If Neal had been betting, he would have put good money on the option that he had sat there for at least a couple of hours, or maybe days. The glowing hands on the watch, however, insisted that it was only ten minutes past the appointed hour when there was the sound of the door being opened, then closed carefully.

Neal stood up, his movements as silent as they could be. He'd picked the spot carefully, near a window that allowed enough glow in so that he could be seen, but not clearly.

At least, not yet.

The shadowy figure came into view, moving slowly, one arm extended. And if Neal had been betting on this, he definitely would have bet that there was a gun leading the way.

He wondered if it was still Pratt's gun…

"You have the documents?"

And there it was, just like that, with no preamble. Contact was made.

Neal didn't say anything, just lifted his hand, holding up the passport and the other requested documents they'd picked up from Devlin.

"Always good to do business with someone who keeps his word."

At that, Neal stepped forward, into the dim light, pulling the baseball cap off his head as he did. "You have much experience with that, dad?" He'd occasionally cursed with less venom in his voice than on that last word.

James took a step closer, the gun still steady. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"No, you really shouldn't. Remember how I found you at the beginning, even though you didn't want to be found."

"Should have been a warning."

"Mozzie's had the streets of this city wired for a quarter of a century. You should have left town last week, when you still had a chance."

"Maybe so." James paused, pointing with his gun hand. "Those the real documents?"

"Yeah." Neal held up his hand again. "Irish, nice touch. I could have done better, but they're not bad."

"How about you just hand them over and I'll be on my way."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Dad?" Again, he nearly spit out the last word. It tasted bitter in his mouth as his lips formed the sound.

"I wouldn't want to."

"That's reassuring. How about you put the gun down so we can talk – before you run out on me. Again."

James appeared to be looking around, trying to decide if this was a trap. But apparently the fact that no hordes of FBI agents had crashed the party yet reassured him, and he started to pocket the pistol.

"No, put it down, not in your pocket," Neal said, pointing off to the side. "On that crate should be fine."

"What, no trust for your old man?" But James slowly stepped to his left and set the gun down.

"How many times am I supposed to let you con me?"

"This still about Burke?"

"It's about everything," Neal whispered, taking a step closer. "But yes, Peter's part of it."

"Figures. He's really done a number on you."

Neal bit back a sharp reply – he needed to keep James talking, not drive him away. "You still have a chance to do the right thing. All you have to do is come in and tell the truth."

"I told you, I can't."

"I don't understand." Neal hated the tone of desperation that had crept into his voice, but he couldn't help it. "Ellen told me you were the best once."

"I'd like to think so."

"Then be that man again, one more time."

"It was a long time ago – a lifetime ago."

"It's not too late."

"It is."

"Why?"

"Neal, I told you, the things I've done…"

"And I told you, they're in the past!" Neal laughed, short and bitter.

"You don't know…"

"What do I need to know?" Neal demanded, almost shouting now. Damn, he didn't usually lose control like this. "You served your time for killing your supervisor. The statute of limitations is long past on anything else from back then. And I'm the last one who can hold anyone to being perfect!"

It looked like James started to answer, but then he shook his head and took a step back.

Neal met the step, moving forward. He didn't have what he needed for a confession yet. "Do the right thing. Be Kathryn Hill's partner one more time. This is about justice for her too."

"Someone's going to take the fall, kid. I told you that. And I can't let it be me."

Neal stood, immobile, watching as James took another step toward the door. And then, as though a dam burst, he felt all of the frustrations, the pain, the confusion of the last thirty years break through. "So that's it? You just walk out again? Is that all you're good for?"

"Stop it."

But it was way too late for Neal to stop, and the words came tumbling out. "Do you even know what you did thirty years ago?"

"What I had to do."

"Really? You had to take my family away? Yeah, all the other kids had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Ellen told me recently that I had them too, but I missed all of that. And in so many ways, you took my mom away too. You know, as a kid, I hardly ever saw her smile. All my friends, their moms would smile at them. Their moms would even smile at me. But not my mom. I tried to be good, good enough so she'd smile. But good report card? No smile. Prizes for my art? No smile. Blue ribbon in the science fair? No smile. Role in the school play? She didn't even come, much less smile." Neal gasped in a deep breath, but he had to keep going. "Ellen tried to tell me it wasn't my fault. But I was just a little kid! All I knew was that it was just me and my mom in that house, and if she didn't smile, who else's fault could it be?"

"She used to smile," James started.

"Well, not in St. Louis!" Neal was shouting now, and he was beyond caring. "I understand it now. Because of you, she got taken away from her family, her friends, her home. Everything she knew. And instead of the hero cop she thought she married – the one she still tried to get her son to believe in – she found out he was a thief and a murderer. So she has to deal with that, and being dumped in a new city, with only Ellen for support, and a little kid, who reminded her way too much of you."

"The blue in your eyes…"

It sounded like James' voice was wavering a little now too, and Neal pressed the advantage. "She always told me you were a good cop. I'm not sure if she was more protecting me, or herself."

"I was, when we met. And I loved your mom, Neal."

It wasn't time, not quite yet… "Yeah, well, you didn't show it. But finally, when I was a teenager, mom started to come around. She didn't smile a lot, but some. It was the most beautiful thing."

"I remember that smile."

"She'd let me draw her sometimes. I even won a regional art contest with one of those sketches when I was in high school."

"I told you, you're very talented."

Neal's response was a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, yeah, I remember. You said 'atta boy' and you were proud of me. You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to hear those words from you. From my father. There was a time I needed you – but you weren't there. Except, in a way, you were. Because you managed to take everything away, again. All my life, growing up, I wanted to be a cop. I studied, and I learned to shoot, and I was going to save the world. Mom and Ellen, they were pretty good at keeping secrets, or maybe I only saw what I wanted to. But they let a few things slip, about being from DC. So I did some research, found out about the police academy there. You had to be twenty one, with college credits, to actually become an officer. They had a cadet program though, and I could go to college at the same time. So I applied, got accepted." Now the laugh combined with a sob, and he didn't even try to brush away the tears wetting his cheeks. "Mom was going to be so proud of me, I just knew it. She'd smile. Except… except, she didn't smile when I told her. She looked like I had hit her instead. She cried. She cried, and locked herself in her room. And Ellen finally told me the truth, that basically my whole life had been a lie."

"I didn't know," James started.

"No? Well, guess what? There are consequences! Believe me, I understand that. Now, all the bad decisions I made over the next decade or so, those are on me. I know that. I know all you did there was shove me in that direction. But I've paid for those decisions. I paid for four years in a cell. I'm still paying for them. And I'll be paying for them the rest of my life, because no one who knows my history is ever going to trust me. Except then, the strangest thing happened. One man saw something in me. One man thought I could be more than just another criminal, another statistic in the books. He gave me a chance, a second chance to do something good with my life, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. And now… now you're taking that away from me too." Neal collapsed back against a stack of crates, unable to go on.

There was a long moment of silence before James finally spoke. "Look, I'm sure Burke will be fine. Maybe he loses his job, but that's it."

Neal sniffed, and ran a hand across his eyes. "How do you figure that? It was Peter's gun, and he fired a warning shot, so there's gunshot residue on his hand. Add in the off-book investigation, and it doesn't look good."

"They can't blame you for Pratt, so you'll be okay."

"My deal was signed with Peter. If he goes down, I do too."

"Then come with me," James offered. "There's a seaplane business about a mile from here, right on Eastchester Bay. I've got a flight reserved for tomorrow morning. Straight down the coast to Florida. Sam's boat is down in the Keys."

"And how would that work?" Neal demanded. "We just sail off to the islands? A little father-son bonding time?"

"Why not? You and me, we both know how to live off the grid. Like I told you, you shouldn't take the fall on this."

James wasn't sounding as confident now… Neal took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for the final push. "Why does anyone have to take a fall? If what you told me was true…"

"It was."

"Then it was self-defense!"

"I told you, I can't take that chance. You don't understand…"

"I don't understand what? What prison can do? Four years in Sing Sing, I think I understand just fine."

"Then you know why I can't go back!"

"Just help me understand, before you disappear again," Neal prompted carefully. "Pratt had a gun."

"Yeah, pointed right at me. He'd already said he was going to shoot me, and no one would question his word that I attacked him."

"But he didn't shoot."

"Burke came in, distracted Pratt. That's when I grabbed the other gun."

"Peter's gun."

James shrugged. "I guess. I didn't know that at the time. It was just sitting there, in a bag."

"So, pistols at ten paces, with the man you blamed for ruining your life."

"Something like that. I went to prison, lost everything, while he got rich and powerful. And I wanted him to pay. But Neal, you have to believe, I didn't want him dead. I wanted him to suffer."

"Except he did wind up dead."

"He was going to shoot me!"

"Even with Peter as a witness?"

"Pratt was raising the gun. I could see his finger going for the trigger."

"You feared for your life," Neal supplied.

"Damn right I did. And who knows, he might have shot me and then made it look like I shot Burke."

Neal gave him the point. They were so close. "You might have saved Peter's life."

"Yeah, maybe so. It's something you learn as a cop, kid. You watch their eyes. The eyes tell the story."

"And Pratt's eyes said he was going to shoot?"

"Exactly. So I shot first. And maybe… maybe I would have stuck around. But Burke pulled out the handcuffs, and I couldn't let that happen."

"So you ran."

"Yeah, I did."

"Believe me, I'm familiar with the impulse."

James took a step closer. "Then come with me, right now. I've got a safe place for the night. And tomorrow, we're gone. We're both free. That's what you want, right?"

Neal straightened up, squared his shoulders, looking his father in the eye. "I think I got what I wanted tonight."

James looked puzzled, opened his mouth to speak, but other voices came in first.

"Freeze, FBI!"

The look in James' eyes now wasn't one that Neal recognized – 'fury' would have been the best word he could think of to describe it. And he was fast, lunging toward his gun.

Neal was faster. He grabbed the pistol, pulled it away, and stepped back. "It's over."

"You set me up! I'm your father!"

"You haven't been that for thirty years," Neal replied. And then, as FBI agents poured into the room, he leaned back against some crates and sank to the floor, head buried against his knees.

The arrest had been made, the shouting was done, and most of the agents had cleared out of the warehouse when Diana made her way to where Neal was sitting. She was pretty sure he hadn't moved at all during the whole process.

"You all right?"

He shook his head slowly, not looking up. "Not really, no."

She leaned against the crates and slid down to the floor next to him. "That was a rough one."

"Yeah." It came out almost like a sharp laugh, except there was no humor in it. "There's a reason I prefer working under an alias."

"Less painful?"

"Way less."

"After the way real life pushed its way into my cover with Abigail Kincaid, I think I can understand that."

He finally looked up, the thinnest of smiles touching his face. "You used the pain, and made it work."

"So did you."

"You did get what you needed, right?"

"Yeah, we got it."

Neal nodded and then reached down next to his leg, passing the gun over. "This looks like the gun in the photos. It's probably Pratt's."

Diana pulled an evidence bag out of her jacket pocket and let him drop the gun inside. "We'll check the serial number." She sealed the bag and looked over at Neal. "You ready to go?"

"Do you think I could have a couple of minutes?"

"Sure, take all the time you need." She got to her feet, brushing off the back of her pants. "Hey, Jones said he knows a good bar not far from here. You interested?"

"I might need a double, maybe even a triple shot."

"Well, go for it. Jones said he's buying the first round."