Since I have a little unexpected time on my hands, I thought I'd pull out a story idea from my file and see what I could do with it. I generally write hurt/comfort; my Neal is more open and my Peter is kinder. If you don't like that genre, then my stories may not be for you.

Chapter One

"Is that what it sounds like?" Jones' voice sounded through the device in Peter's ear. He glanced at the large clock behind the bank counter: 4.24 pm. His meeting with Investment Manager Miles Jacobsen was set for 4:30 but Peter knew that it wasn't going to happen. Not now. "Is the bank being robbed?"

"Yep," he confirmed under his breath as he, along with the other customers, were herded into the center of the bank. "Four suspects in ski masks, armed with semi-automatic weapons."

It was what was called a takeover robbery. Though rare, Peter knew they were the most dangerous. They took more planning, required more firepower and were more likely to involve violence. They barged in through the bank's double doors in ski masks, sending panic throughout the room. Using what appeared to be paintball guns, two of the men had quickly taken out the cameras and now, through fear and intimidation, the robbers were quickly taking control of bank personnel and the dozen or so customers in the lobby.

Of all the banks in the city these guys had to pick this one, and of all days to rob it had to be today. Jacobsen was the top fish in an investment scam White Collar, in tandem with the SEC, had been working for three weeks and they were all set to reel him in.

Peter, posing as a man who'd just come into a large sum of money, was the bait. He'd met Jacobsen at a Charity Event hosted by the Manhatten Art's Council-El had catered the event and had gotten him in-and mentioned he was thinking about investing a large sum of money. Jacobsen had given Peter his card, telling him he'd be happy to work with him, to sit down and work out some investing strategies he knew he'd be pleased with.

A week later, Peter, as Mason Davenport, had taken Jacobsen to lunch. They'd spoken a few times after that, exchanged calls and emails, but today was the day, the day the business was to be transacted. As soon as that happened, once the wire transfer was completed, they'd have Jacobsen dead to rights. Everything was in place, everyone was in place, but given recent developments, Peter doubted Jacobsen would be keeping his appointment schedule.

Two of the suspects had jumped the counter, warning terrified tellers to move back. "No buttons, no cops, and no one dies!"

After locking the doors, another had quickly begun to move the customers away from the entranceway and into the center of the bank. Instinct had urged him to do something but he knew better than to act on it. He was unarmed and nothing he could do would improve the situation.

"What do we do?" Jones' voice was strained in his ear.

"Call in it but stay put," Peter answered quietly. With the shuffling of complying feet and muffled crying permeating the room, Peter doubted anyone would hear him, but he didn't want to draw any attention.

"Everyone on the floor, on the floor now," the masked man barked once they were all together. "Down, everyone! And keep your hands where I can see 'em. If you even touch a cell phone, it will be the last thing you ever do."

"Best if they come quiet and get them as they leave," Peter said, barely moving his lips as he lowered himself to the floor. "Too risky to come in."

The fourth bandit was checking each bank office, forcing anyone inside out into the lobby. Jacobsen's office was the first to be emptied; he and a middle-aged coupled joined the assembly. The second office produced one terrified bank employee and the third...the Bank Manager and a young man with a bloody nose.

Peter had to look twice.

Surely not.

He was in a suit and tie, his dark hair combed neatly back, and he was clutching a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses in one of his raised hands. He looked different, nerdy and less confident than he had the last time he'd seen him but the young man, a leather binder clasped between his elbow and side, was none other than the forger, scammer, con artist, and thief he'd had been trying to track for almost a year.

"Caffrey."

"Did you say Caffrey?" Jones asked in his ear. "He's one of them?"

"Don't think so." Caffrey was bleeding and this wasn't his MO. He, like Jacobsen, didn't use threats or weapons to steal people's money. "But he's here."

It looked like Caffrey had been meeting with the Branch Manager, probably in the process of some fraudulent business of his own. He must have offered some resistance. In addition to a bloody nose, there was a small cut on his cheekbone. Even from here, Peter could see the beginning of bruising on his face.

Caffrey and Ms. Meeger were shoved forward toward where Peter and the others had gathered.

"Get over there, get down and keep your hands where I can see them!"

Peter couldn't believe it; the man he'd been chasing all this time was less than fifteen feet away from him. His pursuit of Neal Caffrey was more than just his job, it had become an obsession, and Caffrey himself had made it that way. Peter had been working a Bond Forgery case when a polite young man outside a Midtown bank handed him a green sucker. He later realized the young man was the bond forger, the very person he was there to investigate, and the sucker had been nothing more than a jab, an insult. From that time on, catching Neal Caffrey had gone from professional to personal. He'd kept the sucker as a motivator, as a reminder, and he'd promised himself he'd unwrap it the day he cuffed Caffrey. He didn't have it with him, but it didn't matter; today was the day. Caffrey was elusive but even he couldn't get out of this. He was being held hostage by armed robbers, and soon the place would be swarming with NYPD and Federal agents. Peter might not get Miles Jacobsen this afternoon, but he would get Neal Caffrey.

Both Caffrey and the Bank Manager did as they were told. The manager was clearly terrified, her face was ashen, and though Caffrey didn't appear as panicked, he certainly looked concerned. Peter watched as his eyes darted around the bank, taking in the situation.

It was a small bank, and on a Tuesday afternoon, there weren't a lot of people. Peter hoped, with everything going on, that he'd just blend in with the crowd. Today he was Mason Davenport, bank customer, not Peter Burke, Federal Agent; Caffrey might not even recognize him. After all, they'd only met once.

But before he could divert his eyes, Caffrey spotted him and drew up short, his eyes widening in alarm. Caffrey probably thought he was there for him, and that seemed to shake him more even than armed gunmen. Peter felt a twinge of satisfaction; he'd been applying pressure to the conman for months, burning his alias, shutting down resources, and keeping him on the run. He'd come close to catching him several times, but Caffrey always managed to slip away. But there would be no slipping away this time, and Caffrey's expression told him he knew it.

But as their eyes locked across the room, Peter felt a wave of concern. What if Caffrey outed him? All it would take was a word, and Caffrey might well be rid of him for good. Faced with this very real possibility, Peter held his breath, waiting to see what course of action Caffrey would pursue. But the young man said nothing, he just stood there, frozen, until he was shoved hard in the back.

"Move it, boy scout!" the gunman ordered impatiently as Caffrey stumbled forward. "Get over there and on the floor, now!"

Relieved that at least for the moment, Caffrey had elected to keep his secret, Peter watched as the manager and Caffrey joined the rest of them. He expected Caffrey to stay as far away from him as possible and was surprised when, instead, he stepped past two pale-faced men and a sobbing woman and sat down beside him.

"Well, this day certainly isn't going according to plan," Caffrey commented ruefully, easing himself down. He placed the leather binder on the floor beside him, away from Peter. What he wouldn't give for a look at it. But all in good time. Caffrey also discarded the pair of glasses he'd been holding. They were broken and probably the reason for the cut on his cheek. He'd been wearing them when he was hit.

"What are you doing here?" Peter was watching the movements of the robbers but was aware of Caffrey's glance.

"Bleeding at the moment," Caffrey muttered, turning his eyes forward and pulling his sleeve across his nose. "How about you?"

Though his voice was low, Peter could hear the anticipation in the question. Caffrey probably thought he was here for him. As much as he'd like to feed his adversary's suspicions, Peter knew this wasn't the time to make the man feel threatened. Or at least, any more threatened than he undoubtedly already did. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Being robbed," Peter answered easily. He glanced at Caffrey; his jacket sleeve had done more smearing of blood than removing. "Have a falling out with your buddy?"

"These are no buddies of mine," Caffrey snorted. "I have standards, Peter."

The young man's cheek was unbelievable. "Peter?"

Caffrey cast an amused look at him. "You rather I call you," his voice dropped even lower, "Agent Burke?"

Caffrey had some leverage and Peter could see he both knew and enjoyed it. But he who laughs last laughs best, Peter reminded himself. Let Caffrey have his moment; his was coming. The man guarding them drew near, scanning them for any sign of disobedience. God forbid he realize one of his hostages was a Federal Agent.

"Not presently," Peter admitted beneath his breath.