(A/N: Hi guys :) Chapters are going to get increasingly shorter now, sorry :) But I hope you enjoy this chapter :D Hopefully it's worth the wait.)

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Previously on A Game of Cat and Mouse:

When Kurt woke that morning he was naked, curled up with a warm body in a double bed.
Pulling himself closer he leant his forehead against warm flesh and when he opened his eyes it was to the sight of warm, brown eyes staring into his.

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered and Kurt winced.

Fuck.

Chapter Thirteen: Mark

Blaine was obviously fully aware of the events of the night before.

Kurt groaned, rolling over onto his back.

"Shit," he moaned, not sparing a thought for the man in the bed next to him, that could hear every word. "Not again." He carried on cursing himself mentally and didn't pause except to furtively check on Blaine's reaction.

He glanced over at Blaine and groaned again at the sight of Blaine's slack jaw, closing his eyes as he cursed himself.

Fuck, Kurt thought, slightly hysterical. Now he's remembering the one night stand.

"It was you," Kurt heard Blaine breathe and he groaned once more.

I am so screwed, Kurt accepted mournfully and took a deep breath, gathering courage so that he could respond.

"If," Kurt said, with his eyes screwed tightly shut, "You're referring to when we slept together after drinking half the bar at a strip club," Kurt remarked, wincing at the wording, "Then you'd be right."

Kurt grimaced at Blaine's silence, keeping his eyes closed resolutely.

When the silence persisted longer than a minute Kurt started panicking.

He could be remembering any number of things, Kurt thought, hysterically, not pausing when he felt the bed dip a little beside him. For all I know he's making the connection and the next thing I know he's going to be handcuffing me to the bed before calling for back up-

Kurt's eyes flew open when Blaine rolled on top of him, using his legs to keep his weight off of Kurt's lithe form and avoid crushing him into the mattress.

"Are you straight?" He demanded and Kurt shook his head in confusion, bucking slightly in an attempt at getting Blaine off of him and his mind swam in further confusion when he felt Blaine's hardness against his thigh. If he's angry, Kurt thought, surely he wouldn't be turned on?

"No, I'm gay." Kurt admitted, deciding that since surely his cover was now well and truly blown he could be honest, only to widen his eyes as Blaine began leaning down. "What are yo-mph!" Kurt's question was swallowed by Blaine's mouth as his lips were caught in a frenzied kiss.

Kurt closed his eyes again as he gripped the nape of Blaine's neck, twisting his fingers into the curls there without thinking about it and then he used his grip to pull Blaine down further when the man in question swiped his tongue lightly against his bottom lip, breaking his resistance effectively with just one motion.

It was their first real kiss, at least the first kiss they could remember and weren't intoxicated during and, if Kurt was going to be completely honest, it more than lived up to the hazy memories he had of them doing it other times, the night before and that night so long ago.

The kiss turned soft and slow and Kurt began to remember he should be protesting, even as Blaine kept on kissing him resolutely.

"Blaine," Kurt managed to get out, as Blaine pressed kiss after to kiss to his lips.

He pulled away and was able to spit out the next word in his protest, even as he tried to remember it. "Your" was what he said next but once again was interrupted, this time when Blaine pressed a kiss to the corner of Kurt's lips. "Morning breath," Kurt gasped, aware that he now sounded like he was just uttering random words. Blaine caught his lips in his once more, tugging on Kurt's lower lip a little painfully before letting go of it. Taking this opportunity Kurt got out, "Is really," before Blaine's tongue was inside his mouth, running over the roof of it. Kurt bit him softly as it tickled and when Blaine withdraw Kurt finally managed to pant out the last part of his sentence. "Really unpleasant," he finished, breathing in the blessed oxygen Blaine had denied him before deeply.

Smiling slightly Blaine shook his head and ducked down to begin nuzzling his nose in the joint between Kurt's neck and collar bone.

Somehow he'd managed to understand what Kurt was trying to say and Kurt tried to quench the warm feeling that brought up in him, trying to remain cautious even though Blaine seemed completely determined to make up their lax memory of the night before, whether he was willing or not.

"Don't care," Blaine murmured against Kurt's skin, tongue slipping out to taste it quickly before darting back into his mouth, to Kurt's shock, causing an aroused shudder to go through him.

"I do," Kurt breathed, stomach squirming at Blaine's touch and his mind spinning as he marveled at the situation he'd found himself in that morning.

He was still panicking at the fact that Blaine could realise he was Porcelain at any moment.

Blaine chuckled and Kurt's stomach fluttered at the sound.

"I really don't think you get a say in this," Blaine murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Kurt's neck and pulling up to look at his face once again.

"Especially," Blaine said, rubbing their noses together to get at Kurt's lips again. "After making me think you were straight", another pause for a kiss before Blaine broke away, "for the last four months we've been working together." He finished sternly before ducking back down to nuzzle at Kurt's neck once again.

Kurt still couldn't believe that Blaine wasn't more angry about that and he took a moment to let what Blaine had said sink in.

Once it had he conceded that "I guess you have a point," cautiously.

Blaine chuckled before rolling aside suddenly to reach into the drawer in his bedside table.

"Here," he said, and once Kurt had a hand free of the sheets he pushed something smooth and silky into it.

Kurt tucked an arm behind his neck to prop up his head and used his other hand to dangle what Blaine had given him in front of his face to see what it was as Blaine had laid his head on his chest and refused to move so he couldn't get up to see it more effectively.

"My tie," Kurt murmured, eyes following the tie's swinging movements blearily. It was the blue tie he'd thought he'd lost and now, he realised dryly, he knew where it had gotten to.

Blaine nodded, kissing his stomach.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "You left it here last time." Blaine snorted. "I recognised the tie too," he added, shaking his head in awe at his own ridiculousness. "I knew it was yours but you had me so convinced you were straight that I dismissed it as a coincidence."

Kurt shook his head too, chuckling, feeling dizzy.

"Well, I kind of rely on you thinking things like that," he admitted then froze. But Blaine didn't seem to catch his remark (thankfully, as it could encourage questions that wasn't in Kurt's best interest to answer), instead he chose to focus on a different train of thought and Kurt seized up in anticipation.

"Wait," Blaine said, propping his head up on Kurt's chest to look at him as he remembered what Kurt had said right as they both woke up. Not again.

"You knew it was me?" Blaine asked, sounding slightly betrayed. "That you slept with?"

Kurt groaned, twisting his head to the side so he wouldn't have to see Blaine's face.

"Yes," he admitted quietly and then yelped, shooting up the bed and banging his head on the headboard as pain bloomed on his collar bone.

"You bit me," he exclaimed and Blaine smiled, kissing the mark he'd made before sitting up.

"That's what you get for keeping important information to yourself," he chided and Kurt could do nothing but splutter mindlessly, staring at the detective whose bed he was sharing in disbelief and shock.

"Now," Blaine said, moving backwards so Kurt could sit up. "I am going to go shower, brush my teeth and get dressed. Then I'm going to make breakfast. You are free to join me, or you can stay here, naked," Blaine seemed to get a lot of glee in saying this, "In my bed until I see fit to let you go."

Kurt laughed, slightly astounded at everything that had happened that morning so far.

Screw it, Kurt thought, leaning forward and stealing a kiss from Blaine quickly before getting out of the bed to pad his way across the room to the doorway.

He turned to see Blaine staring at him in surprise at his sudden movement, and a smirk spread its way across his lips reluctantly when he saw Blaine's eyes rove over his naked form that for the first time was exposed to him in the light of day and he would be able to remember properly. Kurt barely stopped a shiver from making its way through him as he noticed Blaine's eyes darken slightly, knowing full well what it meant when they did.

"Aren't you going to show me the way to the bathroom?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow and Blaine scrambled out of the bed, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him along enthusiastically to Kurt's extreme amusement.

Okay, Kurt thought as Blaine tugged him into the shower and turned it on, pressing him against the wall. I could get used to this, he thought reluctantly as they began kissing once again.

Now, all I need to do is make sure he doesn't figure out I'm Porcelain. He thought, tipping his head back as Blaine sucked at his neck and repressed a moan as Blaine nipped at a particularly sensitive spot beneath his left ear. Should be easy, he thought sarcastically and then he didn't think at all for a long period of time.

Sunday afternoon:

After spending nearly all day at Blaine's apartment Kurt went back home feeling like he was drifting on clouds.

I am so screwed, was the thought that Kurt had kept repeatedly thinking, even as he and Blaine fucked in Blaine's shower, in Blaine's kitchen when they'd been trying to eat breakfast and then in every other room in Blaine's apartment.

Now, however, that he was out of Blaine's presence (which was so much more distracting now that Kurt had given in to the attraction he'd felt for the detective ever since they'd first met) and he could think a little more clearly.

It was obvious to him now that the truth was going to come out eventually, the NYPD would discover he was Porcelain.

Now he had to go over his options and it was in the twenty minute cab ride from Blaine's apartment to his own that he did so.

The most appealing (and, to him, least likely) option that was feasible was that, once the NYPD found out he was Porcelain, they would keep him on as a criminal consultant and reinstate the tracker. They might even introduce a form of tracking that was harder to get out of and more restricting.

However there was another direction Kurt could see this going, which was him getting put in prison and staying there until his sentence was served.

After all, he could always break out (he doubted he would even find it very hard).

But the thing was, Kurt couldn't see him and Blaine staying together in either of those scenarios. Indeed, he didn't even know what they were then.

And that was something he wanted to happen.

Him and Blaine staying together.

There was one last scenario Kurt was praying happened and that was that Blaine never made the connection, and things would stay as they were.

However, that was the least likely scenario of them all.

It was with this mindset that Kurt entered his apartment and went into the kitchen to get himself some wine that he ran into Rachel, Santana and Brittany, all staring at the door and waiting for him.

"Gah!" He exclaimed, jumping back in shock.

"Kurt!" Rachel said, beaming as she bounded up to him and went to hug him, pulling back when she didn't get a positive response.

"Nice going Hummel," Santana said, eyeing him and the numerous hickies that were visible on his neck.

"It worked!" Rachel exclaimed happily, clapping her hands.

Brittany didn't say anything, she was staring out of the window.

"What-?" He began asking before realising what had happened. "You!" He hissed, pointing at the girls. "You set us up!"

Santana snorted, tossing her hair.

"Duh," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Do you realise what you've done?" Kurt demanded.

"We got you and the hobbit together," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "No need to thank us-"

"Thank you?" Kurt seethed. "Why on earth would I thank you? Now the only way I see this catastrophe ending is through disaster and Blaine is likely to never want to talk to me ever again!"

Rachel pulled back from where she was still trying to hug Kurt.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"At some point," Kurt said through gritted teeth. "Blaine is going to realise I'm Porcelain, which he previously wouldn't have been able to do as I would have been able to keep him guessing. That was why I constantly zig zagged my sexuality with him, so he wouldn't get close enough to make the connection." He glared at the girls.

"Now, however, that we are together or fucking or whatever the hell we are now because of you, he will get close enough to see the parallels between mine and Porcelain's personality and in the end come to the conclusion that I am Porcelain. Then," Kurt continued, grimly, glad that Rachel at least now looked taken aback at what she'd done and a little contrite. "He will get the evidence he needs to convict me, because he is Detective Anderson and that is what he does." Kurt finished, chest heaving.

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel whispered, eyes filled with dread. "I didn't realise he would still-"

"Yes, you didn't realise," Kurt interrupted. "Because none of you know Blaine Anderson like I do and both of you underestimated him and you didn't trust that I knew what I was doing."

Santana uncrossed her legs and hopped off from where she was sat at the counter, then forced her glass of wine into Kurt's hand.

"Sit, Hummel, and drink," she ordered and Kurt did so, deflating as the fight left him.

He was a little ashamed to feel tears prick at the back of his eyes and he blinked them away angrily.

Whilst he was still panicked at Blaine's and his relationship advancing, especially considering it would be much harder to hide things from him, he found it easier to handle when under the belief that it was through his own fault that it happened.

Now, however, that he had learned that it was all through the planning of his friends, he was less amiable.

"Now, while that may all be true," Santana said, referring to the rant Kurt had just gone on. "That's not going to happen in the immediate future. And I'm sure you've already started on planning what you're going to do when it does eventually happen. So, what we're going to do now is distract you."

She turned to glance at Rachel.

"Berry's been telling me you've had a heist saved for when Britt and I came back to New York. We can do it today."

Kurt nodded, reluctantly. At least we can get some work done, he thought, grumbling mentally.

"Yes," he muttered stiffly. "We can,". He downed Santana's glass of wine and handed it back to her, getting up to leave the room.

"But first," he said, addressing the looks the girls were sending him that were questioning what he was doing. "I'm going to have a shower, I'm going to get changed and I'm going to brush my teeth."

Once he had done all of that, - he'd not wanted to use Blaine's toothbrush, none of his clothes fit him and he'd not had a shower since the one he and Blaine had taken together when they'd first woken up - also indulging in his moisturising routine in an attempt at calming himself, he came back into the kitchen carrying his Picasso forgery and a white t-shirt.

Rachel saw him enter and left the room immediately and Kurt didn't question this, Rachel didn't normally hang around when Kurt started talking work.

"Okay," he said. "First of all, Santana I need you to put this on." He handed her the shirt but before she could he stopped her. "Look at the front first," Kurt ordered and the two girls did so. "That's a print of the Picasso we're going to lift today," he informed them, "and this is how we're going to do it."

Santana and Brittany walked into the gallery a half hour after Kurt did, giggling with their arms linked. Santana was wearing the shirt, paired with a leather jacket, leather pants and black heels.

Brittany was similarly dressed and their hair was blown out.

"I need the two of you to dress to impress," Kurt had said. "You're going to be the distraction, the security guards need to be looking at you."

"Is that why this shirt is so... snug?" Santana asked, pulling at the shirt. The V neck of the shirt stretched across the top of her breasts and showed off her toned stomach.

"Exactly," Kurt said. "We're going to be sneaking the Picasso out of the gallery between your breasts, so security needs to be focused on them and not what's underneath them on the shirt." He turned to the girls again. "The security guards are the marks." He said, "They're the ones we need to convince everything is fine and that nothing is out of the ordinary."

Kurt was in the main gallery, timing the camera sweeps. He'd learnt what security measures it had weeks before, when he first started casing the joint.

Kurt walked into the gallery, wearing his usual suit, and headed straight for the Picasso he was aiming to steal when Santana and Brittany were in New York next.

And he lifted it straight off the wall.

After a few seconds delay alarms started ringing and the security guards came into the room, surrounding him.

"Calm down, gentlemen." Kurt said smoothly. "Here, the painting. It's not damaged whatsoever ."

A minute later he was lead into a dark room and the head of security sat opposite him.

"You realise that what you attempted today was very foolish-" the man started but Kurt interrupted him, standing up to shake his hand.

"Hello Mr...?" Kurt said.

"Mr Walts," the man said, bemused as he accepted the hand shake.

"Mr Walts. I'm Turk Hudson," Kurt borrowed his step brother's surname. "A representative from Anderson Security Assessments," he continued, borrowing Blaine's surname this time. "I'm sure you've heard about the recent theft of art all over New York City?"

Mr Walts nodded. "Oh, yes, the work of that dreaded Porcelain."

"Yes," Kurt replied charmingly as inwardly he grinned. Dreaded. He'd never been dreaded before.

"Well, myself and other representatives from Anderson Security Assessments have been hired by the Art council to make sure security is up to par in major galleries around the city, should Porcelain choose to target them."

Mr Walts nodded once more.

"And," Kurt continued. "To be absolutely frank with you Mr Walts, this gallery is not up to the required standard." Mr Walts opened his mouth to argue but Kurt carried on. "I strolled in and lifted a valuable painting off the wall, why wasn't it bolted down?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Where's your laser protection? I've seen garden centers with better security."

Mr Walts blathered, "We've got cameras-"

"What's the downtime with the Picasso's?" Kurt demanded. "Those paintings must be out of the camera's shot for what – thirty seconds? Forty?" Kurt lent forward.

"Twenty, actually." Mr Walts said, peevishly and Kurt committed it to memory. "Look, our security is more than up to par-"

"Really?" Kurt interrupted. "How so? Because right now I'm really not seeing it."

"Well, we have X Ray machines," Mr Walts started. "The frames are all tagged in the bottom left hand corner-"

"What, you don't tag the canvases?" Kurt asked, listening intently.

"No, Miss Gates – the curator," Mr Walts explained, "Is incredibly strict on that. No one is to tamper with the paintings. Besides, you triggered the alarm well before you reached the door."

"Well, what if I had chosen to leave out of the window?" Kurt challenged, he'd considered that as a exit when planning out the heist.

But Mr Walts smiled. "We have camera's all along the street outside and we have Sat Nav. As soon as you're out on the street, we're watching you."

Kurt nodded, drawing back as he tried to absorb all the information.

Mr Walts licked his lips nervously. "Well?" He asked. "The verdict? We've done alright, haven't we?"

"Mr Walts," Kurt said, charmingly as he smiled. "We at Anderson Security Assessments are not often impressed. But you, sir, have managed to do it."

Kurt had given Brittany and Santana all this information when telling them the plan.

"There's a twenty second blind spot on the Picasso," Kurt told them. "The canvas isn't tagged, the frame is. So, whilst you're distracting the security I'll wait for that twenty second blind spot and cut it out of the frame. It won't trigger any alarms and I can replace it with my forgery." Kurt smiled. "They won't notice a thing until their next check up on the paintings."

Santana snorted.

"What, you're not going to leave a calling card?"

Kurt grinned tightly, still annoyed at her about what she'd done by making him and Blaine get together.

"You know me too well," he allowed and Santana laughed.

Kurt had come into the gallery in a suit the first time he'd visited, so this time he wore a hoodie tied to his chin and sunglasses that covered most of his face. He also wore baggy jeans and trainers. He looked the complete opposite to how he had the day he'd scoped out the building, especially with a blonde wig and a clip on ear ring.

Kurt looked at his watch and looked behind him to see all the security guards were gathered around Santana and Brittany in the entrance hall.

He went into action just as the camera span away from the Picasso.

Surging forward he took his trusty craft knife out of his hoodie's pocket and quickly cut the painting out of the frame.

Then, taking out a bottle of spray of glue he sprayed the frame with it, taking great care not to touch the left hand corner lest he set off the alarm.

He pulled his forgery out from underneath his hoodie and, making sure it was the right way up, pressed it on the glue and stuck it to the frame.

Then he replaced the forgery of the painting - which had previously been underneath his hoodie - with the real thing. He then tucked away the glue into his pocket after spraying his calling card with it, and then put away the craft knife.

He pressed his calling card in the middle of canvas and then spun away from the painting, pulling out his mobile and pretending to look at it just as the camera turned on the Picasso again.

Waiting a few minutes, he put his phone away and went to the bathrooms.

"Santana, I'm going to stick the Picasso lightly on the back of the door in the last stall of the women's bathroom." Kurt told her as she sat on the kitchen counter. "It will have some residue glue on it but will be easy to pull of. You," he said. "Will stick it over the Picasso print on your shirt. Security will be none the wiser." He turned to Brittany. "While she's doing this you'll be distracting security and making sure they don't go back into the main gallery until we've all left the building and gotten away scot free."

When he came out of the bathroom he knocked over the stand in the doorway, the signal he'd told the girls he'd give them when the painting was successfully stuck on the door.

"Ah," he said, loudly, "my bad, guys, my bad," he called to the security guards looking his way. He bent over and stood the stand back up. "No foul, guys, it's alright," He sounded like Puck or Finn, or even one of the jocks from his old high school, also completely opposite to how he'd spoken to the head of security when he was casing the joint.

He walked out of the gallery and left the building, walking several blocks away before stopping at the meeting point he'd given the girls when informing them of the plan.

It was only then that he took off the stupid hoodie and glasses, leaving him in his usual suit jacket, shirt and tie.

Then he pulled off his baggy jeans, which fit over his shoes and which the suit trousers had fit underneath. Then binned the glasses, jeans and hoodie – they were something he'd bought cheap just for the heist.

At that moment Santana would be asking where the bathrooms are, and if it was okay if she used them. She and Brittany were under the guise of tourists looking for Central Park.

Brittany would be distracting the guards and then Santana would be sticking the painting on her shirt.

Twenty minutes later and Santana and Brittany were walking towards him.

"Hey girls," he said.

"Hi, Porcelain!" Santana exclaimed, high off of pulling off the heist, and Kurt laughed as she peeled the Picasso off her shirt and handed it to him.

He tucked it away in his suit jacket with a grin.

There wasn't anyone they knew near where they were, outside a pet shop. But Kurt chastised her anyway for calling him with his criminal name.

"Shh, Santana," Kurt said, half heartedly. "Someone may hear us," they walked away to the main street, laughing and acting like they'd not done anything out of the ordinary.

Not knowing that someone had. Heard them.

Becky Jackson had been about to walk out of the pet shop when Kurt started taking off his clothes.

Not quite sure where it may lead she stayed inside and decided not to come out until he left.

So she was still there when Santana and Brittany came out. And she heard Santana call Kurt Porcelain and saw the exchange of the painting.

Then, they finally left and she made her way out of the pet shop.

She walked the few blocks from the pet shop to the NYPD headquarters and went to the receptionist.

The receptionist smiled.

"Here to see Sue?" She asked and Becky nodded.

"Not that it's any of your business," she warbled and the receptionist nodded, still smiling. She was used to Becky's personality.

"I'll tell her you're coming up," The receptionist said and gave Becky a visitors badge. "You know the way to her office." she added and Becky nodded.

"Thank you," Becky said, reluctantly, and turned to go through the doors.

Becky never took the elevator.

She didn't like them and she couldn't remember Sue's floor any way.

She took the stairs. It was six flights up to Sue's floor and it normally took her twenty minutes to walk up them.

When she got to the top she was panting and she pulled out her asthma pump, using it to take a big breath.

Then she made her way to Sue's office.

When she finally got there she knocked and Sue's voice called out from it.

"Come in," she said and Becky did.

Sue smiled at the sight of her.

"Becky!" She said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. "I didn't know you were coming to visit me today."

Becky nodded.

"Yeah well," she warbled, pushing up her glasses. "I was at the pet store, watching the kittens and something happened."

Sue nodded, concerned, and took of her reading glasses and shut her journal.

"What happened?" She asked.

"Well," Becky said, "I was about to come out when a man in a blue hoodie and wearing sunglasses stopped outside the store." she took a deep breath. "Then he started taking of his clothes so I stayed inside."

Sue nodded, frowning. "Go on."

"Well, underneath his jeans and hoodie he was wearing a posh suit." Becky nodded, looking around Sue's office aimlessly.

She liked Sue's office. It had a potted plant in the corner and Sue kept all her awards for the department on her walls.

"He stayed there a long time," Becky said. "Until two girls came up to him and gave him a pretty painting. And," Becky lent in. "The tall, dark haired lady called him Porcelain."

Sue's eyes widened.

"Becky," she said, "Did you get a good look at him?"

Becky nodded. "But I would only be able to recognise him if I saw him." She said, knowing what might be expected of her as she'd been friends with Sue long enough to pick up a few things.

Sue smiled. "I didn't expect you'd talk to a sketch artist anyway Becky."

She reached for the phone on her desk.

"Now," she said, thumbing through the yellow pages. "There's an art gallery a ten minute walk away from that pet store and I bet," she found the right page and dialed in the phone number. "That if I call them and tell them to check their Picasso section," she put on her reading glasses. "They'll find a calling card from Porcelain there."

"Have I been helpful, Coach?" Becky asked and Sue nodded, eyes crinkling.

Becky called her coach because Sue reminded her of her coach in high school and she'd liked it so hadn't had the heart to tell her to stop.

"Incredibly helpful, Becky." She took a breath as someone picked up on the other end of the line.

"Hello, this is Sue Sylvester, head of the White Collar Crime department of the New York Police Department. I'd like to ask you to check your paintings, I think you'll find something is wrong. Yes, I'll wait."

She covered the mouth piece and turned to Becky. "You're witnessing great police work in motion, Becky."

Becky smiled.

"You know," Sue said. "We wouldn't have found out about this for days maybe, if you hadn't been at that pet store today."

Becky nodded. "Thanks Coach," she said, happily.

Sue started as the person from before came back on the line.

"You've found a calling card?" Sue asked. "On the Picasso? Brilliant. I'll dispatch our team over straight away and send a memo to our lead detective on the Porcelain case."

Sue hung up the phone and then redialed for the white collar department.

"Abrams," she said. "Send over a team to Venus Over Manhattan art gallery at 980 Madison. And page Anderson, tell him Porcelain's pulled off another heist and left another calling card, and tell him to get his ass down to 980 Madison."

She hung up without saying good bye and smiled at Becky.

"Well done, Becky." she said. "You may have given us our biggest lead on Porcelain yet"

Kurt wouldn't know for a while, but he would have to face the problem Blaine would pose when the NYPD found out he was Porcelain much sooner than he had thought.

Next time on A Game of Cat and Mouse:

Becky turned to Sue the instant Kurt had left.

"Coach," she warbled.

"Yes, Becky?" Sue asked.

"That's Porcelain."