So far he'd managed to tune her out, but that wasn't going to last much longer. There were times, like now, when he wondered why he'd ever married her. Actually, he wondered that all the time, which was probably at least one of the reasons why they'd got divorced. Right now he was distracted by the beads around her sweater neckline, and had three times tried to count them, but she kept moving.

"And I suppose you've spent all of the advance?" Gina Cowell glared at him, her perfectly coiffured blonde hair almost vibrating in anger.

Rick Castle, darling of the celebrity circuit, beloved by millions for his enormous … talent, smirked. "Nope. I've been a good boy and invested it."

"What in, poker chips?" Gina was on a roll. "Playing with your cronies when you should have been writing."

"It's called doing research."

"It's called being lazy and not getting off your backside." She put her hands on her hips. "You promised another three chapters."

"Did I?"

"Yes. At least ten thousand words." Unable to keep still she now crossed her arms. "And you've let me down. Again."

Again. He sighed, hearing their short life together summed up in that one word. Still, whatever else she was, Gina was a good editor, and he had to give her something. "I was busy." Okay, not much, but something.

"Going out on crime scenes. Solving murders."

He hadn't been able to keep her from finding out, not with his mother and daughter living in the same apartment, and the former particularly not known for her tact and ability to keep secrets. "Research. Again. You know full well my new character's based on a certain female detective. How can I possibly be creative without getting under her skin?"

"Like a parasite. Anyway, isn't that what imagination is for?"

"Now, Gina, you know me." He tried the smile, the one that had been warming the cockles of women's hearts since he was still in short pants and his mother's cronies were hanging on his every word. "I have to live and breathe the details. About the only thing I've never done is kill someone just to find out what it feels like." Although that could be close, he admitted to himself.

"To write it, Rick. Write. Not look at and ogle. Write."

On the edge of his consciousness he heard the bell for the front door, and vaguely wondered whether someone would get it, but most of his current concentration was on his ex-wife. "Gina. Sweetheart. I promise there is nothing I want more than to get something down on paper. And it's coming. Soon."

"It had better be." She turned and went to the study door. "You don't want to cross me, Rick."

"I wouldn't dream of it." The smile now seemed fixed on his lips. "It'll be with you. When have I ever let you down?"

"Oh, all the time."

"That's just because you bring out the worst in me."

"It's not like it has to be brought out far." She tossed another glare over her shoulder, then threw the door open, her exit slightly marred by coming face to face with Martha Rodgers.

"Look who's just arrived." Rick's mother, her red hair shining, was standing in the middle of the hall, her arm around a woman who was smiling slightly.

"Hi, Rick," the newcomer said, a black suitcase at her feet.

"Maggie?" Rick's jaw dropped. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I just come and visit for a while?" AJ Maguire, known to her friends and occasional enemies as Maggie, chuckled. Standing at a shade over five eight, she wore her habitual long black leather coat over a bright red polo neck jumper and blue jeans. Her hair, almost black, spiked around her face, just a little flushed from the cold air outside.

"No." He tempered his word with a grin.

"Oh." She laughed, and it warmed him through. "You know me too well."

Gina, however, was less than pleased. "Well."

Maggie smiled at her. "Hello, Gina."

"Just arrived?"

"Mmn."

"Good flight?"

"A little cramped."

"You should have flown Club. I always do."

"Really."

The blonde pasted on a fake smile. "So when are you going to see sense and come over to Black Pawn?" she asked, stepping forward, her perfume preceding her.

Maggie's forehead creased. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Because we can give you a much better deal than your current company. I have it on good authority that you're missing out on at least six figures."

Maggie bit her lip as if in thought. "Would it mean working with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I think I'll stay right where I am." She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"Fine. Say no to lots more money." Her face switched off and she glanced back at the man behind her. "By the end of the week, Rick."

"Of course."

She headed towards the front door, thrusting her arms into her fur coat as she went, her heels click clacking on the wooden floor.

He waited until she had it open before calling. "Gina."

She turned to glare at him, framed in the doorway. "What?"

"Here." He tossed her the large envelope he'd snagged from the desk when her back was turned.

She grabbed it, somewhat ungainly, to her chest in an effort to stop it falling to the floor. "What is it?" she demanded, staring at the manila in case it should explode in her face.

"Three chapters." He grinned. "As promised."

Her mouth opened with a retort, then closed quickly with an audible snick of her teeth. "You really are a bastard." She span on her heel and strode for the elevator.

"I see you still have a way with women," Maggie said, unable to keep the laugh from her voice.

"A few." He pulled her into a hug. "Damn, it's good to see you."

"I know." She leaned into him. "It's been a while."

"Too long. I was beginning to think I'd lost my animal magnetism."

"Rick, that makes you sound like you do unfortunate things with dogs or horses or something," she pointed out, stepping from his embrace.

"That was a rumour put about by unscrupulous tabloid journalists." He twinkled at her. "So. The Pattersons." Named after James Patterson, these were the latest in a long line of awards mystery and thriller writers gave themselves.

"Afraid so."

"You're nominated, aren't you?"

Her eyebrows raised slightly. She obviously hadn't realised he kept tabs on her. "Mmn. For A Lying Smile."

"Good book."

"Thanks."

"And your publisher told you if you didn't turn up, she was going to personally send those photos to the press."

Maggie laughed. "Oh, definitely too well."

"Photos?" Martha asked, but no-one enlightened her.

Rick was pleased. "Glad you gave in. And you're searching for some exceptionally good looking man to take you."

"And yet I end up at your door." She sighed, not at all surprised. "I have a table. Well, my publisher paid, but …" She looked him up and down. "Okay, yes, I admit it. I was wondering, if you weren't going with some young lovely whose birthday and IQ are pretty much the same, whether you'd like to come with me."

"What about … God, who was it? Igor?"

"Ivan." She sighed again. "He left me."

If she'd looked at all upset he'd have taken her into his arms and hugged her again, but she didn't, so he quashed the urge. "What happened this time?"

"He wanted me to buy him a Maserati, and I declined."

"He only wanted you for your money. I told you that."

"I know. And I came to the conclusion a long time ago that's about the only thing I have to appeal to anyone."

He looked at her from under his eyebrows. "Maggie, you know that's not true."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

"So where are you staying?"

The front door opened again and Rick's fifteen year old daughter hurried in. "Oh, you're already here." Alexis smiled at Maggie.

Rick looked from the woman to the girl. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not." She walked forwards. "Maggie and I often chat on the phone."

"That why my bill is through the roof?"

"Of course."

"And I thought it was your grandmother calling all her conquests."

"Darling, they call me," Martha put in, smiling warmly.

"And I'm going to a hotel," Maggie said quickly. "I've got a reservation at –"

"No, you're not," Alexis said, interrupting, a determined look lighting her pale face. "You're staying here."

Maggie shook her head. "No. I can't put you out."

"It's no bother." Alexis looked at her father. "Is it?"

He couldn't have grinned much wider. "Nope. No bother at all. Of course you're staying with us."

"So no more naked trips to the kitchen at 3 in the morning," his daughter said pointedly.

"Since when do I do that?"

"Dad, I've got far too intimate a knowledge of masculine development as it is."

Rick narrowed his eyes. "You'd better not say that where anyone can hear. Child Services could still come and take you away." He paused. "On the other hand …"

"Just put some pants on." She picked up Maggie's bag. "The guest room's ready. I'll help you unpack."

---

Esposito looked up at Ryan from where he was crouched in the melting snow. "Are you going to call her, or shall I?"

"I don't know. It's supposed to be her day off."

"Yeah, but this one …"

"I know. Okay. Flip you for it." He pulled a handful of change from his pocket and selected a quarter. "Call." Balancing the coin on his thumb, he expertly tossed it into the air, catching it on the back of his hand and covering it with his palm.

"Tails."

Ryan checked. "Heads. Your turn."

"Damn." Esposito sighed but took his cellphone from inside his jacket.

Grinning, Ryan shook his head. His partner would get him next time, he was sure of it, but right now he didn't really want to be the one to tell Kate Beckett that she had another one of the funnies to deal with. And not 'funny ha ha', either. He looked down at the body and the smile faded. The ways people could find to get themselves killed in this town …