Page 54 of Until the End

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?

As they drifted into the living room, the laptop on the end table beeped.