The drive back to my apartment took thirty minutes in midday traffic, giving me plenty of time to rehearse how I was going to tell Elizabeth that I'd just called in my ex-lover to help with the Castle protection detail.
There was no good way to phrase it.
I'd dropped Castle at the precinct—Beckett had called with a new lead on the case, and Ryan and Esposito were there to keep an eye on him while Morrison and Chen maintained their awkward surveillance from the lobby. Which left me with a few hours before Karla arrived to have what was guaranteed to be a complicated conversation.
The Mustang's engine rumbled as I pulled into the underground garage, the familiar sound doing nothing to settle my nerves. I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at my phone.
**Elizabeth:** *How did the FBI meeting go? Are you still alive or should I start interviewing replacement business partners?*
**Me:** *Still alive. Heading up now. We need to talk.*
**Elizabeth:** *Those four words have never preceded anything good. I'm opening the expensive whiskey.*
I climbed out of the car and took the elevator up, each floor bringing me closer to a conversation I wasn't entirely sure how to navigate. Napoleon Solo's charm could talk me through most situations, but Elizabeth saw right through charm. She always had.
Her apartment door was unlocked—our standard arrangement when we knew the other was coming over. I found her in the living room, barefoot in dark slacks and a silk blouse that probably cost more than most people's car payments, two glasses of Macallan 18 already poured on the coffee table.
She looked up when I entered, her green eyes assessing me with that corporate precision that missed nothing. "You look stressed. Sit."
I sat. Picked up one of the glasses. Took a drink that was probably too large for whiskey this expensive.
Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "That bad?"
"I called in the 110th."
She blinked. Once. Then leaned back against the couch, processing. "Your old unit. The Special Investigators."
"Yes."
"The ones whose reputation made hardened criminals confess just to avoid having you investigate them."
"That's a bit dramatic, but essentially yes."
"How many?"
"Four confirmed. Maybe five if Neagley can track down Reacher." I set down the glass before I could drain it. "O'Donnell and Swan are flying in from Chicago and Boston. Neagley's coordinating from wherever she is. And Dixon—" I paused. "—Dixon's already in Manhattan. She'll be here tonight."
Elizabeth's expression didn't change, but I saw something flicker in her eyes. "Dixon. Karla Dixon."
"You know about her?"
"Frank, I know about everyone in your life. That's my job." She took a measured sip of her whiskey. "Former MP, 110th Special Investigations, expert in financial crimes and forensic accounting. One of the youngest people ever to make Sergeant in her unit. Received two commendations for valor and closed an eighty-three percent conviction rate on her cases."
"That's her professional resume."
"And personally?" Elizabeth's voice was carefully neutral. "You slept with her during your deployment in Germany. Three months of what your friend O'Donnell described as 'aggressive fraternization' before you both decided it was compromising the mission and ended it."
I stared at her. "When did you talk to O'Donnell?"
"About six months after we started the business. I wanted to know who my partner really was—including his history." She set down her glass with precision. "O'Donnell was surprisingly forthcoming after I bought him dinner and three bourbons. He said, and I quote, 'Frank and Dixon were either going to kill each other or die for each other, and none of us could figure out which.'"
"That's..." I couldn't quite finish the sentence because it was accurate.
"Complicated?" Elizabeth supplied. "Yes. Which brings us to the question I'm sure you've been dreading: Why didn't you tell me you were calling her?"
"Because I just did it an hour ago, and you've been in meetings all morning, and—"
"Frank." Her tone cut through my deflection like a scalpel. "Try again. Honestly this time."
I took another drink, smaller this time, using the burn of the whiskey to organize my thoughts. "Because I knew it would be complicated. Because I knew you'd ask the exact questions you're asking now. Because—" I met her eyes. "—because I wasn't sure how to tell the woman I'm sleeping with that I just called in a woman I used to sleep with, and I knew it would lead to the conversation we promised to have tonight anyway."
"The 'what are we' conversation."
"Yes."
Elizabeth was quiet for a long moment, studying me with that intensity that made corporate executives nervous. Then she did something I didn't expect—she laughed.
Not a bitter laugh. A genuine one, tinged with something that might have been relief.
"What?" I asked.
"I was terrified of having this conversation," she admitted. "I spent all morning rehearsing what I was going to say, how I was going to approach it, whether I should lead with feelings or practicality. And then you walk in here, tell me you've called in your ex-lover for a case, and somehow that makes it easier."
"How does that make it easier?"
"Because it forces us to be honest instead of dancing around it." She shifted closer, her hand finding mine. "Frank, I care about you. More than I'm comfortable with. More than I planned to. And I've been terrified that you'd realize you could do better—find someone less emotionally constipated, more traditionally romantic, someone who doesn't view relationships as negotiable contracts."
"Elizabeth—"
"Let me finish." She squeezed my hand. "But here's the thing: I also know who you are. You're loyal, brilliant, and you have this hero complex that makes you want to save everyone. You're also—" she paused, choosing words carefully, "—someone who needs variety. Connection. Multiple relationships that serve different purposes."
I stared at her. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I'm saying that I've known for months that monogamy might not work for you. That Napoleon Solo charm isn't just surface—it's genuinely part of who you are. You connect with people, Frank. Deeply, authentically. And I'd be a fool to think I could be everything you need."
"You are—"
"Everything you need in one context," she interrupted gently. "But not necessarily the only context." She turned to face me fully, her expression serious. "So here's what I'm proposing: we be honest about what we are and what we want. I want you in my life—as a partner, as a lover, as the person I trust more than anyone. But I'm not going to demand exclusivity if that's not who you are."
"You're suggesting an open relationship."
"I'm suggesting we acknowledge reality instead of pretending to be people we're not." She traced circles on my palm with her thumb. "I know about Sloane this morning—Castle told me about the coffee conversation. I see how women respond to you, how you respond to them. And I'm pragmatic enough to admit that asking you to ignore that part of yourself would eventually destroy what we have."
"So you'd be okay with me seeing other people?"
"I'd be okay with you being honest about it." Her eyes met mine, unflinching. "Rules, boundaries, communication—all things we're good at in business, all things we should apply here. You want to have coffee with Sloane? Fine. You want to reconnect with Dixon beyond professional capacity? Also fine. As long as you're honest with me about it, and as long as I remain a priority in your life."
I was quiet, processing this. "And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Would you see other people?"
Elizabeth's smile was slight but genuine. "Honestly? I don't know. I'm not wired like you are—I don't form connections easily. But I appreciate having the option. Maybe someday I'll meet someone else who interests me. Maybe not. The point is, we both have freedom to live our lives without lying about it."
"This is very mature and modern of us."
"This is very practical and self-aware of us," she corrected. "Which is what we've always been." She leaned in, her forehead touching mine. "Frank, I don't want to lose you. Not to Dixon, not to Sloane, not to anyone. But I also don't want to cage you into something that makes you resent me eventually."
"I could never resent you."
"You say that now. But six months of enforced monogamy with someone as emotionally unavailable as me? You'd be climbing the walls." Her voice dropped lower. "This way, we both get what we need. You get freedom to pursue connections that matter to you. I get the security of knowing you're not lying to me about it."
"And if I fall in love with someone else?"
The question hung between us, weighted with implications.
Elizabeth pulled back slightly, her expression thoughtful. "Then we deal with it when it happens. Renegotiate. Adjust. That's what adults do—they communicate and adapt instead of making blanket rules that don't serve anyone."
"You've really thought this through."
"I've thought about nothing else since yesterday when you nearly died." Her voice cracked slightly—the first real break in her composure. "Frank, watching the news coverage, hearing Ryan describe what happened, realizing that you could have been killed—" She stopped, collecting herself. "It made me realize that life's too short for pretending. Too short for traditional relationship structures that don't work for the people in them. I want you happy. And if that means sharing you with others, I can live with that."
"As long as I'm honest."
"As long as you're honest," she confirmed. "That's the only non-negotiable part. Everything else—who you see, what you do, how you structure your other relationships—that's between you and them. Just don't lie to me about it."
I pulled her close, kissing her with the kind of intensity that came from gratitude and relief and complicated feelings I didn't have names for. When we broke apart, she was smiling.
"So," she said, "tell me about Karla Dixon. And be honest—is this going to be purely professional, or is there still something there?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "It's been three years. We ended things mutually, stayed friends. But seeing her again..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I don't know what it'll be."
"But you want the option to find out."
"I want the option to be honest about whatever develops without feeling like I'm betraying you."
"Then you have that option." Elizabeth stood, pulling me up with her. "When does she get here?"
"Eight tonight. I told her to come here—figured we could brief her on the case, introduce her to the situation."
"And you want me here for that? Meeting your ex-lover while simultaneously being your current lover?" Elizabeth's smile turned wicked. "That's very evolved of you, Frank."
"If it's weird—"
"It'll be incredibly weird," she agreed. "But also necessary. If we're doing this—actually doing this open, honest thing—then we might as well start now. No hiding, no compartmentalizing. Dixon needs to know the situation, I need to assess if she's going to be a complication or an asset, and you need to see if you can actually maintain professional boundaries with her."
"You're terrifying sometimes."
"I know. It's one of my best qualities." She kissed me again, quick and possessive. "Now, you have a few hours before she arrives. Want to spend them productively?"
"Productively how?"
Her smile widened. "I can think of several ways. Starting with you reminding me why I'm willing to share you in the first place."
"Elizabeth—"
"That's not my name right now." She pulled me toward the bedroom, her voice dropping to that tone that never failed to affect me. "Right now, I'm the woman who has you all to herself for the next few hours. And I intend to make the most of it."
I followed, because refusing Elizabeth when she had that look in her eye had never been an option.
But as we crossed the threshold into her bedroom, I couldn't help thinking about the evening ahead—about Karla Dixon walking into this apartment, meeting Elizabeth, working alongside me again after three years.
About the 110th Special Investigators reuniting for the first time since we'd all scattered after discharge.
About the complicated web of relationships I was now actively choosing to navigate instead of avoiding.
ROB had given me a second chance at life.
I was determined to live it honestly, even when honest was complicated.
Especially when honest was complicated.
—
## Eight PM
I heard the knock precisely at eight—three sharp raps, the same pattern Karla had always used to announce herself during our deployment. Some habits didn't change.
Elizabeth and I were in the living room, both showered and dressed—me in jeans and a henley, her in casual slacks and a silk top that somehow managed to look both comfortable and expensive. The whiskey was still out, joined now by coffee and the remnants of the Thai food we'd ordered for dinner.
Morrison and Chen were stationed in the lobby, having reluctantly agreed to let me have this meeting without them breathing down my neck. Burke had authorized it after I'd explained—with minimal detail—that I was bringing in additional security consultants.
I stood, and Elizabeth followed suit, both of us moving toward the door with the kind of synchronized movement that came from months of living in each other's spaces.
I opened the door.
Karla Dixon stood in the hallway, and the three years since I'd last seen her collapsed into nothing.
She was exactly as I remembered and completely different. Still 5'9", still built like an athlete—lean muscle and economical grace that came from years of military training. Her dark hair was longer now, falling past her shoulders instead of the regulation bun she'd worn in the Army. She wore dark jeans, boots, and a leather jacket over a fitted black top, with a messenger bag slung across her body that probably contained weapons and surveillance equipment in equal measure.
But it was her face that stopped me—sharp cheekbones, full lips, and those dark eyes that had always seen too much. Eyes that were currently doing a full assessment of me, cataloging changes and similarities with the same precision she'd used to analyze crime scenes.
"Frank." Her voice was exactly as I remembered—low, controlled, with that Texas drawl that never quite disappeared. "You look good. Less like you're surviving on three hours of sleep and MREs."
"Civilian life agrees with me." I stepped back, gesturing her inside. "Come in. There's someone I want you to meet."
Karla's eyes shifted past me to Elizabeth, and I watched her do that thing she'd always done—complete assessment in under three seconds. Professional threat evaluation mixed with personal curiosity.
"Karla Dixon," I said, "this is Elizabeth Halloway. My business partner and—" I paused, using the new terminology we'd agreed on earlier, "—primary relationship."
"Primary relationship," Karla repeated, a hint of amusement in her voice as she stepped inside and extended her hand to Elizabeth. "That's a very clinical way to describe it."
"Elizabeth appreciates clinical," I said.
"I do," Elizabeth confirmed, shaking Karla's hand with the firm grip she used in business negotiations. "Frank's told me about you. 110th Special Investigations, eighty-three percent conviction rate, expert in financial crimes and forensic accounting. Impressive credentials."
"Frank's told me absolutely nothing about you," Karla said, "which means he was either being deliberately secretive or trying to avoid a complicated conversation." Her eyes shifted to me. "I'm guessing the latter."
"Definitely the latter," Elizabeth agreed. "Would you like coffee? Whiskey? Something stronger?"
"Coffee's fine. It's going to be a long night." Karla set her messenger bag on the floor near the door with the careful precision of someone who knew it contained expensive and potentially dangerous equipment. She shrugged off her jacket, revealing toned arms and the subtle bulge of a shoulder holster under her left arm.
Elizabeth noticed it immediately. "Armed already?"
"Always." Karla draped the jacket over a chair. "Frank said this was serious. I don't come to serious situations unprepared."
"Smart woman." Elizabeth headed for the kitchen to pour coffee, leaving Karla and me standing in the living room.
The silence stretched for exactly three seconds before Karla spoke, her voice pitched low enough that Elizabeth wouldn't hear from the kitchen. "So. Primary relationship. That's new."
"It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated, Frank." She moved closer, and I caught her scent—something subtle and clean, mixed with leather and gun oil. Familiar. "But you look happy. Happier than I've seen you in—" She paused. "—ever, actually."
"Civilian life suits me."
"Or she suits you." Karla's eyes tracked to the kitchen, where Elizabeth was preparing coffee with the same precision she applied to everything. "She's beautiful. Smart, clearly. Knows about us."
"She knows about everyone in my life. It's her job."
"And she's okay with me being here? Given our history?"
"We've come to an understanding about that."
Karla's eyebrows rose. "An understanding. That sounds ominous."
"It's actually remarkably healthy." I kept my voice low. "We're being honest about the fact that we're not traditional people in a traditional relationship. Which means—"
"Which means she's not threatened by your ex-lovers showing up to help with cases," Karla finished. "Either she's incredibly secure or incredibly pragmatic."
"Both."
"I like her already." Karla's smile was slight but genuine. "Though I have to say, Frank, I never pictured you in an open relationship. You were always so—" She searched for words. "—intensely focused. When we were together, it was all-consuming."
"We were also in a war zone working eighty-hour weeks."
"True. Maybe you've mellowed."
"I haven't mellowed. I've just learned to be honest about what I want instead of pretending to be someone I'm not."
Karla studied me with that investigator's intensity that had always made suspects nervous. "And what do you want, Frank?"
The question hung between us, weighted with three years of history and unresolved tension.
Before I could answer, Elizabeth returned with three mugs of coffee, her timing impeccable. "I wasn't sure how you take yours," she said to Karla, "so I brought fixings." She set down cream and sugar with the efficiency of someone who'd thought through every detail.
"Black's fine." Karla accepted the mug, and I watched her take a sip, making that small sound of approval she'd always made for good coffee. "This is excellent. French roast?"
"Ethiopian blend, actually. Frank's favorite." Elizabeth settled onto the couch, gesturing for us to join her. "So, Ms. Dixon—"
"Karla, please."
"Karla." Elizabeth's smile was professional but not cold. "Frank said you were the best investigator in the 110th. I'm assuming that wasn't hyperbole?"
"Frank tends to be accurate about professional assessments." Karla sat in the chair opposite, her posture relaxed but alert—the way she'd always sat in briefings, ready to move instantly if needed. "Though I'd argue Reacher was better. Frank's being modest."
"Frank's always modest about his capabilities," Elizabeth said. "It's both endearing and occasionally frustrating."
"I'm sitting right here," I pointed out, taking my own seat next to Elizabeth.
"We know," both women said simultaneously, then looked at each other with matching expressions of amusement.
This was either going to be very good or very bad.
Karla set down her mug, her demeanor shifting from social to professional. "Alright, Frank. Neagley gave me the basics—international criminal organization, corrupt federal prosecutor, Russian enforcers. Walk me through the details."
I spent the next twenty minutes briefing her on everything—Marcus Sheldon's murder, the storage unit full of stolen art, the firefight in the parking lot, Markov's testimony implicating Rebecca Walsh, and the ongoing investigation. Elizabeth interjected occasionally with details about the financial side, the corporate connections, the money laundering angles.
Karla listened with absolute focus, taking mental notes the way she'd always done—I'd never seen her write anything down, but she could recall entire briefings word-for-word days later.
When I finished, she was quiet for a long moment, processing. "You're sure about Walsh? Former federal prosecutor turned criminal consultant?"
"Burke verified it. She resigned six months ago, started a 'private practice' that's actually a front for helping this organization stay ahead of law enforcement."
"Which means every move you make is potentially compromised." Karla's expression was grim. "They knew you'd be at that storage unit. They'll know about any official investigation. And—" She looked directly at me. "—they know about you now. Your face, your name, your capabilities."
"Which is why I called you. And the others."
"Smart." She pulled out her phone, tapping through screens. "I've already started background research. Rebecca Walsh has connections to three international law firms, two of which have clients in Eastern Europe with ties to organized crime. She's also dating—casually, it seems—a logistics coordinator for a shipping company in New Jersey."
Elizabeth leaned forward. "The same shipping company mentioned in Markov's testimony?"
"The very same." Karla's smile was sharp. "Walsh isn't just providing legal advice. She's embedded in their operation. Which makes her exponentially more dangerous."
"Can we use that?" I asked. "The boyfriend connection?"
"Maybe. If he's a weak link, we might be able to flip him." Karla scrolled through more information. "But first, we need to make sure Castle is actually secure. These federal protection details—Morrison and Chen, you said?"
"Yes. They're in the lobby now."
"They're competent?"
"They're adequate. But they're also FBI, which means they report to Burke, which means anything they observe gets documented in files that Walsh might have access to."
Karla nodded slowly. "So we need parallel protection. Official detail for show, 110th for actual security." She looked at Elizabeth. "You said you have resources. Security contacts, surveillance capabilities?"
"Extensive," Elizabeth confirmed. "I can provide equipment, safe houses if needed, financial backing for operational expenses. Whatever the investigation requires."
"And you're comfortable with that? Funding what's essentially an off-books investigation?"
"I'm comfortable keeping Frank alive." Elizabeth's tone was matter-of-fact. "Everything else is secondary."
Something shifted in Karla's expression—recognition, perhaps, or respect. "You really do understand him."
"I try."
The two women looked at each other for a long moment, some silent communication passing between them that I couldn't quite read. Then Karla turned back to me.
"Alright. Here's what I'm thinking: O'Donnell arrives tomorrow from Chicago—he can handle financial forensics, track the money laundering trails. Swan gets in Wednesday from Boston—he's our weapons expert and tactical coordinator. Neagley's trying to locate Reacher, but even if she can't, four of us should be enough to establish rotating protection for Castle while simultaneously investigating Walsh and the organization."
"Four investigators operating outside official channels," I said. "Burke's not going to like it."
"Burke doesn't have to know everything. We coordinate where we can, but we maintain operational independence." Karla's expression was serious. "Frank, you called us in because you need people who can operate without red tape. That's what we do. But it means accepting that some of what we do might be—" She paused. "—legally ambiguous."
"I can live with legally ambiguous."
"Can you?" She held my gaze. "Because the Frank Bennett I knew in the 110th followed regulations. Bent them occasionally, but never broke them. This is different. We're talking about conducting an investigation that might violate federal guidelines, surveil suspects without warrants, make moves that Burke's office couldn't authorize."
"I know what I'm asking."
"Do you?" Karla leaned forward, her intensity ramping up. "Because once we start this, once the 110th is operational again, we're all in. No backing out halfway because it gets uncomfortable or because Burke disapproves. We commit completely or not at all."
I thought about Castle—about Alexis asking me to keep her father safe, about the responsibility I'd accepted when I took this job. About the fact that a criminal organization was willing to kill cops and federal agents to protect their operation.
"I'm in," I said. "Completely."
Karla searched my face for doubt, found none, and nodded. "Okay then. We're back in business." She stood, rolling her shoulders with the same pre-mission energy I remembered. "I need to see Castle's security setup, assess the precinct environment, and identify potential vulnerabilities. You free tomorrow morning?"
"I'm with Castle at the precinct by nine. You can shadow us."
"Perfect. I'll coordinate with O'Donnell, make sure he's briefed before he arrives." She grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on with practiced ease. "Elizabeth, thank you for the coffee and the resources. I'll send you an equipment list and budget estimate by tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll have everything ready," Elizabeth promised, standing as well. She extended her hand. "Welcome to the team, Karla."
Karla took it, but instead of just shaking, she held Elizabeth's gaze. "Take care of him. Frank's brilliant, capable, and absolutely suicidal when it comes to protecting people he's responsible for. He needs someone who'll make sure he comes home alive."
"That's the plan," Elizabeth said quietly.
"Good." Karla released her hand and turned to me. "Walk me out?"
I followed her into the hallway, closing Elizabeth's door behind us. We stood there in the quiet corridor, and suddenly the three years of distance collapsed entirely.
"So," Karla said, her voice low. "Primary relationship. Open structure. Very modern of you."
"It works for us."
"I can see that. She's good for you, Frank. Grounds you in a way you needed." She stepped closer, and I caught her scent again—leather and gun oil and something underneath that was just *Karla*. "But she's also given you permission to have other connections. Other relationships."
"She values honesty over exclusivity."
"Smart woman." Karla's hand came up to rest on my chest, exactly where it had always rested during our deployment. The gesture was so familiar it made my breath catch. "And where does that leave us?"
"That depends on what you want."
"Honestly?" Her dark eyes met mine, unflinching. "I've missed you. Professionally, personally, every way that matters. When Neagley called, when I heard your voice on the phone—" She paused. "It felt like coming home."
"Karla—"
"I'm not asking for anything you can't give," she interrupted gently. "I understand the situation with Elizabeth. I respect it. But Frank, if there's space in your life for what we had—not the intensity of a war zone deployment, but something real and honest and good—I'd like to explore that."
The chemistry between us was still there, crackling in the air like static electricity. The same pull that had made us dangerous together during our deployment, the same connection that had made ending things so difficult.
"I'd like that too," I admitted. "But we'd need to be honest with each other. And with Elizabeth. No secrets, no complications that could compromise the mission."
"Agreed." Karla's smile was slow, genuine, devastating. "I'm very good at honest, Frank. And I'm very good at not letting personal complications interfere with professional work. We proved that when we ended things the first time."
"We did."
"So—" She rose on her toes slightly, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, "—I'll see you tomorrow morning. Professional, appropriate, absolutely focused on keeping Castle alive." She pulled back, her expression shifting to something more playful. "And then, when the mission allows, we can revisit the personal side. Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect."
She kissed my cheek—chaste, friendly, but with an undercurrent of promise. "Good. Now get back to Elizabeth. She's probably analyzing this entire conversation through the door."
"She wouldn't—" I stopped, because Elizabeth absolutely would.
Karla laughed, that same low sound I remembered from a dozen late-night debriefings. "I really do like her, Frank. You chose well." She headed for the elevator, calling back over her shoulder, "See you at nine. Don't get shot before then."
The elevator doors closed, and I stood in the hallway for a long moment, processing.
I'd just explicitly acknowledged that my relationship with Karla could become physical again.
With Elizabeth's full knowledge and apparent blessing.
My life had gotten remarkably complicated in remarkably short order.
I went back inside to find Elizabeth exactly where I'd left her, wine glass in hand, expression carefully neutral.
"Well?" she asked.
"Well what?"
"Did you kiss her? Sleep with her? Make plans to do either?"
"I—" I stopped, because deflection wasn't part of our new honesty policy. "We acknowledged that there's still chemistry. That we both want to explore reconnecting personally as well as professionally. And that we'll do so honestly, without compromising the mission or our relationship."
Elizabeth took a slow sip of wine. "That was very mature and communicative of you."
"I'm trying this new thing where I'm honest about my feelings."
"How's it working out?"
"Terrifying, mostly. But also freeing." I sat beside her, taking her hand. "Are you okay with this? Really okay, not just intellectually okay?"
She was quiet for a moment, studying our joined hands. "Ask me again after I've seen you two work together. After I've watched the chemistry in action." Her eyes met mine. "But right now? Yes. I'm okay with it. Because you were honest, because you didn't hide it, and because—" She paused. "—because I trust you to come home to me at the end of the day."
"Always."
"Good." She pulled me close, kissing me with the kind of possessive intensity that said *mine* even while acknowledging I might be shared. "Now come to bed. We have a few hours before you need to brief Castle on his new security detail, and I intend to remind you exactly why I'm your primary relationship."
I followed her to the bedroom, marveling at the strange turn my life had taken.
The 110th was reuniting.
Karla Dixon was back in my life.
Elizabeth had given me permission to be honest about wanting both.
And somewhere out there, a criminal organization was planning their next move.
ROB had definitely given me an interesting second chance.
I was determined not to waste it.
Even if "not wasting it" meant navigating the most complicated relationship structure I'd ever attempted.
One crisis at a time.
Tonight, I had Elizabeth.
Tomorrow, I had a case to solve and a writer to keep alive.
Everything else would sort itself out.
Probably.
---
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