Sorry for the wait...again. Especially after leaving you guys on a cliffhanger. That was cruel. These last few chapters were hard to get right, so I've kind of worked backwards from the end. Which is why this chapter's taken so long. But, I now have a mostly completed fic so expect another update fairly soon!

I'm super happy people are enjoying this. As always, hearing what you think about the story is awesome and makes my morning. Have a good day everyone!

It was coming close to two hours since Caffrey's tracker had gone dark. Any hopes of an early finish to the day had been dismissed, with the office now bustling with coffee-fuelled agents on overtime, expecting a long and potentially frustrating night.

As for the conference room, crowded was an understatement. Peter had requested - more like demanded - the presence of every agent in their division, while they went over the evidence they had and decided how to act upon it. Even Hughes had taken an active role in the hunt for the AWOL consultant - which had surprised everyone because he was the most doubtful of the contract that had united con and cop.

Hughes was making phone calls to other divisions, cashing in a few of his favours for manpower and resources. Nobody knew Caffrey better than Peter, which is why he trusted Peter's judgement when he'd asked the agent whether Caffrey had pulled a fast one, or if they were looking at a kidnapping. Peter had responded with certainty that someone had taken Neal, and trusting his judgement, Hughes was acting on that faith.

Peter's inner circle of agents was sat around the conference table, with the other agents stood around, waiting for instructions but knowing better than to ask. The atmosphere was tense. Peter was pacing - had been pacing for a good ten minutes, his footsteps sharp against the silence of the room.

Diana shared a glance with a thoughtful-looking Jones, seated opposite, before looking back at her boss. Neal's apparent abduction had hit him hardest, understandably - the agent overworked himself trying to keep the con on the straight and narrow, whilst out of harm's way. Anger was his coping mechanism in stressful situations, and she'd learned to just sit back and allow him some venting time. She didn't need to be told that her boss blamed himself. But if he went on pacing like that, he'd wear a hole in the floor.

"Peter..." she began.

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. It was a swift transition between him staring off at nothing to slamming his fist down on the conference room table. Diana didn't miss the way his face tightened with anger and self-blame. "I should have gone after him!"

"It's not your fault."

Peter looked at Diana, and something about that returned his composure. He didn't need to voice the doubt he had with her words, as it was written plain across his face. He didn't know who blame: himself for failing to keep Neal safe, Neal for getting himself abducted, hell, even Hughes for authorising and enforcing house arrest in the first place. But most of that blame belonged to him - Neal had trusted him, and he'd let him down.

At first he'd thought Neal ran. Let's face it - that was the sort of impulsive, boneheaded stunt he would pull when faced with a situation he disliked. And Neal had made sure the agents knew his opinion on the house arrest. But, after they'd reached the place Neal's tracker was last online - the crime scene - Peter was faced with the startling revelation that his CI was missing, hurt, and could well already be dead.

"It was - is - my job to keep the damn kid safe, and now we have no idea who has taken him or where he is now." Peter forced himself to speak in the present tense, because Neal was too smart, too charming, to wind up in a body bag. That wasn't how it worked. He'd either go out with a bang on his high horse or live to immortality. That was as factual as the laws that were his duty to enforce.

A probie spoke up as Peter paced the front of the conference room. "Are you sure he didn't run?"

Heads turned in that direction. The young agent must have been either incredibly brave, or bravely stupid.

Peter's fist clenched, vividly trembling, not unlike the rest of him. He was falling apart. "Get out."

The younger agent didn't waste time in fleeing from more of Peter's wrath. He got up so quickly he almost tipped his chair backwards.

Peter scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly, composing himself after that little outburst. "If anyone else has any more helpful contributions like that, you know where the door is. The rest of you, thank you for offering to stay back." He was ready to do whatever it took to get Neal back. He banished any thought-clouding anger to the back of his head, forcing a professional, organised mindset. That was what would bring the consultant home. "Okay, lets find Neal. Diana, for the benefit of the room, can you go over the crime scene?"

Diana pushed the files to the middle of the desk. She skipped the pleasantries for the blunt truth - someone had to be, for Neal's sake. "There was no weapon visible at the scene, but we've got people checking dumpsters. Forensics are still dusting so we're waiting on fingerprints and we're currently pulling up surveillance from the area. We've got the reports on the blood though. It's Caffrey's."

Peter grimaced. When they'd reached the place of Neal's abduction the first thing they'd spotted was his tracker laying discarded in the middle of the pavement. What was more alarming was the few noticeable spots of blood on the pavement, leading off in a trail towards the edge of the road. Presumably this was where the consultant had been bundled into a van, judging by the tire marks that had marred the roadside. It wasn't much blood, but they had no idea just how badly he was hurt, and that alone was killing the agent.

They had also found his fedora by the roadside. The kid loved that hat, and his abductor had purposefully stamped on it. Repeatedly.

"Right. Get that surveillance pronto. I want facial recognition on whoever shows up on that footage if they don't already stand out. Let me know when you have the prints." Peter waved his hand in dismissal, and the agents filed out to go back to their own desks. Neal was a complex and private person, and many of the agents still hadn't decided on their opinions of the new addition to the office. Nobody directly disliked him - he made that hard to do when he practically radiated charm and smiles, but they still weren't quite sure where he sat on the insanity line.

They could try and criticise him, but nobody could deny that there was a gaping hole left in the office without the consultant's presence.

Apart from Diana and Jones - the only other agents who knew Neal well enough to be distraught over his disappearance - it was the other probies that missed Neal the most. They were Neal's audience - they were equally new to the office so they didn't judge him, and were captivated by his smile and endless array of card tricks. They were torn by the news and had insisted on staying at the office, even if the only thing to do at this time was to take charge of the coffee rounds.

Only Peter was left in the conference room. He hadn't told Elizabeth the reason he was working late yet - not until they had concrete evidence and knew where they stood on this. As painful as it was, it was merely a waiting game now, and Peter had never felt so helpless. He just hoped they would get him back in one piece. He'd failed once, and when Neal had come out with that insane proposal in prison a week after he'd been sent back, Peter thought he'd found a chance to correct his past wrongs. To make amends for the CI he'd failed with a new consultant he'd ensure wouldn't go down the same path Marcus had.

Way to go screw that up, Peter.

He didn't realise Jones had come back into the room until the respectable agent spoke up. "We'll get him back, Peter."

"Yeah, we will."

When Neal opened his eyes, it was just as dark as when he'd closed them. Disorientated was understatement of the year, especially when he was pretty sure he already had a concussion, judging by the radiating pain in the back of his head and the encroaching nausea. He was about to check for blood when he realised his hands were bound in front of him - tight - with what he suspected were cable ties.

So either whoever did this knew what they were doing, or knew enough about him to know ropes and handcuffs were laughable.

He felt down his pant leg to his ankle, and it was no surprise his tracker was absent. He didn't think he'd ever miss it, but there was no better time than now to feel it chafing the hell out of his leg.

"Peter won't be a happy bunny." He spoke just to hear the sound of his own voice, and also in the hope that he'd get a response. Hope was a useless currency, however, because he was greeted with the same chilled silence. As his senses returned to him, he noted he was on his side, so he shuffled up into a sitting position. In doing so, his back roughly collided with a wall, which he propped himself up against.

There wasn't even enough light to calculate how big the room was, and he didn't want to get up and wander blindly for fear of injuring himself further. Nope, he was quite content sitting here. Besides, if his kidnapper was smart enough to use cable ties, it was unlikely the door, if there was one, was unlocked. He felt really, really sick, but forced himself to get over it, because it was too dark to move around and he didn't fancy sitting next to his own puke for who knew how long.

He wondered what Peter was doing now. He hoped the agent wasn't too mad; it wasn't his fault he'd been kidnapped. His situation was almost comical; he'd been forced into house arrest only to be swiped off the street before he even got there.

He'd never been kidnapped before. No - that wasn't true, he had. But that time didn't really count, because he'd technically only been abducted all but ten foot down a corridor to another room in a hotel he'd been staying in. And even that was only a misunderstanding after a night of poker - he'd insisted the fake chips couldn't have possibly been him because he had arthritis in his hands, which made creating anything so delicate impossible in his case. They'd been surprisingly understanding, and offered their apologies and a promise to find the guy that had polluted their casino with bad money. They'd all sat down and had a drink and a good laugh about it afterwards. It had been a good night.

Okay, so maybe this was his first time being kidnapped. There's a first time for everything, said one wise man, but Neal would have been quite happy to pass on this opportunity.

He wondered if Mozzie would know he was here. The little ghost always seemed to be able to locate him (unfortunately only a one-way thing) so perhaps he'd drop in and tell him what the hell he was supposed to do now. That would be nice.

He closed his eyes. He most definitely wasn't passing out, because Neal Caffrey didn't pass out. He just forgot how to open them again.

Diana stuck her head around the door to the conference room. "Boss, you should see this."

Peter looked up. Diana looked grave, and his heart immediately plummeted six stories. "Neal?"

"No, but we know who has him." She handed him the file. Peter opened it to see a screenshot from the footage they had pulled. The image was magnified, but Peter would have recognized the face regardless.

Both agents spoke in unison. "Lorenzo."

Peter leaned back in the chair. "Dammit." Neal's chances had significantly dropped, but Peter was reluctant to acknowledge that. "Lorenzo - the bomb guy? I thought Counter-T would have caught him by now. What the hell does he want with Neal?"

Diana's expression said she knew about as much as he did. "He's good. Forensics didn't lift anything. They must have worn gloves."

"They?"

"He had two other guys with him that helped to...grab Neal, but they were wearing masks." Stumbling over her words reminded Diana that she could pretend not to care, but it did nothing to stop her missing the crazy consultant and his annoying antics. And she didn't think she could be sentimental to a guy so wrapped up in his own ego.

"What's that supposed to mean? Lorenzo wants us to know he's taken him?"

Diana didn't have an answer, but Peter wasn't expecting one. Finding the remote for the big screen at the front, he hit play. The footage Diana had set up showed Neal walking down the street, arms drawn in against the cold and hat tilted on his head. It also showed Neal oblivious to Lorenzo coming up behind him. Peter's stomach twisted as he watched their attacker take a bat to Neal's head just as a black van - no plates - pulled up to the pavement. Two masked thugs got out of the side door and helped Lorenzo drag a now-unconscious Neal inside. His cut tracker was thrown out of the van before the doors slid closed, and it drove off just as the footage stopped.

"So a black van, sliding doors, no plates. That narrows it down." Peter huffed in frustration. He'd told himself that it would be simple. Worked through it in his head. They'd find something immediately that would tell them where Neal was, and they'd have him back before the night was over. Now he wasn't so sure.

"I'll call everyone back in here and get them updated."

Peter nodded. He'd never thanked Diana enough for just being herself. "Yes, let's pull Lorenzo's file and all his known aliases. Make sure anyone with any possible lead speaks up."

"Got it, boss." Diana headed back down into the bullpen, and Peter got up and headed to a quiet corner of the office to call his wife. He couldn't put off telling El any longer, and right now he needed to hear her voice. She'd say something that would make this easier.

He took out his mobile and dialled. "Hey, hon."