Shared Obsession Chapter 89

Kate slinks up to the guard at the entrance to the game. He bars her way. "Sorry, Ma'am."

She reassumes her Russian accent. "Oh come on. My boyfriend is waiting. I'm his lucky charm. If I don't show up he will lose. No?" Kate moves in close, her breasts brushing the guard's chest. "Well, maybe I can be a lucky charm for you. We win – and when I'm there we always win – maybe I can share some of his luck with you."

Sliding his hand over Kate's curves, the guard guides her to the door. Shaking off her need for a shower, Kate scans the place for a spot where she can watch for trouble. She settles on a small alcove near the kitchen.

"All-in," Van Dyke declares. "It's a big pot Mr. Writer-Man. All that money. But what is money to a millionaire, Huh? You going to write it off your taxes as research?"

Castle pushes his chips forward. "All in."

"You are like a character in your book, in too deep." Van Dyke fans out his cards on the table. "Three queens."

"That's very impressive," Castle offers. "Not a lot can beat three queens." He lays down his cards. "Except an inside straight maybe." Castle rakes in his pot and tosses a chip to the woman serving as the bank. "Sweetheart, this is for you." He points to his haul. "Would you cash this into something a little easier for me to carry? No need for a millionaire to get greedy, now."

As Castle saunters away, the quiet Russian with the prosthetic pinky comes up behind him and sticks a gun at his back. "Walk!"

Castle raises his hands. "Walking. Just take it easy. What's your problem?"

"Who are you?" the captor demands as they approach the kitchen.

"I told you. I'm a novelist," Castle insists.

The gunman pokes Castle with the weapon's barrel. "The story. The dead man. The roof. Who told you? Who knows?"

Anger rises in Castle's throat. "His family knows. His children know."

"If he paid what he owed, he'd be home with them now," the gunman declares. "But he crossed me. And now you have crossed me."

"I told you, I'm a writer. All I did was get lucky and win a few hands of poker," Castle argues. "And your pal with the three queens lost a lot more than you did."

"Don't lie to me," the killer hisses. "You're a cop."

Kate emerges from her alcove and flounces to the two men. "Him a cop?" she sneers in her Russian accent. "Don't make me laugh. He's barely even a man. But you are a man, aren't you? A handsome man. Richard, are you bothering this handsome man?"

"Go away!" the gunman grates out.

Rolling her eyes, Kate throws up her hands. "OK, boys and their guns. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"It doesn't concern you," the killer insists.

Kate grabs his gun arm and twists it in a painful hold behind his back. "Actually, it does." She catches the weapon as it releases from his fingers and hands it to Castle. Forcing her prisoner over the edge of a counter, she cuffs him.

As Esposito and Ryan load the suspect into the back of a marked unit, Kate and Castle fall into each other's arms. "Don't do that to me," she whispers against his chest. "What if he'd shot you at the table?"

"I am wearing my vest," he reminds her.

"At that close range, he still could have broken something. Hell, Castle, with a gun against your back, vest or no vest, he could have taken out a kidney. You could have bled to death."

"Are you mad?" Castle asks.

"Yes. No. I was just terrified."

"You didn't look it. You took that guy down like a champ – and in four-inch spike heels no less. How do you move like that in those things?"

"Lots of practice. But I don't want to have to do that again. Don't make me do it again, Castle."

"I'll try my best. But there is a definite upside to this near disaster. We got the killer. So when news arrives of Simmons's demise, we'll be ready to spring into action. And until then, I owe you a thank you celebration. What do you want? A night on the town? A luxury suite at the Four Seasons?"

"No Four Seasons. How about some time together, just you and me – and maybe some red wine and dark chocolate."

"Are you sure about the Four Seasons? The luxury suites have hot tubs."

Kate strokes Rick's cheek. "We can make some heat of our own."

"Yes," he agrees. "Yes, we can. And wait until you hear what Alexis said."

Kate snuggles into the warmth of Rick's bare body. His bedroom is dark, except for the few reflections of city lights from the ceiling. Apparently, Castle was telling the truth about Alexis's acceptance of Kate's presence. When they entered the loft, the teen was at the counter with her laptop. She smiled and waved as Castle steered Kate in the direction of his room. That was a relief. Of course with a teen, things can always shift in a nano-second, but Kate will gratefully enjoy Alexis's present attitude.

Rick stirs. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. But I think I was dreaming about Simmons."

"I would have thought you'd have pleasanter – much pleasanter – things to dream about."

"I do. But I feel like I'm standing at the door of some secret club or something, trying to come up with the password to get in. And with the case solved, the waiting is harder."

Rick's long arms encircle Kate's slim form. "I know. But I can think of ways to get through the rest of the night."

Kate's fingers trail down Rick's back. "I bet you can."

Castle comes out of the breakroom with his laptop under his arm and holding two lattes. He hands one to Kate. "I finished my narrative of what happened inside the gaming den and emailed it to you. You should be able to integrate it into your report without much trouble. How's your part coming?"

Kate sighs. "OK. This is my least favorite part of being a cop. I hate paperwork."

Castle takes his accustomed seat. "I've noticed. Sometimes writing gets to me too, especially when I'm on an arbitrary deadline. But when everything comes together in my head, I couldn't stop writing if I wanted to."

"That's how I feel about a case. When all the clues come together, I just want to get out there and grab the bastard. F**k coordinating with ESU."

"Which would make you about as reckless as you accused me of being with the Russians."

"Touché. Good thing we have each other's backs."

"And sides and fronts. How about…." A text dings on Castle's phone. His eyes widen as he takes in the short message. "This is anonymous, but it must be from Cross. He says you're about to hear that Simmons is dead. Better finish your report fast, Beckett."

Kate's eyes sweep over the scene at the auto body shop. From the outside, the place looks like any repair facility, with roll-up metal doors covering drive-in bays and a sign announcing the business. The inside, however, is another story. Several cars are parked there, Lincolns, apparently Simmons's specialty. All the equipment necessary to fix them is there as well. But there is more. A back room holds a king-sized bed with gold satin sheets and gold-embroidered bed coverings. The freezer in a small kitchen is filled with filet mignon and rib eyes. And so far almost every surface that CSU swabs is positive for cocaine.

"Simmons was having a good time," Castle observes, "a very good time. No packed baggage, or signs of getting ready to escape. The man wasn't expecting to die."

"Murder victims usually don't," Kate comments. "But someone knew when he'd be alone and easy to take out. And Lanie says the MO matches the MO Murray found for my mother's killer. Hopefully, he left us the clues we need to nail his ass – and Bracken's.