Page 52 of Until the End

“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 forgotten.

“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.