Confession Chapter 16

When the Mercedes belonging to Richard Castle pulls up at the entrance to the Mortenson, Hal Lockwood prepares to take his shot. He's guessing that Castle will emerge first and then round the car to help Kate Beckett out. Even if the writer fails in that simple demonstration of manhood, the two of them will walk to the entrance together. They'll move slowly, accommodating Beckett's lingering weakness from the bullet Lockwood fired in Chicago. He sights above the short walkway to the theater door, sucking in air to keep himself oxygenated when he holds his breath to fire. As the driver's door to the Mercedes opens, Lockwood's total concentration is fixed on the emergence of his prey. The sound of a weapon, not his own, cocking, hits his nervous system like a shock. He struggles to comprehend the words that follow. "Put the rifle down," Esposito commands, "or I put you down."

The radio inside the Mercedes broadcasts four words. "Suspect secured. All clear." Smiling in satisfaction, Kap's operative drives off to return the car to its underground Soho home.

"Hey, Dad!" Rebecca Montgomery yells. "You should see this. As Montgomery enters the living room, his daughter points at the TV screen showing a reporter doing a standup in front of the Mortenson. "Anderson, details are sketchy. But so far it seems that two NYPD detectives arrested a sniper who had a rifle trained on the entrance to this theater, where a fundraising gala is being held. Apparently, they grabbed him before he could get a shot off, a welcome sigh of relief for a city, and indeed a country, afflicted by too many senseless mass shootings."

"Relief indeed," the evening anchor agrees.

"Someone should give those detectives one of those commendation things or something," Rebecca says. "I wonder who they are?"

Montgomery continues to stare at the screen as he pulls his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm gonna find out."

By the time Montgomery arrives at the 12th, Lockwood is already in custody and Ryan and Esposito are bathing in kudos from the bullpen's night shift. Barely out of the elevator, he calls to them. "Great work, you two. You can give me the rundown in my office."

Montgomery's smile vanishes as he closes his office door. "I don't recall assigning either of you to investigate a potential sniper. What I do recall is assigning ten other cases that are still sitting on your desks. How the hell were you uptown at just the right moment to become the city's heroes?"

"Captain, that guy was after Beckett and probably Castle too," Esposito says.

"We couldn't just leave him out there to shoot her again," Ryan adds.

"And exactly how did you find out he would be there?" Montgomery presses.

"It was Castle and Beckett. They figured out who Beckett's shooter would have to be and Castle used the security team he hired to protect her to set the guy up. The security guys called us in to make the collar."

"How did they figure out the shooter's identity when the Chicago cops investigating the shooting have nothing?" Montgomery demands.

"You'd have to ask them that, Sir," Esposito responds.

"You have been keeping us pretty busy here," Ryan adds.

"All right," Montgomery says. "The department can use all the good PR it can get. So you guys go ahead and play hero. But I want to see more progress on your other cases."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Captain."

"That's all." Montgomery waves them toward the door. "Get out of here." As their steps retreat, he pulls out the top drawer of his desk and fingers the micro-cassette taped beneath it. He has no idea how much, if anything, Lockwood knows about his history with Bracken. But his tapes should still be enough to keep the sonofabitch senator at bay. Still, they are a double-edged sword. If he has to use them against Bracken, chances are he'll go down as well. But it may not get that far. Lockwood's DNA would have been taken as part of his processing. Once it's matched to the sample from Chicago, he's done. He can be extradited to Illinois for shooting Beckett, a more serious charge than having a gun trained on possible victims in New York. Still, if his lawyer tries to cut a deal…. No. Lockwood will keep his mouth shut. He knows what happens to people who try to turn on Bracken. If it weren't for the tapes, it would have happened to Roy long ago.

"Where's Graciela?" Castle asks as Kate lets him in on Sunday morning.

"She wanted to go to mass and I told her to go ahead. Today's her last day anyway. We both know I can take care of myself now, Castle."

"You're still not supposed to lift anything heavier than a half-gallon of milk," Castle reminds her.

"Not for that much longer, and I doubt I'd need to. Anyway, if I need help, I've got my cell phone. And Castle, the elevator in my building is fixed and with Lockwood out of action, there's no reason I can't go back to my own apartment. I don't know exactly what you're shelling out for this place, but I'm sure it's not cheap."

"Beckett, I don't give a damn about the money. And I like having you downstairs."

"I know you do. And I like having you close too. But my place is only 20 blocks away. That's only a 20-minute walk and about 2 minutes by cab. This place is nice but it isn't me. I miss having my own furniture and my own things around."

"Yeah, I get it, Beckett. And I'll help you move back whenever you're ready. But I'll miss you. So will Alexis.

"I'll miss her too, Castle – and you."

"Beckett, Kate, we got Lockwood. You're ready to get out of here. Are you ready for anything else?"

"You mean to talk about…?"

"Yeah, that."

Kate takes Castle's hand, drawing him down to sit beside her on the functional couch. "Castle, I don't know how to do this. I mean if this was a movie or something, I'd say I love you too, we'd fall into bed together, and the credits would roll over Bryan Adams singing something romantic. But I can't. I mean it will be weeks before…."

"You're allowed to have sex again?"

"Yeah."

"Kate. I wasn't leaning over your bleeding body and saying I wanted to have sex with you. I said I love you. So, do you mean you can't have sex or do you mean you can't say you love me?"

Kate mercilessly rakes her hair away from her face. "Damn it, Castle, I love you. OK? I think I fell in love with you the first time I read one of your books and saw your face on the book jacket. But then I went to one of your book signings – not the party where I took you in for questioning – one when I was nineteen. I looked at the faces of all the other women in line. And I wondered if they all thought they were in love with you too, if it was even real, or just the effect of clever prose."

"And do you still wonder if it's real?"

"No. Because now I know the man behind the prose. I know how much you love your family. I know how you'll do anything for a friend, and even help people you've never met. I also know how exasperating you can be sometimes. But what I don't know is what to do about all of that. I'm just this cop and you're a famous writer."

"Maybe famous-ish. But why does that matter? The heart wants what the heart wants, Kate. So, dinged up as it may be, what does your heart want?"

Kate cradles his face in her hands. "You. It wants you."