"He's too neat," Ryan said reflectively.

"What?"

"I never trust anyone who's too neat." He looked at his partner. "Which is why we get along, I guess."

"Are you saying I'm messy?"

"No. But you're not OCD about it."

"Neither's Hanover." Esposito looked around the small apartment. The lounge was separated from the kitchen by a long counter, rather like Rick's loft, except that the whole thing – including bedroom and bathroom – could have fit comfortably into just the living area, with space to spare. The other main difference was the lack of personal effects: there were no photos, knick-knacks or other human paraphernalia to show an actual person lived here.

"You think?"

Esposito touched a fragment of paper lying on the floor under the table with his toe. "A true OCD couldn't have ever stood that. Besides, everything's dusty."

"Yeah, he's not been here for a few days."

"Try a week," Rick said from where he was crouched down behind the counter. "There's a paper for every day going back nearly a month, except for this past week." He'd tagged along, and nobody felt inclined to say no, not after Gault's assertion that he was part of the team, not even Forsyth who was sitting at the desk, the glow of the computer screen giving the planes of his face an eldritch glow.

"Find anything?" Kate asked, coming in from the small bedroom.

"He's too neat," Ryan repeated.

"And he recycles once a month," Rick added, standing up. "Anything in there?"

"Not even a used Kleenex. And Kevin's right – it's too neat. He might not believe we can catch him, but he's not left anything just in case." She turned to Forsyth. "What about the computer?"

Forsyth tsked. "Everything's password protected, but from what I can see of the memory usage it looks like there's hardly any files anyway. Whether there were …" He shrugged, a most un-Forsyth-like movement. "Our technicians will take a look, but I doubt they'll find anything, at least in time."

"What about his internet history?" Rick asked.

"You mean are there any convenient bomb-making sites he left comments on?" Forsyth didn't even look up. "That would be too easy. And no, that's cleared too."

"Can't you … I don't know … pick up an echo from somewhere? Out of the ether?" Ryan asked. "I thought the Feds monitored everything."

"That's a fallacy, Detective Ryan, put about by people with un-American tendencies." He closed the computer down and stood up. "I don't think we can find anything of use here. I suggest you put surveillance on the place, but if Hanover has any sense he won't be back, not until after he's done whatever it is he's planning on doing."

Rick was about to snap the latex gloves off his hands when he glanced down. "Wait a minute," he said, disappearing out of sight. They heard scrabbling for a moment, then he popped back up like a Jack in the Box, something caught in the tips of his fingers. "It was wedged in the corner."

"What is it?" Kate asked, moving closer.

He held it up in triumph. "A memory card. Looks like for a camera."

"I can't believe it." Kate was brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. "Nothing of any use."

Rick leaned on the bathroom door jamb, his arms crossed. "Unless you like pictures of the crime scenes."

She glared at him in the mirror, then pointed her toothbrush at his reflection. "Hanover was just checking out where he was going to put his bombs."

"At least it's something, even if it is circumstantial."

"Really useful."

"And he knew Elliott Carmody was going to be there, otherwise why did he have photos of him?" He watched her rinse and spit, then smiled as her eyes found his again in the mirror. "We'll find him, Kate."

"I know." She still sounded frustrated as she began to floss.

For a long moment he watched her, wondering how something so mundane could still be incredibly sexy. Then he pulled himself back to the present – well, almost. "Kate, do you remember the case of that young woman who worked as a dominatrix? The one doing research?"

"Of course. She was killed by her roommate because she was leaving." She was working at the back molars, and only half-listening.

Rick smiled. Of course she remembered. There probably wasn't one case that had faded into the dark. "Well, we had a discussion about the kinky things we like to do."

"I'm not dressing up in that nurse's outfit for you."

"We can talk about it later. And I didn't mean that. You said there was one wild, kinky thing you liked to do." He could see her still, her hair shorter, straighter, darker than now, but the intensity of her gaze still able to make his blood pump faster. "Putting killers behind bars." Her words.

"I remember."

"So what changed?"

"Nothing. And I will. Just not today."

"I don't see how that can be an acceptable compromise."

"Isn't that what life is?" she countered, dropping the used floss in the bin and turning to face him. "Just one compromise after another? Whether it's food, vacations, where to live –"

"Where to work …"

"There's little in life that's black and white. It's all shades of grey. You're a writer, you know this."

"Except in this case it's wrong."

"I'm not going to argue."

"And I love you. Isn't that black and white enough for you?"

She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, feeling the roughness of his beard beginning to prickle through his skin. "I love you too."

"But?"

"No buts. Black and white."

"Then an except."

"It's my job now. I have to take the good with the bad. And at the moment I have to do a juggling act."

"You mean me and the job."

"Jordan Shaw manages it," Kate pointed out. "Husband, daughter …"

"And all the cool gadgets, yes, I know. But you're not enjoying it."

"How can you say that?"

"I have eyes, Kate." His own were intense in the bright light. "You're not like Forsyth."

Kate blinked, hearing Gault's opinion repeated back at her. "Anyway, this isn't about enjoyment. It's about doing a good job."

"So letting someone like Feydeau walk is doing a good job."

She shook her head and walked past him into the bedroom. "You don't understand."

"What is there to understand?" He followed. "Kate, you're a cop. No matter what title they give you. You catch the bad guys and put them in jail. That's what you do."

"Rick –"

"Not what you are, of course. You're Kate Beckett, extraordinary, frustrating, incredibly thick-headed sometimes –"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Probably."

She climbed into bed. "Are we really going to have this conversation again?"

"I worry about you."

"I know." She rested her elbows on her bent knees and pushed her hands through her hair. "But I'm careful, I have a gun and –"

"No. Not that. Well, not just that. I mean how you feel. Deep down." He slid under the covers next to her.

"I love you."

"I know that. And you're trying to change the subject."

"Is it working?" She ran her hand up his thigh.

"Not this time. Kate, I don't want you to end up like Forsyth."

"Why, don't you think he's sexy?"

"That's … horrific."

She laughed. "Yes. Sorry." Her fingers moved higher.

"Kate, stop. We need to talk about this."

For a moment she didn't move, then she sighed and dropped her hand. "I can't just walk away. How would that sound?"

"To me, perfect." He hurried on quickly, "I've told you. Whatever you decide, I'll back you up. I'll be there for you, waiting at home, dry martini in one hand, slippers in the other. Or not, if you don't want me there. But it has to be because you want to, not because you think you have to."

Her lips twitched. "Dry martini?"

"I was being poetical."

"You make it sound like something out of the 1950s."

"Hey, don't knock it. Women knew their place back then."

She rolled over on top of him, her long hair brushing his face. "You want to try that again?"

"This isn't the answer to everything." He felt something stir at hip level. "I mean, it's fun, but we have to talk sometimes."

"Since when did you become the adult in this relationship?" she asked, brushing his lips lightly with hers and sending electricity straight to his groin.

"I don't know." He put his hands on her waist. "Maybe I'm sickening for something."

"Do you have a temperature?" She laid a hand on his forehead.

"Only around you."

She smiled and sat up, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "So I'm a flame?"

"And I'm a moth. Attracted to your light and not caring if I get burned."

She wriggled a little on him. "The fire in your loins?"

"And the heat in my heart."

"Nikki Heat, of course."

"Of course."

"So what's the next one going to be called?" Kate asked, pulling her t-shirt off over her head and dropping it to the floor.

The sight of her flesh, smooth, lean and almost glowing above him, short-circuited his higher brain functions, rerouting all thought processes through a much more primitive area altogether. "Who cares?" he muttered, his voice deepening with desire as he reached for her.

"Kate."

She was walking on a beach, the cool water of a sparkling blue sea lapping at her toes, the setting sun warming her shoulders.

"Kate."

Somewhere in the distance a bird was calling, but she didn't bother looking for it.

"Kate."

Just ahead there was a simple shack, and someone was standing by an open grill. She took a deep breath, and the most amazing aroma wafted towards her on the cool breeze …

"Kate?"

"What?" She tried not to wake up, but the sand and the evening and the food of the gods was slipping all too quickly through her fingers.

"Are you awake?"

"Do you know what a stupid question that is?" she ground out.

"I just had the strangest dream."

"And you woke me up to tell me that?"

"No, listen. I think we're looking at the case all wrong."

Despite herself, Kate rolled over enough to look at him. Even in the low illumination of the city lights coming in through the open curtains she could see he was quite serious. "Explain. And just remember my gun is in the nightstand."

"Ooh."

"Castle."

"I think Carmody's still alive."

Now he had her full attention. "He blew up."

"Did he?" He gazed at her. "We only found bits of his driver."

She sat up slowly. "So you think he's hurt? He's wandering around somewhere?"

"No. I think it's far more deliberate than that. And diabolically clever."

Kate pushed her hair away from her face. "Castle, I'm too tired to play guessing games."

"Think about it. In all the checks we've done on Charles Hanover, there's not one indication he's a terrorist."

She was beginning to get an inkling where he was going. "He's a thief."

"Right." He pulled his feet up so he was sitting cross-legged. "He's in it for the money, pure and simple."

"Maybe he's good at hiding it. That's what terrorists do – hide."

"Is that what they taught you at Fed school?"

"Just like a thief doesn't go around in a striped shirt and a mask, terrorists can be normal people," she pointed out.

"I know. And maybe I'm totally wrong. It wouldn't be the first time."

She didn't answer for a moment, just letting the idea ferment in her mind as her eyes held his. "Okay," she said slowly, finally. "Let's run with this for the moment. Are you suggesting Carmody is in league with Hanover somehow?"

"He could be." Rick could feel excitement starting to build in his stomach. "He's a banker, deals with enormous amounts of money every day, and none of it his. Maybe he got greedy, decided he wanted more."

"He's not exactly on the breadline," Kate pointed out.

"No, but that's the thing about rich people. They always want to be richer."

For once, even with an opening like that, Kate didn't chase it. "So how does he meet Hanover? I doubt they run in the same circles."

"Mutual acquaintances. Or perhaps it was his driver, Eccleston. We haven't looked into their pasts that much."

"We thought they were just victims." Kate shook her head. "Besides, that doesn't work. If Carmody was working with Hanover why would they kill Eccleston? For verisimilitude?"

"I love it when you use long words." He smiled briefly, then went back to being serious. "Maybe Eccleston found out what was going on and had to be silenced. Or he was part of it and he got cold feet and was threatening to go to the cops."

"Then I've got another question. Why haven't we heard about any theft?" Rubbing her hands over her face she went on, "There are going to be a lot of safeguards, passwords, security … how could they expect to get past them?"

"It's like you said. We thought Carmody was a victim. He's dead, so why would his company worry about changing his passwords or locking him out of the system?"

"Again, why haven't we heard about it?"

"Because it hasn't happened yet." Rick scooted forward, a little closer to her. "The explosions were a … a smokescreen, to cover up Carmody's kidnap. Only he's not co-operating. At least, so far."

Kate straightened up slowly. "It sounds crazy."

"I know." He waited.

"Right." Kate suddenly tossed the covers from her body and swung herself out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Rick asked.

"Something equally crazy." She picked up her jeans. "And it might just get me fired."

He grinned.

It had been a few hours blessed peace, although with the hood over his head he didn't know if he was being watched or if he was on his own. The sweat on his body had dried and he was shivering slightly from the chill, or maybe it was just delayed reaction.

"Mr Carmody."

The voice at his ear made him jump, and his heart started to race so much he was sure it was going to beat its way out from behind his ribs. "Y… yes?"

"Are you ready to co-operate? I don't like doing this, although my colleague doesn't seem to have my sensibilities. He's willing to go on for days. But you're not, are you? You're going to be helpful. After all, it isn't your money, is it?"

"I … are you … will you let … let me go?" He didn't even sound like himself as he stammered out the question. "If I … do what … do what you want?"

"Of course, Mr Carmody."

He knew his captor was lying, but it didn't matter. Anything to stop them hurting him again. "Okay. I … yes. Whatever you want." He dropped his head to his chest, letting the tears roll unseen down his cheeks.

Hanover looked down at the man sitting slumped in the chair, and felt a small glimmer of guilt, but pushed it away. After all, needs must. Glancing at Chenkov he said, "Get him his clothes."