Neal picked the front door and got inside. He shut the door behind him as silently as he could. What would he do now? He hoped that Peter had heard his call for help. It was probably jammed within the car, but now he was outside of it. But Peter could be at the other end of town. Even a squad of FBI agents could not just pop out of the ground out of nowhere.

He scanned the apartment. The bedroom has its windows towards the street. That ruled out the option to just leave and tell the job was done.

Besides, he needed some form of agreement and understanding from his mark. Or else he or she would be in danger later.

He pushed the bedroom door open. A woman, sleeping alone. That would make things a bit easier, maybe.

He took another step inside.

And then the woman shot out of bed like a bullet, aiming a gun at him.

"Freeze!" she screamed.

"Wait! Don't shoot!"

"Caffrey?"

He stared at the face of…

"Sara?"

"This is because I won't let the Raphael go." So sure of herself.

"No, it's not. This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're here to kill me."

"It is what it looks like," Neal admitted. "I was sent here to kill you." Sara cocked her gun. "Look, Mr. Black from Hamburg isn't a courier. He's an assassin."

"Right." Neal sighed. Where was Peter? Sara would not trust him, but she would trust the solid federal agent.

"There's a driver outside. He's armed. He may come in here if he doesn't see muzzle flashes."

"I can make that happen."

The phone rang.

"That's probably Peter." Even though he did not point his gun at her, she would not let go of her aim. "Look, I'm putting the gun down." He put in on her bureau and took a step away. "Answer the phone."

She reached for the button to put the call on speaker and barely even left her aim for a second.

"This better be Peter," she said, back pointing her gun at him.

"It is," the most comforting voice he knew floated through the room. "Tell me you haven't shot Caffrey yet."

"No, not yet."

"The flight was long, Peter!"

"Who wants me dead?" Sara asked Peter.

"Halbridge," Neal answered.

"Peter, is that true?"

"It looks that way, yes," Peter confirmed.

At last, Sara lowered the gun.

"We can arrest the driver outside," he suggested. "Work him to get to Halbridge."

"That doesn't guarantee we'll recover the bonds," Sara said.

"What do you suggest?"

Neal could almost see her brain at work. She returned his look.

"Let him think I'm dead." Neal smiled. He liked how her mind worked, solving problems. There was a reason she had been so close to finding the Raphael. She pointed at the floor beside her bed. "Three bullets there will do."

She looked at him as if she expected him to pick up the gun. He was flattered for the trust, but…

"Sara," Peter said over the speaker-phone. "I think you're the most qualified to do the shooting."

She blinked, but dropped her own gun on the bed and went for his on the bureau without further questions. She put three bullets in the floor.

"Congratulations, Caffrey," she said and handed the gun to him. "You've killed me."

"I'm sorry for this, Sara," Neal tried.

"It's not your fault," she returned. "It was you who said you didn't think Halbridge would use a currier. Now go, before the driver is spooked."

Neal left the building and met the driver waiting on the sidewalk.

"It's done. Let's go."

The driver opened the back door to him and he got inside.

He was dropped off at the same spot where he was picked up.

"Peter, is the wan still just eight blocks away? Could you pick me up on the way back?"

Five minutes later the van came down the street and Neal got inside. He sat down on a chair and closed his eyes. Peter and Diana were on top of things, arranging for Sara Ellis to be dead. He overheard two different conversations. One where Peter handled everything concerning the bluff with some brass from N.Y.P.D, most likely, and one where Diana made all the official like she was reporting in.

He was dead tired and wanted to go home, but it was not the time for that yet.

"Freeze!" a woman yelled. Probably Sara.

"Wait! Don't shoot!"

"Caffrey?"

"Sara?"

"Why did he say, 'don't shoot'?" Jones asked. Peter felt the color leave his face.

"Because she's gonna kill him." He browsed his phone for Sara's number. "Get me her number! Now!"

"I'm on it," Jones returned. "She's not got a listed number."

"Of course she doesn't! Find it for me! You're the FBI!"

Jones keyed.

"Here!"

Peter looked on the screen and pressed the numbers on his phone and dialed.

"This better be Peter," Sara answered.

"It is. Tell me you haven't shot Caffrey yet."

"No, not yet," Sara returned. Peter relaxed. Now they could work something out.

It was way past midnight before he could sit down with Neal.

"That didn't exactly turn out as expected," he said. To say the least.

"No," the kid shook his head. Was he too tired to make jokes?

"What about the gun?"

"I left in the briefcase for the driver to dispose of." Peter sighed when he heard this. "I know, but apparently that was part of my plan."

"We intercepted the E. and N.Y.P.D," he told Neal. "We put out reports that she's confirmed dead."

"Where is Sara now?"

Peter saw Jones coming up the stairs to the office with Sara on his tail.

"Jones was taking her to the safe house."

"I took her to the safe house," Jones returned. "She didn't want to stay." Sara walked in, dressed in panties, a short silk top, and an FBI windbreaker jacket.

"Why not?"

"Gentlemen. Neal." She sure had a way of greeting people.

"You're really redefining business casual," the kid said.

"Hardly recognized you without the Ruger," she spat back. Whatever co-operation and unison that had existed between them a little over an hour ago it was gone now.

"You should step out," he told the kid, who didn't object.

"I think I'll step out." He left the office and Peter made a mental note to make sure he got the anklet back on before he left.

"My files on Halbridge. Please put them in there," Sara told the guy driving the cart and gestured towards the conference room. "First things first. I need pants."

"Jones, find her some pants." The agent looked like he asked him to find him ice cream in the middle of the night but nodded and left.

Peter saw Neal at his desk, waiting. He walked down to him, noted that the anklet that was left on the desk was no longer there. The kid must have seen his face because he turned in his chair and pulled up the leg of his pants.

"You put it on?" Peter asked and felt a bit stupid. How else would have?

"Took the liberty. It was coming on anyway."

"It's late and you've had a rough day. Go home, Neal."

The kid got to his feet.

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

Peter walked back into his office and signed Neal off. He checked the dot on the screen for a moment, then he saw another trolley of boxes pass his office on the way into the conference room. He turned off the computer and walked into the next-door room where Sara seemed high on energy or fury or both.

"What are you doing? You okay?" he asked. Sara dumped a bag on the table and opened it. "It's been a rough night. You should get some rest. We'll talk on the way to the safe house."

"I'm good."

"You're staying?"

"Peter, I was woken out of a dead sleep by Neal Caffrey standing over me with a gun. I would love to be somewhere I could trust. Any progress on the pants?"

Sara could not possibly know or believe that her presumed art thief would never have done anything to harm her and that the experience probably was equally scary for the kid.

"Jones?" he called.

"Here's your bag." The young man placed a white bag on the table.

"Thank you." She zipped it open and pulled out a pair of pants

"Where are you gonna sleep?" Peter wanted to know.

"I'll be fine. Something about an attempt on your life really gets the blood flowing, like a double shot of red bull and espresso. I think I just invented a drink. You boys got any scotch?" She pulled the pants on.

Peter smiled to hide that Sara got him spooked. He turned to Jones who waited by the door.

"Get a cot. Bring it up here."

"You got it." He too had given up to control the current of lightning.

"It's been a while since somebody wanted me dead," Sara said. Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Don't look so surprised. The question is why does Halbridge want me dead?" Peter nodded.

"Which means what's so special about you?"

"I play a mean cello. I work for Sterling Bosch. I can be replaced. Kill me, another investigator takes over, and Halbridge knows that. So, honestly, why me?"

"Sara, we'll figure this out," Peter said. He did not have a clue, but then he had thought he sent Neal to act as a currier, not an assassin. Now the pieces in the puzzle had other shapes. He would figure it out. "We are gonna get this guy."

Sara nodded, relaxed by his confidence it seemed.

"How's the coffee around here?" she asked. "We have a lot of work to do."

Peter stared at her back as she began to unpack a box. Had she just said 'we'? He was going home.

"You were supposed to be here an hour ago." Mozzie's voice the second he passed the door to his own home. And there was his friend, lying on his couch with a glass in his hand.

"Yeah, well, we can't all spend our nights sipping wine on my couch." He has tired and wanted to go to bed.

"Not with that attitude, you can't."

"I was a little busy posing as a professional killer."

"As you said."

"Are you tipsy?" Neal asked looking at his friend.

"A little bit."

"Where's the cockpit recording?"

Mozzie sat up.

"I checked with Roy's office. The package from the FAA arrived at Sterling Bosch earlier today, care of Sara Ellis."

Neal took a chair opposite.

"So what happened? Where is it now?"

"You went and killed her is what happened. It's under lock and key while they investigate her 'death.'"

"Okay, I'll find a way into Sterling Bosch."

"Look, your best chance is to wait until Sleeping Beauty awakens from her dirt nap and snag it then," Moz said and in most cases that would have been a fantastic idea except this was Sara Ellis, a woman who hated him before the night's events. Now… "I'm guessing you're not her favorite person at this moment? Then I would suggest cozying up to her."

"She put a gun in my face."

"And cocked it?"

"Yeah."

"You've come back from worse," Moz said with confidence. Neal wondered when that might have been, but depending on your point of view and idea of what could be worse, maybe Mozzie was right.