He berates himself in the morning for being such a heavy sleeper, berates the writer in him for believing in the impossible, because he wakes to a cold bed, - the scent of ripe cherries with a touch of musk emblazoned in his sheets.
He sees the note on the pillow next to him, picks it up with shaky fingers, almost afraid to read the elegant script.
I'll never forget you.
Thank you for the most extraordinary night of my life.
You own a piece of my heart,
Kate
He scrunches up the note and tosses it angrily into the nearby trash, - his body spent, his eyes lifeless. . . Because the irresistible, beautifully damaged woman whose heart is encased in ice and whose soul is locked away behind cement walls has officially written him out of her life.
For good.
...
He doesn't believe a word of her note, feels like it was her way of letting him down gently.
Add manipulative liar to her list of seductive attributes, he thinks painfully, shoving aside the thought that he knows, deep down, she felt something for him during their intense, remarkable night together. No one was that great of an actress.
But it wasn't enough. You're not enough.
He's up and out of the bed, pulling the sheets off roughly, determined to immediately wash them and get her lingering scent out of his senses. His pillow gets tossed from the bed and Jesus Christ, there lie her all-lace black panties, tempting him with their delicate femininity, bringing back scandalous memories of the night before... Endless legs, pert breasts, waxed pelvis, sensual, needy sighs.
He doesn't touch her lingerie with his hands, just balls them up with his navy sheets. He takes the sheets and the pillow cases into the laundry room and puts them inside the washing machine and starts the gentle cycle.
He rushes to the master bath, not even glancing at the bed and groans when he smells her in his bathroom. She must have recently left.
He turns the shower onto scalding hot and waits 30 seconds for the water to heat before stepping into the stall.
The heat actually soothes his frayed nerves; he can feel the pores on his back opening, turning the flesh a bright shade of pink as it pummels the sensitive skin, burning his back as he hopes to burn her out of his system.
He scrubs every centimeter of flesh he can reach, using his Brut-scented gel, not wanting any remembrance of her deft fingertips or the slide of her slick tongue hanging subtly on his skin.
He honestly doesn't know how long he's been under the water but by the time it starts cooling he shuts it off and grabs a towel, rubbing his body vigorously.
God damn her for making him believe the third time's the charm. He's through with drop-dead-gorgeous-man-eaters with bodies made for sin and the sexual appeal of Jezebel. He's through with the opposite sex in general.
He dresses casually in khakis and a T-shirt and heads out into the kitchen to start his coffee-maker. As he puts the coffee beans in the machine his cell phone rings.
"Hello," he says, not immediately recognizing the number.
"Mister Castle, this is Ayra at Forever Flowers. We had three of your bouquets returned to us this morning. Would you like us to resend them to a different address?"
Uggh yeah, the flower bouquets he had sent to 5 star hotels all over the city in hopes they would find Diamond.
"Can you remove the cards and have the arrangements delivered to The Village Rest Home in Manhattan?"
"Sure. There would be another $15.00 delivery charge though. Would you like me to charge the card we have on file?"
"Go ahead, that's fine. Add a $15.00 tip for yourself as well."
"Thank you. I appreciate your generosity... I have to say, I'm sorry for Diamond that she didn't receive them. You have impeccable taste."
"Thanks but unfortunately, I think she's grateful she didn't get them. Have a nice day, Ayra," and with that, he pushes the release button on his phone to end the conversation.
Martha strolls down the stairs and with the flair of a woman entering on stage says, "Dar - ling, any particular reason you're up so late this morning?"
By the tone of her voice, he knows she suspects he was entertaining a woman. "If you're asking me if I had a torrid night out on the town, then no, Mother, I didn't."
With twinkling eyes, a shade identical to his own, she asks, "No, I wasn't asking that, just inquiring about the torrid night you had here at home."
Damn, he doesn't need this right now. He loves his mom with all his heart but her prying into his love life just might be the catalyst to send him over the edge.
What love life? his inner dialogue mocks him. You can chalk Kate up to just another one night stand.
"It was nothing, Mother. Nothing more than a good time between, umm, consenting adults." He sneered the word, 'consenting,' before continuing with a bad-boy smirk, "Something you're very well acquainted with."
Her eyes narrow in on her son, the stiff shoulders, the blasé attitude, - knowing undoubtedly, Katherine Beckett has hurt him.
"I can guarantee it was not nothing to Kate, dear. That woman has some deep-rooted feelings for you and feelings, I believe, she's scared to acknowledge even to herself."
Martha chuckles at Rick's dumbfounded surprise.
"You shouldn't be so surprised. You've always had a way with the ladies, son, and this particular one has fallen hook, line and sinker for you. I suspect, though," she says teasingly with an air of, 'you-always-were-too-charming-for-your-own-good, "that she didn't see you coming from a hundred yards away, and you are the last thing she wants, or thinks she needs, in her life right now."
"You met Kate?" he asks incredulously and with his mother's growing grin, hurries on, "Please tell me you didn't hound her for details about her life."
"Of course I didn't. It was a lovely chat between two women who have you in common."
He chuckles, "Mmm, why don't I believe you?"
Martha chuckles, "Because your career makes you a suspicious man by heart." Her eyes hone in on her son lovingly and she continues, "She's stunningly attractive with an aura of a 'lost little girl' that draws you in."
"You don't know the half of it, Mother."
"Why don't you enlighten me? I'd love to learn more about the woman who has my son tied up in knots."
"Honestly, there's not much to say," he pulls out of the cupboard a mixing bowl and then some eggs out of the refrigerator, breaking them into the bowl. "I interviewed her for my new novel and I'm grateful I did, because she gave me insight into my Nikki Heat character that would otherwise be lacking, but aside from that - ,"
"Aside from a momentous evening with her? " Martha interrupts slyly, "One I believe you'll both never forget?"
He refuses to acknowledge his mother's attempts to draw more information from him, and even though it wrenches his heart to say the words aloud, he grates, "Drop it, mother. Whatever may have been between us is over. She made it perfectly clear she doesn't want to see me again."
"God, I thought you knew more about women than the average man. Don't you know how to read between the lines? Because I'd be willing to bet your next book sales that Kate doesn't want you to give up on her. . . And I know you, Richard, there's so much more going on between you two, but there's obviously something getting in the way. And if she felt there was a way past it, I believe she'd be here right now."
Rick eyes his mother calculatingly, blue eyes alight with confusion, tinged with determination. "What exactly did she say to you?"
She watches him whisk away at the eggs with a fork, hand whipping in a circular motion while he tries to nonchalantly convey disinterest in their conversation, but she can sense the subtle shift in his energy, knows he's waiting with bated breath for her answer... She smiles thankfully as deep down, she'd always worried his two messy divorces would leave a permanent scar on his life, make him unwilling to risk opening his heart again, consider giving up on love entirely, - and now, finally, a beautiful woman with sadness etched into her soul, has walked into her son's life and made him feel again.
"She said some things that made it perfectly clear she has strong feelings for you, but I got the impression, right now isn't the best time in her life to begin a relationship."
"Quit putting your own spin on things and tell me exactly what she said, please," he asks with exasperation, laced with humor.
"She asked me to give you a message," and as per usual, his mother pauses for dramatic flair.
"Go on."
"She asked me to tell you she'd never regret last night and - ," walking around the kitchen island she swipes her hand down her son's arm, eyes linking with his, "she believes you deserve someone better."
...
Captain Montgomery had texted her an hour ago to meet him in his office, and she's keeping her fingers crossed he finally has a solid lead in her mother's case, but as she sits across from him, looking directly in his eyes, she knows it's something different, something she may not quite like.
"Beckett, the Mayor's asked me to handle this one personally and you're my best informant in this line of work. This Friday night, at the Rockefeller Center, there's going to be a charity function for the new children's wing of the New York - Presbyterian hospital."
Ohh, just another job. A pang of concern engulfs her that Montgomery might be stalling her mother's case just to keep her indebted to him, but she pushes the notion aside; the man is a good friend, a revered colleague, the only person who still believes in her to this day after failing the academy.
And seriously, who fuckin' passes first in her class, aceing every written test, physically outshining men on the obstacle course and able to hold her own on the track and in the sparring ring, and then fails the psychiatric test?
Well obviously, she thinks sarcastically, a young woman whose only obsession back then was finding her mother's killer.
The psychiatrist who interviewed her, an-up-and-coming-Doctor-Phil-wanna-be was unemotional, clinical, detached. He couldn't see beyond the application questions to her soul beneath.
Doctor Hilliard's analysis stamped on her Academy file still haunts her to this day and is something she can recite from memory: 'I firmly believe Katherine Beckett's obsession with finding her mother's killer will interfere in every aspect of her duties as a police officer and will undoubtedly, hinder her judgment. Her desire for vengeance outweighs her desire for justice and I cannot in good conscience recommend she graduate from the Academy.'
What a pompous jackass that he couldn't see her own experience would fill her with compassion for other victim's families; that working with bereaved loved ones and knowing she'd helped others find closure even when she couldn't find any in her own life, might just bring her some sense of fulfillment and peace.
She'd met Roy Montgomery at the Academy. He'd been a substitute instructor one day and had taken her under his wing, gone to bat for her, recommend she graduate with flying colors, but the higher ups were too afraid she might become (quote, unquote) "trigger happy" when she attempted to arrest a suspected murderer and then the city would face a lawsuit they just couldn't deal with or more likely afford.
And so her failure at the Academy left a hole in her heart that many years later led her down a treacherous path she never expected to find herself on, - one dotted with highs and lows, precarious turns, situations fraught with danger for a woman named Diamond... Her persona who was slowly and effectively consuming the real Katherine Beckett, until a famous author with a rare talent for reading people barged into her life and made her see inside her true self and long just to be Katherine Houghton Beckett again.
Castle ... He sure pegged her correctly when he said, "Even though you're an expert at controlling men, relishing in the power you have over them, it's all a ruse to protect your heart."
Castle ... The one man who saw through her jaded, sex-symbol persona to the lost woman beneath, making her bask in the belief she could be whole once more with him at her side, being her stalwart, faithful guide.
A man she's certainly not worthy of having in any aspect of her life.
The Captain's, "Beckett?" brought her back from her reverie.
"Sorry Sir, what did you say?"
"I was wondering if you've heard about the serial killer the media's dubbed, 'Doctor Merciful Death'?"
"Yes, he's a Physician who's putting terminally ill children out of their misery."
"Correct, and the parents of these kids aren't willing to give us any information as to the man who's helping them. They see him as a 'God', some 'Savior among men,' who's easing the horrific pain of their offspring, but now after three deaths in the past year, the Mayor wants to make this case our top priority. He wants this man behind bars."
"How can I help?"
"We've recently come across a solid lead where a new nurse at Cohen's Children's Medical Center saw the back of a Doctor leave a child's room just before the little girl passed away. We've had her look at hundreds of videos and have narrowed down a suspect, a Doctor Joshua Davidson."
"So I take it this Doctor is a lady's man and you want me to use my womanly wiles on him?" she asks with a teasing smile.
"Yes, at the hospital benefit, there will be an auction of eligible, good looking bachelors, a few police officers, firemen, doctors, etcetera. We've lucked out as he's one of the men who volunteered for the cause. We need you to bid on him and make sure you win the date."
"This sounds like it could become a messy, complicated job which could take weeks to complete. It might even be months before I could establish a strong enough relationship with him, build up his trust to where he eventually feels comfortable enough to open up to me and possibly confess something."
"Yes, this won't be your usual two or three night 'sting operation'. I have a feeling this man will be careful about what he reveals, but you'll be inside his home and able to snoop around. Hopefully you'll find incriminating evidence pretty quickly. . . Are you alright though if it turns into a long-term assignment?"
At her hesitation, Montgomery quickly resumes, "You're the only one I fully trust to get the dirt on this guy, but if you're not up to doing this job, I can certainly look into another C.I. You're definitely his type though, Beckett; he prefers long-legged brunettes."
She ponders it for a moment, knowing Esposito won't be around and have her back on this one, but she grudgingly agrees. . . On the sole basis that trying to establish a relationship with another man, albeit a false one, will help her to get past a certain 6 foot author who has a gentle soul, a rapier wit and to-die-for-hands.
Oh Gawd, his hands.
Just thinking about his hands cascading over her abs, circling her belly button, mapping out her pubic bone and finally settling on her thighs, pressing them open wide for him, has liquid warmth pooling to her loins.
"The city will reimburse you however much money you end up spending on Doctor Davidson." He pulls out an invitation out of his top desk drawer and holds it out to her. "Here's your ticket to get into the function this Friday night."
"Got it, Sir," and she takes it from his outstretched hand.
"Thank you, Beckett. You're an invaluable resource to this department."
As she walks out his office doors, sees the murder board with officers surrounding it, she wonders just how invaluable she might have truly been if her career had led her down the path to becoming Detective Kate Beckett, - instead of Diamond, the woman with a heart almost as hard as her name.