Alexis cornered him in his bedroom the next morning just after he'd finished dressing and as he was brushing his hair back into place.

"Dad."

"What is it, sweetheart?" He ducked down enough to check his hairline in the mirror, turning his head first one way then the other.

"We have to talk."

"About what?"

"All ... this."

Rick put the brush down on the table and turned to look at her. "Which particular all are you thinking about?"

Alexis, looking far more serious than an eighteen year old should, indicated the unmade bed. "This. Everything."

He made an educated guess. "You're worried about me."

"Of course I am!" Her red hair seemed to flame. "You've been shot at, nearly blown up, held hostage ... and you're only a writer!"

"Only?" he put in but she was on a roll.

"Detective Beckett was shot, and blown up ... how much closer to it do you want to be? And now, this case ... someone tried to kill you, Dad!"

Rick pulled his daughter into his arms. "Alexis, nothing is going to happen to me."

"You can't promise that!"

She was stiff in his embrace as a similar conversation from the evening before replayed in his mind, with Kate's assertion that none of them knew what was going to happen in the future. He turned it around, seeing it from Alexis's point of view.

"No," he agreed slowly. "I can't promise that. But I can promise that I'll be careful."

She pushed him away to look into his face. "Careful? Someone shot at you!"

"Were you worrying about this all night?"

"Dad."

He cancelled the smile that was threatening. "Yes. Someone shot at us. He didn't hit us. And now we know there's someone out there with a gun we'll be extra vigilant. I'll even wear my vest, okay?"

"Dad, it's nothing to joke about."

"No, you're right. And I'm sorry." He pulled her close again, wondering how long it would be until she didn't want a hug from her Daddy once in a while, and was pleased when she returned it this time. "But I get the feeling there's more to it than just my welfare."

She stilled. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I know sub-text when I hear it."

"There's nothing else." She let go and moved away towards the door, but turned back, contradicting herself. "It's just ... you and Detective Beck ... Kate."

"Me and Kate." This time he allowed the smile to form. "Feeling left out, are you? Don't worry – you'll always be my special girl."

"That's nice, Dad, but ..."

"But what? Sweetie, what is it?"

"Dad ..." She bit her lip. "Are you doing this just because I'm going to college?"

"You mean because I'm afraid I might be lonely?" When she nodded he wanted to laugh, but knew that wasn't at all the right thing to do. Instead he took her hands in his. "Alexis, I promise, this has nothing to do with you going to Columbia. I love Kate, and I want us to be together."

His daughter blushed, as if hearing her father declaring his affection for someone else was embarrassing. "Are ... are you going to get married?"

"I ... it's early days."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

"I'm asking because you wanted that vintage motorised skateboard and it's never been out of the hall closet."

"That's not quite the same thing."

"Isn't it? Wanting something because you couldn't have it, and, when you could, finding the having wasn't enough?"

He felt an odd mixture of pride and exasperation. "You think that because Kate and I have ... that I'll want to go on to the next thing?"

"No. Well, maybe." She looked like the little girl she used to be. "I don't want you to get hurt, Dad."

"Hey, me neither. But Kate isn't a skateboard, motorised or not, and I'm not going to change how I feel about her."

"But things do change. People fall out of love, go to college, grow up ..."

"Hey, I promise that's never going to happen. The growing up part, I mean. And as for the falling out of love ... I've loved you for eighteen years, and that shows no sign of changing."

"I'm your daughter, you're supposed to."

He pulled her back into his arms, wanting to rest his chin on her head but finding she was too tall now. "And I promise you won't lose me. I'll be around until you've got kids of your own, and even then I'll be telling them wildly inappropriate stories and giving them parcels of land on the moon, just along the crater to mine."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good." She squeezed hard and let go, this time hurrying out of the bedroom so he didn't see the tears in her eyes, but adding over her shoulder, "And wear your vest."

He grinned. Going back to the dressing table he picked up the small silver dish that held the detritus from his pockets from the night before and tipped them into his hand.

"Alexis telling you off?" Kate had stepped silently into the room.

"She cares about me." He tossed a couple of crumpled receipts into the bin, but the rest he thrust back into his pocket.

"She loves you."

He turned to look at her. "I know."

"Do you want to stop this?"

"You heard?"

"Most of it."

Rick sat down on the bed, thinking for a moment. When he looked up his eyes were sober. "Kate, the reason I started following you around in the first place was because a crime was going unpunished. Yes, I know that sounds grandiose and self-aggrandising, but it's true. Alison Tisdale's murderer was going to get away with it. And yes, I know, I looked on it as a game, an easy way of getting the plot for my next book. But I've worked with you for quite some time now, and that's changed. I want the ... the satisfaction of having the bad guy put in jail." He glanced towards the open door to his wardrobe, the zombie costume just visible in the corner. "And yes, it can still be fun."

Kate shook her head. "You really are a big kid, aren't you?"

"'Fess up, Kate. It's what you love about me."

"Quite possibly." She walked to the window and gazed out. "Don't you ever wonder about the good we do?"

"Not sure."

"Not sure we do any good, or not sure you know what I'm talking about?"

He smiled. "Both."

"That's the point. Do we do any good? I mean, in the grand scheme of things?" She nodded towards the city. "No matter what we do, what we did ... people still break the law. They steal, they hurt, they kill ... if we can't stop them then is what we do even worth it?"

"Ah."

"Ah ... what?" She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"A wise man once said that if nothing we do matters, then anything we can do matters."

"What?"

"I think he meant that if we can't change the world then it's the very act of trying that's important."

"That's quite deep." She looked thoughtful. "So what he meant was that we stop it getting worse?"

"Probably. But I think he was being more profound than that." He stood up, stretching. "Or maybe he was just trying to say that it's better to light a candle than curse the darkness."

She laughed unexpectedly. "Who was this deep, philosophical thinker?"

"Oh, just some guy on a TV show I used to love. It doesn't make it less than true, though."

"No. No, it doesn't." She picked up her jacket.

"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.

"To see Grace Sheldon. See what good I can do."

"Without breakfast?" He glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was past nine.

"I'm not hungry. Besides, you have to call your ex-wife." She shrugged into her coat and walked out into the living room.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asked, following her.

"What, you calling Gina?"

"No. And yes."

She turned to smile at him. "You were right. We need to see that manuscript if we can."

"If it exists."

"Granted, if it exists. Otherwise Clive Sheldon's death is going to be put down as suicide, and we won't find out who shot at us." She reached up and kissed him on the lips. "I won't be long."

"I could come and sit in the car."

"Get calling, Castle," Kate said, snagging the rental keys from the hall table.

"Kate, darling, are you going anywhere near my school?" Martha asked, heading down the stairs.

"I could be persuaded."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Are you going out too?"

"Of course, Richard," Martha said, reaching the floor and adjusting the light pashmina around her shoulders, using the end to cover the cast on her wrist. "First rehearsals are this afternoon, and I have a lot of planning to do."

"Already?"

"There's no point in letting the grass grow under our feet. And everyone is available."

"And can you?" Rick asked. "I mean, you're not exactly one hundred percent."

"That's why I'm helping," Alexis put in, carrying what appeared to be a heavy carpet bag with both hands down the stairs, almost but not quite dropping it on the parquet.

"What have you got in there?" Rick wanted to know.

"Oh, just a few props," Martha said, waving her undamaged hand airily. "I'll bring them back after."

The temptation to go through the bag was almost too great, but seeing Kate smiling at their antics made him ask, "Anything I should up the insurance on?"

"Don't be a sourpuss, kiddo."

"I'll go and start the car," Kate put in. "Alexis, give me that bag and you can help your grandmother."

"I don't need help." Martha's laser gaze turned on her instead.

"I don't recall suggesting you did."

"You're going to talk about me, aren't you?" Rick asked, a resigned note in his voice.

"Of course." Kate kissed his cheek then added, "I'll be downstairs." Swiping the bag from the floor and only giving a gentle 'oof' at the weight, she strode out.

"Be nice," Rick begged his mother. "I've only just got her to like me."

"I'll keep your juicier secrets just that," Martha promised, checking her purse as best she could. "Richard, do you have my phone? I don't think you gave it back to me."

Sidetracked slightly from the stories he knew she could tell he said, "Uh, no, I didn't." He hurried back into his bedroom, appearing a moment later with it in his hand. "Here."

"Thank you." She slipped it into her bag.

"And I think this is yours too." He held out something else.

Martha looked at the mouth spray on the palm of his hand. "That's not mine, dear."

"Are you sure?" He stared at it. "The nurse said it was in your pocket with your cell."

Her eyes narrowed fractionally as she thought, then her confusion cleared. "The theatre. I found it on the stage."

He looked up in surprise. "When?"

"That day. It was rolled under one of the tabs." She shrugged elegantly. "A lot of actors use them to keep their mouths fresh – although I've known a good number who should have and didn't." Her nose wrinkled from the phantom halitosis.

"Are you sure? About when you found it?"

"Richard, I'm not senile yet. It was the day I got hurt." The pashmina slipped from her cast and she pulled it back into place, tucking it into the sling. "Come on, Alexis. The early bird is waiting, and so's Kate."

"Isn't anyone going to have breakfast?" Rick asked, aware he sounded like he was whining just a little.

"Coffee's brewed," Alexis pointed out.

"And we've already eaten," Martha added. "While you and Kate were having a lie in." She twinkled at him.

Considering what they'd been doing, and what his mother apparently knew they'd been doing, Rick wasn't surprised at the blush that threatened to rush up his chest and burn across his cheeks. "Maybe I should get a lock put on that door."

"That might not be a bad idea."

Alexis picked up another bag from next to the couch, smaller and flatter than the other, eager to get away from discussions of her father's love life. "I thought we were going?"

"Your laptop?" Rick asked. "Is this a modern-day production?"

"No." Alexis laughed. "I'll need something to do whilst Gram rehearses."

"I hope it's not school work."

"No." She lifted her chin. "Actually, I'm writing a book."

"Ahhh. A chip off the old block." He had to grin. "And what genre? A crime novel? Or maybe a love story. Vampires." He warmed to his theme. "Or maybe a vampire who falls in love and solves crimes. No, wait, somebody's already done that."

"It's autobiographical. About a teenager who has to be an adult to her father."

"Hey!"

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll change the names to protect the guilty." She kissed him on the cheek and hurried out of the front door.

Martha laughed lightly as she followed her into the hall. "Perhaps she is yours after all," leaving Rick standing open-mouthed.

After two cups of coffee, one unfinished bowl of cereal and a handful of leftovers from the night before, Rick still hadn't got up the courage to call his ex. Not that courage was needed – more like a full suit of armour and a flame thrower. The mental image of himself wearing just such a costume, and a dragon with Gina's face, made him smile just as there was a knock on the door.

For a moment he didn't move, surprised that Eduardo hadn't called up to announce a visitor. Which could only mean ...

"Gina."

His ex-wife stood in the doorway, her sleeveless cream blouse in perfect complement to her cream linen skirt and her cream leather open-toed heels. Even her nail polish was champagne.

"Rick."

"What a pleasant surprise." He couldn't have sounded less honest if he'd tried, although the shock was perfectly genuine. "I was just thinking about you."

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

"I know I'm not late."

"No. Although I live in the vain hope that one day you might actually get the chapters to me early."

He had to smile a little. "You never know."

"But that's not why I'm here." She glanced past him. "Can I come in?"

He glanced towards the dirty dishes still sitting on the counter, then to his study door, glad that the murder screen was currently dark. "I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

"So I can see." Her eyes had followed his. "Rick, I'm not going to do this standing in the hall."

He recognised the look on her face all too well. "Yes. Of course. Come in." He stepped back, the stray thought that he shouldn't really invite vampires into his home crossing his mind and making his lips twitch, although in her case he was more than a few years too late.

She stepped across the threshold and turned around. "Kate not at home?"

"Is that it?" He sighed. "You wanted to come in and see if she's made any changes?"

"She wouldn't be a woman if she didn't."

"It's been two weeks, Gina. Not even that. I don't think even you could have done much in two weeks." He paused. "No – I take that back. You started to change things before I'd even finished the proposal."

"In a balloon. On a freezing February day."

"Believe me, if I'd listened to the omens I'd have saved half my money and most of my sanity."

She smiled coolly at him. "I love you too."

He glanced pointedly at his watch. "Gina, as much fun as this is, sparring with you, what do you want?"

"As a matter of fact I'm here to do you a favour."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really." She opened her purse, a large cream leather pouch that Rick recognised as being designer-made and hideously expensive, at least when he purchased one for his mother, at her request, for her last birthday. He wondered briefly at the advisability of telling Gina she and Martha had the same tastes, but erred on the side of living longer. Instead he watched her pull a manila envelope from inside, presenting it to him as if she'd made it appear by magic.

He eyed it warily. "It can't be divorce papers. Or should I dunk it in water first?"

Rather than the catty remark he expected, she smiled. "It's the manuscript you asked about. Clive Sheldon's. Or rather, the first three chapters and notes on the rest."

Now he really was amazed. Not only Gina turning up before he had a chance to call her, but with the very thing he needed. "Really?" He grabbed it and tore it open. "I thought you said you didn't have it."

"I twisted a few arms." She smiled, and he could imagine her doing exactly that. "It's what he gave Black Pawn originally, the reason we offered to publish. It's not that bad, actually. A little florid, but that could easily have been put right.

Comings & Goings. That was the title, printed in Arial 24 Bold, if he was any judge, with the subheading of A Life in the Import/Export Business slightly smaller underneath. He winced. "And the title?"

"Would probably have been changed. And someone who's called books Heat Wave and Naked Heat shouldn't throw stones."

"Point taken." He clutched the manuscript to his chest. "Thanks, Gina."

"I'm not all bad, you know."

"You mean like Jessica Rabbit."

"What?" Her perfectly plucked eyebrows twitched.

"In the cartoon. Who Framed Roger Rabbit. She says she's not bad, she was just drawn that way."

Gina pushed her hand down her cream skirt, smoothing non-existent creases. "I can relate to that. Although your obsession with popular culture doesn't seem to be going away."

He smiled. "One thing we could never agree on."

"Rick, if it had been only that we might still have been married." She lifted her chin in the way he remembered. "Anyway, I have to go. I have a potential author to interview."

"Putting the fear of Gina into him?"

Her smile widened, showing her teeth. "Of course."

She didn't say goodbye, just sashayed past him and was gone in a waft of Paco Rabanne.

Rick gazed after her. Maybe there was hope for a friendship after all. And just perhaps she'd delivered a motive for murder, too. Closing the door he crossed to the couch, already turning the first page of Comings & Goings before he sat down.

The pages were printed, suggesting there might be a fuller copy somewhere on Clive's computer, a plastic wallet attached to the back full of photos, probably intended to be used within the text, and it didn't take long to realise Gina had been right. The writing wasn't bad at all, but Clive seemed addicted to hyperbole. He used a whole page to describe what he wore the day he graduated, including all the reasons for his eventual choice, but a good working relationship with an editor could have produced a solid book. It might not top the NY Times bestseller list, but it had a chance of developing a following, particularly as the buying public could be pretty fickle in their tastes.

Rick skimmed the first two of the chapters that had been fully fleshed, but found little beyond Clive's memories of his childhood and college years, including meeting Grace for the first time and being thought not good enough by her father. It was the third, though, that made him sit up. Whether Clive had intended to make the jump forward in time or if this was just to show there was more to his life than banalities was probably never going to be answered, but this chapter dealt with the death of Nicky Turturro.

His heart pounding, Rick began to devour the words.

Kate looked up at the large white town house. Five storeys high and a basement underneath, she could probably fit her apartment in there ten times over, and even Castle's loft would be lost inside.

Rick. Rick, not Castle. She shook her head at herself, sighing heavily. She'd told him the truth when she said she was trying to call him by his first name, and actually managed it quite a lot, but there were times when his surname tripped easier off the tongue. Although technically it should be Rodgers that was doing the tripping.

Richard Alexander Rodgers. Very musical. No wonder he changed it to Richard Edgar Castle, although as far as Kate was concerned he should be glad his mother hadn't given in to her first inclination to call him Nicholas.

Nicholas Castle. Nick Castle. No. That didn't work. He didn't look like a Nick. Or a Rick, for that matter, at least those times she'd been tempted to call him something else entirely. And in all honesty it was easier to call him Castle, just in case things went south.

She caught sight of herself in the rear view mirror and almost laughed. Her therapist would have a field day with this, she considered. As far as she'd got, as close to accepting everything that had happened, she still couldn't take that last final little step, whether it was calling Rick all the time by his first name or moving in with him. Still, it was early days.

More to the point, this wasn't getting the job done. She was procrastinating, feeling the lack of her partner in the seat next to her, making unsuitable comments, as well as the lack of a gun at her hip, but somehow knowing the fake PI badge Cast ... Rick had made her was nestled securely inside her jacket was oddly reassuring.

Pulling herself together she took the lip gloss from her pocket and swept it over her mouth, running her fingers through her hair before getting out of the car to go and knock on the door.