Thanks to all who have followed and favorited this story, and special thanks to all who have posted reviews and offered me words of encouragement. I know I say it often, but it's true; you have no idea how much it helps keep me motivated. I am SO trying to wrap this up, I promise, it just doesn't seem to be cooperating with me. :)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Neal became aware of a roaring in his ears, and it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't just in his head. He was unsure of where he was, but oddly soothed by the sound, and gentle vibration that accompanied it, he dozed on and off for a few minutes before making a concentrated effort to open his eyes. He was lying on his side, on a hard, rough surface. In the darkness, he could make nothing of his surroundings but after a moment he realized where he was and remembered how he had gotten there. Eden had put him in the trunk of his car, and they were leaving the city.

Leaving New York. Leaving Peter, and the team, and any hope of rescue. Any time Neal had managed to purchase was running out with each passing moment; each mile. He didn't know where Eden was taking him, but he knew what was in store for him once they arrived.

But he wasn't in the trunk alone; he could feel another body pressing against his back but could sense no movement. His despair gave way to fear; his heart began to race. His memory ended with Eden tossing him into the trunk; he had no idea what had happened after that. What if Eden, in his anger, had killed the boy? What if it was his body Neal could feel behind him? Tossing the dead kid in the trunk with him would be just the kind of cruel thing Eden would do. Neal began to tremble, terror gripping him at the thought. He tried to speak, but no sound came.

"Andrew?" He finally managed to whisper shakily.

He was terrified there would be no answer and relief flooded him when there was. He felt the body move behind him and heard Andrew's voice, somewhere in proximity to his right ear.

"You're awake," the boy replied softly, sounding almost as relieved as Neal felt. "I was really starting to worry about you."

Neal guessed Andrew had had similar fears; no one liked the idea of sharing a trunk with a corpse.

"Sorry about that," Neal replied weakly, wondering how long the boy had lain there alone in the darkness. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Andrew answered quietly, "You told me to do whatever they said and that's what I did." There was a hint of shame in his voice; as if he should have done something more.

"You did good." Neal tried to shift his position but abandoned the effort when pain shot through him. After a sharp intake of breath, he continued. "Trust me, if you hadn't, you'd still be in here, but you'd be in a lot worse shape. That wasn't the time to fight."

"Does that mean there's going to be one? A time to fight?" Andrew's tone was a mixture of hopefulness and apprehension.

When he'd talked to the boy about being ready to run, he'd thought they would be traveling in the backseat of Eden's car. From there, even with Max or Eden with them, there would have been the hope of escape, especially if Neal created some kind of diversion, giving Andrew a chance to bail from the car. However, being in the trunk not only complicated the exit itself but left him operating blindly as well. He had no idea of where they were or when an opportunity was most likely to present itself. Still, there was no other choice; they would have to try. Any action taken was better than taking none at all.

"I was thinking more the time to run," Neal told him. "Are your hands and feet free?"

"My feet are," the boy answered, "but not my hands. You thinking of making a run for it when they get us out?"

Neal knew that would not work. Any chance of survival depended on the kid escaping before they arrived at whatever destination Eden had in mind.

"We can't wait that long," Neal explained. "You've got to get away before then."

"But we're locked in the trunk of a car," Andrew reminded him.

"They're ways out of a trunk," Neal replied. "Are your hands tied in front or back?"

"Front," Andrew answered. "Why?"

"There's a lever in here that releases the trunk latch. It's a safety thing. Should glow in the dark, but they might have covered it."

He could feel the boy moving about. "Even if I find the way to open the trunk," he said after a moment. "We can't just jump out; we're moving."

"It should be near the latch," Neal informed him as the boy continued to feel around the darkened space. "Any idea how long have we been on the road?"

The car didn't seem to be exactly zipping along. It was, after all, New York. Andrew paused at the topic shift.

"I don't know," he replied questioningly. "Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?"

"Good, then we're still in the city," Neal stated, "It's mid-day on the weekend. There's bound to be delays."

"So you're saying that when that happens, if we come to a stop, I should pop the trunk?"

"Or even just a slow down; get out and run," Neal urged. "They'll be traffic, people, witnesses around. Eden won't risk trying to get you back; he'll be too concerned with getting away."

"So that's his name?" Andrew ventured after a moment. "Eden? He's the one behind all this?"

"Yes," Neal said, "and he's a very bad man, Andrew, worse than you can imagine. You have to get away from him."

Andrew was quiet a moment. "But what about you?"

Neal's pain had lessened from the white-hot, mind-numbing agony he's experienced at the warehouse, but he knew it was only because he was lying still. Just the slightest movement would bring it back in full force, not only rendering him immobile but likely unconscious as well. Even now, there was a tightness in his chest, and he could feel his body trembling in spite of the warmth of the confined space. There was no way he could climb out of the trunk; much less run.

"Don't worry about me," he said with renewed urgency. "Just get yourself away. Get someone to call 911," he instructed, "and have the dispatcher put you through to Agent Peter Burke of the FBI. Tell him everything."

Peter thought the meeting was still a go. He'd be waiting for a call that would never come. At least, this way, he would know where to look.

"But I don't know much to tell," the boy protested. "I don't know these men; I don't even know who you are. Are you Caffrey or Danny?"

The boy's unexpected question caught him off guard. "I'm Neal, Neal," he insisted, his voice rising almost hysterically. "Not Danny. I never want to be Danny."

"Shhhh," Andrew whispered urgently, fearful the outburst might draw the attention of the car's other occupants, "I'm sorry. Please, just calm down."

Neal took a breath; he hadn't meant to lose his composure, to risk their safety. He could feel himself growing more desperate as weakness began to settle over him. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to offer the kid any direction. Time was running out.

"You have got to get out of this trunk," he whispered, lowering his voice but unable to hide his desperation. "Find that lever. Promise me, no matter what happens; you will try."

"But you're hurt," the boy replied hesitantly, a hint of desperation in his tone as well. "You're shaking; I don't want to leave you behind."

"You have to," Neal pleaded. "don't you understand? If you don't, we're both dead. At least this way, you can get free and send me help."

"Agent Peter Burke?" the boy whispered. "FBI?"

"Yes," Neal whispered. "Please, just send Peter."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC

The accounts had been set up, and traces were in place; NYPD plainclothes, armed with photos of Eden and Caffrey, were stationed in key positions around the parks, and both Jones and Peter were wearing the requested Brighton Baron sweatshirts. In fifteen minutes, they'd be going upstairs to Cyber Crimes to attend the pre-op meeting; an hour and a half from then, he'd slip Neal a tracking device. Hopefully, shortly after that, the hostage would be found, Eden would be arrested, and this nightmare would be over. Peter had a hard time believing it hadn't been but twenty-four hours since Mozzie had called his house, looking for Neal; it felt like it had been weeks.

Peter and Jones were gathering up their props when Agent Littleton burst through the glass door to the White Collar office.

"There's been a change of plans." Both Peter and Jones looked up in surprise. Agent Littleton followed closely by Agent Abernathy, approached them.

"Why?" Peter asked, looking from one agent to the other. "What happened?"

"Eden's on the move," Littleton explained, "Listen," he held out his phone. "This came in on the tip line fifteen minutes ago."

The men gathered around as Littleton played the recording he'd received from the tip line switchboard.

"FBI Tip Line, how may I help you?"

"I have information about the Terrence Eden case." The caller was male; his accent that of a New Yorker.

"What is the nature of-"

"He knows the FBI is on to him and that the diamond sale was a setup," the man rushed on impatiently. "He's on his way to an airfield near Sloatsburg; he has a private plane coming for him at three thirty."

"Do you have a description of the vehicle?"

"A black Chevy Impala with tinted windows and Minnesota plates." The man supplied quickly. "Caffrey and the Carver kid are in the trunk."

Peter glanced at Littleton, not liking the sound of that at all. Information on their operation had been leaked, but how much? What exactly did Eden know? Was Neal even still alive?

Apparently, the operator had similar concerns. "The trunk?" she repeated. "Are they alive?"

"They were ten minutes ago." Peter's relief lasted only until the man's next words. "But Caffrey's in bad shape. The kid's okay now, but he won't be for long. Eden's not taking them with him; he's going to kill them once he gets to the hanger. If you want to save them," he said, "You better get them before they get there."

"The call came from the Middletown-Pelham area," Littleton supplied once the call had ended. "but was too brief to get a more specific location. Does the name Carver mean anything to you?" Littleton asked. "Or to Caffrey? We ran it, but nothing came up. No missing person reports or anything."

"It doesn't ring a bell with me, but I can't speak for Neal," Peter answered impatiently. Who the kid was didn't matter right now. They knew where he was; locked in a trunk with an injured Neal. "Jones," he said, "get a bolo out on that vehicle-"

"Already done," Littleton interrupted his order. "And they're checking bridge cam's as well. Likely will cross the George Washington and head up the Jersey Turnpike."

"We can get them before they get that far," Peter stated, reaching across the desk and grabbing his coat. He needed out, mobile. "They only left about twenty-five minutes ago and, with Sunday traffic-"

"Agent Burke." Littleton's tone stopped him mid-sentence, indicating he was overstepping his authority and was not the one in charge. Littleton cut the inevitable awkward silence short by continuing, his tone again congenial. "We want to track him, not stop him," he explained. "Eden thinks he has an escape plan, but we know where he's going; it will be a cleaner collar if we take him when he arrives at the hanger."

"Sloatsburg is what," Peter protested, "at least an hour away? You heard the caller; Neal's hurt-"

"I know, and you read Eden's file," Littleton fired back, undaunted. "If he sees a traffic check, or gets blue-lighted, do you think he's going to just stop?" He didn't wait for Peter to reply. "Hell no; he's going to run, and if he gets cornered, he's going to fight to the death and take as many with him as he can. Including your CI and that kid."

Peter had to give Littleton credit; young or not, he stood his ground. He also was correct. Eden knew the FBI was looking for him, and with two kidnap victims in his trunk, he'd have nothing to lose. All Peter had been thinking about was getting Neal out of that trunk as soon as possible, but a confrontation between Eden and the Police could end badly. Taking him by surprise at the hanger was tactically the best course of action. Again he'd let his personal feelings cloud his judgment.

"You're right," he admitted with a quick nod. "So what's the plan?"

"Walk while we talk?" Littleton asked, moving towards the exit. He didn't pause for an answer but simply continued to speak as he progressed. Peter stepped up beside him, and the others fell into step behind them. "We want to maintain Eden's sense of security," Littleton said. "We want to keep tabs on him but not spook him into deviating from his plan. There's only one private airfield near Sloatsburg," he informed. "I've contacted both the Ramapo Police Department and the State Police at Warwick and brought them up to speed on our situation. They're coordinating their efforts. The Ramapo PD is setting up relay surveillance along the access roads to the airfield to track Eden's progress, and the State Police is putting a team in place at the hanger. They'll stay out of sight, and once Eden arrives, they'll move in." He glanced at his watch. "If we leave now, we shouldn't be too late to the party."

The plan sounded solid. Local PD, State Police. Coordinated effort. Agent Littleton not only walked and talked quickly but worked quickly as well. He had put everything in place in less than the fifteen minutes between the tip and his arrival at the White Collar Office. There was only one problem Peter saw; Eden was not likely to surrender even if he was surrounded.

"You said he wouldn't go down without a fight," Peter reminded him as they arrived at the elevator. "What happens if he comes out shooting?" Even though a showdown at a private airfield was preferable to one on a city street, it would still pose a danger to Eden's hostages.

Littleton reached out and pressed the down button. "Didn't I mention?" he asked, turning to Peter with a grin. "I requested that the State Police send a couple of sharpshooters for good measure; if Eden as much as twitches an eyelid, they'll put him down like the dog he is."

Slightly surprised and yet encouraged by Littleton's statement, Peter stepped into the elevator. He glanced sideways at the young man who was tapping his fingers impatiently on the rail of the elevator. There was definitely more to the Agent than he'd first realized. From Cyber Crimes, of course, he was smart; his mind and his mouth moved at a hyper speed most of the time. But he was tough as well. He'd stood up to Peter's pushback without batting an eye and had the balls to request snipers from the State Police. Peter had to admit that he'd never thought much of techno-agents tracking criminals through cyberspace, but after having met Agent Littleton, he might have to rethink his previous prejudice.

The conversation that followed was logistical. Cyber Crimes had a tech team set to monitor traffic cams and communications and to keep everyone involved informed and coordinated. In fact, as they stepped out on the ground floor, everyone's cell buzzed; A black Chevy Impala with Minnesota plates had just crossed the George Washington Bridge.

"They aren't too far ahead of us," Littleton said, "They'll probably take the turnpike up and hit State Road 4, then State Road 17 up to Sloatsburg."

When they reached the ground floor, they parted company, Agents Abernathy and Littleton going to their car and Peter and Jones going to theirs.

"So, what do you think of Agent Littleton?" Jones asked once they were alone.

"Well, he talks a mile a minute and can't stand still, but he seems to be a solid agent," Peter replied, turning the key in the ignition. "I like him better than I expected to."

"So do I," Jones responded. "He kind of reminds me of Neal."

Peter looked at Jones in surprise, but it was true. Agent Littleton did remind him of Neal. Another person who, after having met him, he had liked more than he'd expected to.

The caller has said that Neal was in bad shape. How bad, Peter wondered, and could he hang on until they reached Sloatsburg?

There was a part of him that wished he'd be the one to drop Terrence Eden like a dog.