Author's notes:

Thank you so much for your warm welcome on the previous chapter. It was really heart-warming to see your familiar nicknames and read that you're still enjoying this story. ❤

Not sure why, but writing these chapters proves to be increasingly difficult. I hope I'll be able to post in the next month or two (17.07-21.08).

Update 15.08: I'm sorry. I'll post the new chapter 28.08. See you in two weeks!

The illustration you can find either on my DoodleAddicts account (…/vincentthecat) or on the story Rooftops of New York that I post on Archive Of Our Own (VincentTheCat).

Chapter 26 "The Plan"

But God said to Jonah, "Do you have a right to be angry over the gourd plant?"
Jonah answered, "I have a right to be angry—angry enough to die."
Jonah 4:9 (NABRE)

After three and a half hours of talking to Patricia Walker, Peter decided he was rather fond of this down-to-earth, no-nonsense woman. Closer to Reese Hughes' age rather than his and Elle's, she seemed neither intimidated nor too correct to ask them all she wanted to know. Listening to their answers attentively, she occasionally made a note or two in her notebook, and whenever something was not clear to her, she delved into the subject with discernment shown only by those rare individuals who knew who they were and what they wanted in life.

She also seemed to have an uncanny ability to stimulate to conversation, so that he and Elle began discussing the subject with each other rather than with her. Especially at times when their views on the matter might have differed.

That's why Elle was now staring at him, her eyes wide, her hand covering her mouth. "No! You think Ke―You think he will come looking for him?!" she demanded, and then, not even pausing for a second to let him answer, "But hon, he's in prison, those people are in prison!" she exclaimed. "You said it yourself, it will be years before any of them get released!"

Feeling somewhat discouraged, Peter suddenly wondered how much of his job Elle truly did understand. There had been very few cases he had kept secret from her, and yet…

"Hon. We live in New York. The criminal I arrested was enjoying New York. With Neal by his side. Even if Neal was mostly kept on the side-lines, he must have met at least some of the people his uncle dealt with. Seventeen criminals are under arrest, the rest remain free. We might be able to get leads for more of their associates in the next few weeks, but that will be it. Whatever I do, I won't be able to get them all. And even if I did, remember, those people are neither dead nor reformed – they are in prison, and criminals in prison have a way of keeping up with their pals outside of it," Peter paused, realizing he had not intended to make his explanation so long. But Elle had sounded so naïve and – her face was still pale, but she no longer looked shocked. Instead, her features were frantic, as if she was looking for a solution.

"Witness protection," she whispered. Then a bit louder, "We'll go under witness protection," she stated with determination.

Now it was Peter's turn to feel surprised. In his stunned silence, Elle's gaze turned anxious again.

"Can we?" she asked, searching his face. "What makes one qualify?"

Peter breathed calmly. This sounded very rash.

"To answer your question I would have to do more research," he answered cautiously. "But I doubt we will qualify." Did she realize that going under programs like WITSEC meant giving up almost all contact with their extended family? "For the time being, I would just consider moving out of New York." He glanced at Patricia, once again having to remind himself of her silent presence. "As soon as things are in order."

Elle shook her head. Her eyes were fixed on him. "But Patricia just said it would take time," she said, her mind still searching for a way out that just was not there. "Hon, how are we supposed to- and if Neal decides to contact those people- you've just said it yourself, that's what you're afraid of!"

Peter had no idea what else to do other than reach out and squeeze her hand. "We'll deal with it when it comes." The words reassured neither him nor her.

"But he may be kidnapped again!" Elle blurted out, and Peter clenched his teeth. Her panic made his own fears resurface. You may be kidnapped. You may be killed. We may become a target for some criminal group. The dangers he refused to voice aloud were now simmered in his skull. "You said that man had dealings with the mob. You said-"

"-Hon, NDA!" he did not mean to make the reminder sound like an order. But it did.

Elle stared at him, her eyes wide. Then her shoulders sagged and she let go of his hand. All strength seemed to have left her as she sat motionless on the sofa.

"I'm sorry-"

"-what if he decides to take revenge? You're the one who arrested him," in a hollow voice she interrupted his apology.

Peter had nothing to say. He unclenched his jaw, painfully aware once again of Patricia observing them. He did not know what her assessment of them was now, but he doubted it was any good. But then his attention shifted back to Elle, and he realized… How exhausted she looked. Her eyes were puffy, her hair untidy, her basic makeup distractedly applied. How could he expect her to go into this fire with him?

Ignoring the lump in his throat, he met her eyes squarely. "This is a lot to handle and neither of us was expecting it. My job is taking a toll on our personal lives as it is and the truth is that adding Neal to the mix-"

Elle sat up straight in alarm. "Hon!" she protested, but Peter had to press on.

"It will make things even more difficult, Elle," he said. "Perhaps it would be wise to discuss our other options first. And before you start disagreeing, I'm not saying we're to leave Neal alone. No, I won' t do that. But even if a bit from a distance, I'm sure there will still be ways in which we can help him."

Elle petrified again, but this time it was clear her fear was aimed directly at what he had just suggested. She opened her mouth as if to answer hotly, but then took a deep breath, taking a moment to compose herself. "Hon, I love Neal, I'll love him no matter what stupid things he does," her firm, calm tone matched his own. "And yes, your job is hard on me, but I'm not made of sugar. If for now there's no way for us to leave New York, we'll just have to stay and stomach whatever comes our way," she bit her lip for a moment, the suppressed tears welling up in her eyes, and then continued bravely, the pain in her firm voice making Peter's heart break. "But I do mean we. If you don't want to-" she paused again, trying and failing to compose herself, but tears started to stroll down her chin, "we won't," she gasped.

"Hon!" Peter blurted out, reaching out to embrace her. "Of course I want to, I just-" he paused realizing how dangerously close he himself was to crying. Elle probably was not the only one who looked spent. He hid his face in her hair and took a deep breath. "Oh, yeah. We," he confirmed wholeheartedly, and Elle let out a sob of relief.

He held her close. "I'm sorry. I just felt it was my duty to point out-"

"Oh, don't say another word," Elle half-sobbed into his shoulder. "How could you get me so scared?"

Peter chuckled, relief washing over him.

"Not funny," Elle protested, angrily. "I was close to a heart attack, I swear I think we had already decided and then, the next thing I know…"

Peter laughed. "And what am I supposed to say? The kid empties your wallet and you still think of him as an angel who wouldn't hurt a fly! How on earth are we supposed to help him if-" he shut his mouth.

Right. How clever of him to mention this in front of the social worker. In his arms Elle went rigid.

When she pulled away from him, the expression on her face was dubious. With her hands she tried to wipe away the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks. "But-" she paused. "You've seen my wallet," she realized aloud.

Giving her a packet of tissues, he nodded expressionlessly, still shocked at his lack of control. But seeing Patricia out of the corner of his eye, she didn't seem surprised or judgmental. Instead, she looked interested. He could read from her face they would have to solve this issue now, in front of her eyes. Then he registered he, too, might still look upset.

He closed his eyes for a moment, determined to compose himself.

He heard Elle blowing her nose, then sighing in frustration. He opened his eyes again, his gaze locked with hers. Had she been wishing he would not notice? At first, he had hoped she was planning to tell him later, but as the meeting progressed and he got to listen to her truths about Neal, his doubts grew. At that moment, he did not know what to think anymore.

"I didn't want you to worry," Elle finally half-apologized, still wiping the tears away. "You've got enough on your mind and I really don't know if Neal took it. I mean, it could have been anyone! Besides, I could have just lost it."

Only a random thief would have taken Elle's whole wallet. And credit cards do not fall out of wallets by themselves. Confused, Peter suppressed a grimace. Surely Elle had to realize this was wishful thinking? Perhaps she did not. "Besides your credit card and money, is there anything else missing?"

Clenching the used tissue in her hand, Elle looked unhappy. "Just my car keys," she said after a moment.

Peter winced. It was a small detail he did not take into account. Till now, he thought that the reason Elle took a taxi was because she felt too emotional to drive. What was Neal planning to do with the car keys?

Elle glanced at Patricia. "He's a good boy. If he did it, I'm sure he meant no harm," she said firmly.

Patricia Walker silently raised an eyebrow, somehow questioningly. Peter could not believe his ears.

The stunned silence progressed until suddenly Elle blushed. She looked away as if embarrassed, and Peter felt an inappropriate urge to laugh. He struggled with it for a while, but then, realizing how self-conscious his wife must have felt at that moment, and how she could actually really use that silly diversion of his, he decided not to struggle anymore.

"Oh, yes, of course," he nodded wisely. "No harm was intended. Neal's such a good boy that he must have just taken it for safe-keeping. Just think, what would happen if you went out and lost it! Of course, he had no choice but to-"

Elle gave him an elbow and he shut up with a successful grin. Patricia's smile seemed to further reassure her no harm would happen if they talked truthfully about Neal's enchantment with crime.

"Alright," Elle capitulated with a snort. She shook her head in frustration. "I don't know about the car keys, but as to the card and money – yes, he probably did take them."

Getting serious again, Peter nodded silently. Come to think of it, it really was a blessing that the boy did not decide to swipe Elle's ID as well. Without it, they would not be able to finish the paperwork that Patricia had given them. Suddenly, Elle's anxious features softened.

Peter had to suppress a sigh. He could just not wait to hear this excuse for Neal's anti-social behaviour.

"I still don't think he meant me any real harm," Elle said softly. "Perhaps he's just so afraid of being rejected or left behind, he thinks he has to fight for it no matter what. If he had taken my credit card it might have been just to make sure I would come back."

…That was an interesting interpretation of the events, Peter thought, a bit surprised. Personally, he would just blame Neal's stealing habit. After all, in the eyes of a habitual thief's eyes, his wife must have appeared as one of the easiest marks there were. Even so, he chose not to say it out loud. They might both be right, really, and he had already disagreed with Elle enough times for one day. He gently took her hand in his again and she, still probably thinking of their boy, gave him one of those beautiful, tender smiles of hers.

Squeezing her hand comfortingly, he smiled back. And then frowned as something new occurred to him. Because at least in one aspect, Elle had hit the nail on the head. Behind every Neal's anti-social behaviour there was hidden a valid, basic need. And from that moment, their task would be not only to decode it, but also take care of it. Simply predicting the criminals' actions would not cut it, because his job here was not to catch Neal. It was to help the boy heal. And if, as Elle had just suggested, pickpocketing and manipulation were how Neal had so far pacified his need for love and safety… Then they were in great trouble.

Suddenly, instead of worrying about the highly empathetic way his wife saw their kid, so different from his own, Peter began to feel immensely grateful. He felt certain that if it hadn't been for Elle's warmth, they would not even have had a chance of the boy's return to society. As things were, Neal would at least have a shot.

Patricia cleared her throat. "So, I understand this will be one of the first things you will have to address when Neal comes to live with you," she stated. "Figure out your strategy to prevent him from stealing?"

They nodded in unison.

"Good," the social worker said. "So, tell me. How?"

/\_/\
='x'=

Staring at the recorder on his palm, Neal feels numb. He cannot move. He cannot think. He can just press this button, listen to the message over and over again, wonder how in…

Vincent jumps to his paws. HOW in HELL is HE still alive?! he snarls.

Neal winces, his fist clenched painfully on the device. Vaguely he realizes he has stood up and started pacing. He does not know. Because really, how can he be still alive. Or rather…

He stops, his eyes seeking out Satch's gaze.

Mister Morris saved him, the dog reminds him. He saved him.

But not like that, the cat argues. You've seen him! Beaten to a pulp! He couldn't have sent you this!

Neal's body goes rigid with tension. At first he does not know why. He is certain it is not due to his friend's snarls, and he tries to focus, force their heated argument to the back of his head. And then he understands. It is the feeling he feels when a potential foe is observing him. Someone who hides, who does not want to be seen. In an instant, his head whips to the door. And there, beyond the glass window, he can see them. The horrible feds! They are both observing him, interest in their inhuman eyes. For a moment it is as if he has forgotten to breathe. Have they heard?! Have they seen?! He knows Mister Keller is going to kill him if they have!

Hastily, Neal comes up to the door. His thoughts are in such chaos that he does not know what he is going to say, but as he opens the door, he knows it will have to be good because-

"Satch's gonna pee all over the floor if someone doesn't take him for a walk quick," he blurts out, pointing to the dog. "I recognize this nervous pacing of his."

Just great. And now he will have neither Vincent nor Satch to console him.

The agent who drove him, agent Burke and Elle to the hospital two nights ago gets up.

"Oh. Of course," he says.

Is his name Henry? Neal thinks so, but he is not sure. Or no. He knows. Henry. Like Henry Morgan, the pirate! Perhaps a bit too fancy name for a fed and a rat and a scum.

"Don't worry, I've got him. Where's the leash?"

Numbly, Neal turns on his heel. The leash is on top of the backpack agent Burke brought yesterday. He fetches it and then comes up to stand in front of Henry again.

"Thank you, sir," he mumbles.

The adult smiles. "Need anything else?"

Unexpectedly Neal's hands clench into fists. Yeah, Vincent snarls. To be left in peace.

He does not remember getting into the bathroom, his heart pounding and his ear pushed against the closed door, listening for the trouble to come and frantically wondering what he will do when this pitiful barricade of his is demolished. The cage inside the cage has no escape routes.

/\_/\
='x'=

"Come on, you can do it," Jones urged on the smoke detector, dangling a flaming piece of paper in front of it.

But its red LED did not even blink and the speaker stayed just as ignorant.

"Damn," Jones muttered, finally abandoning the attempt and putting out the fire.

He glanced at his wristwatch. He was not going to make it.

He still had to check carbon dioxide detector, set up the second safe, hang up the emergency numbers along with the fire exit plan… He just was not going to make it.

He picked up his phone and paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Calling Peter would only distract him from the meeting. Jones would have to choose whom to let in on the conspiracy himself. The obvious choice was Diana, only she was still busy with the case. In the long run, pulling her away from the investigation would only cause them more troubles. So perhaps one of his other colleagues? Only with Fowler's people watching everyone in White Collar like hawks, the stealthy recruitment seemed almost impossible.

No. He would have to call someone from outside of his division.

Jones thought for a moment, then finally chose the number from the list. Andrew Collins was as inconspicuous as one could wish for. A perfect choice if not for his tendency to stay locked inside his cave 24/7. So at that moment the real question was, would he find time? And also how his photophobia had developed since he last had seen the daylight.

"Yeah, Jones?" Jones smiled hearing the preoccupied voice of his colleague. Another plus about Collins was that usually the guy would pick up almost right away.

/\_/\
='x'=

Slowly, Neal can feel his pulse slowing down. One hundred and forty Mississippi have passed. Now Two hundred. Neal breathes out with a cautious relief. Perhaps no one really is coming. He peels off his ear from the door and rests his back against the brittle old wood. This is the kind of trouble that comes with bringing cats along. They never know when to keep their yap shut.

Still listening for the angry voices, Neal's sightless eyes wander from one ugly fixture to another. He thinks guiltily of Satch, whom he has left with the feds. Completely alone, he will have no one but himself to defend him. On the other hand, he is their boss's dog, so perhaps it will not be that bad. Unlike Neal, he actually has a status they have to respect.

Finally, Neal's gaze pauses on the pipe to his left and wanders up to the sink. Above the sink there is a mirror, but the way Neal is standing now, he can only make out a couple of loose strands of his hair. Otherwise, he is invisible.

In… And out. In… And out.

He is breathing calmly now, and when he looks in the mirror again, he notices that most of him is visible. This is because he is no longer trying to flatten himself against the door.

He notices a bruise on his right cheek. The souvenir he got from Skinner for informing agent Burke of Mister Keller's poor condition. He takes a step forward, unhappily tracing his fingertips over the violet skin. Bruises like this are the worst because you can clearly distinguish the adult's four fingers… Everyone knows this was no accident. They know you let someone slap you.

Slowly Neal pulls on the left sleeve of his hoodie. He does not really know why he would want to look at it again. But he does.

The bruise on the shoulder is a bit older. Its black and blue discolour is framed in an ugly mustard yellow. Whatever happens to his mentor, his near-perfect handprint will stay with Neal for the next month. Only they are wrong. It was really just an accident. Not the adult's fault.

And why would anyone be interest in it, even? Neal feels heat float to his face as he disgustedly remembers the camera crew that paid him a visit yesterday, taking pictures of every single damn bruise and scar they could find on his body. They let Elle stay with him for the whole thing, but now, looking back, he wishes they hadn't.

On the other hand, who knows what they would have done if she had not been there? Because he sure as hell hadn't bought that crap about abuse documentation or whatever they called it. He hopes the feds are feeling very put down now that he has no tattoo to make him extra recognizable in their database.

Staring hard at his reflection, Neal fishes the cube out of his hoodie pocket. He places it on the sink, and then plays the recording while still examining the bruised area.

"You turned informant, huh? 1AM sharp, Georgie. Trust, but verify."

It does not sound like his mentor is very angry. And besides, Neal did not turn rat. On that part Mister Keller is wrong. He was nabbed, yes, but so did every guy who was involved in the job.

And he did not give anyone the box. Mister Keller cannot accuse Neal of that either. If the adult asks for it, there is still a chance, in fact, for Neal to retrieve it. Assuming agent Burke has not found it yet, of course, which… is a big assumption to make.

With a groan, Neal pounds his fist against the sink. What is he to do?!

/\_/\
='x'=

Listening to Jones's explanations, Andrew frowned. Agent Burke wanted to adopt a child? Really? But why all the chaos? Adoption was not something to be done on a whim. It took at least a year to qualify parents for it, and then there was a wait. Your home would be ready for the study long before you knew a child's name. Suddenly, the door to his workshop opened.

"Agent Brown, OPR," the man who came in introduced himself. "Agent Fowler sent me to get the report."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll get back to you in a moment Jones," Andrew said, and put away the phone. He glanced at the agent. "One moment. Let me finish this," he said and put his final signature on the CHS skill assessment. Then, doing his best to ignore the impatient expression on agent Fowler's subordinate's face, Andrew attentively skimmed the document one last time. Everything seemed fine.

Pleased, Andrew closed the file and gave it to the man. "Here you go."

"Thank you," Agent Brown responded, then turned on his heel without adding anything else. Watching him go, Andrew shook his head. He did not know why, but Fowler and his people gave him chills.

As the door to the workshop slammed shut, Andrew picked up his phone again.

"So you need a new smoke detector, right? Anything else?" he asked as soon as he heard the beep announcing that the conversation was no longer on hold.

/\_/\
='x'=

She screwed up. She should have been gone for ten minutes, instead she was gone for over thirty. Guiltily, Cindy quickened her pace. She knew the moment she saw Olivia, she should have just promised to talk to her later. Focus on your job here, Cindy, focus.

On the corridor there was only one guard waiting. Surprised, she slowed down. How odd.

Stopping, she glanced over the glass window to the inside of the room. Where was Neal?

"Is everything alright?" she asked, suddenly wishing her fierce mom could be here. Her own heart was already squeezing her throat.

"Yes," the man nodded, opening the door for her. "Why?"

Cindy shook her head, glad to end the conversation quickly. Neal was probably in the bathroom. "No reason, thank you," she said and breathed a sigh of relief after the door had closed behind her.

She gingerly set the coffee and milk down on a small stool, then turned to look at the bathroom door quizzically. "Neal, I'm-"

The door opened, a boy smiling from ear to ear came out. "Great! You brought coffee!"

She nodded, once again struck with guilt, and Neal quickly picked up one of the mugs in his hands, then sat down. A few curly strands of his hair were wet, as if he had recently washed his face. Oh, no. Had he been crying?

"It can be a bit cold," Cindy warned, taking her own mug. "I met a friend and lost track of time. I'm sorry. When I realized how late it was I just ran back to you."

Gulping down the decaf, Neal grinned distractedly at her, and Cindy was about to say more when her eyes paused on his left arm. It was covered with a black and blue bruise, and just like the one on his right cheek, she could just make out the shape of the palm that had given him that blow.

"I'm starting to think this hospital serves only decaf," the boy said cheerily, and Cindy shook herself.

"If my mom was running it, this is what they probably would do," she joked nervously, then suddenly afraid that Neal would start pestering her about it if she let him, she quickly added, "Where's Satch?"

Neal shrugged. "One of those merry guys outside took him out on a raid. Captain Henry Morgan, I think. Are you drinking decaf too?"'

Bewildered, Cindy shook her head. So those FBI agents really were kind of on Neal's side. But why the captain? "Yeah, it's decaf," she confirmed. "I don't drink coffee very often."

"Oh, I see," the boy nodded, putting down the cup. "Something about tea losing its children to coffee?"

"No," Cindy chuckled. "Though I did hear the stuff screws up your sleep cycle."

"Oh, no! Wouldn't want that!" Neal exclaimed, pretending to be horrified. Then, a make-believe puzzlement flashed across his face and he cocked his head. "Wait, what?" Before Cindy could answer, his expression had shifted again as his keen eyes focused on something behind her. She turned just in time to see the younger agent open the door. To her astonishment, Neal immediately run up to him, a broad smile on his face.

"Thank you so much for taking care of him!" he exclaimed, wholeheartedly. "Dogs are the best, aren't they, sir?" Neal squatted down to pet happily whining Satch on the head.

Handing the leash over, the man smiled down at Neal. "Sure they are."

"Cindy too has a dog," Neal said, nodding at her, and Cindy felt a shiver run down her spine. What was Neal doing talking to those people? The boy turned his attention back to the man. "You have a dog? Or is it classified?"

The agent chuckled. "I don't."

"Oh," Neal looked put down for a second, then he cocked his head. "How about a cat?"

The man shook his head.

"Goldfish?"

"No," the agent said, still smiling. "I don't have any pets."

"Oh, pity…" Neal said, as if he really meant it. "That must be lonely..." Suddenly he smiled, just as brightly as before. "Still, I bet you at least had a dog when you were a kid."

The agent was about to answer when his elder colleague suddenly spoke up, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, that's quite enough, Henry. He got a lawyer, remember?"

Neal snorted as he stood up. "Who? Satch?" he asked. Then, before the man could answer, his gaze shifted back to his interviewee. "Anyway, if I were you, I would consider buying a shark. You could keep it in the Hudson river. Could make your entire career!"

The man chuckled good-naturedly, though a bit confused, then, after his gaze briefly shifted to Cindy, he closed the door and turned to sit beside his colleague.

Neal turned from the door too, the smile fading from his face in an instant. Satchmo rushed over to Cindy to say hello, but all she could do was observe the boy slowly walk over and sit back down on the mat, his lively face becoming a mixture of frustration and confusion that looked so odd on someone who had just been grinning from ear to ear.

"A shark?" she questioned after a moment, and he shook his head, as if suddenly reminded of her presence. The million-dollar smile was back on his face.

"My cat would prefer a goldfish. The harder the prey to debone, the better."

"Oh," was all Cindy could think of saying. She was thoroughly confused now.

Neal once again looked frustrated.

Cindy hesitated. "…You know, I may not know much about this stuff, but from what my dad has told me, whether you are guilty or innocent, in most cases you shouldn't really talk to those guys. I mean, they may want to… For example, make you feel welcome so that you confess to a crime or something. In court, their duty will be to testify against you," she paused, then added, "besides, they're probably recording everything."

Neal cocked his head, some of his previous amusement returning to him. "That's good. Henry needs that dog."

Suddenly, overcome with worry, Cindy shook her head. "You don't get it, Neal. I'm serious. Only uninformed people talk to the police. Ask your lawyer."

Neal's smile dropped. "Don't worry," he sighed. "I know. My uncle has told me the same thing. Over and over again."

She felt somewhat relieved. Good uncle.

"Cops are grubs," Neal unexpectedly added.

Cindy froze. Right. How to respond to that?

"You mean, you are angry with them," she said.

Neal gazed at her for a moment, then grinned. "No, I mean, they are beer gut creepers who, provided nothing eats them first, will one day turn into pretty petty butterflies," he stated cheerily.

Cindy's own smile was neurotic. In an instant, she decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, she pointed with her chin at the board game Neal had unpacked while she was gone. "Good choice. Want me to explain the rules as we go along or have you read the instruction?"

Neal regarded her in thoughtful silence. Finally he shook his head. "I've read it," he shrugged. "And I guess it's decent. But also a bit boring."

"Oh."

"Though it did remind me of that one great game, you know."

It did not. Another gambling game, was it? "What is it called?" she asked a bit cautiously.

"Cars and Cards," Neal quickly said, then bit his lip. "But in order to play it, we need a map. And I don't have any right now." He looked at her hopefully. "Perhaps you have one?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry."

Neal looked put down. "Oh. That just sucks!" he huffed, his shoulders sagging. "I really wanted to show it to you…"

As the silence lengthened and the poor kiddo did not do anything but look more sad, small and forlorn every second, Cindy thoughtfully took a sip of her decaf. If she could remember correctly…

"There might be some maps in the shop downstairs," she said.

Neal's downcast face immediately lit up. He gave a whoop of joy. "Oh! Of New York! Really?!"

Cindy nodded, feeling a mixture of amusement and resentment. She just hated the thought of introducing herself to the guards' scrutiny again. Her eyes lingered on the boy's bruised shoulder, the sight she had not managed to get used to yet. "…I can buy it," she finally pledged.

"That would be great!" Neal exclaimed delightedly, ceasing scratching the injury in order to pump his fist in the air. He really reminded her of Sammy at that moment.

She laughed. "Not as great as having a pet shark," she quipped, setting her mug down.

"If you think so," Neal shrugged with a grin, then theatrically leaned forward, his hand to his mouth. "But let me tell you a secret. If you ever get into trouble… I know LOTS of sharks," he stated in the loudest whisper she had ever heard, his challenging eyes focused for a moment not on her but on the expressionless men observing them outside the room.

❤ Replies to guest reviews from the previous chapter ❤

Thank you so much, Macy! ❤ I'm glad to be back. And it really is nice to see an old comrade. :) Best wishes for you too!

Next(28.08): Chapter 27

Update 15.08: I'm sorry. I'll post the new chapter 28.08. See you in two weeks!