Very Castle Celebrations
Chapter 42
"That," Castle notes as Kate strides into the loft, "is the most cheerful look I've seen on your face in days."
Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "The credit should really belong to you, Babe. The feds collared Speelman. His brownstone was full of contraband including the tiger fur bags stolen from Ultimate Safari. He didn't kill Celia Leder or blow up the water main. The smugglers did that to get back their misdirected shipment, but Speelman knew about it, so he's guilty of conspiracy. To save his ass, he couldn't wait to flip on anyone even remotely connected with the smuggling operation, right back to connections in Asia and Africa. Our people will be cooperating with the authorities there. You did a great job figuring out what was going on. At least a few more endangered animals may get to keep wearing their skins."
Castle points to the wine keeper in the kitchen. "We never did drink the Champagne I bought for New Year's Eve. We could remedy that situation tonight."
Castle settles into the couch to clink glasses with his wife after they've managed to get Jackson to sleep, hopefully for the night. "Kate, criminals aren't allowed to profit from their crimes, are they?"
Kate's eyebrow lifts. "No Castle, they aren't. Why?"
Castle can feel a twinge of excitement. "I was just wondering if Speelman's brownstone was purchased with his ill-gotten gains, what's going to happen to it?"
Kate's eyes narrow. "That's not all you've been thinking about."
"No, it isn't," Castle confesses. "The way Jackson runs around, we're going to need someplace with a yard, one that's closed in, and some of those brownstones, especially the ones built in the 1890s, have them. It's more convenient for both of us to stay in Manhattan, or at least within easy commuting distance. If Speelman's brownstone is seized, it will go up for auction. It could be the perfect place to raise Jackson. Is there any chance you could pull a string or two, so we can get a look at the place?"
Kate takes a sip from her crystal flute. "I might be able to, Castle. Or you might have some luck asking Weldon or his buddies. But I never thought you'd want to give up the loft."
Castle admits that he didn't either until he reached near exhaustion from chasing Jackson around. He realized that his son is going to need a place to burn off some energy and the living room of the loft might not be the best choice.
As usual, the skeptical specks appear in Kate's eyes, but she promises to look into Speelman's property. Castle realizes that he hasn't asked about the bush hammer murders and Kate hasn't mentioned them. He inquires what Kate found out.
Kate's nose scrunches adorably. "There was a thing with one of the victims. Something weird was in her stomach and regurgitated onto her blouse. The M.E. who did the autopsy didn't know what to make of it, and I don't either. The whole thing might have just been an accident if she realized what she ate, and was sick."
Curiosity pushes Castle to the edge of the couch. "What did she eat that was disgusting enough to make her barf?"
Kate makes a gagging sound. "It was fish mixed with ants."
Castle bounces against the sofa cushions. "Kate, I know what that is! I saw it on one of those cooking travel shows. In places where they don't have any citrus, they use ants to add formic acid to brighten the flavor of fish. There's a species from Australia that they use called the tyrant ant. Maybe a hammer isn't the only bush thing our killer likes. But they don't make fish that way just in Australia. It's done in Denmark too, maybe other places as well. We can find out. Maybe the killer fed his favorite dish from home to his girlfriend and when she upchucked, he freaked out and bashed her with his weapon of choice. Pretty twisted, but unfortunately, we've both seen even more twisted murders."
Kate has to agree that they have. She follows Castle to his office where he flips open his laptop. "Countries where they serve fish with ants. Hmm. China, some other Asian countries, the Netherlands, Brazil. Most people in New York would recognize an Asian accent. Dutch or Brazilian might be more obscure."
Kate suggests that the killer might have grown up in one country and moved to another when young, which might confuse the accent even more. Castle concurs and suggests that there would have to be one or another kind of ethnic food vendor in the areas of the killings. If there's one type in common, they should be able to narrow down the origin of the killer even better. In his opinion, their development of that possible lead should be enough of a justification to return to their Champagne and general canoodling.
Kate indicates her enthusiastic agreement by hooking her fingers into his belt and leading him back to the couch. The Champagne has warmed and flattened. Castle dumps out the glasses and replaces the contents with liquid kept cool in an ice bucket. The rising bubbles tickle the roof of Castle's mouth, but he can also feel a rise elsewhere. More than familiar with the signs of his arousal, Kate inclines her head toward the bedrooom.
The duvet that covered the bed has been replaced by a wedding ring quilt, a Christmas gift from Kate's Aunt Theresa. Castle pulls the hand wrought covering back, revealing invitingly soft microfiber sheets. He unclasps the jade barrette Kate is using to secure her hair, allowing it to flow enticingly free, and caresses her cheekbone with his thumb.
Kate is aiming lower, unbuckling his belt and pulling it free from the loops of his jeans. As she sends the denim flying into a corner of the room, they fall to the bed together, garments scattering to be retrieved later.
The taste of Kate's lips is heady with Champagne and excitement. Her tongue plows deep into his mouth as her breasts press against his chest. His hands trace the curves of her body, supporting and molding her to him. She feels heated and pliant, but not yet ready. She jerks as his fingers find her sensitive nub, which grows and hardens at his touch. Her legs rise in invitation, her knees almost flanking her head.
His entrance is smooth, yet he can feel the pressure of her surrounding him as he plunges deep within her moist sheath. Her mouth collides with his, their tongues seeking greater depth. He needs more. He flips her above him, her breasts seducing his eyes and her wild hair a declaration of abandon as she rides. His fingers find her again. He can hear her breath catching as she lands each post more intensely. She is contracting around him, urging his impending explosion to merge with her own. The climax rocks them both and Kate collapses, warm and limp against his skin. Awareness returns slowly. Kate rolls beside him and pulls the sheet up to cover their bare bodies. It is a long time before either one of them reaches for the warmth of Theresa's quilt. They can always pick up their haphazardly tossed clothing in the morning.
A/N Guest, I've never seen Tropic Thunder. Tuck is the name of an actor and Speelman is our electrician.
