Premeditated… Conspiracy… Off the books investigation… Malice… Out of control… Reckless… Assassination… Post-traumatic stress…

By the time Willa Sherman, the prosecutor sent up from the federal Attorney General's office in DC, had finished presenting her case, Peter was almost ready to convict himself. She made it all sound so plausible – that he'd pushed the boundaries one too many times, with deadly results.

Add in the ballistic confirmation that his own service weapon had fired the fatal shot, the gunshot residue on his hand, and the fact that no one else had been in the room when Callaway and Watson arrived…

It was a good thing he'd had to say the words "not guilty" at the beginning of the proceedings. His voice had been clear and strong then as he entered the plea.

Fortunately, Russell didn't appear shaken by the prosecutor at all.

"Is the defense ready to present its argument, Mr. Mansur?" Judge Corbin asked.

Russell stood up, pausing to adjust his suit coat. "We are, your Honor."

"Proceed."

"Defense Exhibit A." Russell walked the documents up to the clerk's table. "The sworn statement from Special Agent Peter Burke, detailing the events that transpired in the Empire State Building two days ago. More specifically, detailing how James Bennett fired the shot that killed Senator Terrance Pratt."

"I hope you have more than that," Sherman muttered.

"Any remarks should be addressed to the Court," Corbin admonished.

"Yes, sir," Sherman replied, though Peter didn't think she sounded very genuinely sorry.

Russell seemed to take it all in stride. "There's much more. Exhibit B, the sworn statement from Neal Caffrey that he witnessed James Bennett confess to the shooting."

"Objection." Sherman was on her feet, and very definitely addressing the judge this time. "Mr. Caffrey is a convicted felon, and a known con artist. His statement can hardly be accepted as evidence."

"Actually, Mr. Caffrey's only conviction was for bond forgery," Russell pointed out. "Any allegations of other crimes are unfounded in the eyes of the law."

Despite the situation, Peter found himself struggling not to smile. Neal was going to love hearing how his name had been defended in court.

"In addition," Russell continued. "Mr. Caffrey has spent the last two and a half years working as a consultant for the FBI."

"If you don't count his little escape to a non-extradition country," Sherman started.

Corbin banged his gavel, demanding everyone's attention. "Ms. Sherman, this is an evidentiary hearing only, as you well know. If this case proceeds to trial, you'll have the opportunity to cross-examine Mr. Caffrey about his statement to determine its veracity. For now, it's admitted."

Sherman sat down, and Russell offered Peter a quick smile before continuing. "Photos," he said, handing over a thick stack to the clerk. "Of James Bennett leaving the Empire State Building – an action he undertook stealthily, and at a time that exactly coincides with Agent Burke's statement of what transpired. We submit these as Defense Exhibits C through S." He handed another set of the photos to Sherman. "You'll note that Exhibits D, F, M, P, Q, and S clearly show Mr. Bennett with a gun in his hand."

Peter thought the hasty, whispered conversation at the prosecution table was a good sign.

"Exhibit T," Russell continued. "Official documentation from the FBI Evidence Recovery Team verifying the security tapes that these photos came from, as well as the timestamps."

From what he'd heard, most of the photos hadn't actually been discovered by ERT… but Peter was relieved that the FBI had been able to confirm the evidence found by other, slightly less official, sources.

Russell was still presenting evidence. "Exhibit U, your Honor. The FBI's experts have reviewed these photos, and determined that the gun in James Bennett's hand is, in fact, a Walther PPK .380. Exhibit V, a copy of the concealed carry license issued by the State of Maryland to Terrance Pratt for the same type of gun. Exhibit W, a statement from Harry Styles, the late Senator's bodyguard, affirming that the Senator was, in fact, carrying the gun that day. Exhibit X, the evidence list from the FBI's forensics review, showing that the only handgun recovered at the scene belonged to Agent Burke. Exhibit Y, the coroner's report, which includes an accounting of the personal property found on the deceased – an empty holster was among those items. And Exhibit Z, your Honor, a sworn statement from Cole Edwards detailing Mr. Pratt's involvement in an illegal scheme to defraud investors on building projects."

Peter caught the subtle shift there – it was mister Pratt now, no longer Senator. It felt much like when Callaway had refused to recognize him by his title of Agent.

Russell had been right – it would be very unwise to underestimate him.

"Anything else, Mr. Mansur?" Corbin asked.

"That is the evidence we've been able to accumulate in less than two full days, your Honor. All of which supports Agent Burke's statement."

"Are there any motions at this time?"

"Yes, your Honor," Russell said immediately. "We move for a dismissal of all charges against Agent Burke, with prejudice."

Sherman jumped to her feet again. "You Honor, we have Mr. Burke's gun, his fingerprints…"

Corbin held up his hand. "Yes, I'm aware of the evidence presented by the prosecution." He paged through a few of the documents that the clerk had marked and handed up to him. It took a few minutes, mostly marked by silence in the court, before he looked up again. "Motion denied," he said. "With no ability here to question anyone who has provided this evidence, and no other way to probe its validity, I have to rule that the State has presented probable cause to hold this over for trial."

"Then the defense requests that bail be set," Russell said.

"Objection," Sherman countered. "This is potentially a capital murder case. Bail is out of the question."

Russell was ready with his counter-argument. "Your Honor, there is significant evidence to indicate that the death of Senator Pratt was not as clear-cut as Ms. Sherman would like to pretend. Given more time, we intend to discover additional evidence to establish my client's innocence in this matter. Furthermore, Peter Burke is a federal agent, with numerous commendations to his name, not to mention a conviction rate over the last couple of years that puts every other unit in the country to shame. He has long-standing ties to the community, and he and his wife have made their home in the same neighborhood for over a decade."

Corbin looked out over the courtroom, obviously considering. Finally, he nodded and reached for a pen. "I'm going to grant bail in this case," he announced, scribbling on a form. "Bail in the amount of two million dollars, cash or bond. In addition, the defendant is ordered to surrender his passport and any personal firearms he may possess."

"Actually, your Honor, Agent Burke's personal weapon was seized during the search of his home yesterday morning," Russell said. He picked something up from the table, holding it out. "And Agent Burke's wife brought his passport to me earlier today."

The judge motioned for the clerk to take the passport. "The defendant will be remanded back to the Hawthorne holding facility until such time as bail can be posted…"

"Excuse me, your Honor, I'll be posting the bail within the next half hour."

Peter turned in his seat, watching as June Ellington stood up and made her statement. And now Neal's words – that bail was covered – made more sense.

He wondered who was really putting up the money…

But then he saw Elizabeth, standing next to June, hope and fear on her face, and he decided to stop worrying about it. However they had arranged it, he had friends who were willing to put that kind of trust in him. Not that he planned to jump bail, but still…

"In that case, Bailiff, take the defendant to one of the holding rooms here," Corbin was saying. "The clerk will process the paperwork so that the defendant is free to leave once the bail is confirmed."

Peter barely heard the words, his eyes still locked on Elizabeth's. He thought his attorney might be telling him something, but he couldn't concentrate on the words. Someone was taking his arm, pulling him away, but still he held her eyes. "Soon, El," he said, though it might not have been out loud.

From her smile, he thought she heard him anyway.

Neal sighed and tossed the cards down on the bunk. He'd been staring at the same solitaire hand for…

Well, he wasn't even sure how long it had been.

But if there had been a red eight on which to put the black seven, he surely hadn't seen it.

Now the poker game with Peter last night had kept his interest. Not that he wished for Peter to be back in the cell, of course. That was the last thing he wanted. But their friendly game, marked by their best attempts at banter, had at least made the existence of the concrete walls and hard metal bars fade a bit, for a while.

He'd even let Peter win the hand that came with the prize of the ramen noodle secret.

And he really was curious how it would turn out if Peter actually did try making the recipe at home for Elizabeth.

The preliminary hearing was supposed to start at one o'clock. Based on what the last guard had told him when he'd asked what time it was, it had to be after four o'clock now. And that had to be a good sign… right? This was just an evidentiary hearing – no witnesses, no cross-examination. Even with added security, Peter should have been back by now.

If things hadn't gone well.

So he was going to assume that things had gone well…

Until there was proof that it hadn't.

Peter paused at the bottom of the steps, looking up. The townhouse had been 'home' for almost a decade, and yet it looked, somehow, foreign.

Had it really only been two days…

Elizabeth had gone ahead, and he drew his attention back to the present, seeing her waiting for him, a puzzled look on her face. He took a deep breath, smiled, and walked up the stairs.

Inside, the smells were familiar, and almost overwhelming. El preferred a soft vanilla scent, and it was represented in the various air fresheners and potpourri throughout the house. Above that, the luscious smell of freshly baked bread was wafting from the kitchen, along with a savory scent that was making his stomach rumble.

Peter's inventory of the familiar sights and sounds was interrupted just then by a mass of fur. Satchmo came running, bumping up against his legs for attention, tail whipping back and forth about a hundred miles an hour.

He hadn't realized how much he could miss the simple things, like the unconditional love of a dog.

Peter busied himself giving Satchmo the attention he was demanding, then started when he realized Elizabeth was saying something. "Sorry, hon, what was that?"

She smiled – that patient, yet long-suffering smile he knew so well. "I said, since I didn't know when we'd be home, I put a stew in the slow cooker before I left this morning, and I set the bread machine. It's ready whenever you want to eat."

"Soon." He straightened up, looking around. "Seems like I've been gone years."

"Felt like that to me too," she admitted softly.

Peter stepped closer, opening his arms, and she stepped into the opening. "I'm so sorry, El."

"I was so worried."

"I know." He held her tight for a long moment, and then sighed.

"Peter? What is it?"

"It's just…" He paused, trying to put his unease into words. "I feel like I should be doing something."

"Hughes specifically told you that you couldn't be involved in the investigation."

"I know."

"Honey, I know you're not good at standing on the sideline," she said carefully. "But it's the best thing to do this time."

"I just keep thinking maybe there's something I could do."

"Like what?"

"Tracking down some of the leads from the evidence box," Peter suggested. "Probably a lot of things that lead to financial crimes, which is right up white collar's alley."

"And you know that your team is on top of that."

"I know." He sighed again. "I just feel like there's something I should be able to do to help Neal too." He felt her stiffen in his arms and pull back slightly. "El?"

"I should have known it would be Neal," she said softly.

"El, this isn't…"

"Peter, I'm not blaming him. I'm really not. It's just…"

"Tell me, El."

She stepped back in, leaning her head against his chest. "I don't think you can understand how worried I was, Peter. How worried I still am."

"I never wanted to put you through this, El."

"I know that, Peter."

"What can I do?"

"Tonight, I need you. Just you – no case, no worry about Neal. Can you do that?"

His voice shook as he replied. "Yes, I can do that."

She leaned back, looking up at him. "That's what I need. I need it to just be us tonight. And then tomorrow… tomorrow we can think about the rest."

Neal waited for the door to close and then dropped into the chair on the near side of the table. "My cellmate hasn't returned. Please tell me that's good news."

"It is." Mozzie slid a photo across the table. "The Suit made bail."

Neal studied the picture for a moment. He recognized the courthouse in the background and, of course, the people in the foreground. Peter, his arms wrapped around Elizabeth, the two of them oblivious to anyone or anything around them. "That's great. And June?"

"As you predicted, she was the perfect front. Very respectable."

"Thanks for setting it up, Moz."

"Of course." Mozzie reached into his briefcase again. "Now, in other news."

Neal glanced at the document, and then looked up, surprised. "Tuesday?"

"The probation board confirmed it this afternoon."

"How'd you get a hearing scheduled so quickly?"

"I have my ways."

"Moz…"

"Neal, sometimes it's best to just accept. Trust me, no innocent lives were taken to get this hearing set."

Neal was pretty good at reading between the lines – and what Mozzie was really saying was that it was in his best interest not to ask too many questions. That did nothing to quench his desire to know… but he was smart enough to let it drop.

For the moment.

"Anything I do need to know about it?"

Mozzie slid a business card across the table. "A name."

"Antonia Hollette?"

"Your new attorney. I'll be meeting with her tonight, and I expect she'll be here to see you on Monday to discuss strategy."

"I take it she comes highly recommended?"

"Very. Nasty says she's the best he's seen in a long time."

"That's a good endorsement. And terms?"

"Entirely satisfactory." Mozzie handed over another document. "You'll need to sign this."

Neal scanned it quickly. "Change in legal representation."

"It'll give Antonia easier access to you, and to any new evidence the government stooges might try to use against you."

Neal ignored the description of the government agents as he signed the form. "And what they have so far?"

"Nothing to worry about," Mozzie assured him as he filed the document away.

Neal figured he'd be doing some worrying over the weekend anyway, but it was still reassuring to hear the confidence in Mozzie's voice. "And the other matter?"

Mozzie conspicuously adjusted the control on his white noise generator before answering. "Several strong rumors on the whereabouts of James Bennett. Kato is running a few of them down as we speak. And I'm concentrating resources in the Pelham area."

"I'll feel a lot better once we find him."

"I've got everything in motion I can think of, Neal."

"I know, Moz. And I appreciate it." Neal sighed and leaned back away from the table. "I just feel so damn useless sitting in here."

"I can get you out…"

"Legally?"

Mozzie hesitated and then shook his head. "No. You'd be on the run."

"I appreciate the thought, but I really don't want that, Moz."

"I figured."

"Let's just get everything in order for Tuesday."

Mozzie put everything back in his briefcase and snapped the latches closed. "Consider it done."

James slid the envelope across the table, studying the surrounding crowd as the man across the table held it underneath to count the money. The crowd both made this a safe meeting place, and a dangerous one – prying eyes seeing that kind of cash could negate the comfort that anonymity brought.

Finally, the forger looked up, nodding. "It's all here."

Of course it was… "Half now, as agreed," James said. "How long?"

"We're talking special order here. Maybe a week…"

"Not good enough. Monday."

"Not even possible. Now if you want American instead…"

"No, I want the Irish papers."

"That's going to take longer – and no one is going to get it any faster."

James sighed, capitulating – to a degree. "Tuesday then."

The forger considered for a moment and then countered. "Wednesday."

It was longer than he wanted, but not actually out of line for the foreign ID he demanded. "Fine. Wednesday night, nine o'clock." He slid a piece of paper across the table. "This location."

The forger slipped the paper into his pocket without looking at it. "I'll see you then."

James watched the younger man leave, then raised his hand to signal for another beer. He wasn't going anywhere until at least Wednesday night, so might as well be comfortable.