Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
"We're just leaving?" Esposito asks as the team steps out the doors of the Old Haunt, leaving Castle and his attorneys behind. "'Rock-solid alibi?' We need to know what he thinks he's doing."
"We arrest people for committing crimes, Espo," Beckett reminds him while riding her own wave of anger and frustration, "not for having alibis."
"Sure, but…," he trails off, waving ineffectually back towards the Haunt, "He's doing something! Can't you just, I dunno – go in and bat your eyes at him or something?"
"Suggest that again and I'll knock you on your ass," she growls.
"But he loves you!" Esposito presses the point.
"And he finally admitted it!" Ryan adds, rallying to his partner's assistance.
"Which is not something either of you will ever – mention – again," she replies with menace, emphasizing her last three words with synchronized jabs to Esposito's sternum.
"Yeah," Espo replies, batting her hand away as if it were an annoying insect. "Because it was such a big secret," he scoffs. "Seems to me we had a conversation about this same damn thing a year and a half ago."
"And I handled just as well this time around," Beckett admits with a sigh, dropping her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.
With her head lowered, she can't see the punch Ryan lands on his partner's shoulder. Their boss has only been back for a few days and she's already dealing with more stress than they could've imagined. This is the worst time to push her on a topic that hasn't gone well even when she's in peak form and his annoyed look conveys that message eloquently.
"How about…," Ryan starts to suggest before Beckett raises her head.
"Here's what we're gonna do," Beckett declares, dropping her hand and taking control of the situation. "We know he blocked up the secret exits from this place, right? Ryan, you're going to stay here and cover the door. I'll watch the side until Espo returns with his cruiser, then I'll get mine. Once I'm back," she says to Ryan, "you stay on foot, in case he heads for the subway instead of a vehicle. And while we wait," she adds forcefully, "I want everyone thinking about the 'four lines' of Castle's investigation. He might have a head start but we've got the advantage of numbers and experience."
The team breaks up, each of them wondering about the veracity of Beckett's last statement. It's not clear they outnumber Caste – he seemed pretty comfortable with his 'allies' and it's not like he tried to convince them to join his effort. And as for experience, he might not have any but there are people out there who do, people Castle's shadowed. He always said he 'knew a guy,' and it's likely that some of these mysterious 'guys' might have some skills.
These ruminations keep the team occupied until everyone's back in place. Only minutes after Beckett arrives in her cruiser, the door to the Haunt opens and disgorges the small army of attorneys. The teammates wonder if Castle's trying to hide amongst them or slip out a side door while they provide a diversion, but both theories are disproven immediately. Castle's the last one through the door. With some pomp and ceremony, he places his box of belongings on the ground and makes a production out of locking the door for the last time before turning to drop the keys into the palm of an anxious attorney. Then it's smiles and handshakes as the group disperses. As the way clears, Beckett sees the sign hanging on the Haunt's front door: Under New Management. No kidding, she thinks to herself as she recalls Castle's comments about taking over her investigation.
Oddly, Castle doesn't leave. He moves his box and stands beside the curb, watching the legal teams disperse. Beckett would guess he's awaiting his ride, except his car service is excellent and if Castle was expecting a ride, he'd be fidgeting or pacing or playing with his phone. Instead, he's standing so patiently she can hardly believe it's him.
Startled by the chirping of her cellphone, Beckett fumbles for it while keeping her eyes on Castle.
"It's Espo," he announces himself.
"And Ryan," his partner chimes in.
"What's going on?" Esposito asks. "He's just standing there."
"He's playing chicken," Beckett surmises. "He knows we're waiting to tail him," she infers with a laugh. "As if he can wait longer than we can."
"Hey!" Ryan interjects. "Did you see that? He looked right at Espo."
"And now he's looking at me," Beckett adds, making eye contact with Castle until he breaks it to check his watch again. What was he saying about being on a schedule?
Beckett's ruminations are broken by another incoming call. Lowering her phone, she feels a hand of ice grip her heart at the caller ID: Montgomery. Mentally kicking herself for not deleting his contact information from her phone, she cringes when she realizes it must be Gates who's calling her.
"Detective Beckett," she answers immediately, dropping her call with Esposito and Ryan without warning in favor of replying to her new captain as soon as possible.
"Detective," Gates' voice drips with disapproval. "Where are you right now?"
Closing her eyes and letting her head droop, Beckett realizes she's caught. Lifting her head again as she remembers to keep an eye on her former partner, Beckett scrambles for an answer. What comes to her, probably not helpfully, is the hoary old attorney's adage she'd heard many times while growing up: why not start with the truth and see how that works?
"My team was meeting with Richard Castle," she volunteers, since there's no prospect of Castle's return to the precinct. "We needed to make sure he hadn't retained any information from when he was a consultant." Not that they managed to even address this topic, she thinks bitterly.
"There's been a development. Your team will be in my office in fifteen minutes," Gates replies crisply, "where we'll also refresh your recollections on standard protocols and chain-of-command." With that ominous warning, Gates before disconnecting the call.
It will be a small miracle if they return to the precinct in time and avoid further antagonizing their new captain. There's no chance of tailing Castle. Which is probably why he was waiting.
"Ryan," she sighs after redialing, "we'll be busted down to Traffic if we're not in Gates' office in fifteen minutes," she relays to his yelp. Lowering her phone, she turns her head to see him dashing to Esposito's cruiser. Castle's still standing in place, watching the frenetic departure.
As she curses the situation and pounds a fist on the steering wheel, Beckett puts her car in gear and pulls out. Convinced Castle would gloat about her blown surveillance, she's surprised one more time this afternoon. He slowly raises a hand, remaining stoic as he bids her farewell, remaining in place until he's no longer visible in the rear-view mirror.
"You're late," Gates says without looking up from the papers on her desk as the detectives puff into her office. "By three minutes."
The members of the team exchange incredulous looks, wondering how much career damage those three minutes will cause.
"Still," Gates continues without looking up after waiting for the detectives to sit, "You couldn't have returned from the Downstate Correctional Facility in Fishkill in the amount of time I gave you, even by plane. So," she says, finally looking up to pin them with a glare. "Where did you 'meet Mr. Castle?'" she asks with an inflection that suggests she doesn't buy their story.
"At his office," Beckett offers, speaking for the group and anticipating her Captain would hardly like to hear they were at a pub in the middle of the afternoon.
"Were there any witnesses to this meeting?" Gates presses, making Beckett feel uncomfortably grateful that Castle's 'rock-solid alibi' might shelter her team, too.
"Yes, sir," Beckett replies coolly, barely remembering Gates' preferred honorific. "About ten attorneys, all of whom noted our entrance and disruption of their meeting."
"Convenient," Gates replies. "And why was legal counsel involved?"
"Castle was completing the sale of his establishment, a place he purchased following a case last year," Beckett replies evenly while ignoring Gates' insinuation, "so we visited during the closing."
"I see," Gates replies with regal disdain, as if the answer was deficient in some way that doesn't warrant the effort to address. "And you were nowhere near the Downstate Facility?"
"No," Beckett answers again, curiosity stoked. "The GPS units in our cruisers will confirm. Why? What happened in Fishkill?"
"Does the name Luther Sands mean anything to you?" Gates asks, surveying them each in turn as if watching for visual signs of misrepresentation. Accepting their head shakes, she explains. "Sands was serving time for a triple homicide in Queens. Officers showed up for his transfer this afternoon. The orders were accessed from the secure Department of Corrections server. But shortly after Sands was transferred, the orders disappeared. Had the desk sergeant's monitor not been in the frame of the security camera, we'd have no evidence that the orders ever existed."
"So, a jail break?" Beckett asks, trying to figure out what's got Gates so exercised. "Are we going to participate in the manhunt?"
"You won't take a hair's step toward the Sands investigation. If I even suspect you do, any of you," she says while glaring at all of them, "you'll all be on administrative leave before you can blink and sitting in an IA conference room after."
Noticing their confused looks, Gates slowly shifts the papers on her desk to uncover a manila folder. Opening it slowly, Gates makes a production of capturing their attention.
"Prior to the guilty verdict in his triple homicide," Gates explains, "Sands was housed in the city during his trial. In Rikers. In Administrative Segregation." Then, after a pregnant pause, Gates completes her recitation with great drama. "In the cell next to Hal Lockwood."
Beckett forces her face to remain impassive, but Gates turns to her nonetheless. "Your visits to Lockwood made an impression, Detective Beckett, and the staff there reached out once the potential connection to Sands became apparent. They also told me about Alan Bader."
When no one on her team replies, Beckett asks the obvious question to drive this interview along. The longer they sit in here, the more time she loses. Damn Castle – he must be behind this, or at least aware. 'Won't do anything illegal' my ass, she curses internally. Outwardly, she asks, "Who's Bader?"
"He's a guard at Rikers. Worked Ag Seg the same time Sands and Lockwood were incarcerated there," Gates replies tersely. "Bader didn't report for work today. DOC suspects Sands bribed or extorted Bader to break him out, since Bader was an insider."
Gates pauses again before dropping the boom. "But we have a different theory, don't we?"
"Sir?" Beckett replies, unwilling to provide any hint of insight of anything related to Lockwood to her new boss.
"Perhaps we were too anxious to consider this chapter closed after what happened to Lockwood and the events that followed," Gates offers in a somber voice. Then, pausing to consider her words, she seemingly changes gears. "You know how we in IA caught most dirty cops?" she asks. It's obviously a rhetorical question since none of the detectives would ever hazard a guess on such a dangerous topic. "By waiting. Stir the pot, make a small incursion, then wait to see the reaction. Because there's always a reaction."
"We didn't wait after Lockwood," Gates sighs in frustration. "After what happened with your former captain, we were all anxious to move forward. So, we missed the reaction. But someone saw it. And now, I suspect, someone is cleaning up."
Or hunting, Beckett thinks to herself, avoiding the urge to look at Ryan or Esposito. How in the hell could Castle pull this off? A prison break and kidnapping? Sure, he'd said he was taking over her case, but she never suspected he'd be willing to go to such extremes or capable of pulling it off. They need to get out of Gates' office and figure out how to deal with what suddenly looks like a much more serious endeavor.
"So," Gates replies resolutely, "you're not to go anywhere near this case. As a precaution," Gates explains somewhat nastily, "I've spoken with a friend in the 22nd precinct. He's taking the case. I thought it better to remove the temptation than to subject your colleagues to what I'm sure would've been an effective effort to co-opt their investigation. Any objections?" she asks fiercely.
"No, sir," rumble the irate detectives en masse.
"Good," she replies with a slow nod of the head. "And just to make sure, we're going to talk about a few changes. First, none of you leave the building without checking out. No more little forays to pubs in the middle of the afternoon and no visits to the 22nd. Second," she continues, ignoring the murderous looks from Beckett's team, "as of now, any case materials related to Lockwood and the Beckett case – mother or daughter, is restricted. Anyone who wants to see those files," she says imperiously while making it clear her edict includes present company, "has to go through me. Clear?"
"Crystal," Beckett nearly growls in response, while Esposito and Ryan wisely remain silent.
"Excellent," Gates nods again. "Dismissed."
Their colleagues in the bullpen quickly and ostentatiously return to work when the detectives stalk out of Gates' office, trying to pretend they weren't watching an early showdown between the new captain and an established homicide team. Noting the poorly-contained fury radiating from the detectives, their colleagues sigh with one more piece of evidence that life at the 12th is changing under the new regime, and not for the better.
Beckett's barely managed to sit at her desk before she rises again and prowls over to her teammates.
"Will you guys look into what's public about Castle's 'accident'? And see if you can think about his four lines of research," she adds.
"Where are you going?" Esposito asks. "'Cause if you're heading for the gym, I could vent some frustration, too. Or the firing range," he appends with a dangerous look. "I'd definitely like to shoot something right now."
"Castle's got everything now, doesn't he?" she asks in a low voice. "He already had the files for my case. If he knew he wasn't coming back, I bet he made copies of everything before he left, right?" she asks, watching the boys nod in return. "I'm gonna go see about how we can track him down," she says with a gleam in her eye. "He caught me off guard today. Our next meeting will be on my terms."
"Don't forget to sign out," Ryan grumps.
"Well," Tory replies, knowing her answer won't be appreciated, "I think you're in trouble."
Beckett purses her mouth at the news. She'd explained Castle's phone set-up to Tory, the precinct's tech analyst. If Castle's cell is sitting at that forsaken law firm and guarded by a phalanx of attorneys like Samuelson, she was convinced Tory could help her find a way to figure out how the messages are getting to him. Though, as far as Tory knows, they're tracking some nameless suspect, not Castle. "Explain?"
"There's a small chance," Tory starts, "his phone isn't in the law firm. We're thinking about this two-dimensionally, but that's a tall building. It might be that the phone is at the address but on a different floor. We have some equipment you could use to track the signal to a specific floor, but you'd need free access to the building."
"And have to deal with every law firm and investment fund in the building?" Beckett asks. "That'll be fun," she grumps.
Tory nods in sympathy. "I thought that might be a problem. Plus, you have the relay issue." At Beckett's curious look, she explains. "In all likelihood, the phone's plugged into a relay of some kind, where the messages are converted and sent out via a different channel. The relay could be wired into the building, carried over another cell signal, or even satellite-enabled."
She should've known this wouldn't be easy. When she first called Castle two short days ago, she had no idea what'd happened while she was gone, no idea of the steps he's apparently taken on his quest. But now that she has a better idea of the enormity of his planning, covering his tracks seems obvious.
"And," Tory continues, looking nervous about piling on, "if your suspect is wealthy or cautious, he's probably got multiple relays. If that's the case, you'd have to track them in sequence. Without interrupting them – the smart move would be a serial chain that would break down as soon as any link was severed."
"Is there any way you can think of that would allow me to trace this signal back to its source?" Beckett asks, trying to sound friendly despite her grim expectations.
"Only by talking or texting him," Tory answers with an apologetic shrug. "Maybe you could get him to give you a clue about his location?" She looks like she's about to offer more advice before she blushes radiantly and looks down.
"Tory?" Beckett asks, curious about whatever thought just occurred to the analyst. "What were you thinking? I'm desperate here – I'll listen to any ideas. Remember my old partner? I'm used to crazy suggestions." She'd meant the comment as a joke, a way to lighten the mood. She's surprised that thinking about some of his crazier suggestions makes her feel wistful, despite her current anger at their circumstances.
"Yeah, he'd just love this idea," Tory mumbles while looking down. Then, with a sigh, she lifts her head and displays her rosy cheeks. "I was just thinking that you're a beautiful woman and you've said your suspect is a man. If a beautiful woman sent a picture," she says, her deepening blush revealing what kind of picture she had in mind, "we could check the geotagging information embedded in any pictures that might arrive in reply."
"Did I say any idea?" Beckett regrets, unaware that she's blushing, too. Sexting Castle in an effort to coax out information on his location? It's a bit too Mata Hari for her. But, it's a thought to tuck away for when she's desperate. Desperate to find him, she reminds herself as her blush spreads, not any other form of desperation.
"Thanks, Tory," Beckett praises. "I appreciate your thoughts and might find other avenues to pursue. If you think of anything else that might help, will you please let me know? Discreetly?"
With Tory's assurances sending her out the door, Beckett heads back to Homicide in the hopes that Ryan or Esposito have had better luck. When she tops the stairs and enters the bullpen, though, those thoughts are apparently dashed.
"What's with him?" she asks Ryan while nodding at Esposito, who looks heartbroken.
"Mister military history over there just realized," Ryan answers, sounding like he finds his partner's reaction ridiculous, "if Castle was getting rid of all his 'fixed assets,' the Ferrari's probably gone."
"I'd assume it was one of the first things to go," Beckett answers with a nod. "It was designed to stand out and Castle seems to be doing very well at dropping below the radar."
"Yeah, but…," Esposito replies, trailing off.
"What, you thought he'd give it to you?" Beckett scoffs. "Like that wouldn't have been an enormous clue about what he was up to?"
"But he coulda just said he was tired of it," Espo dreams while Beckett and Ryan roll their eyes and shake their heads. "Just 'Hey, Espo, I'm thinking about changing my style. You want to buy my car?'" he says in a terrible impression of Castle's voice.
Beckett can't help but laugh, which is a welcome change today. "Espo, unless they're paying you a hell of a lot more than they're paying me, that's more than three years of your gross pay."
"Well," Esposito shrugs, his desire for the car making him hopeful to the point of ridiculousness, "you know, depreciation."
Giving up, Beckett writes off any meaningful contributions from Esposito and turns to his partner. "Did you have any productive thoughts?"
"Castle started the car accident rumor," Ryan offers. "Not a surprise, right? There was some grumbling about cancelled book signings," he offers while pointing at his computer, which is on the webpage for one of Castle's fan sites. "Black Pawn didn't say anything, but listen to this." Ryan spins in his chair and moves the cursor on his screen, clicking on the triangle to start a video after advancing it more than a minute into the clip.
"… Mr. Castle's spending some time with his family," Paula Haas says from behind a podium, her adenoidal voice hardly instilling confidence among the fans at whatever bookstore had the unfortunate distinction of hosting Castle's disgruntled readers after he failed to show up. "Any rumor about a car accident is exactly that – a rumor. This is his last summer with his daughter before she leaves for college, after which I'm *sure* he'll be spending even more time writing. Please make sure you fill out an information card and we'll invite you to a private event to make up for today's cancellation, as soon as his schedule allows…"
"The thing is," Ryan says as he clicks off the video clip, "I checked the newspapers and websites – there hadn't been any rumors about a car accident."
"The best way to start a rumor," Beckett nods along, again wondering about Castle's proficiency at creating a narrative, "is to deny its existence. Smart," she allows grudgingly.
"Right," Ryan agrees as Esposito finally wanders over, feeling left out but probably still lamenting the loss of the Ferrari. "Now that it's out there, the lack of evidence just seems like Castle covering something up. But, I bet people are looking."
Beckett nods, suspecting that loyal fans and others started digging as soon as Paula denied the car accident. And the more people look, the more legitimate the lie seems.
"Anyone find anything interesting?" she asks, mostly out of frustration.
Ryan gives a mirthless chuckle and turns back to his computer, displaying a different website. "Here's one that'll make Gates even happier. This guy claims that Castle got wasted and then wrapped his car around a pole. He explains the lack of any corroborating evidence as an NYPD cover-up aimed at protecting Castle to ensure continuing stories that cast the Department in a favorable light."
Shaking her head, Beckett can only ignore the conspiracy theorist's ramblings.
"Hey," Esposito interjects. "Go back to that first website. Isn't this the answer to finding Castle?"
"How so?" Beckett asks, trying to read the comments section over Ryan's shoulder.
"Homeboy here probably has a log-in for this site, right?" Esposito asks. Ryan tries, and fails, to look innocent. "So we just use these losers to find him for us. Post something like 'My sister-in-law works at Presbyterian and she said Castle's car accident was fatal. They're just not telling us so they can have someone else write the Heat books.' Then, if someone sees Castle, they'll write in to disprove the rumor."
"And in the meantime," Ryan adds, trying to sound dignified after being lumped in with the other 'losers,' "Black Pawn might need to schedule something public with Castle to prove he's still alive and well." Then, with a guilty look passing over his face, Ryan amends his comments. "Or, just alive, I guess."
"No," Beckett answers, shutting down this line of thought. "It might work, but it's too indiscriminate. Castle's gone low-profile to find the people behind our misery – staying out of our sight is just a bonus that gives him operational latitude," she admits with pursed lips. "We do something like this," she says while pointing at Ryan's screen again, "and we're likely to point our enemies right at him. It's the same reason we're not going to do anything to find Alexis or Martha."
Esposito doesn't look happy. Either he thought his idea was a good one or he thinks they could get to Castle before anyone else. But it's an untenable risk in Beckett's mind. So, she swallows her own discomfort and voices a theory of her own, letting Esposito think it stemmed from his idea.
"But the Black Pawn angle we can use," she admits with a sigh. "It just has to be subtle. I'll figure out a way to connect with Gina."
Two pairs or eyebrows skyrocket at this comment. The boys try to avoid looking at each other, but they can't quite manage it. They're fiercely trying to look serious, to not risk upsetting their boss any further, but it's clear each wants to say something inappropriate.
Esposito breaks first. "Five minutes," he bursts. "And I take the under," he says quickly, establishing a wager on how long a conversation between Gina and Beckett might last.
"Bastard," Ryan replies. "You want the under, it's one minute."
"Two."
"Deal." The men bump fists quickly before turning to face the music with their boss.
The best way to move forward is to ignore their juvenile antics, Beckett knows. And, with a quick glance at the clock, she can see that it's already past quitting time on a long, horrible day. She needs some quiet solitude to process everything she's heard and try to find a reasonable way forward. But before they break, she needs a little more information to fuel her ruminations.
"Did you two manage to come up with any ideas for what Castle's doing?"
"Castle said four tracks, right?" Ryan asks rhetorically to get them refocused. "We know two. What we heard about in there," he says with a nod toward Gates' office, "must be one of them, right? And we know he has the files from your shooting, where he was trying to backtrack the money trail from Montgomery, Raglan, and McCallister back in the day. He thought he had a line on the bank records when he had his… when he got hurt."
"Nothing we can do about Sands and Bader," Beckett nearly growls, casting an irritated look back at Gates' office. "But we can start pushing on the money trail. How far back do we need to go?"
"All the way," Ryan admits. "Castle's got everything that came back from the original search. I've got the search history, but I don't know what he sifted out of it."
"So that's where we'll start in the morning," she declares, surprising the boys by calling it quits for the evening. "I don't like playing catch-up, though."
"Beckett," Esposito cuts in, sounding troubled. "I think we know another track Castle's pursuing. One where you've got the time advantage." At her interested look, he lowers his voice and looks around quickly before offering a two-word suggestion. "Your boyfriend."
"My what?" Beckett asks, momentarily thrown. "I don't have a… Oh."
"If they took your partner," Esposito continues, "and beat the hell out of him, why wouldn't they take your boyfriend, too?"
"Because they know me?" Beckett replies. The boys look confused but her answer wasn't really for them, anyway. If her adversaries really know her, they'd know Josh couldn't offer any insight about her, not really. But Castle – he knows her. It's one of the things that's always terrified her, the insight he has into her despite her best efforts.
"Josh and I were done before I was discharged," Beckett admits. "Honestly, we'd been done before then, just hadn't admitted it. But after what happened in the hospital…"
"When he saved you?" Esposito interrupts.
"When he blamed Castle," Beckett corrects. "Yes, I heard about that. Unforgiveable."
The boys exchange quick glances, wondering about treading on the treacherous ground of Beckett's personal life. "But if we didn't know you'd ended things with Josh, maybe they didn't, either?" Ryan offers tentatively. "It's worth checking, right?"
"He's in Haiti, last I heard," Beckett answers. Or was it Africa?
"You sure 'bout that?" Esposito replies. "Would anyone around here notice he'd gone missing or would they just assume he was out of the country?"
"I'll call…," Beckett trails off, thinking. She doesn't want to talk to Josh. What's left to say? 'Hi, just checking to make sure you're not being tortured due to our past association, but I don't really want to talk otherwise'? Yeah, that'd go over well. "I'll call when the Medecins Sans Frontieres offices are open tomorrow, make sure he's reported for duty." She knows it's a weak reply. But their final end was so horrible, so hurtful, she really doesn't want to revisit that part of her life.
"That's pretty cold, Beckett," Esposito replies. "Even if he's history, that's cold."
"You're right," she sighs, letting her head fall. "If he's in trouble, it's no one's fault but mine."
"Are you talking about Josh or Castle?" Ryan ventures to ask, immediately earning a scowl from his partner. But Beckett ignores the jibe, reaching instead for her cellphone.
Is DMB one of your four tracks? She texts, hitting 'send' before she can think better of it.
"There," she replies as if drained. "I asked Castle. If I've not heard from him by morning, I'll call the corporate offices. Now," she nearly groans under the weight of her stress, "it's been a perfectly terrible day and I've got a lot of thinking to do. I'm heading home. If that's still allowed," she adds spitefully, thinking again about her captain's new requirements.
Both Ryan and Esposito reply with vague encouragements to get some rest, sending her off with casual waves and good wishes. As she plods down the stairs, she can feel herself shutting down – her body isn't back to full strength yet and she certainly wasn't prepared for the long succession of shocks she received today. As much as she'd like to think this through, she needs to gather her strength to tackle this problem.
She's not really sure how she got home. She remembers sliding into her cruiser and pulling away from the precinct, but she doesn't remember the drive or the trek up to her apartment. Once the door is closed and locked behind her she lets autopilot take over again, her feet leading her not to her kitchen but instead to the bedroom. Choking down her medicine and doing the bare minimum to prepare, she barely has the energy to pull the covers over herself after collapsing into bed.
Beckett's so exhausted in mind, body, and spirit that she sleeps through her alarm for the first time in years. Waking in a panic, she looks to see she's got less than 45 minutes to get into the precinct. The commute alone will take most of that. Showing up late after yesterday's dressing-down would be a quick ticket to demotion. Or worse, she thinks, Captain Gates might consider her medically unfit to return. That thought has her in and out of the shower in record time as she changes while she's still on her way out the door.
At least the traffic deities take pity on her, clearing the way to leave a blissful three-minute buffer when Beckett flies into the precinct. As the elevator doors slide closed for the ride up to Homicide, she sighs in relief. She extracts the cell phone she nearly left at home and nearly drops it when she sees a text reply from the same unlisted number that directed her to the Haunt yesterday. Looks like Castle replied last night, shortly after she collapsed into bed. With some trepidation, she opens the text and feels her stomach drop even as the elevator rises.
Not anymore.
A/N: I'm still hoping for weekly posts, but work life is getting out of hand for the next two weeks. I'll hope to keep pushing this along, but my apologies in advance for slow replies. Thank you for the PMs, reviews, follow, and favorites, which all provide great encouragement to keep pushing this story along!