Castle's no knight in shining Italian loafers, but part of him can't help feeling that this whole case is somehow his fault. Authors always want people to admire their work, but stacking up a body count is going too far.

He curls the glass of wine toward his chest, prepared to deliver the emphatic line of reasoning he'd rehearsed several times on his way over: "There is a madman gunning for you because of me. I'm not going to leave you alone."