."
Kate arched her brows and flashed a grin of disbelief. "So it has nothing to do with justice?"
Castle shrugged and squinted, parting his thumb and forefinger by less than an inch. "Maybe just a little."
The two shared a quiet laugh before silence descended upon them. Much to Castle's surprise, Kate didn't remove her from his shoulder, even as her gaze fell to the floor. He looked up at her, at first pursing his lips, but then he opened them to speak.
"Look, Beckett…"
"No." She shook her head and lifted her gaze again, hazel eyes meeting his. "You're not just my shadow anymore, Rick. You're my partner." She moved her hand from Castle's shoulder to grab his hand, their fingers intertwining. "And we'll take down Bracken. Together."
Parts Unknown…
John Raglan stared at the letter on his dresser, heaving a weary sigh. He knew what the letter had told him before he even read the words, but he still read them. Once, twice…he lost count of how many times he'd read that letter, let what those words meant sink in for him. He'd done a lot of terrible things in his day, and karma was finally coming to collect payment.
Raglan once thought he'd spend his golden years rotting in a jail cell – God knew he'd done plenty in his day to deserve that fate – but his body apparently had other ideas. About a year ago, his body began betraying him. A lump here, a dull pain there – all followed by the damning diagnosis, the dreaded c word.
Six months ago, he lost what was left of his hair. Every other day, Raglan lost his lunch. Sometimes his supper, too. An ex-wife drove Raglan to and from doctor's appointments, but once Raglan had been given the proverbial all-clear, even she went away.
A cancer-free life lasted two months. But now the lymphoma was back, more aggressive than before, and no matter what rosy picture the doctor tried to paint, Raglan knew better. His days were numbered. The only question was: how much pain would Raglan be in when that time finally came?
He'd already turned away chemo and radiation. Raglan wasn't about to fight that battle again.
His personal Glock sat in his lap, and Raglan stared at the bullet he was twirling in his fingers. It really would be that simple; load the bullet into the chamber, point the gun, pull the trigger. A life of sin and betrayal would mercifully end. No one would think twice.
Raglan set the bullet on top of the letter with a sigh. He couldn't do that. Not yet. Not without doing what little he could do to set things right once and for all. So he set the gun on the floor and grabbed his phone, a burner flip device, dialing a number and pressing the phone to his ear, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath as the rings filled his head.
He cursed under his breath when the call went to voicemail.
Hello, you've reached Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD Homicide. I'm unable to take your call at this time, but please leave your name and number. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1.
Raglan cursed again when the machine beeped.
"Hey, kid, it's Raglan." He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "Listen, there's something you need to know, about your mother's case." His lifeless eyes went to a newspaper on the floor, news of Montgomery's death splashed across the front page. "You probably already have some idea, but…I need to come clean, kid. Call me back."
Raglan sighed as he hung up, tossing the phone onto the table before pushing himself out of his chair. His knees cracked in protest, and Raglan hissed in discomfort. He stretched his tired muscles as much as he could, scratching at his side.
But before Raglan could move again, a bullet broke through his window and dug into his skull. The pain was there and gone in an instant, and by the time Raglan's body collapsed onto the hardwood flood, blood oozing down the side of his nose, the retired detective was dead.
Across the street, camped out on the fifteenth floor, Hal Lockwood lifted his head from the zoom scope on his rifle, a cocky sideways grin curling his lips into a sneer. His week's worth of stubble was closely cropped, and Lockwood cracked his knuckles before grabbing a flip phone from his back pocket.
Silence hung in the air while he waited for the phone to connect. When it did, Lockwood smiled.
"Two down. Three to go."