Okay, so I have some explaining to do and some apologies to make. I've been busy and awful, and I'm sorry that I've neglected updating for the last two weeks. Week one, I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and then last week, my beta was on vacation. But she's back now and kicking my butt, and I'm just really sorry. Thanks to all who reviewed and to Suzanne for pressuring me when I needed it. You all are too good to me, and did I mention I'm sorry? Anyways...

She knows Espo's phone number by heart, presses the burner phone to her ear and listens to it ring.

"Hello?"

"Esposito," Kate breathes. "It's me. I know this is probably a bad time, but I have a favor to ask."

He pauses. "Beckett, where the hell are you? The captain sent a protective detail over to your apartment, but you weren't there."

"It's a long story. One that I can't tell you now. Not yet." Not ever. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Listen, I want to help you. I really do, but Ryan and I have a guy in the box right now. Name's Chad Rodrick. We found anti-anxiety meds in Lockwood's apartment and were able to trace them back to him."

"That's great, Espo. I'm sorry that I can't be there to help," she says sourly. "Captain Montgomery was insistent that I keep out of the investigation. When you're done though, could you look into something for me?"

"Didn't you just say Montgomery didn't want you investigating?"

Kate groans because surely he knows her well enough by now. "Are you in, or are you out?"

"Come on, Beckett. I'm just messing with you. What did you find?" She hears him cover the mouthpiece of his phone to yell something at Ryan. "Quickly because I actually do have a suspect to interrogate."

"Well, I was looking through my mother's old case files. I don't know how I didn't see it before, but we found a roll of film with four missing exposures. They were pictures of the alley where they found my mother, and Javi, she'd taken them before she was murdered." When that information doesn't get an immediate response, she begins to worry. "Javi?"

"Who's we?"

Her heart thuds to a stop. Oh. Oh, shit. Shit, she did say we, didn't she? "Slip of the tongue."

"Beckett," he growls.

"It's fine. It's nothing."

"It's definitely not nothing. Listen, I'm your partner. You don't have to hide from me. Ryan and I, we have your back, you know that. No matter what."

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing. That alley, I need you to look into everything that's happened there in the last nineteen years," she rushes. "Especially anything regarding John Raglan or Vulcan Simmons. Got that?"

He sighs. "Beckett, just don't get yourself into trouble."

"Might be too late for that, Javi." She chuckles weakly. "Don't worry, I can take care of myself. And thank you. I'll call back in an hour."

Richard Castle stands over the stove, waiting for the kettle to boil. His hair, still damp from the shower, curls up in odd places, and he reaches to tame it. Not because there's a gorgeous detective sitting in the adjoining room. Not because he cares what she thinks. Nope.

Speaking of, his eyes move to Kate Beckett, sitting cross-legged on the dusty couch and staring at the cellphone in her hand.

"Well?" he asks, drawing her out of her thoughts. "What did he say?"

"They looked in the records room," she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. "Turns out there was another incident at that address nineteen years ago. A murder."

"Connected?"

"Bob Armen, an FBI agent undercover in the mafia at the time. The NYPD charged Joe Pulgatti, a mob enforcer, with the murder. But guess who was the arresting officer."

"John Raglan." She nods in confirmation, and he gapes. Well, I'll be damned. "Did your mother ever mention Pulgatti or Armen? Was she working a case involving either of those names?"

"No," says Beckett. "And I don't know. Maybe. There's got to be a connection somewhere."

The kettle begins to hiss, and Castle takes it off the heat, pouring the hot water into two matching mugs. He stirs two spoonfuls of powder into each and then carries the cups into the living room.

"Instant. Hope that's all right."

She inspects the ceramic mug in his hand before accepting it with a hesitant, "Okay."

He watches her blow at the steam floating on top of the liquid, as she raises it to her lips and takes a slow sip. In the back of his mind, he wishes that he could offer her more than this. More than just a cheap cup of coffee. More than just his promises of vengeance. He just needs to think.

A connection stretching seven years between Bob Armen and Johanna Beckett's murders, Joe Raglan weaving the invisible thread. And Pulgatti, how does he fit in? "Does it say where Pulgatti was sentenced?"

"Why?"

"His name sounds familiar. And I might know a guy who can find out some more information. Give me the phone."

She hands it over, and he walks to his desk, opening up a leather-bound address book to 'S' and scrolling the page with his finger. Yes, this should do. He dials.

"Hey, Sal. How's it going?"

"Richard Castle. Aren't you a sound for sore ears. I saw that you were back in town. Was wondering if you'd call. We should catch up. I have some work for you if you want it."

"This call is strictly business. I have a question about a man named Joe Pulgatti. Heard of him?"

Sal's a real chatterbox, but as it turns out, he actually has some valuable information to offer.

"You don't say? Well, thanks. Let's just say we're even now. Yeah, yeah. Goodbye."

"Who the hell was that?" the detective probes as soon as he ends the call.

"Just a friend," he tells her, but he can tell from her flared nostrils that his vague answer isn't going to suffice. "His name is Sal. He has ties with the mafia. That's all I can give you, Beckett. You're just going to have to deal with it."

"So the Copycat Vigilante rubs elbows with mobsters. Tell me, Castle, do you know what the mafia does?"

"I know what you're thinking, but not Sal. Besides, it's not the number of deaths you may or may not be responsible for. It's who you kill. It's why. It's the story that matters."

She drags a hand over her eyes. "That's some twisted logic. Even for a serial killer."

"Vigilante," he grunts. "Do you want to know what I know or not?"

"By all means," Beckett says with a wave of her hand. "Continue."

Her sass digs at the thin layer of his patience, but also makes him giddy. "Thank you. So, according to my guy, Pulgatti claims he's innocent."

"Of course he does, but he plead guilty."

"He was scared? And the only witness, but get this. He claimed that it wasn't a hit. It was a kidnapping that went sideways."

She's skeptical. "How would your guy even know all of this?"

"Do you know what the mafia does?" he uses her own words to mock, voice high-pitched and whiny.

"I do not sound like that."

"Oh, yes you do. Castle, I need your help. Castle, why are you such a psychopath?"

"Like you're any better." And then Kate gives it right back to him. "But I don't want to get in the closet."

"Okay, fine," he says, definitely not pouting. "Sal is the biggest gossipmonger around, and the rest of his crew is no better. Word gets around. Satisfied?"

"Not yet. What about the kidnapping?"

"Three guys in ski masks tried to pick up Pulgatti in a blind alley. Bob Armen got in the way. Gun went off. Pulgatti gets framed."

She shakes her head. "I'm not buying it. Who was this, a rival gang?"

"Apparently, at the time, there was a group of guys who picked up mobsters for hire. But if the only people there were Pulgatti, Armen, and the men in the van…"

"Then how would Raglan have known Pulgatti was there? Unless-"

"That's right," Castle finishes. "Unless Raglan was one of the kidnappers."

Another short chapter, kind of a filler, but the good stuff is coming. I promise. Thanks for reading! Leave your comments down below.