Close Encounters 27
Kate wondered if Colin was watching her right now. Probably. She was a little pathetic. She was curled up in the chair with her eyes closed and her phone to her ear, listening to Esposito.
She could barely lift her head from the arm. Whatever recovery she had made within the last few weeks seemed paltry, seemed weak stuff when tested by real life events. She'd done the training and the rehab, she had done the work and been good and taken rest when she was supposed to, but it felt like she'd done nothing right at all.
This was bad. She was so exhausted and Castle would need to go in to the Office for sure. Or out in the field. That was worse; she really hated the idea of them splitting up right now.
But it wasn't like they could leave Colin Hunt alone with their son. She trusted him only to a point.
And well, there were very few people she would entrust her son to. That was just life, not paranoia.
"Kate?"
She jerked her eyes open and saw Castle standing over her with James in his arms. Her phone was in her lap, the living room was quiet, and Colin Hunt was asleep draped over the far end of the couch.
And apparently she had fallen asleep as well. "I'm awake," she husked.
"Barely," her husband sighed. But he leaned over and dropped James in her lap. "I gotta go in, Kate. I'll call your dad to come."
"No, we're fine," she roused, arms circling her son. James was chewing on the corner of a plastic board book and he wriggled back into her, cuddling at her side.
"Kate-"
"We are," she insisted. She was awake. "I'm tired, but we're gonna keep it low-key." Castle was frowning at her and she tried to mentally step back, assess her condition rationally.
"Mitch's team will be just outside, right?" She was trying to think. "And James - I won't let anything happen to him, Rick. If I thought he'd get hurt because I-"
"No," Castle said sharply, sinking down to crouch beside her chair. His hand came over James's foot and kept him from kicking. "That's not what I'm concerned with. You, Kate. You need to rest."
She let out a breath and nodded, glad that at least he trusted her with their son. At least- "You know that I won't get any rest. Not with Jolin out there, searching for me. No matter how many people are here."
"I'm - on that," he said. A grim set to his mouth. "I'm - that's where I'm headed actually."
"Headed where?" she said, faint unease stirring in her guts. "Where are you going? Into the Office, right?"
"No. No, there's a hotel-"
"No," she hissed. "No. Castle. You cannot go after her-"
"I'm not going after her," he said. His voice was so steady. "It's long-distance surveillance only. Someone like her - she has to know she's going to be watched. NSA has already been apprised of her location in the city. It's a Joint Task Force; I'm liaison. There will be no action."
"JTF? Those have a way of going horribly wrong," she muttered. "Castle, I don't want you anywhere near her. I don't want any of us near her. I don't want us in the same damn city as anyone from the Collective."
"We need data before we make any decisions," he sighed. "Kate. I'd rather have you with me on this, but I'll be one of many suits out there. She doesn't know my face - she knows yours. And that scares the shit out of me."
Diane Jolin knew her face. Knew her. Knew she was the shooter of record for the body she was trying to dig up, knew her police department history, and with that knowledge came the magazine and newspaper articles, the media coverage - the shooting of William Bracken - and the cover story put out by the CIA for her.
"Oh, God," she whispered, staring up at Castle. "She does know you. She knows that an undercover NYPD detective was under house arrest - joined by her husband, an accountant, at their residence - where my father lives. Castle-"
"She knows the face of an accountant," he said quickly. "And per your request, I never shaved after Paris. The scruff will hide the shape of my face; it puts shadows up where there wouldn't be. Plus the glasses - and really, Kate-"
"You're not fucking Clark Kent," she groaned. "Castle. God. Don't-"
"I have to do this. I have to know what she is doing, where she's going, who she talks to. We have to stay on top of this, Kate. Because it is certain that she knows you, knows your face and your name and your damn credit cards. You're a public figure. And while officially it looks like we still reside in DC, she obviously knows better."
"I'm - putting everyone at risk," she husked. Kate glanced down at her son, still really a baby, only nine months old, chewing on a board book as he cut teeth. Defenseless. "I've brought her here."
"No, Kate. I brought her here. I fucking shot out her kneecaps. Let me make amends, love. At least let me - try to put this to right again."
Kate reached out and gripped the collar of his dress shirt - another man in a suit - and he tilted forward into her knees, his hands bracketing James in her lap. She hunched over and kissed her accountant hard, fierce, her husband who was in danger from the Collective but wanted to go straight into the lions' den anyway. For her.
"I love you," she rasped. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything I wouldn't let you do."
"I love you too," he murmured. "Call Mitchell if you're falling asleep, babe. Promise me."
"I would never hurt him," she whispered.
"Not for James," he answered, cupping her jaw and stroking. "Oh, Kate, not for James. For you. Because you died, love. You died again and again in Paris, and I just got you back."
Kate sucked in a hard breath, tightened her arm around his neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
Castle laughed, choked though it was. "I know. Just be as good to yourself as I would be. And I'll not do anything you wouldn't let me."
She smiled against his neck. "Deal."
"Be brave," he murmured, and he rose to his feet.
When she looked, there were notifications on her phone that she had missed when she'd fallen asleep. Mitchell had briefed the CIA/NSA Task Force about Jolin's behavior out of Paris - checking out of American Hospital AMA, shaking loose her medical team, acquiring five men who looked to be personal security, flying to the States to immediately dig through records.
And a cemetery.
Esposito had messaged her that he was offended she'd fallen asleep in the middle of his very important phone call - which explained why Castle had come downstairs to find her - and that Jolin's team had made the discovery of the empty box. Jolin herself had not shown her face, and internally, she and Castle and their people who knew, they weren't entirely certain that the bodyguards were Collective at all.
There was now some dispute over whether or not this was a Collective move. Unsanctioned was the word being tossed around.
Hunt had woken up and was playing a game with James - hiding a toy truck behind his back until the baby grunted and went to find it. James wasn't giggling with him or anything, but it was better than it had been. Kate was on the laptop, keeping updated, running search strings, contacting Mitch when Castle didn't immediately get back to her. She had to - just to stay awake, keep with it. She was not falling asleep.
This was her job. Ever since Castle had fallen through a lake and suffered a near-fatal bout with pneumonia, Beckett had taken over every aspect of the regimen. He was her husband, he was everything that was good in her life, the redeeming nature of their love made any of this possible, so of course she was going to know every single last scrap of information about that damn program.
She had the tendency to panic if she thought about losing him. God, just remembering that day, listening to his chest sucking at air, his lungs collapsing, feeling him leave her - she couldn't do that again. She fucking could not do that.
She'd brought the Collective to their city; Jolin to their doorstep. She had to be better than this but she wasn't. It was true - she had only begun rebuilding. A training session still had her flat out; Castle had demoted her to fucking half-days. This wasn't a fucking joke; she had to be better than this.
They needed her to be better.
But she wasn't.
"You look like you're gonna do something stupid over there," Hunt said into her silence.
Beckett lifted her head, stared at him a moment before her thoughts reorganized. "I'm just monitoring. Collating data."
"You look exhausted." He was offering James the toy truck, then taking it away again before the boy could touch it.
She hated that game; she despised withholding for no good reason. "Well, thanks," she snarked, "you do too."
"I got stabbed. What's your excuse?"
"I died," she muttered, shifting in the chair.
Hunt's fingers released the truck and it clattered to the floor. James stared up at Colin. He scraped a hand over his face. "I know. I was there. I was riding in the back of the ambulance with you when you flat-lined." James went crawling after the truck, but when he got it, he brought it to her instead, as if for safe-keeping.
Kate put the laptop on the end table and dragged her son up into the chair with her. "What do you want me to say, Colin? Thank you? Thank you for saving my life."
"You already said thank you. I want you to not - not do whatever stupid thing is running through your head."
"Oh, if Castle could see you now," she sighed. James handed her the truck with a shy smile, ducked his head back against her chest when she took it. "Nothing stupid is running through my head."
Running. Running. She could lead Jolin away from her family, her husband and son who actually were the program. She had brought the Collective here, let them follow her away again. Like that time in the embassy, when she and Hunt had been a decoy incursion to mask the sounds of Castle's more subtle approach. They could be a decoy now.
"When you're feeling up to it," she said slowly, "you should go back to London. As soon as possible actually. Get you out of this."
"Worried for me? Don't be. I'm not interested in getting caught up in family drama."
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't - on some level - want it," she said. James reached for the truck and - unlike Hunt - she gave it right back to him. James clasped it to his chest, but he didn't giggle for her either. There seemed no lasting joy in getting it so easily, but then again, there was no frustration.
Hunt grunted. "Bloody hell, maybe I do want it. But you don't need to be worried about shipping me off when you've got bigger problems. All right?"
"They know who you are, remember? The security agent that night at the embassy arrested you. The Hulk. He put your information into their computer system - and I bet that's how they knew you were following them here. You shouldn't be in New York either." She had used Hunt as her decoy inside the embassy party. She had gotten Hunt arrested to cover up her husband's trail inside those secure-clearance back-rooms.
Maybe she could do that again.
"Don't stick me on a plane until the bleeding stops, would ya?"
"You're stitched up," she shrugged. "If you need a flying buddy, Colin, then that can be arranged." When the time came - and it would come, she had no doubt - she could be that buddy.
She could be the decoy. Drag Hunt's ass back to London where he belonged - and take Jolin and her hound dogs with her.
She had to keep the Collective away from her family. She had to fix this.
James mewled in her lap and pitched the truck over his head; it hurtled through the air and smacked into the far wall, making everyone jump.
Her heart was pounding strangely; her pulse too fast. James turned in her arms, gripping her shirt with both fists, and buried his head against her chest.
She wrapped him in her arms even as Colin stared at the kid. "Scared me too, little wolf," she whispered, touching her lips to the top of his head. "It's okay. But we don't throw things. Might get someone hurt."
He didn't seem consoled.
Castle hesitated at the back of the van, rapped his knuckles once on the door. It popped open for him and he crawled inside, sinking down into an offered chair. He shook the hand of the man behind the headphones, and he got a nod in return.
The NSA's surveillance team was comprised of two men - that was all. One manning the video, one at the audio board, and now Castle sitting between them. The video man gestured to the monitors set up before them.
"You're looking at every entrance and exit into this fleabag motel. Plus we got a man on the same floor, two doors down - closest we could get. He sent a snake through the crawl space above their heads, and we got eyes here."
He tapped the monitor and Castle leaned in with interest, watching the video play. It was a poor angle, but he assumed the cable had gone through the ceiling's light fixture, perhaps even a dismantled, not-up-to-code sprinkler system. The right half of the video was obscured by a strip of dingy white metal, but the left half depicted a bed, gold shag carpet, and a narrow table by a window.
A woman sat on what had to be the edge of the bed, her legs in view.
"View of the window is where?" Castle asked. Her legs were in view. Female legs, for sure, no other occupant.
"This is the window from directly across the street," the man said, tapping the third monitor over.
Sure enough, a person - the round of her head, nothing else. Castle shifted his gaze to the other monitors, checking the exits. One in the back, clouds of steam from the next-door laundry obscuring the alley every now and then. Not good. The front door was a narrow, heavy security door that seemed to catch some people off-guard with its heft. Might be good, might go against them. Jolin - or her security - had chosen very well.
There was an alley, the street they were on, a side street that was only one way where the window looked over. A fire escape that went straight down to the one-way street. The roof was a garbled mess of HVAC units and whirring vents, but the NSA guys had done their job - the camera up there actually panned left and right at the keyboard's command.
"Okay," Castle said slowly, his eyes coming back to the woman sitting on the bed. "And her bodyguards? The security team?"
"All accounted for. Two at the cemetery where they attempted an exhumation and got an empty casket, apparently - you know something about that?"
"Might."
The audio guy gave a grunt, flickering look, and Castle realized there'd been a bet on it.
"All right. The other three - one is in the lobby as lookout - two are out digging through military records at the Research Room at State Archives."
"Huh," Castle muttered, watching the monitors. State Archives would be anything before the Gulf War. He could be wrong about that, but the thought that Jolin was digging through state archives for military excursions made him nervous. His father's whole program had been, for decades, confined within the grasp of the military - and its proficient paperwork. Hell, even he and Kate had found stored documents in the Congo.
"What's the plan, Agent Castle?"
"We sit on her," he said calmly. "Observation only, gentleman."
"Really?" the audio man scoffed. "You?"
"What does that mean?" Castle growled, swiveling his head to the guy.
The video man sat forward, pushing towards them. "Hey, look, he didn't mean anything by that."
"Sure he did," Castle said easily.
"I just meant - that's not usually your style. Someone comes after you, we all know what you do. Especially that wife of yours."
Castle turned a dead look on the audio operator; the guy went pale and swallowed hard, ducking his head.
"No - no offense, man. Agent Castle. Sir."
Castle sat back in his chair, offered them nothing. Neither of them.
His wife wasn't any of their damn business.
Castle answered his phone on the first buzz in his pocket. "Mitchell. What have you got?"
"I'm parked about... a block down from you. Piggy-backed your wireless network with my man Walker here and we're in."
"You're in where?"
"Her email."
"The fuck you say."
"Uh-huh, I say. Walker is the bomb."
"Do not use that phrase ever again, Mitchell."
A chuckle on the other end of the line. "She's using a secure network, but it's the same king of trojan horse shit that you had Ryan doing when we were trying to get Beckett freed. So, anyway, we're in, and Walker's looking through her laptop. She must be using it."
Castle growled. "She is. I can see it on the monitor."
"So long as she's up and using her email, we can move through the meta-data."
"Well, fuck," he whispered. The NSA agents were giving him looks but he wasn't sharing this shit. "Keep me updated."
"Aye-aye, sir."
Castle hung up on Mitch and tapped his phone against his chin. It was late, nearly seven, and he'd been sitting here on his ass watching a woman barely move an inch, like she was so severely injured it had been a miracle she'd even gotten this far.
Or.
It was the or that'd had him here so long.
But he had other things he had to get accomplished tonight - like putting into motion a back-up plan to save his family.
Castle brought his phone down and texted Esposito.
When the knock came to the door, Castle was the first one up to open the back of the van. Esposito gave the scene a once-over and then he took Castle's out-stretched hand and allowed himself to be hauled up.
"Oh, hell," the audio man muttered.
Apparently Espo's reputation proceeded him as well.
Castle smiled grimly at Beckett's brother - of a sort - and nodded to the now-empty folding chair. "There's your spot. They'll show you the set-up. You text me the second she moves, and you send a clip of the video."
"What video?" Esposito gruffed. The man had gotten bigger in the last year - broader, more muscular. He'd gotten back together with Lanie, from what Castle had heard, but he was weight-lifting like a beast. He hoped the asshole wasn't doing steroids.
Or the regimen. Holy fuck. He was gonna have to get Beckett to talk to Esposito, just in case. There was always the chance. Would Espo listen to Black if the man had tried to approach him? Holy shit.
Castle pointed to the monitor. "Video of La Lune the moment she moves."
"All right, all right," Espo said. "I got it."
"They'll bring you up to speed," he said, hopping off the back bumper and to the ground once more. He shut the doors on the men and shifted on his feet, glancing down the street.
Time to get ahead of this thing.
Castle hunted through the listings until he found what he was looking for, and then he headed off down the platform towards the escalator. He took the steps two at a time and hurried up into the dark night, his ears attuned to the least sound, eyes roving.
He had an hour before he needed to be home - in time for bath, though he wanted to make dinnertime.
Might not happen if his contact didn't show.
The night was muggy, end of July sitting heavy on the city, the security lamps casting a dull light to the sidewalk. Spanish Harlem was eclectic and beautiful in the daylight, but rather haunting past sunset, buildings like garish ghosts.
The street was littered with confetti, like there'd been a parade this morning, and the passing of cars all afternoon had worn down the colors into wrinkled, limp scraps. Castle crossed at the corner and came up on his old apartment building - from the back, as per his usual entry.
Once inside, it didn't take long to mount the empty stairwell and find his sole apartment. Still furnished like it'd been nearly four years ago, when he'd appropriated it from John Black. The cameras and surveillance equipment had been gutted out - Castle had done that himself - and the plaster had never been repaired again.
He knew the CIA still maintained the residence as a safe house; it was why he'd asked his contact here.
When Castle opened the door, the man was already inside.
"Papi," he greeted Castle warmly, rising from his spot in the lone chair. Castle came forward and embraced the older guy, a native of the neighborhood who had been Castle's caretaker for the place when he was gone. A mixture of heritage, Alfonso had a faintly exotic look about the eyes and mouth that gave him a distinct advantage in the industry.
"Not your Papi," Castle warned him, shaking his head.
"Yeah, but you somebody's," Alfonso said.
Castle went still. "This isn't common knowledge," he said carefully.
"No, man, not common knowledge. But I know your documents guy, and I heard it in your voice when you called."
"That can be heard in a person's voice?"
"You sound - concerned," Alfonso shrugged.
"And what do I normally sound like?"
"Man, before? Before you always sounded steady. Like a rock. Unflinching, sure, but cold as ice. Nothing got to you. This? This got to you."
"Give me the damn package already," Castle growled, ignoring Alfonso's assessment. He didn't need a fucking psych eval from the local bodega-owner turned CIA snitch.
"Here you go, Ricardo, all there." Alfonso shrugged as he handed over the carrier bag, but Castle didn't do him the disservice of opening it. He knew he'd find the weapons he'd asked for, plus the extra documents from their mutual friend.
"I need you to keep an eye on this place," Castle said finally. He was Richard Rodgers to the world, not Rick Castle the CIA agent, but anything was possible. "Might be a woman who comes looking."
"Por que?"
"Because of me," Castle put it simply. "I got something they want."
"Anything to do with your own papi?"
"Something like that," he muttered, turning for the door. "Let's just say that bastard has fucked over a lot of people. At some point in time, they all come looking."
Alfonso would stay here, as was their usual procedure for a face-to-face like this. But instead of sitting back down to wait, Alfonso came after him, snagged him at the door. "You might want to get in touch with him."
Castle froze. "Fucking hell," he scraped out.
Alfonso shook his head, lifted both hands. "Gotta do what you gotta do."
"Fucking hell, Alfonso, tell me you didn't."
"Just pieces."
He could strangle the man. He could drop him right here, no muss, no fuss, no one would ever look too closely at the shooting death of a man in Spanish Harlem. Spread a little coke dust on the floor, over Alfonso's hands, and that's all it would be - and one conduit leading back to his father would be permanently closed.
Problem was - one of many conduits. Where one closed, another would spring up, and at least this was one Castle knew. Alfonso had, by saying something, given Castle a kind of gift. It was a matter of trust, but he had killed men for less, and for more.
Bigger problem was going home to his son knowing he'd killed a man who had trusted him.
Fuck.
"You tell him the names on the papers?" he husked.
"Naw, man. I don't roll on you. I just inform a little, here and there. Enough to keep that bastard off my back."
Castle swallowed. He couldn't be a hundred percent trusting here, not any more. Not when it came to his father. He'd have to change the names by hand - if he could. It'd been ten years or more since he'd forged documents alone.
"Shit, Alfonso, you have made my life only harder - not easier. Consider my debt paid," he said wearily, withdrawing the money from his back pocket and peeling of the one hundreds in front of him.
He shorted Alfonso a thousand and he knew the man had seen it.
Once, twenty years ago, he and Alfonso had been staring down the barrel of an AK-47 in this very neighborhood, together, side by side like brothers - or at least uncle and nephew, given the age difference. The slick drug enforcer with the gun had said you can either make my life easier, or you can make it harder.
They'd chosen harder - gotten a beating for it until Castle could wrestle free and overpower the fucker.
Alfonso would understand the meaning, know that Castle couldn't be betrayed again. Not for money, not for the fucking loyalty his father demanded at an exorbitant cost. Bullying tactics. Castle wasn't going to be that kind of man, but he wasn't above letting Alfonso believe he still could be - new father himself or no.
Alfonso was silent as Castle walked out the door, his bag weighted with the heavy armament he'd procured.
Time to dig in.
He was not calling his father.
"Whoa, you okay?"
"You shouldn't be standing up," Kate snapped, jerking her arm away from Hunt's grip.
"And maybe you shouldn't either," Hunt said, but he released her arm.
"Just - go somewhere, Colin, before you pull out your stitches."
He narrowed his eyes at her but retreated only as far as the kitchen table, sinking down into a chair.
She ignored him, bending over and scrounging another pot from the cabinet. They'd been put away completely disorganized, which wasn't like Castle at all (he was the one who did the dishes, the laundry, even the damn vacuuming; what the hell did she ever do?) but she found what she was looking for.
Kate settled the pan on the stove with far less clatter than she wanted and turned for the fridge. At the noise, James came running from the dining room where she'd put up the baby gate to pen him in. He lifted his hands to her and she bent down and picked him up.
He immediately wormed down against her chest, laying his cheek to the top of her shoulder. She nuzzled her nose into the crease of his neck and blew him a kiss, made pleasantly happy by his love.
"JP, what's made you so squishy?" she murmured. "You're such a cuddler today."
"Mama."
"And I love it, but I've got to make dinner. Or start something that Daddy can finish. Be cool, Jay, and hang out for me."
James gave a little sigh and lifted his head, leaned out of her arms to be let down. She set his feet on the floor but she found herself swaying again, faintly horrified by her exhaustion. James turned sharply and clung to her jeans, face upturned, as if he'd changed his mind.
She put a hand to the counter to steady herself, nudged him with her knee. "Move along, wolf. I'll trip on you."
Hunt was still watching her from the kitchen table, but he slid a foot out and tried to hook James towards him. The boy grunted and threw Colin a sour look, avoiding the man's attempt to herd him away. Kate dropped her hand to the top of James's head, glanced at Colin.
"Maybe you should just... leave him alone for now."
Colin's face flushed and he sat back, avoiding her eyes. Kate immediately felt like a bitch for saying it, but it was clear that James wasn't happy with the new person in his home.
"James," she said softly, tugging on the soft shell of his ear. He growled at her like Sasha growled, knocking his head into her thigh. She chuckled and tugged until he tilted his face up to her. "James. You be nice to Uncle Colin."
"Oh, fuck," Colin muttered from the kitchen table. "I'm his damn uncle."
"Uck!"
"Well, great," she sighed. "James, I'm burning the pot black. Be nice to Daddy's brother. You need all the family you can get."
James didn't look convinced, but he let go of her jeans and ran off towards the dining room again, back to his toys and the dog, she hoped. She glanced at Colin and saw him slumped over the table, forehead on his folded arms.
He ought to be lying down on the couch, not sitting up, but she figured the less she interacted with him, the better.
A plane ride together was going to be so damn awkward. Painful. And not just because of what Hunt was, but because she'd be leaving her family behind to keep them safe. Leaving them, another trip overseas, her son calling for her in the night but she wouldn't be there.
"Mama!"
She turned, realized too late she was standing with the fridge open, cold air washing over her, the burner on but nothing cooking.
James barreled into her legs and she caught him, the fridge door swinging shut while she hunched over her son. He lifted a solemn face to her and raised his fisted hand, holding out his toy for her.
It was the elephant he slept with.
"Okay, wolf," she murmured, taking the lovey from him. "I get it. Let's go cuddle in the chair." She knelt down to pick him up, and James immediately curled against her, drawing his knees up, hooking his toes in the waistband of her jeans, his arms pressed between them.
She stood slowly, her back knocking against the counter when she stumbled, her boy so heavy at her chest. Hunt had stood as well, his face washed out and bloodless, but his eyes intent on her.
She was going to send them both away. Colin Hunt, who was putting them at risk by being here, and herself, Kate Beckett, who had put them in danger in the first place by shooting Dick Coonan.
Her mother's murderer. That was where it had all started.
Castle had tried to stop her. He'd been right when he had fought her in that apartment in Spanish Harlem, wrestled her to the bed and left her handcuffed there. He'd been right to keep her from it.
Not only had she gotten Castle stabbed in the back by Coonan, but she'd exposed their family to the Collective.
This case. Fuck. Would it always haunt her?