Late.

Peter Burke looked down at his plain watch one more time just to make sure he wasn't misreading the dial in the dark.

He's never been late.

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair before letting it fall back to his side. A deep inhale, then a slow, shuddering exhale followed, his breath turning to frigid vapor.

His back rested against the concrete wall underneath the Cleft Ridge Arch in the middle of the park in Brooklyn. 2AM and still a no show. He should have been there at midnight on the dot and not a moment later.

He couldn't imagine what the excuse could be. There had never been one before.

He watched as the late night snow fell softly outside the cover the arch provided to him. Sighing in agitation, he scraped the sole of his shoe against the ground.

Was I followed?

Peter walked to the edge of the tunnel and glanced around, then walked to the other end and did the same.

The snow covered path was silent. Abandoned on both ends, not a footprint in sight. The ones he had made to get in position had long been concealed by new powder.

No one smart enough to follow me would leave prints there, anyway.

He shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the "followed" theory. He'd done this too many times and the place was always different. The time was always different. The time of year was always different.

But he couldn't bring himself to believe it wasn't possible that he was followed. That just wasn't how the world worked.

He flexed his toes inside his shoes as he tried to restore feeling in them. He knew his city coat and gloves had lost their effectiveness at least an hour ago and the midnight cup of hot coffee he had brought was long gone. He couldn't wait much longer.

"Hey!"

Peter whipped his head towards the left and was blinded by a bright light that was marching toward him, bobbing up and down.

"What're you doin' out here, park's closed," the man said. It was an implied threat more than a statement or a question.

Peter turned to face the light and widened his stance with his hands out of his pockets. The light finally closed enough distance for him to see exactly what he had suspected it was: a city cop.

The dark haired man was a bit taller than he was and was completely decked out in his winter police uniform. He adjusted his hat further up on his forehead.

"I said, what are you doin' out here," the cop restated. "Park's closed."

Peter wasn't one to be barked at, especially not at 2AM on what was shaping up to be a very ominous night.

"FBI," he snapped back. "My badge is in my front inside pocket. May I get it?"

"FBI, huh?" the cop said skeptically, looking him up and down. "Well… you sure don't look like a junkie or a mobster, so maybe... Alright, get it, but slow."

Peter reached carefully inside his jacket pocket and produced his FBI shield. He thrust it toward the officer for him to examine.

"Alright, Agent Burke," said the officer, satisfied with the identification. "So I'm not gonna arrest you, but I still gotta know what you're doin' here."

"Working a case," Peter responded. "You know how these criminal types are. A source told me about a meeting that was supposed to take place here a few hours ago. Nobody showed on time, so I was waiting to see if someone straggles in late."

"Meh, damn informants, you can't trust 'em for shit," the officer said, placing his hand on his hips. "You need any assistance here? I could hang out and help keep an eye."

Peter shook his head.

"If they were gonna show, they would have done it already," he said. "I had just decided to leave right as you were coming under the arch. I appreciate the concern, though."

Peter held his hand out to offer a handshake, which was heartily accepted.

"Need a ride or you got a car close?" the officer asked. "I can give you a lift."

"I'm parked not too far," Peter replied,then chuckled. "Gotta get home to my wife, I was supposed to be home at 6 o'clock. You know how that is."

"Better get stepping, man, you're late!" the officer said, waving him on as he walked back towards the southern end of the tunnel.

Peter walked out into the snowfall on the other end. The fresh white powder on the path remained unspoiled. After walking several yards, he turned to look back towards the tunnel again when the wind accosted him from out of the north.

I'm not the only one.