A/N - Hey all you great readers in Fan Fiction land,

Welcome back! This got a little away from me, but bear with me. The story that wants to be told has a myriad of tangled strings and webs and each one needs careful unraveling.

As always and forever, thank you for reading and reviewing.

Enjoy!

~GeekMom

Breaching The Castle

Chapter 14

Lying In Wait

"We should split up."

Liam glanced over his shoulder at his brother and scowled. "What the hell?"

"You…you were right," Joe cautiously said, taking another step in the cold mountain stream. "We should have split up right after we broke out."

Liam stopped running through the creek bed, his eyes darted over their surroundings as he turned to face his brother. "Damn it, Joe," he said, wincing as he lifted his injured shoulder to scrub his hand across his face: a habit of his frustration. He scanned over Joey's shoulder, back the way they'd come: the dogs were getting closer. The damned cops were supposed to stop and rescue Uncle Matt, or try anyway. It was supposed to give them a decent lead: enough to finally make their escape out of this god forsaken county. The closeness of the hounds told him: Callis didn't stop; the son of a bitch didn't fall for any of it. His plans had imploded as much as the country store had exploded. They had felt and then heard the explosions they'd set at the store. He figured they had no more than a twenty minute lead. He hoped that the cops were already inside when it went, but then he'd heard the damned dogs. They both listened to the baying of the hounds echoing and reverberating along the walls of the creek bed. Joey waited for his decision.

"Liam?" Joe prompted after checking over his shoulder also.

Liam regarded his younger brother: suddenly and possibly for the first time in his life, he didn't see him as a burden or a hindrance. Ever since they'd heard that the writer was within striking distance, that morning, Joe had become single-minded. Although Joe had agreed with him back at the store that it was a waste of time, a probable trap, and way too difficult and dangerous to get all the way to the hotel and kill Castle, if he was actually there, Liam could see a new determination in Joey's eyes, but more than that: it was in his whole demeanor.

His brother was going to kill Richard Castle. Liam was sure of it.

He never saw any evidence of how the writer had actually wronged Joey, but whatever he did; it transformed Joe who now focused all of his rage at Castle. Truly, they had already lived through hell and back. Anything Castle could have done wouldn't come close to what they'd experienced at the hands of Frank.

'Maybe it's for the best,' Liam thought. Joe was going to get himself killed, they'd argued about it after they saw the news. Even though he had never understood what it was that the writer did to him that was so terrible, he didn't have to. Liam had helped him, because that's what brothers do. He orchestrated the kidnappings and helped him snatch both of them: Castle and the detective. He had stuck by him for longer than he knew he should have. Liam truly believed that Joe would turn on him, everyone always did: you could only ever count on yourself. It was his mantra.

It abruptly occurred to Liam that this split was what he had been furtively planning all along: to finally be rid of the fraternal albatross hanging around his neck that had been dragging him down and keeping him anchored to this patch of ground.

"Take the rifle and the pistol," he breathed deeply as he swung the weapon off of his shoulder and handed it to him. Joe already had the pistol shoved in the waistband of his jeans. "Do what you got to do. I'll split off here and maybe lead them up to the cabin; give you some extra time. They won't be expecting us to split after everything else and all this time."

"Where will you go after the cabin? Will we meet up again? Canada?"

"Yeah, little brother: when you're done, go to the cabin. I'll leave a note in the secret place."

Joe realized he was parting ways with the only person who had been with him through everything. Liam had been his protector, his nemesis; his savior and at times, his enemy, but mostly he'd been his brother. Through everything and despite everything, he knew he could count on his brother. Until now. They were at the proverbial fork in their road. Joe wasn't stupid or a wild-eyed optimist. He took a moment to acknowledge to himself that he might never see him again. "Liam?"

"Yeah, I know," he said as he half-heartedly waved and headed up the embankment. Without another thought of his brother or the likely outcome of the day, he turned and disappeared over the embankment and into the forest.

Joe allowed himself a moment to watch Liam melt into the thick undergrowth of the forest. They'd only been back together since Monday: only two days, but it seemed longer. He turned his attention back to the posse, which, from the intensity of the howling, was growing closer. He grinned at his mind's choice of vocabulary. Just like an outlaw. Frank would approve. He exhaled and frowned as his antagonist invaded his thoughts. He gritted his teeth and said, "Castle would approve, not Frank." He punched his fist down hard onto his thigh to emphasize the distinction.

He searched the eroded banks as he hurriedly slogged through the water, for the perfect place: a place where nature and the spring thaw had done most of the work; it just might need a bit of a push and then that would be the end of the damned dogs. He knew the geography of this section of the forest blind. There was a bend in the creek just ahead: the perfect place for a trap.

Joey wasn't the only child currently traversing the forest that grew up in the shadow of Shawangunk Mountain. Erika moved swiftly through the trees and underbrush. She knew the valleys and hills; she knew the deer trails and the peaceful, creeks that could be transformed into raging torrents with a harmless rain storm or the inundation of the ice and snow that melted with the return of the warmth of the sun each spring. She knew this forest, its rhythms, and its cycles.

She had done her job before taking the op. She had researched the victims, but had also researched the perpetrators. She knew the Buchanan brothers, their offenses, their tragic history, their relatives, and connections in the county. She'd made it her mission to know everything she could about them ever since Justin. She knew their rhythms and cycles.

She knew about the boys' hunting cabin.

The truncated NYPD contingent arrived at the sheriff's office courtesy of John under the direction of Captain Gates. The receptionist was the only local personnel manning the station. There were other state troopers who had just returned from the search party splayed across chairs and cots, exhausted and filthy from the chase. The commandant had commandeered the large conference room in which they had the first briefing. That had only been two days ago. The captain agreed to the modified plan which allowed Ryan and Esposito to return to the vicinity of the hotel and provide additional backup for Mr. Castle. She said she would make herself useful there and cover for them with Derrick, if the need arose.

Esposito contemplated the vast differences between actual Gates and perceived Gates as he and Ryan 'borrowed' some equipment from the sheriff's weapons locker. Gates had assumed the lookout position in the hall. Having been a sniper in the service, he knew what he was looking for. It wasn't the best most up to date gear for the job but it would work. He outfitted himself and Ryan with both long-range and hand-to-hand weaponry. He sincerely hoped they wouldn't need to use any of it, but that was not what his gut was saying. Saying: hell, it practically screamed.

Gates led them to the back entrance and as they were loading the weapons and ammo into the SUV asked, "Detectives, you found what you need?"

"Yes, sir," Esposito answered. "It will do."

Ryan nodded. "I've sent the coordinates of where we'll be to your phone. If there's any trouble…"

"I came up here with the best team the NYPD has and I fully intend to leave with that team…wholly intact," Gates said curtailing any misgivings Ryan may have uttered. "We came up here to do a job. The parameters of that job may have changed, but the job hasn't. Gentlemen…finish this."

"Yes, sir," answered her detectives in unison. She watched them finish loading and then climb into the SUV.

Gates walked to the front door. Castle's driver was standing ready at the front of the vehicle. "John?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the perpetually helpful man.

"Mr. Castle obviously trusts you. I trust you transporting my people, but I can't condone you being in any danger. Once, you've dropped them off, I'd like you to come directly back here: it's the safest place."

"Do you think Mr. Castle will need any…"

"No, and I think you know he'd also want you out of harm's way."

Gates' tone left no room for argument about staying out of harm's way, even though John had mixed feelings. Yes, he had a wife and two kids who counted on him; yes, he was just the driver. He had been ever since he got his life straightened out, after the botched mugging twenty-four years earlier: the night his life changed forever. Even though they'd never talked about it, or ever even acknowledged it beyond that night or next morning. He owed Rick Castle the world and he would help him in any way possible.

John was as young and stupid as most young stupid people, but he was more stupid than most. At the end of his rope, seeing no other options, John waited in the shadows with a knife he stole from his mother's kitchen. He waited in the shadows after midnight, outside of an exclusive club that charged a ridiculous cover charge, for the next over-privileged, falling-down drunk to come out of the massive red doors. Rick Castle happened to be that drunk.

John flew out as soon as the mark stumbled down the alley alone, but Rick Castle was too stupid or too wasted to realize the danger or, as John admitted, he himself was too scared to go through with it. He shakily held the knife pointed at the stupid bastard. Castle actually laughed at him. At first John was indignant, but as he listened to Castle guffaw and spin a convoluted story of how, had he realized he was going to die, he should have had the club sex as he had just been propositioned by a girl named Binki. John couldn't help himself: he started to laugh with the drunken man in front of him who wasn't upset or fearful at all. In a twist of irony the man's sanguinity and joy of life ambushed John.

John's would be victim then bought him breakfast: his first real meal in over a week. Castle ended up listening to John and his troubles, his history and his desperation over several cups of sobering coffee. He discovered that Castle turned the girl in the club down because he had to get home to his daughter. If the coffee didn't sober John, that fact did. He had never quite forgiven himself of what he almost did. Castle did and hired him to do odds and end jobs for him. Then helped him secure the driving job and got him back on his feet: most importantly he became a friend. Castle told him that it didn't really matter what he did, that we all have parts to play and each part works together with the others. The key was to find your part and then embrace it. After that night, John hadn't held a weapon against another soul again.

John smiled; Rick Castle didn't save his life all those years ago for him to throw it away. He was the driver: it was his part. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be back within the hour."

"It truly is beautiful up here," Ryan said as he and his partner crested a ridge along the trails above the hotel.

Esposito adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess," Javi had stopped to survey their surroundings with binoculars, but Ryan didn't think he saw the beauty, even given the reason they were there, just the parameters and conditions pertaining to their mission.

"What? You got something against nature?"

"Not specifically, there's just too much of it and I'm not here for the flora." He gestured to the trees and underbrush, tramping down fern fronds, grasses and saplings for emphasis. "It's kind of in the way right now; too many places to hide or conceal yourself, and I've had my fill of nature for a while. I just want to get back to the city. The concrete jungle's the only jungle where I'm comfortable."

They walked in quiet again and only heard the sounds of the forest and their footfalls. Ryan identified the songs of six different spring birds: a practice he'd retained from his summers at various camps away from the city. He also recognized the signs that they were getting closer to the stream that emptied out into the lake by the hotel. There were more ferns dappling the undergrowth and he could smell the heady muddle of mountain water, minerals and the decay of the leaves underfoot encouraged by higher water content. The ground was spongier as they neared the creek. He also heard the symphony created by the water rushing downhill over the stream bed rocks and pebbles. He and Esposito, after consulting a county map plastered on the wall in the sheriff's office had decided that if they wanted to make the best time through the forest, the creek bed would be the best travel route.

"I miss Jenny," Ryan said out of the blue. He and Jenny liked to take day trips out of the city to hike and picnic. Castle had suggested several natural spots he and Beckett had been to on what he called adventure dates. The coolest by far was the program upstate where you'd climb trees, zip line and then rappel. The area they were currently traversing would have been another perfect place to bring her. After that week, he was almost positive he wouldn't bring her here, but he'd definitely take her on more adventure dates.

"I mean I knew that the trial was going to take a few days," Ryan continued, much to his partner's aggravation. "But there's a difference between sitting in a courtroom and chasing psychos through the woods."

"We're almost at the first coordinate," Esposito said as he watched the latitude and longitude numbers on his phone, ignoring his partner's penchant to wallow while missing his wife. Esposito didn't have time for it, not when there was a mission. He'd think about whomever he was missing later. "Start looking for a protected spot. Someplace you'll be comfortable, we may be here a while."

Beckett stood by the main entrance to the ballroom. The hotel staff only opened one door to control the line of fans for the impromptu book signing. The staff had been very helpful, even pulling in additional gift shop personnel to sell the books which Castle was signing.

She let her gaze sweep across the highly polished pine dance floor to the floor to ceiling alpine windows overlooking the lake on the far side of the room and the waterfall and grassy incline sloping up into the edge of the forest, which displayed the breathtaking view through the windows at the opposite end of the oversized room. The forest quickly became too thick to distinguish individual trees and undergrowth, let alone a sniper.

Continuing her surveillance she looked over the people standing in line, not the normal volume a Richard Castle event engendered, but still, the number of people in Ulster County who came out for a unplanned signing was impressive. In addition to the expected fan girls, there were working people and elderly. Derrick had set himself up at the entrance screening the participants in case the brothers decided on a frontal assault. Beckett rolled her eyes when he revealed this plan. She had profiled the Buchanan brothers and was confident that they would not waltz into the ballroom and open fire. Their style was more personal with a healthy dose of hatred and disregard for personal relationships. They'd kill a stranger, if the unfortunate was in their way, but they didn't profile as mass murderers, overtly anyway. He was wasting his time.

Her observation of the room ended with Castle: currently in full Richard Castle: best-selling author mode. Even though he wore the persona, complete with the camera smile, he still took the time to speak quietly with everyone who waited in line for his signature in his book. He was genuinely grateful for his fans even during this quasi-genuine event. She closed her eyes and listened. Every once in a while she heard his normal soft murmuring voice he used at events increase showing his delight or the occasional laugh rise above the echoes of the humanity in the mostly empty ballroom. Besides Castle's baritone, there was soft music floating around the top of the twenty foot ceilings and beyond that, the occasional clink of glassware and dishes from the wait staff.

The sun had nearly risen to its apex and the shimmering light bounced off of the lake and into the ballroom and off of the crystal chandeliers exploding into a myriad of rainbows. While ordinarily this would make the room beautiful and bright, it had Kate imagining sniper scopes reflecting the sunlight much as Rick described the light reflecting off of the sniper rifle scope in the cemetery the day she had been shot. She shivered although it was not cold in the room. Almost as if on cue, Castle lifted his eyes and met her gaze at that moment. Beckett sent him a weak smile. He waved and then she turned and continued watching the crowd.

Castle couldn't believe how many people came out for an unannounced signing in East Overshoe, New York. Lower East Overshoe. It was a beautiful venue despite the life-sized Richard Castle card board cutouts. They creeped him out: they always creeped him out. Paula thought he forgot to request them, he didn't.

He looked up and saw the concerned eyes and slight smile of his girlfriend. He smiled and waved as she turned back to the door.

Castle looked up at the next person in line and smiled his best puppy dog smile. "Would you mind if I took a short break? I'll buy your book for you." The elderly woman he entreated was wearing a Nikki Heat sweatshirt. He was fairly sure he would be granted the break. She smiled her agreement and he excused himself.

Beckett felt his presence before she heard him. She turned to him just as he breathed, "Kate," into her ear. Castle grabbed her hand and pulled the detective into the anteroom off of the stage. "What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door.

"Castle…" She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, but before she could voice anything else his lips were on hers.

"Now," he said cupping her jaw as he pulled back. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…this whole …you're too exposed. They could come from anywhere."

He chuckled and pulled her closer. "Have you seen the criminal element I attract here in the wilds of the Shawangunk Mountains of New York? It's crazy dangerous." He shook his head in mock terror.

"I'm not talking about the fans. That room is exposed. They could be sitting up on that ridge right now…"

"Kate…" His tone forced her to look at him. "The point was to let them think that they can get to me." He smirked, "but they're not going to get close. The signing was just part of the publicity; it was the only way to interest the press. We needed the cooperation of the Nikon jackals." Without warning, his mocking countenance became serious. "You know how badly I need to finish this."

"I do," she whispered as she stroked his jawline. Her other arm rested easily around his neck. She looked up into his eyes. Even though she was clad in her power heels, he still had a couple of inches on her.

"I just wish we could set up one of those creepy cardboard Castles instead of me." A broad grin appeared on his face. "Oh god, I really hate those things. Do you think I should be worried that Paula always seems to have one with her? Do you think she uses them for the HOV lanes on the highway?"

She sighed. "Stop making jokes."

"Stop being so worried," he countered, "we've got this."

"Stop taking this so lightly." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You could get hurt."

He crowded her back against the door and angrily glared at her until he grinned again. "Is that a promise, detective?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Rick!" The use of his first name illustrated how grave she thought the situation was and he immediately stopped teasing her.

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've got to get back." He took her back in his arms and held her for a moment before kissing her again. "It will be okay," he said, untangling his fingers from her curls. He held her hand until they crossed the threshold of the door entering the ballroom at which time he squeezed it gently before letting go of her fingers. He walked quickly back to the table and resumed his portrayal of the unconcerned, playboy author. Kate walked back to her post. She didn't feel any better about the plan.

Derrick watched the two of them walk back across the ballroom to their perspective posts. His expression he wore, though thoroughly understated, was a mixture of amusement and impatience. He noticed when they not-so-freaking-subtly disappeared into the green room. He shook his head. This was a secret? 'Hell,' he thought, 'the only people who don't know about their clandestine affair are the group of students who checked in last night from Czechoslovakia.' He had the students vetted before he went to bed.

He glanced around the room again and shook his head. He could make a bunch of money selling tee shirts that read, 'My Mom Loves Richard Castle.'

'Holy shit,' he thought, 'they might even break out the canasta tables.'

To be fair, there was a healthy representation of co-eds from a number of the smaller colleges that dotted the mountains of Ulster County. From the full on flirting they had been working, they didn't know or maybe they didn't care about the writer's infatuation with his muse.

His watched vibrated. It was a message from Jack. 'The brothers spotted at a back road country store.' A few seconds later it buzzed again. 'Which they blew up.' The next read, 'Owner, an uncle, in the hospital. Probable objective: your location. Callis in pursuit.'

Derrick sighed and took a visual inventory of the Buchanans' objectives: Castle and to a lesser extent, Beckett. Pursing his lips he reckoned that the confrontation would probably happen on the golf course later this afternoon. He responded, 'Understood and implemented.'

Callis trudged through the shallow stream, cautiously while attempting to maintain speed, balance, and traction over the smooth river rocks. It took all of his concentration. Up ahead, the dogs had gone crazy following the fresh scent again and practically dragged their handlers through the barely above freezing water. Beside him, as always was Doug, keeping pace. Slightly behind, Mark was having a bit more trouble navigating the slippery bed. Callis smirked inwardly: if he, who they often referred to as the old man, could do it, the young guns should have made it look easy. Their roles were temporarily reversed and Callis didn't feel quite so old…at that particular moment.

He also didn't feel quite as useless as he had for the past couple of days. Chick gave the operation back to him after they had discovered Larson's huge conflict of interest. He knew people had a past. Larson's surprised him at first, but he remembered the case: unsolved and gruesome. He didn't blame her. He couldn't say he would not have done the same. The truth was that he liked her: she didn't back down. He'd see this through for her as well as his friends from the city. The troopers now obeyed his commands. He had left an S and R contingent at the store. They had already left after the brothers, but he heard the fire equipment arrive. He said a silent prayer for Matt Buchanan then as he did now, but he didn't hold much hope.

Callis pulled out his phone as he splashed through the creek. He still had no service.

The dogs slowed and started circling like they had lost the trail again. The sheriff held up his fist and the group came to a stop.

Doug ran up to the K-9 commander and spoke to him. After a moment he removed his sheriff's department baseball cap, dragged his hand across his closely cropped head and returned to the sheriff.

"Sheriff," he began as he always did when giving a report. "Dogs are confused. There's still a trail through the water, but it appears that one of them took off over the bank." He pointed to the broken saplings and unearthed roots on the steep bank of the creek. He could see where someone climbed up.

"Why would they split up now? After all this time and destruction." Callis narrowed his eyes and then suddenly grinned. "They're getting desperate. Mark!"

Their junior partner tromped through the water. "Sheriff?"

"Why would the brothers separate here after all they'd been through and committed together?"

Mark scrutinized the scene, the dogs, the footprints in the muddy bank and then he looked up at the sun. "I…I think to confuse and delay us Kevin."

"Where are they going?"

"The stream runs in a southerly trajectory, emptying out at Stone Ridge Lake. If I was going after Castle, I'd stick to the creek bed. If I had a rifle, I'd set up on the ridge on the north end of the hotel."

"What about those tracks?" Doug shrugged toward the imprints ascending the bank.

"If it was me and I heard the dogs getting closer, I'd have split."

"Why?" Callis asked.

"Be harder to track both of us going in two different directions."

"Who do you think is the greater danger?"

Wilson didn't hesitate. "Liam: hands down, but I think he's probably the one that headed away. He doesn't care what happens to Castle. He's a loner and will do what he can for self-preservation. Joe is our immediate danger. He's heading for Castle."

"Good job," Callis praised. He agreed and one glance told him that Doug did as well. "Trooper!"

Callis further split his search party. He sent one of the dogs, his handler, and seven men after Liam. He, Doug and Mark, along with the final two dogs, the K-9 officers, and the five remaining troopers stayed in the stream. The suddenly older feeling sheriff inhaled deeply, cracked his neck, shoulders and back and motioned to continue southerly to the smaller contingent he now led. A few moments later, he surveyed the current height of the stream banks; judged them to be more easily climbed and made a decision.

"Doug, I'm going to head up the hill and see if I can't get cell service. We need to know what happened back at the store and Rick has to know it's time to duck and cover. Keep moving; I'll catch up."

Castle was doing anything but imitating the 1950s era filmstrip about nuclear attack response, well, mostly he was annoying his girlfriend. He and Beckett were finishing lunch, provided by the grateful hotel management. He had just finished a surprisingly successful unplanned book signing event, followed by an exclusive interview by the buxom and blonde local news station's entertainment reporter, Constance Ling-Guise. Castle was gracious and did nothing to indicate his amusement except blink repeatedly as they were introduced.

Beckett was impressed that he held it together for the entire interview. It almost imploded when he asked if she ever went by the nickname Connie. The poor woman was clueless, but Kate, being well acquainted with the working of Castle's mind, rolled her eyes and turned her back so as not to fan the flames of his humor.

"I mean, seriously: no one has ever pointed out the fact that she could be a Bond girl? Her name, her real name is as classic as Pussy Galore, Plenty O'Toole..."

"Castle…" Beckett attempted for the fifty-seventh time to re-direct their conversation.

He continued, "Xenia Onatopp, Holly Goodhead…and… Connie Ling-Guise" he shook his head, chuckling and wiped the corners of his eyes with his napkin again. He tilted his head and openly and wolfishly appraised her. He narrowed his eyes as if he'd made a discovery. "You would make a good Bond girl, Beckett."

The look in his eyes made her face heat instantly. God, she hated that he had that kind of control over her. "Really," flabbergasted momentarily, she rallied and challenged him mockingly. "How do you figure?"

"Yeah," he said: smirk firmly in place, left eyebrow slightly raised and eyes bright: his game face. He noticed her reaction to his appraisal and was torturing her for fun. "Well what are the three elements of a true Bond girl?" She shrugged, determined not to succumb. He continued after shaking his head. "Intelligence, she needs to be able to kick-ass and she has to be hot; millions of teen-aged boys' fantasies depend on it," he said off-handedly. "I don't know of any other requirements except…"

"Except what?" Kate sighed: he sucked her in. She was doomed.

"Well, two things: You'd have to sleep with a ruggedly handsome hero…" He waggled his eyebrows. "Oh wait," he said slowly as if discovering a well-hidden secret. He grinned indecently and raised one eyebrow just as he raised his wineglass. "Check."

Beckett pursed her lips and grimaced. "So now you're a hero?" she challenged: still determined to finish with a good showing.

He tilted his head and held out his hands, ticking off the reasons on each finger. "Well, yeah…saved your life, saved the city, solved innumerous heinous crimes, invited my mother to live with me…"

She reached up and engulfed his digits in hers. "Okay, I concede, but only in the broadest definition of the word. What's the other?"

"You'd have to change your name. Beckett is lovely: forthright and strong as a character name, but there is no double-entendre," he closed his eyes and she watched as his imagination worked on the hypothetical problem.

"Hey, super-genius," Kate interrupted. She was observing the man behind the name Nikki Heat attempt to come up with a Bond girl name for her. Although she loved Nikki and her adventures, she didn't want to hear him call her names like Maxi Ride or Regina Vagina…ever. "How about we talk about this afternoon?"

He shook his head. "It's evil-genius and I'll come up with an appropriate Bond name for you, if it's the last thing I do," he said menacingly. Castle sipped his wine and then laughed maniacally. "I need to stroke a cat." He searched the restaurant's floor with his eyes as if a stray hairless cat would happen by and would jump into his lap because that's the way Richard Castle's universe worked.

"Rick, Kate." Carter Burke stepped up to their table. "May I join you?" Kate choked on her wine. Dr. Burke was bald. She closed her eyes against her traitorous mind picturing Castle rubbing Burke's dome. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the unwitting man said. "Are you alright?"

Castle had dropped all teasing and was gazing at Kate with concern.

She shook her head. "I'm…I'm okay," she gasped as she reached for her water glass.

Castle stared at her as if to discern her truthfulness, before he glanced at an equally concerned Burke. "Please Carter, join us."

"You're sure you're all right?" He asked Kate as he slipped into the seat next to Castle.

She nodded as she distracted herself from Burke's intense concerned gaze and intense bald head. "I'm fine Dr. Burke." She glared at Castle. "It's his fault, anyway," she accused, hooking her thumb in his direction.

Castle scowled. "Hey!" he defended. Then he looked from Kate to Burke. He smirked and said, "I see what you mean." Before Burke could ask what they meant, Castle quickly asked, "Carter, how about those Knicks?"

Carter was always impressed that Castle remembered offhand remarks like Burke's declaration from that morning that he I could recognize a losing battle when he saw it, because he was a Knicks fan. "I figured you could tell me."

Kate looked back and forth between the two men obviously sharing a secret code. She sighed, but listened: Castle would translate for her later.

Suddenly, Kate noticed, the Castle persona was sitting across from her. "So far so good: we've had terrific coverage from the press. The signing brought out a bunch of people. The next step is isolating me a bit more. If they're watching, they should make their move. I'll be more accessible on the course."

"And this doesn't concern you at all," Burke asked. Having noticed his patient's change in demeanor, he wondered why he retreated at this time hiding behind his public persona.

"Sure it does," Castle agreed, "but I'll have Kate watching my back and Derrick: well I actually think he just wanted to get in a round, but I'm playing him so he'll be right there. I don't think he's a very good player given the handicap he registered with the pro. It should be a bit more challenging than mini golf, without the clowns and windmills."

Burke sat back and scrutinized his friend and patient. The intensity of his gaze threw Castle for a second, but he recovered quickly and slipped the mask back in place.

Castle sat forward and steepled his fingers in front of him. "I'll pay for your lunch, but this is not a session." He glared at his doctor. "I'm fine."

Beckett scoffed, breaking the tension as fast as it had developed and both men turned their heads in her direction.

"Kate?" Burke asked, his normally passive face betrayed by a single eyebrow twitch. "You have a different opinion?"

Kate leaned forward and after glancing in Castle's direction and ignoring the pleading look on his face, she said, "Yes, I haven't ever thought this hide and seek game is the answer, I was out-voted." She chanced another look at Castle. His expression had morphed to betrayal and anger. She could see his jaw muscles working to suppress his reactions. She sighed.

"The plan is the plan," Castle stated. He made a show about checking his watch. "I've got to go." He signed the check, stood, and dropped his napkin onto the table. "Carter, are you returning to the city today?" Kate blushed slightly, his dismissive behavior shocked her.

"I'm not sure yet," the psychiatrist in him answered carefully. He narrowed his eyes as he openly assessed Castle's outward demeanor while trying to see past the façade, unsuccessfully.

"Maybe I'll see you later then." He turned his attention to Kate who looked up at him from her seat. So many emotions flew across his features as he gazed at her: anger, longing, sorrow, regret, fear. Kate observed each in turn. He took a deep breath and the final look he gave her was full of love. "I'll see you later."

"Promise?"

He tilted his head and the corners of his lips tugged up in a slight smile. His eyes reflected the seriousness of the moment though. "Always." One more almost smile and he turned and headed toward the doors. Kate watched him go and stared at the door for what seemed hours long after he'd gone.

Burke watched the exchange between his two patients with interest. "Kate? How are you doing?" Burke's warm, caring, probing baritone drew her gaze back to him. Castle had left but Kate was still here. Maybe he could still help.

She inhaled and exhaled before she answered. "He's right: it has to end." She stood. "Thank you Dr. Burke," she said as she held out her hand. "I have to go, too."

He observed her for another brief moment, disappointed that they both were closed off to him, before he reciprocated. "Good luck, Kate. Make sure you come see me when you get back to the city."

"Mhm," she nodded non-committedly.

Burke held onto her hand for a moment longer. "Rick too," he said earnestly. "Kate, make sure he comes. What I did here was like applying a band aid on a broken arm." He squeezed her hand. "Make sure." His brown eyes searched hers for acquiescence. She nodded again and he smiled reassuringly. Kate shrugged into her jacket and left the dining room.

Burke sat back down at the table and mentally made notes. His colleagues had warned him about taking on patients in some sort of relationship. That it would be difficult to keep the two separate and be non-judgmental or biased toward one patient or the other. They couldn't have been more wrong. He used his knowledge of both his patients to help them better understand themselves. When he was done with Rick and Kate they would be one cohesive unit, but before that could happen they both needed to heal: they needed to allow him to help them.

The psychiatrist finished his water, stood, and dialed his office. He would stay: whatever happened today, he was sure that one, or both of his patients, might actually seek his help later.

Joe Buchanan perched in a tree, holding binoculars up to his eyes and a rifle balanced across his knees, silently waiting for his pursuers to come around the bend. The same bend in the creek bed where he'd set a trap. Nature had done a great job gathering the leaves, pebbles, sticks, pine cones and logs from the spring thaw on the creek's hurried descent and then deposited it all by a rotting log waiting for someone to put it to good use. The natural debris would rain down on them, but he needed to trigger it and they all needed to be contained. He'd already set the charge, handily acquired from Uncle Matt's store. From his vantage point he could see several hundred feet upstream, could make sure that they took cover right where he wanted them, and then he could continue to the hotel unimpeded and unfollowed, take care of Castle and then catch up with Liam. He was pleased with his luck and strategy.

Victoria Gates hung up her phone and closed her eyes. After taking a breath she opened her cell and pulled up Castle's number. The spy's plan was working more effectively than any of them could have predicted.

Gates' phone calls to both Castle and then Beckett went to voicemail. A glance to her wristwatch confirmed that it was the time he would be on the golf course, completely exposed. She left messages for both and then called the hotel's concierge and left urgent messages to have either of them call her. She walked down the corridor.

"Commandant?" Gates stuck her head in the conference room door.

"Oh, Captain. I'm sorry, I really haven't had an opportunity to convey my thanks to you and your team for your assistance up here," he said while standing, walking around the end of the conference table, and extending his hand. "And it's Chick, please. Callis told me what a remarkable team you lead and I agree. I took the liberty of doing a little research and you and your precinct put up some very impressive numbers."

Gates summed up the man in a glance. He had been a good cop at one time, but the politics seduced him. She had an ingrained distrust of politicians: they said what they needed to say to keep the machine moving, putting down so much slick oil to ensure that the cogs that ran civilization would never get stuck. Snake oil salesmen, all of them. A good portion of her job was politics; it was how things happened further up the food chain. He said it: the numbers. It was all about the number of arrests, arrests with convictions versus acquittals. Have crime rates gone up this month compared to last month, compared to last year, five years ago? They keep track of everything: man hours, lightbulbs and coffee stirrers. Her job wasn't really about police work as much as it was about statistics and economy. She sighed.

"Thank you," she said returning the handshake. "Callis called a few moments ago."

The older man nodded. "Yeah, he called me too. It's only a matter of time now. I can almost feel the noose tightening around those bastard's necks."

Gates resisted the urge to roll her eyes. They still didn't know where the brothers actually were. Posturing wouldn't help them apprehend them. "I'm going to the hospital to question the uncle. Would you care to accompany me?"

"That's a great idea. Maybe he has an idea of where those boys are headed." He went back around the table and picked up his jacket. "I've got my car. Would you like me to drive?"

Gates smiled graciously and responded politically, "That would be wonderful, uh, Ch…Chick," she uncomfortably pronounced his nick-name. He smiled a tight-lipped smile in response. "I'm ready when you are. Please," she gestured for him to lead the way.

Erika approached the forlorn little hunting cabin with extreme caution. It was dark and the area around it, unkempt, nothing like the deluxe modern cabin she'd visited just yesterday, before everything changed. This cabin had no modern conveniences and the other boasted all of them: more than any experienced outdoorsman would need. It truly was a city dweller's weekend retreat. The kind you'd see on the pages of some high-end escapist magazine on the coffee table in a Wall Street brokerage house. The only noteworthy attributes that cabin shared with this one were the overwhelming stench and the fact that a Buchanan or both had been there at some point.

She was sure that a variety of animals met their end at this place just as the hunters met theirs: death was the other commonality.

On first approach, it appeared that no one had ventured near this forgotten and sad dwelling in years. She could almost see the earth climbing up the log walls, encasing and reclaiming the natural materials from which it was constructed. The simple log and mud structure looked more like it had started off as a lean-to rather than a cabin. Its fourth wall appeared to have been added along with a simple door. She could imagine that the cold, bitter nights of the New York hunting season would necessitate a more enclosed building and was probably the cause for the addition. Even with the fourth wall, there were gaps in the earthen mortar and missing pieces of logs where animals or the elements or both had abused the long-ignored building. The interior as viewed through these gaps was as black as the tar on the roof. She was certain that if someone was inside, they could have seen her.

There was no sign of life: quite the opposite. Indeed, the smell of decay and death threatened to overtake her other senses. The outer walls were mostly a mossy green with hints of a dark oily coating on some of the logs. The leaves underfoot had not been removed recently and judging from the deep dark soil she caught glimpses of, they had probably never been removed. Left to rot, it became food for the earthworms, roly poly bugs and beetles in a never-ending cycle.

Stopping to listen, she closed her eyes and held her breath. The only sounds she heard was a haunting discordant melody played by the gaps and holes in the walls with every whispered breath of breeze that chased by the cabin. As she moved, the soft rhythm of the crunching of leaves beneath her feet punctuated the tune.

She crept to the northeast corner of the cabin and peered around the outer wall to the door. She stopped abruptly. Justin stood to the left of the door. He pointed to the ground. Inhaling sharply, she put her hand over her mouth to hide her reactions. The rotting leaves and detritus at the front of the building were piled just as it was around the other walls; sometimes climbing waist high depending on where the wind had swept it. The difference was that in front of the door was clear dark earth in a perfect quarter circle; the pivot point was the hinged side of the door.

Erika squared her shoulders and unholstered her gun. Someone had been inside recently.

Callis pocketed his phone and continued walking along the upper edge of the bank. He ordered the bulk of the party to go on ahead so he could make the necessary phone calls. He talked to Corporal Reed, whom he had left in charge at the store or what was left of it, Victoria and Chick. He tried Castle and Beckett, but both of their phones went to voicemail. He needed to get word to the hotel and to Castle somehow. He decided to try Esposito.

It had rung three times and he was just about to pocket his phone when Esposito's strangled whisper of "Esposito," crackled through the line.

"Espo? Callis. Where are you?"

"Overlooking the hotel in the woods just north by the waterfall."

"Uh…"

"What?"

"They're headed right that way."

"Shit," Esposito whispered.

"I need to get word to Castle. Oh crap, is he there with you?"

"No, it's good, he's at the hotel. He is supposed to be playing golf."

Callis stopped and looked around in frustration. "Golf?"

"Yeah, it was…um a way to relax him," Javi lied. "Are they sticking to the river?"

"All indications and the dogs say yes, except…"

"Except?"

"Yeah, we think they may have split up to confuse the dogs. I sent a team to follow one trail and I along with my boys and some dogs and troopers are staying with the stream."

"Okay," he caught Ryan's eyes as he said, "We'll be waiting for whichever one comes this way." His partner nodded his agreement.

Callis ended the call just as the ground shook causing him to lose his footing, tumbling down the embankment, landing face first in the icy water. He lifted his head and whipped his wet hair out of his eyes. "Too fucking old for this," he muttered as he got shakily to his feet. He ran toward the epicenter of whatever caused the boom.

Doug Houser continued down the stream bed with Wilson and the Staties and dogs as ordered. He glanced backward a couple of times to see if he could spot his boss without luck. They picked up the pace as they followed the more frequent hairpin and razorback turns took a decidedly more downward slope. They followed the cuts and crevices carved into the mountain by the water hurriedly and blindly obeying the law of gravity.

They stepped into one area that formed a pool where the water virtually came to a standstill naturally or maybe a beaver had dammed the stream here. 'It would make the journey below easier,' Doug thought. His feet were numb. Waterproofing only lasted so long and his boots had seen their limit about three miles back.

He could see the debris piled high on the banks. Logs, leaves, sticks and other natural debris lined the ridge above them. He shook his head: looked like human trash had been dragged downstream as well. There was several propane canisters wedged beneath one of the larger trees: the one holding up the rest.

He couldn't be sure if he heard the gunshots or the explosion first, but Mark Wilson was blown backward from the blast. He knocked into Doug and another trooper: pushing them down into the water with him. There was a groaning noise as if the forest herself was in pain, followed by a tremendous crack and then what had been a bright spring day, turned smoky and then completely dark.

Additional A/N - Yeah, I know, but don't kill me. I will post the climax to this story within the next week.

Also - Hit me with your best 'Bond Girl names for Beckett' suggestion in a comment or a PM.

Until next time...