Chapter XII

12th Precinct, NYC

"So what's it like? Hangin' out in the Hamptons with the rich and famous?" Javier Esposito toyed with his signed Yankees ball when he asked her. "Meet any cool celebrities?"

"I did have poolside margaritas with J-Lo one night."

He clutched the ball and suddenly had all her attention. "Seriously?"

A smirk played at the edge of her lips. Of her two partners Javier was always the easier to mess with. Especially when it came to women. "No."

"You know, you gotta lotta sass for someone who just had her bruised ass bailed out of the hospital by the same partners that she kept in the dark the last two weeks."

"I said thank you, didn't I?" Beckett winced as she nursed a hot cup of coffee in her hands. It was a ceramic mug she'd filled with the too-strong brew that had been sitting in the break room, probably since the crack of dawn when it was brewed by the night team. But it was warm and familiar and she'd hoped it would help put the last few hours behind her.

But of course it didn't.

Whatever they'd given her there at the hospital to make her more comfortable was wearing off fast and she was hurting bad. Her wrist and skull throbbed and the sharp pain emanating from her shoulder blade made it hard to move.

Even her heart was tied up in suffocating knots.

She'd tried to chase Castle down when he'd bolted out of her curtained cubicle, but her banged up body was no match for his speed and she'd nearly tripped before she reached the end of the ER. Before an irritated doctor chastised her and led her back to her bed like an annoyed parent.

There, alone behind the curtain, she'd allowed the tears to come pouring out. An ugly, relentless stream, filled with the kind of grief and anger she didn't think she was still capable of feeling after losing her mother.

And then, she pulled herself together and called her partners, asking them to come file a report and sign the release.

Of all the things she'd fucked up this month, she hadn't expected that telling Rick Castle the truth would hurt the most.

But what choice did she have? She couldn't let him say the things he did, or worse, believe them, when she knew it was all a lie. What kind of person would that have made her?

Maybe she could have done it if she didn't care what he thought. But she did, and it was one more thing that weighed her down. She cared more than she wanted to.

Beckett stared absentmindedly at the carry-on suitcase, her suitcase, that had been at the Castle loft this morning and now sat next to her desk. It had arrived via a courier service fifteen minutes ago. She'd hoped there might have been a note attached to it, but there wasn't.

"Wouldn't hurt to say it again," Esposito mumbled from across her desk.

"Thanks, Espo, for bailing my bruised ass out of the hospital. Are we good now?"

"I like cronuts."

"How metrosexual of you." She used her good hand to open her desk drawer and search for the bottle of ibuprofen tablets she knew was in there somewhere. "I am not buying you cronuts for bailing me out of the hospital."

He made a face. "Don't knock, 'em. Maybe if you ate a few more you'd have some cushioning on your ass next time you go flying over moving cars."

"If I stuff myself with cronuts who'll catch the fleeing perps that your short legs won't?"

"Good one!" Detective Kevin Ryan walked by and gave her a high five.

"Really, bro?" Esposito shot back. "Comin' from you?"

Beckett grinned. She'd missed this. Insults and ribbing from her boys she could handle. Having Richard Castle look at her with those blue eyes and tell her she was extraordinary, not so much.

"Need a hand with that?" Ryan watched her struggle to open the bottle of Advil that she'd fished out of her drawer.

"Yeah…" She handed it to him and then poured out two pills that she swallowed with her now lukewarm coffee. "Thanks."

"So what happens next?" Ryan asked her, dragging his chair over to her desk. "Now that this freak tried to run you over, you finally gonna let us in on this? Jenny would love a week in the Hamptons…"

Beckett rolled her eyes. Then immediately regretted it with a wince. "Don't think it's up to me." It was why she was still here instead of home and flat on her back, where she probably needed to be. She was waiting to talk to their captain and see what Gates wanted her to do next.

One thing was certain, she wasn't willing to give up now. If she had to beg and plead to stay on this case, she'd do it.

"Detective Beckett," Captain Gates finally finished her conference call and opened the door of her office to beckon her inside with a curt nod of her head.

"Sir," Beckett pushed herself off the chair of her desk and had to make a concerted effort not to groan.

Javier Esposito winced as he watched her head into the Captain's office and then gave her a thumbs up sign.

"How are you, Detective?" Gates asked after Beckett closed the door behind her and the captain indicated for her to have a seat.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look so fine. Your doctor's report suggested you stay home for a week, so that's what you'll do."

"Sir, I don't need…"

"It's an order, not a discussion. The NYPD will not take responsibility if anything happens to you for going against your doctor's wishes."

"Yes, Sir."

"I also glanced over the report you filed with Detective Ryan before my call with One PP, and let me start by saying that I'm glad to see you're not in worse shape."

Kindness was something she no longer expected from her boss and it took her by surprise. "Thank you."

Gates eyed her with a weary concern that was equally unexpected. "I know you think I've been tough on you these past few weeks," she paused to meet her gaze. "I hope one day when you're sitting in this chair and see an equally promising member of your team sliding down a slippery slope you'll understand why."

Beckett didn't say anything, but Gates's use of when not if in regards to her potential future captaincy hadn't escaped her.

"I also don't take it lightly when someone tries to kill a member of this precinct." Gates took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I have every intention to make the capture of this individual a priority."

"Sir, I'd like to stay on this case."

"According to your report, you've been using the pretext of a romantic relationship with Mr. Castle to lure out this stalker, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"In light of this morning's incident, do you still feel that's an appropriate course of action?"

"I do, yes."

"And Mr. Castle agrees?"

Beckett bit her lip, cringing at the thought. "He was…shaken by the events this morning. He feels responsible if anything were to happen to me, but I believe I can convince him otherwise."

"I should think it's in his best interest to let a trained officer take that risk instead of the next supermodel he dates. Unless he doesn't plan to see anyone until we apprehend this person."

"Agreed."

"All right then," Gates pushed back her chair and put her glasses back on. "Convince him. Tell him you have the full support of this precinct on your side in this. We have the colour and the make of the car and I'm having Velazquez run all the traffic cams within a twelve-block radius of Mr. Castle's home address. Schlegel is tracking down witnesses to see if we can get at least a partial plate and some additional details from someone who was there this morning and I've also left a message with Mr. Castle to come in and file a report. Maybe you could reiterate that to him. But for now, you go home and recover and if you need more time, let me know. Then come back and use whatever resources you need and close this thing ASAP."

"I'd like to pull in my partners, Detectives Ryan and Esposito."

"Fine."

"Sir…"

"Yes, Beckett?"

"Am I continuing with the Breathalyzer screening?"

Gates looked at her, hesitating for a moment. "Is it necessary, Detective?"

Kate felt a load fall off her shoulders. "No, Sir. It's not."

"Don't let me down, Kate," Gates added, quietly. "If you do, I'll have no choice but to take the most drastic measures. I hope you know that."

"I won't…" the words almost got caught in her throat. Swallowed up by relief and the knowledge that she meant them. "Let you down."

"Good." Gates stood up and thereby signaled that their meeting was over. "Call me in three days before you come back so I can brief you on our progress. In the meantime, convince Mr. Castle to keep your charade going but inform your partners if you do. If you're going to paint a target on your back, don't do it without back-up this time. I don't want to attend your funeral, Detective."

"Me neither," she agreed. "At least not in the near future."

When she left Gates's office, Beckett walked over to her two partners and gave them a tentative victory smile. "You up for catching a stalker?"

Esposito grinned. "Hell, yeah."

Ryan's broad, easy-to-read face was happy too. "Welcome back, partner."

"One week," Beckett told them. "She ordered me to take a week off."

"Good," Espo chimed in.

"I don't need a whole week," she groaned. "And I fully expect you guys to keep me posted during that time."

"So you can stress about it?" Ryan questioned. "No way. Time for you to be kept in the dark."

Espo chuckled. "Sounds fair to me."

Beckett groaned. "Seriously, guys?"

"You bet."

"Well, look who's back in town…"

At the sound of that familiar voice, Beckett whipped around too fast and felt the entire room spin. "Lanie?"

Her friend, Medical Examiner Doctor Lanie Parish, was carrying what looked like an overnight bag.

"She's all yours," Espo told Lanie before Beckett even had a chance to react.

"Excuse me?" Beckett questioned.

"You're lucky I'm not easily offended with you not answering my last three where-the-hell-have-you-been texts," Lanie said, looking at her with a mix of disdain and concern.

"What?"

Lanie plopped down her bag on Beckett's desk. "Javi told me what happened." She gave her the kind of glare that normally would have made Beckett take a step back. "Woulda been nice to hear it from you, girl, but I get it. You're hurt and you got knocked on the head. You can explain everything over breakfast tomorrow."

"Breakfast?"

"Javi told me you needed someone to stay with you tonight."

"I, uh…Lanie, it's okay. I don't."

"You a doctor now?"

Beckett bit her tongue and said nothing as Lanie folded her arms. This was starting to feel like an interrogation and her partners were watching it unfold with far too much glee.

"I didn't think so." Lanie gestured towards the elevator. "Let's get you home."

"You're welcome," Esposito chirped.

"If I ever get you a cronut, Jav, it'll be laced with something. Count on it."

But truth was she was too sore, too exhausted to argue. She so badly wanted a shower and to crawl into her own bed for a change. Maybe she'd stay there for a few days.

If Lanie wanted to hover over her for the next 24 hours, so be it. At least they didn't call her father back from his conference in Atlanta.

Even so, she struggled to muster any gratitude for the fact that she still had people in her life who cared enough to hover.

It was only when they'd stepped into the elevator that Lanie's expression softened.

"By the way…I'm really glad you're okay," she said quietly and the fear in her friend's voice cut right through to her heart.

Beckett nodded but she didn't say anything for fear that it might bring on another flood of tears.

It was one more thing that Castle had been wrong about. It wasn't coffee that was her kryptonite these days, it was kindness.

He'd planned to go back to the loft and go through his e-mails, searching for the inevitable invitation to…something. There was always a party happening somewhere in Manhattan and its boroughs and he used to enjoy the hell out of them. Unlike most writers, he was an absolute extrovert who thrived on human interaction. It inspired and energized him, and he was good at it. One of those rare individuals who could find something to talk about with anyone, anywhere.

More important, his interest was genuine because he believed that everyone had a story, whether it was the lady from Somalia who used to fly fighter jets and now bagged his bread at Birdbath, or Alexis's freckled, braces-wearing friend who was on the cusp of coming to terms with his sexuality, or the gorgeous, too-thin Russian model he'd met at a fundraiser last month, who'd travelled from Kamchatka to Japan on a cargo ship and could down vodka shots like someone four times her size.

Can you drink me under the table too, Kate? He thought bitterly.

Her words rang in his head. "…one night when I ran out of booze at home, I went to a bar and assaulted another cop."

The irony of it all was that it wasn't as though he'd judge. Anyone who'd gotten arrested while riding a police horse naked really had no right to judge anyone else. Ever.

And God knew he had vices of his own. Beautiful women were his biggest weakness, even the ones that he knew were only with him for his fame and money. (He might have been weak, but he wasn't stupid.) And he'd had his share of days when he'd woken up hungover. Even food was something he had a hard time resisting lately.

So, no. He wasn't about to judge. Everyone had a story and stories usually came with battle scars.

It was the pretense that got to him. This notion that she wasn't like those other women he'd been dating lately. The ones who liked to lather him in false flattery and give him half truths, thinking he wasn't aware of it.

In the end, Kate Beckett was no different than them. She'd sold him a false bill of goods too. Pretended to ride the moral high horse - I don't do this. Mix work and pleasure like this – when she had no grounds.

It suddenly occurred to him then that she might have been drunk when she came on to him last night. That it was an alcohol-induced and emboldened act. He hadn't smelled any booze on her that night, but still, the thought made him shudder. Disgusted with himself.

I was such an idiot. It didn't even occur to me. I was so thrilled to see you wanting me as much as I wanted you, I didn't even stop to ask myself why.

Castle walked over to the wall unit in his study and pulled out a decanter of whiskey. Poured himself a generous glass. But as he lifted it to his lips, he stopped, tempted to throw it against the brick wall in a fit of anger. He clenched the glass with his fingers and reluctantly set it back down.

Saddest thing of all was that none of it stung as much as the implication that he'd run the other direction if he saw her scars in broad daylight. That he was so goddamned shallow that he couldn't handle someone less than perfect.

That he was so heartless and eager to get back to his superficial life of parties and beautiful women that he'd let her step into the line of fire for it.

That hurt.

More than he'd ever admit.