"I'm glad you've reconsidered." Glad was an understatement. He'd been glad at the hospital. Pleased when she'd agreed to let him drive her to the precinct, he hadn't trusted to let her meet him there. Thrilled was more the word now that they were actually here. But the tension in the young lady beside him had increased tenfold as they walked through the precinct door. He knew she didn't want to be there, and part of him was still afraid she'd back out. Even on the drive over, she'd had second and even third thoughts.

"This is gonna help Neal more than you can imagine," he added. It was for Neal's sake she was there.

"I have to set things straight," she muttered, glancing around the crowded entrance warily. "He was there to help me; he's hurt because of me. I can't believe they'd try to blame him. Make it all his fault somehow."

"Well," Peter began, motioning her towards the door to the large desk, "when people-" Thank God his mind caught up with his mouth, stopping him from completing his thought. When People get into trouble in alleys, there's a good chance they shouldn't have been there in the first place. Good grief; she'd probably had spun on her heels and left him standing there. "-see, he has a record," he redirected, "they tend to jump to conclusions."

"That's unfair," she answered as they reached the desk. "To just presume he did something wrong when he was the one hurt."

He offered no comment, unwilling to revisit the previous, truncated reasons for that specific chain of thought. Peter flashed his badge to the desk Sergeant in place of introductions.

"Miss James and I would like to speak with either Detective Powell or Detective Blackwell."

"Certainly, Agent Burke." The Sergeant nodded towards the door to the left and picked up his phone. "I think they are both back there. I'll let them know you're on the way."

"Agent Burke?" Samantha echoed beside him. "You didn't tell me you were an agent. I thought you-" Her words and her feet both stopped, forcing his to do the same. "Did you just say all that to get me to come here?" Her tone rose accusingly. "Not to help Neal, but to help you? I thought you were his friend!"

Fearful she'd bolt given his title, Peter quickly tried to assure her of his intentions.

"I am his friend," he promised. He dropped his voice. "But these detectives are not; they are the ones convinced Neal is the criminal here, not me."

She gave him a stern look as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. His fear increased as time dragged on. After all, the detectives weren't the only ones who jumped to conclusions. He was guilty of that as well.

"Well," she conceded. "He acted like you were his friend." She gave a small huff. "So maybe you are."

"I am," he affirmed, pushing open the door. "And you are doing the right thing coming here."

When she didn't immediately enter, Peter glanced at her, fearing the fifth set of doubts had descended. She'd pulled her lower lip in and bit on it.

"Do I have to tell them everything?" she asked. "Is it enough just to say they were...you know...harassing me, and Neal came to my rescue?"

So she was still willing to speak out for Neal. But not for herself. At least not yet.

"The Detectives will probably want more details," he admitted. "They will probably try to get you to make a complaint as well."

"I don't want to do that."

"I know," he said, "but what they did was wrong. To Neal and you. They need to be held accountable for it."

"It's just..." she began. "I'm down at the Watering Hole a lot. I have a...reputation as a flirt. I know people will say that I asked for it."

"No one asked to be attacked," Peter told her firmly. "No one here will say it's your fault."

She gave him a level look. "But because of Neal's past, his reputation, they are saying him getting beat up was his."

That was true enough, but he tried to ease her fears. "It won't be like that for you, Miss James," he promised. "You know," he continued, pleased she'd decided to step through the doorway. "They have one of them in custody now. Would you be willing to look at a lineup? See if you can pick him out?"

"I don't know, I-"

"These people attacked you," he reminded her. "And they nearly killed Neal. They are bad men, Samantha. If you don't stop them, they will just do it to someone else."

She sighed. "I'll think about it."

He'd take what he could get. She was at least willing to tell what had happened in the alley, that Neal had been injured not in some illegal activity but in the act of a good samaritan. That would shut down the thinly veiled innuendos from the NYPD and get Agent Hughes off his back. Plus, it was possible she'd reconsider again if the detectives treated her with respect.

"Agent Burke." Detective Powell had come to meet them. "I see you've brought a friend."

"Not just a friend," he replied. "A witness. Miss James is here to shed some light on what happened in the alley that night."

"Really?" The man gave her a measuring look, but his expression wasn't harsh. Peter saw the slight narrowing of his eyes when he saw the evidence of bruising on her face. "Come back to my desk," he said as he turned to lead the way between the rows of desks. "I'd love nothing more than illumination."

Peter had to give the detectives credit; they did treat her with the utmost respect. They gave no appearance of judgment or skepticism as Samantha relayed the events that had transpired. He tried to keep the smug, self-satisfied look off his face when she told them Neal had been her rescuer. He doubted he did a very good job of it.

When she'd finished, Detective Powell leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. "Well," he began. "This has been very illuminating. Thank you, Miss James. I know you said you weren't interested in filing a complaint-"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to do that. I just wanted to make sure you stopped blaming Neal for what happened."

The Detectives exchanged a quick look at that. "I assure you, Miss James," Blackwell returned. "We weren't blaming Mr. Caffrey; we were simply trying to get to the truth of the matter. Caffrey claimed to have no memory of what happened. To do a thorough investigation," he gave Peter a sharp look, "We had to consider every possibility, and given Caffrey's criminal background, we had to-"

"Presume he was guilty," she cut in. "I didn't think that was how the system worked, Mr...?"

The man clenched his jaw a bit. "Detective," he corrected. "Detective Blackwell."

"Detective Blackwell. He was the victim," she pointed out. "The one beat up while doing the right thing. I think you owe him an apology."

The man's jaw wasn't just clenched; there now appeared a twitch just below his left eye.

"Miss James," Detective Powell interceded at his partner's growing, stormy look. "We did not presume Mr. Caffrey guilty of anything, but," he qualified at Peter's raised brow, "if he felt he was being accused of something, I will personally apologize." Blackwell's face flushed. He started to protest, but Powell's warning look silenced him. "On behalf of both of us."

That was entirely unexpected. An offer to apologize to a felon? And he'd called him Mr. Caffrey and not just Caffrey. The detective was desperate to smooth Samantha's ruffled feathers, and when she accepted his offer to make amends to Neal, it became clear why. "We have one suspect in custody, Miss James," he said. "If could pick him out of a lineup, that would be even more helpful." Ah yes. An Identification. "To us as well as to Mr. Caffrey."

Just like he'd realized early on, Detective Powell knew Miss James was only there for Neal to set the record straight as to why he had been in the alley that night. Anytime she spoke of him, she got a dreamy-eyed look, and there was almost a reverence in her tone—hero-worship, pure and simple. Neal had rescued her from her attackers, and she was determined to return the favor and save him from his detractors. She thought it was just the Detectives of the 84th Precinct; she didn't know the head of White Collar held similar views. And he wasn't about to tell her.

Fifteen minutes later, Samantha stood before the one-way glass as Detective Blackwell led into the adjoining room.

"Number three. His name is David." Peter and the detectives exchanged looks: David Ramsuers was the suspect's name, and she'd identified him without the slightest hesitation. "He works with Brad. They all do."

Detective Powell pressed the button to signal they were finished. As the men on the other side of the glass filed out, Powell turned to Samantha.

"So Brad and David," he stated. "Did you happen to get the name of the other two?" That would certainly make it easier and add credence to the identification. The witnesses from the alley were scheduled for later that afternoon. With Samantha's help, they may have more than one lineup to view.

She nodded. "Jerry and..." She hesitated then, a frown on her face. "Blip? I swear that's how Brad introduced him."

"Blip?" Powell repeated.

"That's what he said, Blip."

"Thank you, Miss James. You've done the right thing, coming forward like this. I know it wasn't easy, especially given..." he hesitated. "the circumstances."

Circumstances being she also had been attacked by the four. But so far, she'd held firm on her stand not to file a complaint.

"Neal was assaulted while intervening in a crime," Peter pointed out. "A crime against you." He didn't feel bad about using her sense of obligation against her in this matter. "If charges were filed for that crime as well, the case would be solid as a rock."

Detective Powell joined in. "And, when found guilty," Thank God he hadn't said if, "Their sentences would be much more substantial."

She looked torn. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Please, Miss James. You can see to it these men go away for decades."

Peter saw her bite her lip in uncertainty, but then she gave a slow nod. "Okay," she said. "I'll do it."

Both he and the Detective let out a breath of relief. Powell opened the door.

"I can have Officer Wilma Bryant take the statement," he offered. "It might be easier that way."

Peter again was surprised by the man. He was a tough one, but he had a heart.

"It would, thank you."

Powell directed them across the room to where Officer Bryant stood near a desk. Detective Powel made the introductions and explained why Miss James was there. The officer gave Samantha an encouraging smile before gathering up the needed items.

"Let's go into the conference room," she said, nodding to the door across the room. "It will be quieter in there." And more private, but she didn't say that.

Powell excused himself to follow up on the information he'd been given, and Peter told the officer he'd see Miss. James home when she was finished. They moved towards the conference room, and he made his way to the break room for a much-needed cup of coffee.

He filled the styrofoam cup at the coffee station and found a table in the corner. He'd slept the night before but not well; he was still bone tired. It wasn't just the lack of sleep but the emotional toll of the past couple of days that was wearing him thin. Once Neal was out of medical danger, the danger of his situation, in general, began to weigh heavily upon him. It wasn't fair but not being proven guilty of anything wasn't enough to resolve the problem with Hughes. There needed to be proof of innocence, and Miss James had miraculously appeared with just that. Not only did her story exonerate Neal from wrongdoing in the alley, but it also elevated him from suspect status to that of hero. It had squelched the detectives suspicious and would at least appease Agent Hughes. Miss James' had been a Godsend. But Peter felt nudgings of unease; he'd used Miss James' guilt about what had happened to Neal to get her to come forward, and now the detective had used the same tactic to get her to file a complaint against the foursome for attempted sexual assault. The law enforcement side of him pragmatically knew it was the right thing for her to do. When victims stayed silent, attackers felt emboldened and invariably committed more egregious crimes. But still, it felt wrong to have pressed her to do so. Especially when he knew his motives for getting her here in the first place were less than pure. The truth of the matter was that from the moment she'd told him what had happened, he'd been focused on using it to clear Neal. Her wellbeing, sadly, had only been a secondary thought.

She was worried about what her family would think, that they and everyone else would blame her for what had happened. Maybe that was something he could help with; her family.'s perception of the situation.

Officer Bryant escorted Samantha to him just over a half-hour later. He got to his feet.

"How'd it go?" he asked, once the officer had left them.

"Better than I'd expected," she admitted. "Officer Bryant was really nice about it. She said sometimes when one person comes forward; others do too."

"Yeah," Peter said, tossing his almost empty cup of bad coffee into the trash receptacle. "Sometimes it takes someone brave enough to do it first."

"I'm not brave," she returned. "I'm scared about what my grandparents will think. I live with them."

"I'm sure they will think the same thing I do," he offered, giving the Desk Sergeant a nod as they passed through the door once again. "That you did the right thing coming forward."

She frowned. "They'll probably say if I'd done the right thing before, it wouldn't have been necessary."

Peter took a breath. There was some truth in that but he was hesitant to point it out. Some level of self-examination was in order, after all, poor judgment had led Samantha to the alley. But that didn't mean she was the blame for what happened. Her actions may have been foolish but those men's had been criminal. They would pay for their crimes, but she, sadly, was already paying for her foolishness. He didn't want her sinking into despair or self-loathing. But he did want her to learn from the experience and make better choices for her personal safety in the future.

"We all make choices, Samantha," he said, "and not always good ones. That's just human nature. But choices lead to outcomes, some are expected but others not so much. You chose to trust Brad and he chose to betray that trust. What he and his friends did was wrong and they will go to jail for it. But you are suffering from your choice to trust your safety to a man you didn't know." He gestured to her bruised cheek. "You were assaulted and hurt. And now you worry about how your family will respond. This wasn't your fault but the world is a dangerous place, Samantha. Don't put yourself into situations where your safety depends on the choices of others."

"I won't," she said. "Ever again. I just didn't think-" She stopped and swallowed. "I was lucky Neal was passing by and stopped them. It would have been much worse. I know that but I still..." she bit her lip. "My grandparents are going to be so disappointed in me."

"Want me to talk to them?" Peter asked. "I can have a word when I drop you off. Explain how you are helping the NYPD and the FBI solve a crime."

"That would be nice of you," she said. "They've told me I shouldn't spend so much time in a place like that and I guess they were right."

That reminded him; she'd spent time in the bar before the incident occurred. She'd solved one mystery for him, maybe she could solve the remaining one.

"You were in the bar before, weren't you?" he began.

"Yeah, for a while."

"Did you see Neal in there?"

She nodded. "He was having drinks with a lady friend. Why?"

Having drinks with a lady wasn't a breach of their agreement; it wouldn't get him sent back to prison. So why had Neal reacted so strongly to seeing the note?

Unless the lady was Kate Moreau, the person's he'd warned Neal to stop looking for. "What did she look like?"

"She was pretty, petite. Wavy brown hair. I've seen her in there before."

"You have?" he asked. "How about Neal? Have you seen him there before?"

"No," she replied. "I'd remember if I had. He's kind of, well," she smiled almost coyly. "memorable."

Neal was definitely that. "Do me a favor," Peter said, taking out his card, flipping it over, and writing down his personal number. "If you ever see her in there again, give me a call, okay?"

She frowned. "Why? Can't you just ask Neal who he was seeing?"

"He doesn't remember," he reminded her. "I'm just trying to help reconstruct his day." He'd burn in hell for that. "If you see her again," he ventured, "would you give me a call?"

"I don't know if I'll be there again," she said thoughtfully. "But I can ask Angela. She works there. I can have her let you know when the lady shows up again."

"Thanks, Samantha. That will be great."