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.

From last chapter:

Still wary of a trap, Beckett circles her teammate several times as if assessing the possibility of a ruse. 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.

Beckett,

If you're reading this, then you've discovered one of my contingency plans. I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, come on – I started following you because you're the best investigator I've ever known, real or fictional. So, I can hardly be upset that you've solved yet another mystery.

Ah, but how to convince you that this letter is actually from me and not a convenient misdirection? After all, you've probably made Espo aware of my little missives. If so, he's aware of the symbol I leave in my signature, so that's hardly proof of authenticity. Let's see – perhaps one of these will suffice?

* I've been looking for an opportunity to get you to another gala since our first year together. You might not have been comfortable, but you don't have the slightest idea how radiant you were that night. If we make it through this, I'm going to forego pretense and take us out again.

* Perhaps that last one is too obvious. After all, I was hardly the only one who noticed how beautiful you looked that night! So, something more personal: Stephanie Wyatt. She was the first girl who held my hand. We were twelve. (Well, I was. She was an older woman of 13. Trust me, the 'age difference' contributed to the illicit thrill!) It's one of those moments indelibly etched in my memory. But it pales to near insignificance compared to when you held my hand after I survived my encounter with Tyson. I needed nothing more at that moment than a connection, a reminder. You anchored me that horrible night in a way that I can neither describe nor hope to match.

* Hmmm, went from obvious to maudlin. Let's try this proof instead. You might think (without any justification whatsoever) that I don't always listen to you. I can guarantee you're wrong. When a voice is as enticing as yours, I can assure you that I welcome every utterance with rapt attention. So, perhaps you can imagine how desperate I was, and still remain, to hear you finish what you started to say in that refrigerator car.

* Am I embarrassing you? Yeah, that's probably not fair. So, for my final proof I'll turn the tables on myself and say only this: I totally peeked.

I'll trust that you'll accept at least one of these as proof that this letter was written by your partner. That probably won't assuage any of your concerns, but it should at least shift the focus of your ire to me. So, please don't maim Espo. It's hardly his fault that *someone* impressed upon me the need to have proper backup. He's been an asset during this operation and has been working to keep me safe. So, please be kind to him. I ask this on his behalf and totally not because we agreed that he gets to apply to me double any injustice you visit upon him.

Castle

PS. They say confession is good for the soul. I think they're right, so I'll say it again:

I totally peeked.

And it was glorious.

Damn that man. She should be furious, and she is. But she can't deny that his stupid letter has already affected her. And in front of Espo! Who, come to think of it, is still cuffed and on his knees in the middle of the sparring area.

"We need to talk," she says gruffly as she clasps Espo's elbow and helps him stand before moving around to uncuff him. As he rubs his wrists, she quickly folds the letter and tucks it away. It'll get stored away with the rest, though this one falls into a special category. Still uncertain whether that's a good category or bad, she decides to leave that decision for later.

"Not here," Espo answers as he walks away, leading her toward the janitorial closet.

"Great," she mutters to herself as she follows. "'Cause catching us together in there will totally start fewer rumors than having you cuffed on the mat…"

The smell in the closet is disgusting, to no great surprise. It's just as well as she doesn't have time to linger.

"How long?" she asks while he's still drawing the door shut and locking it behind them.

"Since that day when he gave us the history lesson, when he sold the Haunt," Espo replies, the twist of his lips conveying his thoughts about that meeting.

"That long? And you didn't say anything?"

"What was I supposed to say, Beckett?" Espo fires back, getting surly himself. "You know how this works – if I was gonna play the mole, we had to sell the role. It was already risky to assume that a member of his team would be approached. Any hint that someone else was in on it woulda ruined the whole thing. And that probably woulda gotten us killed."

"But why you?" Beckett asks, launching a question in her haste to keep the discussion going after his answer hit home.

Espo recoils from the ridiculousness of the question. "What, you think it should've been you? That'd never work. Besides, it's not like I'm proud it was me. You know what he said, back then? 'Hey, Espo, Ryan couldn't pull this off, but they'd believe you'd turn on me,'" he shakes his head at the recollection. "Nice to know that betrayal looks so good on me."

Given some of the snide things Espo's said about Castle, or the way he treated the writer when he was here, Beckett privately agrees with Castle's assessment. Espo might not be proud of the characterization, but he's earned it. Although saying that now is hardly going to move things forward. It's better to tie this off and get moving, Beckett decides, especially because the real conversation needs to happen with Castle.

"Are you part of the plan for dealing with Bracken?" she asks instead, presaging her imminent departure.

"No," Espo answers, looking annoyed. "At least not yet."

"Stay close," she confides, "and be ready. This'll all be over soon, maybe a day."

Eyebrows launched, Esposito gives her an incredulous stare. "A day?!"

"That's the expectation. I need to get moving so I don't miss my part of the action," looking at the watch on her wrist, Beckett does the calculation and decides that her time is up. But there's one thing left to say. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For needing to secure you to figure out what's going on," she replies honestly. She's not sorry for what she did – her actions were perfectly justified in the circumstances. But she is sorry that things advanced to the point where Espo saw the business end of her gun barrel and felt her cuffs around his wrists.

Espo nods at the answer, unsurprised. "Would you've done it?"

"Done what?"

"Shot me," he asks in a calm voice.

"Yes."

Espo stares at her again, giving her the same look he did before he decided to stand down and let her detain him. "Good," he declares with a decisive nod. "Stay smart like that, Beckett, and you might actually survive this thing."

Her drive to the wharf gives Beckett too much time to think. The doubling-back and evasive course corrections during her route should've commanded more of her attention as she worked to ensure that she wasn't followed, but her mind stays on Castle's latest letter. Well, less the letter and more his decision to enlist Espo without telling her. She didn't need Espo to remind her of the tactical justification for the secrecy; hell, there's even an advanced course at the Academy that encourages development of contingencies for complex undercover investigations.

Beckett admits, in the midst of another radical course correction, that she's not offended by Castle's initial actions. She's hurt. Esposito has been in the loop longer than she has. It's childish and petty, perhaps, but it still stings.

Plus, she thinks as her indignation starts to flare, there's no reason Esposito's role needed to remain secret after Beckett was more involved with the operation. She's made her allegiances clear, both to her partner and to his shadowy father. She's even signed paperwork, dammit! She should've been told.

By the time she parks down the row from the scummy warehouse that serves as their next fallback position, Beckett's worked herself into a fierce temper. She fully recognizes that her ire is a poorly-fitted coat to wrap around her deeper fears and concerns but embraces the feeling anyway.

It's not until her walk from the car to the warehouse that she starts to settle down. It's a hard pill to swallow, but Castle's actions are textbook for this kind of operation. Maybe that's another source of annoyance – after years of undisciplined irreverence, he follows the rules only after he leaves the precinct?!

But that's not fair either, she admits. Things changed after her shooting and his assault, so she can hardly fault him for being more serious. Besides, of all the cases to treat seriously, shouldn't she be pleased that he's being careful in bringing down the conspiracy around her mother's murder?

When she delivers the prescribed pattern of knocks to the side entrance to the warehouse, she's calmer but more confused. Castle notices immediately as he opens the door to usher her inside. With a concerned look, he draws her in and, after locking the door again, directs her not to the office where they've set up but instead to a quiet corner surrounded by busted pallets and cast-off binding materials.

"Beckett?" he asks with concern as he focuses on her. "Are you okay? Were you followed?"

She slowly shakes her head. "I don't think so. Not sure they'd need to follow me, though, if they can trace your communication device," she answers, watching her partner for a reaction.

He doesn't try to deny or dissemble. "Yeah, the communication device was enough to lead them here. So," he says as if bracing for a potential assault, "you spoke with Espo."

"Yeah," she huffs mirthlessly, "after I pulled my weapon and had him cuffed on the floor."

If she expected him to be embarrassed or chagrined, she's disappointed. Instead, he gives her a slow nod. "Knew you'd figure it out."

"Why, Castle?"

"Why did I enlist Espo," he asks to clarify, "or why didn't I tell you?"

"Either. Both."

Castle nods again, takes a moment to frame his reply, then starts his explanation. "The people we're after are smart – too smart to proceed without someone on the inside. We took a hard look at the staff of the precinct and couldn't find anyone who was obviously compromised, so we created the opportunity for Espo to fill the role. He's got enough experience to pull off an undercover assignment."

"As do I."

"Beckett, I'll take my lumps for some aspects of this plan, but not that one. We both know you couldn't've played the turncoat," Castle reacts immediately, shaking his head. "The only way anyone'd buy that is if we manufactured some massive fight to convince everyone we were at odds. And even then," he continues, sounding morose at the possibility, "they still wouldn't trust you. They'd suspect a romantic aspect behind a rift, and those are notoriously transient and volatile."

Beckett considers his explanation. It's plausible. Probable, even. If it were anyone else, she'd believe it. But she knows her partner well enough to know that there's more to his story. "And…?"

"And you remember what this summer was like," he answers quietly. "It was hard to tell what was going on with us after your time away and my… what happened to me. We were both going through a lot. But Espo hasn't changed in years. I knew exactly where I stood with him and how easy it would be for him to attract attention."

"By badmouthing you."

"Some assignments are more fun than others," Castle cracks a smile. "I'm sure he enjoyed his sanctioned excuse to pile on."

"So, you approached him after our meeting at the Haunt?" she asks, driving the story forward and getting a nod in reply. "And, what – you fed him information to pass along?"

"No. He needed freedom to operate – our deal was that he'd do what he needed to do to gain their confidence and stay safe."

"Stay safe?!" Beckett replies heatedly. "They burned your house to the ground!"

"Which was part of the plan." Noticing his partner's incredulous look, he elaborates. "The house wasn't occupied," he explains as he raises a finger to start ticking off his points, "I'd removed what I cared about, and I knew they'd need proof that Espo was invested. So, better a building than a person."

"You planned to lose the beach house," Beckett states, thinking out loud. "Everyone else was protected and… and the other buildings would've risked collateral damage," she realizes.

"Exactly. Can you imagine if the Haunt burned or the loft exploded? Both buildings have other residents who would at least lose their homes or livelihoods, if not their lives."

"I understand," Beckett acknowledges his point, which actually showed some canny forethought. "Still, losing the beach house, especially after moving out of the loft…"

"It hurt. I've got a lot of fond memories there," Castle admits quietly. "But you can't be dealt in if you don't pay the ante."

Beckett nods again, following his line of thought. Revealing Castle's retained ownership of the beach house probably credentialed Esposito in a way that passing along gossip couldn't match. It was expensive, but Castle's made it clear that he'll sacrifice his wealth to protect his family. Hell, maybe he was insured. His investigation into Ray Hudson's insurance fraud would've reminded him even if it hadn't been part of his initial plan.

"So, you knew they'd compromise someone, they'd raze your house, they'd try to stop you," Beckett summarizes. "And you were clever enough to map it all out and stay ahead of them. But you weren't clever enough to confide in me?"

"You know more than Espo ever could," Castle reacts, shaking his head. "You didn't know what he was doing because you didn't need to know."

"And what else do you have in the works that I don't need to know?" Beckett challenges, though she knows she's on shaky footing. After all, the letter explaining Espo's role mentioned it was 'one of' Castle's contingency plans.

Castle doesn't bite. Instead, he shakes his head again and takes a moment to relax lest he charge in and say something unfortunate. "Beckett, you know how this works. Contingency plans don't work if everyone knows about them. You know that better than I do. So, what's really bothering you – that I didn't tell you about a back-up plan that could've easily remained hidden? Or that the plan of a lowly writer seems to be working so far?"

"That's a horrible thing to say," Beckett replies immediately.

"It is," Castle agrees. "Though I think that's at least part of the issue."

Beckett ponders his explanation. Is that's what's got her on edge – that Castle's plan seems to be working? He's been elusive throughout his mission to protect his daughter. He's accurately predicted his quarry's actions and countered them in advance. He's brought in support and used it effectively. She should feel proud of his efforts – after all, he's mentioned how much he learned while at the precinct. So, shouldn't she feel like a proud mentor watching her protégé excel?

She shakes her head to clear it of the distractions. She is proud of Castle. But that's not really what this is about. Instead, she's back where she was when she first figured out what he was doing. It's frustrating, she realizes as she shakes her head again, since she thought she'd gotten over this.

"I don't like not being in control," she admits in a small voice, looking down.

"I know," he replies quietly, avoiding the easy laugh and instead engaging directly. "I know you don't. But you know what, Beckett?" he asks rhetorically before forging ahead with his answer. "I'd rather not be the one in charge. This is all about Alexis. Once she's safe, I hope to drift back into the background, assuming good ol' dad will let that happen. But you know I can't change anything before then."

"Not until she's safe," Beckett allows with a nod, wondering if Castle's plan to 'drift back' encompasses writing or the precinct but wary of taking the conversation in that direction right now. Instead, she turns back to the details of their operation.

"So," she prompts, signaling her change in topic. "Espo ingratiated himself to set this up?"

"Exactly," Castle agrees. "They let you leave the safe-house without trouble because you were traveling alone. But we were followed here. The communication device has their attention. We'll use it to lure the bad guys to our next stop. They'll surround us when we assume we're safe and hunker down."

"So this is it, right? The final step of the plan?" Beckett confirms, proving the prescience of her comment to Espo.

"If all goes well," Castle confirms.

"Then lead the way, partner," she encourages. Her simple comment conveys several messages – her desire to bring this operation to a close, her satisfaction at doing it with her partner, and her comfort with the rationale behind Espo's role. "It's time."

What a piece of junk, Beckett thinks as she surveys the rusted and reeking trawler to which Shipton shepherds Castle, Beckett, Samuelson, and the quiet half of the thieves from the New Amsterdam heist. Castle's dad and some of the fake doctors from the New Amsterdam are already in the advance position awaiting their arrival. If the plan works, the departure of this group – along with Castle's communication device – will signal to their adversaries that they're both regrouped and vulnerable. So long as the established defenses hold, those hoping to besiege them will instead be trapped.

It seems like a pretty risky plan, but Beckett admits her position here is fragile and that trying to muscle in on the tactical aspects might see the end of her continued inclusion. Instead, she hopes the skills demonstrated by Jackson's group thus far remain sharp. That, and she's resolute about staying by Castle. If this all goes south, she'll grab him by the scruff of the neck and haul him out of trouble.

Milling about the warehouse for a few hours to await dusk has left the group tense and irritable. All except Bracken – he's been collapsing in on himself since yesterday, the condemned man who realizes he has no options, no friends, and no hope. Beckett doesn't try to muster any sympathy.

Boarding the boat doesn't help, as it smells even worse than it looks. Remarkably, the stench doesn't abate as they cast off and head downriver on the Hudson (and Beckett's pretty sure it's not Bracken, who was unceremoniously thrust into the trunk cabin for the trip). She laughs to herself when she sees Castle scrunching his nose. He might be showing operational chops she never suspected, but it's good to see some of his fussier attributes still shining through.

"What are you smirking at?" he whispers after he steps away from the stern and takes a position next to her. "You realize it'll take a week to get this smell out of your hair."

"You're worried about my hair?" she teases in reply.

"I love your hair, always have," he confesses with a roguish smile. Casting her a look, he takes a few steps to come up behind her, standing close enough to feel without actually making contact. Slowly, he reaches out and grasps a curl and twists is around his finger while leaning close to her ear. Inhaling deeply, he brazenly nuzzles her ear before whispering into it. "Just imagine – we're all done here, safe and vindicated, nestled away in some absurdly large and luxurious hotel suite," he husks seductively, setting a wonderful scene. "And then, with a deep breath," he says as he inhales again, "we get eau de New Jersey. Not romantic."

"Guess we'll just need to start with a long session in the tub," she husks in return, surprising herself with how deep voice. "I'll need lots of attention and lots of shampoo. Perhaps you'd oblige?"

"I could be convinced," he replies, taking a quick moment to lift both hands to her head as he runs his fingers through her hair while massaging her scalp down to the base of her neck. It's a tantalizing preview of what could follow if all goes well.

"Do that for real and you could convince me of just about anything," Beckett hums, letting her head fall forward.

"That's what I did wrong while I was at the Precinct," he chuckles as he steps into her, obligingly moving close enough for Beckett to nudge him with her elbow. "Here I was wasting my time bringing you coffee when a few little head massages and we could've been chasing aliens, spies, and the spirits of long-dead conspiricists!"

"Probably," Beckett admits, hoping his massage skills live up to the hype, "though bringing me coffee is never a waste of time. But I think you did okay as it was. You got Russian gamblers, dominatrixes, psychics, counterfeiters, fake vampires, Egyptian curses, and a case full of soap opera suspects. With a lineup like that, just imagine what we might find if you come back!"

She'd meant the comment facetiously, but as soon as it slipped out she found herself tensing. With the seriousness of their current endeavors, she's not allowed herself to think about what might happen if – no, when – they successfully finish this case. Castle's situation with his father is precarious and the last thing she wants to do is spook him away from thinking about what might happen for them in the future.

Castle's hands first clasp and then rub her upper arms, silently urging her to relax. "I do imagine what might happen then, Kate," he confesses in a low tone. "I'm not sure how this will all work out, but I've started to think about what opportunities we might have if things go well. Maybe I should resent that you've diverted my focus, but having an incentive survive what's coming is a powerful thing."

"Hey, lovebirds!" Shipton calls out from the stern, interrupting their moment. "Now that the sun's set, it's time to do some work, yeah?"

Beckett turns, and with a vexed look reaches up to rub Castle's cheek before nodding, kissing his other cheek, and shuffling toward the rear of the craft.

With Samuelson looking on, Shipton's opening a large locker that serves as the stern transom of the boat. She directs Castle to help her extract the contents, a mound of black rubber. Flipping up a hatch reveals a long hose that attaches to a valve in the rubber. As the raft starts to inflate, Shipton points to another locker from which an electric outboard motor and battery and lines are extracted.

Fifteen minutes later, a small raft bobs quietly beside the trawler. Getting it ready and in launched without stopping was a bit of a pain, but they didn't want anyone tracking Castel's communication device to notice a pause. So, instead, they kept pace and wrestled with the raft, nearly losing Shipton and then Castle over the side before they managed to complete the process.

"In you go," Shipton announces, finally. "We're coming up on your stop."

Since Samuelson's an attorney, Beckett expected him to depart. She's surprised, though, when Shipton points to her and Castle, too. She's about to ask what's going on when Castle shuffles towards the raft, nodding his head to get Beckett to fall into line. Samuelson brings up the rear, jumping onto the raft with a surprisingly nimble hop.

"Castle?" Beckett asks while her partner takes his place in the back of the raft.

"Sorry, Beckett, I'm driving," he says with a fake smile. A quick glance up at Shipton, who's waiting to cast off their line, causes Beckett to hold any questions until they're away. It doesn't take long before they're cut loose from the trawler and Castle starts the motor. Neither the low electric thrum nor the lapping of the waves against the raft are loud enough to cause Beckett to raise her voice.

"What's our next stop?" she finally asks, nervous about splitting from the group when she understood the next section of the plan had everyone converging at the fallback position.

"There," Castle points toward the front of the raft, where a warehouse complex is coming into view. "There's a van waiting for us after we ditch the raft." It's not what he says but what he does that catches Beckett's attention. While speaking, the hand that was on the throttle lifted slightly and signaled her to remain easy. His quick nod to Samuelson makes it clear that Castle doesn't want a full discussion in front of an audience.

Beckett takes the next ten minutes to rest and try to relax. She slides to the bottom of the raft, letting the motion of the water, the sound of the waves, and the presence of her partner lull her into a restful state. When the whirr of the motor slows, she pops up to see them pulling aside a dock made for much taller ships, though a ladder extends downward. Samuelson in perched at the front of the raft, reaching out to catch the nearest rung as the boat glides in.

Samuelson finally snags the ladder and pulls himself up. After climbing a few rungs, he turns to offer a hand to Beckett, who instead turns to Castle, who's already eyeing the river and looking anxious to depart.

"Castle?" Beckett asks, wondering about what's happening.

"You can get out if you want, Kate," he says, recalling his attention to her. "It might be safest if you did. But I'm not going to sit this round out."

"Imagine that," Beckett huffs in reply. "Rick Castle ignoring directions. Guess I'd better keep an eye on you," she teases, though her serious look belies her appreciation of the risks they face.

"You're not coming?" Samuelson says while clinging to the ladder and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"We've got a different stop," Castle explains tersely. "Good luck."

Samuelson nods before starting the long process of climbing the ladder. Castle, meanwhile, turns back to Beckett while maneuvering the raft to point back towards the heart of the river.

"Following another crazy theory, partner?" Beckett asks, shaking her head slightly as she braces for the wild ride.

Casting her a sly smile, Castle opens up the throttle. "There's no way my dad expected me to sit out at the end of the op. I've come too far and have too much at stake to even think about it."

"You think he did this on purpose, gave you an order he knew you'd refuse?"

"Yeah," Castle replies, eyes scanning the river as the raft slaps along. "He either wants to sow a little chaos by having us enter as free agents or he wanted to test Talbot and his crew."

"What do you mean, 'test'?" Beckett asks warily.

"Whoever we're after is well-connected and well-funded. That's a good combination for winning the loyalty of opponents, especially opponents whose loyalty had been secured by excusing them from a prison sentence. I suspect dad's counting on us to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"Let's see – we've got government agents of some kind, thieves of dubious loyalty, a homicidal senator, a shadowy adversary, and our master tactician got caught naked on a horse. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Good point," Castle replies with a smile while reaching into his jacket and extracting a burner phone that he tosses to Beckett. "Call speed dial number one. Let's invite a sour, ex-Special Forces sniper double agent to the party and see what happens."

A/N: Apologies for the slow update on this story. We're nearing the end, and I'll try to be better about updating frequency. As some of you know, I'm still battling some health issues that arose in the summer. They are slowing me down enough that I might need to consider taking some time off work to get right. I'm hoping to avoid that possibility, but we'll see.

Clearly, my story for the Halloween fest isn't happening this year. I've got a bit of it written and still like the idea, so I'll just pursue it on my own schedule. But not until this story's complete!