63. Chapter 63

After Fool Me Once

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Me again. Still don't own Castle. Rating: K+ Time: See above.

Kate Beckett put down her copy of Heat Wave. She felt much better now that she had read the book. She had worried so much about how she would appear, in the guise of Nikki Heat, in Castle's book, that it was a pleasure to see how good the book was. The case was complex and difficult. Nikki had to be a good detective to solve it. And the remainder of the main characters were memorable, the more so since she knew all of them. She even decided that Nikki Heat was a cop's name, not a stripper's name.

She was unhappy with one aspect of the book, and that was Rook's relationship with Nikki Heat. It was obvious that Castle wanted a relationship with her. She wished she was more like Nikki and could respond to Castle. I hate the walls I've built up to protect myself. But I can't seem to do anything about them. She thought back to her year of therapy that lead her to stop investigating her mother's murder. We talked about those walls, but when I decided I could step away from Mom's murder, I stopped seeing my therapist. What would have happened if I'd gone on? Would it have made any difference? Would I be able to have a relationship with Castle like Nikki apparently has with Rook? I get so lonely some times. Being with Castle would be like…being with Castle. I don't think I'll ever understand him. He's not the obnoxious buffoon I first met. He's more than that. He's a caring man. He's very intelligent. He's…Undisciplined, egotistical, incapable of taking things seriously…fun and hot.

"Dammit!" I have to go to bed!" I have to be at work tomorrow. Kate changed into her pajamas, turned the lights off and slid into bed. She slept soundly.

"Detective Heat?" Raley and Ochoa, otherwise known as Roach, said in unison. "Captain Montrose wants to see you."

"About what?" She asked.

"I think it's about the dude in his office." They replied.

Detective Heat stood and walked into her boss's office. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" She asked.

"Yes, Heat. I want you to meet…"

"Jameson Pawn, the journalist." Heat finished.

"Very good, Detective." Pawn said. "I'm glad to see you're a fan of my work."

"I'm not." She replied. "I just like to keep an eye on New York City's miscreants. You know, Mafia bosses, Al Qaeda operatives, drug cartel assassins and journalists. Really, you stole a police horse?"

"Borrowed." Pawn smiled boyishly. "Just a little boyish prank. I didn't mean any harm."

"And, while nude?"

"Police horses rarely ever wear clothes."

"And you felt compelled to dress the horse in a specially tailored three piece suit?" Heat asked.

Pawn shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He conceded.

Detective Heat rolled her eyes.

"However, Detective Heat, the mayor as instructed me to allow Mr. Pawn to ride along with you for his next article. I hope that won't be a problem?" Montrose said.

"Of course not, sir. I'm perfectly capable of handling one journalist while solving a murder."

"Perhaps you'd like to know a little about me…" Pawn began.

Heat shook her head. "Not necessary. I've read you articles. Your piece on the Chechen rebels was quite good, although you did get the name of the Russian Spetsnaz, their Special Forces, commander in Chechnya wrong. I know a little about your personal life, aside from what's in the police records. Your daughter Alexandra has won two Nobel Prizes, quite an accomplishment for a teenager. Last year's was for Economics and this year's is for Medicine. Your mother, Maggie, is starring in the revival of No, No, Nannette, on Broadway. She's received rave reviews, except from the Boston Ledger. The people in Boston still believe that Harry Frazee traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees so he could produce No, No, Nannette on Broadway. This ignores the fact that Ruth was traded in 1919 and No, No, Nannette wasn't produced until 1925."

"So, you think you know a lot about baseball?" Pawn said snarkily.

"Well," Montrose broke in, "after Kate gave him some tips, Cano Vega's batting average went up by fifty five points."

"Oh, and a couple of other things, Mr. Pawn. You had sex with your ex-wife this morning, the redhead, not the blonde. You thought he sex was great, but she was faking it. Also, you had breakfast at the very expensive Red's. They used American cheese in your omelet, not the expensive imported cheese they charged you for. And your coffee was mostly from Mexico, not the expensive Ethiopian you paid for."

"How could you possibly know that?" Pawn asked.

"Kate is a gourmet chef. She wrote the Homicide Detective's Cookbook last year. It's still on the best seller list."

"Really, Captain. I was never happy with that book. I would have done a much better job if I hadn't had to model the NYPD's new uniforms for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue."

Suddenly, Roach stuck their heads in the door. "Heat, we have a body drop. At a betting establishment on 55th. The deceased is Elise Finnegan's fiancé, Steven Fletcher. It's a perfect Heat case."

"Why?" She asked,

"Right after he was shot, the lights went out and the body disappeared."

"Let's go. You coming, Pawn?"

Medical examiner Lauren Parry was not happy. "No one steals one of my bodies!" She grumped when Kate Heat and her team arrived.

"Any ideas?" She asked Parry.

The medical examiner shook her head. "Here I have to leave the rehearsal for Swan Lake and someone steals my body."

"Your body looks fine to me." Pawn said, waggling his eyebrows.

Detective Heat gestured to the journalist. "He's Jameson Pawn, journalist. I'm trying to keep him out of the way."

"Ha, Missy!" Pawn said. "When I've just cracked your case?"

"Cracked the case?" Heat and Roach said together.

Parry smiled. "That's so cute."

Pawn was now the center of attention. "Don't you see these people in tuxedos?" He said dramatically, pointing to the staff of the horse parlor.

"So?" Heat said wearily.

"It's obvious that time travelling, extra-terrestrial Penguinoids jumped in here, expecting to find more of their number, and were surprised by Fletcher. In the confusion they kidnapped him."

"Really?" Heat said, in shocked disbelief. "And they kidnapped him because…?"

Pawn thought for a second. "He was a CIA agent."

"What!" Cried Elise Finnegan. "Steven was a CIA agent. I don't believe it."

"Absolutely." Pawn said.

"That's absurd." Heat said.

"Prove it." Pawn said.

Heat sighed. "I hate to do this for something so trivial." She pulled out her phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Barack. Kate Heat here. Sorry to bother you, but can you check and see if a Steven Fletcher was CIA, or with any other intelligence agency. Sure I can wait a minute."

In less than a minute, Kate had her answer. "Okay, thanks for the help, Barack. Never heard of him?" She hung up.

"You have the President on speed dial?" Pawn asked.

"Doesn't everyone?"

Detective Heat looked around, carefully noting everyone. Then she carefully walked past every person there, sniffing as she did so. "Just as I thought."

"What is it?" Roach asked.

"Yeah, tell us." Pawn said grumpily.

"It's really very simple, there is no smell of gunpowder residue, cordite, on anyone here. Therefore, Steven Fletcher wasn't shot."

"What?" Cried Elise Finnegan. "How can that be?"

"Easy." Heat said, walking over to Pawn, grabbing his ears, pulling off his mask, revealing…"

"SENATOR BRACKEN!" Everyone cried.

"Bracken had to get rid of Steven so that he could marry Elise and have her family's money to finance his campaign."

"And I would have gotten away with it if not for you meddling detectives." Bracken snarled.

As Bracken was hauled away, Elise approached Kate. "But where is Steven? And the real Mr. Pawn?"

Kate walked around the room and stopped at the far wall. "Right about…"She tapped the wall and it swung inward, revealing a secret room. "…here." There, bound and gagged, were Steven Fletcher and Jameson Pawn.

Once released, Pawn walked over to Kate. "That was magnificent. I really do want to follow you around, Detective Heat."

She looked at the ruggedly handsome journalist. "What do you say we start at my place?" She said with a sexy smile.

"Pawn!" Cried a dark haired woman. "I need to talk to you. Vladimir Putin wants you to ghost write his autobiography. There are millions in it. He says he'll give you full access. What do you say?"

"Paula? Putin? When I have Detective Kate Heat to follow around. Be serious?"

Later that night, Kate and Pawn were sprawled naked on her heart shaped bed. "Wow! Kate thought. He brought me to seven orgasms in one hour! This guy is great.

Pawn looked down on the prone Kate Heat. "Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate."

"Of course you do." Kate said dreamily.

Suddenly Jameson Pawn was on his knees in front of her. "Kathrine Beckett Heat, will you marry me?"

Kate smiled. "Jameson Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle Pawn, I will…" Her answer was cut off by a loud buzzing.

"What the hell?" Kate said, sitting up in bed and recognizing the sound of her alarm clock. "Damn it to hell! Why did it have to end there?" She suddenly put her hand between her legs. She was wet. Very wet. The orgasms hadn't been all in her dreams.