Treasure Hunter

Chapter 9

Location: Richard Castle's Apartment

Castle tugged his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment. He hesitated for a brief moment before opening it, anxiously glancing back at his companion. She raised an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look. He offered her a weak smile and then pushed the door open, ushering her in.

"Sorry about the mess," he quickly announced as they entered. "I'm rarely here."

She cocked her head, quirking up one eyebrow as she gave him a sideways glance. "Now, why don't I find that surprising?"

"Not for the reasons you're thinking," Castle asserted with a frown, knowing exactly what she was assuming. Despite what she may believe, he wasn't the globetrotting womanizer the tabloids made him out to be. Yes, he enjoyed the occasional liaison with a beautiful woman while working a story, but there was more to him than that. He wasn't as shallow as she seemed to think. After all, he hadn't won two Pulitzers for nothing. "May I take your coat?"

Beckett looked at him for a moment, before shrugging nonchalantly and untying the lash around her slim waist. She rolled her shoulders, allowing her Balmoral trench coat to slip down her arms, trusting him to catch it before it fell to the floor. He grinned, curling his fingers into the rich fabric. She had good taste in fashion. If he had to guess, this charcoal gray overcoat was a Burberry.

While he hung up her coat, Beckett stepped into his meager living space, dumping her large duffel bag onto the sofa. She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed his home.

"Not much for cooking, are you?" she asked, arching her neck to look back at him.

"Huh?" Castle fumbled, before taking in the state of his living room, and the leaning towers of takeout cartons on the coffee table. He flushed in embarrassment. "No, no," he insisted, rushing ahead to clean up the mess. "I'm quite the chef, when time permits. But alas, I'm usually too busy to cook. So… yeah, I do tend to order in a lot."

Beckett raised a hand to reassure him, an amused smile touching her lips. "Don't worry, Castle, I was only teasing," she said. "I order takeout a lot, too."

He let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding in as he deposited the cartons in his recycling bin. He already had a stack of empty pizza boxes on the counter, one left opened displaying two moldy slices. Castle grimaced. Yeah, it had been a while since he'd taken the time to clean up. What he told her was the truth. He rarely spent much time here. He preferred being out in the field, working on an exposé. This apartment was more of a place he could simply crash in-between writing featured articles for First Press.

"Can I get you anything? Want something to drink?" he asked. "I have… um… water and… a bottle of merlot."

"No, I'm fine," Beckett said with a shake of her head.

She brushed her hair back from her face, trying to work it into a loose ponytail. Castle had to check himself to make sure he wasn't staring. It was a struggle. She was perhaps one of the most attractive women he'd ever seen. The photographs they saw earlier—no matter how disturbing—did not do her justice. She was stunningly beautiful, even when she wasn't making any effort to do so. It was just natural with her.

"Castle," she said his name, in a soft, amused tone.

He blinked and flicked his eyes up to meet hers, furrowing his brow in question.

"You're staring," she explained with a slight grin.

"Um… yeah?"

"Well, it's kinda creepy," Beckett said. "So, stop."

"Right, right," he bobbed his head, flashing her an apologetic look, but he couldn't help but notice the slight blush that rose along her neck and cheeks as she turned away from him to focus on fixing her hair, allowing it to fall back down on her shoulders, giving up on the ponytail.

Castle quickly moved about cleaning up the kitchen counter, doing anything to keep himself busy to prevent himself from once again ogling his house guest. Hadn't his mother taught him it was rude to stare? He thought so. Then again, most of his formative years had been spent hanging around backstage during his mother's performances. Castle had gained a lot of knowledge then—saw a lot, too. And that was why he found his current behavior around Kate Beckett so bewildering.

Richard Castle wasn't used to being so nervous around women. Flirting had always come easy to him. He was a master. It helped him greatly in his line of work, when he was investigating something, needing to get answers. He'd turn on the charm and usually got what he wanted. Who he wanted. He was a man who was used to getting his way.

"So, Castle, where do you want me?" Beckett asked, picking her duffel bag up off the sofa.

His mouth dropped, an innuendo-heavy quip on the tip of his tongue. Oh, there were so many ways he could answer that question. So many ways. But he held back, refraining from his usual suggestive response. Castle didn't want her thinking of him as some cad who just wanted to get into her pants. He wanted to, yes. Oh, how he wanted to. But he needed to handle her differently than he did other women. Because there was something special about Kate Beckett. He'd known that since their first meeting, and the spark that shot through him when they shook hands.

"Castle?"

"Only have the one bed, sorry," he winced.

She narrowed her eyes.

He held up his hands, attempting to douse her rising temper. "No, no, no… I didn't mean… look, I'll take the sofa, okay? You can have the bed. I wasn't suggesting anything."

"Right," she mumbled under her breath, frowning. "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. It's still not too late. I'll just go find a room at a hotel."

Castle moved fast. His legs carried him at a quick clip out of the kitchen to intercept her before she could make it to the front door. She glowered when he cut off her escape. He held up his hands, smiling reassuringly.

"We talked about this earlier," he reasoned. "And you agreed."

"Only because I was pressured into it," Beckett gritted out. The boys, both Ryan and Esposito, had taken his side when he'd offered up his apartment as a place she could crash while they hunted for the creep spying on her.

"That's because it makes perfect sense," Castle insisted with a charming grin. "You suspect this guy—Ganz, was his name—might have hired Neville Rhinehart to keep tabs on you. Yes?" She nodded. "Okay. Right. And we all agreed that camping out here, with me, was a good idea because…" He drew out his sentence, waiting for her to finish it.

Beckett dropped her head and sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. "Because there's nothing to connect us, so this would literally be the last place they'd look for me."

"Yes, yes," Castle bobbed his head, gesturing dramatically with one hand to put some emphasis on that conclusion. "So, it's safer to stay here."

"With you?"

"Yes. With me," he agreed with a winning smile. "I'm not that bad, now am I? I promise not to bite."

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "All right, Castle," she conceded, holding a hand up to stop his further attempts at persuading her. "You've convinced me." Beckett turned around and walked back to the sofa, dumping her duffel there. "But, I'll take the couch," she said firmly, leaving no room for any more debate. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed."

"Okay, fine… sure, whatever," Castle shrugged, going for nonchalant. He was just happy she'd agreed to stay.

Beckett raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him from over her shoulder. He pursed his lips and smiled. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her duffel. She bent down and unzipped it, taking out a small bag and a change of clothes.

"If it's okay, I'd like to take a shower," she said.

Castle nodded. "Yeah, sure… down the hall and to the left," he directed.

She offered him a small smile of thanks, and collected her things.

"I'll order us some Chinese," he called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom, casting one last judgmental look his way before closing the door and locking it behind her.

XXX

He woke up needing a cold shower.

Last night, after consuming way too much wine with their late supper, Castle had dreamed of Kate Beckett, wearing a teal tank top and obscenely short shorts, leading him through some jungle in search of buried treasure. Making matters worse, he awoke from his fantastical dream just when he was getting to the good stuff. It took him a moment to realize he'd just been dreaming and that there was no gloriously naked woman lying beside him in bed.

Castle sat up and groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He really needed to get these desires in check. The story needed to come first. Once he had that, then he could pursue other matters of a more carnal, biological nature. Slowly, he stood up and groggily padded out of his bedroom, intent on taking that cold shower to deal with his problem.

But before he could make the turn towards his bathroom, Castle caught scent of a wondrous and delicious aroma wafting from the direction of the kitchen. He blinked his eyes, feeling more awake as he walked down the hallway. Rounding the corner, Castle came to a stop. His mouth dropped as he gazed out at the sight before him.

Kate Beckett was standing in front of the stove, hair pulled back into a messy bun, dressed in black leggings and a maroon t-shirt that was a couple sizes too large for her. She lifted a cup to her lips and took a quick sip before continuing with her work. He watched, in awe, as she moved gracefully about his kitchen, like she was performing a ballet. She lifted the skillet, and moved around something that sizzled with a spatula, before pirouetting around and depositing the contents onto a large saucer plate. Castle followed the movement with his hungry eyes, finding the dish was stacked high with crispy bacon. His mouth began to water.

"Morning, Castle," she greeted with a small smile, spotting him lurking in the shadows of the hallway.

He hummed in response, forcing his legs to move, padding the rest of the way to join her in the kitchen. "I just woke up, and literally smelled the coffee and the bacon." He reached for a strip of bacon, but Beckett stopped him with a quick swat with the spatula.

"Still too hot," she chided.

Castle withdrew his hand, sticking out his lower lip like a petulant child, yearning a light laugh from his guest. He leaned an elbow against the kitchen counter and cocked his head to the side as he watched her move about. It was amazing. She was like a natural.

"Here's some coffee," she said, placing a freshly filled mug in front of him on the counter, before turning back around to tend to the scrambled eggs.

He accepted the proffered coffee with a bob of his head, still entranced by the sight before him. Castle held the mug up to his nose so he could inhale the rich aroma. It was intoxicating, just like her. His eyes followed her movements as she stirred the scrambled eggs with the spatula, making sure they were cooked evenly on all side.

"So, you cook," he said, taking a sip of his coffee and nodding in approval at the flavors the washed across his taste buds.

Beckett smiled, a look of fond remembrance, with a hint of sorrow, passing over her eyes. "Actually, my mom was an amazing cook," she told him. "She used to make Sunday brunch. And I would get the choice between pancakes, omelets, or waffles."

"Wow, that's funny," Castle chuckled, earning a confused look from her. He smirked. "Every Sunday, my mom would have me make her an ice pack and a Bloody Mary."

Her brow furrowed.

"She was in the theater," he explained with a shrug. "Still is."

Beckett shook her head at him as she turned off the burner and brought the eggs over to the empty serving dish. As if on cue, the toaster popped. She served the toast as well, making a nice display on the kitchen countertop.

"Wow," Castle exclaimed, looking down at the breakfast meal she'd constructed. He glanced back at her with a puzzled expression. "Not complaining, but where'd you get all this, because I know it wasn't from the refrigerator."

Beckett handed him a fork and shrugged. "I stopped by the corner grocery store after my morning run," she answered casually, as if it was no big deal.

Castle nearly choked on his eggs—still too hot—and stared back at her with an incredulous look. "You went… outside?" he hissed, blowing air in and out fast in an attempt to cool his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Castle," she insisted, lifting her mug to take a sip of coffee. "I can take care of myself."

He relented with a nod of his head. He had no doubt that she could handle herself. She had snuck into a warehouse under FBI surveillance and hadn't been seen, except by him. Besides, there were still so many things he didn't know about this extraordinary woman. Castle raised his cup and took a slow sip of the deliciously rich coffee she'd prepared. Yes. He was definitely looking forward to learning more about Kate Beckett. And, if this breakfast meal was anything to go by, she was finally beginning to warm up to him.

They began to eat quietly, enjoying their food in a comfortable silence. He watched her eat, stabbing a clump of scrambled eggs with her fork, bringing it up to her mouth, and slowly chewing on it. Castle swallowed hard. It shouldn't be, but he found watching her eat highly erotic.

His cellphone buzzed across the surface of the kitchen countertop, where'd he left it plugged into the charger. He snatched it up, and slid his thumb across the screen to answer.

"Rick Castle," he greeted.

Beckett's eyes flicked up to him, and he stared back at her, listening to the man on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, yeah," he bobbed his head. "That really helps, Joel. Thanks. Yeah. Bye."

Castle hung up and walked back to his spot at the counter, snagging a piece of toast, taking a bit out of it as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Well?" Beckett asked with a raised eyebrow, growing irritated with his silence.

He jerked his head up and grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "Joel came through," he announced. "It wasn't strictly legal, and went against bank policy, but he managed to find out the name attached to the account that transferred that money to Rhinehart."

"The name, Castle," Beckett interjected, giving him a pointed look.

"Right," he shifted. "It was actually a company name: Prince Export Global."

Beckett placed both her hands on the table and lowered her head. He stood there, chewing his food as he watched her absorb the information. She looked tense. There was no way he was going to push for information at this juncture. He'd happily wait her out. She took a deep breath, before straightening back up and relaxing her shoulders.

"Prince Export Global… that was Ganz's company," she said.

"So… what does this mean?" he asked.

Beckett stared off into space for a long beat, before flicking her eyes up to meet his. "It means I need to go to LA."