When she awoke, she was groggy, but gleeful that the helmet was off and her eyesight was restored. After a quick check of her person, she found she was unbound and apparently lying outside on her coat. Her purse was nearby, and the only obvious thing missing was her heels. As she maneuvered to right herself, the lack of footwear left her very unsteady on the rough cracked macadam. A look around revealed she was in some sort of alley, and she gingerly plodded to the nearby street in what she assumed was the dusk of the early morning.
With no signs of life anywhere, she carefully plodded to the next intersection and saw an idle cab parked farther down the side street. She hobbled her way close enough to yell out, and the driver immediately responded. On the way to the crater, she learned it was Sunday around six in the morning. She had been with them for about thirty-six hours. In that time a lot of bad things had happened, but the key was she was now free. That could only mean her captors bought her story. It was awful, but she had lived up to her end of the agreement with Jackson.
Once in her apartment she removed most of her clothing and noticed that except for her face, hair, wrists, and ankles, there were no outward signs of her captivity. That led to an early call to her usual salon and an afternoon appointment for a facial and cut that would put most things right. At the salon, the person charged with prepping her was surprised by how jumpy she was particularly during the shampoo and rinse. On her way home, she purchased some baggy long sleeve shirts and very black hose that would pretty much hide any bruises left by the restraints.
When she went to work the next day, nothing looked out of place as she took one last look in the mirror. Her first appointment was with Tom Demming, and she thought that would be nothing special. When he arrived, he brought a tablet, and that was unusual. In short order, he explained that one of his robbery colleagues had found this in the course of another investigation on a street cam from Sunday. The grainy image was clearly her barefoot jumping into a cab looking none too tidy. Beckett was shocked by the image in front of her, and replied, "I went out to a bar Saturday night, and my customary wooden leg failed me. I found myself past out. It happens and is none of your concern. My life isn't a bed of roses right now; you know that."
Tom wasn't buying it, and said, "Kate, something happened Saturday. You need to talk about it."
"Tom, in order to have a crime, you need a victim. I am not a victim; I am a casualty of my own foolishness. Just drop this and tell your guys to do the same. Nothing happened."
"Kate, this makes no sense."
"Tom, you promised me a favor once, and I guess this is it. Get your guys to bury this. The last thing I need is more precinct gossip about my messed up personal life. Please!" As he got up to leave, Tom reluctantly agreed to her request, but knew she was hiding something.
That night back at the crater she was contemplating how to tell Castle and restore their relationship. This had always been the goal, but her promise to Hunt made the mechanics nearly impossible. Castle was all about the story, and she had little to offer for a thing so important that she had deliberately shut him out. No scenario she could conjure was going to avoid a huge fight about the one thing she knew could break them – trust.
Could his love for her survive the lack of clarity she would be offering? That very real possibility forced her to consider a bleak future without Castle. What then? Her job was not what she hoped. She was a hunter far better suited to the chase than moving endless paper. Even with her recent harrowing experience, she was intrigued by her brief encounter with the spy game. The secrecy, skill, and unfettered ability to act felt purposeful and right.
With none of these thoughts offering her any solace, she decided to call and have her curtains cleaned. The next evening she arrived at the crater and found Rita sitting on the dingy sofa. Kate acknowledged her unexpected visitor and said, "I didn't expect you so soon."
"My specialty is locks and security systems, and yours were a piece of cake. I took the liberty of doing a bug sweep, and we do need to talk. Jackson has passed. Yours was his last job. His few friends at the agency gave him a modest sendoff."
"God, Rita, how are taking it? I guess it was expected, but you are never fully prepared."
"That's true Kate, but life goes on. He would not want me to mope."
With that news still sinking in, Kate informed her about her little run in with the water. Rita listened, but surprisingly offered little sympathy for her ordeal. "Rita, my promise of silence to Jackson is a real problem. Keeping the LOCKSAT thing secret from Rick is going kill us. He is all about the story, and anything else just won't pass muster. Jackson wanted me back with him, but denying him this, could be the wedge that breaks us."
"Kate - that is not an option. Lives including yours and mine now depend on this going no further. That was the deal, and you need to live by it regardless of your qualms. If you lose Rick as a consequence would that really be so bad?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you really cut out for a white picket fence and motherhood? Up until Castle, you spent most of your adult life hunting for revenge – first for your mother and then for the victims as a cop. Even after getting married, you chose to abandon your husband for the renewed hunt. Are those the actions of a wife wanting to taxi toddlers around to play dates?"
Kate was surprised by Rita's candid response. Despite her love of Castle, there was still this unquenchable lure of the hunt that resided deep in her core. Normal people don't involve themselves in the killing of other people. Finally she responded, "Rita, if things fall apart with Castle, what am I supposed to do? My job sucks. It's not who I am. Being a detective again seems like a step backwards after seeing how you guys operate. I do love the chase, and our little op even with the water awoke something visceral in me. Perhaps I would be better suited in your world?"
"Kate this is job not for the faint at heart. They train you in a very hot place. Trainees never leave the heat and humidity for their entire stay. They want an unpleasant environment to make everything they throw at you even more challenging. You train every day to bulk up, fight, shoot, and study craft every other waking minute. You are not a young chicken, and they will not lower their standards. I can make them aware if that's what you want."