Slaying the Beast
Chapter 10
Kate is working hard to resist snuggling into Castle's shoulder in the back of the limo. The night brought everything he'd promised her and more. She had her chance to talk to Susan Collinwood and better still; she received an invitation to private communication. The Senator's nervousness at the mention of Bracken made it evident that there's a story there.
Then there was what Collinwood dropped about the Intelligence Committee and Castle's activities. What could that be about? She'll ask him, but not in the back of a chauffeur driven car where the driver can potentially hear every word. She won't have a chance tonight. She'd told Castle to have her dropped off at her apartment on his way back to his loft. It had seemed the most sensible - and safest - thing to do, but now she is regretting it.
There are only a few blocks left on her trip, less than five minutes. It is too long a span and at the same time not long enough. Being with Castle is getting more and more confusing all the time. She needs to relax. It's late, but without a hot bath and a glass of wine, she's unlikely to be able to fall asleep anyway. Under the circumstances, losing herself to the bubbles and a good soak is the wisest thing to do. It is. It really is.
Very much alone, Castle lets himself into the loft. In all likelihood, Alexis is either asleep or immersed in a book she can't put down. Mother had said something about an after-theater supper with the latest man on her graydar. According to her description, he's been in show business as long as she has - just another end of it, moving up from a gofer for a director into eventually producing his own shows.
Castle isn't sure if his mother is more interested in the man or her next role. Either way, the fellow will keep her occupied. Not that he needs her to be, without Kate hard at work at the loft, he's hoping that he might even get a halfway decent night's sleep for a change, but he probably won't be able to. Kate's on his mind and affecting him lower down, but that's pretty much a constant situation. More immediately troubling is the slip Susan Collinwood made about the CIA.
It's not that Kate doesn't know he has connections. He proved that when he called in the deceptively harmless-appearing Agent Gray. But she has no idea just how deep into the world of intrigue he's gone, or what he did while he was there. She's going to want to know now. There's no way she can resist that kind of a mystery. Some of it he just can't tell her. Spilling classified information isn't on the table, even for Kate. He's just hoping she won't ask too many questions about his inspiration for Clara Strike. To say the least, it would be awkward to confess that he slept with his former muse. He's not sure if it would be more or less so because that particular relationship fell apart.
If he ever does end up together with Kate as more than a friend and partner in crime-busting, it won't be the same as it was with Sophia. He was sexually attracted to the spy, despite the fact that she's seven years older than he is. She was playing teacher, and an excellent teacher at that, in bed and out. But he never felt the more profound longing for her that he feels for Kate. He could see Sophia as a bed partner, but he could never visualize her as a life partner. Kate is a different story. He can see having a family with her, even growing old with her. It's a lot to imagine considering that the only time he even kissed her was on the cheek. Still, dreams of the moment invade both his slumber and his days. He has no doubt that tonight will be any different.
Any effects of the rum are gone, and he doesn't dare have more alcohol. A hangover is the last thing his morning will need. Maybe some genuinely boring TV will do the trick. Too bad Johnny Vong is off the air, but there are plenty of other infomercials to drive him into obliviousness. If he slips into the comfort of his softest pajamas, he'll be ready.
"Did you call her yet?" Castle asks, even before taking his chair at Kate's desk and handing her his morning offering of caffeine.
"I was waiting for you, but I don't want to do it in the bullpen, or even in the precinct. We can trust the boys. But with all the contacts Bracken made over the years, the walls may still have ears."
Castle leans on his elbow, supporting his chin with his hand. "So where do you want to go? My loft?"
"It's as good a place as any, but not until I take lunch. I've got plenty of paperwork to occupy me until then. I don't suppose you want to help?"
Castle shrugs. "Despite my prodigious talents with the written word, not exactly my favorite thing about police work, but it will make the time go faster. What would you like me to do?"
"I need a narrative exactly detailing our collar of Vulcan Simmons. That should be right in your wheelhouse, but Castle, spare me the pulpish prose."
Castle pushes out his bottom lip. "Detective Beckett, I will have you know, I am wounded, just wounded. I do not write pulp. Black Pawn always springs to have my books printed on low acid paper."
Kate rolls her eyes. "Good to know, Castle, but you're not going for a Poe award. Just describe the events. If you want to dictate to your phone, you can email it to me, and I'll insert the text into my report."
"Roger that. What are you going to be doing?"
"The usual. Filling out endless forms."
"Our tax dollars at work," Castle declares, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
Despite her busy work, Kate's watch ticks slowly toward noon, until she finally pulls her purse from her drawer and takes her coat from the back of her chair. "Ready Castle?"
"For the last couple of hours. I'm as anxious to hear what Susan Collinwood has to say as you are. I just hope she's not going to lunch."
After her early morning vote, Susan Collinwood returns to the small apartment she rents in DC instead of going to her office. She suspects Kate Beckett will be calling and the last thing she wants is to be overheard. She swept for bugs when she got up, but decides to do it again, just to be sure. She's aware of too many people who have ticked off Bracken for one reason or another, only to disappear or meet with a tragic accident. So far, she's pursued the strategy of keeping her friends close and her enemies closer, but if the detective is asking about Bracken, she might have something that could pry him from his seat of power permanently. Susan can only hope. She's just finished fixing herself a sandwich to go with a cup of black coffee when her private cell buzzes. It's Detective Beckett.