The next morning, Neal awoke to a loud knock at his door. He blinked a few times, ran a hand through his hair, and answered it. "Hey, Peter. What's up with the wake-up call—did you bring me coffee?" Neal smiled brightly.
Burke shrugged and handed him a cup. "We've got a case. An old friend of yours just showed up in New York. Do you remember Raymond Salenas?"
Neal thought for a moment, then nodded. "He was a bond forger, one of the best in the business. Last I heard, though, he was living it up in the Caymans. You say he's back?"
"We think he's trying to buy the Degas that was stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art last March," Burke replied.
Neal chuckled. "That's Raymond. He always was a fan of irony. You do get it, right? The Amateur? What other painting would a master forger want?"
Burke's brow furrowed; he hadn't gotten it. "Get dressed and let's go."