With barely any recognition of the passage of time, Neal eventually began to wake up.

At first, it was very gradual, and he only had a faint perception of consciousness. Then very slowly that awareness began to increase until certain recent memories came to mind. It was hard to focus on those thoughts, despite the anxiety that accompanied them, as most of what he felt was grogginess and disorientation. His first auditory sense was darkness before he slowly began to open his eyes, squinting at the room ahead of him that was nothing but a blur.

Where was he?

What had happened?

As he swallowed against the cotton feeling on his tongue, the taste in his mouth was metallic, like blood.

His head hurt. His instinct was to bring his hand to his temple to assess if something was wrong, but as he tried to do that he found his arms restrained behind his back.

Feeling that restraint made him begin to panic, and he struggled against it, for the first time realizing he was lying on his side and that he was against the floor.

No more chair.

A cold, damp floor.

What had happened to the chair?

The blurry room was sideways.

Was this the same room? Something was different. But his vision's blurriness persisted.

He struggled further, feeling his right leg kick into something, like a piece of furniture. It felt like his ankles were bound as well.

His sense of dread heightened. The feeling of restricted movement was something that always set him into a panic. He squinted at the room as his vision finally, though very slowly, started to clear. It then quickly became evident to him that they were no longer at the house….

"Ah. You're finally awake." There were footsteps and then the voice added, a bit gruffly, "It's about time."

He snapped his head in alarm towards the sound of Dean's voice, grunting. He could now make out the pair of jean clad legs and boots standing several feet away. He wrestled his arms against the resistance he felt.

"Oh, don't bother. You're only going to hurt yourself," Dean told him. The tone was far from sympathetic. "Those restraints aren't meant to be slipped out of. Besides, I read that's one of your specialities, so I took liberty to make sure these were foolproof."

Neal tugged at his wrists anyway, ignoring the advice, yet frowning at the mention that Dean had read something on him. What? And how? He grunted again as his wrists burned in protest against the effort.

"Once again not listening, I see…." Dean commented dryly.

Neal didn't trust his voice, but swallowed and tried anyway as he saw the legs begin to walk towards him. "Where am I?" he asked. His voice was raspy. He tried swallowing again.

"You don't recognize it?" Dean responded, sounding somewhat amused. "I know you were only here briefly, but I thought the place might have made more of an impression on you..."

Neal swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a second, trying to focus his vision. When he opened his eyes, he could see the legs had come even closer. The room was a bit clearer, and his heart sank as he recognized some of its fixtures. The desk. The storage trunk. The tattered posters on otherwise barren cinderblock walls.

This wasn't good.

This was the bunker.

"How did we get back here?" he croaked.

Dean chuckled. "Ah… So you do recognize it."

Neal struggled again against his restraints. He resisted the urge to shout.

"I told you to stop…" Dean said stiffly with an evident tone of frustration. "You're wasting your time." Then suddenly and without warning, he took a few steps closer to Neal, closing the gap between them and roughly taking him by one arm to physically hoist him up from the floor to a sitting position.

Neal winced and bit back a cry at the sharp pain that shot up his arm to his shoulder from the movement. But, clenching his jaw, he didn't say a word. While his arm throbbed, he actually felt partially relieved to at least be sitting upright rather than lying prone on the floor, though his head spun for a moment at the change in position. He stretched out his legs in front of him, eyeing what looked like a cord wrapped around his ankles. He stared at his socks; his shoes were gone.

Dean crouched down on his haunches in front of him, giving him a focused look. "Those knots are stronger than they look," he told him. "You're not going anywhere, so don't get any ideas."

What ideas? Neal's brain was struggling to keep up, never mind get any ideas. His dizziness at least faded. "Why are we here again?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. He focused on his tone sounding nonchalant, as not to allow Dean to see how unnerved he was. He also assumed his first question on how they got here wasn't going to be answered, and yet his additional questions were piling up. He realized he didn't know what time it was – that was the thing about this bunker. No sense of time. "Where's Samantha?"

"Samantha's not your concern," Dean replied dryly.

"What time is it?"

Dean smiled, though it was a bit condescending. "Time?" he repeated. He then chuckled. "That's funny, actually."

Neal didn't like hearing that. He didn't like that tone at all. "Why?" he asked, a bit tentatively.

"You should ask what day."

Neal frowned, processing that. He stared back at Dean, at his ugly smirk and jagged scar, and tried not to falter. "What do you mean?"

"Like I said, you were out for a while," Dean told him bluntly.

"How long?" Neal asked more insistently. He could feel his heart pounding now.

Dean shrugged, smirk persisting. "A while." He nodded towards Neal's arm as he added, "I guess you could say I ensured that. I had to make sure you, uh… Well, that you didn't wake in transit."

Feeling a chill, Neal followed Dean's line of sight, looking down towards his left arm. He hadn't noticed it before but now his eyes widened at the sight. His sleeve was pushed up, revealing the crook of his arm where he now saw the IV catheter taped down.

He looked back up in alarm at his captor, finding the same condescending smirk on Dean's face. "What did you do?" he demanded, voice now strained. He couldn't help it – the nonchalant tone was gone, replaced with fear. He pulled at his wrists behind his back, struggling with more intensity against the restraints.

Dean pushed himself up from his squatting position. Once standing, he crossed his arms over his chest smugly. "What did I do? Nothing," he told him. "Not yet anyway." He clicked his tongue. "You're really only going to hurt yourself if you keep fighting it."

Neal set his jaw, feeling the anger pile up on top of his fear. Though fear was winning. Why was Dean doing this? What did he want from him?

"Why?" he asked. His voice faltered but he tried to hold his jaw squarely.

"Because you're going to help me," Dean told him. "Whether you like it or not."

Jones rounded his way back to Diana's desk, walking past the other agents who were busy with different cases. There was a buzz of other topics in the room, but Jones had no problem ignoring those conversations. It struck him as he passed that many of those other agents seemed at ease. Even jovial. It was strange to think that some of them literally had no idea what was going on right now, and how it impacted certain individuals on the floor.

"Kind of strange," he said out loud as he got to Diana's desk.

Diana looked up, tilting her head to the side quizzically. "Sorry?"

Jones shrugged as he gestured briefly across the floor. "Just how half these guys have no idea what's going on. How they seem…"

"Relaxed?" she offered.

He raised his eyebrows. "You noticed too."

"Well, yeah. And maybe relaxed isn't the right word. But status quo? Yeah." She sighed. "I noticed.j

"To be fair to them," Jones began, "this is White Collar. What we're working on right now doesn't really fit into our average case file…"

"I don't know what an average case file is anymore," she replied.

"True," he answered with a sigh. "Or a good night sleep."

Diana leaned back in her chair, slowly swiveling it back and forth just slightly with unease. "Where have you been anyway? Any updates?"

"Kind of," Jones replied. He moved over to take a seat at the corner of her desk, ignoring her raised eyebrows as he pushed aside some paperwork to make the room to do so. "First off, we found Peter's car."

"Oh yeah?" Interest piqued, she looked at him curiously "That's more of an update than a 'kind of,' Jones."

"I guess, but it doesn't get us any closer to knowing what's going on with Neal," he pointed out.

"True, but it's something. Where was it?"

"Not too far from where we expected it to be actually," he replied. "And that expectation was based on where Neal claimed to be the last time they spoke… So I guess he was telling the truth about where he was at that point."

"So he just left the car?"

"Seems like it. Parked it at a hydrant." Jones paused and then added, "We actually picked it up because it had been ticketed."

"Keys?"

"No keys. Car was locked."

"Interesting..." she mused. "I still can't figure out what's going on here. Why would Neal just ditch Peter's car and vanish like that?"

"His anklet was off, Diana..."

"I know…. But there's got to be more to the story…"

"What more is there?"

She gave him a look. "So you really think he just ran?"

"Maybe?" Jones replied with a shrug. "I mean, in that circumstance, why wouldn't he?"

"Because it's wrong."

Jones scoffed. "Oh, and he's really shown us he cares about the difference between right and wrong, Diana. Really?"

"Jones, he's been helping with cases."

"And giving Peter an ulcer."

"Come on."

"I'm just saying, it's possible he ran, and I'm not the only one that feels that way. The Marshals are pretty exasperated that we waited this long to move in on him. It's not like he was coming back on his own."

"You don't know that… I mean, it's possible he had a reason to go off the grid. Because he'd have to know if he ran that he'd get caught. And you don't come back from that."

"What if he thought he could get away with it?"

Diana frowned. "I don't know… I just don't think he'd do that to Peter."

"Why not?"

"Jones, I don't think it would be that simple… You're talking about Neal as though you've never actually met the guy. Do you really think he would do that to Peter?"

Jones shrugged again. "I don't know. He's done pretty stupid things before, Diana."

She sighed. "I don't know either… But fine, say he was planning to run… If he was going to go somewhere, why not take the car?"

"Why take that car?" Jones replied. "He created enough of a distraction, and bought himself time because Peter thought he was on his way back… Next step is to change vehicles."

"Wow, you've really been thinking about this, huh?" Diana responded, slowly crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you better hope that's not what happened. Because I don't know what Peter does then."

"He finds him," Jones replied factually. "That's all he can do at this point. And I just hope between now and then, that there's not some sort of big heist that Caffrey's planning."

Diana gave him a look. "Oh, so now it's not even about freedom? There's a big heist?"

"I don't know," Jones replied. He made a face. "I'm just saying. Would you put something like that past him?"

"Come on. I think you've got to give him a little more credit than that…"

"I actually thought with this hypothesis I was giving him a lot credit," Jones responded with a bit of a smirk. "For pulling off a con that included getting Peter to turn off his tracker. Getting Peter to break the rules? That's impressive."

"Jones…"

"I'm kidding.,." he replied, giving her a placating look. "But besides that…" He took a deep breath and then sighed. "Well, despite the fact that I thought about that possibility, I don't actually think that's what happened anyway."

"No? Not after all that?" She gestured her hand in reference to his hypotheticals, rolling her eyes.

"Like I said, I considered it. But no. I don't think so."

"Why the change in heart?"

"Because he left his phone in the car," Jones replied bluntly. He shifted to reach into his pocket, pulling out the device, which was in a plastic bag, as though marked for evidence. "If he'd planned this great escape, I don't think he'd leave it behind."

She eyed the device. "That's his?"

"Yup," Jones replied. "Pretty sure, at least."

"Can you see if he spoke to anyone else?"

"We will. I was on my way to the tech team but thought I'd swing by. I mean, why would he leave this behind?" Jones persisted. "It was right on the passenger seat too… In plain sight. Well, unless he's got another phone," he continued, "which, hell, he probably does…"

"Probably," she acknowledged.

"But still, I don't think he'd leave this one behind."

About to respond, she then frowned as she scrutinized the phone in her colleague's hand. Its dark screen had suddenly lit up, and she could see an ID flashing on the caller ID. "Um, Jones?"

"What?" He frowned.

She nodded her head towards the phone. "Gonna answer that?"

Perplexed, Jones looked at the phone in his hand and then immediately began to pull it out of the plastic, fingers fumbling with the seal. "It didn't vibrate or anything," he muttered. Then once he got it freed, he quickly flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey – speaker phone," Diana hissed, reaching over to swat his leg.

Jones acquiesced, quickly pivoting to switch the phone to its speaker setting, moving to place it between them on the desk.

"Uh… Hello?" came a confused voice on the other end of the phone.

Jones and Diana looked at each other.

"It's not Neal," Jones whispered.

"Why would he call himself?" Diana shot back under her breath.

"Hello, who's this?" Jones said towards the phone with a louder voice, frowning at it.

There was a long pause. And then the voice came back sounding cautious and suspicious. "… Can I speak with Neal, please…?"

"Well… He's not available right now," Jones replied, voice slightly hesitant. He looked to Diana for coaching but she simply shrugged. They didn't have a script. "Who can I tell him is calling?"

The voice on the line didn't seem to trust that response and hesitated to respond.

"Hello?" Jones prompted. "Are you still there?"

The voice came back more directly now, though clearly distrustful. "Who is this?" they asked firmly. "Why are you answering Neal's phone?"

"Can I give Neal a message?" Jones persisted. He then reached for the phone again, turning it to see the caller ID. "Moz?" he read out loud. He looked at Diana and whispered, "This is the Mozzie?"

"How do you— " the voice began and then cut itself off. "Why are you answering Neal's phone?" he asked again.

Jones hesitated. He didn't have a good answered for that. He looked at Diana and whispered, "Should I say I found the phone? Or something else?"

"I'm not sure," Diana began slowly. "I really don't know."

Before Jones could get an additional word in, the voice continued. "Are you one of them?"

"Sorry?" Jones asked. He exchanged a look with Diana.

The voice persisted, "Is Peter there?"

Jones frowned. "Peter?"

"Who is this?" the voice demanded, sounding a bit more concerned. "Where is Neal?"

"I'm with the FBI," Jones replied. "We work with Neal. I –"

"I'll talk to Peter," the voice responded stiffly. "No one else. Put him on."

"Uh, Peter's not available at the moment either," Jones began. He glanced behind him, towards Peter's office where he couldn't tell whether the man was there or not. "Does he have your number?"

The phone connection ended.

Jones looked at the now locked screen. "Shit."

"Why'd you say you were with the FBI?" Diana asked, somewhat accusingly. "I think you scared him off. If he's friends with Neal, then do you really think he's gonna–"

"He knows Peter," Jones cut in. "Right?"

"Doesn't mean he wants to talk to the FBI, Jones..." she answered.

"Fine. Well, it doesn't sound like he has much information to offer us either," Jones responded.

"You better tell Peter..."

Peter glanced at his watch as his conversation with Samantha wound down and they began to get up from the table. He was surprised to see that an hour had already passed.

He didn't know if it was their conversation on its own or his preoccupation with everything else going on that had allowed the time to pass so quickly. While he'd been engaged with her and completely focused on their conversation, he also couldn't help but think of Neal nonstop.

Where was he?

And how long at this point had he been gone?

Samantha caught him looking at the time and glanced at her own watch. "You must have a lot of other meetings, Peter. I'm sorry if I kept you."

"Oh, no, not at all," he objected, saying the words sincerely. He dropped his hand to his side, putting his watch out of sight. "I was really looking forward to this meeting, Samantha. Despite the circumstances, it was also good to see you in person again too."

"Yeah." She nodded. "You too."

"And trust me. This is the most important thing on my list right now. There's a lot riding on this." My career, he thought wryly.

She gave him a small smile. "Well, anything I can do to help."

"And even after everything we just discussed… Are you sure you're okay with all of this?" he asked her.

She continued to smile and nodded assuringly. "Yes, Peter. You keep asking me that. Trust me, I want to make sure he's not out there preying on anyone either. It makes me safer, and my kids, the sooner we can find him."

"It's unconventional to involve you in finding him."

"Definitely," she agreed. "But like we just discussed, you don't have much of a choice, and I'm doing this willingly. Trust me. If I need to sign anything, or document anything, we can do that. You know, to cover you."

"It's not about covering me," he replied. "I'm more concerned about your safety." He paused and then added, "And your psyche!"

"Well, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be," she persisted. "And you can put me on record saying that."

"I appreciate that," he told her.

They began to walk towards the doorway, a moment of silence passing between them.

It was then, Samantha raised the artwork again.

"It's good we caught up anyway," she said. "Like I said, I've been thinking a lot about what happened back then. Not just what happened, but what we— I mean, my family – had… And… Well, you told me you'd look into my family's estate… At least get me that private viewing… So I feel like there's a reconnection to my roots in all of this as well."

They approached the door with Peter slightly ahead, and he paused to turn to her before reaching for it. "I'll do my best," he told her. "I need to look into it, but I don't see why we can't at least arrange the viewing you asked for." He wasn't completely sure about that, and could only imagine Hughes' face when he brought up the topic, but at this point what else did he have to lose?

"Unless you guys sold it all already to make a little revenue on the side for the government," she teased.

He laughed at the joke. "Can you imagine? No, but seriously, you'd be amazed what we've got behind closed doors, honestly..." he answered. "I don't know what your family's collection was worth, but I could tell you…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind, you don't want to hear about that."

"I would actually be curious to hear more. Perhaps a story for another day," she answered.

"Another day," he agreed.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and they both turned their heads. A second later, the door edged open and Jones peaked his head through the inch wide opening.

"Sir," he began.

"Just give me just a minute, Jones," Peter told him. "We were just wrapping up."

Jones nodded, briefly casting his eyes towards the woman in the room, but then focusing back on Peter added. "Sure. Whenever you get a minute. We have something."

Peter raised his eyebrows, curious, but didn't question it. Not here. He just nodded back and said, "Thanks. I'll come by in a minute."

With that, the door gently closed and it was just the two of them again.

"I knew you were a busy man!" Samantha noted. She looked at Peter curiously. "They have something on your case?"

"Could be," he told her, turning his focus back to her with a small shrug. "There are a few things going on. Including waiting for an update from my… my, uh, partner as well..."

"Your partner," she replied, nodding. "That's right. The CI, right?"

"Right," he answered. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, they told me you're at a hotel downtown? Do you feel comfortable there, or—"

"Yes, and I have escorts," she told him. "I'm fine, Peter. Really. And you have the mobile number I gave you – I'm using that phone while I'm here."

"Okay, great. I'll give you a call a little later today, and we're finalize the rest of the plan."

"I'll be ready," she told him.

With that, he formally reached to open the door and stepped with her back into the hallway. Within a moment, there was another agent at their side, asking Samantha if she was ready to head back out to her hotel.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

With a deep breath, and at least one step in this process to get to closure (or at least to a next stage) behind him, Peter headed back to the bullpen to locate his team. As he walked, he ached. His head, his ribs, his spirit. He was exhausted, but tried to dismiss that. There would be plenty of time to rest at the end of this. Especially if he no longer had a job.

His agents were both at Diana's desk, an extra chair pulled up for Jones. They were both looking at her computer screen.

"What do we have?" he asked as he approached the desk.

Both his agents looked up at him as he arrived.

"Neal's phone," Diana stated.

"It was in the car," Jones told him. He gestured at he device on Diana's desk.

"He left his phone?" Peter asked, frowning. He took a step closer and reached for the device.

"He just got a phone call a few minutes ago…" Jones replied, watching Peter flip open the phone to the locked screen. "I think it was from Neal's friend... The one we've talked about. Fonzie?"

"Mozzie," Diana corrected impatiently, emphasizing the correct name.

"Mozzie," Peter echoed. He closed the phone and gave them both an anticipative look. "He called? What did he say?"

"Not much," Jones answered. "We were able to pick up but he seemed confused that Neal wasn't answering his own phone and wouldn't really say much."

"But he did ask to speak to you," Diana added.

"He did?" Peter asked. His frown deepened as he became thoughtful. He gripped his hand over the phone tightly, as though somehow he could generate some meaning out of it. "That means he's not with Neal..."

"No." Diana frowned. "I mean, he was calling to ask for Neal, so I assume not…"

"Unless he's a good actor," Jones replied. "Maybe he was calling to ask for Neal so that we'd assume he wasn't with Neal…"

"Right," Diana answered with a roll of the eyes. "Conspiracy theory much?"

"If it was Mozzie," Peter began wryly, "then he could tell you a thing or two about conspiracy theories… But no, he wouldn't risk a phone call just to pretend he was with Neal."

"How well do you know him?" she asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"Enough…" Peter replied slowly. "Well, barely. He's a close friend of Neal's. Like I told you guys earlier, he was at my house last night…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I need to try to call him. Maybe he knows something." He looked at Jones. "I don't have his number. Can we get into this phone?"

"We will," Jones told him. "I was going to bring it to the tech team."

"Well, do it. I need that number. We need to know what he knows."

"It honestly didn't sound like he knew much," Jones told him with a shrug. "He seemed concerned that someone else was answering."

Peter frowned. "Well, let me be the one to confirm that."

"I'll take it now." Jones began to get up from his chair. "Oh, but the other thing," he began. "The thing that I actually came by to interrupt for."

"Yeah?" Peter asked, a little impatiently. "What is it?"

Jones gestured at the computer on Diana's desk. She reached over to turn the monitor in Peter's direction so that he could see the screen. "It's Neal's tracker," Jones explained. "It's moving."

"It's been moving," Peter replied, tone curt.

"Right, but look where it is now."

Peter squinted at the screen.

"He's in Pennsylvania now," Jones persisted, answering the statement before Peter had to figure it out on his own. "Hughes was in agreement with the Marshals to just track him last night, but once he passed Trenton this morning and then crossed state lines again, they made the call to move in."

Peter watched as the blinking light continued to move on the screen. "Move in… They don't even have a make or model of a car," he said. It was a thought, to himself, and he realized after the fact that he'd verbalized it out loud. "They're moving in now?"

"Or soon. Last I heard they were calling it in to the state highway patrol and some other local authorities. The tracking has remained on expressways and highways."

Peter swallowed, watching the screen with a tight feeling in his stomach. So much for the conversation with Hughes about potentially allowing him to help coordinate or at least be involved. "Jones, you thought the tracker had been compromised…" he began, shifting his view back to his team.

"Well, that alarm that it's showing? That usually doesn't lie," Jones told him.

Peter nodded, looking at the screen. "So… Do we really think if he was able to cut it, that he'd still have it with him?"

"Well, maybe he only attempted to cut it. The alarm would be the same."

"Attempted?" Peter replied. "Either you cut it or you don't, right? There's not really a half measure there."

Jones shrugged. "Maybe he didn't have a knife. Or scissors."

Diana chimed in with a skeptical look. "While crossing three state lines, you don't think he'd find a pair of scissors?"

"Not if he's in a rush. Resourceful or not. And besides, he also might have just tried to tamper with the box," Jones persisted. "Honestly, Boss, I don't know. But he's there now and still moving. They made the call."

Peter slowly shook his head, eyeing the screen with skepticism. He sighed. "I just don't think that's Neal…" he said gently.

Jones shrugged. "Well, they're going to know soon enough."

Peter sighed and gave Jones a look. He extended the phone in his hand. "Get this to the tech team, will you? We need at least the recent numbers he called." He paused. "Minus the dozen or so missed calls from me."

Jones nodded, taking the device. "Got it, Boss."

"Tell them it's a priority."

"Will do."

As Jones walked away, Peter turned again to Diana's computer screen, watching the blinking beacon with pursed lips. Where the hell are you, Neal? he thought to himself.

Diana tried to change the subject. "How'd the meeting with Samantha go?"

Distracted, Peter didn't answer for a moment. He remained focused on the tracking information, scenarios running through his head.

"Peter?" Diana persisted. As Peter turned his head towards her, she repeated her question. "You just met with Samantha, right? How'd it go?"

"Yeah." Peter cleared his throat, glancing briefly out of the corner of his eye towards the computer screen, but then made a conscious effort to singularly focus on her. "I think we might be able to go through with it. Maybe it'll work and we can get Dean in one place. She wants to help," he replied. He then paused and admitted, "It was a little strange though… Seeing her after all this time." His eyes darted again to the computer screen.

"I'm going to do this." Diana reached to move her computer monitor back to it's normal position facing her directly, removing its view from Peter. "Okay?"

Peter gave her a small smile, acknowledging the gesture. "Probably a good idea. Nothing I can do to find him when I'm just staring at the screen, right?"

"Right..." she responded slowly. "We'll hear from them soon enough." As Peter frowned at the comment, she gave him a discerning look. "You okay, Boss?"

"I'm fine," he replied, a little dismissively. He noted her skepticism and continued, "If anything, just exhausted. It's been a long couple days."

"And …. Then there's Neal..." she said, saying his name delicately.

"And Neal," he replied simply. He worked his jaw briefly, again feeling that pit in his stomach. "Dammit." He shook his head and said, "You know, it's hard to even remember what this case was first about."

"I know…" She sighed and then asked, "Boss, if Neal—"

"I don't want to talk about Neal," Peter interjected, voice brusque. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know you're asking with good intentions, Diana. I just… I can't deliberate over it any further right now."

She frowned, but nodded sympathetically. "I get it. I'm sorry." She watched him work his jaw, looking impatient and deep in thought. It was somewhat uncharacteristic for her boss, who typically seemed suave and in control. She attempted again to change the subject, despite her own prevailing thoughts around Neal. "So when are you going to try to arrange the next steps with Samantha?"

"Soon." Peter raised a hand to rub at the back of his head, thinking. "Later today if I can get that cleared." He frowned, reflecting on his conversation with Samantha for a moment. "You know, I just thought of something strange… Or maybe I'm overthinking it…"

"What?" Diana asked, raising her eyebrows.

Peter remained deep in thought. The hollow feeling was growing. "A comment she made."

"Who, Samantha?"

Peter nodded, frowning. "She knew he was a CI."

Diana gave him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"Neal. She knew. How did she know that?"

Diana paused, following. Then she offered, "Well, did you tell her about him?"

"No," Peter responded. "I never even mentioned Neal to her." He turned, looking past the bullpen towards the exit of the floor where she would have left the office. "I never even said his name. That was intentional."

Diana frowned. "Well, who else did she speak to? Maybe they mentioned it?"

Peter suddenly felt conflicted. Was he just exhausted? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Maybe he'd mentioned it to her and didn't even realize it. Neal was clearly dominating his thoughts at the moment. Or clearly like Diana said, someone else had. But who?

What was this feeling?

Was he suspicious of Samantha? Of something she knew?

Did he have that right to question her? He was the one that was putting her in danger after all. He called her here. She had answered his call.

"I need to talk to Hughes," he stated.

Before Diana could respond, Peter had turned on his heel and was headed towards his supervisor's office.