A/N Thanks for the reviews. Comments and suggestions are happily received.

Chapter 4

Neal knew the deal had gone sour.

Pedro Hernandez, soft-spoken, accommodating hair salon owner, stood in a stiff posture glaring at the dapper conman. Moving directly in front of Neal, the burly male yanked a pistol from his waistband pointing it at the younger man's chest.

Peter, coming in unaware from the back room, was taken by surprise. Shoving him against the office wall, Pedro's enforcer, in one quick motion removed the special agent's holstered weapon. He held the handgun taunt against his head and glanced back at Pedro.

"I knew there was something odd about these men," Emilio said. "Their story just didn't ring true." He forcibly pressed the weapon against Peter's scalp. The agent grimaced and shifted his body slightly to the right. His eyes sought Neal, carefully motioning with his hand for him to remain still.

"Hey fed? Is there any reason I shouldn't pull the trigger?" Emilio, cocking the Glock 22, directed the question at Peter, smiling at the strain on his face.

Neal's heart clenched, ready to respond to whatever action Peter directed. He watched his friend's eyes momentarily close shut as a trickle of sweat ran down the side of Peter's face, the muscle in his cheek twitching, signaling his intense agitation.

"You don't want the heat from killing a federal agent," Neal argued, attempting to gain Emilio's attention, desperate to stop his partner's murder.

With his arms outstretched in a conciliatory gesture, he slowly moved forward and appealed to Pedro, the more rational one of the pair.

"The FBI won't stop in tracking you down." Neal wiped his sweaty hands against his tailored slacks. "Even organized crime won't help you on this one."

"Hold on," Pedro cautioned his cousin. "We're moving too fast."

Emilio relaxed his bent arm and rigid hand. Peter Burke took the momentary reprieve to catch his breath and consider his limited options.

He wondered who had tipped off the Hernandez family.

"Lock them up in the store room while I decide what to do," directed Pedro.

After searching and emptying his captives' pockets, Emilio motioned the two men to walk in front of him, directing them into the adjoining supply room. Neal entered first, followed closely by Peter. Grabbing the agent's shoulder, the antagonistic Hernandez cousin gave him a vicious shove sending him staggering to the left. Stumbling, Peter collided heavily with a table, impacted the wall, and fell to his knees with an expressive oath.

Neal, attempting to forestall another attack, placed himself in front of his friend.

"Hey," he exclaimed showing empty hands, "we're unarmed here and no threat."

Emilio glared at him with hostility. His gaze took in Peter, clutching his side, as he painfully pulled himself up from the floor. "You're not hurt are you?" he asked contemptuously.

"I hate police," added the overbearing strong-arm. "I should shoot you right now."

"Ah, technically, he's not police," argued Neal.

Peter looked coldly at Emilio. "You're in enough trouble as it is," he gasped, "if you stop at this point I can offer you a deal."

"Shut up fed," said his captor. "I've had enough from you and," he directed his pistol at Neal, "your lackey."

During the tense seconds that followed, Peter and Neal remained silent. Satisfied with intimidation, the Hernandez cousin turned and slammed shut the storage door.

Clutching his injured ribcage, Peter lowered himself to the floor.

"Are you all right?" asked Neal.

Peter ignored the question. "Neal, don't antagonize our friend any further." The agent winced. "I want to avoid broken ribs."

"Antagonize him! Buddy, I was the one trying to defuse the situation." Sitting down, Neal scrutinized his partner. "Emilio likes to show off his strength."

"Physical ability doesn't compensate for mental deficiency."

Neal grinned momentarily. "He doesn't seem to like you, Peter."

"I don't know why," replied Peter. "Most people find me quite pleasant."

"I've seen that… on occasion," said Neal. They exchanged glances.

The con artist paused a moment, "We're in a tough spot. Aren't we?"

"Yes, Gunga Din, we are. Any chance you can pick the lock on that door?"

"The original door lock, yes; the reinforced keypad lock, no. Umm, I can't believe I'm about to say this — it's too bad you removed the tracker before our visit."

A moment of silence met his words.

"I'll remember this conversation for future reference," Peter replied.

"No doubt… Jones knows we were coming here," said Neal. "After a few hours without word, he'll eventually become suspicious."

"Neal, we may not have a few hours," Peter, looking grim, leaned back against the wall.

Both men contemplated their precarious situation.