CHAPTER 6 – HIDING

They stopped at a supermarket a few miles from the safe house. Sierra produced a cap and sunglasses from her bag and handed them to Rick. He laughed as he put them on.

"Now I really do feel like a spy."

He pulled a goofy expression, and Sierra couldn't help but laugh with him. He had a way of making even the most stressful situations a little more relaxed.

They went around the store, buying everything they could think of – a lot of food, washing stuff, clothes, towels, books, even DVDs and a deck of cards.

"What will there be at the house?"

Sierra shrugged. "It varies. Sometimes they're pretty well furnished, other times it's a couple of mattresses in a reinforced shed."

Rick groaned, then remembered Sierra had spent last night awake on a lumpy couch.

"If there's just one bed, you can have it."

Sierra smiled at the gesture. "We'll be taking turns sleeping," she said, throwing an electric heater and a couple of sleeping bags into the cart, "but thanks."

"Always," Rick answered, winking at her as he added shot glasses to their collection. She raised her eyebrows.

"We might get bored," he said with a shrug, then disappeared to find whiskey. "How likely is it that they'll find us?" he asked when he returned.

Sierra thought about it. "Almost inevitable, eventually. But if we're lucky, it'll take them a good few days, maybe a week. The safe house is completely secret, and we've managed to be under the radar."

As if to illustrate this, she paid for their large purchase in cash; fresh, crisp bills straight from the bank. They loaded it into the car and Sierra offered to drive the last fifty miles or so. Rick was happy to settle into the passenger seat. After a few minutes of silence he asked if he could put the radio on. Sierra nodded, and he gleefully began fiddling with the tuner. However, they were travelling further and further away from civilisation, and the only thing he managed to find was static.

The safe house was several miles down a dirt road, a sort of cabin overlooking a river. It was almost picturesque – if the pouring rain hadn't turned all the exposed ground to mud it would have seemed like a holiday destination. Also, the cabin was made of bricks, not logs, and had just one reinforced steel door. The windows were all fake apart from a few slits to let in daylight, and it was surrounded by what looked like an electric fence, which Sierra programmed as they arrived.

"The code's 41319. What's the code?"

"Uh, 41319."

"Tell me again."

"41319."

"Very good. Remember it."

Rick nodded.

"Same code for the door, but it needs fingerprints too. Very techy – the buttons all have print scanners. I'll have to scan you in, we don't trust the master database with the safe houses, so almost all their security is self contained – that way, even if there's a mole who messes with the central computer, the safe houses are still safe."

"How do you know so much about CIA safe houses?"

"Same system as in Britain. Plus, the US is my area of expertise."

Rick nodded, and helped her carry the shopping in. The house had three rooms – a bedroom, a kitchen-dining-living room, and a bathroom. Sierra swept the place, then told Rick to put the food away. She opened her bag and took out her weapons. She flipped over the coffee table and taped her sig under it – her glock stayed comfortably on her hip.

"There's a gun under the coffee table," she called to Rick.

"Uh, cool..." he said, putting away six cans of baked beans. Sierra left her back up glock out, put her machine gun in the bedroom, and her tiny hand gun in the bathroom cabinet. There were some grenades in the bag; she left it in the kitchen.

"It's like Mary Poppins... but hardcore," Rick said, watching her. Sierra laughed.

"Come here and let me scan you in to the fingerprint thing."

Rick tried to ignore the tingling in his fingers when she took hold of his hand.

"What's the code?" she asked him suddenly.

"41319."

"Good boy," she said, smiling. "Okay, it knows you now. I don't imagine we'll be going out much, but just in case..."

Rick nodded. "No TV," he said sadly. Sierra laughed.

"You can play your DVDs on my laptop. Although Die Hard, seriously?"

"I thought it went with the mood."

She laughed again. Rick loved the sound; it was like floaty bubbles in his ears.

"Want to learn how to shoot?" she asked him. He nodded enthusiastically. She looked in the cupboards and found a cereal box, took out the cereal, and put it on top of the couch. She led Rick to the other end of the room and stood behind him.

"Shoot the tiger's face. The wall could use a bullet hole."

Rick laughed.

"Won't you get into trouble?"

"Doubt it. No one'll even know it was me. Well, no one from here. Anyway, I think you'll miss and hit the settee. And it's crap anyway."

"What's a settee?"

"Couch."

"Bloody Brits."

"Shoot, writer boy."

He shot three rounds into the couch. Sierra laughed. She helped him square up his legs, then put her arms around him, getting his arms at a better angle. His skin sizzled wherever she touched it. She was better at hiding it.

"We could always just cuddle, Castle," she said as he tensed up even more. She said it to hide her own feelings, and it worked. Rick gave his shoulders a little shake.

"I bet I hit the damn tiger this time."

Sierra laughed. "No chance."

"Okay. I bet your shirt I can hit him on the nose."

She grinned. "What do you lose if you lose?"

"Your pick. I'm not going to lose."

"So, strip target practice? I should suggest it on our training weeks."

"MI6 camp? What's that like?"

"Muddy. Shoot the tiger."

Rick smiled his lopsided smile, narrowed his eyes, and shot the tiger on the nose. Sierra stared at him.

"A moment ago you couldn't shoot!"

"You're a very good teacher," he said seductively. She took off her shirt and threw it at him. He watched her with admiration.

"I'm going to take a shower. You can keep that. It has a hole in anyway. Watch the door. An alarm will go off if anyone even turns down the road, but-"

"Just in case. Sure. Enjoy your shower," he said cheerfully as he watched her go into the bathroom.

Sierra sighed with relief as she finally removed the vile blonde wig. It looked realistic enough, but she hated it with a passion. She washed her short hair three times, using an excessive quantity of cherry scented shampoo, just because she could. When she finally felt clean, she wrapped herself up in a fluffy new towel and went into the bedroom to find some clean clothes. Then, dressed in leggings and a hoodie (but still with her belt and holster on) she went to the living room to find Rick building a card tower.

"Wow you smell different," he said without turning around.

"You still stink. Want the shower?"

He nodded, placing the last card on the structure.

"Impressive. Go get clean."

He laughed and left for the bathroom.

Sierra relaxed on the battered but fairly comfortable couch and listened to the soothing sound of running water, enjoying finally feeling clean. Suddenly, Rick put his head around the door. The shower was still on; he was dripping. And gaping.

"What happened to your hair?" he said to her. Sierra laughed.

"You'd make a rubbish detective. You don't notice anything."

"I was thinking about my card tower. The blonde hair was a wig?"

"Yep. D'you miss it?"

Rick thought about this. "No. You look good with short hair. I like it better."

"Thanks. Now get back in the shower!"

Rick laughed and closed the bathroom door again. Sierra smiled. Babysitting might be a rubbish duty, but at least Richard Castle was amusing. And hot... She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn't be thinking things like that at a time like this. She had to be alert.

At least he didn't know how much of a fan she really was. That would have been really awkward...