The image of the pristine Katherine Beckett -- replete with trimmed hedges and En Vogue -- is just about as much as Castle's collective imagination can take, and his cheeks bulge with the effort of keeping whiskey in.

"En Vogue?" he finally manages, his voice stripped three octaves. "I woulda' pegged you for a Whitesnake girl. And I insist on a re-enactment of the tabletop thing --" he cracks a wide, toothsome grin that splits on the rim of his glass "-- I'm within earshot."