I don't own White Collar, or the charachers... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

Chapter Ten

Peter let his gaze wonder out to the street as he listened to the manager of the café talk about the van that had sat outside for over an hour. He shook his head at the incompetence of the man, his own frustration welling up.

"But, you're sure it was maroon?" Peter tried to stay professional.

"Well, either that or brown…I guess it could have been purple…" The man shifted uncomfortably under Peter's stare.

"But you're sure it didn't have any windows in the back." Peter could almost envision himself reaching over and choking the life out of the man.

"That, I'm sure about." The man wrung his hands, and nervously wiped them down the front of his pants.

"And, there were two men?" It was the third time they had gone through the story, but the details never seem to stay quiet the same.

"Yeah…yeah…two men. One of them was big and heavy." The manager's face brightened, looking for praise from the agent.

"And the other was short and skinny?" Peter asked, almost regretting the question.

"Yeah…that's right." The manager eagerly nodded. "Oh…oh…I almost forgot. The little one came in and bought two sandwhiches."

"Good, ok, now we're getting somewhere. How did he pay?" Peter felt like he was talking to a child.

"With a credit card." The manager's face was blank for a moment, and then finally Peter could see the realization set in. "You want the numbers?"

Peter nodded and watched the man disappear into the back. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had wasted almost an hour talking to this guy, and all this time, he had a credit card slip. The man returned and handed the slip to Peter, his heart sank as he read the name.

"Clinton Jones? You've got to be kidding me." Peter handed the slip back to the manager. "I guess you didn't check his I.D."

"My cashier's always check I.D." The manager puffed up in defense.

"Yeah, right. Clinton Jones was unconscious on the floor of my kitchen when that purchase was made." Peter watched a dumbfounded expression cross the manager's face; he could hardly believe how the day was going.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Neal sucked in a breath of air, coughing as it filled his lungs. Somebody was shaking him, and he could hear a familiar voice. His mind felt hazy, and he couldn't seem to make himself open his eyes. He forced himself to take another breath, feeling the ache of his broken ribs starting to come back. Finally one eye opened just a slit, and he could see he was in a small dimly lit room.

"Neal…please…Neal…" The familiar female voice begged to him. He tried to think of whom it could be; his thoughts still clouded by the drug he had been given. He managed to get the other eye open, finding a woman sitting on the floor next to him, tears streaming down her face.

"Neal? Please wake up." The woman shook him again.

"I…I'm…up…" His voice sounded hoarse as it came out, and his mouth felt dry. He started to sit up, but his head started spinning, and he decided against it for the moment. He stared up at the red-rimmed blue eyes that looked down at him, trying to figure out who they belonged to. "El?"

The woman nodded, and gave a little smile.

"Where are we?" He shifted so that his arms were under him, and pushed himself to his knees, stopping to let the dizziness subside before sitting upright.

"I…I don't know." He could hear in her voice the sobs that were barely being held back.

"Are you alright?" She nodded in response, and he let his gaze sweep around the room, looking for a clue as to their location.

The room was small, and dark with no windows. The floor was concrete, and two walls were made out of brick, the other two were covered with wood paneling. There was a door on the far wall, and a single bare bulb hanging down from the ceiling. The walls were bare, and other than Elizabeth and himself, there wasn't anything else in the room. He eased himself back to his hands and knees, slowly and cautiously crawling over towards the door. He listened for a moment, until he heard footsteps, and he crawled back to where Elizabeth was sitting, holding up a finger to his lips to tell her to keep quiet.

"Someone's coming." He whispered into her ear.

Neal wasn't sure he'd ever felt so vulnerable before in his life. He wanted to run, but there was no where to run to. He wanted to protect Elizabeth, but he had nothing to protect her with. All they could do was sit there and wait for whoever was on the other side of the door to come after them. Neal assumed it had to be Curtis, or someone who worked for him. He could feel the fear washing over him as the door slowly opened, admitting two dark figures before it was closed behind them. Neal instinctively moved his body between the encroaching figures and Elizabeth, trying to shield her.

"The boss would like to see you." The larger of the two men stepped forward. Neal squinted his eyes to try and see the man better, his vision still a little blurry from the drugs.

"Just exactly who is that, your boss?" The second man approached, moving towards Elizabeth, and Neal could just make out a gun in his hand. "Leave her out of this, she has nothing to do with this."

"We'll see about that." The big man grabbed Neal by the arm, dragging him to his feet, sending a wave of the temporarily absent pain searing back through his body. Neal impulsively tried to pull away, only to loose his balance. The man's fingers dug harshly into his arm before he could catch himself.

"You have to play nice." Neal heard Elizabeth scream behind him as he caught sight of the taser in the man's hand.

"No need…" The pain shot through his body as all his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. He was barely conscious of the second man grabbing his other arm as they started dragging him towards the door. He could feel the darkness coming again, and he gratefully gave in.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter didn't bother to hide his annoyance as he strode into the Emergency room. He glanced around, looking for a familiar face. Disappointed, he headed for the receptionist. The girl sitting behind the desk was younger, and Peter thought, frail looking. Her hair was dyed an unnatural shade of red. Her pale complexion was intensified by the even lighter make up she had caked onto her skin and the dark eyeliner around her almost gray eyes. Peter's mind flashed back to the incompetent manager he had just left, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. He could tell his day wasn't going to get any better.

"Amy, is it?" Peter read her nametag, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. The nurse smiled and looked up at him.

"How can I help you, Mr…" Peter pulled his badge out, making a cognizant effort not to smack it down on the desk.

"It's agent. Special Agent Peter Burke. One of my junior agents was brought here about an hour ago. I need to check on his condition." Peter hoped if he kept his tone professional, he would be able to check back the anger that was building in him.

"Alright, what's his name?"

"Clinton Jones." The girl turned to her computer, and tapped on a few keys. Peter saw the frustration cross her face.

"Is there a problem, Amy?" Peter was starting to have a hard time holding his emotions back.

"I…I don't…" The girl frantically tapped a few more keys, and Peter could hear the tone of her voice start to waver. "Sorry, I'm new. Just…hold on…"

"Peter!"

The familiar voice behind him instantly made him relax, and he smiled and turned to find himself face to face with Jones. He pointed to the younger agent and looked over his shoulder at the little nurse.

"Clinton Jones." Peter saw the nurse nod, and felt a little bad as he caught a glimpse of the wetness building up in her eyes. He gave her a comforting smile. "It's alright. We found him."

"Peter. Did you go up to the café?" Peter brought his attention back to his agent in front of him, mentally scanning him up and down. Other than a few stitches along his hairline, he looked fine.

"Yeah. Two men sat in a van sat outside for about an hour, ate a sandwich and then disappeared. Oh, and I know what happened to your wallet."

"Great." Peter could hear the sarcasm in Jones' voice. "Any leads on the van?"

"Only that it's a brown, maybe maroon, or purple, large van with no windows in the back." Peter rolled his neck on his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension. "Where's Diana?"

"She's coming. She ran down to the pharmacy. Sounds like we struck out on the van, there must be a million of those in the city."

"I know. We're headed back to the office to meet up with the team."