Chapter 6

He's insane. Or obsessed. Or possibly manic. How can anyone be so keen on every trivial little detail – and how can anyone reel off that list of questions and brain dumping without stopping for breath? Is he a whale?

Well, no. Not a whale. Much better proportioned than a whale. No blubber, either. Though the breath control is impressive…. She manages not to blush. Friends. Friends is good. She resets herself.

"One question at a time," she says firmly.

Rick stops, mouth open on what was sure to be another tidal wave of words without a pause for thought.

"One?"

"One."

"Can I visit the precinct again?" He exaggeratedly closes his mouth and waits.

"Hmmm. I'll think about it."

"But I have to," Rick pleads. "I've got to see it again."

Beckett regards him with astonishment. He sounds like a druggie pleading for a hit: absolutely desperate.

"Why does it matter so much?"

"It's got to be right. It won't work if I don't get the details right. I have to be precise."

"Are you a bean-counter in real life? It's a book. It's not a step by step manual."

"I take a lot of pride in being exact," Rick says defensively. "It's important to what I do."

"Oh, okay. Bean-counter," she says with amused affection. "I guess your personality is the same whether you're at work or trying to do something completely different."

"Yeah. Guess so. So can I come to the precinct again? Soon?"

Beckett looks at her watch. "If you had time, we could go now."

"Now?"

"You wouldn't have to put up with Ryan and Espo, and it'll be quieter. My boss won't be around, either. It wouldn't be any fun if he told you to get lost, and I'd be carpeted. You can nose around without anyone getting upset." She grins wickedly. "If you ask any of the cops as many questions as you ask me you'll be in a cell on charges of unreasonable harassment."

Rick ignores the last comment. "Now? Really? Yes. Let's go."

"Let's pay the check first," she says dryly. "Being arrested is so embarrassing if you're a cop."

Naturally, Rick's butterfly mind seizes on that. "Arrested? You've been arrested? While you were a cop? How? Why? Who?"

"I was in Vice…" she trails the bait.

"You were?" His eyes are saucer wide, the bright blue fascinated already. "Oh, Kate. That's amazing. What happened?"

She squirms. "Well, um, someone didn't get the memo that I was undercover…."

It's like the old fairy tale. Now his eyes are the size of dinner plates.

"…and arrested me along with all the real working girls…"

Now they are the size of soup tureens. She can't help but be flattered by his complete absorption.

"…and it wasn't until they booked me, about four hours later, that I managed to convince them that I was a cop."

"Wow," Rick breathes. She has a sudden feeling of impending disaster. "So how were you arrested? What's Booking? What's it like? Why did it take so long? Why didn't they believe you? Why" –

"Stop! No. More. Questions." His mouth opens. "Or I won't let you in the precinct." It shuts, with a decided pout. "Let's pay, and go. Before I regret it." She leaves her half, and is halfway to the door before Rick has caught up.

"Can we walk there?"

"Sure."

She's barely vocalised the S before his arm is wrapped around her. "Uh?" she articulates.

"Friends, right?"

"Yeah…"

"I hug my friends."

Why argue? It feels nice. She likes it. And she's let him do it every other time so it's not like it's a new thing and why upset him by arguing anyway? She wiggles slightly to be in the perfect alignment, and they perambulate off towards the Twelfth.

Castle is delighted with life. He'll be able to look at every tiny detail without the ominous hostility of Kate's co-workers, and by the time he's done he'll have it all imprinted on his capacious and accurate memory. Then his book will be real. All the subtle touches that will give it authenticity will be there. It's all falling into place.

Beckett watches with amusement as Rick bounces round the bullpen like a demented rubber ball. He looks at everything, and even tries the coffee, though he spits it out after the first sip. He pokes into the break room, and a conference room; tries out the chairs and the desks and has to be restrained from fiddling with LT's novelty pen holder; demands to be shown the interrogation rooms and then wants to be interrogated.

"Interrogated?"

"Yeah. I need to know what it feels like. Is it scary, or is it just unnerving, or is it different if you're a witness not a suspect?"

"This isn't a role play or a TV show, you know."

"C'mon. Just for a few minutes?"

"Oh, whatever. What do I suspect you of?"

"Murder, of course. Um… I murdered my overly dramatic and profoundly nosy mother. So you allege," he adds quickly. "I haven't really."

"How do I know?"

"Er…. That's not fair, Kate! Of course I didn't. Why are you" –

"Sit down there. In here, I ask the questions."

Her face has completely changed, back to the cold hostility of their first meeting. Shocked, Castle sits down with a hard thump.

"When did you last see your mother?"

"Uh… this morning."

"When?"

"Uh…actually last night."

"Lie number one. Which was it?"

"Last night," Castle flusters.

"Where?"

"At home. She was drinking my best wine," he says aggrievedly.

"Does she do that often?" A hint of empathy.

"Yeah."

"It annoys you, doesn't it?" More empathy

"Yeah."

"Enough to kill her?" lashes out.

"No!"

"I think that's enough, Rick."

It sure is. He's squirming and guilty already, and he hasn't actually done anything more than raise an eyebrow or make a sarcastic remark to his mother – and he didn't even do that last night.

"That's scary," he says, and thinks very privately that if he can convey that passion and sense of intimidation in print he'll have another million-seller. As long as Kate never directs it at him for real. He'd wilt like a leaf in a blast furnace.

"Criminals aren't usually shrinking violets. Do you still want to see Observation?" she offers.

"Yeah. I think I'd like to be on the good guys' side of the glass." Definitely. Kate is seriously terrifying and she wasn't even doing it for real. He follows her out and round.

"Wow. That's amazing. Can you hear too?"

"Yep. Usually if we're in the box with a suspect the other will be in here, in case they spot something we don't. Cross-checking, I guess, but we don't think of it like that." She pauses. "Have you seen enough?"

"Yeah. That's been great. I know so much more now. I've just got a few more questions…"

"No more questions tonight."

"Tomorrow?" Tomorrow night, when he'll have incorporated all of this into his plan and skeleton and made notes and let it all soak in.

"Let's see. If another body doesn't drop." She casts him a sidelong glance from under her eyelashes. "Um… Ryan and Espo might want to apologise…"

"Late tomorrow afternoon, if you aren't busy with a body." He suddenly has an idea. "If you had a new body, could I come along?"

"What? No. Crime scenes aren't public property. It's… disrespectful to the dead. And you'd get in the way. I need quiet to feel the scene and understand the corpse. You ask too many questions – and before you start to pout" –

"I do not pout" –

"You so do – you'd never be able to keep quiet. Never. You ask questions at a million a minute." Her eyes glint mischievously. "When you've slowed down. See, you're pouting already." She pauses. "Anyway, most likely the body would drop when you're at work, and how would you explain that to your boss?"

Castle thinks very quickly. "She wouldn't like it, for sure." Gina never likes it when he's not writing.

"Well then. Hardly anyone makes money from writing, so you need to keep your day job."

He can't do that. He killed off Storm. Not that anyone knows that, yet. They'll find out in a few weeks. When he gets round to the edits, when it goes to print, when the carousel of readings and signings and PR starts to spin again. He doesn't want to go back to Storm. Storm's over.

"If you can get off work, come by around half past five, six. I'll let you know if it's a problem. The boss'll be at 1PP, so no chance he'll throw you out."

He smiles, beautifully. "That'd be great. Thank you." He pauses. "I think I'd better get home. Can I walk you to the subway?"

"My car's here."

"Walk you to your car?"

"Okay. Thank you. Um… I could give you a ride?"

"No, it's okay. I'm in the other direction from you."

She shrugs. "Up to you."

Phew. There's no way he can keep his real identity secret if she sees his block. But he'll see her tomorrow, and ideas are fizzing in his head. Even if she had given him a ride he wants to write, not be sociable. Not even with Kate. He needs to write.

He hastens to the subway, lost in creative dreams, hurries home, manages five minutes' conversation with his mother and daughter, and disappears to his study, impatiently opening his document and then burying himself in the story. His lead character's backstory falls into place: a tragically murdered mother, a grieving father hiding in work, a daughter trying to find answers while remembering her mother: all the while fleshing out the case that's the main plot, adding the touches of realism from his evening's visit, straining to show his readers the power of interrogation and the outright terror that his lead character inspires. Yet again, he writes for most of the night, wakes briefly to breakfast with his daughter, sleeps till noon, and writes yet more. He can't control the frantic outpouring of words and plot.

When his phone cheeps cheerfully the next day with his reminder to call Jenna Cournat, he's loath to stop. But… Kate's not his possession, and he can hardly install her in his study, unlike his book. He finishes the paragraph, saves and backs up into the bargain, has a sudden thought and writes another hundred words, and then re-saves. Only then does he dial.

"Jenna, hello?"

"Jenna, it's Rick Castle. I had an idea."

"Mhm?"

"That fundraiser? If I made a donation, do you think someone would check off all the names who didn't buy that copy of Casino Royale, against the final guest list? And then could I see about the remaining names?"

There is a strange silence.

"Sure," Jenna says uncertainly. "How much were you thinking of?"

"Ten thousand?" He would pay fifty thousand, if only he can find his book again.

"Why, surely," she enthuses. "I'll get someone started on it right away. How would you like to donate?"

"I'll drop in a check this afternoon."

He writes it out instantly. What's the point of having more millions than he knows what to do with if he can't use it for something that really, really matters to him? He returns to his writing, setting another alarm so that he can go via Jenna's fundraising offices on the way to the Twelfth Precinct.

"Beckett, that Rick Rodgers guy is here again."

"Thanks. Send him up."

There is a noticeable delay before he reaches Beckett's floor.

"Couldn't you find the elevator?"

His ears turn pink. "I was looking round the entry. All the different people…" He gets no further before the man with no taste in clothes sidles up.

"Um… Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Look, man, er… um… I'm sorry 'bout the other day. Didn't mean…um…"

"Okay." He smiles. The cop… oh yes, Ryan… smiles back, tentatively.

"So…um…d'you wanna ask me anything? Beckett can be a bit…um…" – she glares fearsomely – "intense."

"Yeah. That'd be great. Now?"

"I could use a coffee."

The two men wander off to the break room. Beckett shrugs and leaves them to it. Across the bullpen, Esposito is head down in prints and DNA, frowning fit to wrinkle his skull.

"Do you want some coffee?"

"No thanks. I tried it and it's vile. How do you drink that stuff?"

"It's hot and it has caffeine."

"And strychnine," Castle adds with venom.

Ryan shrugs. "Caffeine. Hot. And free. And always there."

"What d'you mean?"

"If a case is hot, we don't go home. If you're Beckett, you sometimes don't go home even if it's not hot, if she's thinking hard."

"No sleep?"

"See that couch?"

Castle looks, and just about doesn't shudder. Kate sleeps on that? He wouldn't sleep on that without a biohazard suit.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

Really? It looks like it belongs in the city's refuse dump. He turns his back on it, quickly, in case rabid rats pile out of it and eat him alive. "How'd you become a cop?"

"Always wanted it. My brother's in private security, but that's chancy and, well, you can't turn down clients too often, you know…?" Castle nods, sympathetically. "I'd rather be a cop. You're always on the right side, that way. Anyway, did my time in uniform, then I went into Narcotics."

"You mean drug busts, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah, but then the brass wanted to get into one of the gangs, and I fitted the profile, and I was new so no-one knew my face yet, and so I went undercover."

Castle goggles. "That's awesome," he gasps. "How long for? How did you do it? How did you live like that and never give it away? I can't imagine keeping a secret like that for so long."

Ryan blushes. "You live it. You…um… you have to stay absolutely in the story. Like acting, but if you drop out of character you die. Literally die."

"Quite an incentive."

"Damn straight." Just for an instant Ryan's baby face twists. Castle stays quiet. "Anyways, after we got them, that was me ruined for undercover. I was known, and you can't have that. So I was looking around a bit, and I heard there was a space here, and, well, Espo and Beckett were cool with me so I transferred."

"They were partners already? And they wanted a third?"

"Yeah. Beckett was there first. She's senior." Castle hides his surprise. Espo looks older, and he'd assumed… never assume, idiot! "But… they're sometimes a bit too alike, and they needed a" – he wriggles uncomfortably – "buffer, sometimes. Anyway, it worked. We've been a team for years."

Castle wanders back out of the break room to Kate's desk, and announces his presence with a gentle tap near her papers.

"You done?" she asks.

"Yeah. Interesting."

"What was interesting?" Espo slouches up.

"Ryan's story."

"Him? Mine's just as interesting," Espo declares.

"You're the one who got in his face," Kate points out sardonically.

"Okay. Maybe I was a bit…"

"Out of line?"

"O-kay. Yeah." He looks mildly shamefaced. "Anyway," he re-inflates, "why don't we take Rick here to a bar and he can hear my story. I'm more interesting than Ryan."

Kate rolls her eyes. Ryan trots up just in time to hear that. "You are not," he quibbles.

"Save it for the bar." Kate's cool tone of authority stops the two men quarrelling instantly. "Where are we going?"

"The Grafton," Espo says very quickly. Kate rolls her eyes again.

As the beers roll in, round after round, conversation loosens up, and by the end of the evening they're all pals together – and Castle has another bucket-load of inspiration for the night's writing. He's even discovered that Espo is Esposito.

"Mr Castle? It's Jenna Cournat."

"Yes?"

"We whittled down that list for you, and there are only ten guests where it's not clear if they bought a book." She pauses. "That's a lot less than I expected, I have to say. It was a really successful evening. Now, we can't tell you who they are – confidentiality, you know – but if you wanted, we could call them and ask if they bought your Casino Royale."

Castle is stunned. "Yes. Please. Look, if you can do that – and if you find the buyer, would you ask them to meet me so I can talk to them myself? – I'll add another five to the cause."

"Wow. You must really want this book back."

"Yeah. It was a present long ago, and, well, sentimental value, you know?"

"I get it. Why, I have a necklace that my grandma gave me and I'd be just devastated if I lost it. I'd take my apartment apart to try and find it."

"Exactly. Thanks, Jenna. I really appreciate your help."

"We'll get back to you as soon as we can. Bye."

"Bye."

Castle bounces to his laptop, light of heart and of fingers, and turns all that happiness into screeds of fluent, focused story. He hasn't been this inspired since his first Storm.

Later that afternoon he's disturbed by the phone.

"Rick Castle?"

"Mr Castle, it's Jenna again. We found the buyer."

"You did? That's great! Who is it, and will they speak to me?"

"Yes, they will. Took a bit of persuading that we were sincere and it really was you, but they'll meet you."

"So what's the name? Phone number? When?"

"It's a Detective Kate Beckett" – and Castle's heart crashes to the floor. Jenna reads off the number, but he barely listens, for, after all, he has that number already.

"Thank you." He manages to fake effusion, "I'll drop the check in later." Jenna rings off on a cloud of thanks and Castle stares at his desk, utterly confounded. How could the universe do this to him? He can get back his book, and lose Kate, or keep Kate, and lose his book.

Or.

If Kate bought his book, then she must be a fan. A fan would want to meet celebrity Rick Castle: man-about-town, rich playboy, gossip-column staple and everybody's dream. Rick Castle is nothing like Rick Rodgers. So Rick Castle could meet Kate, charm her, and then disappear again, and Rick Rodgers can keep his Kate –

Hang on. Keep his Kate? What? How? That snuck up on him. He hasn't so much as kissed her properly and he's thinking his Kate? Ohmigod. Ohmigod.

But a little voice in his head says Oh my God YES!, and then slaps him upside the head for not realising earlier.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Alerts are still spotty. Some of you get them, some of you don't. I don't. Apologies if I have missed anyone who accepts PMs. However, over the course of today I have received over 400 delayed alerts (no, I didn't read them all, my head would have exploded along with my inbox) so it looks like something may finally be fixed. From an abundance of caution, I shall continue to advertise new chapters on Twitter and will stick firmly to the schedule.