I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[wind]...
A/N: I know this chapter is a little on the short side, but I thought it would be a good stopping point. Things are going to pick up, I promise!
Chapter Two
"You were the one who said you wanted to get out of the house." Peter shot Neal a goofy grin as he steered the Taurus down the highway.
"This is a little extreme." Neal's tone was quiet and curt as he stared out the passenger side window. He sat quiet for a moment, before turning his attention to Peter. "I just wanted off of house arrest."
"I told you, I couldn't do anything about that…" Peter turned quickly to look at Neal, catching the dark and heated expression that had hardened his partner's face. "I tried…"
"Yeah…you said…" Neal turned back to the window. He and Peter had gone over the matter numerous times in the last two weeks; the Marshal service had put him on lock down pending the finalization of the previous case.
"It was still better that prison." Neal scoffed at the statement, but kept his focus out the window.
"You told me NYPD had dropped the charges." Neal mumbled back. He was still a little irritated about waking up in the hospital handcuffed to the bed. He had managed to get past in initially, but he had been so acutely reminded of it by the Marshals as of late.
"They told me they had. Are we really going to do keep doing this?" Peter was getting irritated; he knew that they had done wrong by Neal, but there truly wasn't anything more he could do. He had managed to keep Neal out of prison, and Peter felt that should've counted for something, even if Neal wasn't able to see it.
"No." Neal answered abruptly, easing himself down farther in his seat, and crossing his arms across his chest.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. As Peter pulled the Taurus through the tall wrought iron gates at the front of the estate, he smiled to himself as Neal eased up out of his seat, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him. The lush green pastures that lay on either side of the long driveway were lined with black four board fencing and small decorative trees that shaded the car as they drove. Up ahead a three story stone house sat at the end of a circular drive that contained a fountain in the middle. About a hundred yards to the right of the house stood a barn; it was constructed of matching stone, and was almost as large as the house. The property was impeccably kept, with manicured lawns and freshly trimmed topiaries. Peter pulled the car around and parked outside the front door of the house.
"It doesn't look like anyone is home." Neal remarked as he followed Peter up the front steps to the door.
"I believe Ms. Bennett lives here by herself." Peter rang the doorbell and waited while trying to keep Neal from peering in through the windows.
"I don't think she's home." Neal wandered back down the stairs to snoop around. He pulled his cotton jacket closer around him, trying to block out the brisk afternoon breeze that was starting to pick up.
When Neal looked up he spotted her, coming from the direction of the barn. She wore tight beige riding pants, slim black leather boots up to her knees, and a short-cropped snug black jacket. Her auburn hair spilled delicately over her shoulders, and played softly in the breeze as she walked towards him.
"You must be Ms. Bennett." Neal smiled his most charming smile; his crystal blue eyes held a hint of intrigue.
"I am." She held out a hand that was as manicured as the rest of the place. "You must be Agent Burke."
"I'm Agent Burke." Peter quickly crossed the distance left between them, and lightly shook her hand. "This is my consultant…"
"Neal…Caffrey." Neal smiled again, as he shook her hand as well, the irritable mood he had been in seemed to wash away almost instantly.
"We can talk in my office." She turned and led them back towards the barn.
"Cut it out." Peter whispered as they walked.
"What?" Neal shot Peter a look of innocence; Peter rolled his eyes in return.
As they entered the barn, Neal couldn't help but be surprise. Everything was neat and tidy; the cobblestone aisleway didn't look like it had a speck of dirt on it, and the air smelled of fresh pine. Small iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the walkway. The stalls were constructed of varnished mahogany colored wood on the bottom, with black iron tops that curved in gentle arches on either side of the doors. He counted what looked to be ten stalls, but only spotted one that appeared to be occupied. The office was in keeping with the rest of the barn. The walls and bookcases were all golden mahogany, and her ornately carved matching desk sat atop a burgundy and navy oriental rug. The whole place oozed a sense of money; not the nouveau riche, this was old money. The shelves that didn't contain leather bound books were full of large round silver plates and trophies, and the walls were covered in photos and large colorful ribbons. Ms. Bennett took her seat and motioned for the two men to sit in the black leather chairs across from her.
"Before we begin, Ms. Bennett…" Peter stopped gazing around the room and turned his attention to the woman behind the desk.
"Please, call me Ashley." She smiled politely back at Peter, waiting patiently for him to take his seat.
"Ashley…" Peter smiled uneasily back at her. "Before we begin, I just want to be clear. This isn't the kind of case we normally take."
"I asked for the best they had, and they gave me you. I hear that you have the highest recovery rate in the FBI."
"I do." Peter looked at the woman in amazement. She may have been soft and feminine looking, but she was obviously intelligent and well educated, and had done her homework.
"Good. Then you'll be fine. Please sit." She motioned to the two chairs again; it was apparent that she was used to being in charge.
It took Peter a moment to get Neal's attention, and they both took their seats. Neal had been spending his time swapping his gaze from the trophies on the shelves to the beautiful woman in front of him. She had a way about her, Neal noticed, and he was intrigued.
"All theses photos, they're of you?" Neal asked, his tone friendly, with a hint of admiration.
"Yes, they're all of me and Ryan." There was sadness to her voice as she answered, her eyes shifting to glance over the photos nearest to her.
"Ryan?" Peter couldn't hide his confusion. "We're talking about the horse, right? I thought his name was Starward Gaze?"
"That was his registered name. Around the barn everyone called him Orion. I just called him Ryan."
"You speak of him like he's no longer with us, isn't that him in the barn?" Neal recognized the horse in the stall outside, as being the same horse in the photos.
"That's what I was trying to explain to Agent Burke on the phone." She made a frustrated gesture in Peter's direction. "That's not my horse."