Chapter 7

The next day Libby arrived at Neal's apartment and knew immediately by his expression that he had been unsuccessful in his search for her journal.

"I checked the records. It was logged in at some point, but when I went to retrieve it, it was gone. There's nothing in the FBI computers to give any clue what happened to it. I'm sorry, Libby. Maybe Mozzie will have more luck."

Neal offered Libby some wine, and they sat at the table trying to brainstorm another solution. Mozzie arrived not long after, and his more glum than usual expression didn't bode well.

"I've checked everywhere I can think of. It hasn't been reported, it hasn't been auctioned or sold, no one seems to know it even exists." Mozzie joined them at the table. "I'll keep looking, but I don't think it's out there."

"Why would someone even want it? It's not valuable, except to me. It didn't hold any secrets." Libby mused.

"Maybe a fan just wanted a souvenir." Neal said jokingly. Then he and Libby looked in each other eyes and nodded and smiled. "Of course!"

"What?" asked Mozzie, who hadn't been able to read the silent conversation between them.

"Peter has it." Neal revealed. "It's the only thing that makes sense. He has a bit of a crush on Libby."

"So could it be in his desk, or somewhere in his office?" asked Libby.

"No, I've picked the locks on his desk and his files. There's nothing unusual there."

Libby shook her head at Neal.

"What?" he replied defensively. "You know how hard it is to keep one step ahead of Peter. I have to use any tools I have available."

"So it must be at his house. Damn." Libby's fists clenched in frustration. "I could just ask him for it," she suggested.

"If you do, you know he'll figure everything out. He always does."

Libby smiled. "But we can't break into his home, Neal, even to protect him."

Neal corrected her. "You can't break into Peter's home, but I can. I'm already on good terms with his dog. Mozzie, you went through everything in that house when you swept it for bugs. Where could the journal be?"

"There was only one place I didn't look—the suit's gun safe in the bedroom."

"You passed up a safe?"

"Hmm, no choice. The assistant suit was watching too closely."

"Mozzie, I need you to watch Peter's house and call me at work when Elizabeth leaves. Then I'll tell Peter I have an appointment with Libby, so I can get away. I'll grab the journal and we'll meet back here tomorrow night."

"Neal, this could get you into serious trouble." Libby was having lots of second thoughts. And she felt guilty about dragging a patient and friend into her problems.

"Nonsense. It's not like I'm stealing anything—the journal belongs to you. If you think about it, Peter's the one who stole it. Trust me, it'll be fine."

And Libby found herself trusting him.

The heist of the journal went off flawlessly. Mozzie did the surveillance. Neal picked the locks and was in and out of the house in less than ten minutes. If he hadn't been quite so quick about it, he might have noticed the nanny cam that Elizabeth had set up in the living room. She had decided that a little extra protection against Fowler's cohorts and OPR was a fine idea.

When Peter got home that night, he noticed that the counter on the El's little security VCR was advanced. The thing had a motion detector and only turned on when movement was detected. This meant that Peter could always count on wonderful video of Satchmo scratching his ears or licking his butt in front of the camera. But to make El happy, he had adopted the habit of checking the tape each time.

He hit rewind and then play. Instead of his pet dog appearing on the screen, it was his pet convict. He watched in outrage as Caffrey entered, went upstairs and a few minutes later descended the stairs. He was carrying a book. Peter recognized it, but went to check his gun safe anyways. Furious now, he called the U.S. Marshal's for a location on Neal's tracker. Home, the son of a bitch was home. Peter grabbed his coat and keys and prepared to bring the wrath of God right to Caffrey's door.

Peter arrived at June's house just as she was leaving by the front door. She greeted him and told him to go right on up to Neal's apartment. He thanked her and took the stairs two at a time. Tamping down the urge to kick it in, he knocked on Neal's door.

Neal opened the door. He could clearly see by Peter's stormy expression that this was not a social visit. He yielded to the inevitable, and opened the door wide. "Come in, Peter. Can I get you something?"

"Yeah, an explanation as to why you committed breaking and entering and theft in my house this afternoon." As he spoke, his volume was rising along with the red flush on his neck.

Not sure of how he wanted to spin this, Neal played for time. "Are you sure about that, Peter?"

"I've got you on tape."

So no question of guilt. He decided to go on the offensive. "Okay, I was there, but I didn't steal anything, Peter. I was merely retrieving someone else's property for her."

"You're saying Libby put you up to this? Am I supposed to believe that you and she are working some scam together? If she wanted her journal, all she had to do was ask. What the hell were you doing?"

Neal remained silent.

"Damn it, Neal, TELL ME!"

"I can't, Peter. It's not mine to tell."

Peter pulled out his phone and walked out to the terrace where he could breathe easier. He dialed Libby's number. When she answered he skipped any niceties and ordered, "Get over to Neal's apartment. Now."

Libby answered, "Well, I'm just leaving the office, but I have to stop at…"

"Now!" Peter demanded.

There was silence for several seconds. Then she said, "I'm on my way," and she hung up.

He stayed on the terrace looking out at the view and trying to leash his anger. When he thought he was calm enough, he went back in to talk to Neal. His heart sank when he looked at his partner's face—controlled, impersonal, inaccessible. Peter had had enough. He was through waiting, being patient, keeping his distance.

"Neal, I can't stand this anymore! Stop putting up this wall between us."

"There's nothing between us, Peter."

Choosing to ignore the unpleasant double meaning to that statement, Peter replied, "You know what I'm talking about. You've locked yourself up tighter than any prison ever could. You are treating me like a stranger, and I don't deserve that."

"Don't you?" Neal's hands were half curled into fists.

"Okay, I get that you're angry. I could have helped you get to Kate, but I chose not to. I wanted better for you."

"Yeah, this is so much better." Neal shook his head trying to maintain control of himself, but failed. "Sometimes I hate you."

"Good! Then hate me. At least that's real. Not this smiling 'I'm fine' crap you've been feeding me for months. I want you back."

"When are you going to realize that this is all you get. Open your eyes, Agent Burke. I am never going to be who you want me to be. You can't make me into something I'm not."

"Damn it, Neal, I'm not trying to change you, just protect you."

"You have to let go." An undertone of pleading sounded in his voice.

"I can't."

"Why won't you listen to me? I'm not your God damned pet convict!"

"Yeah, well I have paperwork that says I own you." Rising anger made Peter's voice harsh.

"And you want to be patted on the back for taming the criminal, putting a collar on him, making him stay, fetch, sit up and beg."

"That's not true."

"You don't own me. You have an illusion of control right now, but that's all it is—an illusion. Hell, you don't even know who I am."

"I know you Neal."

"You only know my aliases. And they're nothing but smoke and mirrors, fantasies for the benefit of the mark. And you're my greatest mark, Peter. The best con I've ever run was on you."

"I don't believe that."

Neal laughed. "Well, you should. I've got you convinced there's something left to save. Something that wasn't burned away in that fire.

"Kate's dead. You're not. Wake up! She's not worth burying yourself alive. She never was."

No conscious thought crossed Neal's mind. He just reacted. He lashed out and punched Peter squarely on his jaw with all the force his anger supplied. Peter was propelled backwards. He tripped over the coffee table and went sprawling onto the couch.

Expressions of dismay, guilt and bone-deep satisfaction fought for supremacy on Neal's face. But then the realization of what he had just done hit him with a lot more force than he'd used on Burke's jaw. Assault and battery on a federal agent. And a friend. A fine follow-up to breaking and entering—Neal was batting a thousand today. If Peter wanted to, he could have Neal back in prison in an hour.

Trembling in the aftermath of unfamiliar violence, Neal spoke haltingly, "Peter? Are you hurt?"

Peter was rubbing his jaw gingerly. "I'll live. Did that feel good?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, actually, it did," he admitted. Neal covered his face with his hands. "Peter, I'm sorry. I've never hit anyone before in my life." Folding his arms and replacing the implacable expression on his face, he continued. "Take this as evidence of what I'm saying—even I don't know myself anymore. I'm not who I was. You have to stop trying to find that person. You have to give up."

Peter hauled himself off the couch and walked to within a few steps of Neal. He was unconsciously mimicking the younger man's pose. In deadly earnest he leaned forward and replied simply and slowly, "No. I don't."

Libby had driven straight to Neal's home after hanging up with Peter. She raced up the stairs towards his apartment, slowing when she heard the heated argument going on. She listened for a minute, then sat on the top step. June had followed her upstairs. The older woman had a determined expression on her face as she marched up the stairs. It was evident her intention was to put an end to the confrontation going on between Neal and Peter. Libby held up her hand to indicate to June that she should stop where she was. She whispered, "They need this. Just let it go. If it gets out of hand, I'll intervene."

June looked at her for a long minute. Then apparently satisfied, she nodded to Libby and made her way back down the stairs.

Libby waited patiently while the storm raged inside the apartment. She knew that for better or worse, any communication between Neal and Peter was a good thing. This wasn't how she had hoped to promote their reconnection, but as she had told Neal, "do what helps." Finally, when they had wound down and silence reigned, she stood and entered the apartment.

If the situation wasn't so dire, she would have laughed to see the two of them facing off against each other, each with his arms folded, lips tightly clenched and a mulish expression on his face. Perfect bookends. Except for the redness and swelling she could just see starting along Peter's jaw. Perhaps she should have come in a bit earlier.

Peter was the first to notice Libby and turned on her. "Libby, explain to me what the hell is going on. I caught Neal breaking into my home to take your journal. You could have just asked for it. What are you two up to?"

Under his stern gaze, Libby found her years as a respected psychologist, her education, her charity work all fled. She felt like a naughty child caught in the act facing a disappointed father. Trying to dispel that image, she shook her head and suggested that everyone sit down at the table.

Once seated, she recounted to Peter the blackmail threat, the need for the journal and the plan to buy time by having Neal forge the paintings.

"Why were you going to have Neal paint them? Why not paint them yourself?"

Libby considered what might be an acceptable answer. But there was that irresistible urge again that made her want to tell Peter the truth. "I can't, Peter. The bullet put an end to my artistic ability." She looked into his eyes and saw the guilt blooming there. "Peter, it's not your fault. It just happened."

Peter rose from the table and turned away from Libby and Neal. "You never told me," he whispered.

Libby went to him and put her hand on his shoulders to turn him to face her. "I didn't want you to feel guilty. You had done a wonderful thing for me, and I was grateful. It just happened, Peter, there wasn't anything anyone could do about it."

Peter pulled her into his arms, closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He looked over at Neal and motioned for him to come closer. Neal cautiously complied.

With one arm still circled around Libby, Peter reached out to Neal with the other. He let his hand cup Neal's cheek and slide down to his shoulder. Peter's eyes were bright with tears. He marveled at the fierce protectiveness he felt and just how deeply he cared for these two. With resolve he released Libby and gently pushed her towards Neal. "Don't do anything. No thefts. No forgeries. I'll fix this." He walked quickly out of the apartment.

"What do you think he's going to do, Neal?"

"I don't know. But I'll be there first thing in the morning to stop him."