A/N: Wow. So, it's been a while. Life got super crazy. I started a new job. Stuff with family happened. I had other personal projects that needed attention to get done before the holidays. So, I just kinda put this on the back burner, not sure when I'd get back around to it again. Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for coming back after such a long hiatus. No promises on how regularly I'll be updating, but we'll see what happens.

Chapter Forty-Five

A Different Life

Fowler killed Kyle. Mozzie was certain of that, and she had no reason to doubt his information. After a year of holding Kyle over her head like a carrot on a stick to get the music box, he'd planned to stab her in the back in the end anyway, murder her and Kyle to neatly tie up any loose ends. In the following weeks, a silent seething anger consumed her. Her desperation to find the man grew and grew. She didn't know what she would do when she found him, but that hardly mattered; she had to actually find him first.

Still, life went on. Cases came and went. On the surface, she presented a calm, cool, and collected facade to Peter. It was too early to show her hand to him. He would only get in her way.

"That was a tough case," he protested as they stepped off the elevator; it was just like every morning. "It was a multi-million dollar embezzlement scam."

"I'll give that to you," she allowed, "but all you gotta do is follow the money." He rolled his eyes, not convinced. "Look, I'll show you. You have a quarter?"

"Will I get it back?" he huffed, very serious. Like a quarter was going to break the bank.

"Depends. If it disappears, can you find it?"

He smirked, digging a quarter out of his pocket. "What are you, a party clown?"

"I'm embezzling your quarter," she said, ignoring his teasing. "There's a crime in progress. Solve it." She did a simple slight-of-hand, pretending to pass the quarter from her right hand to her left, before revealing both hands to be empty.

Peter wasn't as easily tricked as he had been when they first started working together. "It's in your right pants pocket," he said flatly. "You didn't make the switch with your right hand. Case closed."

"How'd you know?" she prompted.

"Because I kept my eye on the quarter."

She grinned. "See? All you gotta do is follow the money."

"You're brilliant," he deadpanned, "but we've got a new case." She turned to head for the stairs. "Nora." With a sigh, she stopped and offered the quarter back. Can't just let me have this one. "Thank you."

Upstairs, they were greeted with several very unpleasant crime scene photos. She eyed them uneasily as the usual four looked over the case's files. "Since when do we handle murders?" she wondered. Sure, the occasional murder popped up from time to time, but it wasn't their usual white collar fare.

"Since it's linked to corporate espionage," Peter explained. That was certainly interesting, at least. She chewed idly on the end of a pen as he started going over the details they had. "The victim worked for Novice Systems."

"Tech firm?" Jones guessed.

"Yeah. They manufacture everything from cell phones to super computers. Meet Joseph Hayes." She took a quick look at the photo of their victim. He was sprawled out on the sidewalk, an empty brief case at his side. "He was Novice's lead R&D specialist. Dropped dead of a heart attack."

"What was he carrying?" Diana asked.

"A next-gen quantum microprocessor." Nora's brow furrowed. Tech was way more Mozzie's area than her own. "Anybody know what that is?"

"Sure," she lied. Peter stared at her pointedly, seeing through her instantly. "Yeah. It's a very small…"

"Tool," Jones supplied as she floundered.

"Tool."

"For binary code breaking," he concluded. Diana smirked, amused at seeing Nora drop the ball. If she was being honest, it kinda stung at her ego, but she did her best to shrug it off.

Peter continued on. "Novice was vying for a defense contract with several competitors. According to their PR, Hayes had a functioning prototype, which put them in the lead of that competition."

"How do we know he was murdered?" Nora wondered. Heart attack didn't exactly scream murder.

"Toxicology report," Jones explained. "It says there was digitalis in his bloodstream." That, however, did scream murder.

"Somebody killed him," Peter asserted, "stole the prototype."

Nora nodded soberly. "Any suspects?" Diana asked.

"Wesley Kent, founder and CEO." He passed out copies of a second file. "He's pointing fingers at his competitors. But according to NYPD, he had an after-hours meeting on his calendar with Hayes on the night that he died. His initial statement contradicted the timeline from the coroner's report."

"In other words," Nora mused, "Kent's hiding something."

"Looks like it. That's why I'm sending someone in undercover to the company."

Nora beamed. Tech might not have been her area, but undercover jobs were. "I know a bit about corporate culture, so-" She started to stand.

"Sit down," Peter huffed. Smile faltering, she sunk down slowly, trying very hard to ignore Jones and Diana's thinly concealed smirks. "Novice has its annual audit scheduled for the beginning of next week. It's a perfect opportunity for us to get the access we haven't been allowed. Kent is expecting an accountant from Bainfield Financial to show up at his offices."

"Well, if I'm not going in," Nora muttered, trying not to feel too disappointed, "who is?" Peter drew himself up proudly, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat importantly.

They spent the next few days perfecting Peter's cover story and getting everything put in place to make it as convincing as possible. Nora tried not to show her bitterness that he was going under instead of her; she hated watching from the sidelines.

The morning Peter was set to go under, she arrived at the Burkes' home bright and early to help him get ready. She lounged on the couch, idly fidgeting with a baseball she'd found on the coffee table while he fastened the last couple buttons of his shirt in front of the mirror that hung over the mantle.

"Peter Lassen, CPA, at your service," he said to his reflection, trying to slip into the role. With that, he plucked his tie off the mantle.

"I thought you joined the FBI to avoid number crunching," she mused, tossing the baseball into the air and catching it. "Glad your accounting degree hasn't gone to waste."

"I was recruited by several Fortune 500 companies," he told her matter-of-factly, working on getting the knot in his tie perfectly straight. He turned around. "Single or double Windsor?"

"Single," she decided. "It's hard to picture you at a big financial firm. Would have been a life-changer."

He returned to the mirror. "That's true," he laughed.

"Some alternate universe, you'd be wearing power ties, doing power lunches, flying corporate jets."

"Doubt we'd have ever met," he added.

She considered it for a moment. "Well, maybe. Under different circumstances."

"Well, that's true," he allowed lightly. "You might have robbed the company."

"Yeah," she agreed, standing as he finished with his tie. "You could've had a mansion."

"I like my house," he dismissed and handed her a pair of cuff links.

He offered up his wrist, and she got to work fastening the cuffs. "Horse," she prompted, "a stable in the Hamptons."

He shrugged. "I've got a dog."

She smirked, finishing with one wrist and starting on the other. "No regrets, huh?"

"No. I've got the bureau. I've got Elizabeth." He paused for a moment, contemplative. "No. No regrets." He turned back to the mirror to straighten his tie one last time.

She'd expected nothing less from him. "Bainfield putting you up?" she wondered, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Company booked me in a suite at a four-star hotel."

"Impressive."

"Yeah." He rounded on her. "Almost as impressive as your getting Kyle's flight recorder data." She didn't respond, but he knew her well enough to see the slight change in her expression. "That's right. Spencer told me. Nora, if you're working on this, so am I."

"I'm not working on anything," she dismissed.

He was staring her down, eyes stern and hands on his hips. "Which means Mozzie's working on it." He knows me just a little too well, she decided. "I want somebody from my team involved."

"Peter," she argued, "he is not-"

"No protests," he huffed. "We are working on this together."

She knew he wasn't going to change his mind and sighed heavily. "Alright," she relented. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Diana," he decided, picking up his jacket, satisfied he'd won.

"What?" she scoffed, taking the jacket as he spun around and helping him in. "She will eat him alive."

"Well, he's not much of a meal." He turned his back to her, but she could still see his face reflected in the mirror. "I want you to arrange a meeting."

"Are you sure this is-"

"Go." Rolling her eyes, she did as she was asked, leaving him to his own devices. This is going to be a spectacular dumpster fire, she mused, already trying to decide how she could get Mozzie on board.

Peter pushed his way through the spinning door into the building containing Novice Systems' office, briefcase in hand, taking in the clean, elegant décor of the lobby. "Peter Lassen," he introduced himself to the man standing behind the front desk.

"Can I see your bag, please?" the man requested. Peter handed it over.

A professionally dress woman with a high, black ponytail joined them, smiling kindly as she placed a plastic tray on the table next to him. "The basket is for your phone," she explained. They seemed to take their security very seriously. Peter fished his phone from his breast pocket. "I'm Ellen Samuels, Mr. Kent's personal assistant." He shook her hand before placing his phone in the basket. "Sorry for the security, but we can't risk visitors leaving with any sensitive information."

"I understand."

"You can pick up your phone and your laptop at the front desk on your way out. If you'll just follow me, Mr. Kent would like a word before you start." She led him away from the lobby, pulling a security badge off her hip as they neared a small gate. She swiped the card, and the doors of the gate swung open with a soft beep. "After you."

"Thank you." Peter followed her, surveying the hallways they passed through discreetly. He felt a bit like Nora, taking note of security cameras and points where badge access was required. It was a quick elevator ride up, and a key card protected door before they stepped into the lobby of Novice Systems.

"Sorry we can't give you your own swipe key," Ellen apologized, not sounding entirely too sorry. "They're for employees only. Executive offices are just around the corner." He followed her past glass-walled conference rooms and into a spacious corner office with a generous view of the city. A man stood behind the desk with his back to them, staring idly out, hands clasped behind his back. "Mr. Kent. This is Mr. Lassen."

The man turned, looking over Peter with a curious, scrutinizing gaze. "Mr. Kent," Peter greeted, walking up to the desk, "pleasure to meet you."

"Wesley, please," the man insisted with a kind smile as he moved to shake Peter's hand. "Mind if I call you Peter?"

"No, not at all."

"Good. You're gonna be with us for the week, might as well work on a first-name basis."

Peter chuckled. He wasn't sure what he expected from a company CEO – let alone murder suspect – but Wesley wasn't quite it, seemingly open and friendly. Though, of course, outward appearances were often deceiving and first impressions meant very little when you were talking to someone with lots of secrets.

"Most CEOs aren't as welcoming to an external auditor," Peter joked.

Wesley scoffed. "Well, you're just looking at our books." He gestured to Ellen, who had two glasses in hand, an inch of amber liquid swirling around the bottom. "Armagnac, my daily vice. I thought that we could, uh, you know, drink to your new home for the week." Wesley rounded the table and grabbed the glassed offered to him.

"Ah, sorry, but not on the job," Peter explained politely.

Wesley shrugged, bringing the glass up. "Suit yourself."

"I'll be coordinating with my team at Bainfield Financial," Peter continued, moving on to business. "The first thing I'll need to send to them are expense reports from your senior staff."

Wesley took a swig. "Whatever you want, we will provide," he assured Peter. "And Miss Samuels is at your service."

"If you could just show me where to set up."

Wesley stared at him blankly. "I'm sorry?"

"My office," Peter prompted. "Where is it?"

The man passed his glass off to Ellen, rounding the table with a wry grin playing on his lips. "Peter, this is your office." With a clap on Peter's shoulder, Wesley headed out the door, Ellen on his heels. Dumbfounded, Peter stared around the space. He had assumed the large, elegant office was Wesley's. He wondered what the man's actual office looked like, if this was the office he reserved for an external auditor.

Nora had been right; it would have been a very different life, if he had opted to pursue a career in accounting rather than going into the FBI. Peter rounded the desk, taking Wesley's spot to gaze out the window over the stunning view before him. I could get used to this.