A/N: Thank you everyone for your support thus far. I will continue to attempt to update weekly, as I've been doing, but I want to appologize preemptively in the case that I am not as regular as I would like to be. I will be starting my studies for my graduate school exam so unfortunately, that has to take precedence in terms of priorities. All that said however, I do plan to continue with this story; updates just may not be as consistent. Hopefully, however, this little author's note will have proved unnecessary. :)

Btdubs, I appreciate all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I do keep them in mind every time I work on a new chapter update, to honor the time you've all taken in reading and commenting on my story. Thank you!

Chapter 5

Traffic at any time of the day in New York is like a clogged artery waiting for its aneurism to burst. Kate Beckett has long since accepted this fact—it was learned helplessness at its best. Sitting in her cruiser now, at high noon, Kate idly counted down the seconds till the light that seems miles ahead of her turns green. Just a few more blocks, she thought, as her gaze turned away towards the equally busy sidewalk every now and then. But after what seemed like ages and she did not believe herself to have made any further progress, Kate decided to just pull over to park these few blocks from the Tisdale building. Chances were, she wouldn't have found parking by then anyways.

But as luck would have it, even after she made it all the way to the right-most lane, she was still having trouble finding a parking spot for her cruiser. Even with her blinker light on and her eyes scanning the streets for some slight movement, she was kept at a standstill pace. She continued to inch towards the Tisdale building, in hopes that eventually a spot would open up, but to no avail.

After about another 15 minutes spent in this traffic, Kate's frustration got the best of her—she might as well have parked the next block over and walked to the building instead of sitting in her car for the last quarter hour waiting for this more direct route. Finally giving up, Kate changed lanes back to the left to U-turn and hedge her bets on a quieter block off this main one. Giving one last fleeting look towards the Tisdale building that looks so close now, Kate was just about to accept defeat when something familiar caught her attention. She couldn't make out the details of the person exiting out the front doors of the Tisdale building but there was something about this individual's floppy rich brown hair that struck a chord with her. She wanted to give the individual a second glance but her light had just turned green and her hesitation was already causing the cars behind her to blare their horns.

It wasn't long after Kate made her turn that she found a parking space within a decent distance from the Tisdale building. By the time she got to her destination however, the man she thought she may have recognized obviously was no longer there. Regardless, Kate passed it off in her mind as another anomalous event and pushed on to inform and interview the father of the recently deceased.

Jonathan Tisdale took the news of his daughter's murder as composedly as he could. After all, this was only the official confirmation of what he had been hearing from the media the day prior. At least now, he knows with certainty, the body found at his daughter's building was indeed her.

"Mr. Tisdale, I'm sorry for your loss," spoke the detective, breaking Tisdale from his brief reverie.

"No, Detective, unless you killed her, there's no need for you to be sorry," he solemnly replied back.

"She was still a life prematurely taken from this world and for that I am sorry. And I give you my word; I will do everything in my power to find your daughter's murderer. Did Allison ever mention having any enemies or being threatened?"

"People loved her. All she wanted was to make the world a better place. I told all this to the other detective."

"The other detective?"

"I'm sorry, not the other detective. I had a guest here before you who asked a lot of questions very similar in style to the ones you're asking now."

"I see. May I ask who this guest was?"

"He was just an individual interested in doing some business with me, but considering the media surrounding my daughter's murder, it's not surprising he was curious about Allison. His questions were simply very focused; for a moment there, I made the mistake of calling him a detective as well."

"Thank you, Mr. Tisdale. Thank you for your time. I promise I'll let you know as soon as we have any updates."

And with that, the detective left, looking slightly more concerned than when she entered but Tisdale's mind was elsewhere. He does not have the energy to think about others. A child should never leave the world before its parents, and with his luck, he figured that wasn't something he would have to worry about. As he looked emptily around his polish but barren office, that which was once a testament to how lucky he's been in his life to achieve so much, now only shows how the fates have turned.

Rodgers sat at his office desk, idly staring at his laptop, waiting until it was time to walk over to the graduate writing seminar he due to lead in a few hours. His morning was unfruitful and his visit to Jonathan Tisdale did not yield any new information. Well, scratch that. He did learn something new. The guy looked terminally ill and seemed to be wearing a hairpiece to cover up the chemo treatments he must be getting. Rodgers doesn't remember reading anything about that in the papers, but all in all, that would be about the only connection they'd have with each other—being published in the same paper as minor celebrities and persons of considerable wealth and power.

Rodgers left the Tisdale building with just as many questions as he had when he entered. How is Richard Castle connected to all this? But with no more leads, it appears all he can do is wait for the warrant that the police was sure to procure and for Black Pawn, his publishing company, to give him up.

Sighing dejectedly, he tried to focus the letters on the screen into words and read the random email one of his college freshmen sent him. It's cute how sometimes his students would send him articles or funny stories they thought he'd be interested in, and for the most part, they'd usually prove to be a sufficient distraction. Today, unfortunately, his mind remains occupied with matters apparently out of his control.

Okay. Change of scenery. He's been unproductively sitting here at his quiet office desk for far too long and he doesn't like that. Maybe a change of location will help him kick his day into gear. And coffee. Go get yourself some coffee, Alex. Caffeine is usually a good jolt to his day to help him focus. Granted, it's about 2 in the afternoon, but he's yet to meet an English professor who hasn't developed a tolerance towards caffeine, be it coffee or tea.

So in about ten minutes, he was packed with his laptop and shoulder bag, ready to head towards the library and stop by the coffee cart he knows to be parked right outside the building. Oh good, there's not much of a line. Rodgers found himself behind a tall brunette, whose figure looked slightly familiar. Maybe a student in one of his lectures? No, she looked little older to be a student. Maybe a TA for one of his fellow colleagues. Well whoever she is, he couldn't help admiring her strong stance. This was a confident woman, he was sure—not stiff or un-relaxing, but assertive, the way she stood proud and tall.

He continued this little game of "people watching," making silent assessments of strangers he never plans to have further contact with. Though the line wasn't very long, this helped him pass the time and take his mind off a murder case that he has no idea how he's involved with. As the woman before him turned slightly to glance down at her hip, he found his gaze lowered to the same area. A phone was apparently vibrating softly, asking for her attention and in her retrieval of such, he managed to catch a flash of a badge that revealed itself when she swept her blazer to the side. Whoa. Am I starting to project my own concerns on strangers or was that really a police badge?

"Beckett," the woman answered simply.

That voice. He knows that voice. But it can't be, can it? Unfortunately, she was already approaching the front of the line as she picked up her phone so Rodgers had no further way of confirming her identity with her attention focused forward.

"Alright boys, thanks—oh vanilla skim latte please—sorry. Where were we? Right. Just keep me updated? I'll be back soon. Gotta clear my mind a bit to try and find the focus for this case again. Talk to you guys soon; I have to pay now."

The mystery woman started patting her front pockets, fumbling with her phone a bit as she attempted to return it to her side holster at the same time. Taking a gamble, Rodgers decided it was best to act quickly before she found her cash.

"Here, let me," he interjected as he extended the bill in his hand to the cashier, "Can you also add to the order a regular café mistro?"

"Thank you, but you don't ha—" the woman (whose name he thinks is Beckett?) looked up from patting her pant pockets. His gamble paid off. It is her! Is that recognition he sees in her eyes?

"Don't worry about it. Here, why don't we move over to the side so other people can order their drinks," he casually suggested. "Hi, my name is Alex. Now that we're no longer strangers, let me buy you this drink."

His mega-watt smile must be working because she's reciprocating the gesture and smiling back as she replies, somewhat shyly, "Thank you. Hi. My name is Kate."

Kate. That's a good name. He likes it.