She wakes up feeling too hot, too crowded in the bed. Sometime during the night, Castle tugged her from the edge of the mattress up against him, an arm tossed over her waist and steady, warm breath tickling at the back of her neck.
For a moment, she forgets the plan she made last night and relaxes into his body. Her heels slide down along his shins and he grunts, pushing his knee between hers, arm tightening on a sigh that ruffles her hair.
She wants to stay here. To ignore the fact that she should be trying to beat this man, not sleep with him. To fall back asleep and let him wake her up later when the sun is actually coming through the blinds. To pretend, just for a day, that she has a normal life.
But she can't and she doesn't.
Kate pulls herself away from him, pushing his unhappy groan to the back of her mind as she gathers up clothes for the day. In the bathroom, she brushes her hair, cleans her teeth, and puts on her armour against Castle's charms.
And she needs them. When she returns to the darkness of the main room, her phone casts a veil of thin light onto the still-sleeping man. During the short time she spent in the bathroom, he rolled onto his back, arms flopped out at his sides with the sheet pushed down and tangled in his feet. She can see now that his boxer shorts aren't plaid; instead, little treasure chests are embroidered onto the dark blue fabric making her wonder how such a ridiculous man can be so successful at his job.
The same man who played Clue and watched Temptation Lane with her also managed to get to a lost collection of Egyptian gold before her and didn't stop gloating for weeks. The guy who offered to help with her mother's case is the same one who set up a cat-and-mouse game for some scrolls he had already long since collected and given to his employer.
The one who systemically took her apart with his mouth and fingers and body last night when, years ago, he teased her for being the new girl on the treasure hunting scene, insisting that she had no idea what she was getting herself into.
He knew what he was talking about back then.
Kate shakes her head, trying to get rid of the memories as if they were droplets of water clinging to her hair, and starts to search for the things she needs for the day. She cringes when she finds her jeans, inside out and tangled with his. Their clothes are a trail from the door to the bed just like the patches of reddened skin from her throat to her stomach. A reminder of how she screwed up.
Her gun goes into the ankle holster, the velcro too loud in the pre-dawn. The phone battery flashes a low warning but she puts it in her pocket. She carefully places all of the files from the bureau into her bag, her fingers hesitating over the journal Castle had claimed as his own.
She leaves it. Leaves him snoring softly, tiptoing out of her own hotel room like she's sixteen again and sneaking out of her parent's apartment to party with Maddie and her friends.
Only one person sits behind the check-in desk in the lobby as she sits at one of the complimentary computers to search for an internet cafe. A few blocks down, open in twenty minutes. Kate makes sure to erase the history of her search just in case before stepping out onto the sidewalk. She walks, using the time to come up with the skeleton of a plan.
She has no idea where Lockwood ran off to. As soon as she gets to the internet cafe, she can e-mail Washington and see if he can track Lockwood's phone or trace his route on traffic cameras. Find Lockwood and figure out what information he has. Get the jewels and get the hell out of Hawaii.
She waits outside until the cafe owner unlocks the front door. Kate gives the woman a smile but doesn't make conversation as she heads for one of the computers in the corner. A quick swipe of her credit card - she hates to leave a trail but the signs everywhere in the building say that they don't take cash - gets her onto the Internet.
It's not secure but she navigates to her e-mail and sends off a message to Washington. She gets lucky and finds an old iPhone charger someone left behind and takes the opportunity to plug her dying phone in. Even though it's only six in the morning in Hilo, it's nearly noon in New York and Washington is quick to respond.
I'll do my best.
Just four words and a lot of white space in the e-mail.
Washington could take anywhere from an hour to half the day to get back to her. She can't go back to the hotel. She's tempted to find another hotel, get a room, and sleep for a couple of hours but her boss would kill her for depleting resources for another hotel.
Kate opens a few more tabs, looks at the news from home and browses book reviews. Anything to kill time until her phone vibrates across the laminated countertop of the internet cafe. She finds a pair of boots online, considers purchasing them, and even goes so far as to put them into her shopping basket before she closes the tab. Not the time for personal things.
Which would be fine except for the fact that she gave in to personal needs and slept with Castle last night.
As if the man can sense her failing, Washington texts her an address and the fact that he has only a seventy-nine percent certain that this is where Lockwood is hiding now. She'll take it.
Kate wipes the history, unplugs her phone, and goes to find the owner to sign the receipt.
She hates not having a car, finding a cab company on her phone and calling one to pick her up. The driver is a tattooed girl who doesn't look old enough to drive, her hair dyed bright pink. Soft rock plays in the taxi as Kate gives the girl the address Washington gave her. She considers having the driver just stay outside the one-story house in case she needs to get to another location. But she just pays and gets out, waiting for the yellow cab to turn the corner before she faces the house.
A car sits in the driveway, a navy sedan with dark-tinted windows. All of the blinds are pulled down in the windows of the house. It appears to be just another family home in a quiet neighborhood.
Kate draws her weapon, pushing the heavy bag so that it rests against her back rather than along her side, and jogs across the lawn. A front door, the garage, and a back porch are the only real exits from the house. She worries at her lower lip as she formulates a plan.
She wants back-up. Three possible exits are too many for her to cover herself and still feel secure that no one is escaping out the back. So she dials up a number from her contacts.
