Monday

It was Monday morning and Neal Caffrey stepped into the office of the White Collar division in New York. For the first time in a week, the smile on his face was genuine. In the office of Reese Hughes, he saw his handler, Special Agent Peter Burke, sitting with his back to him.

Peter had been on vacation for a week and it had not been the same without him. Not only was his handler the only one in the office who treated him with respect, though he was a convicted felon, he had also been confined to his desk in Peter's absence. Jones and Diana had accompanied him for lunch twice. It had been nice, but without Peter, their comments about his conviction or his anklet had felt harsher than he thought they intended.

Neal had just been out for two weeks. He knew he had to keep up and do his job to stay out of prison. With the other agents, his team members, he was not yet sure if they wanted him there or not.

Peter gave him an odd form of comfort. He knew Peter wanted him there. If he did something wrong, Peter would tell him. He also knew his handler would cuff him and take him back to prison if needed. But he would do so with care and respect. The reason for Peter to put him back would also be Neal committing a crime, not because someone did not like him.

Neal sat down by his desk and opened the file he had been mulling over when he went home last Friday. He heard the door to Hughes' room open and Peter's and his boss' voices. He raised his head and saw Peter watching him. They shared a smile. The agent nodded for him to come.

They sat down in his room.

"Good to see you, Peter. Had a fine week?"

"The best ever," Peter returned with a wide smile. "And you?" Neal shrugged.

"Not the same without you."

"Someone treated you bad?"

"No."

Peter glanced at him. It was the truth. But he was a convicted felon and his teammates had been the ones chasing him. It was an odd situation for both parts. Peter did not push it further.

"Is the anklet still chafing your leg?"

"It's still there."

"Annoying?"

Neal shrugged. He did not think much about it during the days any longer, but every time he changed clothes it was there as a bulky, heavy thing. Not to mention the constant awareness of being watched.

"Let me check it," Peter requested and pointed at the empty chair beside Neal.

"That it's still there? Trust me. It is."

"That it's not too tight."

"Or too loose?"

Peter slid around the desk on his chair and pattered with his hand on the empty seat. Neal sighed and put his left foot on it, exposing the anklet.

Peter placed two fingers under the strap of the anklet. It was not too tight. Or too loose for that matter, but that was rarely a problem. It was far more common that restrains of any kind was pulled too tight. His guts told him it would go far before Neal complained, even if he had the right to do so. He did not want the kid to suffer because he for any reason did not tell if the anklet caused him pain. Neal was in an exposed position and it was Peter's job to keep him safe.

"Alright." He nodded to Neal and the kid took his foot down. Jones had left him a report of Neal's movements during the week. It was a dull read. It seemed as his convict was extremely cautious. Had Neal not felt safe when he was gone? Had he moved as little as possible not to catch Jones' attention? Time would tell.

"Hughes told me you've done your job when I was gone. Told me you solve a case."

Neal shrugged.

"It wasn't a complicated one. Just boring." Neal had got the case no one else wanted.

"Nevertheless, you helped us catch a criminal." He watched his face for a reaction. "Does it bother you? To put criminals behind bars."

Neal shrugged again.

"Neal, stop shrugging and just answer the question."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You're a convicted felon with an anklet, helping the FBI to catch criminals. How do you feel about it? It's not the Dutchman any longer." Peter looked him in the eye. "I'm not asking to put you in trouble. I need to know, so we can work together in the best possible way."

Neal returned his gaze.

"I know I belong in prison. So does the criminals I help you catch."

Peter did not nod to that statement. Few 'belonged' in prison in Peter's opinion and it was sad that Neal looked upon himself that way. Society did not function if crimes went unpunished, but the important thing to Peter was not the time in prison as much as what happened after the sentence was served.

"Diana took her final exam and is now a fully-fledged agent. She got a job in DC," Peter said to change the subject. "She leaves this week. Thought you should know." Peter would miss her. She was one of the brightest agents he ever had on the team.

"Any plans for lunch?" Neal asked. It was a casual question but Peter felt there was a genuine hope for them to have lunch together.

"No. Have you any ideas where we could go?"

A wide smile spread across Neal's face.

"I know the perfect place."

The lunch had been pleasant. Peter had told him about Belize and they had chit-chatted about neutral subjects, like art and cooking. When they finished eating, Peter's phone had rung and they had to get back to the office. The place Neal had picked had included a fairly long walk since he knew Peter liked to clear his head that way. So, they needed to get a cab to get back as fast as possible. It was, however, easier said than done.

"I hate this. Every year. Every year, it's like this. Finally squeezed into a train at Union Square," Peter complained. Neal smiled at a woman they met on the sidewalk. "Couldn't fall down if you were shot. Come on. It's impossible to catch a cab."

A cab pulled over and Neal saw it was not for them.

"Hey, Peter, Peter, Peter." He opened the door for the two lovely ladies who had caught the cab driver's attention and considered the cap theirs. They thanked him and he beamed at them.

"Enjoy your day." He met Peter's evil stare. "It's Fashion Week, Peter. Embrace it." You could always choose what to see and Neal wanted to see the good things. In his case, right now, it was the abundance of beautiful women.

"Yeah" Peter huffed and tried for another cap. "Here we go. Excellent. Good. All right." Neal saw that Peter once again would be outmatched by a group of women. They opened the cab door before he was near the handle.

"Oh, no," Peter sighed and then accepted his fate. "Yes. All right. Let me help you here." Neal smiled at Peter's attempt to be charming. "Squeeze."

"We're supposed to be interviewing our witness now," Peter barked, frustrated. Neal decided he had pushed his handler's temper just far enough. And Peter had actually said 'we', including Neal. That was something he had not heard in a week. Peter saw the two of them as a team and Neal loved it.

"Yeah, all right. Relax," Neal assured him and brought out a ten-dollar-note from his pocket and waved with it to a cab.

"That's not gonna do it," Peter protested. Neal sent him a wide grin as the cab driver pulled over. He opened the door for Peter who gave him a glare before he stepped inside.

"We're after an Israeli counterfeiter. Goes by the name of Ghovat," Peter informed him as they passed into the office. Neal was not sure if he had heard that right. He saw the name on the file Peter handed him and stopped in his tracks.

"We're going after The Ghost?"

"We're going after The Ghost," Peter confirmed. "What do you know about him?" Neal felt his heart beat in excitement.

"Oh, this guy is nefarious. He counterfeit treasury bonds, dollars. He's rumored to be the first guy to crack microprinting on the euro."

"Well, now we can add murder to that list," Peter told him. That was not a good thing. He had never met the Ghost but had admired what he had heard about him. Now he felt little pity for his fellow counterfeiter. Why did so many of them had to use violence? And kill another human being? Nothing was worth it.

In the conference room sat a young, beautiful woman with unruly hair. Her name was Tara. She was pale and appeared frightened as a deer.

"Hi, I'm Agent Peter Burke," Peter introduced himself. "This is my consultant, Neal Caffrey."

She looked at them, gave a short nod, but did not say anything. Neal glanced at his handler, unsure how to proceed. But Peter seemed insecure too.

"Would you like some coffee," Peter asked her. "I'll get you some."

He turned and left before the woman had time to reply. Peter must have felt an urge to leave the room since he did not ask Neal to get it. Neal glanced in Peter's direction and then smiled towards Tara. Except for his own interrogation he had no experience in these sorts of things. Peter was back soon enough.

"You sure he called himself Ghovat?" Peter asked as he placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

"Yes," she nodded without hesitation.

"Okay. What happened?" Peter inquired.

"I was at a party," she began.

"Why were you there?"

"Many models were invited. It happened as I was leaving when I went for my coat. I was in the back room when the two men came in. They were arguing."

"They didn't see you?" Neal asked. Peter sent him a glance, but not of disapproval. She shook her head.

"I made sure to keep out of sight. In the closet. They started shouting at each other. Then suddenly, everything went very... quiet." She paused and Neal saw Peter wait patiently. "The man who called himself Ghovat, I heard him leaving. When I walk out, that's when I saw the other man. He was on the floor already dead."

Neal flipped the file open and saw the photos of a murdered man, stabbed in the chest. It was not a pleasant sight knowing these photos were of a real, dead man. Peter sent him a glance as to ask if Neal had any further questions. Neal had not, and was amazed and pleased that Peter checked with him.

"Okay. Our men are gonna stay with you for now," Peter assured her. "But if you need anything, day or night, you feel free to call me." He pushed his card over the table to her. She took it. "If you heard this man again, do you think you could identify him?"

She stared at Peter.

"I will never forget his voice as long as I live!"

Peter followed her to the elevator together with Neal and the two men assigned to protect her.

"Have you ID'd the dead guy?" Neal asked when the door closed and they returned to the office. Peter nodded.

"A foreign national out of Turkey, a known associate of Ghovat."

"Falling out over business?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking," Peter agreed. "My working theory this has something to do with Fashion Week."

"Assuming our ghost has something to sell, Fashion Week's a great cover," Neal confirmed to his idea. Peter sighed. It was a splendid cover alright.

"He's got all his buyers in New York this week with no bells going off. Unfortunately, we've got 30,000 buyers."

"We've also got someone who can identify his voice," Neal pointed out and got the look of someone who saw a Christmas tree for the first time.

"You gonna share?" Peter prompted.

"You're gonna think I'm crazy," Neal replied with that happy, boyish smile all over his face. Peter could see little fun in the situation.

"It's never stopped you before," he pointed out.

"We throw a party."

Peter frowned at the sudden change of subject.

"Is it your birthday?"

"No."

"Then you're crazy."

"Okay. Look, okay?" Neal picked up the Ghovat file and opened it, pointing out what he wanted Peter to understand. "Look at this. Monte Carlo, Cannes, Ibiza, Rio. This guy likes to have a good time. We put women, booze, fashion altogether in one spot."

"And what do we do? Send him an invite?" Did Neal even think of this as something serious? "He replies 'Ghost plus one'?"

"No. We bring him to us!" Neal was serious alright. "We've Tara there in the room listening. She can ID him." Neal smacked the folder to Peter's chest, victorious. "It's a party," Neal sang and began to swing.

"Don't dance in the office." Peter had to admit Neal had an idea that could work. If they got it approved. They needed money. And parties were not what was considered as a standard for setting traps.

"A party?" Hughes gaped at Peter just as he had expected his boss to do.

"The witness is confident she can identify him by his voice."

"How do you know he'll show up?"

"You fill it with beautiful women," Neal answered with a beam before Peter had the chance. Hughes glanced at the kid.

"I was addressing my case agent." Putting Neal on his place. He got the message and shut up.

"Looking at his M.O., he has a thing for models," Peter replied with what he felt was a more informative answer.

"Yeah? Well, me too," Hughes pointed out. "Hey, Jones," he called out to Jones who passed outside the room. "You like models?"

Jones gazed at them.

"Love them," he answered without having a clue what they were talking about.

"Jones likes them too. Is there a plan in here somewhere?"

Peter fought to find the words to express the hunch he got.

"Call me when one shows up." Hughes left the office with his coffee mug and Peter stopped Neal from whatever he was going to say to convince the senior agent. Peter caught up with Hughes outside the office door.

"Look, Caffrey, Ghovat, these guys are cut from the same cloth," Peter started and his boss glanced at Neal as if he was a potential killer. Peter regretted the comparison. "Neal's convinced that our ghost will show up. I say we trust his instincts on this one. We've never been this close to Ghovat."

Hughes considered and then pointed at Neal to join them.

"I'll authorize five grand for this party," he said. Peter noted that he actually informed Neal, not him. It was a good thing. Neal, who had no experience of how difficult it was to get to use the tax-payers' money, looked like he got a single balloon to arrange a kids party with.

"God! Fifteen would be better."

"We'll make five work," Peter assured Hughes and hugged Neal's shoulders to tell him to shut up.

"Yes," Neal agreed. "And we'll get Elizabeth to help us."

What?

"My wife?"

"An event planner," Neal told Reese with enthusiasm. "Best in the business."

How did Neal know what Elisabeth worked with?

"She'll work on the price?" Hughes wanted to know.

"My wife?" Peter asked, still stunned how Neal placed her in the middle of all this.

"Your wife," Neal nodded and turned to Hughes: "His wife."

Hughes rolled his eyes and went for coffee. Neal bumped Peter in the chest with his hand in excitement.

"Don't hit me."

"I'm sorry."

"What did you think of, getting Elisabeth involved in this?" Peter had closed the door to his office and stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Neal.

"Why not?" Neal did not understand the problem. "She'll arrange a glamorous party during Fashion Week."

Peter's mouth was a straight line and it was obvious he was angry with him.

"Peter?"

"Neal…"

"I'm sorry if I've done something wrong. I thought Elisabeth would like the opportunity."

"You've done research on my wife too." So that was the problem.

"I don't know anything that's not in public records." The man who chased him for three years still glared at him. "Peter, I'm sorry, but it's what I do. I… learn things. You never know what information that can come in handy. So I learn whatever I can find on a subject." Neal felt he just made things worse for himself. "I would never, ever harm her, Peter, you know that."

His handler nodded and his face softened.

"Alright. But for the future, my wife and I do not mix our jobs."

"Elisabeth told me, you told her pretty much everything about me." Was that not mixing?

Peter nodded.

"Neal, I want you to understand something important here. I share confidential information with my wife. I am not allowed to, and I would get in a lot of trouble if this became public knowledge. I do it because I trust her and because she is the most intelligent person I know."

Neal felt a warmth spread through his body when he understood the trust Peter had in him. When it came to crimes Peter had little faith in his ability to stay on the narrow road, but this, this was something else. It was trust that meant something.