Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar. This is all fun and no profit. The main purpose is to keep all of us fan(atics) sane between episodes.

The sculptures caught Neal's eye in spite of the milling, confused crowd. Police barricaded the door and prevented the argumentative patrons from leaving the museum before they could be questioned. Beyond them, the artwork rose behind them, three sculptures but lined up and styled like waves so they looked like they could join. A white horse leaped from the translucent front wave while the wave and tail met the dolphin in the one behind and behind that a cliff with a castle atop it. The colors darkened toward the castle, lightened toward the horse and the backdrop of the exhibit was painted as if the waves fled the storm.

His eyes finally caught a glimpse of a dark skinned teenager standing near Peter Burke. Peter turned to him. "Neal, this is Davis Conroy. He's the sculpture and it's his sister that's missing. Davis, this is my consultant, Neal."

Davis turned toward him. Neal's brows rose as he noticed the boy's eyes didn't track him.

Neal eyed the teen with interest. "You sculpted these? Do you mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Sixteen. And yes, I'm blind.."

"Wow. You broke into art at an impressively early age."

The boy's dark brown face flashed in a happy smile. "That's Amanda's doing..." It dropped away. "She's the painter too."

Neal studied the boy. "So, any idea who would take her? Or why?"

Davis shook his head and frowned. "No way. Everybody loves her. Except her ex boyfriend. But I don't think he took her."

Peter's eyes focused on the boy. "Why not?"

"Guy's a jerk. But he's not stupid." The boy waved his arms. "Too many people."

"Mm. We'll need to get his name and check him out anyway, just in case. He the only one?"

The boy shook his head.

"No rivals? It's not easy getting slotted into a gallery." Neal observed.

The boy slumped on the edge of the rear sculpture's base. A security guard took a few steps toward him but was chased off by the curator. Neal smirked. It was a natural desire to touch the art and the guards were supposed to prevent it. But this kid was the artist. You couldn't stop him from sitting on his own property.

"Not that I know off. It's not like it's a one person exhibit. We were all part of a contest. I've never met anyone that wasn't excited and thrilled to get any spot. Believe me, I'm good at reading voices."

"I can imagine..." Neal said slowly. "How do you get around? Amanda?"

"Amanda and Magic."

"Magic?" Peter was looking at the curator who was heading toward them and sweating fiercely.

"My dog. My guide dog. She's a big black lab. I haven't been able to find her. She was in the office, but since the trouble started..." the boy looked toward the sculpture. The boy's eyes were watering. "Ow. Allergies kicking up..." he muttered.

"I'm sure we'll find your dog too." Neal stated. "Maybe she just wandered into the wrong room and someone locked the door on her."

"Oh I hope so."

Peter gripped the boy's shoulder. "We're going to l...check around now."

"You can say 'look' agent Burke. It's okay." The boy gave a watery smile. "I just hope you see what you need to find my sister and Magic."

Neal paused as Peter walked off. "Davis?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think they're together?"

The boy clenched his fists. His lips tightened and his chin rose. "I don't know. But I know Magic will protect her. She's my lucky lab. So if they're together..."

"She's safe...I get it. Hang in there." Neal patted his arm and leaned close to whisper. "I love your art. Really."

The boy smiled.

The back room was full of wrapped and crated art. The curator pointed at a bare table. "There should be three pieces there. One was not quite finished, Amanda was putting finishing touches on the paint. Plus one large one and one smaller one.

"So we definitely have theft."

"But they saw someone pulling Amanda into a car." Neal observed. "They didn't see any art. Which begs the question: why did they call us before they found out it was a White Collar crime instead of an ordinary kidnapping."

"That's easy," Peter said. "We were available, it's an art museum, and the guys that normally take care of kidnappings are missing half their crew either to that bug going around or that law enforcement symposium."

"Ah." Neal nodded. "Well, premature or not, I guess now we know it's theft."

"You're sure no-one moved them and forget to tell you?"

The balding museum curator looked indignant. "Absolutely not! The only ones working in here today were Amanda and Davis. A sudden loud noise nearly drowned him out.

"What is that?!" Peter yelled.

The curator looked distraught and his fists clenched in fury. He opened his mouth to answer, shrugged and pulled pen and paper out. He scribbled and held it up to Peter.

"Renovations. Next door."

"Been doing that long?" Peter scribbled back.

"Off and on for days."

Neal winced as he read the note. Most people toured art museums much like libraries, in comparative peace, or amiable chatter. Perhaps a fierce argument might ensue over an artist's merits. But chaos that close had to be doing damage to the tour groups and it wasn't so great for all the art either. He could picture it rattling right off the walls and pedestals. He wondered if it caused false alarms in the security system.

Neal turned away from the conversation he couldn't hear and looked around. His eyes lit on dust and a paw print. Kneeling, he peered under the desk. He pulled on latex gloves and he pulled out a chunk of ceramic and shook his head. Broken bits of something were under there. He pulled out a second piece, careful not to cut his latex gloves open. This one had blood on it. He sucked in a breath. He glanced around, sitting back. Peter and the curator were still exchanging notes, the curator finally hurrying off.

Neal's eyes blinked as he noticed another print in the dust, he inched toward it. Reluctant, given he was in a good suit, he followed on his hands and knees. Whenever he tried to shift up and stand he lost track due to the odd lighting and shadows.

The thumping stopped so suddenly the silence itself was deafening. "...at are you doing?"

He realized Peter was talking to him even as he peered around the half open crate lid. Two eyes peered back and made him start. "I think I found the dog." He rose and motioned to the crate. Nudging the lid aside, he found the black lab with a bloody gash on it's head. Now it whimpered.

Peter was by it's side in an instant. "Neal, get Davis."

Neal hurried out and found Davis where he'd left him. "Davis! We found Magic!"

The boy started. "Is she okay?"

"Ah, I don't know. I think so, looks like she got knocked on the head."

Davis reached out an arm. "Lead me to her? Just let me hold your shoulder. It'll be quicker."

"Sure."

They went this way back to the room. The dog whimpered and sat up. The boy went straight to the sound and hugged the dog, gripping the guide harness.

"Wait a minute." Peter said. "We need to get her to a vet and check for evidence."

The boy looked worried. "Can't I go with her?"
Neal looked at Peter with puppy dog eyes. Peter rolled his. "I'll arrange it. Try not to pat her too much, I know you want to, but if she got any DNA of the bad guy on her, we need it."

"You think she bit him?"

"Got a bit of blood on her chin and her head. The head's hers, it's got a gash. Not sure about the chin."

Jones came in. "Hey, Davis, how about I give you and your friend a ride to the vet."

"Okay. Come on Magic. Let's get you checked out."

Neal watched boy and dog go out the door. "There are bits of broken sculpture on the floor. Recent."

"How do you know the janitor isn't just slacking off?"

"It's got blood on it. And the breaks are too clean. No dirt. Someone broke one of the pieces and tried to sweep it up."

"Point it out to the evidence people." Peter looked around the room. "I wonder if it's human or dog blood. They might've hit the dog with it if it jumped them."

"Peter, you own a lab. They are among the sweetest dogs around. You think she just attacked someone?"

"She may've defended Amanda like Satchmo defended El. And I didn't say attacked anyway. Satchmo jumped some as a puppy before we taught him better. A person up to no good might not know a playful jump from an attack."

"True." Neal pictured the attacker being flattened by a slobbering dog. "So we look for someone whose been slimed?"

Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes.