Peter had finally slept but only out of sheer exhaustion.

The day had passed without any answers, and he could only put Hughes off so long. Even the NYPD had nothing definitive at the end of the day. The man they tracked via grainy CCTC had stonewalled, telling them to charge him or let him go. His face was pristine, and so were his hands; he must have only used his shoes. Detective Powell had hoped Neal could identify him from a photo array, but that had fallen through. With 72 hours to charge him, they'd held him and were making arrangements for witnesses to come in to view a lineup.

Neal hadn't recognized the suspect from the photos, but the note Detective Powell produced had alarmed him. Weeks studying Neall's reactions had paid off. It wasn't much to go on, just the widening of his eyes a fraction and the ever so slight parting of his lips, but the note had gotten a reaction. He'd been surprised, even shaken, by it, and when he said he didn't remember who gave it to him, Peter knew, without doubt, he was dissembling. He didn't remember who had given it to him, but he did know who had sent it. And he hadn't been happy about it. It was from someone he hadn't expected or wanted to hear from. That meant it was someone from his past, the very thing Agent Hughes, and to be honest, he had suspected.

But before he could press him for answers, both he and Detective Powell had been ejected from the room when Neal tossed his cookies.

Or, as it turned out, his applesauce.

Detective Powell muttered something about Caffrey's convenient lack of memory and left to give his partner the bad news. Peter believed Neal didn't remember what happened, but he had recognized the note. Peter half wondered if he'd thrown up just to get them out of the room and give himself time to regroup. But the look of utter humiliation on Neal's face coupled with the nurse telling him it wasn't the first time it had happened convinced him it wasn't just a ploy to keep from answering questions. As he'd stood in the hallway waiting for staff to put Neal and his bed to right, the nurse reminded him how late it was and suggested, strongly, that he leave for the evening and return the next day.

He hadn't protested. The truth was he was mostly done for himself and had been running on empty most of the day. A night's rest would probably be best for both him and Neal.

He'd gone into the office for a couple of hours-thankfully Hughes was upstairs at a meeting, so he didn't have to deal with more pressure from him-before making his way back to the hospital. He'd left the elevator on the third floor and was just passing the nurse's desk when a voice stopped him.

"I'm looking for room 312. I think his name is Neal?"

"It's just down this hall," the nurse gestured. "Around the corner and to the left."

"Thank you." The woman turned from the desk. She was young, barely legal, and frumpily dressed. Although pretty, she wasn't what he would have considered Neal's type. Neal was all about Supermodels or Kate Moreau, and she was neither. She looked tired and, even though she'd made an effort to hide it with makeup, there was a visible bruise on her cheek.

When she saw him standing there, she stopped short, looking almost frightened. He offered what he hoped was a non-threatening smile.

"I'm on my way to 312 myself," he said. "I can walk you down if you want." After a moment of hesitation, she agreed and fell into step beside him. Who was she? Who, other than he, even knew Neal was here?' "Are you a friend of Neal's?" he asked.

"No," she answered. 'I've never met him, not really." Peter glanced at her questioningly. "I didn't even know his name until last night." She hugged herself as if she'd caught a chill, her overlong sleeves covering her hands. "He...he did a nice thing for me," she said quietly. "and I wanted to..to thank him."

She wasn't from his past; she was from his present. He couldn't let that go. "Well, Neal is a helpful sort," he ventured. "What nice thing did he do?"

It took her a moment to answer. "I got myself into some...trouble," she admitted. "And he came charging to my rescue." She gave him a shaky smile. "Just like in the movies."

Just like in the movies. Neal would love that. He and that blasted Classic Rat Pack look he had decided to adopt.

He'd come charging to her rescue? They almost to Neal's room, but Peter stopped; so did she.

"What?" she asked, alarmed at his sudden perusal.

Again, she wrapped herself in a protective hug. The sweater was over large, and her sweats equally so. They swallowed what appeared to be a small frame. She was skittish and fearful. Her whole demeanor screamed victim. She had a bruise on her cheek.

And Neal had been beaten nearly to death. After charging to her rescue?

"Did this happen Tuesday night?" he asked, unable to hide the intensity of the question. "Down on Water Street?".

Her face paled. "Did he tell you about it?"

It had been. Neal hadn't been beaten as a reprisal; he had been beaten defending this woman. His heart began to pound with what? Relief? Pride? It was a mix of both.

This changed everything. "He hasn't told anyone about it," he told her. "He doesn't remember it."

A frown creased her brow; she looked uncertain. "What do you mean?"

Peter took a breath. His mind was racing, but he needed to calm down. He didn't want to scare her away. She knew what happened in that alley.

"I mean, he doesn't remember," Peter explained. "He was badly hurt. He had internal injuries, a broken arm, and a concussion." Her eyes became glassy as he spoke. "He was unconscious until yesterday afternoon, and when he woke up, he couldn't remember what happened to him."

For a moment, she just stared at him, but when she spoke, her guilt was palatable.

"It's my fault," she confessed as tears began to spill. "I just left him there. I was going to get help," she rushed. "But I saw that couple and knew they would so..." She swallowed hard before continuing. "I was so embarrassed." She couldn't meet his eyes. "My dress was ripped. My nose was bleeding." She sniffed, then wiped said nose with her sleeve. "I...I just wanted to get out of there."

Peter stared at her. In addition to the bruise on her cheek, there was a small scrape above her lip. There was a haunted look in her green eyes. It was his turn to swallow hard before speaking.

"Those four men attacked you." It wasn't a question. The witnesses said the assailants were large and athletic-looking; this girl was five-four at best and not a hundred pounds. Neal hadn't gone into the alley to meet those men; he'd gone into the alley to save this woman.

"It was my fault," she said again, the tears continuing. "I had some drinks with them at the bar. I was...flirting and-"

"It doesn't matter if you had drinks or flirted," Peter cut in, his anger making his voice sharp. "That doesn't-"

"I agreed to meet one of them," she returned with equal enthusiasm, her face blushing in shame. "Brad seemed nice. It was just to make out a little. I mean," she lowered her voice. "I wasn't going to, you know. Not in an alley. But his friends came, too."

Brad. That was a name. Neal couldn't identify the men, but this woman could. And these men were guilty of more than what they'd done to Neal.

"And when you said no," he ventured, his gaze shifting to her bruised cheek. "They didn't like it."

"I begged them to stop, to let me go." Fresh tears sprang forth, and this time she let them fall. "But they wouldn't. They were laughing, telling me we were just having a little fun. They kept pulling at my clothes, trying to kiss me..." She stopped and again hugged herself. "I was trying to fight, but.." She paused, taking a moment to lower her rising voice. "Brad slapped me. Hard. He knocked me into the wall. Then, all of a sudden, this guy...Neal...was there. He jerked Brad away and hit him. Brad went down and he...Neal...told me to run. And I did."

Peter stood there, his mind spinning as she outlined the events of that night. Everyone, including him, had assumed the worst. Everyone, including him, had been wrong.

"Listen," he said. "We need your help. Neal doesn't remember them; you do. I need you to file a complaint. Go down to the Precinct and-"

She shook her head. "No," she said, stepping back. "I can't do that."

"I'll go with you," Peter told her. "Just tell Detective Powell what happened. He will-"

"I can't!" she said again. "You don't understand," she insisted. "They'll say it was my fault. That I lead them on. I had drinks with them. I told Brad I'd meet him in that alley-"

"It doesn't matter," Peter cut in, desperate to make her understand. "They had no right to-"

"I'm not doing it!" She erupted, putting another foot or two between them. "I know how it looks. My grandparents will find out." Again she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Don't scare her off, he said to himself. She could vindicate Neal with Hughes. With the NYPD. She was his ticket to freedom, but she had to be willing to step forward.

"Okay," he said gently, holding his hands up in surrender. "I understand. I'm sorry." He glanced at the door. "You said you wanted to thank him, so let's start there."

"But if he doesn't even remember it..." Peter could see the hesitancy on her face. She was not having second thoughts about even seeing Neal.

"He's been beside himself," he said gently, "wondering how he ended up here. You can, at least, ease his mind." He watched as indecision flickered across his face. "Please," he added. "He needs to know. It's bothered him a lot, not remembering." He wasn't lying. It had bothered Neal. It had bothered all of them. "You can help him. Like he helped you."

Her shoulders sagged, and Peter knew he had her. He hated using her guilt against her, but, well, Neal needed this.

"Okay," she murmured. "But he's not even going to know who I am."

"It'll be okay," he assured her. "Trust me. He will be glad for the introduction." He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'm Peter Burke." He purposely left off his title. "And you are?"

Again, she hesitated as if unsure. "Samantha. Samantha James."

"Very please to meet you, Samantha." He nodded at the closed door. "How about I introduce you to your hero?"