"I got it," Diana announced, holding a small thumb drive aloft in the air. Peter pushed away from the table he was sitting at and practically rushed his agent.
"How?"
"A lady never reveals her secrets," Diana laughed, plopping the small drive into Peter's outstretched palm. He cradled it protectively against his chest as he made his way back over to their table. Diana shrugged out of her coat and threw it over one of the hooks just inside the door. She greeted Reed with a cheerful smile and then proceeded to commandeer an empty chair from a nearby table. Reed scooched over a bit to make room and Rosa, who had been hovering over them all morning, set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of the agent. Diana took off her gloves, picked up the mug with both hands and inhaled deeply. "Oh God, Rosa. I think I may be in love with you."
Peter could see the agent's hands were already red and chapped from the Manhattan weather. She had to have been regretting her decision to cut her vacation short.
Peter chuckled as he uncapped the thumb drive. "Better not let Christie hear you say that."
"That woman is on a beach sipping tropical drinks out of pineapples with little umbrellas in them right now. She no longer has a say in who I love."
"Who's Christie?" Reed whispered, leaning in close to Peter as Rosa and Diana discussed her cream and sugar options for a moment.
"Significant other," he whispered back.
"Oh," Reed said, straightening up again with a smile.
Thanking Rosa himself as she set a fresh plate of pastries down for them and topped his coffee cup off, Peter pushed the little thumb drive into the port on his computer and waited with baited breath for the harddrive to register the device. There were a few suspenseful moments when a driver had to be installed before the files could be opened, but pretty soon they were ready.
All of the drive's 64 gigs had been taken up by three massive files. Peter clicked on an orange and white icon and tapped on the tabletop nervously as the media player began to load. He adjusted the position of the laptop so the two women with him could also see. A few seconds later, an interrogation room came into view.
A man sat behind the table, his head resting on his arms. Peter instantly recognized who it was. No one could miss that shock of dark hair, still so perfectly coiffed, even after a trip into the East River.
Peter wasn't sure how to feel about the first real glimpse of Neal he'd gotten since this whole thing started. Angry? Relieved? The footage was grainy and not the best, but there was no denying the guarded way in which he shifted in his seat or the way his fingers always seemed to flutter up to massage at his eyes every few minutes. Even from this angle, Peter could tell Neal had been beaten and was in considerable pain. It was there in the sag of his shoulders and the way he kept putting his head back down on his arm. When Neal leaned over and started to heave, Peter nearly threw the laptop across the room.
The whole situation was unacceptable. A huge miscarraiage of justice. This wasn't the purpose of the US Marshals, to beat up innocent men and deny them medical care. Not when they were going based on the accusations of one man who hardly knew Neal or what he was capable of. Baseless accusations with no proof, that's what Leech's theories were. The Marshals were lucky Peter had not viewed this footage with them in their own office. He likely would have decked someone, or at least arrested every single one of those bastards. But there would be time for all that later.
"Is there sound?" Peter asked when two men dressed in suits finally entered Neal's room. Reed's hand whipped out and suddenly Peter could hear their voices.
"Well look who finally decided to join the land of the living. Hands on the table, Caffrey."
"I should probably see a doctor…"
The longer the video played, the angrier Peter became, having to look away several times to keep from swearing out loud. Diana was not so subtle with her language and let the curses fly. Reed just sat between them, quietly taking notes, in that calm, reserved way of hers.
Peter and Diana both shut up, however, when something startled the two men in the room with Neal and they both turned around in their seats.
"Get out," a low voice said off camera and Peter instantly knew it was Leech. He'd recognize that snide voice anywhere.
He found himself leaning in closer to the screen, just waiting for that one shining moment when the rat bastard showed his face and Peter would have him.
Only the moment never came.
There was a flash of dark hair and a forehead in the frame for a fraction of a second before the camera started to shake and then cut off completely.
"Oh come on," Peter muttered to himself as all three agents reached for the laptop at the same time. Reed and Diana backed off immediately and let Peter take the wheel.
The first file was done and the second sat waiting in the queue, only the media player was having trouble loading all that data. Peter had to resist the urge to drum his fingernails on the tabletop again, a habit he'd picked up over the course of the last few days. It was very obviously driving everyone around him nuts, but they were all too polite or lost in their own worries and fears over Neal to say anything to him about it. There would be lots of apologies to make once all this was all over; long hours, short leashes, and even shorter fuses... But first they had to find Neal.
Peter flexed his fingers while he waited for the footage to load and then banged a fist on the table once it did. Neal was once again alone in the room and the camera was being plugged back in by one of those Marshals from before. But that wasn't what had made Peter bang on the table. It was the sight of Neal sitting there in his chair, the side of his face dark with something that could only be blood.
"God damn it!" Peter swore, no longer caring who heard. It was as much for the state Neal was now in as it was for the fact that his last best chance at proving Leech was behind all of this had just gone up in smoke. There was one more file on the thumb drive, but Peter didn't even bother clicking on it. What was the point?
"Slow down there boss, this doesn't mean anything," Diana tried to calm him down as Peter got up from his seat and started pacing. He scrubbed at the stubble along his jaw line. "So Leech cut the feed. We still have the two Marshals who "lost him" on the way to Rikers."
"You mean the two Marshals we can't locate at the moment?" Peter responded back with more force than he intended. His fuse was so short these days, now that he was getting less and less sleep every night. Dividing all his time between the office, the little corner of Rosa's they'd all taken over, and the hospital with Jones was taking a toll on his nerves.
"They'll turn up," Diana promised. "You've got every agent in the office working this case now. Something is bound to break. It's only a matter of time."
Diana was right about that first part at least. Peter did have half the office working to track down the two Marshals who transferred Neal to Rikers and the other half trying to find Neal himself. Hughes spent a lot of time in his office these days, pretending like he didn't see what was going on. Mozzie was focused on Leech.
And speaking of Leech, they hadn't really heard anything from him, which was making Peter nervous. He hadn't even gotten the promised call from the man's office about his "behavior" the day Neal was taken. Which could only mean that Leech was lying low, planning something, rearranging the pieces on the board in ways no one could see yet. And Peter? Well, Peter felt like a broken time clock left forgotten on the edge of the table. He was supposed to be timing the match, but now he had no control over it whatsoever.
"I think I need a break," Reed informed them, getting up from the table and stretching her arms up over her head with an audible crack. "I'll be back in a few."
Peter watched her go, reminding himself to talk to Hughes about having her permanently reassigned to their division when all this was over. Reed was smart, and they could always use more smart at White Collar. Especially once they got Neal back.
And they were going to get Neal back. Come hell or high water.
They had too.
Peter sat down in his chair and pulled it back up to the table with enough force that Rosa looked over from her cash register and the customer she was helping. "I need something, anything that connects Leech to all this. Some shred of evidence so I can drag him into an interrogation room and get my hands on him."
"We'll find it, boss," Diana promised again, but Peter wasn't sure he believed her, or that she even believed it herself.
Peter rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sorry, Diana. I'm just a little on edge."
"Caffeine and no sleep will do that to you, Boss," she replied, patting his knee under the table.
Peter dropped his hands. "God, I didn't even think to ask you. How's Jones?"
"Frustrated," Diana said decidedly, like she was already anticipating the question and had her answer ready. "Pissed. Angry at himself for not being able to remember much of anything. But happy to be going home today, I think."
"I bet."
"And I think he's pretty anxious to start helping us with Caffrey's case."
Peter sighed, stirring at his now lukewarm coffee with a spoon. The tiny tendrils of cream that had separated from the dark liquid had gathered at the top and made strange patterns as he swirled them. "I know that. And if it was just the broken leg he was dealing with, I'd let him. But the man has a serious concussion. It's going to take him a while to get back to 100%."
"And I can't afford to make any more mistakes," Peter wanted to add, but didn't.
"I think he gets that, boss," Diana replied, like she really did get it all, even the parts he'd left off. "It's just going to be a big adjustment for the guy. You know how Jones can be."
Peter did know. Just like he knew he would never let Jones leave White Collar without a good explanation and one hell of a fight. He was smart and loyal and an incredibly hard worker. Just like Reed and Diana. The thought of him under guard back at the hospital still made Peter's blood boil.
He abandoned his spoon with a clatter. "Where are we at with Rikers?" It was time for a change of subject.
"Ah, yes. Rikers," Diana said, shaking her head. "I'm still working on that. Warden Jeffries is a… difficult man."
"I could have told you that," Peter said with a smile.
"His office is not returning any of my calls, but I have a plan."
Peter leaned in. "Oh, this oughta be good."
But before Diana could even start, Rosa approached their table with a fresh pot of coffee in one hand and a plain, white envelope in the other.
"Peter, I'm sorry to bother you, but some goofy little fella just dropped this off for you at the back door."
She handed him the envelope. He tore it open and found a handwritten note inside.
Someone's watching you. Black sedan down the street.
Peter twisted around in his chair and glanced out the coffee shop windows. Sure enough, there was a black sedan idling a little ways up the block.
"What is it?" Diana asked but Peter held up a finger as he kept reading.
Washington Square Park. 2 hours. Come alone. If you don't, I'll know.
"Rosa," Peter said, handing the note to Diana so she could read it for herself, "did this goofy little man happen to have a bald head and thick glasses?"
"He sure did," Rosa replied.
Peter sighed. "I thought as much. Thank you."
Rosa nodded and then headed back to her register.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Diane asked as a plan began forming in Peter's head.
"I should probably go alone."
He glanced over his shoulder again at the black sedan. It's windows were tinted and he couldn't see inside. "But do you think you could go distract whoever's out there while I make a break for it?"
"Do I ever," Diana replied with a smile.
After explaining the situation to Reed once she returned, Peter gathered up his things and exited the coffee shop through the back. His car was parked in a little private lot Rosa shared with her neighbors. The area was normally used for deliveries, as most of the other tenants around her were businesses as well, but she never had a problem with Peter using the space that was normally reserved for Don. The detective was on shift today anyway.
It was cold in the car when he finally climbed in, and Peter had to give the defroster a few minutes to excavate him some clear glass from beneath the frost. When he could actually see properly, he inched his vehicle down the narrow alleyway and towards the street. Diana was already approaching the sedan, though Peter didn't take off in the opposite direction until he saw her start yelling and throw her arms up over her head. He peeled off down the street, watching his rearview closely.
No one followed.
Washington Square Park was surprisingly busy when Peter arrived there about an hour and a half later. He was still early, despite heavy traffic and the few wrong turns he'd strategically taken to throw off any tails. The sun was out and people were meandering up and down the paved paths or sitting on the benches. The sun had been out for days and had drawn its worshipers out of their homes like pilgrims to bask beneath it. Peter watched them as he passed under the big arch at the front of the park. Partly to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, but also because he envied them. He envied their carefree smiles and easy conversations. The fact that none of them seemed worried or afraid, or like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. The sandwich shop Peter planned to meet El at for lunch was near this park. Perhaps he would suggest they brave the cold and eat their lunches out here.
Peter glanced down at his watch and picked up the pace. He was pretty sure where he needed to go, but one never knew with Mozzie. He made his way past two men playing chess at one of the old stone tables where Bobby Fischer himself had once played. The fountain to his left was as empty as the trees surrounding it and a couple had climbed into the center of the empty pool. They sat on the concrete housing that held the plumbing, making out with reckless abandon. Peter shook his head at them and kept on towards the two benches he could now spot in the middle of a grassy knoll. He could feel eyes on him as he sat next to a newspaper that had been left on the seat. The date was from three days ago. The same day Neal had been taken.
"Nice touch with the paper, Haversham ," Peter said when he finally felt someone sit on the bench directly behind him. It took everything in him not to roll his eyes.
"The cock crows at midnight," was Mozzie's reply.
"Are we seriously going to do this?"
"Don't turn around!" Mozzie hissed when Peter nearly did. "Do you want to get me killed?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter replied, deciding he'd better just play along. It'd be easier to get his answers that way. "It's just, diamonds are a girl's best friend… and all that." He really did roll his eyes then.
"Very good. I see you got my message."
"I'm here aren't I?"
"To your right you will find a newspaper," Mozzie continued, ignoring the comment. "In it I've placed a file for your eyes only."
Peter picked up the newspaper. It was heavier than he'd expected. "Couldn't you have just emailed it to me?"
"Come on, Suit! This is serious," Mozzie admonished, turning around on the bench and ruining the pretense all on his own. "I could take a lot of heat for what I dug up for you."
"I'm sorry, Mozzie," Peter said. "Truly I am. Please proceed."
Mozzie glared at him for a moment before turning back around. "What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted is that I found some pretty interesting dirt on our mutual friend."
"What kind of dirt?" Peter asked, thumbing through the paper and looking for the file. It was tucked into the Lifestyle section.
"The kind that could get both of us killed," Mozzie replied and Peter nearly froze.
"What are you talking about?"
"Tell me, Suit, does the name Jeremiah Park mean anything to you?"
Peter felt all the air leave his lungs as the temperature in the park seemed to plummet.
"Because it should," Mozzie went on. "I do not make it a habit of poking around in the affairs of Serial Killers, Suit."
But Peter was hardly listening as he tore the newspaper apart in his haste to get his hands on the file. If it were true, if Mozzie really had uncovered a connection between Leech and Park, then this was it. The smoking gun they'd all been waiting for. A reason to arrest Leech and drag him into an interrogation room for questioning about Neal's disappearance. The file shook in his hands as his eyes zoomed across the pages.
"Your buddy Leech was awfully good at covering his tracks, but you should have more than enough in there for a conviction."
And leverage , Peter thought to himself as he absorbed the enormity of the information he was holding in his hands. "Have you told anyone else about this, Mozzie?"
"No," Mozzie shot back, sounding offended. "Of course not."
"Then keep it that way. Stay off Park's radar as long as you can. Leech's, too. They're both incredibly dangerous men and if Leech finds out what you gave me... " But Peter couldn't make himself say the rest.
Then he might kill Neal , or at least order the people holding him to do it. He could also decide to send Park after Jones, or anyone working the case for that matter. There were just too many unknowns at this point to go off all half-cocked, no matter how damning the evidence Mozzie had uncovered was. They had to play this smart.
"We can't show our hand too soon," Peter finished.
"Cute analogy, Suit, but I understand the stakes," Mozzie replied.
Peter set the file carefully back down on the bench before turning towards the conman. He was done with the spy games. "And Neal? Anything new on him?"
"No," Mozzie admitted with a heavy sigh. "Leech might have been a novice when it came to his financials but he's doing an awfully good job at keeping my friend's whereabouts a secret."
Peter patted the side of Mozzie's arm and didn't miss it when the conman stiffened and moved away from him every so slightly. "I'm sorry, Mozzie. I know this is all my fault, but we are going to find him."
"Oh I know we will," Mozzie replied. "If something's there, I will find it."
And Peter knew he would. Just like he knew none of his agents would rest until Neal had been found. Why Diana had come back from her vacation so early, and why he knew he was going to have one hell of a time trying to keep Jones off this case once he was released from the hospital. It was Neal. He was the connective tissue that bound them all together. Changed all of their lives for the better, even if most of them would never admit it. Hell, if someone had told him four years ago that they'd all be feeling this way about a convicted felon, Peter probably would have laughed at them.
Just like he would have laughed at someone had they come up to him on that bench in the park right then and told him that a bullet was about to whizz pass his body, graze his arm as it went by and imbed itself in a nearby tree.
Well, it did.
Only Peter wasn't laughing.