Arriving in Florida

Beckett was assaulted by the humidity as soon as she stepped off the plane, it made her shirt stick to her skin. She proceeded down the stairs, a mid-sized backpack slung over her left shoulder. So this was Florida? Strangely enough, she'd never been here. She knew it was where a lot of cops retired to, but right now, with the sky thick with gray clouds and a warm, muggy breeze, it didn't seem very appealing to her.

Beckett had had no trouble getting time off. She hadn't taken any time off in nearly ten years and she was one of the best detectives in the NYPD, so her captain, and even the commissioner, both felt she'd earned a long vacation. The next morning she'd packed a bag and boarded a flight arranged for her by Daniel. She'd spent the entire flight trying to find a way out of this predicament that she'd gotten herself into. She had been ambitious and jealous and now she had to pay for it. She'd accepted that though, the moment she left her apartment with Daniel. She had made peace with the situation, but she couldn't switch of her detective brain, it had to work on difficult problems, so she was unable to relax and enjoy the flight.

As she entered the terminal she looked around, half-expecting someone to be waiting for her to pick her up, but there was nobody. Instead, her phone beeped. A message from Daniel.
There is a car outside, waiting for you. Blue sedan. Registration Number: 463 CNZ. It will take you where you need to go. Beckett found the car and slid into the back seat, looking out the window as it pulled away.

After a short drive the car stopped outside a hotel. Not a fancy one, but not a skeezy one either. It looked like a mid-range reasonably priced business hotel. It would be fairly utilitarian, with few luxuries. Beckett hadn't been able to prise any information from the driver on her trip, he'd remained as silent as a stone, despite her incessant questions.

Beckett entered the hotel and stepped up to the reception desk, assuming she had to check into a room, but the balding man behind the counter forestalled her request.
"Ah, we've been waiting for you. Your friend called ahead and booked a room for you. He sent us through a picture, that's how I was able to recognize you. You're in Room 328, Third Floor." He said. "The paperwork's already been done, and the room is paid for. Just don't break anything." Beckett thanked him, took the key and walked over to the elevator. She found her room easily enough. It was exactly as she'd known it would be. A smallish bed, fairly thin sheets, a small TV mounted on the wall, a lamp on each side of the bed, an armchair but no couch, a cramped bathroom with a small shower and two thin towels. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the one thing in the room that was out of place, a thick, leather briefcase, lying on the bed, with a note propped up on it. She snatched up the note and read it.

Kate. I hope your flight was pleasant enough. As you can see, I've taken care of everything. This will be your home for the next nine weeks. You are free to leave as much as you want, and make as much use of the hotel facilities as you want. Order whatever food and drink you want from the room service menu, just make sure you're back in your room by 10pm every night unless you receive instructions to the contrary. On the table you will find a folder, get acquainted with the contents. In that folder is your new identity. For the next nine weeks, you will not be Kate Beckett. For the next nine weeks Kate Beckett does not exist. I have lined up employment for you, at one of my businesses, to get you started on repaying your debt. You will find instructions, and your uniform inside this briefcase. I will come by later tonight to see you and see how you're settling in.

The note didn't say who it was from, but Beckett knew. There was only one man it could be from. Her interest piqued, Beckett opened the briefcase, and what she saw made her gasp.