by Juno Rushdan
Not a snowball’s chance in hell. She’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, thinking, remembering, praying that freaky shadow creature didn’t creep back into her dreams.
Goose bumps chased down her arms. “I doubt it.”
“Then we need to go get the three hard drives,” he said, his tone growing harsh, his whole posture now on edge. “Your clothes are dry. Get dressed.”
Coddle time was over. Rough, rude Castle was back, straight to business. Good. She knew precisely how to resist this one, as opposed to Mr. Shirtless, Sexy, and Sensitive.
At the Gray Box, it had seemed as though he cared about her as a person and his desire to help her exceeded duty. Here, she was nothing more than a person of interest, a means to do his job. Everyone always wanted something from her. No one ever wanted only her, no strings attached.
She needed to stick to her plan. Run. Go to Romania and send him the information to stop Bravo once she was safe.
The only person she could depend on was herself. “Sure. Let’s go.”
16
Washington, DC
8:20 p.m. EDT
“I need to know where we’re headed and what we’re potentially walking into. Directions aren’t sufficient,” Castle said, trying to forget about the feel of Kit’s lips pressed to his.
If he’d kissed her back, spoon-feeding distraction, it would’ve turned a complicated situation into a disaster.
His objectivity was already slipping, but he wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t see she was still hiding something. He just hoped it was only the address of her hidey-hole.
“We’re going to the loft,” she said.
“Your apartment?”
She nodded. “Turn left. It’s the complex right there.”
Three separate four-story buildings formed a U shape and there was attached covered parking.
He stopped across the street from the complex. “I wish you would’ve mentioned this sooner. The men who are after you might have your place staked out.”
“After the stunt they pulled in the park,” Kit said, “I’d have to be crazy to come back to my apartment. Alone, I mean. Surely, they’re not still hovering around like vultures on the off chance I’d show up.” She glanced out the window, scanning the street like she expected to catch a glimpse of one of them hidden in the shadows.
As if it would be that easy.
There was no way to know how many of those professionals Castle had to factor into the equation. But if they had the manpower, it would’ve been smart for them to assign one person on stakeout. In a parked car with a view of her building’s entrance and the windows of her apartment, where they could detect any movement inside, watch for a turned-on light, while minimizing the chance of being spotted.
Maybe they’d get lucky, and those men were spinning their wheels trying to track down Kit somewhere far away.
“Anything is possible,” he said. “Are there assigned parking spots in the garage?”
“Yes. You buy the spot along with the apartment. It was hard as the dickens to get extra.”
“We’ll stay out of the garage. I need to know about your apartment. Potential vulnerabilities. Which one is yours?”
“The penthouse in the first building on the left. The elevator opens directly into the apartment. You have to have a keycard to access it. They wouldn’t be able to get in.”
“Unless they swiped one from your friends.”
The color drained from her face. “I hadn’t considered that.” She clutched her satchel in her lap.
“Is there a fire escape leading to the ground floor?”
“No, but I also own the private rooftop terrace. There are outside stairs leading to it from the apartment.”
“Is there a way to lock the elevator and restrict access even if someone has a keycard?”
Kit appeared flustered by the rapid-fire questions. “Yes, but I have to do it from inside the apartment.”
It was best for him to do a sweep of the perimeter, ensuring there were no signs of any unfriendlies on-site. “As we drive around the complex, keep your eyes peeled and stay low in your seat.” The tinted windows of the SUV would thankfully make it hard to spot her.
Castle circled the block twice, taking his time, scanning everything, looking for the smallest trigger to alert him to danger.
The penthouse took up the entire upper floor and looked about the length of a basketball court. It was dark inside from their vantage point on the street.
The sweep was clean. He parked in a permit-only Monday through Friday spot. “No suspicious-looking vehicles or people around the building. The blinds were lowered in a couple of rooms in your apartment. Is that normal? And are any of the shades blackout?”
“No blackout shades, but we kept them lowered in the bedrooms.”
“As we drove around, did you notice anything that seemed odd for the area, maybe out of place?”
“No. I don’t think so. Same cars I usually see, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Then again, she wasn’t trained to memorize the details of her surroundings, like the license plates of neighbors’ cars, pick out unfamiliar faces, spot a pet foreign to the area.
He glanced around. The coast looked clear. Everything was quiet. Nothing overt struck him as a reason to abort mission, but his instincts screamed that they needed backup. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped in her apartment with only one way out. It was an ideal spot for those professionals from the park to lay a trap.
Castle pulled out his cell phone and dialed Alistair.
“Yeah, mate. Whass up?” Alistair said, his words slurred. There was loud background noise, as if he was in a restaurant or bar.
“Are you toasted?”
“I’m not completely shitfaced,” Alistair said. “I’ve only had…oh, I’ve lost count. Rocky is putting it on my tab. Why? Whasssss up, Castle?”
Good grief. “You can’t even drive.” Much less be backup.
“You’re right about that. Good thing Grace is here with me.”
Grace Tanaka was their weapons specialist, the designer of the black ops gear for the Gray Box.
“She’s kindly offered to see home me safely. I mean, me home safely. Provided I don’t flirt with her. Like the gentlemen that I am, I promised. But shhh. Don’t tell her I had my fingers crossed behind my back.”
“I can hear you, Allie,” Grace said, her voice carrying over the phone. “Hi, Castle.”
“Where are your manners, luv?” Alistair asked, sounding truly offended. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I’ve been sitting right here the whole time,” Grace said.
“Oh, crikey.” Alistair blew into the phone. “Perhaps I am completely shitfaced.”
Castle shook his head but kept his temper. “Is anyone else from the team around?”
“Nope. They’re all out partying.” That was Alistair’s unique way of saying trying not to die while getting the job done. “Always some hot potato assignment. Good old Grace didn’t want me to drink alone.”
Too bad she wasn’t encouraging him to drink more water and less booze. “Why aren’t you working with the others?”
“The chief is keeping me in reserve in case you need backup. To be the beauty to your beast. The brains to complement your brawn.”
Perfect. Just perfect. “Go home and sleep it off.”
“What? Pishposh. I can’t have the bedtime of a toddler. Another round of shots, Rocky!”
“Hey, Castle,” Grace said, this time directly into the phone as if she’d taken it from Alistair. “Something’s up with him. He said it was his anniversary, but he won’t say of what.”
Shit. Once a year, Alistair went on a bender, marking the date his life in England ended and he had become a ghost on American soil. Castle had been so preoccupied, he’d forg
otten.
“Let him drink,” he said, his heart going out to the displaced Brit. Castle couldn’t imagine how hard it must be on Alistair, never able to set foot in his native country again, forced to abandon everything that made him the person he was—unless he wanted to risk getting a slug right between the eyes. MI6 was glad Alistair was dead and would do anything to keep it that way. “This is a rough day for him. He’ll be himself again once the hangover wears off.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks.” Castle disconnected and turned to Kit. “The odds are probably in our favor that we won’t have any issues, but when we get in your apartment, don’t go near the windows. Stay by my side. Move when I say move. Stop when I say stop. Basically, do everything I tell you to do, without question. Okay?”
“Despite what you might think, I am capable of following orders.”
That remained to be seen.
She opened her bag, withdrew a Ziploc of medicine, and took out a tan bottle labeled PROPRANOLOL, but it was empty. “I knew I was running low, but I thought I had one more.”
“Are you okay to do this? I don’t want to put your ticker under too much stress, especially without your pills.” There was no way he could leave her alone in the car. Either they went together, or he called it off.
“Yeah. I was only going to take it as a precaution, but I have a refill in my apartment.”
“Good.” One less thing for him to worry about and even more reason to get in there.
They climbed out of the SUV and walked to her building. A fall wind kicked up, rustling Kit’s dress and drawing his gaze to her legs. She zipped up her vegan leather jacket with a shiver, none the wiser about the GPS trackers he’d planted on her.
They entered the brightly lit, spacious lobby. Her heels clicked against the tile floor, echoing in the atrium. Castle was on full alert, his weapon locked and loaded in his shoulder rig, his gaze roaming.
Kit addressed the twentysomething man seated at the concierge desk by name. He greeted her with a bright smile that said you’re one of my favorites. “Kit, it’s good to see you.”
They were on a first-name basis and she didn’t put on airs with the concierge. Castle liked that Kit wasn’t a snob—with those unaffiliated with government agencies anyway.
“I’m so sorry,” the guy said. “I heard about what happened to—”
“Thank you,” Kit said, “but I’m still processing.”
“Of course. If you need anything, just call down.”
“I’m not staying. I’m only here to get a few things and then I’m leaving. But thank you.”
“Excuse me.” Castle stepped up to the desk. A quick glance showed him there were no monitors connected to security cameras. “Have you noticed anyone unfamiliar or suspicious lurking around the premises the last couple of days?”
He furrowed his brow. “Not that I can recall. But I only work nights and I was off yesterday.”
The pros hunting Kit were good. So good they would’ve been able to slip in unseen, search her place, and duck out without anybody paying attention to them. To compound the situation, anyone entering from the attached garage didn’t have to pass by the concierge desk to get to the elevator.
Keycard-only access to the penthouse was the one real safety feature and it’d been compromised.
The bank of windows on the way to the elevator provided a view of the common area. An Olympic-size pool sat adjacent to Kit’s building, with a courtyard on the other side.
Kit hit the call button. A moment later, the elevator arrived, and they got on. After inserting her keycard into the slot on the panel, she hit P for penthouse.
He glimpsed a flyer inside announcing a Residents’ Columbus Day Weekend party and notice of the pool closing soon for the season.
The ride up in the metal box was smooth and quick and had his gut clenching. They needed to make this quick. In and out.
His instincts buzzed, every muscle coiled with readiness. Years of training as a SEAL had prepared him to operate in the harshest conditions, to handle shitty odds, to draw on every ounce of strength, to complete every mission. Even if it cost him his life. But it was Sanborn who had taught him to be physically harder and mentally stronger than any adversary. How to embody his motto of FEAR.
Face everything and rise.
The doors slid open in a slick, silent motion that whispered of money. They stepped into the apartment. Behind them, the elevator whooshed closed and returned to the ground floor with a smooth, low hum.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he took in her apartment.
Beside him, Kit gasped and froze.
Castle’s gaze swept over the cause of her shocked disbelief. The penthouse had been ransacked. Moonlight spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room cast a spotlight on the disaster zone. Furniture had been trashed throughout the main space, cushions torn open, and stuffing covered the hardwood floor. Artwork on the wall had been shredded, and the gas fireplace completely dismantled. Shattered knickknacks lay in scattered pieces.
Every inch of the space had been turned inside out and picked over with a fine-toothed comb. The only way those hard drives were still here was if she’d stowed them in an unremovable, invisible safe.
This must’ve been a sweet pad before it was tossed to pieces. He’d never seen anything quite like it in real life. Something that would’ve been featured on an episode of MTV Cribs. A palatial living room connected to a dining area and a second space ideal for lounging. Beyond the French doors off a long balcony, he saw the stairs leading to the private rooftop terrace. Probably had the best view in NoMa.
Beside him, Kit teared up. The damaged stuff was replaceable. Her insurance would cover it, and he assumed Kit was aware of that. It was probably seeing firsthand the violation of her home that was getting to her, especially after everything else.
The state of her apartment hadn’t surprised Castle. It was to be expected. But with his shoddy working-with-a-civilian skills, he’d failed to consider how she’d react. He should’ve prepared her for this scene, especially since this was personal for her.
A cough came from a room on the right end of the penthouse, followed by laughter.
They weren’t alone.
Chatter moved in their direction. He drew his weapon, his brain spinning into war-gaming overdrive.
Shit. The elevator had returned to the ground level and there was no time to summon it back. They needed to get out of sight now.
Kit spun toward him, her lips parting to speak. Castle clamped his hand over her mouth and looped his other arm around her midsection, lifting her from the ground. He ducked into the corridor that led away from the male voices. The last thing they needed was her talking too loudly or the click-clack of her heels across the hardwood alerting whoever was in the apartment to their presence.
The only problem was he couldn’t fight while carrying her and Kit couldn’t remove her shoes. The floor was covered in splintered wood and shattered glass.
Her welfare was his top priority. The first thing they needed to do was get her heart medication.
He set her down and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Are your meds in your bedroom?”
She nodded, eyes wide with panic.
“Which way?”
She pointed to the last room at the end of the hall.
Sweeping Kit back into his arms, he moved as fast as possible, maneuvering around shards of glass, pieces of wood from busted drawers, and strewn papers.
Behind them, the voices moved into the living room.
Castle had considered and strategized countless scenarios.
But not this one.
The world flipped, a perverted inversion where for the first time, he was playing defense. No longer the hunter, he was the prey.
* * *
Bravo was so sick and tired of Delta’s bitching and moaning, he was ready to give the guy a frontal lobotomy.
Charlie chuckled and choked on his beer, then he roared with laughter as they all left the kitchen. “You’re such a whiny bitch.”
My thoughts exactly. Bravo finished the last of his Reuben sandwich, wishing he’d gotten extra corned beef.
“Fuck you,” Delta said and turned to Bravo. “I want to know, damn it. We’ve been here two days. If Katherine Westcott has one functioning brain cell, she’s not coming back here. How much longer are you going to force us to stay in the dark, no TV, no fucking lights? Am I the only one who thinks this is weird as fuck?”
Weird? Unconventional perhaps. Bravo had once stayed in a cabin in the Alps for a week with two dead bodies, freezing his nuts off in the middle of winter. Betting against the odds that the target would return.
The bet had paid off.
“What? Are you afraid of the dark?” Echo asked in a teasing tone.
“No, asshole.” Delta scratched his beard. “Eat shit and die.”
“Then shut up and stop questioning orders,” Echo said. “We’ve got to hang our holsters somewhere. Why not here, even if the odds are slim that she’ll show?”
Thank you. Bravo wasn’t the only one to see the logic in his chosen course of action, even if it was a long shot. Westcott was a candy-coated civilian. She’d make decisions based on emotion and choices governed by fear. Eventually, she’d screw up.
The penthouse was familiar and the one place she’d feel safe.
She’d been smart enough not to use her credit cards and to steer clear of the public video surveillance feeds near all banks, but she had no living relatives and would run out of cash sooner or later. There’d been three grand in the safe they’d cracked in her bedroom. She might get desperate enough to come back for it. At least she would have been before the introduction of the X factor into the mix. Those agents from the park.
No telling which way the dominoes would fall now.
Until Bravo received a call with further instructions, this was the optimal play. Sit tight in the Westcott penthouse and cut down on expenses while they were at it. What was the point of bedding down in a hotel? So Delta could watch cable and turn on the lights?