A/N I spent way too much time looking through cocktail dresses online to write this chapter. Now I wish I had a party to go to. Please let me know what you think! Suggestions are welcomed, requested, and appreciated. Is it January 6th yet?
Castle leaned back onto the leather sectional, swirling three fingers of scotch around the tumbler—his normal two fingers just wasn't going to cut it tonight. From the moment Beckett had agreed to his undercover scheme, a sense of dread had begun to smolder in the pit of his stomach. He took a long swig of the burning elixir, a last ditch attempt to snuff it out.
It wasn't that he was insecure, Castle told himself, at least not when it came to her feelings for him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Kate's judgment. It was more the idea of watching another man hit on his fiancé that made him recoil with disgust—the lustful stares, the wandering hands, the imaginary thought bubbles he'd be trying to pop all night.
When he first proposed the idea, it included images of secret code names, spy gadgets, and well-fitted tuxedos—the kind where the top button is really a miniature camera and the cuff links can shoot poison darts at will. He tended to forget that real undercover work, at least the kind they could do on the NYC homicide department's budget, looked less like a James Bond movie and more like a low-budget version of Donnie Brasco.
"Are you almost done in there?" he shouted at the bedroom door, clinking an ice-cube around the now empty glass. He resisted the urge to casually walk in and check, relishing the dear-in-headlights feeling he still got every time he laid his eyes on Kate all dressed up. The fact that she wasn't doing it just for him tonight didn't quell the anticipation.
"Yea, just.."
Castle heard a soft thud proceeded by several grunts, a few choice words, and then a sigh of relief. He knew her routine well enough to picture what she was doing—the maneuver involved Kate flinging herself onto the bed, stilettos in hand, and contorting her foot up to her head to slip the shoe on without displacing her dress. The woman had many skills.
"I swear Castle if this is you getting back at me for taking you to that male strip club…" Kate said walking into the living room, a slinky black cocktail dress clinging to her curves. Castle's eyes slowly trailed up her body, and for a moment he was speechless. The eye-catching dress cut off just above her knee, a look that would make most other woman look awkward and squat, but on Kate, it only served to elongate her lower half. Castle imagined running his hands up her legs and circling her waist with his arms, pulling her down on top of him on the couch.
"You look…" Castle tried to stammer out, as his eyes made their way up to her waist and then her chest. The front of the dress swooped down to just between her breasts, revealing enough cleavage to be flirty, but not raunchy.
"What do you think?" She spun around revealing a plunging back and several thin spaghetti straps crisscrossing her torso. The look was topped off by a pair of strappy black stilettos and diamond earrings, the gift Castle had given her last Valentine's Day after having to return the sapphire earrings he accidently slipped to Captain Gates. It was a style that was sexy yet classy, showing off just enough to excite the casual observer but not enough to satisfy their curiosity about what lay underneath.
"You look breathtaking," he finally mustered—an expression especially apt given the way his breathing was coming out in uneven bursts. He pushed off the couch and went to meet her in the center of the room. Standing toe to toe they were almost the same height with her heals. He pushed a soft curl off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
"You don't look too bad yourself." She met his eyes for a moment only to drop her gaze to her feet; she could feel the heat running up her neck and into her face. It amazed her that after all these years a single touch could still send her system into overdrive—leave her feeling like a love-sick teenager hanging out in the backseat of her boyfriend's car. She reached up and grabbed the lapels on his suit, drawing his body close to hers. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers, coyly biting her lower lip as her eyes darted between the suit and his eyes.
Castle reached up and wrapped his arms around her back, his fingers ghosting over bare skin, leaving goose bumps wherever they touched. She lifted her face up, locking eyes, and he gave her that tender smile—the one that said I love you without any exchange of words, the one that had been speaking to her silently long before she was ready to hear it out loud.
She leaned in to kiss him, softly at first, savoring the way his mouth curled into a smile as their lips touched. He returned her kiss with more urgency, more need, pressing into her harder and deeper. Her hands raised up to cradle his neck, gentle fingers running through his hair turning to desperate grabs as the kissing intensified and the heat from her flushed face headed south.
Castle's hands inched their way around her sides, coming dangerously close to slipping underneath the sheer dress material. Just the thought of his hands on her breasts left her wanting to forget the whole undercover mission and drag him back into the bedroom. Just then his phone vibrated from inside his jacket pocket.
The sudden noise broke the moment and they both pulled away, sucking in a quick breath as the room came back into focus. Beckett wanted to be annoyed at the buzzing device and the person on the sending end, but instead she just laughed. This was their life after all—special moments repeatedly interrupted by a phone call or a text. It was the only time she wished she held a more conventional nine-to-five kind of job.
"It's Alexis," Castle announced, pulling the phone from his pocket. He read the text to her. "Hey dad, made it to Philly. I'll eat a cheese steak for you." Short but promising, Castle thought. He had been wanting to put the past to rest for weeks now, but Alexis was holding a grudge with the same tenacity he'd seen her use only on special occasions—college applications, scooter procurement, and laser tag.
Beckett could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked down at the phone. "Maybe your mom is working her magic." She had always been fond of Martha and knew that when the woman set her mind to something, it was likely to happen—whether that was building her own acting studio or convincing Alexis to forgive her dad.
Castle typed a return message and tucked the phone back inside his pocket. "Shall we?" He raised his arm for Beckett to grab onto. "I'm worried if we don't leave soon we may never." He threw her a mischievous side-ways glance that she returned with a look of her own. Castle slipped her coat on over the dress, transforming his grin into a playful pout. "Too bad it's not summer, I don't know if I can make it through a whole car ride knowing what's underneath the coat without being able to see it."
Beckett turned to face him. "Just to be clear Castle, once we get in, I don't know you, and you don't know me. Got it? I can't very well seduce another man if you're playing my personal shadow all night. Not to mention, Daniel knows you."
Castle raised his hand and held up his index and middle fingers, his posture straightening. "Scouts honor." Beckett opened the door, feeling relief that he seemed to be taking her request seriously. "But Beckett, just so you know," his voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned in close to her ear. "I never was a boy scout."
Torn between whether to laugh or feign irritation she opted for a good-natured ribbing. "No Castle, I don't think anyone ever suspected you were."
Club Couture occupied the bottom two floors of an unassuming red-brick high-rise in Lower Manhattan. Like most buildings in New York City, it shared its address with a dozen or so other businesses creating an eclectic, bohemian feel during the day as lawyers in tailor-made suits mingled with track suit wearing music producers. Unlike the majority of Couture's clientele, the exterior exuded a discreet, low-key vibe. If it weren't for the roped off entrance and snaking line of hopeful party-goers, no one would give the building a second glance.
Castle skidded the bright-red Ferrari to a stop curb-side, feeling a personal victory that Beckett had let him drive. He had noticed lately that she had become more comfortable with surrendering control, at least in the four-wheeled sense, and his writer's mind ran wild trying to deduce symbolic meaning from the gesture.
Outside the club, next to the long line of people waiting to get in, a small collection of reporters with news cameras had assembled. "What do think that's all about?" Beckett asked motioning at the cameras. "Coverage for the expansion plan announcement or someone trying to get a sound bite about Caitlyn's death?" In a world where the Wives of Wall Street made the cover of nearly every tabloid, it wasn't surprising that they would be circling to get an exclusive. Beckett could see the cover now—a pixilated picture of Caitlyn partying hard with the headline 'Too Much Play for this Playgirl'. Speculation of drug overdoses and all-night benders would fly rampant. She was thankful that Captain Gates used discretion when deciding not to release any details to the public about the girl's death.
"I don't know, but if you're wanting to remain below the radar you better let me go in first and you can valet the car as soon as I'm through the door." He handed her the keys. "Wouldn't want you to get caught up in a media frenzy when the press realizes who I am after all," he added, a tinge of mock arrogance in his voice.
In all the years he'd been following her, a run-in with the paparazzi or a devoted Castle book groupie was, much to Castle's dismay, a rare occurrence. Beckett decided to let him have his win, just grateful that it was his connections that would be getting them through the doors tonight.
"Make sure to have them add me to that list." She cocked her head toward a broad-shouldered security officer holding a clip board. "I don't want to get left out with the rest of the riff-raff." She smiled and leaned in to give him a quick peck.
As Castle stepped out of the car, a few small snowflakes began swirling down, peppering iridescent flecks through his brown hair. Beckett watched as he made his way toward the club entrance where, to her surprise, a few reporters flagged him down. Through the foggy window she could see a bleached-blonde woman thrusting a tape recorder in his face. She cracked the window of the Ferrari to try and hear what they were saying.
"Richard. Rick. Mr. Castle," Beckett heard the woman shout. The rest of what she said was lost in the rush of the wind past the window. Something about Page 6 maybe. She couldn't be sure what she heard. She really hoped Caitlyn Madison's photo wasn't spilling all over the cover of that gossip rag.
She looked to Castle's face for any indication of what might have passed between them. She knew under normal circumstances she could trust him not to reveal any details from the investigation, but she didn't want to discount the disinhibiting effects of a swarm of cameras and a pretty blonde who was interested in his opinions.
Instead of stopping to talk with the woman, though, Castle simply smiled, gave a good-natured wave, and continued on into the club. Beckett rolled up the window and stepped out into the bitter cold, waving down a young valet to take the keys. She watched as he politely closed her door, said his habitual 'have a good evening,' and peeled off, completely indifferent to the fact that he was driving a $200,000 sports car. I guess that's what happens when every car that comes through hear is a luxury vehicle Beckett thought.
Thankfully the security officer didn't hassle her at all when she approached the velvet rope blocking the entrance, and a quick duck behind her jacket kept her face shielded from the on looking media. As rare as it was for reporters to flag down Castle for an impromptu interview, it was even rarer for them to peg her as the detective at the center of his novels. But given the nature of their current investigation she didn't want to take any chances. The last thing she needed before heading into seduce Daniel Henry as the flirty and single Kate Beckett was be outed as the lead detective on the murder investigation of his girlfriend.
The first thing she noticed when she walked into the club was the over-the-top opulence seeping out of every corner. Large, crystal laden chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting shimmering rainbows around the room. The walls were plated with alternating gold and silver squares embossed with the club's logo—an intertwining CC in old English font. Subdued spotlights fixed in the corners of the room cast beams of light onto the central dance floor. Surrounding the dance floor were large private booths and smaller cozy nooks that tucked back into the side walls, and along the back wall, bartenders hustled back and forth, their silhouettes backlit by an elaborate ice sculpture.
Scanning the selection of alcohol, Beckett eyes stopped on a flashy display situated on the highest shelf behind the bar. Along with the a half dozen different labels, she spotted a few bottles of the wallet-emptying Gout de Diamants. Talking up the bartender just below the bottles was Castle, already nursing a glass of some amber colored liquid.
As she surveyed the room looking for her target, the booming club music softened and a single beam of light focused on a spot in the dead center of the room. The throng of dancers—mostly models and actors she couldn't quite place—cleared out and a handsome man in his early 60s dressed in an all black suit sauntered into the light. A hushed silence fell over the crowd as everyone turned their attention.
"Friends. Distinguished colleagues," he began, "I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. As most of you have already heard, we gather here tonight under the sad and unfortunate news that my girlfriend, the lovely Caitlyn Madison has passed away." He clasped his hands together in a somber moment of silence. Club guests all around followed suit. "I know it's easy, in times like this, to cower away from the world. To hide out until the pain abates, but that's not what Caitlyn would have wanted." Daniel Henry raised his head, the solemn façade giving way to a festive, cheerful grin. It was like watching a bad performance of Jekyll and Hyde.
A bubbly glass of champagne appeared in his hand and he raised it up in the air. "So in her memory, let's celebrate life," he boomed, and the room erupted into cheers and applause. Beckett watched Daniel make his away across the room to a private corner booth, pleasantly shaking hands and exchanging hugs with a myriad of consoling women who made it a point to stand along his path. Maybe this was going to he harder than she thought.
She scanned the room for his other two girlfriends, recognizable by their DMV photos hanging from her murder board. She finally spotted them mingling with a group of older men just to the side of the dance floor. At least she wouldn't have to contend with them at the moment.
From his vantage point at the bar, Castle watched the scene unfold. Outside of running into Daniel at the Deadly Heat launch party and a few other social events where they exchanged meaningless pleasantries, Castle hadn't been in Daniel's company for over five years, especially not in the current context. He wondered when he had transformed from the wild, yet always tactful playboy he knew into this person that turned his girlfriend's death into a spectacle at a party. He clearly recalled the last conversation he had had with him.
Daniel Henry leaned across the bar, two cold beers in his hands. "So Ricky, what do you say to a trip to Miami this weekend? I've got the jet fueled up; I could have us there by sundown." He slid one of the bottles toward Castle and walked around the counter to sit next to him on a stool. Even though he was a couple decades his senior, Daniel had a youthful gait and an easygoing attitude that let him fit in with a group of 20-somethings as easily as people his own age.
"You know, I don't know if Miami is such a good idea," Castle said taking a swig of the beer, hoping Daniel would just drop it. Recently the club scene just didn't have the same allure to him as it used to—but he really wasn't in the mood to explain his newfound disinterest.
"Oh come on," Daniel elbowed him in the side. "I've got a couple fresh pair of legs ready to go." He nodded toward two women sitting at the other end of the bar. Sensing he was talking about them, they looked up and timidly waved.
Castle looked over at the two women and waved back, but his enthusiasm for taking random women to bed was gone. Instead of a fun-filled weekend all he could see was a meaningless tryst that would leave him feeling empty and bored.
"I think I'll have to pass," Castle finally said. Daniel looked disappointed but not defeated.
"This isn't about that new detective you mentioned, is it? What's her name? Colleen. Kendra. Kayla?"
"It's Kate."
"Okay, Kate. Whatever—doesn't matter. You're not about to tell me that twice-divorced Richard Castle is getting the love bug again, are you?
"It's not like that," Castle interjected.
"Good," Daniel said emphatically. "Because I'm pretty sure your first words to me after the last one were 'never again'—in case you forgot."
It was true, Castle thought, he had said never again. And he meant it at the time, but there was something about Detective Kate Beckett—something that simultaneously irritated and intrigued him—that made him wonder if his words were premature. It was true he didn't know where things were headed, but he knew he wanted to find out. He had known her for less than a year, but she had a pull on him that no jet-setting Miami fling could come close to resembling. She was indeed extraordinary.
Daniel took Castle's silence to mean agreement. "So I'll go make the call to the pilot then," he said taking off toward the back room.
Castle pulled out his cell phone and hit a button on the speed dial. A picture of Kate laughing popped up on the screen.
"What is it Castle?" came the voice on the other end.
"Please tell me someone's been murdered."
"Running out of content for your next book already," she teased. "But actually yea, I was just about to call you."
Castle scribbled the address down on the back of a cocktail napkin just as Daniel emerged from the back. "We leave in an hour. Go get your stuff."
"About that…I really am going to have to pass. I've got a murder to see to it." He waved the address in the air. Daniel looked at him and let out a laugh.
"Okay, man, but don't say I didn't try to save you from another failed relationship." Castle could feel the agitation rising in his gut.
"Like I said, it's not like that," he refuted again, his words sounding hollow even to his own ears.
"Whatever you say." Daniel turned to walk Castle out of the bar. "Give me a call if you change your mind. The offer is always open."
"Yea, sure. I'll give you a call in a couple weeks." But he never did.
All around Castle the music pulsed; people swayed and grinded, lost in some sort of alcohol induced trance. Looking out over the dance floor, at the frenzied bodies desperately trying to feel a human connection they were lacking in their everyday lives, he didn't feel the least bit remorseful that this part of his life was over.
Across the room Castle watched as Beckett zeroed in on Daniel. Cutting a path through the crowd, she moved onto the dance floor, swaying her hips to the beat of the music. It took all his willpower to remain seated at the bar instead of following into step behind her.
This is never going to work, Beckett thought as she made her way across the dance floor toward Daniel's booth. She had expected some competition for his attention when she agreed to do this, but now she felt like she was going up against every single model to ever grace the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog.
She emerged onto the edge of the dance floor, directly in Daniel's line of sight. Game time. Beckett slowly spun around in a circle, letting her hips rotate in a wide arc. One arm raised up toward the ceiling while the other combed through her flowing hair, fanning it out across her shoulders.
She turned her head toward Daniel to see if he had noticed her and was met with an attentive, but slightly perplexed gaze. She continued swaying, unsure if her movements were attracting or confusing him, when a big smile broke out across his face. He motioned for her to come over. That was decidedly too easy, Beckett thought, as she climbed the stairs into the booth.
"If it isn't THE Detective Kate Beckett in the flesh" Daniel crooned, patting the empty seat next to him. "Come, sit down." Beckett stumbled for a second, unsure how to respond to his recognition. This had got to be her worst undercover work ever. "Are you sneaking out on Rick or is he here with you somewhere?"
Caught off guard, Beckett waved at Castle, signaling him to join her in the booth. She could tell he was just as confused as her as he tried to discreetly gesture 'what's going on' as he approached.
"Ricky, man, it's been far too long. Good to see you," Daniel said, standing up to shake Castle's hand. Castle tried to act nonchalant, unsure as to whether this was an updated part of Beckett's plan. "I was starting to think the fiancé here had you ball and chained to the house, and not in the good way if you know what I mean."
Castle let out an uncomfortable laugh, glancing at Beckett to see if she had caught what he said. The look on her face told him she did.
"Wait, did you just say fiancé?" Beckett's eyes narrowed, adding an angry intensity to the question.
"I did. Was it supposed to be some sort of secret?" Daniel laughed. "Because if so you're not doing a very good job at keeping it." He turned to Castle. "Now I see why you never showed me this beauty's pictures years ago. I would have had to steal her from you."
Beckett felt like the world around her was unraveling and she was frantically grasping at strings to try and keep it held together. "So you know who I am? And you know we're engaged?" Beckett asked, the frustration seeping into her words.
Daniel just kept laughing like he was privy to some inside joke she wasn't getting. "Well yea. I mean I didn't until this morning but…here this might explain it a lot. He waved down one of his body guards and shouted for him to get the Post from the back room. A minute later Beckett found herself staring at an open spread—the title Page Six glaring back at her—plastered with pictures of her and Castle from various locations around the city. The headline read, 'Third Time's the Charm?'
Daniel looked between the pair, clearly amused at the tension that was building. He lifted his glass of champagne. "I guess congratulations are in order."