Here's chapter 5 - thank you for the reviews, and for your patience. I'm not the happiest bunny in the world with this one, but hey. It's a chapter.
With humungous thanks to:
Alex, for telling me to scrap bits and rewrite others
Vicky, for constantly telling me that I'm evil - honestly: she even compared my writing to waxing - "painful, but with a hidden beauty"
And twinsie Sky, for prodding me gently into writing, putting up with my slow laptop while watching the season premier, and generally squealing in the right places.
Reviews are love, my friends. Plus a sneak peek *wink* (And yeah, I know. No one is really surprised by the reveal at the end, right?)
I don't own anything you recognise.
"Jordan?" Rick whispers. He takes a step nearer the screen, his hand subconsciously reaching towards the monitor. "Jordan?"
Confused thoughts drag through his mind like a freight train through snow as he searches the pixelated image for tiny details that he would recognise.
Doubt bubbles in him. Jordan's not exactly an unusual name, and neither is Rodgers - quite frankly, he's surprised she used that name -
There. The little birthmark on her right cheek, just above her jawline. It's there. It's her.
"My baby," he breathes, a sob of joy tinged with grief catching in his throat as he collapses into the nearest chair, head in hands and beaming smile on his face. "My baby - you're alive."
"NYPD - open up!" Esposito pounds his clenched fist on the door with enough force to pulverise a lesser piece of wood, his face registering no hint of discomfort. After a moment's pause, with no sign of response, he shares a pointed look with Ryan and launches an explosive kick at the handle, which splinters easily. The pair move slickly through the apartment, pieces held at the ready as they searched for their suspect.
"Clear," Ryan calls from the bathroom.
Esposito sighs, jamming his gun back in its holster. "Clear." Distraught disappointment is evident in his voice as they take one last look at the empty room. "Come on," Esposito marches from the room, unable to bear the frustration. "We'll ask the neighbours."
Eventually, with more than a little good-cop-bad-cop, they learn that Rodgers had been working in a small shop not far from the apartment, earning just enough to eat and pay the rent, determined to get out of the rut of unemployment and shady trading. Esposito doesn't wait to thank their informant, striding off in the direction of the subway, focussed only on hunting. Squeezed uncomfortably onto the small subway seats, the two detectives stay in a companionable silence. Involuntarily, his mind wanders to Beckett and what she would do if it was one of them in the hospital beds. He knows it will be hard for her to recover – but what about them? They've lost their leader, and it's going to take a lot to get them all back on their feet, bounding down the realms of possibilities, erasing the memories of Kate being the target of the crime.
If their leader hadn't been the victim, where would she go from here?
Castle spends the next half hour tossing his cell from one hand to another. Does he risk calling, even though he's been out of the loop for more than a year? Risk him finding out that Beckett is still alive, for what could possibly be a fruitless exercise?
Is it worth risking the lives of his family for news of his past?
His cell rings - Ryan. With the number of calls they had been exchanging lately, Castle was tempted to change his ringtone to something suitably ridiculous.
"We've got Rodgers."
Castle starts. It's odd hearing them refer to their suspect with his old surname.
"Are you still at the precinct?"
He nods, before remembering they can't see him. "Yeah. I am." Ryan tells him to stay put, before they arrive back to interrogate Rodgers and he hums his acknowledgment as his mind begins to wander once more.
"I haven't done anything!" He hears her before he sees her, and so does most of the precinct. She's more magnificent than he could have imagined - the only woman he knows to hold a candle to Kate Beckett. Despite her cuffed wrists and bleeding lip she struts out of the elevator with an air of confidence he still hasn't mastered after five years.
She isn't dignified with a response, instead being led roughly to the interrogation room where she collapses and stares knowingly at the observation suite, followed by Ryan and Esposito glaring at her so ferociously Castle's surprised she hasn't broken into pieces.
Protected by the sheet of one-way glass, Castle can take his time to look at her properly. She looks more gentle than her photograph would suggest, the sharp lines of her jaw softened by twinkling blue eyes.
Ryan storms to the table and slams a folder down in front of her, the crack echoing through the room. "Ms Rodgers, what is your connection to Kate Beckett?"
"Who?" There is no mistaking the confusion in her voice.
"Detective Kate Beckett," Ryan repeats, each syllable harsh, striking Castle painfully. "The woman you shot."
"I didn't shoot anybody!"
Ryan snorts disbelievingly. "So why did we find your fingerprints on shell casings above where she was shot?"
"What?" She is clearly astounded, and Castle has to reign in the urge to break into the room and set her free.
"Ms Rodgers, where were you on Tuesday between midday and four in the afternoon?" Esposito leans forward, an unnerving gleam in his eye.
"I - " she gulps, and Castle copies her sympathetically. "I think I was working - "
"You think?" The detective pounces on her words with glee. Annoyance flashes in her eyes and she bristles.
"Yes: 'I think', Detective. I don't consciously remember where I was at certain times on certain days in case I'm asked for an alibi!" she snaps. "Ask my manager - he should confirm it."
Esposito nods to Ryan who leaves the room to confirm it. It's the same routine they practice on every suspect - only this time, it's more personal, and their actions hold a threatening violence that is usually restrained. To them, she isn't worth the time of day. Guilty until proven innocent.
Silence reigns over the table. Rodgers drums her fingers anxiously on her knee and Rick feels the corners of his mouth twitch.
That was one of her habits.
Ryan explodes back into the room, pen held aloft, triumphant expression on his face.
"Your manager says you took a break at 11, and didn't return until the next day. Care to explain?"
"What? My day off is Thursday - I didn't - I never - I wouldn't - " Her spluttering is cut off by a sneer from Esposito.
"Well, clearly you did - so, would you like to think again?"
"I - I swear I was working - "
"She was at the loft."
Castle has never been on the receiving end of a Team Beckett glare, and he's glad. It burns, and makes it instantly obvious why their suspects are so easily subdued. His outburst had shocked all three of the room's occupants, and he gulps as Ryan blinks at him.
"She was at the loft? Your loft?"
Castle nods, meeting Rodgers' baffled eyes and hoping his stare is strong enough to stop her from asking questions.
"Why?"
"She...was part of a college thing Alexis did," he improvises. "And the girls got close, and wanted to have a night in, watching movies, you know."
Esposito doesn't look convinced.
"And Alexis would confirm that?"
Damn. Damn. No, she wouldn't, of course she wouldn't - she'd never even heard of Jordan Rodgers. "Yes."
The detectives look slightly mollified, and for a moment Castle wonders if he should have played the indignant card, acting surprised that they didn't believe him.
"You're free to go, Ms Rodgers," they grudgingly announce. Castle barely hears it, instead focussing on the fantastically not-dead features of the woman released.
It's her. It's actually her.
"Jordan?"
"Yes?" she answers warily, then frowns. "Wait – why aren't you calling me 'Ms Rodgers' like the rest of them?" Castle stops. Damn, he hadn't meant to make it that obvious that theirs was a different kind of relationship.
"Because – I know who you are," he stammers. Her frown deepens.
"Who I am?" she repeats slowly.
"Yes," Castle continues earnestly. "I – I know that your mother was killed, and that you never knew your father. I know - " he lowers his voice. "I know you know who I am. And I don't mean all the famous author rubbish. Who I really am."
Jordan nods hesitantly, blue eyes reflecting back at him almost like a mirror as they stare at each other across the corridor. "I know what you do. I know the connection – but I've left now. I finished last year. He paid me my last and found me my job."
"You left? Jordan, you never 'leave'. As long as he knows who you are, he's always in control."
"Why do you think I changed my name?" she puts in scathingly.
"Changed your-"
"I was a Cardinal, according to my birth certificate."
Castle looks momentarily bewildered. "So – why Rodgers?" Jordan shrugs.
"I like musicals. And Hammerstein just seemed too different."
"Castle!" A call from Esposito startles the pair and Rick automatically strides over to the detective's desk.
"'What's the matter?"
"Bro – we've got a lead. She's given us what we need." Both Esposito and Ryan look a mixture of pleased and bloodthirsty.
"But – her alibi-"
Kevin angles the screen towards him. The writer scans the information, taking in the figures, the names, the details of whoever had hurt his beloved Kate. There, in black and white, was the evidence, exactly what they needed; the tip of the iceberg they were searching for.
"Finances show that she receives a monthly income from an anonymous source alongside her wages from the shop - an income," Ryan adds with a flourish as he brings up another window. "That matches the exact amounts drawn from an account we have been able to trace back to the most recent Presidential campaigns. An account activated with a throw-away email address that was added to the subscriptions list for one particular Senator."
The three men share a look.
"Bracken."