Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long to publish!

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle, as if you didn't see that one coming...

Chapter Four

Two hours and 52 'this line is busy' calls later, it appeared to Castle that Sarah Bench was ridiculously addicted to her cellphone. To his slight surprise, Kate Beckett still sat in the weathered fake leather chair positioned next to his desk. Granted, she had substituted his excellent, if a little pre-occupied company for an app on her shiny white phone, but she'd stayed. With the resigned boredom of someone who was watching grass grow, or perhaps paint dry, Castle typed Sarah Bench's cellphone number onto the keypad on his desk, yet again.

"Hello?" Her tones were scratchy and blurred; whether this was at the fault of her telecommunications provider or a naturally highly unattractive voice wasn't entirely apparent. Due to his shock at actually receiving an answer after far too long, Castle hesitated momentarily, and Sarah seized the moment to continue impatiently. "Uh, hello?"

"Hello, this is Detective Richard Castle with the NYPD. Am I speaking with Sarah Bench?"

"Um, yeah. What's the NYPD?"

One of those sorts, Castle thought to himself. Sarah's boisterously loud voice was echoing throughout the Precinct, and when he glanced over at Kate, she was attempting, with some degree of success, to refrain from laughing. "The New York Police Department."

"Oh. What you do want?"

"Ms. Bench, a murder occurred in your apartment yesterday. Since it is still a crime scene, you cannot return to it, however we can arrange alternative accommodation for you if necessary."

"Someone got killed in my apartment?" She screeched, with the horrible high-pitched cry of a cat that decided to face-off a dog and came out second best. It wasn't pretty.

"Unfortunately so," Castle replied, however the exasperation in his tone was lost on the hysterical Sarah Bench. "The man killed was Marcus Albicca. Have you ever had any involvement in anything with him?"

His simple question was greeted by loud silence. "Ms. Bench?"

"Um, maybe."

"What do you mean 'maybe?"

"I don't remember all the names…" she trailed off awkwardly.

And then it clicked. "Ms. Bench, I only want to know if you knew Marcus Albicca. Not… the exact nature of your relationship…"

"Oh, um, I don't think so. What does he look like?" Her voice sounded uneven, like a child being chided by a parent, and Castle felt himself instinctively suspicious of her.

"Could you please come into the 12th Precinct tomorrow morning? That way we can talk better. Also, do you need accommodation until your apartment is cleaned?" As soon as the last sentence stumbled out of his mouth, he regretted it. Somehow, he highly doubted that Sarah Bench wouldn't find highly appreciative 'company' for a night or so.

"I'll find somewhere to stay. Bye." And abruptly Castle was left with only the dull repetition of beeping bleeding into his ear.

Meanwhile, an amused Kate was hiding behind a sarcastic smile. "You really attract all the charming women, don't you Detective?"

Castle winked. "Oh, only you."


At the end of Castle's day, thick drowsiness hung low over the city that never sleeps. The ambient light of the streetlights were dim against the deep charcoal embrace of the night sky, but the quiet brightness was tranquil; comforting.

He chose to walk home that day; true, New York wasn't exactly the safest place in which to walk around in the very late hours of the evening, but unlike a fair chunk of the population, Richard Castle was a cop with a gun. And so, with safety fastened securely to his hip, he allowed himself to think completely free of all boundaries; of work; of other people; of caffeine deficiency.

All his thoughts emanated from the point of interest that was Kate Beckett. Rick didn't understand her, and to be perfectly frank, that scared him. Her dark eyes, lit by teasing wit, were irresistible; tantalizing to him, and kept him constantly on edge. He was unable to refrain himself from taking in her slender curves as she walked before him, but he rationalized that there was no way he was the only one looking at her like 'that.' The woman was stunning.

But it was more than that. She was clever. Her quickness was entrancing, and it made her all the more extraordinary. That was it - she was extraordinary.

And he knew that she had a way with words as well. Sure, the forever-increasing list of bestsellers said a lot about that, but the craft with which she wrote; the way in which every phrase had been gently caressed into meaning everything but gave away very little gave her the mark of a true authoress. Castle admired that about her more than anything.

A nagging tremor in his head; the persistent voice of cop-rules reminded him not to trust her too soon. Yes, she had an alibi, and an airtight one at that, but it still begged the question of why her novel turned up in the very middle of a crime scene. Intuitively Castle knew that her cunning was entirely capable of deceiving him, and that she was probably a hell of a lot more dangerous; more potent than she seemed. It was written in the depths of her eyes.

But she was so very true. It was inexplicable; completely irrational, but the air emanating from her very presence was laced with pure honesty, like a musky perfume. She had to be innocent. He needed her to be innocent.

"I really can't tell you why someone would leave a page from a book of mine next to the body they just dumped."

The brittle air whispered her words with equal softness to her voice itself. As she echoed into the darkness, Castle could only reflect that her words rung true.

"The body they just dumped."

And then something inside him clicked.