Forty-Seven: Chapter 26
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
A/N: I have to thank all of you who have – through reviews and PMs – offered prayers and wishes for my dad. He continues on here in ICU, and the doctors have grown optimistic. He is in God's hands. I'm comfortable with that. I have to admit, when I first started this story a few weeks ago, I had it going in a different direction towards the end. But sometimes life events – like this one – put you in a different frame of mind. So this story has gone in a different direction than originally planned, but over the past few days I have really warmed up to this direction. I hope you enjoy it. Perspex13, your story is such a great freaking diversion for me right now . . .
Again, to all of you sharing prayers – they mean far more than just words on a computer screen. Thank you.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 9:01 p.m. – Outside Senator Bracken's Washington, D.C. Residence
Her heart is still racing, bludgeoning her chest. She can almost hear her pulse pounding in her ears as she walks – okay, it is a very, very fast walk – to the car where Castle, Ryan and Esposito are waiting for her.
Through the earpiece, Javier was able to communicate with her, encouraging her. Through the small microphone and camera she wore as a pin on her lapel, the three men were able to watch and hear everything that transpired inside the house. As planned, she had dropped a small bug in the plant on the table as Bracken had made them drinks. No, it's not going to stand up in court, and they could be in huge trouble. But as Javier reminded each of them – constantly – on the ride down as they waffled back and forth, this is not a police operation. This is a war tactic.
Anyway, no one in that house back there is going to press charges anyway.
As she walks toward the car, her friends wonder – internally - how they are going to break this revelation to her. Elizabeth Bracken's words had stunned each of them, knocking them back into their already cramped seats in the car.
"When I had her snooping mother killed, I never thought we'd still be facing repercussions all these years later."
Kate, of course didn't hear the exchange between Mr. and Mrs. Bracken. She had already left the building, so to speak, and it has been a long, long, time since she has felt so . . . so victorious. Javier was right. This is a war. And if she is going to win, then she has to stop acting like a cop and start acting like a soldier.
And there is no one better to help her with this mental transition than Detective Javier Esposito.
She reaches the car, out of breath both from the adrenaline rush of her Bracken encounter, along with the jog from his residence up the block. Opening the front door, she slides in next to Esposito who is in the driver's seat.
"Get us out of here, fast," she tells Esposito who already has the car is motion as her door is shutting. He does a quick U-turn, careful not to make a pass in front of the Bracken's home.
From the backseat, Richard Castle puts a hand on her shoulder, which she immediately covers with one of her own.
"You okay?" he asks, concern evident in his voice. And something else, she notices.
"Yeah," she tells him. "Yeah. It was . . . "
"Exhilarating," Javier Esposito completes the sentence for her, smiling inwardly as he sees her nodding her head rapidly. The man is still quiet, reserved. The team is giving him his space, accepting a word here or there from him. Castle cannot help but notice, however, than 'in the mission', everything took a backseat, as Esposito was calming and supportive, an instructive teacher in her ear while she was inside. But now, back in the car, he has withdrawn once again, fighting whatever demons are tormenting him.
"Beckett," Ryan begins as the car is in motion, "I think you got your declaration of war across just fine."
"I agree," Castle chimes in, feeling her give his hand a comforting squeeze. They have come so far, in just a couple of days.
"Kate," Castle begins, pushing those thoughts away, "the bug you dropped . . . after you left . . . we heard something interesting."
"Freaking unbelievable is more like it," Javier mutters under his breath.
"What is it?" Kate asks, a familiar dread rising.
"Well, I'm not sure how to tell you this, Kate, but –" Castle begins when Ryan cuts to the chase.
"Bracken ordered your mother's murder, Kate," he tells her, watching her until she turns her head to face the two men in the backseat.
"That's not news, Kev," she tells him. We already know this. We just broke and entered into a man's home because –"
"William Bracken didn't order the hit, Kate," Kevin Ryan tells her, and she feels her stomach lurch forward. "His wife did."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 9:01 p.m. – Inside Senator Bracken's Washington, D.C. Residence
Senator William Bracken sits – chuckling – atop a bar stool in the kitchen as Elizabeth Bracken places a gauze over the wound. She's already placed ointment on the two deeper-than-expected gashes.
"Well, that was interesting," he muses aloud. She joins him in smiling. Tonight was unexpected but not unforeseen. Both Brackens have long anticipated – dreaded actually – the moment when Detective Kate Beckett put everything together. Both he and his wife have long known that there was no way she could sit under Roy Montgomery forever without picking up on something. That ultimately cost the former 12th Precinct captain his life.
"Eventually, it will cost you yours," he thinks to himself about the detective.
"So . . . debrief?" Elizabeth asks softly as she continues dabbing around his face.
"She knows something," he admits, "but not as much as she would like us to believe."
"I agree," his wife smiles. "If she had a lot of real evidence, then tonight would not have happened."
"Agree," he replies. "She has something – but she knows it is circumstantial. It won't hold up, either because of the evidence itself or for how she acquired such evidence. Either way, if she had something that would stand up in court, she wouldn't be making a deal with us. She'd have shown up with an arrest warrant."
"Have to admit, I never saw her as the vigilante type," his wife says again. "Breaking and entering, assaulting –"
"Technically, it wasn't breaking and entering, love," he tells her. "She knocked, I answered, I allowed her in. Even gave her a drink, for crying out loud," and now his chuckle grows louder.
"From your good scotch?" Elizabeth asks, feigning surprise.
"My best stash," he smiles. He gazes at her as she finishes working on his face.
"So . . . what do you want to do?" she asks again.
"I don't mean to dodge, love, but I really don't know right now," he admits. "I never want to over-react, or under-react," he continues. "Even keel as you always say."
"But some response is required, Bill," she tells him evenly. "Do you really believe she has something that could damage us?"
"Damage as in put either of us in jail? Hell no," he replies. "As I said, if she had something like that, this would have been a very different meeting. Damaging enough to potentially derail our White House plans? Yeah, yeah, I think she does."
"Then a direct response is out of the question," she agrees.
"Sometimes, love," he reminds her, "the best response is no response. She has fired the opening salvo. Let her feel good about this. And let a little time grow under her feet."
"Their feet," she corrects, and he is forced to agree.
"Yes, it does seem like here little team has . . . morphed into something else," he tells her.
"So we don't call her?" Elizabeth wonders aloud, and he pauses for a few seconds before answering.
"No. No, I don't think so," he tells her. "I was going to call her in to take care of Maddox. That problem, however, has been taken care of."
"I will miss Cedric," she says, with genuine sadness.
"I, too," he agrees. "But I warned you against engaging him again. He took Beckett's survival personally. Although for the life of me I don't know why."
"She is a thorn, Bill, that's why. And you know what we do with thorns and weeds . . ."
"We pull them, Liz," he agrees. "But at the right time. Timing is everything. I will give it to the detective, tonight worked for her because of the timing. We didn't' expect it. And when we strike against her and her friends – they won't expect it."
"So once again . . . what would you like me to –"
"Nothing, love," he tells her, hopping off the bar stool, and feeling his padded face gently. "For now, all I want to do is find out how much she really knows. Then we work to diffuse it."
"I still say we should call Ele-"
"No, dear, we can't. And you know why," he reminds her. "That will bring him into play. He keeps a finger on the pulse. He always knows when she is activated, and why. You know this. Activating her for Maddox is one thing. Bringing her in for the detective? No. We can't afford for him to get engaged."
She nods her head in agreement, recalling a similar and far more sinister late night meeting here in this same house, last summer after the detective was shot. The warning was very clear – harm her again, or harm the writer, and political upward mobility would be the least of their worries.
"As usual, you are correct, my love," she smiles, now moving toward the back of the house, toward the bedroom.
"So . . . where were we before we were so rudely interrupted . . ." he smiles in return, following her to the back.
"I do hope the detective didn't drain you of too much energy," she purrs, and quickens her pace, with him close behind.