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.
"Beckett? What're you doing here?" Espo asks, surprised to see the team leader he thought was running around with Castle and the feds.
"Walking off my irritation," Beckett growls. She knew that Samuelson had to bully the officers to ingratiate himself with Bracken, but really – 'girl'?! Moving the convoy to pick Bracken up has also hit an unexpected snag due to construction outside the precinct. So, even though they'd planned for Samuelson's change of transportation, they're at risk of running late. "They're still arranging the motorcade for Bracken so I thought I'd wander up here and see how things are going with you on Karpowski's team."
"Bo-ring," Espo enunciates slowly, blowing out a large breath. "Roz stuck me on phone and financials! I've got enough paperwork of my own – I don't need hers, too!"
"Poor baby," Beckett pretends sympathy. "But I know Roz. She wouldn't've stuck you on paperwork unless you ticked her off."
"It was one little comment!" Espo grouses. "Seriously. Ryan and I kid each other all the time."
"About how good you look in tight pants?" Beckett hears from behind her. Turning to see Karpowski's raised brow, she greets her colleague with a nod before turning back to see a chastened Esposito.
"Uh… yes?" Esposito mumbles, thinking it's better to get teased for that offense than to admit that he said something about Roz's rear view that he shouldn't have.
"I always suspected," Beckett nods sagely.
"Me too," chimes in LT while walking behind Esposito. The tall, laconic officer pauses just long enough to shoot Esposito a look that promises this episode will not soon be forgotten.
"Fabulous," Espo grumbles as he lets his head hit the desktop. "Paperwork and humiliation. Thank you so much for abandoning me, boss."
"As if you don't get in trouble with our regular team?" she laughs as LT walks off and Karpowski makes her way to her desk.
"Nah, cause then I can pin it on Ryan. Irish always looks guilty," he chuckles, glad to be talking with Beckett again and that the witnesses to his embarrassment have moved off.
"Yeah, it'll be nice to have the team back together again," Beckett admits, though she's thinking more about Castle than Ryan.
"That gonna happen anytime soon?" Esposito asks, curious about any developments.
"Not sure. Bracken's arraignment is the next step, but there's more after that. We'll have to see how it goes," Beckett shrugs as she takes a quick glance at her borrowed watch. "Speaking of, I'd better get moving."
"Hold on," Esposito asks. "How'm I gonna keep up with you guys? If you're running around with Castle, I can't just call, right?"
Beckett purses her mouth and shakes her head slowly. "We can't bring you in on this Espo. You heard Gates."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Espo replies quickly. "But I should have a way of getting in touch. You never know what's gonna happen around here." Pausing before looking over both shoulders, he leans forward and lowers his voice. "I know," he declares with a snap of his fingers. "You're gonna be with Castle, right? Give me the communication device you use to contact him. That way, I can send you guys a message if I hear anything and you can get a hold of me if you need help."
It's not a bad idea, Beckett admits. Having a secure link to an extra source of help would be a nice insurance policy. Objectively, it makes sense. Irrationally, though, Beckett admits she's wary of giving up the device that arrived in the box that Castle said 'wasn't the one he once dreamed of giving her.'
Cursing her sentimentality, Beckett heaves a sigh and reaches into her pocketbook. Slowly removing the communications device, she runs her hand over it before reluctantly holding it out to Esposito. "Take care of it," she instructs while reaching for a post-it pad and a pen so she can jot down the access code. "I want it back in one piece."
"No worries, Beckett," Espo replies as he carefully receives the device and slides it into a pocket. "Trust me – I know exactly how valuable this is."
Standing between Castle and the erstwhile Trapper John, Beckett fights the urge to fidget. After departing the precinct, the morning's gone to plan so far. But she won't feel at ease until they're out of this parking garage and safely tucked away for the next part of day's festivities.
She's also glad for the dim lighting here in the garage. The man to her left must be at least as anxious as she is, but he proves to be a bulwark of calm patience. What she wouldn't have given to see some of this aspect to his personality during their time together at the precinct before her shooting! She's not sure whether this is a long-hidden trait or something he's developed following his harrowing summer, but she appreciates it enough that it reddens her cheeks.
To her other side is Trapper John, her one-time tormenter, the mercenary who's still a bit of a mystery. Whether he's cowed by Jackson, excited by the opportunity, or planning something untoward is still unclear. Still, she's hunted criminals for far too long to give him the benefit of any doubt. The dim lighting shades the scowl she'd point in his direction. But as she doesn't really hide it, he's seen it already.
Her thoughts are broken by the squeaking of tires on the floor of the garage as a black SUV with tinted windows pulls around the corner. Finally. They must've gotten hung up after leaving the courthouse following the arraignment.
"Where are we?" Bracken asks as he's helped out of the vehicle by members of the escort team. "This isn't the precinct."
"It's somewhere we won't be hounded by the press," Samuelson replies calmly. "I insisted on using the temporary space into which the authorities were forced to expand due to asbestos removal operations," he explains with a smirk. "There's no chance that the media or any freelance paparazzi would expect to find us here."
Mollified by his attorney's answer, Bracken relaxes slightly. He still levels a fierce look at the escort team leader who prods him to move forward with a gentle hand to Bracken's elbow. Pulling his arm out of the team leader's grasp, Bracken falls into step beside Samuelson, shuffling along as if wearing manacles as well as handcuffs. He takes a slight sidestep when he sees Beckett, unable to hide his apprehension about her presence. He looks away quickly, his eyes falling instead on Castle. His brows raise in confusion as he can't help but wonder at writer's presence, given his disappearance after the summer.
The escort team guides the disgraced senator to a service elevator but depart from there, leaving only the quintet of Bracken, Samuelson, Beckett, Castle, and Talbot. With this unmistakable indicator that something's going on, Bracken casts questioning looks at his silent attorney. Castle still looks stoic and Talbot looks like he knows how to use the weaponry strapped to his body. But it's Beckett who looks terrifying as her calculating stare at Bracken's reflection in the elevator doors makes it all too clear that she's pondering different ways in which to harm him.
A short elevator ride leads to a nondescript hallway. Castle leads the group down the hallway past several unmarked doors before finally opening a door with a flourish. Talbot leads the way, followed by Bracken and Samuelson. Beckett brings up the rear, sighing slightly as they finally enter the next stage in today's plan.
The room surprises Bracken, though everyone else knew what to expect. Rather than an interrogation room or law enforcement facility, they're in an old office that's been converted into a large space with several different areas. Lynch sits at round table to their far right. He looks oddly studious with rimless glasses perched on his nose as he surveys a table full of paperwork, ignoring for the moment the news feed on the muted television next to him. The other members of Talbot's crew sit on the sofa and lounge chair pulled up to a coffee table where playing cards are strewn. The pile of cards on the table show that they've already dealt him in. Beckett's just figured out that they're playing poker when Castle sends her a hopeful look. She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head while imagining the trouble Castle could get into fleecing a group of mercenaries.
"This way, Senator," Samuelson says before Bracken can question the odd set-up. Following out of habit, the Senator moves towards the other side of the room. He walks easily as he takes in the kitchenette and refrigerator, but his steps come to an abrupt halt when he sees the back of a metal chair bolted to the floor, facing away from the rest of the room.
Bracken lurches forward after being prodded none-too-gently by the stock of Talbot's automatic rifle. Stumbling, the Senator can't quite catch his balance as he moves towards the chair. Castle intercepts him with a hand to the shoulder. The move spins Bracken in place while a small shove from Castle drops him into the chair.
"What's the meaning of this?" Bracken barks as Castle moves behind him and places his hands on the Senator's shoulders to hold him in place. Talbot, meanwhile, removes Bracken's handcuffs before using the restraints built into the chair to secure the prisoner to the chair. Then, with a smirk, he walks away to join the card game.
"Well? Answer me!" Bracken commands weakly as Castle and Samuelson also move away. Locked into the chair, Bracken cranes his neck as far as he can to the left in a vain effort to track the men as they retreat towards the lounge are on the other side of the room.
Turning his head back, Bracken jolts in his chair when he sees Beckett sitting in front of him. Somehow, she managed to approach silently from his other side, a move that puts Bracken even more on edge.
"Hello, Assistant District Attorney," Beckett greets in a low, calm voice.
Bracken swallows at this salutation, taking a moment to gather his courage. "I'm a senator, detective, and one who will use all his power to bury you. Any prosecution you hoped for me is blown to hell thanks to this little false imprisonment facility you have here."
Bracken's starting to feel pretty good about himself. Sure, the unorthodox arrival and facility put him off his game, but speaking with authority brings it all back. He eats lobbyists and politicians for breakfast – he won't be cowed by a mere cop.
His bravado falters, however, in light of Beckett's cool, unbothered gaze. "You are ADA Bracken," she repeats as if talking to a particularly dim student, "because that's what you were when you made your worst mistake. You've been a dead man walking since then, so any titles afterward are ephemeral. Transitory. Worthless."
Beckett grows quite after that declaration, letting it sink in. Bracken's brows knit as he considers her words and the explicit threat they contain. He's about to object when she interjects again.
"And as for prosecuting the case against you," she leans in with a predatory gleam and chilling chuckle, "well, your confession makes that a moot point."
"I have not, and will not, confess to a single, god damned charge," Bracken hisses in reply, his shock at her audacity overwhelming his fear of her.
"But that's not what others will think, is it?" Beckett asks calmly. "You disappeared after your arraignment. Your escort team will report back to the precinct that you were transferred into the custody of federal officers at an off-site facility."
Bracken pales as the implications of his circumstances start to sink in. But Beckett doesn't relent.
"From outside perspectives, it'll seem like you've spent the day passing along as much information as possible in a desperate bid to avoid incarceration. They'll start to wonder," she speculates with a lupine grin, "exactly how willing you'll be to sacrifices others to save yourself. And then, of course, the confirmation will arrive."
"Confirmation?" Bracken asks, hating how weak his voice sounds and that he spoke at all, but still unable to resist.
"First will be the call for your transfer to a safe-house. That wouldn't happen unless you took a plea deal that required your ongoing cooperation," she explains needlessly to someone who studied the law, even if he didn't abide by it. "But of course that call will only go to federal law enforcement authorities, so we know it'll held in strictest confidence, right?"
Of course it won't. Anyone interested in Bracken's situation will have moles, or will just buy a round of drinks at one of the bars frequented by officers on the case. To think this information would be confidential is laughable, and they both know it.
"No one will buy that," Bracken suggests weakly, though he's unwilling to bet his life on that supposition.
Beckett only smirks in reply. "Second will be the financial moves. In fact, anyone paying attention might've already noticed your assets being withdrawn or transferred to new accounts in recognized tax havens."
"Bullshit," charges an even paler Bracken. "You need that money for prosecution. Besides, you have no idea…"
"ADA, you seem be a little slow on the uptake. You won't live long enough to worry about prosecution. And the best part is that I don't have to do a thing," she promises with another vengeful look. "Just imagine – a quick press release praising you for your cooperation, a note about how you're returning to your roots and helping us with our investigations, and a wave as we drop you off at your offices. How long do you think you'd last before your friends picked you up? The machine shop is no longer available, but I'm sure we haven't yet sold all of the facilities registered to the dummy corporations we've found. How long, ADA, do you think you could hold out under your friends'… motivated questioning? How long before they start to think you might be telling the truth about not selling them out?"
Where he'd looked pale before, Bracken is now an alarming shade of green.
"You've always been a coward," Beckett assesses almost conversationally. "Paying or relying on others to do the physical work on your behalf. Well, this time you'll have a front seat view." Beckett pauses, seemingly wondering if she's pouring it on too think or reveling too much in the politician's discomfort. A quick hand gesture pushes the concern aside. "I wonder how much of you will be left for me to find?"
Bracken's eyes dart madly around the room as he realizes how few options remain. However, even as these thoughts threaten to coalesce into a desperate strategy, Beckett drops the final hammer.
"And, of course, with your accounts bled dry, you've got nothing left with which to bribe authorities or hire more thugs and assassins. You should've treated Zoltick better," she opines with a sad shake of her head. "He's proven averse to remaining in your employment. In fact, he's reveling in the new opportunities we've offered. He's very creative and not a little vindictive. My colleagues," she offers with a vague wave toward the other end of the room, "wanted me to pass along their appreciation, by the way. Operations like this aren't cheap, and your contributions are greatly appreciated."
Surveying Bracken, Beckett considers again whether she's gone too far in her explanations. It seems anticlimactic. Her personal demon sits broken and mute before her. No more bluster, no more threats. He hasn't even tried to bargain or rationalize. He seems so small. It makes her wonder how someone of such insignificance could've caused such pain and devastation.
Deciding that she's devoted too much of today, of her life, to this wasted soul Beckett stands and starts to move back toward where Castle awaits with an attentive look on his face. Just as she's moving past Bracken she hears a low mumble.
"Why not just kill me?" he wonders aloud.
Unsure of whether his comment was an inquiry or just thinking out loud, Beckett decides to leave him with one final thought. It's one she's fully embraced, much to her surprise. She'll have to think long and hard about its implications for her career and soul.
"Because you're bait."
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
With a low groan, Beckett takes a moment to let her head clear. Rubbing her eyes buys her a little time and provides a nice little light show behind her eyelids.
"Sleeping Beauty was awoken with a kiss, not a nudge to the shoulder, Castle," she remonstrates. Taking daytime naps always leaves her a little disoriented. Teasing Castle seems like a good way to get back on track.
"Yeah, well, Prince Charming didn't have to worry about hidden weaponry, hand-to-hand assault proficiency, or proximate mercenaries of dubious loyalty or intent," he reasons. "But, if you insist…"
"Better," Beckett compliments as she sits up and leans into Castle's side as he perches on the side of the cot. "What's going on?"
"Time to move to the safe-house," he offers apologetically. Her opposition to laying down had been fierce, even if it evaporated quickly. But her concession to acceding to his request was a one-hour wakeup call. Clearly, he cheated. "You needed the rest. Your conversation with Bracken was the exclamation on a remarkably trying day."
"The day's not done yet," she replies, her comment making it obvious that she's not going to complain about his decision not to play alarm clock.
"All the more reason you needed the rest. We're going to be tested tonight."
With a nod and a long stretch, Beckett agrees and finally moves upright. Castle hands her the sidearm she'd placed under the pillow with a wry grin. His smile practically screams 'we're quite the pair.' Whenever they next manage to sleep together, they've likely have the most heavily armed bed in the borough.
The transfer to a new facility seems to go without a hitch. Bracken is an empty shell, shuffling along without a word or glance for anyone, not even the attorney who'd duped him so well. Only the squawking reports from their surveillance teams interrupts the silence of the drive to the safe-house, the staticky-staccato bursts providing assurance of their safe transport.
The only sour note is confirmation that Beckett doesn't know their full plan. Upon leaving the facility, Beckett marked two observers who looked out of place. A sedan with darkened windows seems to track them for a handful of city blocks, though it eventually peeled off. She raised both observations to Lynch. He didn't disagree with her threat assessments but they didn't seem to bother him. Nor were they a surprise.
Their new quarters are obviously of official federal origin. Beckett almost bangs her head on the wall at the sight of it – every single furnishing in the room was obviously purchased off the Government Services Agency supply lists. Hell, there're probably requisition and delivery forms for how everything got here. Clearly, the "safe" in safe-house refers to the assurance that any Congressional inquiry into spending won't find excess here. As for the informers or witnesses who make use of the facility, it's amazing any of them have survived.
Lynch sends her a look of sad exasperation. He's clearly had similar thoughts. When they worked out the plan for how to deal with Bracken, Beckett had wondered why they were so convinced the safe-house would be assaulted. Now she wonders how they were able to get in the door before the assault began.
"Hardly seems 'safe,'" she articulates her thoughts. "We sure we're not going to be over-run?"
Castle huffs a laugh but leaves the assurances to Lynch. "They'll send a light push tonight. Like you said," he offers with a respectful nod, "they'll just test to see if Bracken's actually here and under what circumstances. They can't afford to send a whole team yet. But, once they confirm he's sold them out, they'll come in force."
All heads turn to look at Bracken, but he didn't even reply to the aspersions cast in his direction.
"Right," Lynch says directly, unsurprised by the senator's reticence. "I'll get Chatty Cathy here locked down. Start the sleeping shifts. They're not likely to move before 0200. The longer after that, the less serious the push. But I'll be shocked if we haven't heard from them by 0600."
Lynch is right, of course. Beckett stayed awake for the first two shifts and brooked no argument in light of her earlier nap. In fact, she'd insisted in shoving Castle into a bed as he needed rest, too. She'd even consented to tucking him in. Ridiculous man.
He even slept through the attempted incursion that arrived just after 0500. It wasn't much – a diversionary move on the door to the apartment while spotters from a nearby building peaked in windows and through walls with infrared scopes. The number of bodies surrounding Bracken clearly demonstrated both that this was a serious operation to 'protect' the senator and that it would take more than one operative and a few spotters to extract or silence the assumed traitor.
Castle stumbled into the kitchen an hour later looking adorably mussed. His bed-head, puffy eyes, and general look of befuddlement prompted a few grins and snarky comments, but the din died down as his stiff amble to a seat reminded those assembled of the injuries he'd already suffered. Still, the light mood returned with the arrival of coffee and the confidence of events going to plan.
"Okay, next phase," Jackson interjects to immediately silence the frivolity of the morning discussions. "Things have gone well so far, so there are no adjustments at this stage. Pack it up and be ready to leave in ten." With that, he disappears just as suddenly as he has on other aspects of the operation.
"It's how he leads," Lynch says quietly at her side. She's not surprised he recognized her assessing looks and thoughts about Castle's father and why he's been so absent so far. "He develops the plans. Then he goes into the field. Says he can see better from there how things are going. I might complain," he leads and neither Castle nor Beckett point out that Lynch obviously wouldn't complain, "but he's also our best field op. Truth is, if something goes sideways, I'd rather have him out there and moving than holed up in a command center."
"Based on whatever he did to capture and convert Zoltick, I won't object," Beckett replies to the sight of affirming nods.
"It'll be his objections we'll need to worry about if we don't get moving," Lynch reminds them as he rises from the table. "Detective, there's a car downstairs for you. Complete your objective then reconnect with us at the fallback position. Castle, we leave in five."
Castle nods and, to no one's surprise, accompanies Beckett as she moves to leave.
"I'm not thrilled by splitting up," she admits, "even if it makes sense."
"I'd think this part of the plan would make you happiest," Castle chides from her side, softening his words with a light bump to her hip.
"Telling my new boss what's going on? Yeah, that'll be a real blast," Beckett replies with a sizable eye roll. "She's going to be a nightmare of officious interrogation. I should just call in. Except only some people seem to be able to get her to chat on the phone," she harrumphs while cutting her eyes at her partner.
"She'd never believe you," he replies with a small, his tone suggesting that Gates would believe Castle if he were to make the call. "But this isn't really about bringing her into the loop to help – we've got that covered. This is smoothing the way so that when this is all finally done, you can go back to the precinct."
"With my partner," Beckett replies immediately, slowing to a halt and turning to face Castle. "If… When this ends," she corrects herself, "I'll need to think about my career and what I want to do now that mom can rest in peace. But if I do go back, I need my partner."
As the sole object of Beckett's wide-eyed, insistent stare, Castle can only nod in agreement. In truth, he's struggling to get over his shock. That 'if' in regard to Beckett's return to the precinct tilted the world on its axis.
"Good thing the new boss likes me better than you," he teases as he tosses an arm around Beckett's waist and gets them both moving again. "Don't worry – I'll put in a good word for you."
Beckett can't help but laugh at that concept. "My mind shutters to think what a positive recommendation from you might mean. Or what Gates might assume it means."
"From a paragon of virtue like me?" Castle asks with a haughty tone. "She'd probably expect my recommendation to arrive on two stone tablets."
"Great, we're adding blasphemy to our challenges for the day," Beckett grouses with a smile.
"I always told you being with me would be like a religious experience."
"You're unbelievable," she laughs again as they approach the car requisitioned for Beckett. "Thank you for distracting me," she says as he holds the door open for her. Of course she recognized why the banter picked up since leaving the safe-house – doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate it. "Keep an eye on Bracken but take care of yourself. I'll be praying for you," she says with a quick kiss that suggests her comment might be harkening back to that banter.
"Of course," Castle replies as he moves to close the car door for her. "Make sure you hug Victoria for me."
"Mister Castle is involved, isn't he?" Gates asks after Beckett provides her explanation for why Bracken has not returned to Holding. She's not surprised her new captain figured this out so quickly.
"Yes. He's the one who convinced them to bring me onto the case."
"So," Gates asks while thinking aloud, "did he lie to me about leaving to address a family matter, or does he, too, have an obvious conflict of interest?"
"He's never lied to you, as far as I know," Beckett replies carefully. "As for a conflict of interest, he's not in law enforcement. He's advising the people I'm working with."
"It still appears unseemly," Gates ponders without heat. "But I guess that's not my call. And as long as it's on someone else's head, tell me this – is Rick okay?"
Beckett huffs a laugh, though she's not sure why. "That's a good question. I think so. He's so invested in protecting his family that he won't really be okay until they're safe. But we're making tangible progress, so I don't think he could be better."
That should be enough of an explanation to satisfy Gates. In fact, Beckett should be thrilled that her captain seems to care about Castle. And she is thrilled. But she's also greedy and Gates has provided a perfect opportunity. "There is one problem, though," Beckett adds leadingly.
"Oh?" Gates takes the bait.
"He's proven very effective to the new team. They're already trying to make sure he sticks around after the conclusion of this operation. Depending on…"
"Hold on," Gates interrupts with a raised hand, looking perturbed. "You're telling me that after the NYPD absorbed the costs of tolerating, educating, and training Mister Castle, the feds think they're just going to swoop in and steal him away? Oh, no," she says more fiercely than Beckett expected. "No, no, no. That's not how this works. I think Rick and I need to have a little talk. Unless you see things differently?"
"No, sir," Beckett replies quickly, hiding her smile. "We're in the critical stages of our operation now. In fact, I need to rejoin the team soon. But I'll start laying the foundation with Castle so he's ready for your talk."
"Excellent," Gates nods her approval. "Best get moving then, detective."
Beckett's nearly to the door when Gates stops her, forcing an odd sense of déjà vu. "Two last things, detective. First, what I said about Rick applies much more to you. I want you back, with or without your partner. Don't underestimate the precinct's regard for you."
"Thank you, sir," Beckett replies quietly, deeply touched. She hadn't thought this was a comparison, but Gates' interest in recouping the NYPD's investment in Castle might've prompted some insecurities somewhere down the road. It feels good to be appreciated for her own skills.
"And second," Gates continues with an odd look. "'Laying the foundation'? What a horrible, horrible double entendre. You'd better tighten up your language before your writer returns."
Beckett's not sure which is worse – being caught out for her poor turn of phrase or Gates' guffaw that follows her blushing departure.
Or option three: blushing. That's the worst, because she's still radiant when she exits Gates' office and nearly runs into Esposito.
"You okay, Beckett?" Espo asks with concern. "You look flustered."
"It's nothing," she assures him, anxious to avoid any explanation. Espo still looks curious, so she needs a diversion. Might as well touch base with Castle. Hearing that their plan continues apace would ease some of her anxiety, plus she can return the favor by letting him know that Gates seems amenable to his eventual return.
"Hey, Espo, grab the communications device and meet me in the gym downstairs," she says quickly over her shoulder as she turns toward the stairs. "I need to grab something out of my locker before I get moving."
Minutes later she's exiting the locker room with duffle bag in hand. Espo's the only one in the sparring area, which is dimly lit since no one's using the facilities right now. The darkness seems appropriate to sending a text on a secret communication device in the middle of a secret operation, she thinks to herself. Castle would just love this.
As she strides toward Esposito, though, something in his posture catches Beckett's attention. He looks apprehensive, withdrawn. Something's not right and it's unlikely related to the paperwork duty he's pulled for Karpowski's team.
"You didn't break it, did you?" Beckett asks with a teasing voice, trying to get her teammate to loosen up. Her intent backfires, though, as he looks even more uncomfortable.
"Look, Beckett, I don't have it here…"
Beckett's shocked by the anger that swamps over her immediately and completely. Why the hell wouldn't he have the communications device here? The whole point was to allow him to communicate with them! No, there's no reason for it to be anywhere but in his pocket.
Unless using the device to communicate wasn't why Espo wanted it.
Suddenly, the questions click into place just as quickly and succinctly as they do during a case:
- Espo's had an attitude problem about Castle ever since she returned to active duty. Why would he need or want to communicate with Castle?
- Their enemies seem privy to their investigation. How long was it after Ryan suspected Castle didn't really sell the beach house before it burned to the ground?
- Espo stayed. Ryan left to protect Jenny, Beckett left to work with the feds, and Espo stayed to do paperwork for Roz instead of accepting a million dollars from Castle to provide a 'clear field'?
- Lynch wasn't surprised by the surveillance she noticed when they left the facility where she'd had her talk with Bracken. But how could their enemies have tracked them down? With the communication device in hand, could they trace the signal back to Castle?
Before she's even aware of it, Beckett's taken a large step away and drawn her service weapon on Esposito. There is no thought about their years together, the times they've saved each other's lives. There is only the lancing pain of betrayal and swift desire to contain any danger.
"Beckett, wait…"
"Shut up, Espo," Beckett growls in reply. She's in a horrible tactical position and it's making her jumpy. At any point a colleague could enter the gym. They'd not recognize the dire situation – no, they'd probably assume it was training. And that's all Espo would need to move on her or make a break for it. "Turn around, hands on the wall."
"Just let me show you this," Esposito urges in reply, his hand already moving toward his sternum to duck beneath the jacket he's wearing.
"Espo, I don't want to shoot you," Beckett tries to growl again, though she can hear the desperation in her voice. "But I will. Move that hand any further and I'll put you down."
His hand freezing in mid-air, Esposito stares at Beckett. There's something assessing in his look – she doesn't think he's trying to decide if she'll really shoot him or not. It looks more like he's weighing her in his mind, grading her on some unknown scale. After what seems like several long, tense minutes but was probably only a few seconds, he gives a tiny nod before spinning and putting his hands against the wall.
"On your knees," Beckett commands, unwilling to take any risks. "Cross your ankles. Lace your fingers behind your head."
Esposito suffers his indignities in silence. Even as she wrenches his wrist around after applying the cuff, he doesn't so much as grunt. It's not until his wrists are both restrained behind his back before he says anything.
"My left breast pocket," he offers quietly.
Still wary of a trap, Beckett circles her teammate several times as if assessing the possibility of a trap. Slowly, she approaches close enough to bend over and twitch his jacket open. She jumps back as if expecting a reaction. Without chagrin, she approaches again when nothing happens, this time reaching warily into the pocket Espo indicated. Her fingers scrabble against the edge of something. Ever so carefully, she clasps the object and pulls it out. After all of the stress of the day, the turmoil of nearly shooting her teammate, she can hardly believe it. But there it is, right in her hand.
Another dove gray envelope.