Rewound Chapter Ten
"Hey, Espo. Got something."
The phone rattled as Ryan hung up from whomever he'd been questioning.
Esposito looked up from where he he'd been scanning through financials on their truck-driver, coming up with exactly nothing. Again. The guy was squeaky clean. Shutting the file, he rose to meet his partner.
"Tip?"
Spending their weekend off digging deeper into Beckett's accident had started as a favor to Castle, and since Lanie was busy doing "girl things" with Beckett anyway, he didn't really mind. But despite his best efforts to stall Castle's crazy conspiracy theory with hard evidence, some things they had found, and not found, were starting to bug him. The truck was nowhere. Disappeared into thin air.
Ryan was already sliding his arms into his jacket as Esposito rounded his desk.
"I think we found our truck. Scrap yard in Jersey." He gestured to a Google map on his screen.
"Road trip?"
# * # * # * #
The yard wasn't hard to find at all; once they got to East Brunswick, it was a quick left just past the seven deserted industrial warehouses and a right at the second cow pasture. And now he had some undetermined combination of dirt, manure, and automotive fluids caked to his work boots. This would teach his fashionista of a partner to wear wing tips for going rogue in Jersey.
"You think anyone's here?" Ryan called out from deep in the neatly ordered rows of cars in the next dusty lot over.
Esposito stood on a slight rise, scanning for vehicles big enough to be their target. They had already checked out the trailer near the entrance, found it empty but recently occupied, coffee mug still steaming on the beat-up metal desk inside.
"Don't know; this was your intel." A cow lowed in the distance. "I'm all for picnics in the countryside, but I probably wouldn't have picked East Bumf-"
"You guys lookin' for me?"
The owner of the Jersey accent-a very large, very hairy, middle-aged gentleman with serious ink-stepped out from behind a half-smashed Mack truck. Dude looked the part of a scrap yard owner straight out of central casting.
Flashing his badge, Esposito closed the distance between them, his partner trotting up behind.
"Detective Esposito. This is my partner, Detective Ryan. I think you two spoke on the phone."
"Charley Groves. You guys are a little ways out for city cops."
The small mountain of a man eyed Ryan's maroon, Argyle sweater vest warily, reached out a grimy hand in Esposito's direction. Esposito was no slouch with a handshake, but this guy nearly took his arm off. He side-glanced Ryan with a warning grimace, but it was too late. Ryan's eyes bugged out at the initial clasp, but otherwise he stayed cool, tried to hide his careful finger flexing behind his back after Charley released him.
"So you're looking for that delivery truck, right? It's over this way. You can have a look. Not sure what for, since it's good and truly wrecked. Wouldn't wanna see whoever came outta the car this baby ran into. Probably wasn't much left of 'em."
Seeing the front end of the truck, he understood what the guy meant. Beckett was a lucky son of a gun, memory loss and broken wrist notwithstanding.
Ryan stopped to question Charley while Esposito slipped on a pair of gloves and opened the passenger side door, climbing up inside for a look around.
"How'd it get here, anyway?"
Nothing looked amiss. Brake and accelerator, steering wheel, gearshift, gauges all seemed normal. He slid into the driver's seat to test the pedals. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"When I got here this morning, it was just sitting here, no phone call, no paperwork. Nice little present on a Saturday morning. Parts'll go for a pretty penny."
But something was still off. For a Manhattan delivery truck, this cab looked awfully clean. Wiped clean, even. No coffee spills in the cup holders. No fast food trash on the floor. Either their driver had a serious case of OCD, or someone had beaten them to the punch. Ducking down for a closer inspection under the dash, he lost track of the conversation outside. When he surfaced moments later, Ryan was trying to avoid another handshake.
"If you hear anything, anybody contacts you about it, call me at this number." Espo caught the flash of his partner's card as the detective scribbled his cell number on the back. They were keeping this whole thing on the down-low unless they actually found something.
"Will do."
Hopping down, he flanked Ryan, chimed in.
"And could you do us a favor and not scrap it or sell it until we can get some guys down to give it another once-over?"
"I got nothin' but time, Detectives. You let me know when you're through with her."
Taking one for the team, he reached out his hand again, tried to go in prepared, still struggled not to wince at the steel cinch of his grip.
"And don't mention any of this to... anyone."
Ryan had his most earnest face on, which, considering how ridiculously sincere he looked without even trying, was impossible to refuse.
"I never seen ya's.'"
And there went the hand vise again... Ouch, that had to hurt...
"Thanks."
Charley lumbered back toward the entrance as they ducked down at the wheels of the truck, peered underneath.
"Anything up front?"
Pulling a flashlight from his pocket, Esposito shone it up into the undercarriage.
"Not a speck of dust."
Cars, he knew. Trucks this size were another animal entirely. His best hope was that they would find something obvious, shoot a photo or two to take back with them, maybe call in a favor to get a mechanic down.
"Somebody get to it already?"
If they had something legit, he'd get CSU in, too.
"Unless Martha Stewart took up truck-driving, I would say yes."
The beam of his partner's flashlight stopped on the visible portion of the wheel nearest him, which was in pretty bad shape, tire half off the rim, guts of the wheel that shouldn't be visible clearly in view.
"These pads are definitely shot. Shine your light this way?"
"Whoa. How do you know about trucks, bro?"
Espo reached at an odd angle to turn his light on the same front wheel, rubbing his sleeve up against the road grime on the undercarriage. His partner was right-one brake pad was roughed up, sticking out on one side, and even taking into account the condition of the wheel, it looked worn.
"Truck brakes and car brakes both use the same basic kinda pads."
Well, duh, he knew that. Not the point. Ryan continued, a hint of snark leaking through.
"I thought you were Mr. Muscle Car?"
"I AM Mr.-I know something about cars, sure."
But trucks had the whole air brake system going on, and cars were fluid-based-and what the hell? This was Honeymilk spouting off about truck parts.
"Just because I don't own a muscle car doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two. I got an uncle upstate who works on trucks. Spent a summer with him during high school."
Ah, the infamous Ryan family-an uncle for every occasion.
Ryan already had his phone out, snapping photos.
"So you think this goes with the driver's story? Slammed on the brakes, couldn't stop, veered into her cruiser?"
"I think it does. Couldn't hurt to have somebody come take a look who really knows what they're talking about, though. I'm still waiting on the maintenance records. Big company like Icarus has its trucks on a regular schedule just so this sort of thing won't happen. Office is having some trouble finding the paperwork, though. Got the name of the shop from them, if you wanna go check it out in person."
Climbing out from underneath the truck, Esposito brushed himself off as best he could, noticed his partner was spic and span. Gesturing toward the spotless sweater vest, he glared suspiciously.
"Man, how'd you do that?"
Shrugging his shoulders as he pocketed his phone, Ryan gave a smug little smile and quirked an eyebrow.
"Easy. Spot the dirty stuff and make you touch it instead."
# * # * # * #
Castle had just finished prepping vegetables for stir-fry when his phone buzzed.
"Esposito, what's going on? Found anything?"
His last conversation with either of the boys had been two days ago, and he was starting to think they had given up on looking into the circumstances surrounding the wreck.
"Beckett there with you?"
"She went for a walk, why?"
She had been climbing the walls ever since she awoke on the couch an hour before, where he had let her nap against his shoulder after their conversation about her dream. Her new-found propensity to pass out was turning out to be his only source of cuddling time, so he was taking every advantage.
"Castle, I think you'd better go find her, keep an eye on her until we get a few things straightened out."
His blood pressure instantly shot up.
"Why? What's wrong? You found something, didn't you?"
Esposito's voice was tight, careful.
"Let's just say a couple of details aren't adding up."
He was already halfway into shoes and jacket, with the phone on speaker.
"What? What doesn't add up? The truck?"
"No, the truck's brakes were shot. Saw them myself. But the maintenance record is missing. Ryan and I are at the shop right now, though. We just talked to the guy who does all the work on the Icarus trucks. Says he's had every one in over the past two months for their annual. Just finished the last of them this week."
Out the door and down the hall, he had to interrupt so he wouldn't miss anything.
"About to go in the stairwell. Hang on a sec."
What was it with him flying down these stairs chasing after her lately? Maybe he could get a fireman's pole installed. Much more efficient, and easier on the knees.
"Okay, I'm out."
Clarence was manning the desk, and Castle mimed his question and was waved out the door and to the left.
"So our friend, Eddie, here swears he checked the brakes on all sixty trucks. If the pads were less than 5 millimeters, he replaced them. Company policy, which is way more strict than the DOT standard of 3.2. They carry heavy cargo, so they're paranoid about stopping on a dime in city traffic. The truck we saw at the scrap yard today? The front pad had to be down to 1 or 2 millimeters at most; either one of the fleet just happened to get missed, or somebody switched out that truck's brake pads."
Shit.
Shit.
He knew it. He knew it, and still he had let her leave, go for a walk on the streets of New York out where anyone could see her, get to her. Instinctively, his eyes scanned the rooftops, watching for a flash, movement, anything out of place. Meanwhile, Esposito was still speaking in his ear. He took off in the direction Clarence had pointed.
"Mechanic's gonna go take a look himself, see if there's been obvious tampering when the lot opens first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm thinking we may need to pull Gates into this. I can call in a favor with CSU, get a team out there, keep it under wraps, even though it's Jersey. But if any of this turns out to be true, we're going to need resources."
But if this was as big as he thought, resources would draw attention, and he couldn't afford to have Bracken, or Jerry Tyson, or whomever was probably watching them like a hawk, get on to the fact that they were suspicious.
"Esposito, can you just keep it quiet another day-until the mechanic checks it out? I don't want to tip our hand until we have something solid. I'll keep Kate with me, get some private guys on the building, take precautions. But if whomever this is could pull this off and come away so clean, they must have eyes and ears everywhere."
There was a pause and he heard static, like a hand was being held over the mic on the phone.
When Esposito spoke again, there was steel behind his voice.
"We'll keep this from Gates until tomorrow, but if we're going to pursue this any further, Ryan and I won't do it without her support. We're not gonna have a repeat of the last time."
At the intersection, Castle stood waiting for traffic, weighing paths, directions. One wrong turn... He remembered the last time a little too well. Bruises over her windpipe, mottling the skin along her ribs, her hip, her shoulder. The images would taint an otherwise glorious memory of their first night together for the rest of his life. No, the boys were right, Gates needed to be involved. First thing tomorrow.
"Castle, you okay?"
The sharp words snapped him out of the bleakness of that memory.
"Yeah, yeah. Just trying to think where she would go."
Rolling the dice, he jogged across the street.
"Might help if you hung up with me and called her."
Shit.
"Right. Keep me in the loop, okay? Gotta go."
Clicking off, he immediately hit 2 on his speed dial, kept moving up the block.
One ring, two. At the start of the third he felt the blood start to pound in his ears. He had a bad feeling.
His heart clenched at the thought of losing her-losing them-when they were so close to getting everything back.
"Please pick up. Please pick up. Come on."
# * # * # * #
When Kate stepped inside the store, the scent of mint and cinnamon tickled her nose. The combination was odd, but refreshing.
It had been time for her to get out of the loft, get out from under Castle's watchful eye for a while. She wasn't used to all this sitting still. When she had scanned their pile of dressing supplies in the bathroom, found that they were down to their last roll of tape, it gave her a mental excuse to take a walk. At first he'd been reluctant to let her leave alone, especially when she was vague about where she was going, but when she'd given him an exasperated glare, threatened to take Lanie up on her earlier offer to have a sleepover at her place, he'd changed his tune.
All that pent up energy was already starting to burn off as she crossed the expanse of beige Berber carpet toward the shelves of merchandise. Scanning the aisles, she quickly found the bandages, grabbed a couple of rolls of wide tape, a few extra packages of gauze squares.
The route to the checkout line led her past the greeting card display, and the birthday cards stood out in glittered, foil-embossed glory. One with a cartoon of a Super Dad, complete with billowing cape and golden "D" emblazoned across the dark-haired man's broad chest, caught her eye, and she stopped to pull it out. Obviously geared for a kid, it read "Daddy, you will always be my hero. Have a super birthday." April first wasn't too far away. Less than a month, actually. But what was she even thinking? A birthday card from their child? The kid wasn't even big enough to show up on an ultrasound.
"My husband loved that one. Little Bill gave him all the Superman movies on DVD, and now it's their manly bonding time, watching Christopher Reeve leap tall buildings. I'm terrified I'll come home one night to find them both on the roof of the garage trying to practice flying."
Kate turned to find a familiar face-rosy cheeks pulled wide in a smile, hair gathered up in a ponytail on the very top of her head, a bright pink ribbon tied in a bow trailing down.
"Hannah-it's good to see you."
And she meant it. The sight of the perky clerk boosted her spirits, which she hadn't realized were flagging.
"Good to see you, too. You gettin' that for the new Proud Papa?"
Grabbing the matching red envelope, Hannah tucked it behind the card in Kate's hand.
"Uh, I guess so. His birthday is next month, and he, uh, likes comic books."
Kate smiled self-consciously. Explaining that her man-child of a partner sometimes thought he was a comic book character to strangers was always a little tricky.
"He's gotten a great present already, huh?" she pointed in the direction of Kate's still-flat tummy, a twinkle in her eye.
Huh. Kate wouldn't have really thought of it that way, but the look on his face every time they talked about the... pregnancy-the baby- was sort of like that of a kid on Christmas morning. A pang of guilt hit her at that thought.
"Pardon me if I'm oversteppin' here, but you sure look better today than when I saw you last time."
Kate huffed out a low chuckle at the truth of that observation, surprised at how much different the past few days looked with some perspective. Some perspective, and the possibility that she had one real, honest-to-god memory back, even if it had been in a dream.
"I was having a rough night. I'm glad I ran into you today, because I wanted to thank you for what you said, for coming up to me then. It helped."
Hannah demured, waving her off with the flip of a wrist.
"I helped you pick out vitamins. I was just bein' neighborly; you looked like you'd lost your last friend."
How right she was.
"I thought I had, actually."
The woman looked at her with the softness of understanding in her bright green eyes.
"I just went on my break. You wanna take me up on that rain check for tea? Morrie's got this special peppermint cinnamon one they've been brewing all day, and the mint's been makin' me wanna try it so bad. I blame Shirelle," she pointed to her bump, a little more visible under her fitted sweater without her apron, then scrunched her nose, squinted her eyes, shook her head. "LeAnn? Ugh. Girl's names are so much harder than boy's. My husband wants to name her after his grandmother, Lula Mae. I am on a mission to come up with something to distract him from that brilliant idea." Her eye roll rivaled Beckett's at the mention of her husband's pick.
Kate found herself following as Hannah wove in and out of aisles toward the back of the store. Sitting down on a tall stool at the counter, she listened as Hannah called a complicated order for herself involving almond milk and extra honey to the barista, as well as a simple "Special-tea of the Day" for Kate.
This woman had an aura of friendliness glowing around her, if Kate actually believed in all that aura crap, which she didn't. Seriously. But if she did, Hannah's would definitely be purple. The stupid store must be rubbing off on her.
The tea was amazing. Whatever new age hippie paraphernalia might be in the windows, they had the beverages down.
Hannah had told her most of her life's story by the time her mug was half-empty, and despite her eagerness to approach Kate, she had been surprisingly polite about not asking her many questions. At the end of a story about an extremely friendly pig and a very full corn crib, Kate was laughing out loud, totally heedless of other customers, mind completely distracted by the lilt of the woman's accent, the vivid descriptions of her family's farm, a world so completely foreign that she could lose herself in it.
"How did you ever get out?"
Kate took a sip of her tea to get control of herself.
"Let's just say it involved my daddy, a ladder, a rope, and a couple of poses my yoga instructor couldn't have invented."
"You do yoga?"
"I do. Kind of addicted. And my studio has a special pregnant yoga class that I've been going to. You should come-they have it most evenings. It's just down the block at Yoga Works. Even if you don't usually do yoga, my OB says it's great for balance as things start to get looser and shift around. But with your arm, maybe you should wait a bit."
It sounded perfect, actually. Kate wasn't sure if she had started going to classes in Castle's neighborhood since she had moved in. She had been more of a do-it-yourself type because of her work schedule, never predictably finished in time for a regular class. But if she would be at a desk for the foreseeable future, she might as well take advantage.
"Oh, no, actually, my orthopedist told me I could exercise as long as I didn't put weight on it. And I've been doing yoga for years."
"Do you mind my pokin' my nose in and askin' what happened?"
Hannah gestured toward her arm and then her head, looking slightly timid for the first time since Kate had laid eyes on her.
"Oh, not at all. I was just in a car accident. Broke my wrist, got a concussion."
The woman's eyebrows shot up.
"Right after you found out you were pregnant? Gosh, poor thing, no wonder you were so shook up the other night."
Hannah drained the last of her tea, slid the mug back to the barista. Kate focused the dregs of her own cup.
"It was before I found out, I think."
Hannah looked at her quizzically.
"My memory is still a little fuzzy, actually."
Before the woman could comment, Kate's phone chimed with the theme from The Pink Panther, and Castle's face flashed across the screen. He couldn't leave her alone for half an hour? She contemplated hitting "ignore," just to make a point.
# * # * # * #
If it went to voicemail, he was calling in the cavalry, prying eyes be damned.
"Castle?"
His breath came back in a whoosh, relief making him dizzy.
"Kate. Where are you? Are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. I'm at Zen Vitamin."
There was a lightness in her voice he hadn't heard since before the accident.
"Oh. Why are you there?"
Suddenly the place she wouldn't set foot in was her new favorite hang-out?
"We needed more tape. The roll was almost out. I'm having some tea while I'm here. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Just wondered if I could, uh, join you?"
He knew he sounded too shrill, too wound up to fly under her radar.
"I'm almost done here. Weren't you in the middle of cooking dinner? I was coming right back."
It was pretty thin, but he banked on the fact that he had been acting clingy for days.
"Just... Missed you. I'll meet you there. We could probably use some more gauze anyway."
"I already got more gauze. You don't have to meet me."
"Almost there. See you in a minute."
By the time he reached the Chakra poster, he was nearly done with his call to the private security firm. They would have two men outside the loft at all times, and someone to tail them whenever they left the building. He was just clicking off when she stepped out onto the sidewalk, small paper bag slung over her casted arm. Smiling indulgently, she spoke first.
"Hey."
Closing the distance, she fell into step beside him, a healthy-looking glow on her cheeks.
"Hey, yourself."
"I think I found a yoga class."
That certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear. Chased by shadowy figures, hunted by snipers, kidnapped and taken to Paris-sure, but yoga class?
"Really? That's great."
"Yeah, a woman that works here goes to one specifically for pregnancy, and she invited me to go with her. I think I will."
It was great. Great that she was going to get to do something she loved, and great that she'd managed to make a friend, and apparently a pregnant one at that. It was all great, except for the fact that he would now be forced to take up yoga in order to accompany her to the class. Damn. He was just not that bendy. At least not without specific goals in mind-goals that usually involved mutual gratification without an audience.
Things were settling down inside his chest now that he had her in his sight. Not that the chill wasn't still stiffening his spine as he stood between her and the curb, directing her close to the walls of the buildings, further from the street or any lookout's line of sight as they walked.
Seemingly content in silence, she swung her hips over, bumped his gently. It was a gesture she had used so many times, both before and since they had gotten together. For a split second, he could imagine they were back there, walking home from running errands on a lazy Saturday, on their way to make some dinner.
Her mood had changed so drastically, he couldn't figure out what was different, what could have happened in the hour since he'd seen her last. But whatever it was, he hoped it would happen more often. He was going to have to tell her about... things. And soon. But she looked so ridiculously happy right then that he couldn't bring himself to ruin their night. There would be plenty of time for darkness, for now he wanted to have a moment in the light.
And then she did that shy little thing where she looked halfway at him, head dipped down, lids at half-mast, eyes screened behind the fan of her lashes, hint of a smile painting her lips. He could have sworn it was his Kate looking out through those twinkling eyes.
"So what were your grandparents' names, anyway?"
# * # * # * #
Esposito's eyes were starting to glaze over as he scanned through the accident report for the fiftieth time. Things were starting to run together, and Lanie was subtly nudging him with yet another text message about their late dinner at her place.
Everything pulled into focus again as Ryan rounded the corner from the direction of the closet where he had been combing through traffic cam footage, ATMs, any camera they could find within a block of the accident. He was shaking his head.
"Find anything, bro?"
His partner skirted around his desk, dropped heavily in his chair, the line of his mouth downturned in a frown.
"That's just it. There is no footage. Traffic cams were all out of service, or pointed in other directions. The ATM had an armored car parked in front of it, blocking the view. Nine cameras on that intersection, and every single one was a bust."
A chill went down Esposito's spine.
"I'm calling our mechanic friend, see if he'll go out to Jersey tonight. CSU should be done by now."
He punched the number of the shop into his landline phone, listened as it rang five times, six. Finally, someone picked up on the other end. He heard muffled yelling in the background before an exasperated voice answered.
"West Side Brakes."
"Is Eddie there?"
"Sorry, but my idiot mechanic quit two hours ago. Took his last paycheck and ran outta here so fast I couldn't catch him to kick him in the ass."
The click resonated in Esposito's ear long after the line went dead. Setting the receiver back in place, he clenched the muscles of his jaw, looked across to his friend, his expression unreadable.
"Kevin, we've got a problem."
# * # * # * #
A/N: Not quite so long of a wait this time. Thanks for so much support, everyone. Alex, your many talents never cease to amaze me. Readers, the woman has a way with woodwinds, and that's all I'm saying about it. Also, Joy, thanks for coming across this link and thinking of me. I wish it were still going! For all those who love Michael Dorn/Dr. Burke/Lt. Worf as much as I do, this rocks. Until next time!
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