Rough hands shaking her shoulder pulled Beckett from the darkness that had engulfed her. For how long she wasn't sure. She wasn't completely sure what had just happened.

"Detective Beckett? Are you hurt?"

The voice was familiar, but she didn't know how she knew it. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and was struck with a sense of urgency that it took her a moment to understand. She turned her head, her hand coming up to brush the hair out of her face automatically, and saw that the passenger seat was empty. There was blood on the deflated airbag, though, and the urgency rose.

"Castle?" She looked around, vaguely aware that the red sheen on her own hand was almost certainly her own blood.

"They took him, Detective," the voice told her. "We need to get help."

Beckett turned and saw that the man who had shaken her was Adam Madison. The former police officer was still gripping the shoulder of her light jacket – which was what he'd been holding when he'd shaken her awake.

"What are you…" she trailed off, suddenly furious. She thought she'd seen his car and she'd been right. That distraction had been enough for her to wreck, and to lose Castle – and God only knew what was happening to him. "I told you not to follow me, Mr. Madison. Now-"

"I wasn't following you, Detective," Madison interrupted. "I was following Rogers."

"What? How do you know about Rogers?"

"Bridget told me his name." He looked around. "Can you stand? Can you walk? You've got a pretty nasty cut on your head…"

She looked at her hand again and then into the rearview mirror, and decided that the airbag must have slammed her watch into her forehead, because he was right; she did have a nasty cut on her head.

"I need to find him…" She got out of the car and saw that the truck was still where it had crashed into them, and looked at Madison. "You were following Rogers?"

"Yes. I didn't realize he was after you until I saw the truck swerve at you and realized it was your car."

"What happened then?"

"A guy got out of the truck and him and Rogers grabbed the guy from your car and took off with him in Roger's car. Was he really Richard Castle?"

Beckett was already pulling her phone out of her pocket, and had speed-dialed Esposito's cell. She looked up, though, as it started to ring.

"How did you know about Castle?"

"Bridgett said she'd met him and that he was in danger. I didn't believe her."

By then Esposito had answered his phone, and Beckett ignored Madison long enough to tell him what had happened as succinctly as possible while still giving the information needed. Esposito only stopped her long enough to get an idea where she was, and then he hung up, already on his way to her location.

"Why didn't you mention Rogers when I was questioning you?" Beckett asked, calling dispatch to request backup. She knew that Esposito or Ryan – depending on who was driving – would call Montgomery and let him know what happened.

"Because I didn't know if it was true," Madison said. "You gotta understand; Bridget made up a lot of stories. She was manipulative and bright enough to make sure you didn't know she was playing you. I wasn't going to throw your investigation the wrong way by bringing in a player that might not mean anything. For God's sake, how was I supposed to know she really had met Richard Castle? That's exactly the kind of thing she'd have lied about."

"How long have you been following him?"

"Since you let me go."

"Do you know where they might have taken Castle?" She asked. "Any places that he seemed to be hiding out?"

"Maybe a few choices," Madison said, reaching into his pocket and handing Beckett a clean handkerchief so she could staunch the bleeding from her forehead. "I didn't want to get too close to him, so I can't tell you for certain."

By now there were several bystanders in the area, all looking at the wreckage of the cars and focusing on Beckett – mainly because she was bleeding and that was always interesting. A police cruiser pulled up as well, lights flashing to start getting those who could drive their cars around the wreck to do so and stop blocking traffic. The police officer got out and Beckett flashed her badge so he'd know who she was. He called in for more assistance – and an ambulance – and pulled the first aid kit out of his trunk and handed it to her before heading over to start clearing traffic. She was on her feet, after all, so he knew she wasn't in distress (medically, at least) and he needed to get the cars out of the way.

"We need to go, Detective," Madison told her. "They're getting away with him."

Beckett frowned.

"Why do you care, Mr. Madison?" she asked, just a little suspiciously. "You didn't even know who they took until I told you."

"I don't care about who they took," he answered. "Just who did the taking. That son of a bitch killed my sister, and I'm going to make sure he doesn't get away just because she was on the wrong side of the law when he did it."

"That's not-"

"I know how it goes, Detective," he interrupted. "If she was an upstanding citizen, there'd be a dozen detectives on the case. She's not, so there's not. But I'm not going to let him get away."

"I'm not either, Mr. Madison," Beckett told him. "We need to wait for backup, though."

Beckett was concerned, but she wasn't without an ace in the hole, and it was the only thing keeping her from outright panic.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"Hey! Wake up Sleeping Beauty!"

A face full of icy cold water jerked Castle from a nightmare of pain. He sputtered and jerked his head back, trying to clear his nose and mouth of water, only to gasp when an almost overwhelming wave of pain washed over him and woke him far more forcefully than the water that had been thrown on him ever could have. He convulsed, automatically, and groaned when the motion made every ache that much worse. Awake and somewhat aware, Castle realized immediately that his arms were being held above his head again – similar to how it had been before – and those barely healed muscles were once again forced to bear his weight. He tipped his head up and for a moment thought he was blindfolded because he couldn't see anything. Then he realized that he could see, but not very well, and the painful puffiness on his face made him think that the problem was swelling and not a blindfold. He somewhat remembered the airbag coming at him full force and he hadn't had any chance to protect himself. He hadn't had a chance to do anything to protect himself. Maybe he'd broken his nose.

Focusing a little, he could see that his hands had been tied with a stout rope, and then the rope was draped over a pulley that was well above him, and went somewhere else. He wasn't sure, and wasn't given a chance to do much more of an assessment than that before he felt someone hit him in the side.

Which made him convulse again, and forced another gasp of pain. He looked down – they'd taken his shirt off so there'd been nothing to protect him from the blow, although the thin fabric wouldn't have done much – and his chest and belly were smeared with blood and water. Unable to focus clearly – mentally and physically – it took him a moment to realize that someone had hit him, and that that someone was standing in front of him. Even longer to realize that there was more than one man.

He wasn't surprised to see Jeremy standing there, one hand holding a stick of some kind and a cruelly amused expression on his face. He didn't recognize the other man, although something told him he should.

"You with us, Writer?" Jeremy asked, swinging the stick again and making contact with Castle's ribcage this time. He grunted, but as much as he hurt already, the blow didn't seem to do anything more than help him focus on the one person he wasn't seeing.

"Kate…" His voice was raspy and it hurt to say anything.

"Kate?" Jeremy repeated, walking closer to Castle. He had to look up just a little. Castle was taller than he was and the rope was holding him on his toes, which gave him a couple more inches over him. "Are you talking about the hot cop? She's dead, Writer. It's just us. And one of us is in a lot of trouble."

The other man stepped forward, now. He was shorter than Jeremy, but Castle thought he was just as dangerous.

"Where is my diamond?"