Too Close

Chapter 83

Castle strokes the stubble sprouting on his jaw. "Maybe not as hard as you think. Remember Del Lipchitz?"

"Your Mountain Dew Kickstart and pastrami loving computer guru?"

"The very one. He found Jane Chen for us. He might have an idea about who's capable of hacking drone controls."

"It's worth a try, Babe," Kate acknowledges.

"Great, we can swing by the deli on the way."

Del takes a healthy bite of his sandwich and uses a paper napkin to dab spicy mustard from his upper lip. "Hacking drones. That's got to be Simon Warburg. He contracted with the DOD to develop auto-control software for them, so the military could eliminate human pilots. But he had an awakening of sorts. I don't know the details, but he sabotaged the software he was supposed to be perfecting. The FBI has been after him ever since. Months ago, one of their agents came to see me wanting to know where Warburg is."

"And do you know?' Kate asks.

"At the time he asked, I had no idea, but I got curious. Warburg puts out messages under the alias, 'Penance.' He started out, raging against slaughtered villagers in Afghanistan, and lately, he's concentrated on the casualties from the conflict between Yemen and the Saudis. But I can't see him killing anyone. He's in hiding for trying to prevent what he sees as tragic deaths."

"Where do you think he's holed up?" Castle wonders.

"I analyzed the weather in a message he sent from outdoors. It matched up with Southern New Jersey, close to the Pennsylvania border. I couldn't get a more exact location than that, but I can give you a file of his postings. Maybe you and Kate can pick up clues of your own."

Kate beams at Del. "Thanks. Having New Jersey as a starting point is worth a lot."

"Just be ready to comfort your fiancé when he gets my bill," Del advises.

Kate leans into Castle's side. "I think I can manage that."

Castle regards the video on his laptop as Warburg rants against the evils of artificial intelligence eliminating the human factor. "The man has a point. How many times do we curse the brainlessness of autocorrect on our phones every day? And its glitchiness doesn't kill anyone — at least I hope not. But without human control of deadly weaponry, who knows what could happen?" Castle points at the screen. "Hey, look! Warburg's into collecting books. That's a first edition of Brave New World by Aldous Huxley in the bookcase behind him. And I'm spotting Orwell's Animal Farm and 1984, too. Those august tomes fit with what Del told us."

"Castle, if Warburg ran from the feds, he wouldn't have been able to cart a bunch of books with him," Kate points out.

"You're right. He must have reconstituted his collection wherever he landed. Buying them online would have been too easy to trace. There must be a used bookstore nearby, and sadly there aren't many of those anymore. It shouldn't be too hard to track down one in South Jersey, but," he consults the time in the corner of the screen, "most shopkeepers will have long closed their establishments by this hour. We should get a fresh start in the morning."

"And get Ryan to help us. If there's a facial recognition result on Dale's park rendezvous, he should have it by now. He'll be ready for a new project." Combing her fingers into his hair, Kate drapes herself across Castle's lap. "And in the meantime, we can work on a private project of our own."

Kicking away his chair, Castle lifts her in his arms. "Or a project involving our privates?"

Kate touches the tip of her tongue to his lips. "Exactly what I had in mind."

Striding the few feet to the bedroom, Castle tumbles Kate onto the bed and quickly follows, tugging at the buttons of his shirt as she pulls her top over her head to reveal the black lace of her bra. His fingers rapidly undo the front clasp to uncover the invitation beneath.

Rick's lips bring the pink buds to attention in turn, before working their way down to a more intimate destination, as Kate kicks free of her slacks. She gasps as Castle's mouth finds its mark, writhing beneath him as he sheds his jeans. "Kate, touch me."

Grasping his firm flesh, she can feel his skin heating beneath her fingers. Her own movements grow wilder and more desperate. "Rick!"

More than ready to answer her plea, he thrusts himself into her slick velvet sheath. The bed moans in sympathy with their efforts, as the spread tangles beneath them, the pattern of the nubby fabric imprinting itself on their bare bodies.

Kate's legs rise of their own volition, her knees flanking her head to allow Rick deeper access. His breath catches in his chest as Kate's cresting tide brings him to an answering climax. Falling sideways together, they lay, waiting for the world around them to rematerialize.

Castle draws in a deep breath as he and Kate enter the Literary Legacy bookstore in Lambertville, New Jersey. Can you smell that? It's the irresistible scent of time-honored tales."

"Not all of them are that time-honored, Castle. Look, he's got copies of Frozen Heat."

Rick picks up one of his novels from the bargain bin, shaking his head. "Fifty percent off."

A bespectacled gentleman smiles at Castle. "I'm the proprietor, Myron Mayblee. I recognize you from your photograph, Mr. Castle. That's a good book, but with contemporary fiction, my customers quickly move onto the next volume. I assume you will be coming out with another one shortly."

"Black Pawn wouldn't have it any other way," Castle confides. "But we're here on another matter."

"Ah, yes, you and your muse, the indomitable Detective Beckett. Would your visit have anything to do with the call I received from a Detective Ryan?"

"It would," Kate confirms. "You have a customer who purchased Huxley and Orwell's first editions?"

Mayblee cleans his glasses in a linen handkerchief. "I do indeed, a Mr. Smith. He comes into town about once a week."

Kate holds up her phone with a screengrab from Warburg's video. "Is this him?"

Mayblee nods. "That's Mr. Smith. He picks up groceries at the market down the street and checks in with me for any new additions to my stock."

"So, he doesn't live in Lambertville?" Kate queries.

"I don't believe so. Most of my customers walk, but he rides his bicycle in. From the coating of dust on it, I would say he traverses a dirt road somewhere along his journey."

"That's very observant and helpful, Mr. Mayblee. Anything else you can tell us?" Kate presses.

"I'm afraid not. Other than his preferences in collectibles, Mr. Smith hasn't shared anything about himself. But I was wondering, Mr. Castle, as long as you're here, could you sign a few books? You have fans in Lambertville who would scoop them up — no discount required."

"I'd be more than happy to do that, Mr. Mayblee," Castle grins.

Outside Literary Legacy, Castle studies a Google Earth map of the area around Lambertville. "I see a property that has to be Warburg's hideaway, Kate. It's the only one around here with a dirt road leading into it. I can't make out many details on my phone screen, but the place doesn't look like it's in great shape."

"Could be it was abandoned and Warburg's squatting," Kate considers. "Or maybe Warburg picked it up cheap using a phony identity. Either way, we should get out there."