Peter stifled a yawn and rolled his shoulders, ostensibly working out a crick in his neck – but actually allowing the sleeve of his jacket to ride up high enough to give him a quick glance at his watch.
Only fifteen minutes since he had last looked?
That led to another yawn, which he covered with a slight cough and clearing his throat.
Never let it be said that he didn't love his wife, but still… why did she have to cater so many of these shows with 'up and coming' artists showing off their wares? Given his line of work, and how much art he saw in the line of business, Peter figured he had a pretty good appreciation for art. Like the old saying went, he knew what he liked when he saw it. The problem was, he very rarely saw it at these shows. Like this one, featuring an unheralded abstract artist named Kieran Murphy.
Art should be about something, and these multi-colored blobs of paint on a canvas…
"He's quite talented, don't you think?"
Peter jumped at the words, unaware of anyone coming up next to him. Good thing he didn't usually tune out this way on the job, he though as he looked down at his wife. El's face was turned up to him, a crooked smile touching her lips. Peter cleared his throat, buying a moment of time, and gestured with his champagne glass toward the nearest painting. "This shows an astounding depth of color," he said, struggling to come up with some of the common phrases he always heard about art. "The shadows…"
"In other words, you hate it."
El always did have a way of cutting to the chase. And while Peter would do anything to make her happy, lying to her face wasn't something he had successfully managed. He covered by taking a sip of champagne and shrugging noncommittally, gesturing around at the assembled artwork. "What's not to like?"
El regarded him silently for a moment, a look on her face that told him, quite clearly, that she wasn't fooled for a moment. "Are you at least enjoying the food and drink?"
Now, that was something he didn't have to lie about. "Honey, as usual, you did an amazing job."
Looking somewhat mollified, El looked around the room. "It's a good turnout," she remarked in her most professional voice. "The advertising came out beautifully, and the caterer has been a dream."
"Another fine production from Burke Premier Events."
El smiled, and started to say something. But then her attention was drawn across the room, and a huge smile lit up her face. "Look who it is. Neal!"
Peter turned his head, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion. His eyes scanned the room, finally stopping near the door. A dark-haired man, dressed in an immaculately tailored suit, looked around, sharp blue eyes finally landing on the source of his name. And then that patented Caffrey smile lit the other man's face and he moved toward them.
"Elizabeth!" Deftly balancing a champagne flute so that it didn't threaten to spill a drop, Neal leaned in to brush a quick kiss on her cheek. "You look stunning this evening."
Peter scowled; he probably should have thought of complimenting El himself – and if he didn't dread these events so much he actually might have. Because the truth was, El did look stunning. But somehow, hearing the words coming from Neal, was just not… right. "That is my wife you're molesting."
Peter rolled his eyes as the patented Caffrey smile was replaced by the patented 'I'm innocent' Caffrey look. "Molesting? Elizabeth, do you feel molested?"
"I feel flattered," she replied, smiling at Neal – and then Peter jumped as she smacked his arm. "Molested?"
"Maybe not molested," he mumbled.
"What was that, Peter? I couldn't quite hear you." The Caffrey smile was back as Neal pursued an answer.
"I let you kiss my wife," Peter replied. "Don't push it. What are you doing here anyway?"
"I sent him an invitation," Elizabeth said. "I know how Neal appreciates good art."
"I am impressed," Neal replied, gesturing at the same painting Peter had used a few minutes earlier. "The color and shadowing show true talent."
Peter's scowl deepened; Neal actually made the words work. "I would have thought this was outside your radius."
Neal twisted his left leg until the fabric of his trousers showed the faint outline of the tracking outline. "No alarm," he pointed out. Then he changed the subject, turning back to Elizabeth. "The canapés are outstanding. You should use this caterer again."
"Oh, I agree! And her prices are so reasonable. I already…"
"Liz!"
They all turned, watching as a woman threaded her way toward them. Dark auburn hair fell to her shoulders, which were covered by a silk jacket in rich navy blue. An inch or two taller than Elizabeth, and maybe a couple of years older, still, there was no doubt they were related. The two women met with a hug.
"Aren't you going to accuse her of molestation?" Neal whispered.
"Shush!" Peter stepped forward, a smile covering his boredom. "Enjoying yourself?"
"I am. I'm not exactly accustomed to events like this – but I think I could get used to it. For a while anyway."
Elizabeth laughed and then took the other woman's arm, turning her toward Neal. "Lindsay, I'd like you to meet Neal Caffrey. Neal, this is Lindsay Howell."
"El's sister," Peter added, with emphasis.
"Sister." Neal held out his hand, taking Lindsay's in his. "It's a pleasure," he said, pressing a polite kiss to the back of her fingers.
"Oh, so formal! It's my pleasure, Neal. How do you know my sister and Peter?"
"Neal works with Peter at the FBI," Elizabeth explained.
"Oh, an agent?"
"Consultant." Peter and Neal provided the answer nearly in unison.
"Do you consult on art cases?"
"Sometimes."
"Well that explains your interest in being at an exhibit like this. I know Peter's only here to support Liz."
Peter shook his head. "Now that's…"
"Absolutely true," Elizabeth finished. She reached for her husband's hand and smiled. "And I love you for it."
"I guess abstract just isn't my thing," Peter explained.
"Well, the opening's almost over," Elizabeth said. "So you'll survive. Why don't you pick a place for a late dinner while I finish up a few things?"
The relief on Peter's face, and in his voice, was obvious. "I can do that."
"Neal, are you joining us?" Lindsay asked.
Peter sputtered on the sip of champagne he had just taken. "I'm sure Neal has other plans…"
"No, actually, I don't," Neal said smoothly. "If you're sure it's all right…"
"I think it's a wonderful idea," Elizabeth said, and her tone indicated the topic was settled.
Peter just watched in stunned silence as Elizabeth moved off to talk to the caterer, and Neal and Lindsay started to discuss another of the paintings. He drained his champagne in one gulp and shook his head. "Worst idea I've heard in a long time," he muttered – but no one was listening.
"Well. I think that went very well, don't you?"
Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and bent down to untie his shoes as he looked over at his wife. El had kicked off her shows, and unpinned her hair so it fell loose around her shoulders. She was looking at him with an expectant half smile on her face…
He'd never been able to resist that look.
"It could have been worse," he admitted.
"Why would you say that?"
"Neal could have stolen my wallet…" He ducked as El chucked a towel in his direction. "What?"
"Neal was a perfect gentleman."
"Usually means he's up to something."
"Peter, what's the matter. You've been sulking all night!"
"I have not!" Well, maybe a little… "I just don't see why you had to invite him. I mean, I have to spend all day with him at the office. I was hoping for a night with you."
"And Lindsay."
"And Lindsay."
"Lindsay thought Neal was fascinating."
"I'm sure… wait, when did you talk about Neal?"
"When you went to the bathroom, and Neal went to order the special after dinner brandy."
Sure, Neal did brandy while Peter did… "I hope you warned her off."
"No, why should I?"
"Why? Because he's Neal. He's a con man, a thief…"
"Alleged."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me he's got you doing that too."
El shrugged. "Neal was perfectly charming all night. You, on the other hand, sulked." She sat down on the bed next to him and reached for his hand. "Want to tell me what the real problem is?"
"It can't just be Neal?"
"Nope. Now give."
With a sigh, Peter relented. "We have a bad case at work. It goes way beyond white collar, but they're pulling in all resources. There's a lot of pressure from the top to get it solved, but I think it might put even Neal in over his head."
"Does he think so?"
"Of course not. He thinks he can con his way out of anything."
"He's been pretty successful so far."
"These guys play rough, and for keeps. It's hard to con a gun."
"So you're worried about him?"
Peter nodded. "A little, yeah. And I'm worried about you."
"Me? Why?"
"Well, more about Lindsay. I mean, after what she went through, and now you trying to help her."
"I think she's doing fine, Peter. Did you watch her at dinner? She was so relaxed, and she and Neal…"
"Neal again."
"Well, he had her engaged in a conversation about art and travel."
"Sure, they have so much in common. She's a doctor, and he's pretended to be one."
"That's not fair, Peter."
El's too-soft tone caught his attention, and he nodded. "You're right, and I apologize. Between this case, and then an art show…"
"Which you hated."
"Which I hated," he agreed. "Then worrying about Lindsay, and if she'll drag you down, and then more Neal…"
El leaned her head against his shoulder. "Poor baby."
"I really was sulking, wasn't I."
"Yes."
El never did like to pull punches, and it was one of the things he loved about her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I apologize," he whispered. "Most sincerely. And I will apologize to Lindsay in the morning."
"And to Neal?"
To that Peter answered with his best long-suffering sigh. "I'll think about it."
"Still no sign of the third brother?"
Jones shook his head in frustration. "Everyone's sure Cameron's here in New York, but no one can find him."
"And we've checked with other agencies, called in favors? CIA, Interpol, NYPD?"
Diana laid files out on the table and pointed to them one by one. "The CIA lost track of Cameron Reese in Malaysia last month. They think he has been helping Al Qaeda obtain weapons, but nothing they can actually pin on him yet. Interpol has the same interest in all of the Reeses, but they also lost track of Cameron. They have sources that say he was headed back into the U.S., but no confirmation. Nothing from Customs and Immigration either; if he's back, he didn't come in through legal channels. The Army still has no additional information tying the Reeses to the missing weapons from Fort Dix. NYPD keeps a presence around the family business as much as possible, but they don't have the resources to keep the restaurant and the warehouses under surveillance 24x7."
"And the banking records?"
Jones could only shake his head again. "The main accounts are clean, just the normal business and personal stuff. We're still looking for any hidden accounts."
Peter kicked his chair back from the conference table and stood up. "So where does that leave us?"
For a moment no one spoke, or even moved, but then Neal's hand shot into the air. "I vote that we send me in undercover."
"Neal, we're not…"
"Peter, you know the Reese brothers are dealing arms, but can't prove it, right?"
"Right."
"There must be a location that you haven't found, where they store the weapons, right?"
Peter nodded, reluctantly.
"And if Jones can't find the financial records, those must be hidden somewhere too, right?"
It was Jones' turn to nod. "The accounts must be really well hidden, under an alias we don't know."
"So, I go in as a dealer, offering them something they can't resist."
"Neal, this isn't art or forgery. You don't know anything about selling guns. And just in case you've forgotten, where there are guns, there are usually bullets. From what we know the Reeses have a rather final way of dealing with people who cross them, usually involving guns and bullets."
"Peter, it might not be the art world, but it's still open to a con." Neal pulled out his own folder and laid it on the table. "Watervliet Arsenal."
"I thought we were talking about using Fort Dix for background if we did this – and that's a big if," Diana said.
"Watervliet is better." Neal opened the folder and pulled out some photos. "Canons, howitzers, mortars – how could any self-respecting arms dealer not be interested?"
"And what, exactly, do you know about canons?" Jones challenged.
"I know they're big and go boom," Neal replied. "Look, I've been doing some research…"
Diana snapped her fingers. "That notice that I had a visitor. You sneaked onto my computer!"
Neal pressed his lips shut and leaned back in his chair. "I can neither confirm nor deny."
"But somehow you've learned something," Peter prompted. They'd hit enough dead ends; lectures on protocol could wait for later.
"Enough to know how to be a crooked military contractor who has toys to sell." A satisfied smile settled on Neal's face as he laced his fingers behind his head.
"I know I'm going to regret this," Peter grumbled, shaking his head. "But let's hear what you've got."
"I'm really close to cracking the encryption, Peter. Maybe we should call this off."
"How close, Jones?"
The younger man slowly shrugged his shoulders. "I can't tell you to the minute."
"Peter, one more time. It'll be fine." Neal tugged at his collar as Diana adjusted the tiny transmitter in the knot of his tie.
"Once more into the breach…" Peter mused. "But it might be one time too many."
"Look, I found the safe, right?"
"True."
"And got you the list of buyers."
"Probably inadmissible in court."
"But you can track the names, watch the buyers."
"We already busted one with weapons in hand," Diana replied.
"I found the hidden warehouse too," Neal continued. "Right? All the weapons."
"Which we have under surveillance," Jones confirmed.
"So we just need the third brother," Neal concluded. "With the size of the deal we're doing today, he's bound to be there."
"He likes shooting, Neal," Peter pointed out.
Neal stepped forward, putting his hands on Peter's shoulders. "I know you've got my back, Peter. It'll be fine."
Peter shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"A bad feeling! Remember how I said I had a bad feeling? But hey, you're Neal Caffrey, con man extraordinaire! You can con anyone! And now look!"
Neal shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed. "I don't suppose it would help to point out that it wasn't my fault things fell apart."
"Maybe not, but things just happen around you Neal."
"I found the third brother, right?"
"And he shot you!"
"Flesh wound… ahhhhhhhhh." The groan came out involuntarily as Neal tried to shift his body again. He reached for the bed rail, grasping it as the pain passed. But he managed to trap his IV line under his hand, and the alarm sounded. "Oh, my head hurts too much for this," he groaned.
A nurse came into the room, quickly sized up the cause of the alarm, and cleared the IV tubing. "He needs his rest," she said, looking at Peter.
Peter flashed his badge. "FBI."
The nurse shook her head. "I don't care how many badges you have. Mr. Caffrey needs to rest."
"And we'll make sure that he does."
Neal managed a small smile. "Hey, Elizabeth."
She came to the side of the bed, taking his hand. "Oh, Neal."
"Not as bad as it looks."
"Actually, you're very lucky. That bullet came very close to your lung."
"Lindsay."
"I have to say, Neal, this is probably the most extreme length anyone has gone to in order to get out of dinner with me."
"Sorry."
"Wait, you had a date with my sister-in-law?"
Neal pressed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes. "I'm suddenly very tired," he whispered.
Neal swung his feet carefully over the edge of the bed, settling them firmly on the floor. He pressed his right hand against the wall, settled his left hand on the mattress by his hip, and pushed. It took two tries, but he was finally, though somewhat wobbly, on his feet.
He let the room quit spinning and then slowly, taking care with each step, he made his way across the room into the kitchen. Forsaking the fine selection of wine, he poured a glass of orange juice and then made his way, carefully and deliberately, out onto the rooftop patio. He took a deep breath of the New York air, and lowered himself into a chair.
He'd been home from the hospital for three days now, and this was the first time he'd been left alone. June had made the trek to his apartment several times, bringing chicken soup, hot packs, cold packs, and general good company. Mozzie flitted in and out, asserting his theories about the conspiracy that had resulted in Neal getting shot; it actually made Neal feel better to know that some things hadn't changed.
Peter, of course, stopped by at least once a day. Elizabeth had made him stop asking about the 'date' with Lindsay – which was only fair, since Elizabeth had provided Neal's number to her sister in the first place. But that didn't keep Peter from hinting around at the sanctity of family, and at dire consequences for stepping over certain lines. Fortunately, Elizabeth generally showed up about the same time, keeping her husband's questioning to a minimum.
Neal made a mental note to thank Mozzie for alerting Elizabeth to Peter's visits.
Diana and Jones had each been by once. Jones brought the news that he had managed to crack the encryption surrounding the Reese accounts, and there was enough evidence to put the brothers away for the next several lifetimes. Diana brought him a goldfish; the bowl had a backdrop that looked just like the drawing of the bridge they had created in a hotel room, and which Diana had used her cell phone to photograph. Even Hughes showed up one evening, offering a quick 'well done' and a hope to see Neal in the office again soon.
But it was one particular visitor he had come to appreciate the most.
Lindsay Howell.
She was there frequently during the day; on a leave from the work she'd been doing, she had no job demands to meet. Clinically, she offered her professional touch to tending his wounds. On another note, she offered soft friendship, keen conversation, and maybe a hint of something more that could happen.
If…
If he could get past what had happened with Kate, and let someone else in. If she wasn't appalled by his history. And if she could get past whatever secret her life held. She'd hinted at it, and all but suggested she'd tell him what it was when they had dinner. Of course, getting shot had kind of ruined that evening. But hopefully she'd come by today…
He felt the twitch in his groin, and smiled as he looked down between his legs. He must be feeling better if that was happening.
Just to test the theory he set his glass down on the table and loosened his robe. His chest was bare underneath and he used one hand to rub across his nipples. The other hand fell between his legs, rubbing lightly over the silk that covered him. His body responded, hardening under his fingers. He might not be ready for any sexual Olympics, but this was a definite sign of recovery. And Peter couldn't hold him at fault for what he was thinking…
"A solo party, or is company welcome?"
Neal jumped, groaning as the action pulled at the wound in his side. He hadn't heard anyone come in… "Lindsay."
She set a bag on the table and pulled a chair around next to him. "Did you make it out here by yourself?"
"Slow but sure." He studied her face, looking for a clue as to whether she knew what she had interrupted. Hopefully she at least didn't know thoughts of her had been the cause… As casually as possible he tried to pull his robe closed.
Lindsay's hand on his stopped him. "Let me see."
See?
He felt his robe fall away again and then… her fingers were working at the tape holding the bandage to his side.
"This needs to be cleaned up and re-bandaged."
He nodded, barely daring to breathe. With any luck he might… soften a bit while she was working.
Neal shivered suddenly, partly from the pressure in his groin, and partly from a gust of wind that blew across the patio.
"We should get you inside. It'll be warmer and easier to work."
Neal accepted her proffered shoulder, and struggled to his feet. He let Lindsay help him inside and over to the couch. He sank gratefully into the soft cushions and listened as she gathered the bandages and other supplies.
Unfortunately, in the small apartment, she wasn't far enough away at any point for him to do anything about his little problem.
Well. Not so little, of course…
The touch of her fingers brought his mind back to the work at hand, and he gritted his teeth as she pulled the medical tape off. The bandage had stuck to the wound, and he watched as she carefully used saline solution to work it loose.
The edges of the wound were still raw, but not nearly as red as the last time he had seen the area unbandaged. At least, he didn't think so. "Is it looking better?" he asked, searching for a professional opinion.
"Oh, definitely." Lindsay used gauze to gently cleanse the area; the touch of her fingers was nearly driving him out of his mind.
"Seems like such a small thing to hurt so much."
"It's not the size, it's the shock to your body."
"That's why I'm so weak too?"
She nodded. "Our skin serves a very protective function. That's why if you skin your knee it stings, but doesn't really cause long-term problems, at least not as long as the damage doesn't go too deep."
"But this went deeper."
"Quite a bit deeper."
"I'll make a full recovery though, right?"
"It'll take time, but the bullet managed to miss anything vital." The corners of her lips twitched up slightly as she trailed a finger from his side, onto his stomach, and then a bit lower. "It seems you're well on your way."
"I…"
"Is this because of me?"
"I might have been thinking about you. A little."
Her fingers undid the tie on the pajama bottoms he wore, loosened the waist band, and then slipped inside. He tried to move, but she leaned her body against his shoulder, her free hand reaching around to fold him. "It's very important that you don't do anything to aggravate that wound," she whispered. "Do you understand?"
It was actually getting hard to understand anything except the pleasure her fingers were creating as they played against his cock. But he nodded. "I shouldn't move."
"That's right, no moving."
Neal closed his eyes, giving in to the pleasure in his groin. Lindsay's hand moved faster, the pressure a bit harder. It took all his self control not to move, to try and increase the pleasure. But as he relaxed, there was more than enough pleasure to be satisfying.
He lost all track of time – in fact, it seemed to stand still – and he couldn't have said later if it was five minutes or five hours later when the release came. Lindsay's fingers trailed up and down in a rapid motion, and then she wrapped them around the tender, swollen head and jerked. With a gasp, he let go, feeling the wet warmth as he reached his orgasm. Her hand rode the wave with him, milking him until he was dry.
Lindsay eased her hand free and he reached for it, bringing her fingers to his mouth, licking his own cum as he sucked each digit in turn. He was still trying to catch his breath, and it was a little while before he could speak. "So what happens now?"
She laughed and leaned back, her head against his shoulder. "You mean, do we start picking out the china pattern and the white picket fence house?"
"I guess that's one scenario."
"There might be… complications."
"Yeah, like Peter would kill me."
Lindsay laughed again and he turned to look at her. "What, me dying a slow, lingering, painful death is funny?"
"Well, Peter can be a bit protective. But I'm sure Liz can keep him from committing murder."
"Great. Then it'll just be a slow, lingering, painful torture."
"He has… reasons." She sat up, reaching for the top button of her shirt. "We talked about that I'm a doctor, and was working in Afghanistan."
Neal nodded, watching as she worked the top of her shirt open. There was something there, shadowed… "I figured you were working at one of the military hospitals, or something like that."
"No, working with a private group. We left the cities and towns behind, moving into the mountains to bring medical care to villages that had never seen a doctor."
"Sounds dangerous." He could almost see what was on her shoulder now, and it looked like…
Lindsay pushed the cloth away from her left shoulder, revealing a long scar that reached from under her arm, up over her collarbone, and up toward her neck. Unlike his scar, hers had mostly healed to a hard, white ridge. "It could be, yes."
His fingers reached over to touch the ragged white line, and what it meant threatened to take his breath away. "What happened?"
"Some of those villages have not only never seen a doctor, they have nothing to even bring them into the 20th century, much less the 21st. No schools, no industry, nothing but poppy fields and drug lords to make the people work them. Anything that threatens that status quo is considered a threat by some very ignorant, but very powerful, men."
"You were attacked?"
"There were five of us – two doctors, two nurses, and a paramedic. We'd set up a tent hospital in the mountains and were treating the people who lived in the nearby villages. Doing good, or so we thought. But someone disagreed, and one night they came, with guns and knives and machetes."
Lindsay's eyes closed and she fell silent for a moment. Neal just waited, and soon she continued. "It's all really a blur in my mind, full of screaming and shouting, and pain. I remember the pain as a blade slashed my shoulder, and fighting back. And then I passed out. When I came to again, it was all quiet. My colleagues were dead, as were some of the villagers who had come to see what was going on. The man who slashed me was dead – apparently I managed to stab him with his own knife, and he fell on top of me." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as she finished. "I think that's the only reason I survived. His body covered mine, and we'd both lost so much blood, they just assumed I was dead."
"Lindsay, I'm so sorry." It sounded trite, but for once words failed him.
She nodded her thanks. "Some villagers got me to a U.S. Marine base, and I was airlifted to Kabul. I spent almost three weeks in a hospital there, before finally being released. And then I came here. I wanted to see Liz and Peter, plus a friend runs one of the top rehabilitation programs near here. I've been doing a lot of therapy, trying to see how much strength and mobility I can regain."
"What's the verdict?"
"A lot more than the doctors had predicted initially."
"That's great!"
"I think so, but it left me with a decision to make, and I've made it."
"You're going back, aren't you?"
She nodded, not even seeming surprised that he had guessed. "I'll finish up therapy at the end of the month and then yes, I'm going back. I haven't even told Liz and Peter yet, but I owe it to the people who didn't make it. So, you see, that would be a complication to happily ever after."
He considered that a moment, easing her head back against his shoulder. "I guess I have my own complication to that," he finally said, reaching down to tug up the left leg of his pajamas. The tracking anklet stood out in stark contrast against his skin.
Somewhat to his surprise, she didn't back away in revulsion. "Tell me."
"There may have been some art thefts, and forgeries. All just alleged – well, except for the one I was convicted and sent to prison for."
"Is that how you know Peter?"
"He's the one who caught me."
"And?"
"It was either four more years of orange jumpsuits, bad food, and even worse company… or four years of the tracking anklet and working for Peter." A simplified version of events, to be sure, but fundamentally the truth.
"So now you put your life on the line trying to stop crimes."
"Yeah, well, the whole getting shot thing doesn't usually happen."
Neal looked over at her, and was surprised to find her smiling. "What?"
"Peter said you'd spin some fantastic background story, but Liz bet him that you'd tell me the truth."
"You've known all along?"
"Well, no. Just since you came home from the hospital and I said I'd come over and help. Peter wasn't very thrilled about me being here alone."
"So he told you the same thing I just did?"
"Well, he might have left out the 'alleged' part."
Neal laughed, and instantly felt the pain as the action pulled at his wound. But compared to the alternative of not being able to feel anything at all, he'd take the pain. "So, back to the question, what happens now?"
"Well, no china pattern and no picket fence."
"Not really in the cards for either of us," he agreed.
"Not right now, anyway." Lindsay sat up and pulled her shirt together, doing up the buttons. "But I'm not leaving until the end of the month, and depending on how your recovery goes…"
"A few magical moments, before fate parts us."
She smiled and nodded. "Something like that. Right now, though, I think we should get you cleaned up a little, before someone else comes."
Neal looked down at his crotch, and the huge wet stain. That would be all he'd need right now, for Peter to walk in the door and…
"Good idea," he agreed.
It was a study in frustration, Neal decided, designed to test him. The problem was, he didn't really know exactly what was being tested.
On the one hand, he had a beautiful, intelligent woman ready to be his lover. On the other hand, she was Peter's sister-in-law, and he wasn't sure what that risk entailed. On the third hand (which he knew was stretching things, but this problem had more than two sides), he hadn't been physically able to fully consummate anything, not without the risk of bleeding all over everything anyway. On the fourth hand…
Well, whichever hand, frustration fully defined things. Since their first intimate encounter, where secrets had been shared, he and Lindsay had only been alone together a few times. She had brought him to fulfillment with her hand a couple more times, gently manipulating him to release. And then, one glorious day, he had watched in wonder as she took him into her mouth. It was the best yet, and left him wanting more. And more was promised…
But then Peter started coming by more often, bringing new files for cases that he was reviewing and needed Neal's input. And Lindsay went away…
Oh, only for a few days, to meet with the group that would sponsor her return to a war zone. But it was still time they didn't have together. And the end of the month was fast approaching, when she'd be gone for good.
Neal stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie. He was looking good, even if he did say so himself. His color was back, and he could do pretty much everything for himself again. Oh, some things still took a little longer than before, but his recovery was progressing. The doctors figured he would be cleared to go back to work in another week or so – light duty, no gun runners for a while.
Tonight would be his first real test out of the house. Elizabeth had sent him an invitation to another art show. At first he hadn't wanted to go, but June had been particularly persuasive that he'd been cooped up for too long.
And she was right. In prison he'd chafed against the confinement, so it was time to stop imposing the solitary life on himself.
If only Lindsay was going to be there… but no one seemed sure if she'd be back in time. He'd managed to ask the casual question of both Elizabeth and Peter, hiding his desperation for them to say yes, she'd be there.
Well, it would do him good to get out, even for a little while. And even if the art was bad, Elizabeth had said she'd hired the same caterer as the last show, so at least there would be good food and drink.
"Neal!"
"Elizabeth." He smiled and stepped forward to meet her. "Another successful event."
"It is going well," she agreed. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for inviting me. I haven't seen Peter yet."
"He said he had to work."
"Ah, more abstract work."
Elizabeth just nodded. "The good news is that Lindsay's back, and she's here somewhere."
Neal's eyes immediately started scanning the room; he missed Elizabeth's knowing smile.
"Well, I'm sure you'll find her…"
If Elizabeth said anything else, Neal missed it. He had eyes only for Lindsay, whom he had finally located across the room. She had seen him too, and they met in the middle, a few inches of simmering heat separating them. And then even those inches disappeared as she stepped into his space, and his arms wrapped around her back.
"You're looking much better."
"I'm feeling much better, especially now." His hands were at her waist, and then a bit lower, and... He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a crooked smile. "No underwear?" he whispered.
She offered a conspiratorial smile of her own. "Just a little black dress. I was hoping you'd like it."
"Oh, I do." He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I'd like it even better tossed over a chair in my apartment."
"Why, I'd have nothing to wear then!"
"That would be the idea."
"Mr. Caffrey, is that a proposition?"
"Oh, yeah. I've missed you, I've wanted you…"
"Well, I want you too," she promised, even as she pulled back. "But not just yet."
Neal groaned. "Lindsay…"
"I promised Elizabeth I'd be here for a while!"
"How long?"
She smiled and put a finger to his lips. "Not long, and then we have the night together. I promise."
He watched her walk away, hips swaying under the short skirt. And all he could think about was holding those hips, and the rest of her…
Somehow, he made it through the art show. The taxi ride back to June's house seemed to take hours, or maybe days, but finally they were there, stumbling up the stairs in each other's arms.
Neal backed into the apartment, Lindsay held close, their lips locked. He kicked the door shut behind them even as she loosened his tie, pulling it off and tossing it aside. It caught on the back of a chair and hung crookedly. In short order his jacket, vest, and shirt followed, tossed this way and that. Shoes followed, deposited where they fell as they tumbled toward the bed.
Neal fell backward onto the mattress, tipped back as Lindsay bent to pull off his socks. Then her hands opened his belt, undid the buttons on his waistband, and slid the zipper down. He levered himself up, and she slipped his pants down over his hips. They puddled at his ankles and he kicked them free even as his hands reached for the hem of her dress. His fingers brushed against her thighs and hips as he lifted the material, and the touch ran through him like an electrical shock.
As he'd already known, there was nothing else under the dress, and once it was off she stood there in front of him, naked, glowing in the moonlight that flooded the room. He stood and leaned in to kiss her, running a finger across her nipple as he did. The resulting shiver in her body seemed to cross over and hit him as well.
He hadn't recovered enough strength to pick her up, so he settled for turning her around, and backing her onto the sheets. She pulled her legs up and lay back against the pillows, watching. Barely thinking, he reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out some condoms, tossing them on top. Then his fingers hooked in the waistband of his silk boxers, and he dropped them over his hips. Now naked, he knelt on the side of the bed and then eased down next to her.
There was no hiding his physical need; he was engorged and erect, ready for action. But this was their first time truly together, and he wanted to savor it. Besides, so far in their encounters, he had received all of the pleasuring, and it was time to repay some of that.
He matched his lips to hers, his tongue dueling with hers as they kissed. At the same time he wrapped one hand behind her head, while his other hand roamed, tweaking a nipple here, trailing down twirl her pubic hair, and then lower… When she drew in a deep breath at the touch, he broke the kiss and moved his lips down, lavishing attention on first one nipple and then the other. All the while he kept up his ministrations between her legs.
"No more teasing," she whispered, her voice rough with expectation. She reached for one of the condom packages, tore it open, and rolled the sheath onto his cock.
He was more than happy to comply, rolling to cover her body with his. He felt good – stronger than since before he'd been shot. Lindsay's legs spread wide underneath him, coming up to wrap around his hips. It was all the invitation he needed, and he pressed against her ready opening and then pushed in.
There was a gasp, and he wasn't sure if it came from Lindsay, or from him, or maybe both of them. All he knew was the warm pleasure as he entered her. Her hips rose to meet his entry, taking him all the way in. His balls bumped up against the cheeks of her ass and he held that position for a moment, moving only slightly to savor the tension. And then he pulled back, paused, pushed in again.
They found a rhythm before long, his thrusts timed to the lift of her hips. And for a time, nothing else mattered…
"All right, that's it for tonight." Peter closed the folder in front of him and pushed it aside. "Go home."
"No argument here," Jones said as he stood up and reached for his jacket.
Diana yawned and nodded in agreement. "A few hours of sleep and then back to work."
Peter looked up at the clock, realizing how late it had really gotten. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I lose track of time."
"We've noticed, boss," Diana said, though she smiled as she spoke.
"Look, I'm going to run this past Neal in the morning, get his input on the security setup," Peter said. "So go ahead and come in a little later."
"He coming back soon?" Jones asked.
"Supposed to be, yeah." Peter paused, shaking his head. "Sometimes he drives me nuts, but it's been strange not having him here."
"Like you've said, it's easier running with him," Jones pointed out.
Diana nodded in agreement. "And whatever else, he does add a certain style to the office."
Peter tried to look hurt. "What, are you saying I don't have style?"
Diana laughed and headed for the elevator. "Good night, boss."
The night was passing like a dream – the best dream he'd had in a long time. There was only the here and now. No Kate, no music box, no FBI caseload. Not even the imminent departure of Lindsay Howell for the war zones of Afghanistan. None of that mattered tonight.
Neal padded softly toward his kitchen area, flipping on a light as he went. He selected a cabernet from his wine selection, uncorked it, and headed back toward the bed, picking up two glasses as he went.
He found Lindsay sitting up on the bed, watching him. He held up the bottle. "An excellent vintage."
"Sounds good."
Neal handed her a glass, filled it, then filled his own glass before putting the bottle on the floor and slipping back into bed. They both sipped, and Lindsay leaned her head against his shoulder. "Mmmm, that is good."
"Only the best."
She smiled and traced a finger across his chest. "From the best?"
"Well, I try."
Her finger trailed lower. "And can you keep on trying?"
"I am wounded…"
Lindsay took another sip of wine, set her glass aside, and turned her attention to Neal. Her lips started on his chest, and she trailed kisses in a jagged line across his stomach, and down…
When she reached his groin, Neal slid farther down into the bed and raised his hips, opening his legs. He watched as first one of his balls, and then the other, disappeared into her mouth. At the same time, her fingers deftly played along his growing erection.
He felt the familiar tingle starting – maybe he could keep trying…
His route home from the office didn't usually take Peter past June's house, but tonight he made the detour. If Neal was still up, Peter could give him the files tonight, get him thinking about the case. Everything pointed toward a very talented forger, in town and targeting a major display of ancient artifacts. The artifacts were on loan from a government that wasn't always considered friendly, so an 'incident' could cause some major repercussions.
That wasn't happening on his watch.
There was a light on up on the top floor – Neal's apartment. Peter pulled into a parking space on the street, took the files, and stepped out of the car into the quiet of the night. He let himself in the side door, where June had shown him the hidden key, and made his way up the stairs.
When he got to the door he gave a couple of quick taps, then opened the door and walked in. "Neal…"
The door opening registered in the recesses of Neal's mind, and he was vaguely aware that it wasn't Lindsay who said his name. After all, she was on top of him, riding him, and he was looking right at her face, playing with her breasts as they moved.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Now that got his attention. Neal twisted, rolling Lindsay with him. The sudden movement pulled at his wounded side, but he managed to move enough to pull a sheet up over their bodies before turning toward the door.
"Peter?"
"Oh, don't 'Peter' me. You've pulled some stunts before, Neal, but I never thought you'd do something like this."
"Something like what, exactly?" Neal asked. He groped on the floor for the boxers he had dropped earlier, found them, and pulled them on under the sheet.
"That's El's sister…"
"Her older sister," Lindsay pointed out. "Who's perfectly capable of deciding…"
Neal slid out from under the sheet, careful to leave Lindsay covered. "Peter, I don't…"
"Neal…"
Lindsay tugged on the sheet, getting it loose from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around her. She stood up and stepped around Neal, toward Peter. "Does your arrangement with Neal include just barging in at any hour, without knocking?"
"I knocked!"
"You didn't wait for an answer."
"I…"
"A little courtesy, Peter!"
"What about courtesy on his part?" Peter demanded. "He took advantage…"
"What?" Lindsay shook her head and laughed, though it was more bitter than humorous. "No one took advantage…"
Neal held his hands out and shook his head. "Peter, I wouldn't."
Peter was shaking his head too. "Lindsay, you came to us wounded, needing help."
"And I got it, Peter, but I've healed."
"He doesn't know…"
Lindsay let the sheet slip, exposing the scar on her shoulder. "He knows, Peter, all of it. It's hard to hide something like this when you're naked with someone."
"But there are things about him…"
Neal held out his left leg, twisting his foot to highlight the tracker. "Like this? Hard to hide that too when you're naked. But she already knew, Peter. I told her."
"Eyes wide open, Peter. On both sides," Lindsay said.
Peter stubbornly shook his head. "That doesn't…"
Lindsay sighed and used the hand not holding the sheet up to gesture around the room. "You're a trained investigator, Peter. Show me one thing that indicates that anyone was forced to do anything here."
Some of the righteous indignation seemed to be fading as Peter took a deep breath and looked around. "There's a sock in the middle of the floor," he finally said, pointing. "He could have used that as a gag to keep you from calling for help."
"Ewwww, and gross." Lindsay wrinkled her nose and kicked the sock away. "But totally wrong." She moved to stand behind Peter. "There, now I have a big, strong, armed FBI agent to protect me. And I'm telling you, Peter, nothing happened here that wasn't entirely consensual."
"He's a con man," Peter argued, though without much force.
Lindsay feigned shock. "Neal, were you conning me? If you didn't really consent, you can say so. Peter will protect you from me."
Neal shook his head. "I'm quite sure I really consented." He carefully kept his smile tight so that Peter couldn't claim he was using his 'con man smile' – but he really was impressed at how Lindsay was manipulating the agent.
Peter sighed and turned to face Lindsay. "What am I supposed to tell El?"
"If the topic comes up, you could tell her I was having the time of my life, until her husband rudely crashed the party."
"Yeah, I'll work on that one," he mumbled.
With anger and indignation pretty well spent, and embarrassment settling in, there was silence. Neal finally stepped forward and pointed at the files in Peter's hand. "Did you bring those for me?"
"Something I wanted your opinion on."
Neal held out his hand, more symbolic than anything. "I'll look at them in the morning, all right?"
Peter hesitated, then nodded and held out the files. "Yeah, that's fine."
"Anything else?"
Peter looked between Neal and Lindsay, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head. "No. I'll, uh…. just let myself out."
Neal followed him to the landing. "Good night, Peter. And next time, knock!" There was a mumbled reply from the stairs as Neal closed the door – and locked it this time.
"Awkward," he said as he faced Lindsay again.
She nodded. "I'd understand if you want me to leave."
"Do you want to leave?" he asked quietly.
Lindsay grinned and shook her head as she let the sheet fall to the floor. "It was my turn on top."
Neal matched her smile with one of his own. "Fair's fair," he agreed. He set the files on the table and followed her back to the bed.
It was late when he got home, and Peter tried to be very quiet, trying not to wake El. So, naturally, every move he made seemed unnaturally loud, and by the time he got into their bedroom, El was awake.
"Peter?" She yawned and turned toward him. "What time is it?"
"Late, El. It's late. Go back to sleep."
"Mmmmm, I'm awake now." She looked at the clock and sat up. "Peter, it's almost 2:00. What happened?"
What happened? Well, he had worked late, and then walked in on Neal and Lindsay… and then he'd driven around for a while, trying to decide what, if anything, to tell his wife. On the one hand, he had to admit Lindsay and Neal were adults, even if Neal didn't always act it. And, grudgingly, he conceded that they were consenting adults. But on the other hand, it was Neal, and Lindsay was El's sister…
"Do you know where Lindsay is?" The words just came out, and he guessed he'd made his decision.
El looked surprised for a moment, and then shrugged. "I assume she's with Neal."
"She's… wait, you knew?"
"Knew that they were attracted to each other? Of course. Don't you remember how happy I was that they hit it off that first night they met?"
"But…"
"I'm just surprised it's taken this long. Of course, Neal getting shot didn't help."
"How could you…"
"Wait, how did you know about Lindsay and Neal?"
Peter shifted from foot to foot. He could face the toughest criminals – and none of them had anything on his wife. And he'd learned long ago that, however uncomfortable, the truth was best with her. "I might have walked in on them at Neal's," he admitted.
"What?"
"I stopped to drop off some files…"
"And you didn't knock."
"I did knock," he protested. "But I might not have waited for a response."
El responded with silence, and he was almost afraid to look at her for fear of how angry she must be. But when he did look… "Are you laughing?"
She had her hands over her mouth, and her whole body was shaking. But that was definitely mirth in her eyes.
"Oh, Peter!"
"I'm glad one of us thinks it's funny." Though truth be told, he was starting to think it might be just a little bit funny himself. Hopefully Lindsay and Neal would agree… eventually.
"So what happened?"
"I got the 'consenting adults' lecture."
"Well, they are, you know."
"You're really all right with your sister seeing Neal?"
El reached out her hand and he took it, sitting on the bed next to her. "Honey, not everyone is cut out to settle down like we are."
"But Neal?"
"He's a good man, Peter, and trying to be a better one."
"Hmmmmph."
"Well, you know it's true, even if you won't admit it."
"But your sister?"
"Peter, she's been through a war, almost died. She's going back in a little over a week, all to try and do some good. She needed to relax while she was here, have some fun. And Neal needed to take his mind off of Kate."
"So you're not only all right with it, you set it all up?"
"Shocked?"
Peter shook his head and kissed her forehead. "You're the smartest woman I've ever known."
"And I'm going to make sure you remember that."
"I look forward to the reminders."
She snuggled against his side. "Peter?"
"Yes?"
"If Lindsay is at Neal's, that means we have the house to ourselves."
He looked down at her and smiled. "That's true. Whatever should we do about it?"
She pulled his head down and whispered something in his ear. Peter's smile grew. "I think I can handle that," he whispered, as he laid her back on the bed…
"Peter?"
Peter looked up from his paperwork and cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Neal! I didn't expect to see you in the office."
Neal looked over his shoulder at the agents busy working below, then stepped all the way into Peter's office and closed the door. "I thought maybe we needed to talk."
"Look, I should have knocked…"
"Peter, Elizabeth's sister or not, do you really believe I could force a woman to be with me?"
"No." Peter said the one word quickly, and firmly. "I don't believe that, and I apologize for suggesting it. It's just that it was El's sister, and she's been through a lot."
"Lindsay's a very strong woman."
"I know."
"But you thought I'd be a bad influence."
"It's been known to happen," Peter grumbled. "You're a bad influence on me."
Neal grinned. "Only in the best way."
"Hmmmmph."
"Did you talk to Elizabeth?"
"She set the whole thing up with you and her sister."
Neal's grin widened. "Yeah."
"You knew?"
"It wasn't hard to figure out."
Peter shook his head in resignation. "Why am I the last to know?" he asked, directing the question to the ceiling.
"I'll help you with your observation sensitivity," Neal offered.
"Gee, thanks." Peter tried to put as much sarcasm into the two words as he could. He let it drip in the air between them for a moment before continuing. "So, what are your intentions?"
"Intentions? Wow, I feel like I'm a teenager again, caught in the back seat."
"You got caught in the back seat?"
Neal shook his head. "No. It was just an analogy. I always obtained a hotel room."
"You mean scammed."
Neal shrugged. "Semantics."
"So…"
"Oh, intentions." Neal leaned forward, suddenly very serious. "I intend to spend as much of the next week with Lindsay as possible. And I think if you ask her, she'll say she wants the same thing. Then she leaves for Afghanistan, and, if the doctors' predictions are right, I'll be cleared to come back to work."
"Speaking of which, why are you here now?"
Neal held up the files Peter had dropped off. "I had a chance to look at these."
"I would have stopped by later."
"You would have knocked?"
Peter sighed. "El says not only knock, but call ahead."
"You have a very smart wife."
"As she reminds me."
"So, we're all right, you and me?" Neal's serious voice and look were back in full force.
"I apologize for barging in last night. If you can accept that, then yes, we're fine."
Neal's grin reappeared and he laid the files out on Peter's desk. "Good, because I think I figured out how this guy did the job in Philly – and probably what he's planning to do here."
Peter leaned forward, opening the first file that Neal pushed toward him. "Tell me…"