Chapter 3 – The Phone Call

When Officer Kate Beckett returns to the Twelfth Precinct the next morning, ready to begin a new daytime shift pattern, she enters the busy lobby with long, purposeful strides only to find one Richard Castle - he of the naked nighttime horse ride - sitting on a bench in the hallway, apparently awaiting release.

She stops dead in her tracks at the bottom of the half flight of stairs that leads up to the main police reception, a half-drunk cup of to-go coffee in hand, almost sloshing the hot liquid over her jacket with the speed of her own deceleration.

What is that arrogant son of a bitch still doing here, is her first thought. That the institutional, precinct strip lighting is doing him no favors in the good looks department is probably her second. He looks rumpled, washed out and unshaven, the dark circles under his eyes and the sickly pallor of his skin ageing him beyond his thirty years. And no, she did not hunt down her mother's copy of Gathering Storm from a storage box when she got home last night just so that she could read every scrap of personal information she could glean from his biog. Especially not his age. No, she did not do that. She wouldn't.

Right now, it's all about containment, she reminds herself. It's about having a good poker face and maintaining her professional froideur. Time to break out the "cop stare" she's spent so much time perfecting on worthless little street punks. That'll show this guy who's boss. She quickly squares her shoulders before someone wonders what the heck she's doing loitering in the lower hall before shift with an untouched cup of coffee in her hand, practically muttering to herself. Then she climbs the stairs that will take her past the front desk (and Mr. Castle's bench) with all the stealth of a ninja warrior.

"What's he doing here?" she asks the female desk sergeant, Cathy "Hardass" Halliday, keeping her back turned to her previous night's collar.

The desk sergeant answers Kate's question without even looking up from her dog-eared copy of that morning's Post. "Charges were dropped."

Kate spins on her heel to look at Mr. Castle, as if another glimpse of the man might explain this legal travesty, and then she spins back around to face the sergeant. "Dropped? How? When? And…and why?"

Sergeant Halliday closes her newspaper with a papery rustle in order to observe the writer for herself. She regards him with the suspicious eye of someone trained to judge all persons entering this building as suspicious; guilty until proven innocent, cops included.

"Seems Mr. Castle over there has friends in high places. Used his phone call wisely."

"What…what do you mean?" asks Kate, feeling an impatience rise within her at the laconic attitude of the superior in front of her, cushy in her desk job and just a few years off her twenty.

"Rumor has it, he plays poker with the Mayor."

"The Mayor?" hisses Kate, seething as she watches her arrest rate lose another collar - a big, fat, prestigious collar - and right at the end of the month too.

Dammit!

"Good morning, Officer Beckett. You're looking lovely today."

Kate freezes, her spine stiffening, as soon as she recognizes the sing-song voice, slick as warm honey, daring to pour out words of appreciation for her appearance after he just squirmed his way out of the slam dunk arrest she made last night.

She's utterly stunned by the gall of the man, and the look she gives him when she turns to face him down would turn lesser men to stone. But not this cocky jerk, oh no.

"I'm wearing my uniform, Mr. Castle. Same as yesterday," she reminds him flatly. "Same as every day, when I show up here and try to do my job," she adds, for extra bite.

"Then maybe you did something different with your hair?" he suggests hopefully, giving her a bright "go on, you know you love me" grin.

"My hair is in a bun. Per department uniform policy, same as always."

"New lipstick?"

"Look, Mr. Castle, I don't know what magic you managed to work to get off the charges you were facing when I left here last night, but let me tell you something for free. I never forget a face or a name once they've crossed my path. So I wouldn't go pulling anymore stunts like the one you engaged in last night or you will find yourself needing a whole lot more than the Mayor on speed dial to get yourself out of the tight spot I'll jam you into. Understand? And I don't wear lipstick. Ever."

She honestly can't believe she just said that – dissing the Mayor and threatening to jam up a civilian, a high profile one at that, and with witnesses present too. Though the way the desk sergeant is looking at her right now, she'd swear the woman would break out a set of pompoms and give her one almighty cheer if she had any.

"Ah, so you appreciate magic too? Perfect. The study of magic is one of my favorite pastimes. Always good to meet a fellow believer."

What the actual hell is he talking about magic for, Kate wonders? And then it hits her.

She begins to hyperventilate. "Magic? Magic? That's all you took from what I just said?"

Castle remains as cool as a cucumber. "You seem a little tense, if I might say."

"Tense?" barks Kate, beginning to notice the heat of the stares people passing through reception are levelling upon her.

"Angry then."

Angry? Oh, she's angry all right.

"Thanks to you, my nickname around here is now The Horse Whisperer," spits Kate, keeping her tone low, lest she throw fuel on that particular bonfire herself.

"Wow! News travels fast," remarks Castle, with an inflection that tells her he's actually impressed. "Still, could be worse, I suppose."

"Worse? How exactly could it be worse?"

"Oh, there are a lot more derogatory names you could have ended up with. Believe me, I know. I went to boarding school. At least The Horse Whisperer is accurate, nay deserved and somewhat...dignified."

"I'm sure if I worked in the Mounted Unit I'd be thrilled," Kate notes dryly. "As it is, working the streets out of a squad car…not much call for horse wrangling."

"Then I actually did you a favor last night."

"How exactly do you figure that?" she frowns, no shortage of incredulity in her voice.

"I allowed you to display your superlative equine management skills to your superiors, without having to shovel horse shit for a living."

Kate just stares in amazement for a second or two until she finds her voice. "That is quite possibly the most absurd piece of deductive reasoning I have ever encountered."

"Then we should celebrate."

"Celebrate? Celebrate what? Your ridiculously shaky logic?"

"If that's what you want to call it, fine by me. How about dinner tonight?"

"Dinner?" gapes Kate.

She's vaguely aware of Sergeant Halliday taking a breath behind her, and the squeak of protest given up by the old wooden counter as the burly woman leans forward on her elbows, straining to hear Kate's reply. And since when did being the precinct gossip become integral to the role of a desk sergeant?

"Well, I would suggest breakfast, but since I haven't slept or showered since yesterday and you look like you're arriving for a shift…probably best make it dinner. What time shall I pick you up?"

"I'm not usually left speechless at my place of work, Mr. Castle, but—"

"Rick. Please. You've seen me naked already. I think we've moved beyond certain formalities, don't you. So, call me Rick. And you're Kate, if I'm not mistaken."

Kate slumps against a wall. "Just who did you have to bribe to find that out?"

"No bribery. I merely informed Bill…uh, that's Sergeant Bradford to you that I wanted to represent myself at my arraignment. So, of course, they had to give me access to your arrest report and the charge sheet in order to prepare my defense."

Kate rolls her eyes at this overstatement of the facts. Prepare his defense?

"All I had to do was scan the report. Officer Kate Beckett - it was typed right there in black and white. I happen to be blessed with a photographic memory," he boasts, tapping the side of his nose like some over-grown Columbo, minus the beige raincoat. "And I speed read too," he adds, in a velvet voice that suggests this latter skill may have worked as quite the panty dropper at one time or another, though God only knows why.

"But then you made that call."

"Yep."

"You found out what you wanted to know from my paperwork and then you made the call. You never had any intention of representing yourself, did you?" states Kate, crossing her arms.

"I know what I did last night was stupid. Usually, I'm not that dumb, believe it or not. Representing myself at an arraignment hearing would have been a step beyond, even for me. I had no idea what plea would have been advisable to enter, and as for arguing for bail…"

Kate's voice takes on an air of amusement streaked through with sarcasm when she replies. "Mr. Castle, you would have been issued with a fine and a slap on the wrist. Assuming you managed to keep your mouth in check long enough not to piss off the judge. So let's not make this any more high stakes than it actually was."

"Right. My mother is an actress. I've been told I may have inherited her tendency to over-dramatize situations."

"No kidding," mutters Kate, kicking a scuffmark on the worn lino floor tiles with the toe of her black boot.

"Please, just let me take you out to dinner to apologize for my behavior last night, if nothing else? You'd make me feel a whole lot better about myself."

Kate stares at him, her head tipped to one side in an almost sympathetic fashion. "Is everything always about you?"

"No, look, that came out wrong. I really am sorry. I behaved like an ass in front of your boss and your partner. I'd like the chance to show you…to…to let you see that's not who I really am."

Kate narrows her eyes, her mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour. "Why do you even care what I think of you? I'm just a cop and you're…you."

"Because you seem like a really nice person, Kate Beckett. Sharp, intelligent, resourceful…not to mention beautiful. I'd like to get to know more about—"

Jan Jurkowski choses this exact moment to enter the precinct hallway at speed, racing his way past them en route to the locker room, still dressed in his street clothes.

"Hey, Beckett," he says, giving his partner a nod. "See you up in squad?"

"Yeah, sure. Be there in a minute."

When Jurkowski notices who Kate appears to be in conversation with, he halts a few steps away. "You okay? Is he—"

"No. No, everything is fine," Kate assures her partner. "Go on ahead. Get us a good spot. After last night, I'm hoping for a special assignment today. I heard Narco are looking for volunteers to make street buys. Ask around up there for me, would you?"

"You are one glutton for punishment, Beckett. I'll see what I can do," says Jurkowski, giving Castle a brief wave, before heading upstairs.

"Look, I really have to go. Roll call is in five and if I'm late—"

Castle stands. "No, it's fine. I should get going too. Got to get home, shower and change, before a meeting at my publisher's office at ten," he explains, checking his watch and then making a face. "And if you think your patrol supervisor is scary…you really should meet my editor."

Out of politeness, Kate waits until the writer has finished speaking. She doesn't imagine she will ever meet this man's editor, or inhabit his world in any way. To even brush up against that idea would be mental insanity, since it's that kind of thinking that needles you day in and day out, making you dissatisfied with the life you've carved out for yourself and curious about a life you will never attain. No, she has to shut this down before it goes any further.

"Right, well. Have a good day, Mr. Castle, and please…try to stay out of trouble from now on."

Kate sticks out her hand, attempting to remain professional and to be conciliatory, despite the idiot this man has attempted to make out of her over the last twelve or so hours.

"Wait. You never answered my question. What time should I pick you up for dinner?"

Kate sighs, dropping her hand back to her side. "Mr. Castle, I can't," she says, shaking her head, suddenly feeling an inward surge of disappointment that is at odds with almost every fact before her, including her own, normally sound, judgment.

"Well, that would be a real shame. Can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

Kate gives him a wan, almost regretful smile.

"Mr. Castle, your ride is here!" bellows Sergeant Hardass out of nowhere.

The older cop flashes Kate an innocent grin when she spins in surprise to stare at the women following this needless foghorn of an announcement. The volume she just managed to produce was pointless, even gratuitous, since they're only standing a few feet away from the front desk.

Castle fishes for his wallet with a haste derived of panic before Kate can make her final escape upstairs. "Look, here's my card," he says, thrusting a stiff, elegant looking business card towards her. "If you change your mind…just…anytime—" he shrugs, a whiff of desperation, and perhaps some longing Kate doesn't quite understand, lingering around this gesture.

Kate takes the card in both hands and she stares at it. "I really do have to go," she says quietly, though she would probably admit to feeling some flicker of disappointment too, but only if tortured.

"Go! Go! I don't want you to get in any trouble on my account. And take care out there today," he adds, offering her his hand to shake. "Stay away from naked horsemen," he grins.

"Thank you. I'll try," she chuckles despite herself, finally shaking his hand.

Something about the way his hand makes her feel gives her pause. His skin is warm, smooth and dry against hers, the back of his hand hairless and tan. She notices that his nails are short and well kept, his fingers thicker than average. His grip is firm and confident, leading to a handshake that somehow feels familiar and more like being wrapped up in a tight hug. Something about the way this feels has her smiling at him, as a warmth no cup of coffee could ever provide spreads throughout her body like a stain.

"It was nice meeting you, Kate Beckett. I hope we run into each other again some day."

"Hopefully under less…unusual circumstances," she suggests, ducking her head a little shyly.

"Maybe," nods Castle, his smile a mite wistful when he lets go of her hand and takes a step back.

He taps the toe of his Ferragamo loafer against a crack in the worn linoleum a couple of times as if to punctuate the end of their conversation, and then he offers her the merest suggestion of a bow, before nodding once more and turning on his heel to leave.

Kate watches her favorite author walk away this time, allowing herself this final chance to observe him before New York City claims him from her. The height and size of his frame, the broadness of his back, shoulders as powerful as any wide receiver; he is an impressive specimen of masculinity, there is no denying. But then he doesn't look back, and the moment of fractured longing passes.

She chews on her lip while staring down at his business card once more, her gaze locked on the tasteful, sophisticated lettering until the black font starts to dance like a puppet in front of her eyes.

When she looks up again and turns, the female desk sergeant is leaning over the battered old counter, her chin resting on her hands, watching her.

She gives Kate a smile, and then tips her head in the direction of the front door. "How many millionaires asked you out this month, Beckett? Go on. What are you waiting for?"

Kate's cheeks flood with heat, but she finds herself flashing the sergeant a crazy grin, before she turns on her heel and begins running for the exit.

"Mr. Castle? Wait up!"

TBC...