Prologue
Gun drawn and raised, Peter pushes through the Dutch colonial doors of a Midtown townhouse. A swarm of FBI agents follow and fill the ground floor. Jones breaks off and leads a faction up the stairs. Diana enters with a second wave through the rear, leading her followers to search the basement.
"As soon as you have eyes on Caffrey report in!" Peter orders through his mic, maintaining a controlling position in the large entryway.
A take down is usually when he feels at his strongest during a case, the most alive. It's a rush. Usually. But not today. Today all he feels is trepidation with a hint of despair. Looking up the wide, ordinate staircase, listening to repeated calls of 'clear' and 'secure' through his ear piece, Peter feels the bubble of fear which has taken up residence in his gut expanding, making his chest unbearably tight. Entering the now empty sitting room to his left, he gives it a cursory once over before coming to rest in front of the large bay window and taking a moment to absorb the delightful view of Bryant Park across the street. So many people, walking their dogs and sharing a lunch break in the low afternoon winter sun like it's any ordinary day. Completely unaware of the anxiety, fear and turmoil swirling around this house, like a twister set to wreak havoc upon the earth.
Sensing his impending loss of control Peter focuses on his breathing. Quiet deep breaths, in and out, pushing down the anxiety just like El told him to.
"Come on Neal, where the hell are you?" He blows out his grumble in one shaky breath, holstering his weapon.
"We'll find him boss." Diana appears like magic at his side.
Peter doesn't even blink. Instead he slowly turns his back on the serene scene outside and avoiding her gaze stares down at the ratty, stained woven rug sat languishing between two little settees that Neal would have blanched at having to be near, let alone sit on.
"You know I always wondered how he coped in prison." He says absently, walking away.
Diana, taking in the dusty seating and stained upholstery, murmurs her agreement. "Maybe he was numb to it all." She offers as an olive branch, well aware anything she said right now wouldn't make a damn bit of difference, but needing to try all the same.
"Yeah. Maybe."
"When we find him, you can ask him." She glares Peter down, fire in her eyes threatening to set him alight, "that is if you're up to catching him again, or has Neal Caffrey finally beaten the great Agent Burke?"
Peter loses a little of his frown, lips curling on one side, amused by the challenge as well as the intent behind it. "Diana get-"
Before Diana can get anything their ear pieces spring to life with a static filled crackle, Jones' voice traveling through loud and clear.
"Agent Burke, we need you on the top floor." A pause and some rustling filter through the ear wig after Peter asks what they have. "It's Caffrey related."
Leaving the twin settees to their sorry fate, he arrives on the landing seconds later, panting and out of breath, Diana on his heels.
"Where?" Peter demands of the rookie agent staring at him with fresh, undaunted eyes.
The few other agents milling around part to reveal an open door and another unlit staircase behind it. Peter gets the message and climbs. It goes straight for ten steps before curling around on the last three. Coming out the darkness he finds himself in a musty attic room, with slanted walls and only one window letting in a spray of dusty natural light. Jones is crouched, gloves on, head bent over something lying prone in the middle of the floor. Legs like jelly, losing strength with each step Peter makes it close enough to see over his shoulder. Close enough to see the familiar black hat, dirtier than the last time he'd seen it on its owner, a pair of black tailored pants, suit jacket and a favoured purple tie, all folded neatly on the ground. Black GPS tracking anklet resting on top like a cherry.
Peter drops, knees going out from under him. Diana and Jones both reach out, a hand under each arm.
"Peter-"
"Agent Burke," one of the rookies appear, poking his head over the last step. "There's a call for you."
"Take a message." Peter doesn't tear his gaze from the pile on the floor.
The kid who was about Caffrey's age hesitates, then shuffles forward, "I- I really think you should take this sir." He says timidly yet shows gumption by thrusting the cell in front of Peter's face. "Sir, I'm sorry, but it's the morgue." One deep breath- "They've found a body."