AN: So, here's another story. Once again this is another one that's mind of out there, so bear with me if you can.

Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.

Chapter 1

Richard Castle sighs as he sits down for a late night/early morning snack, lounging on the sofa in the small boat he's occupied for the past month. He lays his legs fully on the couch, not even bothering to attempt to swing them over to the narrow space next to him between the couch and the coffee table.

As he eats, the author occasionally steadies himself as the he feels movement beneath him. He grimaces, carefully balancing his plate with one hand and his fork with the other. That's one thing he hates about living on a boat, the constant sway. He doesn't get sea sick, no. He just loathes the unbalanced feeling the rocking gives him.

He polishes off his meal and goes to to rinse the plate in the sink when he hears a thumping noise. Furrowing his eyebrows, he listens, hearing the noise again. What the hell?

He decides to investigate, opening the hatch above and stepping out onto the deck. The moonlight from the cloudless sky shines down on him, providing him with enough light to see. He stops, standing still in order to hear the direction of the noise. After a few moments, he determines it's coming from the bow. Figuring the source is probably a log, he sighs, going to the area to remove it so it doesn't disturb him for the rest of the night.

He reaches the bow, ready to grab the infernal piece of wood, when the sight in front of him makes him gasp. Okay, that is so not a log.

Instead, his eyes behold a person, or what used to be a living person. Mouth agape, eyes still open, the lifeless body stares at him, her gaze empty, cold. There's a small pool of blood flowing from her abdomen and Rick fights back a shudder at the image. He may write mystery novels for a living, but seeing a dead body is a whole different thing.

He quickly unlocks his phone and dials 911, forcing himself to look away from the deceased. The operator answers on the third ring and he takes a breath, calming himself.

"Hi, yes. I would like to report a dead body."

The police arrive about forty minutes later, sirens whirling. Rick's standing on the dock as they approach. The medical examiner had started earlier, determining the case a homicide, so the twelfth precinct was called. The first to get out of the cars is a woman, a very attractive woman Rick admits, with shoulder length brunette hair. She strides past him in power heels, clearly focused on the task at hand.

"What have we got, Lanie?" he hears her ask. He glides closer enough to eavesdrop.

"Female, twenty five, two stab wounds to the abdomen. Also, this one has a crescent moon shaped birth mark."

"Just like the others," the detective mutters in a resignated tone.

The author can't help himself as he blurts out, "Is she a victim of the Full Moon Killer?"

The detective whirls at the sound of his voice, her eyebrows raised.

"Unfortunately, most likely Mr..."

"Castle, Richard Castle. I'm the one who found the body."

"I see," she mutters, lips pursed. He gazes at her, drawn to the fire in her hazel eyes.

"This is the third time he's struck," he comments. Whoever this guy was seemed to be pretty clean in his killings. Which was interesting since the killer strikes in the dark during a full moon..

"I'm aware, Mr. Castle," she bites.

"Sorry, Detective..."

"Beckett," she finishes, her tone softening. "Sorry, I'm being unprofessional." She shakes her head. "Anyway, how did you come across the body?"

He recounts his tale to her and he notices her shoulders drop in disappointment.

"So, you didn't see anything beyond the body?"

"No," he replies, feeling slightly guilty he can't do anything more to help.

She frowns, her eyes sliding over to his boat.

"Do you mind if my fellow detectives have a look around your vessel?" she inquiries.

He gestures widely toward the boat. "Go right ahead."

She and two male detectives, Ryan and Esposito, board the boat, canvassing the area.

"How long have you owned this boat, Mr. Castle?" she asks as he follows suit.

"I actually don't own it. I'm renting it out from an elderly couple; they're in Florida right now."

"Bit small for someone of your supposed wealth, isn't it?" Detective Esposito prods. Rick rolls his eyes.

"It's research for my next book. Storm of the Sea." The trio glances at him and he shrugs. "It's a work in progress. I like to get the feel for things when writing and researching, so I figured why not rent a boat?"

"How long have you been here?" Detective Beckett asks as her fingers slide over the top of his coffee table.

"A month, but I'm renting it out for three. So, until the end of the summer." He smiles as the detectives continue their exploration. "Watch your head going into the bedroom," he warns as Beckett enters the room. The bedroom is a another level lower than the living room and just as small. It's big enough to fit a bed and nightstand, both of which are shoved in opposite corners of the room.

"What's this guy's motive anyway?" Rick questions, making Beckett sigh.

"I can't tell you that," she answers.

"Because you don't know or you're not allowed to?"

"Both." Her tone's frustrated as she runs a hand through her hair. "Just wish we could pin this guy down," she mutters, clearly more to herself than him. She leaves the bedroom and returns to the deck, hands on her hips as she speaks to the other two detectives. He trails after her, listening in as much as he can.

"Send some patrol boats out to see if they can find anything," she orders. She folds her arms across her chest, her annoyance rolling off in waves.

"Maybe you should try talking to Jerry McNultly, my neighbor. He's usually out on the dock late, maybe he saw something," Rick suggests, wanting to do anything to help.

Detective Beckett blinks at him, seeming surprised. "Um okay, we'll try that. Anyway, thank you for your time. If we have anymore questions, we'll contact you."

He nods as she walks off with the other two.

He stares at her for a moment , finding himself intrigued by the brunette. He's not sure why, but she draws him in, and he knows that there's a story behind her eyes. He wants to, no, needs to know it.

It gets him thinking; perhaps he should pay a visit to Mr. McNulty.

After all, he would do anything to help the NYPD.