Chapter 4

The scent of roasted garlic lingers in the hallway- a sure sign that Mrs. Bocelli is using a bout of insomnia to simmer a batch of her famous spaghetti sauce again, and Kate's stomach growls for something other than champagne and shitty precinct coffee. She had been too distracted at the party to eat anything and she had spent the subway ride home from the precinct trying to think of any way out of the weekend in the Hamptons.

Kate lets herself into her apartment and her nose crinkles as the illusion of dinner disappears leaving only lingering traces of spray air freshener and rotting garbage in it's wake. The duffle bag on her shoulder slips off and she lets it fall to the dusty floor of the entry. Her shoes land with twin thuds in middle of the living room when she kicks them off, and she winces as the bare soles of her feet touch the grainy floor. She really needs to clean. Instead she wipes the soles of her feet on her calves and pads over to the barren kitchen. One hand flops up to cover her jaw cracking yawn as the other reaches to open the cabinet.

She's still leaning on the kitchen counter, propped up by elbows and willpower, halfway through a bowl of sugar coated puffed cereal masquerading as part of a healthy meal when the bedroom door creaks open. A thump and a muffled curse have her rubbing two fingers against her throbbing temple as she shovels a spoonful of artificially colored sugar into her mouth, too exhausted to care.

"Jesus, Kate, is it really that hard to put your shoes on the rack. I bought it for a reason." Will grumbles as he bends over to pick up her discarded pumps, his boxer clad posterior sticking straight up into the air.

"Sorry," she mumbles back mid chew. "Was starving."

Will rounds the corner into the tiny kitchen, fingers scratching through his short crop of sandy brown hair. He brushes a quick kiss to the side of her head- lips barely connecting to skin, chin bumping her ear- on his way to grab his own bowl. Each clank of the spoon on the edge of his bowl chips away at her nerves and tension shoots up the side of her head when he slurps at the milk on his spoon. He dumps the dishes in the sink, not even bothering to run the water over them and Kate can already smell the rotten milk that will greet her in the morning.

"Where were you, anyway, dressed like that?" Will asks as she rinses water over her own bowl and stows it in the dishwasher, careful not to get even a drop of water on his discarded dish. Petty? Yes. Effective communication? Probably not.

"I texted you earlier. I was helping vice with an undercover op." Kate explains as she pushes off the counter, padding away from him toward the bedroom. "I'm going to be gone this weekend for it too."

"The whole weekend? What the hell for?"

Stretching her hands above her head, Kate shakes her shoulders as she walks and rolls the kinks out of her neck as her arms drop then curl up behind her back, tugging at the thin zipper of the dress.

"It's no big deal," she shrugs off the op, giving her boyfriend a synopsis, swallowing the fact that her favorite author is the mark, as she shimmies out of the dress.

Will props himself against the bedroom door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown painting his lips.

"There's no officer in Vice who can do it?"

"I didn't ask, Will," Kate bites out as the dull throb in her temple begins to pulse. "When your boss gives you an assignment, do you ask why they didn't give it to someone else first?"

He holds up his hands. "Was just a question, Katie. Don't snap my head off."

Her spine stiffens, the nickname he knows she hates making the chip on her shoulder shoot tension through her neck. Without another word, Kate marches into the en suite, the slam of the door reverberating through the tiled space.

Scalding water washes down over her and Kate stands under the spray, skin burning. The tension is just starting to drain from her shoulders, knots unwinding in her back, when the door creaks open and she peeks out around the side of the curtain to find Will sitting on the closed toilet seat, hands clasped between his plain blue boxer clad thighs.

"Can I help you?" Kate questions as her right eyebrow quirks sending a stream of water cascading down her temple.

"I have that interview in Boston on Friday." Will responds his gaze trained on his hands and Kate disappears back behind the curtain.

"Oh."

"Yeah, I was hoping you would come with me. See the city. I think you'd like it there."

"We both know I can't leave New York, Will."

"Can't or won't?"

Kate freezes, hands coated in conditioner. "Both."

"You deserve to be happy, Kate."

She closes her eyes, letting out a sigh as her body sways back until her spine hits the water-warmed tile. "Good luck in Boston, Will. I'll see you when you get back."

"Should I come back?"

"That's up to you."

Kate peeks around the edge of the curtain as the door snicks shut and pounds a fist against the shower wall, relief welling where anger and sadness should be. What was worse? Bawling over an imminent break up or not feeling anything at all?

She zones in and out throughout the briefing Friday morning. It's not anything that she hasn't heard already. She will be outfitted with a camera and mic at all times. There'll be a team of two plain clothes detectives stationed in a house down the road. She has a new fake ID and a couple credit cards under her fake name: Caitlin Lane. Caitlin. She forced her eyes not to roll on the spot. She still hasn't received a straight answer as to why they felt the need to change her first name too.

Tucker rambles on about tactical strategy, his well-toned chest puffed out in a display of self-importance and her mind drifts off once again. She hasn't heard from Will since she woke up alone in bed Wednesday morning. His clothes were still in her hamper, his extra razor in it's spot next to sink but he's been sleeping at his own place for the past two nights. Or at least she presumes he has been since he hasn't called. But then again, she hasn't called him either.

"Richard Castle."

Her attention snaps back up as the captain slaps a picture of the author to the utilitarian white board. "We learned of his possible involvement with a crime family, under the guise of research for his latest novel, through an anonymous tip. This is a man with connections in our community. The mayor, the chief of police, the media. This can be dangerous for us. No matter what we do, we tread lightly, we find evidence. We do everything by the book. When we take him down we don't want him getting away on a technicality. And if he does-" The captain's eyes sear into hers. "- there will be hell to pay."

Kate forces her eyes not to waver, even as her mind drifts to the novel nestled hidden at the bottom of her work bag. She was about to ruin the life of the man who had helped save hers. Fuck.

Once again her fingers itch to yank down the hem of the miniskirt as she struts down the sidewalk toward his apartment building on the corner of Broome Street. It's three o'clock on Friday afternoon and she's not exaggerating as she mutters to herself that she'd give her right arm to be on her couch in her comfortable sweats- the ones with the holes in the pockets- rather than teetering around in a neighborhood she can't even afford in her dreams, in four inch heels and an outfit that would make even her teenage self blush. The sun beats down, tanning the thin strip of skin exposed peeking out between the bottom of the black crop top and top of the skirt and she curses whichever chauvinistic, sadistic bastard from Vice picked the outfit.

"I'm so glad you like it, Beckett. I made sure there were three similar ensembles in your bag." Tucker's voice filters in through her earpiece and Beckett's responding curse is cut off when Castle strolls out from the front door of his building, a pair of fashionably faded indigo jeans hanging from his hips and a simple white button down covering his chest.

"Damn." The word escapes under her breath and it's only by the grace of god, or whatever existing higher power, that Tucker doesn't hear and throw it back in her face.

"Kate! You made it." Castle flashes her a carefree, thousand-watt smile, but she manages to catch a flicker of relief in his eyes before he dons his shades.

"Of course. We have a deal."

"Right right. Oh, here, let me take your bag." He holds out a hand, his fingers recoiling as hers tighten on the strap cognizant of the secrets hidden inside.

"I uh-"

"Oh, right. Sorry, business first," he replies to her hesitation by pulling a thick envelope from the side pocket of his own weekend bag. "Five thousand. I can give you the other half when we get back."

"That's fine." Her hand wraps around the envelope and she swallows the thick pool of saliva that's gathered at the base of her throat. She takes her time stuffing the money in her bag, using the few extra seconds to school her thoughts. She closes the zipper with a flick of her wrist and pastes on a brilliant smile as she looks back up at him. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Castle."

Kate's eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets as he pops the trunk of the cherry red Ferrari parked at the curb. The keys dangle from his fingers, and as she sets her bag in the tiny trunk, hers tingle with the want to reach out and snatch them from his grip. A car like this can reach 120 easy on the open roads leading out of her city. Her hand drops as the trunk slams shut and she makes a mental note to take her Harley out for a spin once she gets back into town. It's been too long.

"Look, Kate." Castle's fingers catch hers as she rounds the car toward the passenger side door, and her breath catches in her throat as a bolt of electricity shoots up her arm. He drops her hand as if he's been burned and it only takes one look at his face to know he felt the same jolt.

"Sorry! I- uh- I mean. I just want to apologize again for how I acted the other night. I had no right to pry, or to insinuate that you were in any way a whore. And for the record, I don't think that about you."

Kate swallows hard, forcing down the lump in her throat, flashes of drunken nights not long enough gone parading through her memory. How many times had she fallen into some nameless man's bed in an attempt to dull the throbbing pain of loss? How many times had she thought the same things as he had insinuated?

She shakes her head, forces a weak smile to her lips. "It's fine. But just some ground rules- some escorts are fine with indulging with their clients. I'm not one of them. I'll hang on your arm. I'll laugh at your jokes and dance with you after dinner. I'll pretend to be your girlfriend. I'll even kiss you goodnight for show but the minute the lights turn off don't expect any added benefits. We clear?"

"Crystal." Castle replies, his hands now hooked safely in his front pockets, and Kate resists the urge to smile at his chastised expression. "So…"

"We should get going. Beat the traffic."

"Right." He scurries around her to open her door and she slides into the passenger seat, Tucker's voice crackling in her ear.

"Aw look, the mob lackey is a gentleman."

"Can it, Tucker." She mutters just as Castle opens his door and plops down behind the wheel. The engine revs and she can't stop the thrill that uncurls in her belly.

Here goes nothing.