She'd had the journal copied, blown up so they could read it more easily, the pages spread out across the table in the interview room. Although reading it was perhaps easier said than done.

"God, Kate, his handwriting's worse than yours," Rick complained.

"Cops and doctors. No-one else is supposed to be able to read their notes."

"Yes, but even you can't read your own sometimes." He rubbed at his eyes. "That's why I use a computer."

She was studying one of the pages. "But your handwriting's perfectly legible," she said, unaware she'd paid him a compliment.

He wasn't, though. A smile slid across his face. "That's not what my mother says. She's convinced the reason my first novel wasn't accepted for a long time was because nobody could read it."

"I thought it wasn't accepted because it was crap."

His hand leaped to his chest. "Kate, that is wounding."

She couldn't help her lips twitching. "I've read it. It's crap."

"Okay. So it's true, but still wounding." He grinned. "And I keep forgetting you're a closet Castle fan."

She lifted her head for a moment and glared at him, hot enough to ignite the paper on the table, then continued reading. "Anything on yours?" she asked, her tone icy in comparison.

"Nope. Well, not much. Most of it's gibberish, interspersed with morbid sketches." He turned the sheet he was looking at around so she could see it. "The funeral procession is pretty well rendered, though."

Kate glanced up. "Mmn. Mine has a corpse on it."

"No wonder he was seeing a shrink."

"I'm not sure it was working though. Listen." She read aloud. "'Hate the tablets. Make me feel like I'm not here, like my body is disconnected from my brain. Take them because it makes Dad feel better, not me. I don't want to feel like I'm somewhere else. I want to be here. I want to remember. I don't want to forget Liz.'"

Rick nodded. "He mentions her here, too. 'Liz's birthday. Bought her flowers, left them down by the club. Black roses. Near enough in the dark. When I came out, some bastard had stolen them. Won't do it again. Keep them close to me.'"

"The roses in his bedroom," Kate said quietly. "Is there anything else about the club?"

"A bit." He picked up another page. "There's an entry dated August 17th. 'Went there. I didn't know what to expect, but they remind me of Liz. They're all crazy, of course, but then so am I, although Trask would say I was merely experiencing the normal cycle of grief. Kazia says I should join.'"

"That girl was called Kazia." All blonde hair and pale skin, enlivened by those blood red lips …

Rick nodded. "It must be her. Not exactly a common name."

"We'll interview her."

"And Dr Trask?"

"Of course."

"Won't we need the next of kin's permission? To talk to Trask, I mean. That whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing?"

"Since when were you ever worried about confidentiality? And I ask this as someone whose desk you were rifling only a short while ago."

"Not rifling. Otherwise I'd comment on the change of underwear you keep in the bottom drawer."

Her eyes widened and her hands went hard and flat onto the surface of the table. "Castle, if you've touched my things, or done anything to them, I'll –"

He held up one finger. "Never touched them. Cross my heart and hope to die." He suited the word to the deed.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're a sceptic."

"Where you're concerned? I have to be." She shook her head. "And don't go through my stuff."

"Sometimes it's the only way to get to know a person, to go see what makes them tick."

"Do it again and I'll shoot you."

"I'll put it on my 'not to do' list."

"How long is that now?"

"Oh, a couple of yards. In very small print." He smiled. "And what about Trask?"

She let him change the subject. "Don't worry about that. I think the Captain should be able to arrange for us to get the real dope on Keith." She went back to her reading.

After another half an hour, Rick was developing a headache. "If I look at one more drawing of a gravestone, I'll …"

Kate sat back, stretching her neck. "You'll what?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something." He watched her try to rub her own shoulders. "Would you like a neck rub? I'm really good at those. Ask anyone."

"No, thanks. I'll live."

"Your loss."

"I hope so."

Rick glanced at the pages still to decipher, and swallowed a groan. "Do you think Neidermann read these?"

"You mean the father?"

"Yes. I was just wondering if he'd found the journal like we did. Read it through."

"Maybe. But I don't intend asking him, not yet."

"You don't think he was involved in his son's death, do you?"

Kate stopped moving, her hands clasped around the back of her neck. "No. Not … directly."

"You saw the Bible," he said pointedly.

It had been lying on the side table, under the leaves of a large pot plant, its cover faded, the spine showing much use.

Kate nodded. "Yes. Not exactly prominently displayed, but well-thumbed."

"Neidermann senior, do you think?"

"Well, it could have been Keith's, but from his room and all … this … I'd have to say it was probably his father's." She waited for him to go on, but he just sat and gazed at her expectantly. Eventually, and against her better judgement, she asked, "Why?"

"You tell me."

"Castle, I'm not playing. Whatever this game is."

"Come on, Kate. It meant something to you too, didn't it?"

Her lips pursed. "Maybe. Okay, yes. It did occur to me that maybe Keith wasn't just trying to find comfort about Liz Rossi's death. That perhaps there were other things going on in his homelife he was rebelling against."

"Like a father who sets a lot of store in religion."

"Or maybe Neidermann merely gained solace from it because he was worried about Keith."

"All the more reason to read his journal." Rick sat back.

"Have you? Read Alexis', I mean."

Rick's eyebrows lfted. "Read her what?"

"Her journal. Her diary."

Rick shook his head. "She doesn't keep one."

Kate wanted to laugh. "Of course she does. Every girl keeps one at some point in her life."

"Did you?" he countered.

"Once."

"Before or after the crush on Keifer Sutherland?"

She knew she should never have told him about that, but decided to answer honestly. "About the same time, actually. And for a number of years after."

"You should publish them. Make a fortune."

"They were full of angst and longing, and very boring."

He smiled. "I doubt that."

"You didn't read them."

"Can I?"

"No. I burned them, a long time ago."

Liar, his face said, but his voice stated, "Well, Alexis doesn't do anything like that."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am."

"But if she did … wouldn't you want to read it? See what makes her tick?"

"I know, thanks."

Kate shook her head, enjoying the sensation of winding him up for a change. "A fifteen year old girl, with a father who writes sensationalist prose and a grandmother who … well …"

"You can say it. Believe me, I have." He shuddered slightly.

She moved around it. "Of course she keeps a journal. And it's going to haunt you now, isn't it? What she might have said about you. Now that would make for an interesting book."

"Daddy Dearest?"

"Sounds good."

His face was about as serious as he ever got. "Kate, I know my daughter. She's well-adjusted, amazingly enough. She doesn't need a diary. And even if she did, I'd never read it. I respect her privacy. I always have."

"But there's a part of you that's thinking about it now, isn't there?"

He sidestepped the issue as well, instead asking in an odd tone, "Did your father read yours?"

Kate sat back as the conversation turned on a dime, and for a moment it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. "No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Rick wanted to kick himself. He knew he shouldn't have said it, but she'd made him uncomfortable, so he'd lashed out. Aren't you ever going to grow up? he asked himself. Probably not, he candidly if silently replied. "Sorry," he said aloud.

"What about?"

"Being an insensitive bastard."

"Why stop now?"

"Okay, I deserved that. And the apology stays on the table. If your father is anything like you, he wouldn't have read your diary."

"You think?"

"I do. Because I know you."

"You know …" She stared at him, then stood up, her chair scraping on the floor. For a moment she paced, then turned back. "This is what you see, isn't it?" She held her arms out, almost on display. "And this is what you think you get." She dropped her hands. "But you're wrong. You don't know me, Castle. You know nothing about me."

The urge to defend himself overcame his common sense. "I know some things. I know how you like your coffee. I know you hate avocadoes. I know about your mother's ring, your father's watch." He reached out as if to touch the strap, but stopped himself before he made contact. "I think that's a little more than nothing." Suddenly he was angry again, although this time he knew he would never be able to explain why, and got quickly to his feet. "And I know you have the occasional lousy taste in men."

"Do you mean Will Sorenson?"

His lips set and he crossed his arms. "He was never going to stay, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie. In fact, don't call me anything. Just go away."

"No."

"What?"

"I know your determination. I know the drive. I know you the need you have inside to make things right, to give people closure." He moved closer, his arms dropping so that there was nothing between them. "So what if I don't know which end of the bath you sit at, or whether you prefer showers. They're not the important things. And if I can imbue Nikki Heat with even ten percent of your passion for solving cases, your passion for life, I'll consider I've succeeded." He looked into her eyes. "Katie … Kate … if anything – God forbid – happened to Alexis or my mother, you're the cop I'd want on the case."

Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, her own anger deflated. "I … thanks."

"I know you, Kate."

"Castle, you say that once more and, heaven help me, I will get my gun and –"

"And miss all this stimulating conversation?" His lips lifted on one side. "Of course you won't." He glanced at his own expensive watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date." He picked up his jacket, shrugging easily into it.

"And which one of your many girlfriends is it this time?" Kate asked as she sat back down at the table, and wondered why she still felt the need to snipe.

"Alexis, actually."

"Oh."

"She insisted." He smiled. "I think she's going to try and talk me into buying her a car."

"She's fifteen."

"Then she'll be wanting a chauffeur too." He laughed lightly. "You're more than welcome to join us. My mother will be there as a chaperone, and I know Alexis would like it. You can be a buffer, explain to both of them the error of their ways."

"I haven't managed to do that with you, yet."

"True." He patted his pockets, making sure his wallet, phone, keys were all present and accounted for. "But you should come."

"I …" She paused. "No. I can't. But thanks anyway."

"Your loss."

For a moment Kate had the strongest feeling that something had been avoided, and a strange sense of loss washed through her. Then she gave herself a mental slap on the back of the head and told herself not to be ridiculous. "So where are you going?"

"Antonelli's."

Now she almost wished she'd said yes. "The new place? The one all the critics are raving about?"

He chuckled. "I knew you read the food reviews."

"How did you get a reservation? I'd heard you had to book a year in advance."

"Two." He grinned. "But Alexis mentioned my name, and fame, so it seems, hath its privileges." He headed for the door.

"She's not really going to try and get you to buy her a car, is she?"

Rick stopped, leaned on the frame and spoke over his shoulder. "No. It's sort of a ritual. Today's the anniversary of the date the final divorce came through from Meredith."

"So it's traditional."

"We've been doing it a while now."

"Then … give her my best."

He smiled, the real, true Rick Castle smile that wasn't the cocky, arrogant, self-assured man she had come to know and loath. This was so much warmer, so much more sincere, and it hardly ever saw the light of day, and she didn't know if it was for her or because of Alexis. "I will." He strode out.

She dropped her head to stare at the pages again, picking one up, her forehead furrowing at the almost illegible scrawl. She swore quietly.

"I didn't know you knew that kind of language."

She looked up to see Rick leaning in the doorway, the smirk back on his face, one hand nonchalantly thrust into his pants pocket. "I thought you'd gone," she said, wincing inwardly at the inane words.

"Get your coat, Kate. You're coming to dinner."

She shook her head firmly. "No. I've got work to do. I have too much to be getting on with to go running off to –"

Suddenly he was in her face, his hands resting lightly on the table. "And it will still be here tomorrow. Plus all the other reports that will come in. More than enough for you to lose yourself in. But tonight, you are coming out to Antonelli's, and I won't take no for an answer."

They were so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "I … Castle, I really do have …"

"Katie."

"Don't call me Katie."

"Come out to dinner and I won't."

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away.

"Fine." Kate pushed her chair back so hard it squealed on the floor and stood up. "Give me a few seconds to freshen up."

He straightened up. "No problem."

She passed him, going to her desk for the small washbag she kept in the bottom drawer for the times, all too often, that she couldn't get home, quickly stuffing the change of panties in her pocket before he saw. As she headed out of the squad room, his voice stopped her.

"And just so you know … I don't have that many girlfriends, Kate."

---

Antonelli's was a restaurant that thought it was magnificent, its service first class, and that its food was second to none. Unfortunately, virtually all of that was true. It had opened to great acclaim some two months previously, and from that point on was the place to be seen. Some people actually came to eat, too.

"I'm not dressed for this," Kate muttered as they walked towards its blazing beacons outside.

Rick glanced at her, at that favourite red sweater of hers, her black pants and jacket. "You look edible," he said, smirking a little.

"I'm still armed."

"Which just makes it all the more delicious." The smirk turned to a grin as she rolled her eyes.

The front of the restaurant was a huge plate glass window, letting everyone outside know that they were the unwanted, the unloved, because everyone who was anyone was already within, sitting at the Swedish tables on uncomfortable chairs.

There was a queue, some thirty people waiting in small groups, hoping there would be a cancellation, or maybe a death in the family so they could snap up the empty reservation. Rick smiled as he strode up to the front, ignoring the chatter of effrontery behind him.

"Name?" the doorman, a large black man with impressive muscles, asked.

"Richard Castle. And guest."

The man checked the fancy electronic clipboard in his hand. Then he smiled. "Of course," he said, stepping to one side. "Mr Castle. Welcome to Antonelli's."

"Kate." Rick swept his hand forward to indicate she should go first.

She stepped through the doorway, to be assailed by the scent of fresh bread, slow-cooking meat, with just a very faint hint of rosemary. "If they ever bottle that, I want some," she muttered, taking a deep breath.

"Come on," Rick said, grinning and taking her arm, steering her through the tables.

Although Antonelli's was fairly large on the inside, the owners hadn't so far succumbed to the notion of packing in as many diners as possible. Most tables could comfortably seat up to six, with the option of two more if they didn't mind knocking elbows, but there was sufficient room between each that a person could walk unmolested from one end of the room to the other, and conversations not overheard. For a more intimate dining experience, there were also discreet tables for two around the edge, half-hidden among the large aspidistras and flowering ferns dotted here and there. Music, something subtle and calming, played very quietly, almost on the edge of hearing.

"Impressive," Kate murmured.

"It's okay." Rick shrugged. "It's just a place to eat, fancier and more expensive than others."

"How expensive?"

He just smiled.

Along the far side wall was the bar, mirrors reflecting the room back, making it seem even bigger, while every colour and variety of alcohol on the face of the earth sat on the shelves. There were half a dozen people sitting on the high stools, and Rick made for the one with red hair falling down her back in a neat ponytail.

"Excuse me, miss, but are you picking up men?" Rick said into her ear.

Alexis turned on her stool. "What would you do if I said yes?"

"I…" He thought for a moment. "You know, I'm not exactly sure."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Then you're lucky. I'm not."

"But I bet your grandmother is." He glanced around but there was no sign of Martha. "Where is she, by the way?"

"The ladies room. Making herself more beautiful."

"I keep telling her it's a waste of time." He smiled at his own double entrendre.

Alexis laughed, then looked past him. "Hello, Kate."

"Hi, honey." Kate moved forward. "Are you sure this is all right?"

"Of course it is." She grinned, making her delicate bone-structure even more youthful than normal. "It'll be fun."

Rick had called Alexis on his cellphone on the way over, at Kate's insistence. She didn't want to be turning up and having his daughter upset at the unwanted intrusion: she liked the girl too much for that. Having the phone handed to her, Alexis had been most insistent that she come join them.

"I'm sure it will. And before you ask, your Dad's not buying you a car. Or I'd have to arrest him," Kate added.

Alexis opened her eyes wide. "A car? Is that what he said?"

"He did." Kate turned to Rick. "Do you mean he lied to me?"

"That's what I do," Rick admitted, enjoying the banter. "Lie. All the time. On the page. Only I like to think of it more as exaggerating, but with tremendous style."

Kate had to smile.

"Richard, darling." Martha walked up behind him and put her arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek before smiling at the other woman. "And Kate. I'm so glad he persuaded you."

"He wouldn't take no for an answer."

"That's because most people don't say it to him. It's what comes of lacking a father figure when he was growing up." She sighed melodramatically.

"And whose fault was that?" Rick put in.

"Well, it isn't mine."

"It would have helped if you'd at least got the man's name."

"I did. I just … forgot it in the heat of the moment."

"Mother!"

"And there was always someone around, don't you forget that," she went on, ignoring his discomfort. "You were never left alone."

"Yes," Rick agreed. "And every one of them a showgirl or wannabe Broadway star."

Martha shrugged elegantly. "At least you know how to put on eyeliner properly."

He cringed, just a little. "Mom, you can't just … telling people that doesn't do my reputation any good."

"What reputation?"

"Is this what it's going to be like?" he complained. "The three of you sniping at me all evening?"

"Of course," Kate said, putting her hand on his arm. "It's what makes life pleasurable."

"You want pleasure?" He leaned forward. "Katie, you only had to ask."

She pushed him away. "Don't call me Katie."

"Of course not, Detective." He snapped off a fairly smart salute.

Alexis giggled, while Martha just smiled and shook her head.

"Miss Castle, your table is ready for you now." A flunky in a black shirt and pants had approached on silent feet, and now spoke to Alexis. "If you'd like to follow me."

Alexis got down from her stood. "You know, I could get used to this," she whispered.

"Now, you know what we agreed," her father said. "No becoming a spoiled rich brat until you finish college."

"Spoilsport."

"That's my job."

Within a few minutes they were seated at a table, large menus spread out in front of them.

"Do they do anything simple?" Martha asked.

"Lobster salad," Alexis suggested.

"Ooh, yes, that sounds good. And they've got caviar, too."

"Whatever you want," Rick said.

"Now there's an offer I don't get every day." Martha smiled at him. "Even from you."

"Why hasn't mine got prices on?" Kate asked, leaning forwards so she could see Rick's. "Yours has."

He jerked it out of reach. "That's because this is my treat."

"I pay my own way."

"Not tonight."

"Castle –"

"Kate, I asked you. Nothing about splitting the check. I think I can just about scrape together enough money so we don't have to wash dishes."

"I don't like to owe anyone for anything," she said stubbornly.

He felt a stab of something that hurt, just a little. "You wouldn't have to owe me, Kate. I told you. This is my treat." He covered it with a smile. "But if you like, you can buy the Danishes next time."

"That's not the same."

"It's as good as you're going to get."

"Castle –"

"Children, children," Martha interrupted, her eyes going from one to the other. "If you can't play nicely you'll have to go and stand in the corner until you can behave yourselves."

Kate broke Rick's gaze and looked at the older woman. "Sorry."

"Rick?" Martha asked, staring at her son.

For a moment he looked like the little boy he must have been once upon a very long time ago before he became the little boy he still was. "Sorry, Mom."

"Good." She nodded, satisfied. "Now, why don't you tell us about the case you're both working on?"

"No," Kate said firmly. "No shop talk."

"It's okay," Alexis said. "Dad often talks about the victims." She saw something in Kate's eyes, because she added quickly, trying to make up for the faux pas, "I mean, not in detail. Just generally. Because it helps sort things out for him."

"You talk about the cases?" Kate asked, turning to Rick, who had the grace to look even a trifle abashed.

"A little. Just … you know … a hair. Maybe two."

"He never gives names," Martha put in. "Even when they're important."

"It's confidential, Castle," Kate said, her voice low. "What we do. You know? Like we talked about earlier? I would have thought you realised that by now."

"I do!" he insisted. "But when I'm writing I bounce things off my family, and I … well, I guess I can't break the habit."

"Try."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I mean, this case, the kids from Polidori's. The most I'd be talking about is –"

"Polidori's?" Alexis was wide-eyed. "There's a case involving that club?"

All three adults looked at her, varying expressions on their faces.

"You know about it?" Rick finally asked.

"I … I've heard of it." She'd gone even paler than normal

"God, please just tell me you're not a member." He stared into her eyes, willing her to give the right answer.

"No, of course not." She looked faintly disgusted. "It's not my kind of place. But I know a couple of girls who are."

"From school?

"Yes."

"Alexis …" Kate glanced at Rick, wanting permission, but he got there first.

"How well do you know them, sweetheart?" He took her hand.

"Just … you know, friends."

"Close friends?"

"Dad, what is this about?" She glanced from one to the other. "Has someone … died?"

"Yes, Alexis," Kate said. "Someone has. A boy named Keith Neidermann."

Alexis' hand flew to her mouth. "No."

"Do you know him?" Rick asked, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach.

"No. Well, I met him once. Kazia introduced us."

"Kazia?" Kate sat forward.

"One of the girls I told you about." Alexis looked into her father's face, tears beginning to well under her lashes. "He's not really dead, is he?"

"I'm afraid he is, kitten," Rick confirmed.

"Alexis, what was their relationship?" Kate asked. "Kazia and Keith."

"She loved him."

For a moment neither Rick nor Kate moved. When they'd met Kazia at the club earlier, she hadn't said anything about being Keith's girlfriend, or even seeming that concerned with his well-being beyond asking if he was in trouble.

"How old is she?" Kate asked gently.

"Fifteen. Her birthday's a few weeks after mine." She blinked hard. "Are you sure Keith's really dead?"

Kate couldn't help the mental image of the boy laid out, jars of blood beneath the gurney, the plastic sheeting giving everything an unholy glow. "Alexis, I need to ask you some questions. Do you think you can answer them for me?"

Alexis nodded, swallowing.

"Not here," Rick said firmly. "Back at my place."

Kate nodded. He was Alexis' father, and for once he was in charge. "That's fine."

Martha stood up. "You take her home. I'll get them to do us something in the way of take-out and follow you."

Rick smiled gratefully at his mother and pulled out his wallet, sliding his credit card from inside and handing it over. "I know you know how to forge my signature."

"No problem."

He turned back to look at his daughter, noting the way she was shaking slightly. He usually forgot she was only fifteen, thinking of her as so much more mature than that, but when it came down to it, she was only a teenager, little more than a child herself. "Come on," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently as he got up. "I won't go anywhere."

She let him lift her to her feet. "Okay, Daddy," she said, moving close to him so he could put his arms around her.