"Who do you think he's talking to?"
Ryan's breath next to his ear smelled of stale coffee, the detective hoping to stay awake throughout the night with the use of copious amounts of caffeine. And thankfully, the espresso machine was ever so happy to oblige that evening.
Montgomery had shut his office door quite a while ago, and since then having been on the phone with various people, his expression never losing that tense and worried edge, his lips pressed together when he wasn't talking, his nods slow and calculated, the rest of his body staying rigidly still as though he was negotiating a hostage exchange.
And to a degree he was.
"Probably some of his CI's. Seeing if they got an inside angle on any of these guys.", Castle hypothesized and let his eyes drift back to the list of eight potential candidates that had been interviewed in the process of their investigation.
The problem was that except for two, each one of them was either filthy rich, powerful, or both. And with it, painfully unapproachable when it came to finding their friends.
"At some point in all of this, our investigation turned from asking about Shelley Richardson's whereabouts to major damage control for somebody.", Ryan began, his voice never losing that slight tremble, "But how do we approach any of these guys and casually ask if they're holding two cops hostage?"
"I think that's what Montgomery is trying to do.", Castle answered and looked up in time to see the Captain run a frustrated hand across his face, "…which doesn't seem to be working very well. I suggest we spend some time trying to figure out who has the most to lose on this. That's how we're going to find our guy."
# # #
"All they have to do is to figure out who has the most to lose in this case.", Beckett continued, her voice echoing in the barren room.
The temperatures had been starting to drop significantly over the last hour or so, omen of nightfall setting in. Without any heat source in sight, the cold early November temps would soon bring on a whole new slew of problems.
"Oh yeah…", Esposito croaked from the floor, "And then what? Knock on Steward's door and go Yo, would you mind returning the two cops you kidnapped? Oh, and don't worry, bro, we're gonna pretend we never found crucial evidence in your bedroom where you went to town on our murder victim, then strangled her to death while you had your wife knocked out on sleeping meds one room over."
"If they can narrow it down to Steward, there's gotta be a link to wherever this place is. It could be part of a business he runs on the side. Some old building used for tax write-offs. Something.", Beckett argued, never acknowledging Esposito's sarcastic remark, "He's gonna have to answer to a whole lot more than a murder charge once we get out."
When Esposito didn't answer right away, Beckett returned her attention to the handcuffs, not willing to give up on the faint hope that there was something, anything she could do to get out.
Trying to ignore the incessant throbbing coming from the back of her head, she once again ran the handcuffs up and down the chair, seeing if there was an angle she hadn't tried before, something that would give her a chance to get out.
Minutes later, with little to show for, Beckett sighed in defeat, her wrists rubbed raw, muscles aching from the continuous strain.
"Well, do you think we should scream for help?", she suggested, trying to disguise her frustration but failing so late that evening, "We've tried about everything else."
And more than likely, the same would hold true for the rest of her team left behind in the bullpen, scratching their heads at the latest mystery thrown their way.
She let her thoughts drift over to Castle, wondering what he would be up to by now.
Undoubtedly, the writer would be busy engaging every resource at his disposal, trying to narrow down who had kidnapped them and why, carelessly traipsing over any red tape there was, the kind of stuff a regular cop would never think of doing, the behavior a seasoned criminal like Steward wouldn't even begin to expect.
It was times like these that she appreciated him more than she could ever put into words.
Once this was all over with, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to touch on the subject once…maybe twice.
"What do you think, Espo? Should we scream for help?", she asked again, at a lack of a response.
"Espo."
Alarmed, she glanced back over at the detective, feeling her stomach churn when she noticed his eyes were closed, the fine creases in his forehead relaxing.
Growing increasingly worried, Beckett began to fight the chair once more, the violent scraping of the metal legs against the concrete floor disrupting the tense silence that had filled the room.
"Come on, Espo, wake up.", she pleaded, breaking out in a sweat from the strain of her efforts but achieving painfully little.
In the end, she found herself completely out of breath, legs and arms shaking, nowhere closer to rousing the detective at her feet.
"Stay with me, Espo…", she begged one more time, her words disappearing amongst a set of footfalls coming from outside, heading into her direction.