Disclaimer: It's not even been a month since the last chapter :p.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life
Beckett felt strangely elated sitting there in Castle's living room, looking into his eyes across the coffee table. Just looking into their clear blue did something to her, gave her strength, bolstered her confidence. Coaxed a smile from somewhere within her and tugged at her lips until she stopped trying to contain it.
She had made a decision and then come to talk to him about it, but he had somehow managed to completely distract her from that objective. Not 'somehow', she corrected herself. He was just being himself, the Castle she'd known and worked with for the last couple of years. The one that she now realized she needed back. The one she wanted back.
She found herself unable to tear her gaze away from his face. His smile was widening by the second and hers hurried to keep up.
For a moment she felt like everything was back the way it had been only a few days ago, listening to him building theory and sharing his insight, feeling the connection between them click into place. Then she reminded herself that it would never be quite the same. However this was going to turn out, things would be different afterwards. She knew that it was largely up to her how different it would be. And him too. They'd have to put some work into it, and in this moment, she felt that she was up to the task. Whatever she needed to do, she would get her partner back.
Gathering her resolve, she pushed herself up. "Come on, Castle," she said.
He followed her automatically. "Where are we going?"
"Precinct," she answered, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. "We have footage from the subway station that needs screening."
He looked like he wanted to object, but then apparently changed his mind and headed for the hall closet.
She was about halfway into composing a text to Ryan and Esposito when she started to question the amount of good it would do to call the two detectives back in. Though four pairs of eyes were usually better than two, she knew that Castle's attention for detail was likely going to make up for the missing two pairs. Might as well let them catch some sleep. And besides, there weren't going to be many people in at this hour, so if she only took Castle she might get a decent opportunity to talk to him.
Of course they could talk in the car, but, given their history of conversations about the case and their relationship, she was afraid that the confined space of her vehicle would have a negative impact on them. No, they needed space to talk this out. Or at least she needed it.
She discarded the message and put her phone away again, turning to watch Castle while he put on shoes and a coat. When she looked back toward the living room, she saw the man, Mansfield, standing in the half-shadow of one of the columns. She had to fight her instinct that told her to reach for her gun.
He pushed off of the column and walked over to them with measured steps. When he'd opened the door she had been so surprised by his presence and Castle's call that the impression he'd left in her memory was mostly blurry and tall. And black clothes. Now she let her eyes roam his body, sizing him up like she would a suspect.
Tall was right. And big. She estimated him at probably six and a half feet with very broad shoulders, so much that he positively dwarfed Castle as he stopped a short distance away from them. A simple, tight-fitting black T-shirt, black utility pants with a number of pockets, and black boots as well as a shoulder holster comprised his clothes and equipment as far as she could see. The thickness of his arms and neck, even in the relaxed state he was in, clearly belonged to a man who worked out a lot, though they didn't have the typical bodybuilder look to them. Probably hand to hand combat training, martial arts and the like. When her eyes finally reached his face, she was surprised at how pleasant he looked. Clean-shaven with short dark hair in a kind of military style, dark brown eyes that looked very alert, and lips curled into a slight, handsome smirk.
He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes told her that he had acknowledged her 'inspection'. "You're going out?" he said to Castle.
"Yeah, we have to go check out a possible lead," the writer replied while he buttoned up his coat. He and Beckett shared a look before he added, "Don't worry. I'll be safe with her."
For a second Beckett felt insulted that Mansfield apparently had doubted Castle's safety if he left the loft with her, but she reminded herself that he'd been hired to protect Castle's family, and he was just doing his job. She met his eyes again, standing straight, arms folded across her chest. Something seemed to amuse him, since the corners of his mouth were turning upward again. However, he gave her and then Castle each a firm nod and went to open the door.
They didn't speak until they were sitting in her car, two minutes into the drive to the precinct. Surprisingly it was Beckett who couldn't stand the silence any longer.
"So… Your friend's quite a package," she said, trying to keep her voice light.
"I saw you checking him out," Castle replied, but to her relief his tone was as light as hers, and it didn't sound forced. "Like what you see?"
"I wasn't 'checking him out'," she retorted, "I was trying to gauge if he's fit to do the job you hired him for."
"Oh, he's fit."
"Yeah."
Silence. She didn't like it.
"So… What's his story?"
"Hum?"
"You know… What has he done before, how did he get into private security, how did you meet him…?"
She looked over when they had to stop at a red light, catching a glimpse of a smile on his face.
"I noticed his hair. Army?"
"Marines, Afghanistan. He was injured pretty severely and flown home, got into some kind of arrangement so he could spend the rest of his time with the reserves. He mentioned seeing some things that he'd rather not have and he was glad about getting out. When his time was up, he went into private security, like many former soldiers tend to do, only he's good. Like, really good. He moved up pretty quickly, then five years ago he opened up his own firm. Smallish, but high-end service. All of his men are ex-marines, well trained."
"How did you meet him?" she asked as the lights changed.
"Ran into him at one of the mayor's benefits, where he was in charge of security. That was before he had his own business. I was looking for ideas for my next book, and we ended up talking quite a bit." She glanced over at him and he met her eyes, grinning. "He likes my books, too."
She rolled her eyes. "Is that why you trust him?"
"Mayor Weldon trusts him," he returned, slightly defensive.
"And you trust the mayor."
"I do."
They were silent for a minute, but she didn't like how the atmosphere between them had changed. It was a testament to the fact that they weren't good, despite how badly they both wanted to be. Although, she reminded herself, since Castle saw the mayor as a friend, he would've taken that comment seriously anyway. He was, after all, a very loyal friend. She'd had to deal with that almost a year before, when Castle's old high school writing mentor had been a suspect in the murder of his wife.
"Look," she began, "I don't mean to be negative." She risked a glance to the side and found him staring straight ahead at the road. "I just mean that we have to be very, very careful who we place our trust in. And these private security guys, they're essentially mercenaries. Their loyalty belongs to money, not people."
Great. I don't mean to be negative? She shook her head in dismay. Just now she'd all but accused him of letting a potential traitor into his home. Not that she thought she was wrong, but taking the direct approach maybe hadn't been the best choice.
When they stopped at another light he spoke again, still looking ahead. "You're wrong." There was nothing accusatory in his voice. "You know what the marines say?"
She looked over and found his gaze trained on her. She raised her eyebrows in response, not knowing where he was going with this.
"Semper fi. Short for 'semper fidelis', which is Latin for 'always loyal'."
"So?"
"So. After I met him, I talked him into giving me a little insight into the business. He took me along two, three times." He paused, looking her straight in the eyes. "One time he was guarding a senator who had received a couple of death threats. We were out in a park, just the senator, he, one of his men and I. I was observing from a distance, actually. I saw a man come up to him. He led the man away, but that guy started talking in a hushed voice and I got curious and followed them. I caught the last part of what he said."
Honking from behind interrupted him and Beckett looked up to find that the lights had changed to green. Reluctantly she looked back on the street and drove on, while he continued, "The man offered him money, lots of money, if he looked away for just a moment. I think that was the last thing the guy said for quite a while."
This time she looked straight ahead, though she felt his eyes boring into the side of her skull.
"That, Detective, is why I trust this man to watch over my family."
She only nodded, unable to form a verbal response.
They spent the remaining few minutes of the drive in an easy silence. The desk sergeant eyed them curiously, seeing as Beckett had left only about an hour and a half earlier, but didn't comment on it. They rode the lift in silence too, and Beckett found herself glancing at Castle a few times, as if to make sure that he was still there.
They split up wordlessly as they stepped out onto their floor, Castle heading for the break room while Beckett went to her desk to boot up her computer. She quickly located the surveillance videos and started the one from the night in question. As she had hoped, Castle arrived just a minute later, placing a mug of fresh, steaming coffee in front of her. She smiled gratefully at him while she wrapped her hands around it, letting the heat seep into her body.
They spent over an hour watching people zip around at double speed before they saw him. Castle was the first to spot him, startling her with his sudden, "There! There he is."
She immediately paused the video and peered closer. At first she didn't see him, but when Castle pointed out the head, between a few others, she recognized him. She jotted down the timecode on her notepad before resuming the video, now back at normal speed. In unspoken agreement neither followed the victim but focussed their eyes on the crowd around the man that presumably had gotten off the same train as he.
About a minute later she thought that this time she'd be lucky, but in the same moment that she hit pause, Castle quietly exclaimed, "Ha!" They turned their heads and shared a look before they returned their attention back to the video.
"That one?" Castle asked, pointing at a man who was trying to push through the people. The victim had just passed underneath the camera a few seconds ago.
"Yep," she replied, hitting play.
The following seconds confirmed their suspicion, as the second man weaved his way through the crowd, apparently not caring how much force he used to push people aside. He clearly was following someone. Beckett paused the video again when the man had almost reached the camera. An almost perfect facial shot.
A few clicks and keystrokes later the suspect's picture was printed out and joined the victim's on the still rather empty murder board.
"Now, do we run him through facial recognition?" Castle asked, clearly in higher spirits now that they finally had something that looked like a lead.
Beckett cocked her head and regarded him with humor sparkling in her eyes. Despite what this picture meant for her–one step closer to catching a killer, who might be the one who had tried to kill her, and thus also getting one step closer to facing Him–she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.
"Yeah, we do," she replied, smirking as she opened the criminal records database program, then added, "Go get some more coffee."
…
It was close to ten p.m. when Castle checked his watch for what felt like the thousandth time. Over two hours and at least one liter of coffee for each of them and they weren't one step closer to identifying the man who they were relatively sure was their killer. Actually, they were a few hundred steps away from their starting point, only if that was going to help them was a question he couldn't answer.
"How many still to go?" he asked tiredly, tipping his head back to drain the last drops from his mug.
"Hundred and twelve," she answered, her eyes glued to the screen.
"I don't know about you, but I could use something to eat," he said, looking wistfully at the empty bowl on her desk. They had devoured her M&M's half an hour ago.
"Mhm."
He got up and made for the break room, hoping that someone had left a few snacks stashed into one of the cupboards or to maybe even find something edible in the fridge. Since it was only three days since New Year's, he figured that chances for some leftover snacks were considerable.
Getting the espresso machine started was by now second nature to him and took only moments. While he waited for the coffee he started to randomly open the cupboards. Against his hopes though he only came up with a lone Snickers bar and an all too small bag of salted peanuts. The fridge was even emptier, not considering the two cartons of milk, of which he removed one. If he couldn't have food, he thought, then he would at least have a decent latte.
He fished another cup off the shelf and let the machine brew a second espresso while he busied himself to produce the proper amount of steamed milk. After finishing both coffees he picked up the mugs and the meager snacks he'd found and headed back.
"Remind me why the NYPD still doesn't have real facial recognition software like the FBI," he called out to her, carefully watching the cups in his hands so he wouldn't spill any of the hot liquid.
"Maybe that's because we're not the FBI," she retorted. "At least we don't have to work through stacks of files like we did three years ago."
"True," he replied, "but still, it would be nice not having to wade through hundreds of records. And it can't really cost that much, can it?"
"Honestly, I don't–"
He stopped dead in his tracks when she interrupted herself so suddenly. "Beckett?" He repeated her name when he didn't receive a response, a little more urgently, though for some reason his feet refused to move him toward her. "Kate? What is it?"
"Castle…" Her voice was soft when she responded, though not weak.
Hearing her speak propelled him forward again, his feet moving on his own. Had she…?
He rounded the corner of her desk and stopped by her side, looking down at her. Noticing his approach she tore her eyes away from the screen and looked up at him.
"Found him," she said, indicating the monitor with a nod of her head.
A face stared back at him from the screen as he turned his head. It was definitely the man from the video, he thought. His eyes flicked to the column on the right of the picture. Name: Preston, Anthony. He skipped the physical details section and started to scan the record when Beckett spoke.
"He was the prime suspect in a murder investigation. And although the investigating detective and even the DA were convinced that he was the killer, they never found any proof."
"Then why… he was booked for assault?"
"Yep, according to the report here," she indicated a longer text attached to the file, "that was the only thing they had proof of. Beat a man bloody the day after the murder." She paused and he looked over, meeting her eyes as she added, "Over a seat at a bar."
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fits," he said, "I mean, what with how," he lowered his voice, "Weston was beaten up."
She glanced around but didn't see another soul. "You don't have to whisper when nobody's around," she replied.
"Better safe than sorry," he returned. "Alright, so what do we do now?"
"We see if he still lives in the city," she said, opening up the DMV database and entering his name into the form. A few clicks later (really, why were there twenty Anthony Prestons in New York?) she found his entry. The registered address wasn't the same as the one in his criminal record, but was still in the city.
She looked up at him with a slightly triumphant smile on her lips. "Now we're going to take him in."
"Wait a second," he said. Realizing that he was still holding the coffees and snacks, he put them down on her desk. "Just you and me?"
"Yeah," she replied, already getting up. "Why?"
"Shouldn't we wait for tomorrow?" he asked, his brows raised.
"We can't wait, Castle," she replied, her voice rising a little. "He could leave the city any minute, so the longer we wait the higher the risk that we don't get him. I'm going there, now." She moved over to the elevator, already pressing the button. "You coming?"
"Of course I'm coming," he shot back, irritation creeping into his own voice. "But at least call for backup, then."
"And wait until they get there?" she asked, almost glaring at him. "You're my backup, unless you're gonna keep standing in my way."
"Kate!" he said firmly, just as the elevator bell chimed. He caught her arm as she slipped between the opening doors and forced her to turn back and look at him.
"Castle, what the hell?" she snarled.
"Kate," he replied, his tone softer but still unrelenting, fixing her eyes with a piercing stare. "I haven't been doing all this for the past four months just so you can get yourself killed because you were too hasty to wait for backup."
She opened her mouth as if to fire back, but not a sound came out. She closed her mouth and he briefly noticed the heat fading from her eyes before she looked away.
"Let's just call the boys, they'll be there even before we will," he added.
She sighed heavily, then nodded her assent. "I'll call Espo, he can pick up Ryan on the way."
"Okay," he said, releasing her arm. They stepped into the elevator side by side and he pressed the button for the parking garage while she pulled out her phone.
…
Twenty minutes later Beckett was pulling up in a parking spot across the street from the man's address, an older, four story building that definitely had seen better days. Shortly flashing headlights caught her attention and she returned the signal before turning off the engine and unbuckling her seat belt. They got out and crossed the street, meeting the other two detectives at the corner of the building.
"How'd you find him?" Ryan asked. "And who is he anyway?"
"Subway camera," she replied. "We all figured out that he didn't drive there, but for some reason we only checked the cabs, while Castle came up with the subway."
"We found Weston on the tape and then this guy," Castle piped in. "But then we only had a picture, so we had to go through–"
"Yeah, well, bottom line: we found him. He was prime suspect for another murder years ago, but they could never prove it was him," she interjected.
"So how do we do it?" asked Esposito.
"If the man isn't completely stupid, and since it seems that he almost got away with murder I'd say he isn't, he'll have an escape plan. That is if he isn't too confident that we won't be able to prove anything," said Beckett. "His apartment is on the second floor… We have to cover the fire escape."
"Which side is it?" asked Ryan.
"Let's see," said Castle, walking over to the door to study the row of bell buttons. "If there's any common sense behind this order, it would be there," he concluded, pointing to the side of the building where they'd been standing.
"Okay, then you and Ryan stay down here and watch that," Beckett said to him, then turned to Esposito. "You're coming up with me."
"Roger, boss," the Latino replied.
The two of them turned toward the building's entrance but were stopped by Castle's voice.
"Shouldn't we be wearing our vests? Just to be safe."
"And tip him off before he even opens the door?" she asked. "Besides, he doesn't seem like the type to shoot people."
"Still, it might be better–"
"We'll be fine, Castle," said Esposito, cutting the writer off. "We're cops. Trained cops."
With that they walked off and entered the building, leaving Castle and Ryan alone out on the street. Neither heard Castle mutter, "Yeah, and he might just be a trained killer."
…
Beckett and Esposito took the stairs up to second floor. The January night was dark already, but the few working lights on the staircase and in the hallway lent a different darkness to the building. When they emerged in the middle of the hall they quickly scanned the floor in both directions but found nothing alarming.
She looked at the closest door to her right, then counted down the left side until she found the correct one. Nudging Esposito with her elbow, she nodded at the apartment in question and silently moved over, while he hung back a little, gazing down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Once they were positioned on either side of the door, she pulled out her gun and quietly flipped the safety, which he hurried to repeat. Pointing the gun down at the floor she leaned over and slammed her left fist against the door several times.
"Mr Preston, NYPD! Open up!"
When they received no response, Esposito hammered the butt of his gun against the door. "Mr Preston, open the door!"
There was again no response, so Beckett started to move in front of the door to kick it in when suddenly the wood blasted outward into the hall roughly at chest height and a shower of splinters rained down on them.
"Shotgun!" shouted Esposito after taking in the size of the hole.
Both of them immediately crouched down, making sure to stay clear of the door. They waited for another shot, but instead heard the sound of breaking glass. They shared a look before Esposito moved in front of the door and then rammed his shoulder against the lock, unhinging the tattered remains in the process, and rolled inside.
Beckett moved up quickly, shoulder against the doorframe, and peeked inside. It took her only a moment to recognize the broken window and she moved in swiftly, only sparing glances to the sides.
Meanwhile Esposito got back on his feet and moved through the other side of the small apartment, finding both the bathroom and kitchen empty. Just as he turned back to the living room, a shadow emerged from a closet on Beckett's left.
"Beckett! Left!" he shouted, opening fire at the figure in the same moment.
The man was fast though. He dove, dodging Esposito's shot and Beckett's swinging arm as she turned his way, and planted a solid punch in her left side, right on her scar. She gasped and faltered for a moment, which he used to swipe her legs out from under her and knock the gun from her hands.
Esposito's second round grazed the man's shoulder, distracting him just enough to let up on Beckett. Instead he swiped something from the desk that stood under the broken window and, dodging the third shot, tossed it in Esposito's direction. The detective ducked out of the way just in time. The sound of metal penetrating wood told him that he wouldn't have wanted to be in the way of whatever the guy had just thrown at him.
The clatter of metal brought his focus back to the window and he realized that the shadow had just climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape. It took him just a second to reach Beckett, and he was relieved to see that she was gulping in air with deep breaths. She looked like she was in pain, but not injured.
Feet on metal rungs pulled him to the window and he swung himself onto the desk, carefully looking out. He was surprised to see nobody climbing down, and as the footsteps continued, he realized that the guy was climbing upward.
"Beckett!" he hissed, "He's going for the roof."
She moaned slightly as she rolled on her knees and groped for her gun. "Go after him," she managed after a moment of still labored breathing, "I'll cut him off from the other side."
He nodded and proceeded to exit through the window. As he set foot on the metal grid he spared a look down and just saw Ryan peering around the corner. Abandoning all thoughts of stealth he put two fingers of his left hand in his mouth and produced a loud whistle, attracting his partner's attention. Lit up by the street light he could see the frown on Ryan's face as he bent around the corner, squinting up at Esposito until he recognized his partner and his expression changed to alarm.
Esposito waved toward the other side of the building before he turned and started to climb the ladder, aware that there were no more footsteps above him. He almost flew up the ladder, reaching the roof in what felt like seconds to him. Carefully he stepped onto it, moving slowly, trying to make out something, anything in the dark of the night, enhanced only by the little ambient light that came from a few lit windows in the surrounding buildings and the street lamps below.
When he realized that his sight wouldn't be of much use, given many shadows cast by the various sources of light all around, he switched to hearing. Moving as silently as he could, he strained his ears, trying to catch anything, a footstep on the concrete roof, a heavy, not quite stifled breath…
…
Her ears confirmed that Esposito was scrambling out of the window. She knew that she didn't have much time to cross the floor, get out of the window on the other side and climb up the fire escape there to try and cut off the man's remaining route of escape, but damn did that hurt. Not just crashing with her full weight–which wasn't actually that much, but still enough–on her back and having her breath forced out of her lungs, which seemed very reluctant to let any air back in. No, the single, well-aimed punch delivered straight to her scar was what still kept her on her hands and knees.
She had thought she was ready. Ready to take on whoever was behind this and bring them to justice… But apparently she wasn't even capable of dealing with their pawn. Maybe not quite a pawn, she thought, wincing at the piercing pain in her side.
She heard a loud whistle from outside the window. Must be Esposito. Too slowly for her taste she pushed herself up, kneeling without the support of her hands at first, carefully stretching her torso, before she fully stood up. As she heard her fellow detective start to climb up the rungs she found the switch of the desk lamp and flipped it, bathing the room in a mellow light.
Spotting and retrieving her gun was a piece of cake now that her vision had some help, and she was out of the door in seconds, walking down the hall as quickly as she dared without pulling her scar too much. Three ladders up to the roof. Those won't be easy, she thought, remembering how she hadn't been able to climb that one ladder during the sniper case.
Opening the window at the end of the corridor and climbing out onto the metal grid didn't even register in her mind. Only the cold night air hitting her lungs brought her consciousness back to the situation. She looked up to the roof but didn't see–or hear–anyone coming down the ladders.
She could just stay here. Castle and Ryan were on the street, and the whistle she'd heard would've been Esposito, signaling the pair to watch the other side or maybe the front door. The building didn't have a back door, as far as she knew, so the man was trapped on the roof. There might have been a door through which he could have reentered the house, but there still wouldn't be a way for him to get out without being seen–and, hopefully, caught.
But Esposito had been climbing up, would be on the roof by now. And after what had happened just a minute or so ago in the apartment, he would need all the help he could get to take the guy down. He had moved like a shadow in the darkness, but hit with the force of a freight train. And apparently he didn't care about inflicting collateral damage, seeing as he'd fired a shotgun inside an apartment building through a closed door, not caring who was on the other side.
She pushed those thoughts back. Roof. Help Esposito. She gritted her teeth and started climbing.
…
He still didn't hear a thing. How could this guy be so damn quiet? And where the hell was he?
Esposito was crouching, still only a few meters away from the fire escape on his side of the building. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the lighting on the roof and he began to identify different shapes.
There was the large vent belonging to the central air conditioning system, though with the general state of the building he didn't expect it to work properly. Dotting the roof were about a dozen or so chimneys, each rising maybe a meter into the air, looking like solid concrete on the outside.
He squinted. Next to the AC vent there was a trap door, and it was open. He moved closer, taking cover behind one of the chimneys. Had the man gone back inside and was he riding the elevator down in this very moment, ready to walk out through the front door? Esposito couldn't very well imagine that happening, what with Ryan and Castle on the street, hopefully watching the main entrance too…
He spun around at a rushing noise coming from behind him. It took a moment before he managed to place it as a car passing by on the street below. He relaxed, just a little.
And was back on full alert in the blink of an eye. He'd heard something. Something that was definitely not a car. Something that was on this roof, with him. A grating sound, like someone pulling something across the concrete, but what…
He rose a little from behind his cover, peering across the roof to the trap door. Nothing. He couldn't make out where exactly the sound was coming from, but it wasn't too close. And not regularly either. It was there for a few seconds, and then it paused. And was there again.
Deciding that it must have been somewhere near the center of the roof, around the trap door, he left his cover and moved forward, carefully approaching the vent from the site opposite the trap door.
After having circled the vent without finding anything, he closed in on the trap door, making sure to keep his back to the vent. When he stopped to listen for a few more seconds he noticed that the sound had gone completely. He waited for almost half a minute but it didn't return, and the pauses had never been that long before.
He weighed the risks of using his flashlight to look down the trap door. Without it he wouldn't be able to see a thing, but if he used it and the man was still on the roof, he would know exactly where he was. But then, the man had escaped from his apartment apparently unarmed, and Esposito would surely be able to hear him if he came running at him. Not even that shadow could run without making any sound, right?
While he fished for his flashlight, Esposito heard the sound of footsteps on metal again, but this time from the other side of the building. Must be Beckett, he thought.
Having found the flashlight, he held it next to the barrel of his gun, pointing the combination down into the trap door before switching the light on. He didn't see anything at first, so he leaned forward, putting his weight on one knee for a solid footing as he peered in closer.
Suddenly his left thigh, which was supporting most of his weight, flared up with intense pain, subsequently folding in under him when he failed to rebalance quickly enough. When the leg was buried underneath him the pain became even worse and he realized that a knife or something similar must have been stuck there.
He braced himself on his hands before he went completely down, and managed to get his back up against the vent, his left leg half folded on the ground, stabilizing his weight with his right leg.
Quickly rearranging his gun and flashlight, he pointed both in the direction that the knife would've had to have come from. Almost straight to the left of his position was one of the chimneys, but there was no movement around it. So where was the guy?
A hit to the right side of his head sent him tumbling away from the vent. While he was still trying to get his bearings, the man was already on him, wrenching the gun from his hand and keeping him on the floor with a boot placed firmly on his chest. He had lost the flashlight during the fall, and with his left leg barely usable and his head pounding he was fairly defenseless as the shadowy figure pointed his own service weapon at him.
"Any last words, detective?" asked the man, his voice deep and a little gravelly. Those were the first words Esposito had heard out of his mouth, and it looked like they would be the last ones too.
He briefly thought about trying to dislodge the foot from his chest, but the way the man acted suggested that he would never present himself this vulnerable. No, his whole pose said that he was in control.
"No?" he asked as Esposito stayed silent. "Well, I suppose there really is nothing left to–"
He was cut off by the sound of a gunshot, followed by a growl of pain from his own throat. A second shot followed only fractions of a second later and the knee of the leg that was holding Esposito down gave in.
Esposito reacted immediately, making use of the man's momentary confusion as he dealt a blow to the already injured knee, allowing him to rise a little from the ground, while his shift and the knee injury threw the man's balance, resulting in him stumbling backwards before dropping down. Even though he rested his weight on his injured knee he was still capable of maintaining that position long enough to raise a slightly shaking hand and point the gun at Esposito.
The third shot tore through his forearm, forcing him to drop the gun as he clutched at the wound with his free hand.
Suddenly a flashlight was lit up, its cone of light being pointed right at the man, who Esposito recognized after a moment as the man from the mug shot. Anthony Preston.
He heard footsteps approaching fast as he carefully sat up, and soon Beckett entered his field of vision. She passed the still kneeling Preston at a safe distance, swiftly kicking the gun out of his reach before retrieving it. She then rushed over to Esposito, putting his gun down next him.
"I'm fine," he said before she even opened her mouth.
She nodded in response and pressed the flashlight into his hand before she moved away a few meters, retrieving his light and switching it on. They both pointed the lights at the man who was kneeling on the roof a few meters across from them, bleeding out of three wounds.
Her voice dripping with restrained fury, Beckett said, "Anthony Preston, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and I wouldn't mind you using it right now, you son of a bitch."
A/N: The roof scene might have been slightly inspired by "Always". Emphasis on slightly, as in "it takes place on a roof". As you hopefully noticed, it takes a different turn :p.