Page 119 of Until the End

Castle’s stomach churned. His head grew a little fuzzy as the temperature in the room seemed to rise.

“Sit.” Sanborn gestured to the stool. “Have a macaron. Castle will attest they’re fantastic.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sanborn said.

Castle shifted on his stool as a watery sensation spilled along his spine, splashing into his gut, winding down his legs.

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” Kit said. “For the record, I don’t usually walk around dressed this way.” She dragged her bottom lip through her teeth. “I’ve gotten quite comfortable around Agent Kinkade, but he’s been completely professional.” Her cheeks were such a bright berry-red, her face must’ve felt like it was on fire. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish dressing.” She looked to Castle. “Where’s my stuff?”

By stuff, he inferred she meant the hard drives. “In your bag, under the coffee table, next to your shoes.”

She nodded and scurried out of the room. A moment later, her feet padding up the stairs was the only sound in the town house.

Sanborn leaned over in his seat behind the counter, picked up something from the floor, and set it on the granite.

An unopened condom.

As if Kit trotting downstairs in one of his T-shirts hadn’t been bad enough.

Both men stared at each other, a game of chicken to see who’d address the giant purple elephant in the room first. Castle considered saying something to break the unnerving silence, but his tongue was numb.

His skin was suddenly so hot, he would’ve sworn he had a fever.

“The chocolate pretzel flavor is my favorite this time around,” Sanborn said. “I devoured four from my own box in the car on the way here.” He pointed to an orange cookie with brown filling and a sprinkling of sea salt.

“I’ve lost my appetite, sir.”

“Really? I would’ve thought you and Ms. Westcott had worked up quite an appetite.”

Castle cleared his parched throat, the fuzziness spreading through his synapses.

“I’ll take that cup of coffee now,” Sanborn said.

Castle hopped up, the heat in his body rising, and swayed on weak legs. His knees nearly buckled, but he pressed a hand to the counter and steadied himself.

The room was stuffy. He needed to check the air after he got Sanborn coffee, then he could settle in for the big reprimand coming.

He went to the cabinet and grabbed another mug. His head began to pound and a shiver stole through him that didn’t leave.

The symptoms had hit him out of nowhere…right after he ate the cookies. But Sanborn would never hurt him, never—

Something clanked to the floor and rolled across the tile—a tinny, metallic sound.

Castle wheeled around, looking for the source, and spotted the canister near his feet too late.

A colorless gas erupted in a short hiss, sweet-smelling and pleasantly pungent. Halothane. The scent was distinctive. In less than ten seconds, he’d be out cold.

Castle turned and faced Sanborn, who now sat on the kitchen stool, wearing a respirator mask as he closed his messenger bag. Castle had never even heard the man move.

Even as the room tilted and spun, as the mug slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, his brain jolted in frantic realization. His boss, his mentor, a man he loved like a father had turned on him.

Castle bolted out of the kitchen. “Kit! Get to the sanctum! Now!”

As he reached the stairs, his knees turned liquid and he dropped.

The panic room door slammed shut and sealed upstairs.