Esposito slammed the door closed behind him upon entering the interrogation room. Ryan was only sliding into his seat, setting their file of evidence on the table before him, when Esposito turned into the room.
The shrink, Dr. Calvin McCormick, watched their every move, eyeing Esposito even after the detective had slid into his seat. Unaware that his prints were in system, were matched to not one murder victim, but two, and both detectives before him were determined to take him down.
"Is all this really necessary?" asked the doctor, motioning to the bare walls of the interrogation room, the two-way mirror opposite him.
"Yes, it is."
Dr. McCormick sighed, sinking into the metal chair. "Okay, then," he relented.
Neither detective spoke for a long moment after that. Ryan made a show of rifling through the images in the file. He chose two pictures, both of Lora Burton—one her DMV photo, the other one having been taken at the crime scene. He held them both out to Esposito, letting his partner choose which one to show the doctor.
Esposito chose the crime scene photo, and Ryan slid it across the table.
"Do you know this woman?"
Dr. McCormick frowned, glancing at the image for only a second before looking back up. "I do," he answered. "That's Lora Burton. I just drew her file."
"How do you know her?" asked Esposito.
Dr. McCormick sighed, exasperated. "She was arrested on robbery charges last week," he told them. "I did her psychological evaluation."
"Oh, really?" asked Ryan. He slid a second image across the table, that one a close-up of Lora Burton's wrist. "Because your fingerprints were found on her body."
"I- What?"
Esposito swiped the file from between Ryan's arms, opened it himself. The room stayed silent as he rifled through the pages, Dr. McCormick's stuttered questions having fallen silent.
It only took Esposito a minute to find the picture he had been searching for: one of Antonio Chavez at his crime scene. He handed it to the doctor.
"What about this man? Do you know him?"
Dr. McCormick sighed again. "Yes."
"How?"
"Same way." He paused, continued when Esposito raised his brows in question. "Two weeks ago, he was arrested for possession. I did his psych evaluation too."
Esposito smiled, tapped his finger against the photograph laying on the table between them. "Yeah, well, your prints are on his body, too."
The doctor's breath escaped him as a stutter. "H-how?"
"You tell me."
Dr. McCormick shook his head. "I have no idea," he said. "I haven't seen either of them since their respective psych evaluations. There is no way my fingerprints- I mean, I have an alibi."
"How do you know which day you need an alibi for?" asked Ryan.
"It doesn't matter," said the doctor. "My marriage has been...on the rocks lately. I've spent all my time at the office. The building is full of security cameras."
Ryan nodded. "We'll see."
Silence returned, weighing heavy as Esposito left the room to begin their search for confirmation of the alibi. Dr. McCormick reached for the images laid before him, took the two of Lora and Antonio in his hands.
"The same person killed them, right?" he asked.
"What's it to you?"
Dr. McCormick looked up at him, eyes wide and honest. "I'm a criminal psychologist. If there's one thing I know, it's why people commit crimes. How did they die?"
Ryan and Esposito shared a look, and after a moment, Ryan shrugged and turned back to the doctor. "Chavez was bitten by a snake and poisoned." He paused, watched the doctor's eyes widen. "And Burton was drowned."
"You're sure about that?" asked McCormick.
"Positive. Why?"
"I- uh...Lora Burton had aquaphobia, she was terrified of water." A pause, a deep breath. "And Antonio Chavez was terrified of snakes." Another pause.
"Detective Ryan, both victims were killed using their biggest fears."
And silence.
Esposito was stepping from the tech room just as Ryan finished the interrogation with Dr. McCormick, and Castle was beckoning Beckett from her office for an update on the case. It only took a second for Ryan to note the downward, unhappy tug of his partner's lips, Beckett just a moment to act upon it.
"His alibi checked out?"
Esposito nodded, reaching over to hand Beckett the USB stick he'd had clutched in his fist. "Security cam footage shows McCormick coming and going between his office and the archives all evening, from seven to ten, before staying in his office for the night, only coming out at six the next morning."
"But how?" asked Castle. "His prints are on both bodies."
"And there's another link between McCormick and the vics," added Ryan, everyone turning to him at the words. "Both vics were killed using their biggest fear. And unless there's someone else who knows both vics well-"
"McCormick is the only person who would know," finished Castle.
Ryan nodded. Beckett clutched at the USB stick and swallowed thickly.
"We'll figure it out," she said, but even Ryan could hear the lack of conviction to the words, the fact that she was trying to reassure herself as much as the rest of them. "Castle and I will work on that while we make sure we've exhausted every possible avenue."
"So?"
"So I need you two to go check for leads at Burton's last known location," she told them. "Her and Chavez's criminal activities may have caused them to cross paths and upset the same person."
It was halfhearted, a feeble attempt at moving the case forward, but Ryan nodded, Esposito doing the same.
"You got it, boss."
The warrant was hidden in the pocket of Esposito's jacket when they arrived at the warehouse, Lora Burton's last known location. Ryan put the car into park as Esposito secured his bulletproof vest, reached for the gun at his hip, adjusted it before grabbing his flashlight instead.
"You ready, bro?"
Ryan nodded, hand settling on the door, and he shoved it open. Esposito followed, reached the warehouse door when his partner was already pounding on it.
There was no response, but they hadn't been expecting one. The building had long since been abandoned, although it was still used by many despite their lack of ownership. Evidence of other crimes was likely hidden behind closed doors, noted Esposito, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
They had a killer to catch, worries to lift, families to make it home to.
Ryan knocked one last time before finally closing his hand around the doorknob, finding it unlocked and shoving it open.
It only took a swipe of his flashlight to bring rows of haphazardly piled boxes into view.
"Drugs?"
"Probably."
They entered the building anyway, stepping into obscurity. The only light coming in was through broken windows, and from the bright bulbs of their flashlights. It traced more rows of boxes, revealed torn cardboard and illegible addresses.
Esposito stepped past them, Ryan on his heels. Footsteps echoed off the walls, as did their voices calling for anyone who might be on the premises. There was no response, not a sound except for the detectives and rustle of papers at the mercy of cool nighttime drafts. And the pounding in his chest, adrenaline overpowering unease and drawing Esposito deeper into the building.
He turned between two rows of boxes, heard Ryan dart down another makeshift hall in the opposite direction. Protests welled in Esposito's chest, but he bit them back. The building was too big for the two of them to cover if they stuck together, and it was bare of any threat if the silence was anything to go by.
So Esposito sneaked a glance over his shoulder, simply to see where his partner was going. That was it, before he turned away.
The beam of his flashlight traced more piles of boxes, their contents a mystery. But nothing else, no evidence of murder, or Lora Burton, or Antonio Chavez, or anything that could lead the to their killer.
He stared ahead for another few steps before turning back once more.
Ryan was no longer in sight.
Dread settled in his gut.
He kept walking.
Kate tried to shed the day along with her coat, the blouse that clung to her chest, the pants that were growing too tight around her swelling stomach. She always tried to leave the weight of the case at the door, ever since home started bringing far more comfort and joy than work ever could. Ever since-
Castle.
He was standing in the kitchen when she stepped from the office, staring at the floor. The coffee pot whirred before him, most likely with the cup of decaf he'd promised upon her complaints of a stressful day sans caffeine, but he paid it no mind.
Oh, Castle.
It didn't take a second thought for her to know what was weighing on his mind, which memories plagued him and the kitchen floor. He had hesitated outside the door before stepping into the darkness of their home. His gaze had swept the room, traced the walls and lingered on obscure corners, and she'd pretended not to notice.
But…
She stepped up behind him, steps slow, quiet. Her hands landed on his sides, just below the lattice of his ribs, and he jumped at her touch. Her thumbs traced circles over the fabric of his shirt as he relaxed, and then she slipped her arms around his middle, resting her head between his shoulder blades.
"Tyson... or Caleb?" she whispered.
He tensed, shrugged in what she expected was an attempt to disguise it. "Both," he answered. "All of it. I just have a bad feeling about this case and I…" he trailed, paused, hands settling over hers and squeezing gently. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
Her heart cracked, thudded against her ribs as her breath hitched. She swallowed back a sigh and pressed a kiss to his spine before pulling away.
He protested — she ignored it — as she took out a glass and bottle of wine. Promises slipped past her lips, assurances that she didn't care, that he needed to relax. She popped the bottle open, poured him a glass, and turned, hoping her hand wasn't shaking as she held it out to him.
Castle didn't take it, just stared at the swirling dark red liquid, the contrast between it and the floor and-
Oh.
She dumped it down the sink, muttering her apologies and suggestions that he have white instead when he stopped her.
"I don't want wine, Kate," he said, the sincerity in his tone stilling her heart and the clumsy movements of her hands. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
Words, any semblance of a response, stayed trapped in her throat. So she did what she could, let his hands close around her hips and draw her towards him. He looped his arms around her waist, held her impossibly close, impossibly tight.
He just wanted to make sure she was okay. She just wanted to ease the tension in his spine, the worry in his chest.
"I'm okay, Rick," she whispered. Her hand closed around his arm, tugged it from around her to put a little distance between them. She threaded her fingers with his, pressed the warmth of his palm against her stomach.
His breath hitched, eyes widened, but he relaxed, sinking against her and adjusting his hand against her abdomen.
"We're all okay," she promised.
And she pushed onto her toes to reassure him once more with the press of her lips to his.
Beckett stared at her phone in the elevator, waiting for the three dots to indicate an impending response from Esposito. Castle watched her, hand resting on the base of her spine as she waited, waited, wait-
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open and she shoved her phone into her pocket. Castle led her from the elevator, his hand lingering at her back until she turned away, to the first uniform she could find.
"Have you seen Ryan or Esposito?"
The uniform shrugged. "Not since yesterday," he answered, and her heart stopped, Castle's breath hitching in her ear. "Sorry, Captain."
She shook off the apology, the clicks of her heels too loud as she stalked towards her office. Castle followed, closed the door behind them both as she fumbled with her phone, dialed Jenny's number.
Six unanswered text messages. No connection since last night. A sketchy last known location.
No. No. No.
"Kate?" came Jenny's voice, too loud in her ear.
"Jenny, hi," she breathed, the words unsteady, weak. "Is Kevin there?"
"No," came the answer. "He texted last night that he was stuck at the…" she trailed off, failed to finish as Kate interrupted.
"Dammit."
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Just stared at Castle staring back at her and listened to Jenny's worried voice in her ear.
McCormick had been in holding all night. The boys went missing-
The boys were missing.
Her heart sank, stomach churning and she rushed to her desk. She threw up in the trash can, tears already welling in her eyes.
Ryan woke to darkness, an empty room, deafening silence. He blinked away the haze of fatigue, lifted his head despite the painful crick in his neck.
A click echoed through the room. His body jerked, ached, drew a hiss from his chest.
His wrists were bound to the chair, his ankles the same, and the image of Chavez and Burton's ligature marks came, and went just as quickly.
Another click echoed.
He looked around. Esposito was in a chair just a few feet away, blinking away lingering disorientation. The room around them was in ruins, wires sticking from the walls and planks laid out across the floor, a layer of dust covering it all.
A sign sat on the floor in the corner, one reading McCormick Psychiatry.
He winced, cursed under his breath as another click echoed through the room.
"Dr. McCormick?" he choked out.
There was a laugh, a woman's laugh.
Oh, no.
She stepped from the shadows, grin wide. "Sure," she said. "I'm glad you're awake."