He starts to haul her across her kitchen toward the hallway. He's only been in her apartment a handful of times -- it was all right, Beckett needed her own territory, away from the bullpen and Castle could respect that -- so he bumps open the doors to a linen closet and a bathroom before he finds the right place.

"The writer," he says, easing her over to the bed, "will get a cab." He lowers her to the edge of the mattress and slips his arm beneath her knees. "Come on, up --" he lifts her feet and tilts her off balance, back into bed.