Riverside Drive. Thursday night. June 24, 2004.

When Neal stepped inside the mansion, he saw June at the piano. She seemed to be humming, lost in a memory, and Neal hesitated. As long as he was going to take Mozzie into his confidence, should he include his landlady, too? She had a lot of contacts, and could be formidable when she wasn't consumed with sorrow. She'd mentioned a need to be left alone to work through her grief, and he understood that. But she couldn't spend every moment grieving, either.

"June?"

She looked up. "Neal, I didn't hear you come in. Did you need anything?"

"Mozzie's coming over soon. I asked for his help on a… on a case," he said, still wanting to call it a con. "It might be something you're interested in. It involves music. Do you want to join us?"

For a moment he thought she was going to say yes, but then she shook her head. "Thank you, Neal, but not tonight."

"Let me know if you change your mind. This case is gonna to take a while." He took a step toward the staircase and then paused. "I'm traveling for this one. I'm leaving town tomorrow morning and won't get back till Monday night. And there may be more trips after that. Are you gonna be OK?"

June walked to him, taking his hands. "You're very sweet. I'll be fine." She kissed his cheek and then walked away.

About half an hour later, Neal let Mozzie into his apartment. Mozzie made a show of checking for bugs, then made an equal show of tasting and approving the wine Neal had selected. Then he finally opened his laptop. "You mentioned a conspiracy. Do you need a suggestion? Because I've been looking for the right forum to announce that the NSA is dabbling in quantum computers in order to track us and hack us even more –"

"No," Neal interrupted. "I already have a conspiracy in mind." His own laptop was open and he showed Mozzie an entry in Cassie Blanca's blog, describing her meeting with Neal Legend. She mentioned the way he had disappeared, and the rumors that he was dead.

She'd wrapped up with, "Was it a ghost? Let me know if you've heard of any recent Neal Legend sightings."

"Interesting," Mozzie said. "We don't normally delve into the paranormal, but I have my own theories about ghosts." Already he was running a search. "This Urban Legend group is perfect for spinning a conspiracy. Almost no photos of them posted online. The few out there tend to be too blurry to make a good identification. You know, I predict within a year we'll have video-sharing sites that will make this type of anonymity the thing of the past for a group like Urban Legend. Hundreds of people will post footage of concerts and performances and be able to search on keywords that –"

"Yeah, well you're stuck in 2004, Mozz. Henry had a con in mind to make Urban Legend big news. It starts with the split between Shawn and Grace, and then moves into speculation about the group and their former member, all leading to a single goal. He wants to get the attention of Masterson Music, so they'll offer Urban Legend a contract. That gives us insiders who can get the information we need to bring the company's corruption to light." Neal refilled Mozzie's glass and sat down. "It involves a lot of performances and sightings to feed interest and get press. And that's gonna take a long time. But if we had someone computer savvy on our crew, someone with multiple online identities to keep Urban Legend a topic on blogs and music forums, things could move a lot faster. What Cassie posted is exactly what we wanted. I'm looking for you to pick up from there weaving a conspiracy that she and others like her won't be able to resist. Keep them talking, until Masterson can't help hearing."

Mozzie was already running more searches. "Masterson Music are bottom feeders. It would be a pleasure to bring their slimy practices to light." He sipped more wine. "This Urban Legend group is fascinating. These are obviously stage names, and the members' real names are carefully hidden. That could be an interesting twist in the conspiracy."

"No, Mozz," Neal insisted. "Stick to whether the band members will reunite, and the competitiveness between them. Don't send anyone on a hunt for their real identities."

"Fine, fine," Mozz said. "I'll leave that out, but I'm sure I can find out who they are."

"Don't waste your time. I can tell you who they are."

"Shh. I don't want to be influenced by your guess."

"It's not a guess. I've met them."

"No!" Mozzie insisted. "There are any number of means available to confuse you on that score. Your mind and senses can be misled by drugs, optical illusions, hypnotism… The list goes on. I have to be certain who we're dealing with before I spin a conspiracy around them."

"You've got to be kidding me." Neal shook his head and took away Mozzie's wine glass. He interrupted his friend's protests with, "I'll return it after you listen to me. Henry created Urban Legend years ago. He's Shawn Legend. Angela is Grace, and I'm the ghost. We don't want anyone to know we're the members. That's why I brought this to you instead of to the FBI IT department. I need to have information posted about the group, without it being traced back to me or my cousins."

Mozzie didn't pout, but he did seem to be deflated. "I don't suppose there's any chance that Shawn Legend is the love child of John Lennon?"

"We wouldn't have to worry about Robert in that case. Unfortunately, no. Shawn is Henry, and Henry's really a Winslow." Neal returned the wine glass. "Make it a great conspiracy, Mozz, but don't draw the attention of Robert, Win-Win or the FBI."

"I would have discovered their identities on my own," Mozz muttered.

"I've had to be very careful to keep you from figuring it out," Neal said to mollify his friend. Soon Mozz was absorbed in the online world, and Neal packed for his trip. He'd be catching the red-eye to Austin in the morning. When he got tired, he dimmed the lights in the apartment and went to bed, knowing his friend would come out of his computer trance in his own sweet time.

He should have guessed that his mind would drift to the party that followed the first concert he'd seen Shawn Legend perform in. It seemed inevitable, now that he thought about it. This afternoon he'd talked to Peter about addictions, then in the evening Randy had mentioned Sam's experiences with overdosing, and even Mozzie had referred to drugs.

The band that had hired Henry invited them to a party at the home of a friend. Neal was never really clear who was the host, or how the host knew the band. The house was filled with so many people it was getting hard to breathe. There was music, and dim lights, and alcohol, and then someone offered something to Henry. Neal couldn't hear what they said to him, or what Henry said in return, but he could figure out what was going on. He grabbed Henry's arm and kept pulling until they were both outside.

"Was that cocaine?" Neal asked, keeping his voice low so they wouldn't be heard as more guests arrived.

Henry shrugged. "That's what he said."

"And you were going to take it?" Neal still spoke softly, but couldn't hide his anger.

"Did you want some?" Henry asked flippantly. "I wasn't going to hog it all. You just had to ask."

"You… That's it. I'm outta here." Neal started walking to Henry's car.

"What are you gonna do?" Henry asked, following.

"I'm grabbing my stuff and then I'll hitch a ride."

"Hitch a ride where?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. Away from you. I spent my childhood dealing with an addict. In and out of rehab. All the promises she couldn't keep about staying clean. I'm not going back to that."

Henry ran ahead of Neal, sat on the hood of his car, and tossed his keys up in the air, snatching them before Neal could grab them. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd never tell me about it."

"I'm not telling you."

Henry dangled the keys. "You are if you want your stuff."

"I'll just break a window."

"Oh, come on. That's just lame. Tell me about it, and I'll show you how to get into this car any time you want."

Neal eyed him warily. "You mean like break in?

"That's one way. Or you could pick my pocket and take the keys."

"You can teach me that?"

"Mmm. Not in one night, but yeah, I can teach you that."

"How'd you learn?"

Henry leaned back against the windshield. "My dad taught me. He was a cop when I was a kid. He wanted me to learn stuff like that, you know, tricks of criminals, so that I could be a good cop someday."

Neal tried to imagine Henry as a cop, but couldn't see it. He would like to learn the things Henry had described. Those skills could come in handy, especially if he was on his own. He didn't really want to be alone, but some things were a deal-breaker. "I'm not sticking around if you do drugs."

"Yeah, I get that. Listen, filling in for band members is part of how I get by. I like to know who's into drugs, and then see whether they have a serious enough habit that I should practice to fill in for them."

"You weren't going to take the coke?" Neal asked.

Henry sighed. "I'm gonna be honest with you. I can't tell you I've never tried it. But tonight I was looking for a reaction, hoping you'd finally admit your mom was an alcoholic."

"How'd you know?"

"You said some stuff in the hospital when your fever was bad."

Neal felt a moment of blind panic as he flashed back to some of the things he'd remembered and said under the influence of that fever and the medications he'd been given. "Th- That wasn't real."

He blinked to see Henry standing in front of him. "Enough of it was. Come on. We can talk about it at the hotel. We're getting room service tonight." He held up a hotel key card. "Lifted it off the lead singer. He's already passed out on the couch in there. Someone might as well use his room."

Then Neal transitioned from remembering to dreaming. Duelling nightmares chased him until he woke with a start when his alarm clock sounded.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Mozzie was gone, but he'd left notes that Neal reviewed while drinking coffee. The first set grouped sites by target audiences: musicians, music industry execs, radio DJs & producers, music critics, and music fans. The next set of notes outlined a strategy for engaging each of those groups. Neal visited some of the sites and saw Mozz had put the first stage of his plan in motion. In some cases he'd posted comments about Urban Legend or their members. In other cases he'd been more cryptic, referring more generically to urban legends and ghost stories. And in one case he'd hacked the advertising feed on a site, replacing an ad with the words "The best Urban Legends are Ghost Stories" over an image of "The Scream." It looked like an album cover, and would lead to speculation about whose album it was and when it would be released.

The last notes from Mozzie were the ID and password to access a site he'd called Urban Legend Analytics, where Neal could find counts of how many people had seen the items Mozzie had posted, how many had followed links to the Urban Legend or Urban Chaos sites, and how many people had posted related comments on any of the sites. Neal didn't have time to look at the metrics now, and didn't expect much traffic yet, but he memorized the credentials so he could check the results later.

He called Mozzie as he locked the door to his apartment and headed downstairs. "Thanks, man," Neal said. "I was afraid you'd go over the top, but that showed real finesse."

"The best conspiracies, like urban legends, sneak up on you," Mozzie said. "They don't hit you over the head. Not at first, anyway. Right now I'm looking into Masterson. They've been dodging some bad press about their staff. There's a DUI and an assault and battery, all swept under the carpet. The worst was someone using the company's distribution channels for CDs to ship child porn."

"Ugh."

"When you're closer to making your move, let me know and I'll shed a light on these. They'll be eager to move the spotlight to signing a contract with an exciting new group."

"Good thinking. We'll also need more content for the Urban Legend site," Neal said, "something to keep people coming back to see what's new." He put down his luggage at the front steps to lock the mansion's gate behind him.

"Let me know when one of you is going to do something newsworthy. And a recording of some performances would be good. Not many people have actually heard Urban Legend's songs."

"Yeah, I'm working on that." A town car driver had walked up and nodded at Neal, who gestured his approval for the driver to take the luggage. Neal walked toward the open door of the backseat. "I should have something for you in a few days on both fronts. Do you need a specific file format? There are some archives I can…" He slid into the backseat, saw Peter, and said, "I'll call you back," as he ended the call. He slid the phone into his pocket. "This is a surprise."

"Consider this your first check in," Peter said. "And your first warning. Next time confirm your driver's identity, and check the car is from the company your reservation indicated. I could easily have been Robert."

Neal nodded. Being settled into a home and a job at the FBI, he felt safe. Safer than he'd felt in years. He'd grown complacent. "Good point."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Peter looked at Neal with concern. The kid looked pale, and not particularly rested. Not good when heading out on a potentially risky job. He was staring out the window as they headed to the airport, but Peter would guess his mind wasn't on the scenery. "Tell me what's wrong," Peter said.

Neal looked startled. He glanced at Peter and then resumed staring out the window. "I'm fine."

"You're jumpy. Not what we want right now. Tell me, or I'm grounding you."

"Excuse me?"

"No flying out of town until I'm convinced you're steady enough to handle this assignment."

"So you're… you're saying that as a boss, not as…"

Peter floundered a moment, and then recalled being grounded as a punishment from his parents. "Oh. Grounding. Yeah, as in a boss clipping your wings."

Neal nodded. He leaned back, rubbed his face, and then started talking. "When I was in the hospital and figured out I'd been given a massive overdose of Flashback, my biggest fear was that I'd be hooked on it. It's a fairly new drug, not a lot known about the effects of high doses yet. After taking so much care not to mess around with any addictive substances, I thought maybe I'd had an addiction forced on me. And maybe I'd be just as weak as my mother, never able to break free." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, I had a nightmare about that last night."

"You weren't addicted, though," Peter said.

"No. Just a passing fear."

"Have you talked to Noelle about it?"

Neal shook his head. "By the time I got out of the hospital, I wasn't worried about it anymore. I haven't thought about it again, not until last night."

Why last night? Peter wondered. What had triggered this fear? The first thing that came to mind was that they were digging around into Neal's past now. "They say most teens experiment with drugs at some point."

"I didn't." Neal said. "I was too determined not to end up like my mom."

That left one other option. "What about Henry?"

"He didn't do anything, not when I was with him. That was part of our deal. If he'd broken the deal, I'd have left."

"And before he found you in Chicago?" Silence greeted that question, confirming Peter's suspicion that Henry did have a history with drugs and that Neal knew about it. "Are you afraid he'll do something like that again?"

"He knows better," Neal said, but he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. "He knows he needs to be on top of his game now if he's going to stay a step ahead of Robert."

Peter knew plenty of examples of people who turned to cocaine and other drugs in the belief that those drugs would make them sharper. No wonder Neal was worried. And it was a worry he wouldn't take to Noelle because it involved her son. "Is there any way to get a message to him, to remind him of your deal?"

"No," Neal responded immediately. "He's ditched his phone, won't answer email. He's gone off the grid. If I had a way to communicate with him, I'd already…" He trailed off. "Mozzie."

"Your expert on off the grid. You think he's helping Henry?"

"No. But I think Mozz can help me get a message to someone who's gone off the grid. And he's obsessive enough to make it a message Henry can't ignore."

Peter had mixed feelings about this. Neal looked much more positive now, which was good. But Mozzie's distrust of the FBI and his own criminal endeavors were influences Peter would prefer Neal avoid. "Let's think this over. What's Mozzie going to ask in return for this help? I'm not having you aiding and abetting a known felon."

Neal grinned. "He takes great pride in being an unknown felon. Anyway, he's currently wrapped up in his latest conspiracy theory. That's something I can safely help with."

"Nothing illegal," Peter cautioned.

"I might need to look up the legal definition of stalking," Neal said, "if he decides to get closer to his latest source of corrupt, capitalist power-mongering. Otherwise I think we're safe."

Peter wasn't convinced that anything involving Mozzie was safe, but they were approaching the airport and there were other things he needed to say. "Remember to check in with Tricia frequently. Play it safe. Call us if there's any sign of Robert. We might not be there with you, but you're still part of a team."

"Yeah, yeah," Neal muttered as he climbed out of the back seat.

"Nothing stupid!" Peter insisted as Neal picked up his luggage.

The kid turned toward him with the mischievous expression Peter associated with comments like "you're such a dad" but this time Neal simply frowned and walked away.

On the ride back to the Federal Building, Peter fretted about this latest odd behavior. Was this simply his enigmatic consultant needing space, or was there something more serious going on?

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

The early start and worries about Henry had taken a toll on Neal, and trying not to treat Peter like a dad had added to the stress. Almost as soon as the flight took off he was lost in memories, picking up where he had left off the night before: taking advantage of an unused hotel room the night he learned Henry was Shawn Legend.

There was only one bed in the singer's hotel room, so they'd flipped a coin. Neal got the bed and Henry took the floor. Neal suspected Henry rigged the coin toss, because it seemed like Neal almost always got the bed in these scenarios. He added it to the list of mysteries surrounding his cousin: how did he control the outcome of the coin toss, and why?

Neal had been out of the hospital almost six weeks now. He tried to hide how easily he got tired, but sometimes it wasn't possible. Tonight he fell asleep as they were watching a movie. One minute both cousins were sitting on the bed, surrounded by ice cream and other snacks delivered by room service, and the next thing he knew he was lying down, the blankets pulled over him, and the bed cleared of the plates and napkins that had littered the space earlier. The lights and TV were off and there was a hint of daylight where the curtains met. Henry was sprawled on the floor with a pillow and extra blanket.

A glance at the clock told him it was early, barely sunrise. He should be quiet. He should let Henry sleep. And he tried to hold it back, he really did. But that seemed to make it worse. The more he tried to muffle the coughs, the more they demanded to be heard. Finally it broke through and he was coughing so hard he didn't know if he could stop. And then Henry was there, helping him move into a position that made it easier to breathe, offering water and a cough drop. When Neal started to relax, Henry examined the coffee maker and packets on the bureau, and returned minutes later with a hot cup of tea.

"Breathe it," he suggested. "The steam's better than the taste."

The steam did help, and sipping the hot liquid was more soothing than he'd expected, even if he wasn't a big fan of chamomile.

Henry sat on the bed, closely observing Neal's recovery. "It was probably the smoke," he said as Neal continued drinking the tea and breathing carefully. "At the concert, there was a lot of smoke when they set off the fireworks. And then people were smoking at the party."

Neal nodded.

"You could have told me, you know."

Neal simply stared at him. He hadn't wanted to admit a weakness, afraid that Henry would leave him behind, leave him alone, if he couldn't keep up.

Even though Neal didn't express those fears out loud, Henry seemed to get it. "You're family, Neal. We work this stuff out together." Then Henry told a story about his own brush with pneumonia, and about learning he wasn't as recovered as he'd thought. The story fascinated Neal, distracting him so that he relaxed and breathed normally again. "I finally agreed to physical therapy," Henry said. "That's what you need now. Let's get a move on. Pack your stuff, and we'll go to Austin and convince Miranda to take on another patient."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

As the plane landed in Austin, Neal realized that as a teenager he had wanted to believe his cousin was the heroic, all-conquering figure he claimed to be. But now he needed the truth. When Shannon Hunter and her fiancé met Neal at the airport, he asked for her version of the story.

They were waiting for his flight's luggage to arrive, and Shannon sat down and fanned herself. "It always gets so hot in here."

"You OK?" Neal asked. He remembered Shannon as athletic, not someone to be affected by the walk from the parking lot to baggage claim.

Shannon and Jake shared a look of amusement. "The wedding's been postponed three times now. My grandmother has these ridiculous superstitions and keeps insisting we reschedule. I finally had enough. Jake and I moved in together, which got her riled. But worse than that, we got a jumpstart on starting a family. By Labor Day I'll definitely be showing."

"Congratulations," said Neal.

"So I guess as a mother-to-be I should practice my storytelling skills. Let's see. Once upon a time, there was a princess named Shannon who went to a water park with her friends on a hot summer day. They'd dared her to try the bungee jump, and she'd agreed even though she wasn't looking forward to it. She heard a – what shall we call him? She heard a jester in the distance, arguing with the king of the park. Suddenly the jester stepped in front of her in line when it was her turn to jump. She had to pretend to be annoyed, because she didn't want anyone to realize she was relieved. So she called him a jerk."

"Was he a jerk?" Neal asked.

"That's code for he didn't flirt with her," Jake added.

Shannon nodded. "I wasn't wearing those Daisy Dukes for my health. He could have at least ogled. But he barely paid any attention to me. He said it was his birthday, as if that was an excuse for jumping ahead of a princess in line. He put on the safety harness that attached him to the cord and was about to take his jump, but then he turned around and handed me his wallet. Guests at the park would put our stuff in lockers when we arrived, but I guess employees kept their wallets on them if their jobs didn't include going on the rides. Anyway, he asked me to hold on to it for him. I was holding it, staring at him, feeling like an idiot for not protesting, but he had this way about him, like he was used to being in charge. I finally caught my breath enough to ask him his name. And he told me to call him Shawn. Then he jumped."

Jake called their attention to the bags that were finally arriving. Neal jumped up to claim his. Then they waited at the curb while Jake drove his car around. "What happened after Henry jumped?" Neal asked.

"When the cord was fully extended you could see it was fraying. He should have barely skimmed the water, and instead he was dunked in the river. Then he took the first bounce, back up a ways and down again, but this time the cord snapped. My first thought was that he'd be fine. It wasn't that far a fall, and the water was deep enough that he wouldn't break his neck or anything. But we were right beside an area popular with whitewater rafters. He was swept away between boulders and rafts. Someone pulled him onto a raft and made their way to the shore. I'm just staring the whole time, you know? A bunch of us walked along the bridge to get a better view. When Henry was pulled off the raft, he must have been unconscious. I was half-convinced he was dead. There were paramedics a few yards upriver, treating what looked like a sprained ankle. They sprinted over and loaded Henry onto a stretcher and then drove him away. They hadn't done any CPR and that scared me even more. But they left with their siren blasting, so I assumed that meant he was still alive."

"Why no CPR?" Neal asked.

"From what Dad told me, he had cracked some ribs, and they didn't want to puncture his lungs." She paused as Jake pulled up and Neal stowed his luggage in the trunk. When Neal was in the car she continued, "I told my friends I wanted to go home, and they didn't argue. We were all shaken. It wasn't until I was nearly at my parents' house that I noticed I was still holding this stranger's wallet. I found his driver's license, learned his name wasn't Shawn, but that it really was his birthday. Looking at the date, it hit me. It was the anniversary of my brother's death, my brother named Shawn. I was nearly hysterical by the time I got home. There I was, crying about this stranger, and my brother, and bungee jumping. Dad finally pieced enough together to take the wallet and call local hospitals looking for a John Doe. When he got the answer he was looking for, he told me everything was all right. He left for the hospital. The next several evenings he spent at the hospital. He probably was there first thing in the morning and over his lunch hours, too. And then suddenly this Henry was living at my aunt Miranda's place. He was a lot quieter than I'd remembered. Very serious and determined. And embarrassed at my grandmother's insistence that he was my brother, finally returned to us. Dad said we weren't supposed to mention Henry outside the family, and to be wary of anyone who asked about him. There were a couple of rounds of reporters, but after that it was quiet. Henry stuck around four months, I'd guess, and then suddenly he was gone. And a few months later he was back with you, the little brother who seemed as quiet and mysterious as Henry did."

Neal grinned. "I don't think Miranda would have called either of us quiet or mysterious."

Shannon met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and she wasn't smiling. "She was upset when the two of you left with no warning. Don't do that again."

Before Neal could protest, his phone beeped. It was noon in New York. Time to check in with Tricia.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Tricia and Jones had taken over one of the smaller conference rooms, posting a timeline for Robert Winslow's disappearance, and thoughts for tracking him down. One wall was dedicated to information about Henry. Peter thought Neal would find that reassuring when he got back to the office. They'd ordered in lunch, making the most of their time before Tricia left on vacation. Peter had arrived ten minutes ago, impatiently waiting for Neal's check in. It took extreme self-restraint not to pounce on Tricia's phone when it rang. She wisely placed it on speaker. "Peter and Jones are with me," she warned. "How are things in Austin?"

"Hot. Must be almost 90 degrees, and it seems even hotter when Shannon starts flirting."

Peter could hear laughter and shouts of denial in the background.

"Everything's great. Shannon's expecting, and they're going to name the baby after me. They just don't know it yet."

And in the background they heard, "God, no! I'm having a sweet little girl" followed by "But I wanted to have a boy and name him Calvin" followed by "We are not naming our child after the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. That kid was a menace."

"We just left the airport," Neal continued. "Fortunately it's not far to Lawson's office. I don't know how much of this pre-wedded bliss I can take."

"It's not too late to take you wedding cake shopping," someone warned. "So much icing you think your tongue's going to go into sugar shock and fall off."

"Don't antagonize her," Peter warned. "I've been there. Buttercream icing overload is not for the faint of heart."

"I'll be careful," Neal promised.

They wrapped up the call, reminding Neal to call back in six hours. Peter shook his head. "I wish I could believe he'll be careful. But Neal and caution seem to be antonyms." He looked at Jones and Tricia. "I suppose I sound crazy after that call, right? It doesn't sound like he could be much safer."

Jones shook his head. "I've never figured out if he's good at taking care of himself, or just lucky. Did I tell you about the time I asked George to follow Neal?"

Peter had heard the story, but Tricia hadn't. "Your Navy buddy? No, what happened?"

"It was right after Neal had a meeting with Kate. I could see she'd gotten to him, even though he said he was fine. I was concerned about Neal being Neal, you know, reckless and impulsive. It was tempting to follow him myself, but Tuesday Tails had taught me that he'd spot me in an instant. So I sent someone he wouldn't recognize."

"How long did it take him to spot the tail?" Tricia asked.

"Not long," Jones admitted. "But he didn't lose him, because he was curious about who George was and what he wanted."

"Where did Neal go that night?"

"Lower East Side bar," Jones said. "A place with loud music, where he could let off some steam. They had some kind of amateur night. George said Neal was a decent singer."

"Yeah, he is," Peter said, remembering the Christmas concert in St. Louis. "I wish we could send George after him on this trip. I'd feel a lot better if someone I knew was keeping an eye on Neal."

"Well, actually," Jones said, "there is another way to keep an eye on him."

Peter nodded at the reminder. When Neal had first started working at the FBI, Peter had worried about how he would adjust, and had assigned Jones to befriend and track Neal. Hughes had introduced them to the cell phone records the NSA was starting to collect. They used Neal's records as a test to see if the data would be useful for tracking criminals. They'd stopped several months ago, but the dangers posed by Robert might justify starting again.

"Let's hold that in our back pocket for now," Peter said. "I think he already feels like his privacy is being invaded. I don't want to push it too far."

"He wouldn't know," Jones said.

"I would. I want to face him with a clean conscience." Changing the subject he asked, "What can you tell me about Shawn Hunter, and about Neal's arrest in Las Vegas?"

"Not much on Hunter," Jones said. "That ID was used primarily in the late 90s, usually in pharmacies or medical clinics. It looks like they used the ID and hit Lawson Hunter's insurance as dependents whenever Neal or Henry got sick or injured. Nothing major."

"But Las Vegas is another matter," Tricia said. "You'll never guess who flew into town to bail Neal out."

"Lawson Hunter?" Peter asked. It made sense to ask an attorney for help when you were in trouble with the law.

"No. Robert Winslow."

Peter took a deep breath. Was Neal's trip to Vegas intended to goad Robert in some way? "Jones, go ahead and start the paperwork for accessing the NSA data again. Tricia, give me the details about this arrest and how Robert fits into the picture."

A/N: YouTube didn't launch until 2005, but of course Mozzie would be aware of it in advance. Mozz also provides a teaser for The Woman in Blue; if you've read Silbrith's description of the story, you know a haunted house is an element you can expect to see. My next chapter delves into more memories, showing us Neal as a 15-year-old and even briefly as a 3-year-old.