AN: Isn't it great to have "Castle" back on our screens? It's so much fun.
Hope you like this chapter. As always, thanks to JSQ for the beta read.
Chapter Eight: If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going
Javier Esposito paced outside the blue curtained treatment area in the ER. He knew Beckett was going to be okay, but damn it had been close. Maddox was a trained killer. She was unbelievably lucky to have escaped with just a nasty gash and fractured arm.
After answering her call, he'd shot out of bed. Throwing on some clothes and grabbing his weapon as he left, he raced out of his apartment into the cold, still air. He made two calls on his way over to her place. The first was to alert the cavalry, and by the time he arrived, they'd taken control of the scene.
The place was buzzing with cops and medics. He found Beckett, who was holding a bloodied yellow towel around her forearm, sitting on her sofa, alone. He approached, taking care not to startle her. She looked up at him, and said: "He's alive". He was both relieved and disgusted. Having made sure she was okay, he took a look in the bedroom, which looked like a warzone. Then he walked into the kitchen, in time to see an unconscious Cole Maddox being loaded onto a stretcher.
"Yo, Velázquez, our guy's gonna make it, right?"
"Looks that way", said the female officer as she followed the EMT out of Beckett's apartment.
"You keep an eye on him, that clear? Don't let the bastard out of your sight", he yelled at her back.
Striding back into the living room, he walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Beckett. "Maddox is on the move. Gates has organised an armed escort. He's not getting away this time. And as soon as the asshole is conscious, he's gonna answer our questions."
"Thanks for having my back", Beckett said softly.
"It's what we do, right? Now, come on, let's get you to the hospital." He helped her to her feet, and together they left the mess that was her home behind.
That had been two hours ago, and since then, Maddox had slipped in and out of consciousness, twice, and Beckett was now sporting a cast around her arm. He'd been running through the attack with Beckett when a doctor had interrupted them, and Esposito had been asked to step outside.
Suddenly, the blue curtains opened and the doctor breezed through, holding a medical chart in his hands. "You can go back in now, detective." Just as he was about to check in on Beckett, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his side arm, only to see Kevin Ryan approaching with a face like thunder.
"I hope that bastard is still alive!"
Esposito took his hand away from his side and relaxed. "You bet he is."
Ryan had been his second call. Beckett was family to both of them.
"And Beckett's okay?"
"You can see for yourself. Come on in."
Kate Beckett smiled as the two men appeared from between the gap in the curtains. Her team was complete again, almost.
"You got him, Beckett. Shit! You got him." Ryan walked over to the bed where she was sitting, unsure of what to do when he got there. So he did what he most wanted to do. What he needed to do once he saw how shaken she looked. He sat next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. When he registered just how hard her hand was trembling, he had to fight the urge to hunt down Maddox and make him pay all over again.
It was comforting to be touched in that way. It had been a long time since anyone had held her hand. She squeezed back, and it was then that she noticed what her fellow detective was wearing. She caught Esposito's eye and despite the heavy tension that existed every time they took a breath, the two of them started laughing.
"Ryan, aren't you a bit overdressed for the emergency room?" she asked.
"Okay, okay, laugh it up, guys. Jen and I were on our way to her sister's wedding over in Queens when I got the call."
"At five o'clock in the morning?" Esposito said, grinning from ear to ear.
Ryan smoothed down the front of his light grey suit jacket. The silk pink tie, still perfectly tied in place. "The weddings' at nine this morning, on a boat out on Meadow Lake. Jen didn't want us to be late, besides, there's always last minute crap to deal with, isn't there?"
Beckett and Esposito shook their heads indicating they had no idea.
"Well there is. Nothing ever runs smoothly, so it's best to get there early so you can deal with stuff as it happens."
"So where's Jen, now?" Beckett asked.
"She dropped me off and then raced back there. She wanted to come by and see how you are, but I told her that you're okay. Besides, she's the Maid of Honor".
"You know, you don't have to stay, either of you. I'm fine. Really."
"We're not going anywhere, Beckett." Ryan said firmly, before looking over at the other man.
Esposito nodded his agreement. "Ryan's right. We're gonna see this through to the end."
xxx
Castle's heart was hammering in his chest. The pile of letters he'd picked up from the kitchen table earlier lay open on his desk. In his hand was the last letter he'd opened. He felt sick, and so scared he could barely think straight. All thoughts of his earlier argument with Alexis disappeared from his mind any every sound around him dulled into nothing.
He had to warn her!
The letter had been inside correspondence from Black Pawn. He'd opened that last, thinking that it was just another note from Gina setting out why the ending he'd penned for the latest Nikki Heat book was the "biggest mistake since killing off Derek Storm". So, he'd sorted through the varied collection of bills, assorted fan mail that had been sent on from New York, and, as was the bane of any successful novelist, requests for book cover recommendations. He'd fired up his laptop because he saved previous reviews in a word doc, and figured he'd just change a few words round, insert new character names etc, and he'd be done in no time. It was then, as he was browsing previous reviews, all of which said pretty much the same thing, that he opened the letter from his publisher.
Inside was another letter, on which his name was printed in neat handwriting. The handwriting was unfamiliar. Accompanying the letter was a brief note written on headed "Black Pawn" notepaper, saying that the enclosed was dropped off at the New York office by a man eager to make contact with him. The man had, according to the note, visited his empty apartment many times over the past few months, but the doorman had simply said that the occupants were out. So, he'd gone away again, returning every couple of weeks hoping to find someone home. Eventually, he gave up, and reluctantly he had entrusted the letter to Black Pawn on the strict understanding that they would keep it safe and ensure it reached him as soon as possible.
Castle was intrigued, so he'd turned his attention away from the computer screen and opened the letter. Inside were two A4-sized pieces of paper. One, which at first glance looked like a list of telephone numbers – some highlighted in various colours, the other, a note signed by a man he'd thought he'd never hear from again.
The man who he'd only ever known as "Mr. Smith" had written the note in a hurry, this was clear. It was brief, to the point and answered the question that had been burning a hole in his gut since he first heard the name "Johanna Beckett". It told him who.
The note was written on expensive headed notepaper. It was from the office of Congressman Randall of the Seventh Congressional District, Georgia. The name was familiar to him, but why? Then he remembered. Congressman Randall was dead. He had been found in his constituency headquarters in Lawrenceville, apparently having taken his own life. That had happened months before. There was an investigation, but Castle remembered reading at the time that there was no suicide note, no clue as to why a seemingly content man had blown his head off.
Now he knew it had been no suicide. It had been a contract killing, just like all the rest. Smith's note…no, Randall's note, he corrected himself as his eyes raced over the words, urged Castle to hand over the enclosed evidence to the NYPD as soon as possible, that this was the only option left because he couldn't protect her any more.
The other man had known he was going to die, or at least he'd figured it as a good possibility. Maybe Randall had reached out to the Dragon, hoping to keep him at bay, but his identity had been discovered. Maybe he'd known that and so sent the bundle of witness statements and random notes to Castle before they could catch up with him. But he hadn't sent everything. He'd kept this one piece of evidence back. Maybe he was worried that they'd get to Castle too. And they had, through Alexis.
Castle's mind was racing with possibilities. Yes, that made sense. That's how he'd write it. Randall had delayed sending the other letter to him, instead he'd entrusted it to a friend, and asked that it be handed over should anything happen to him. Randall's friend, upon hearing of his death, had then sought Castle out.
He stared at the name of the person he now knew to be the Dragon. Then he picked up his new cell phone lying on the desk next to his morning coffee and dialled.
He let it ring until her heard her recorded voice telling him to leave a message. He ended the call, and sorted through his saved contacts until he found Ryan's number. Again, his call was directed to an answer phone. Dialling Esposito's number brought the same result. "Typical", he thought as she pulled his laptop closer and hit the return key. The word document he'd been looking over earlier opened and filled the screen. His fingers made a pinching movement on the track pad and the word document disappeared, and in its place were his favoured icons. He tapped once on the mail icon and the screen now opened into his email account.
He typed quickly.
Just as he was about to hit "Send", the door to his bedroom was flung open and his mother rushed inside. "Richard, turn on the news", she said breathlessly.
"Mother, I'm just about to…"
"Richard, it's about Beckett."
He grabbed the remote from off the desk and turned the TV on. The female reporter, who Castle quickly noted was standing outside the entrance to the Twelfth Precinct, was finishing up. He turned the volume up and listened as she summarised the events that had taken place in the early hours of that morning.
"The police detective, who only last year survived being shot, appears to have been the victim of a home invasion. Sources tell me that the detective was rushed from the scene to the nearby New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and that her injuries are extensive."
He heard the words that fell from the reporter's lips, but he couldn't yet take them in. It couldn't be true. It couldn't! His eyes scanned the photograph of Beckett that was floating in the top right hand corner of the TV screen. It was one he'd seen many times. It was her 'official' police officer photo, and he knew she hated it.
"I'm so sorry, Richard."
Castle kept re-playing the reporter's words over and over in his mind, but they just didn't make sense. She couldn't be hurt. It couldn't happen again. It couldn't.
"Richard. Richard." Martha walked around the desk and placed her hand on her son's shoulder.
"I need to be with her. I have to go."
"No, you can't. What if this is connected with her mother's murder? It's too dangerous."
"This is connected. I know it."
"Then why go? Why put yourself in danger, again?"
"Because I know who the Dragon is, and if it's the last thing I do, he's going to pay for what he's done to her."
Thanks for reading. :)
