"Good morning, Neal."

"June. You're looking lovely, as usual."

She laughed and accepted his gestured invitation to enter. "That's why I keep you around. You're good for my ego."

"As I keep telling Peter, I can do honest," Neal replied, grinning. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Well, I thought perhaps we could share a cup of coffee this morning."

"I'd like nothing better."

He escorted her out to the patio, where he had moved the coffee service and pastries. With a bow and a flourish he pulled out her chair.

"Thank you, kind sir."

"My pleasure." He sat down across from her and poured coffee into two cups. He pushed one across the table and then leaned back in his chair, his own cup held close to his face in both hands. "Ahhh, no better way to start the morning," he sighed, breathing the aroma in.

"Byron always agreed." June settled back in her own chair, looking at the skyline. "Mornings were always our favorite time, just relaxing, a good cup of coffee in hand."

"The best coffee."

"I've found a few I like, but this has been a good one," June confirmed. "I remember the first time I tasted it."

"Must have been in Italy."

"Oh, yes. We were touring Tuscany, and we stopped in this small village. The only accommodations in town were a couple of private homes where the owners rented out rooms. They'd be called bed and breakfasts now, but back then they were just rooms to let."

"So you just happened to stumble on this coffee?"

"Sometimes luck is the best friend you can have. I'm sure you can understand that."

Neal raised his cup in a toast. "Touché."

"Anyway," she continued. "That first morning, when we went downstairs to breakfast, that aroma almost had me convinced I had died and gone to heaven."

"Instead, you had stumbled onto liquid gold."

"The owner had a vineyard, but on the side he roasted and blended his own coffee beans too. Oh, the wines were excellent as well. I should have a few bottles sent over with the next coffee shipment. I think you'd appreciate the cabernet."

"You know me too well, June."

"Does that scare you?"

He looked at her, an amused grin on his face. "A little." He looked around at the patio, the skyline beyond. "Do you know, being here, this is the longest I've ever lived in one place since I was six years old. Well, not counting prison, of course. And I'm ignoring that little lapse in time when OPR had me sent back to prison after Kate was killed."

"I try to ignore that as well," June assured him. "I missed you."

He just smiled as they each sipped their coffee.

"I'm surprised Peter isn't here already," he said after a moment, looking at his watch. "He'll miss out on his coffee if he doesn't hurry."

"Oh, well, he called. He said he was running late and would see you at the office."

Puzzled, Neal pulled out his cell phone. It was charged, and on, with service… "I wonder why he called you and not me," he mused.

"Maybe you were in the shower?" June suggested.

The phone didn't show any missed calls, but he certainly wasn't going to argue with June about it. "Maybe." He set his cup down and started scrolling through the contact list. "I guess I'll call a cab."

"Oh, no need. Samantha has a doctor's visit scheduled. We can swing by and drop you off on the way."

"Are you sure?"

"It's no bother at all. And you know how she loves having you around."

"Taking the Bentley?"

"Of course."

"Can I drive?"

June laughed and stood up. "All right, you can drive," she conceded. "I just need to do a couple of things, and make sure Samantha is ready. You can meet us downstairs in about ten minutes."

"I'll be ready." He stood as well, walking June back to the door.

As soon as she was gone, and he could close the door without being impolite, he pulled his phone out again, rechecking the call history. Still no sign that Peter had called. It just didn't make sense that Peter would call June, and not let him know directly…

Neal had had a definite feeling that something was wrong the evening before, and now this puzzle.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he muttered to himself as he considered calling Peter himself.

No, no reason to alert the man over the phone. Better to ask in person, when he could see Peter's eyes.

Always better to see the other person's eyes when you asked a hard question.

He pulled the Bentley neatly into the No Parking zone in front of the Federal Building, then leaned back in the soft leather seat, hands still on the wheel. "I love this car."

June laughed and reached over to pat his hand. "Well, you know you can borrow it whenever you want."

Neal had a wistful look on his face as he sighed. "A two mile circle doesn't do it justice."

"I know," June said with a wink. "But it'll keep you in practice."

Neal laughed and opened the door, sliding out. He leaned into the back, giving Samantha a quick kiss. "Good luck, kid."

She responded with a theatrical sigh. "I'm not a kid!"

"Yeah, I know. Call me later and tell me how it goes, all right?"

"Okay, Neal."

He stood up and held the door as June slid into the driver's seat. She adjusted the mirrors, fastened her seatbelt, and then looked up at him. "You know, Martha is making her special veal marsala tonight if you'd like to join me for dinner."

"You really do know me too well! But, it's up to the boss. I'll try."

"Well, have a good day catching the bad ones."

"Will do."

He closed the door and tapped the roof a couple of times, then stepped back as June pulled back into traffic. He watched until she was past the next intersection and then turned toward the building.

Jones was standing on the sidewalk grinning at him.

"Nice ride," the agent said by way of greeting.

"Very nice," Neal agreed. "Maybe I'll have one of my own someday, when I grow up."

"You're going to grow up?"

"Hey, I said someday!"

Jones laughed and let Neal go in front of him. "Yeah, hope I live to see it."

"Funny. Really. You're very funny."

"I try. And hey, I sing too!"

"You scare me sometimes, Jones."

They were both still laughing as they got onto the elevator, earning some questioning stares from the other people in the car. Somehow, that just made things funnier, and the laughter continued up to the 21st floor.

Jones paused in the entryway, clearing his throat. "Serious now, right?"

"Right, serious," Neal agreed. He rolled his hat theatrically up his arm and onto his head, setting it at a jaunty angle, and strolled into the office suite.

Jones just rolled his eyes, shook his head, and followed.

Neal stopped at his desk, dropped his hat, and looked at the upper level. The door was closed to Peter's office but the light was on, and he could see the agent in there, talking on the phone.

"Something wrong?" Jones asked as he went past.

"No, not wrong," Neal said slowly. "Just strange. Peter called June and said he was running late. I didn't think he'd be here."

"Well, you know the boss. Running late to him means he thought of something and can't wait to get in and see the file."

"Yeah, you're right," Neal agreed, still studying the office. From the way Peter was gesturing, this was not a pleasant conversation.

Combined with the agent's mood the evening before, there had to be something going on.

Just then Diana stopped by, motioning Jones back over to join them at Neal's desk. She handed each of them a folder. "Let's hit the conference room," she said. "The Assistant US Attorney wants these reports on Polson and The Arranger this morning."

"That's kind of pushing it for a couple of two bit crooks, isn't it?" Jones asked. "They've got enough in the preliminaries for an arraignment."

"Apparently Laird – Walter Laird, the fence's real name – is claiming he has information on some other crimes and is looking to make a deal. The AUSA wants all the information she can get before deciding what to do."

"Any clue what the other crimes might be?" Neal asked. He hung his suit jacket over his chair, picked up a pen and his rubber band ball, and followed the other two toward the stairs.

"Not yet," Diana said over her shoulder. "But she's coming here to pick up the reports in person, and give us a briefing."

They started up the stairs, Diana leading the way. As he passed Peter's office, Neal paused, looking in. He raised his hand to wave a greeting – but when the agent saw him, he turned away, stepping into the farthest corner, phone still pressed to his ear.

Definitely curious, Neal decided. Except for the tiny little matter of having a gun in his pocket the day before – not his idea, and only for a brief time – he'd been toeing the line Peter drew. So it couldn't be about him, right?

Neal stepped into the conference room and closed the door, then took a seat at the table. He matched the two agents and opened the file, prepared to add what he could to the report process.

But Peter's behavior definitely was curious, and would need to be investigated.

Peter bit his tongue – literally – to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind. It wasn't language appropriate to a professional conversation, which he was trying to maintain. He was also very aware that Neal was in the conference room, and that the glass wasn't the most efficient sound barrier ever created.

"Look," he said, putting all the quiet force he could behind his words. "I need to know where that information came from." He listened for a moment, grinding his jaw in frustration. "How can this possibly be a 'need to know' situation? And even if it is, I need to know. This is my partner we're talking about!"

He paused, holding the phone away from his ear as the other participant yelled a response. So much for keeping the language professional. "All right, look," he barked into the phone, his temper lost. "I want to talk to your superior. Oh? When will he be free? No, next week is not all right. You tell him to call me back today or there will be consequences. What? No, that's not a threat, it's a promise."

Slamming the phone down felt good – there was something about that solid THUD that was much better than you could get by just disconnecting a cell phone call.

Of course, the THUD also carried, as evidenced by the three sets of eyes staring at him from the conference room next door.

No, he wasn't ready to explain anything yet.

Ignoring the looks from Jones, Diana, and Neal, he opened the office door and stalked down toward Hughes' domain.

The door was partially open and he rapped his knuckles quickly on the glass even as he was pushing the door open. "Reese…"

Hughes held up a hand, speaking into the phone. "Carl, I'm being stonewalled, and I don't appreciate it one little bit. The more calls I have to make, the angrier I'm going to get, and that's not good for anyone. What? Yeah, you do that."

Peter winced as Hughes executed a phone slam of his own.

"You can't get anywhere either?" Peter asked, closing the door.

The older man shook his head. "Even people who have owed me favors for decades aren't taking my calls."

Peter dropped into a chair in front of the desk. "Everyone I've talked to agrees it doesn't make sense, but there's nothing they can do."

"Well, that's bullshit," Hughes said, taking his own chair. He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Pardon my French."

Peter gave him a tired grin. "I may be speaking quite fluent French myself before long."

"I've been through a lot of budget wars, Peter. This just doesn't feel like anything I've seen before."

Peter nodded slowly. "Remember what Fowler said, about there being someone really powerful behind the whole amber music box thing? Someone powerful enough to guarantee a position in OPR, and pull lots of other strings."

"You're thinking this is connected?" Hughes took a deep breath and shook his head. "I don't know if I'm ready to make that leap, Peter."

"It just seems too convenient, the way no one will talk."

"Well, I can't discount the possibility entirely," Hughes conceded. "But I'm not ready to put an all out investigation together in that direction either. What else do you have?"

"Neal's current deal is totally tied to the payments coming from the fund that's being eliminated. I've got an appointment with someone from Legal to see if there are any loopholes."

"Now I'm torn," Hughes admitted. "For all the rigmarole we go through with Legal, there better not be any loopholes in that agreement. On the other hand, I hope there is."

"I know. If we can separate the release from the money, that would solve the budget question."

"You think Caffrey would do this if he wasn't getting paid? At least for a while."

"I can guarantee you that Neal is not doing this work for the measly stipend he's getting paid." Peter paused, shaking his head. "He's done everything we've asked of him. I mean, sure, there have been some bumps…"

"Some big bumps," Hughes interjected.

Peter nodded, conceding the point. "He's also put his life on the line, more than once. Reese, you know how many cases he's helped crack…"

Hughes held up a hand. "Peter, I'm not the one you need to convince," he said softly.

"Sorry," Peter replied, sighing. "I know that. I know you're trying."

There was a small smile playing on the older man's lips. "You know, when you first brought him in here, I thought it was the worst idea I'd heard in years."

"I know."

"I figured you'd be lucky if he didn't run in the first week, much less if you actually got a case solved with him."

"I remember."

"And now?" Hughes straightened up behind the desk. "Now, I don't want to lose a valued member of my team."

"I am going to have to tell him sooner or later."

"It's only Day 2," Hughes cautioned. "We still have leads to follow. When's your appointment with Legal?"

Peter looked at his watch and stood up. "I should probably head down now."

"Well, let me know how it goes. This is one time I'd be glad to find out there's a loophole."

"Me too. Believe me, me too."

Neal looked up from the report, watching as Peter stopped near the conference room, looking in. But then the agent turned away, down the stairs, heading for the elevators.

Granted, Peter hadn't been on the surveillance yesterday, and had played no part in the arrests. Still, this was his team, and it didn't make sense that he was so studiously avoiding them.

And what was up with that strange phone call earlier?

There was a lull in the discussion, and he took the opportunity to ask Diana a question. "Did Peter say anything when he gave you these files this morning?"

She shook her head. "I didn't actually talk to him. He was already in his office, and on the phone, when I came in. I just found the files and a note on my desk."

"I thought you said he was running late," Jones said.

Neal shrugged. "That's what June told me."

"It definitely didn't look like that call was going well," Diana offered.

"That's an understatement," Jones agreed.

"He was acting a little strange last night too. Remember?" Neal asked.

Jones nodded. "Figured it was just the budget meeting, like he said."

"Must be one hell of a cut if it's still bothering him so much," Diana said.

"Yeah." Neal looked back at the now empty elevator lobby. Too bad Peter didn't have a tracking anklet… "Anyone want to help toss his office and look for clues?"

The silence and patronizing looks gave him his answer to that.

"Just an idea," he muttered, returning his attention to the file in front of him.

Peter stopped outside the glass doors emblazoned with the words Legal Department emblazoned on them. He'd never spent much time here; never wanted to spend much time here, to be honest. Usually when an agent wound up going to Legal it was because he had screwed something up. Or maybe because he needed to plead his case for a warrant when the evidence wasn't quite there to get it approved on the first review.

There was something of an 'us against them' mentality between street agents and the lawyers. The agents argued that the lawyers wouldn't let them do their jobs, while the lawyers argued that the agents were cowboys who made their jobs harder.

That's why most agents he knew didn't come here just to shoot the breeze.

He pushed open the door, took a deep breath, and entered the lion's den.

There was a reception desk just inside the doors, and that was his first step. "Agent Peter Burke," he said. "I have an appointment with Julie Cole."

The man checked a list on his monitor and nodded. "Down to the windows," he said, pointing. "Then turn right. Her office is about halfway along."

"Thanks."

Peter followed the indicated path, passing offices and cubicles along the way. He turned right, winding up in a corridor with offices on each side. After he passed a few, he started watching the name plates and soon found what he was looking for.

The offices here at least had solid dividing walls and doors, with a shorter glass section that allowed a view into the room. The woman inside was concentrating on her computer screen, apparently deep in thought. She was fairly young; he'd guess early thirties. Long blonde hair tied back in a loose, but neat, bun. From the way she was sitting, he guessed she was average in height, maybe closer to tall than short.

That didn't matter, of course; all that mattered was if she was good enough to find a way out of this mess.

He reached in and knocked on the door. "Ms. Cole?"

She stood up, smiling. "You must be agent Burke."

"I must be."

"Have a seat." She gestured to a chair by the desk, then walked over and closed the door.

"Did you have a chance to look at the document I sent you?"

She nodded, taking the chair behind the desk. "I was just reviewing it. It's quite detailed."

"Well, we didn't want to leave the subject any loopholes."

"But now you're looking for one."

Peter sighed, leaning forward. "The man in question, Neal Caffrey? He's my partner."

"But you're the agent who arrested him originally?"

"Yes. And I caught him again after he escaped from prison. It's all a fascinating story, but the bottom line is that he offered his services to help solve cases. I got him released, and since then he has helped close dozens of cases, sometimes at risk of his life. He's saved my life, as well as the lives of other agents and hostages. But now I may lose him because of budget cuts." He took a breath, trying to force himself to calm down. Cole wasn't the enemy… yet.

"Can I assume that the fund that makes the payments stipulated in the release has been cut?"

"Yes. And no one up the chain of command is returning calls or providing any information."

"Bottom line, then, is that you'd like to separate the release portion of the document from the funding?"

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes." At least she understood – now if she could just figure out a way to do it.

"Obviously, I need a little more time to review everything," Cole said. "On first glance, it's a pretty tight document."

"But you'll look?"

"Of course. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we can get the release separated. What then? I mean, that would leave your consultant without housing or a stipend."

"One bridge at a time."

"And the consequences if this doesn't happen?"

Peter leaned back in the chair, taking a deep breath. Just the question had him shaking. "I lose my partner. The FBI loses a valuable resource. And Neal Caffrey winds up back in prison, where he'd be a known informer. I'm sure some of the men he's helped convict would just love to see him there."

Cole leaned back, considering. "What about negotiating a modified release agreement? One that isn't so closely tied to the budget."

Peter's jaw clenched involuntarily, and he had to force it open again. "The people who would need to approve that aren't answering their phones either."

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but… has Caffrey done anything to warrant the brass wanting to close this off?"

"I won't lie, there have been a few bumps. He's pushed the envelope a number of times. But everything was handled within the office here, and my boss is firmly behind keeping Neal on the team." Then of course there's the mystery man who can make appointments to OPR happen with a snap of his fingers… But Hughes was right, it wasn't time to jump to that conclusion yet.

Cole pulled up a file on the computer and skimmed through it. "I'm just trying to offer all of the possibilities I can," she said. "The budget item that got cut covered payments to confidential informants and consultants, right?" Peter nodded, so she continued. "There might be other positions that Mr. Caffrey could be placed in."

"As a convicted felon?"

"It's not common, but it's not unheard of either. It looks like he has several degrees…"

"Forged."

"Excuse me?"

"He forged the college degrees. I knew about those, but it turns out he even forged his high school diploma." Peter shook his head, offering a wry smile. "He's one of the smartest men I've ever known. Hell, he even spent some time teaching at a couple of universities as part of scams. But he doesn't have a real degree to his name."

"Well, we can work with that. I'd recommend starting with a GED program, and I can help get that set up if you'd like."

Peter hesitated before answering. "We haven't told him about the budget issue yet," he admitted. "My boss and I were trying to get more answers first."

"That's understandable. But I think we can work around that. Has he indicated an interest in taking on new responsibilities?"

"Yes. He likes new challenges."

"Then as his partner, it would make sense for you to recommend that he better his chances at progressing to those new challenges." She pulled up something else on the computer. "Is he in the office today?"

"Yes, working on some follow-up to a surveillance job from yesterday."

"I'm free at 1:30," she said, writing the time on a business card and handing it over. "Have him come down and see me. I promise not to mention anything about budget cuts."

"Do you think this will really improve his chances?"

"I don't know yet," Cole admitted. "There seems to be a lot more going on than meets the eye. But I don't think it can hurt to work on the education angle. Anything that makes him look more valuable to the Bureau should help."

Peter picked up the card and put it in his pocket. "He'll be here."

Peter recognized AUSA Wendy Leone in the conference room as he reentered the White Collar area. And that left him feeling torn. As much as he did not want to be face to face with Neal right now – the man could read people like no one else he had ever known – this was his team in there, and he wanted to know what was going on.

And he wanted to know now, not from a truncated report later.

In the end, curiosity won out and he walked into the conference room. "Hello, Wendy."

"Peter! And here I thought you were avoiding me."

"Nope. But us crime fighters never get a break. Fortunately, my team functions quite well without me."

Leone nodded and pushed a folder in his direction as he sat down at the table. "Well, what originally seemed like a small time bust may actually be something much bigger. Laird claims to be able to hand over a bigger fish who may be involved in the thefts from that new gallery last week. I've got the name here somewhere," she finished, paging through some papers.

"The Shelton," Neal supplied, and then leaned back under Peter's withering glare. "The owner might be an acquaintance," he started. "But I have an air tight alibi at the time of the theft. I was in a car with you all night."

"Yeah, we were watching for Franks that night," Jones confirmed.

"So do you have a suspect in the Shelton case?" Peter asked.

"A couple," Leone replied. "Laird has only communicated with the thief via e-mail, so he can't identify anyone."

"Wendy is having the exchanges sent over," Diana said. "We were talking about having Neal make the meet instead of Laird."

"There's the messenger now," Leone said, pointing down at the entry. "I'll be right back."

"We're sure the thief won't recognize Laird?" Peter asked, somewhat skeptical.

"It's what Laird says," Jones replied. "And he seems pretty desperate for a deal."

"Not to mention too stupid to make this up," Diana added.

"Diana was not impressed with The Arranger," Neal said, his eyes locked on Peter.

Peter squirmed under the scrutiny, though he tried not to let it show. And he found that he could not meet Neal's gaze. "Well, just make sure to set up plenty of back-up."

Diana nodded. "We're on it, boss."

"You want in?" Jones asked.

"Tomorrow? Yeah, count me in. I have a few things to do now, but I'll be back with you in the morning." He reached into his pocket and pulled out Julie Cole's business card, laying it on the table in front of Neal. "You have an appointment with Legal at 1:30. It shouldn't take too long, but do not blow it off."

"Legal?" Neal looked at the card and then up at Peter. "Did I do something? Allegedly, of course."

"Neal, believe it or not, it's not always about you doing something, alleged or not." It was true, at least in this case, but the words still felt strange coming out of his mouth. "Cole will explain." Peter looked out onto the walkway and saw Hughes heading that way. "Look, I have to go. Let me know if you need help with any obstacles for tomorrow."

He walked slowly, stopping to smile and nod at those he passed. Arriving early could be interpreted as nervousness. And yeah, he was nervous – but never, ever let a mark see that. Getting there late was bad too – keeping people waiting sent a specific message. Sometimes, if you wanted to let the other person know that you were in charge, it was a good thing to be late.

But when the other person was an attorney in the FBI's legal department – someone who might or might not be looking for a reason to send him back to prison – being right on time was the best option. And Peter would have said something if it was really that serious… right?

It was 1:29 when he walked casually past the office, noticing the blond woman working inside. She had her head down, studying something, and didn't seem to notice. He kept going to an empty office a couple of doors down, and waited.

She had her jacket off, hung on a coat rack in the corner. Casual. So he had guessed right, leaving his suit coat upstairs, and his tie slightly loose. Just a chat right?

At exactly 1:30 he knocked on the door and stopped at the threshold. "Ms. Cole?"

She stood up, smiling, hand extended. "Mr. Caffrey?"

He took her hand, his grip firm and confident. "Neal."

"Julie." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat."

Okay, first names – maybe this really wasn't anything bad…

"Now, did Agent Burke explain anything to you?"

Neal shook his head. "He just said be here at 1:30 and you'd explain."

"Well, he told me you were always looking for new challenges here."

"Is there an opening in the legal department?"

A smile, that was good.

"Not at the moment. But pretty much anything would require a degree – a real degree."

"Ahhhh."

She slid a piece of paper across the desk. "This is an extremely impressive educational résumé – but I understand it may not be quite legitimate."

"Should I have a lawyer of my own here before I answer that?"

"To the best of my knowledge, no one has filed a complaint. And the FBI honestly has better things to do than pursue fancified résumés. Unless, of course, it was used to commit a crime…"

"Nothing that the statute of limitations hasn't run out on. Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course," Julie laughed. She reached for some sheets sitting on her printer. "Well, I don't have any specifics on opportunities right now, but I think this is where we should start anyway."

He looked at the top page. "A GED program."

"You really didn't finish high school?"

He gave a little half shrug. "It didn't seem important at the time."

"Then the GED is the first step before anything else." She reached over and pulled out the second page. "The thing I like about this program is that they'll let you test out of most of it – assuming that you pass those tests, of course. But given what I've seen in your file, you can probably skip most of the classroom work."

"What if some of the entries in my file are things I only allegedly did?"

"Did you allegedly learn anything from them?"

He grinned. "I've had a fair bit of life experience." For a lawyer, she wasn't half bad.

"Look, I can't tell you for sure where this all might lead. But it can't hurt to have a real diploma, can it?"

"I don't know. It kind of feels like I have to grow up."

It was Julie's turn to laugh. "Hey, I was going to be a professional beach volleyball player. Fun and sun for a living. But that adult thing catches up with most of us, sooner or later."

"So what happened?"

"Blown knee."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. I did most of my first year of law school on crutches."

He tapped the GED pages. "So how does this work?"

"There's a session starting next Wednesday, and you're enrolled. You'll find the time and location in there. The first class is an overview – basically, what's required to get the diploma. They'll tell you what's covered in each topic, and then you can decide which tests to take."

"Can I test out of all of it?"

"You're welcome to take all of the tests. Then you just have to pass."

"Then what?"

"Then we can talk about college. There are a couple of schools we've worked with before that allow advanced placement based on testing, or accelerated classes. By that time I might have more information on what might position you best within the Bureau."

Neal picked up the papers and stacked them neatly. "Wow, back to school."

"Not what you expected today?"

"I didn't know what to expect. Peter just told me to be here. Given my background…"

"It seems your background is proving quite valuable in White Collar."

"I'm trying."

"Well, let me know how it goes with the GED class, and then we'll talk again."

Neal stood up, extending his hand. "Thanks."

They shook hands, and he let himself out of the office, retracing his steps to the elevator lobby.

A GED degree? Why wouldn't Peter have just said something? And what about all of the phone calls both he and Hughes seemed to be having today?

Admittedly, having a legitimate high school diploma was an intriguing idea, even if it wasn't something he'd ever given much thought to before. But there was something else going on…

And Neal was forming a plan on how to find out what that was.