The dress

"Looks like your boy, Dmitri, is heading into a hotel on Madison," Jones told Peter over the phone.

"You think he's staying there?" Peter asked.

"He ain't bringing any luggage with him." It did not say much. Just that he was not checking in. But Peter had a hunch.

"Lock it down. Put somebody on every exit. I'm on my way."

Two hours later Peter and Jones stormed into the hotel room where a fight had been reported. No one was there for them to point their guns at. Dmitri lay on the floor dead with a red cloth tucked in his mouth. Whoever killed him they could not have missed him by much. Peter holstered his gun and pulled out his phone.

"Lauren, get the team over here. Dmitri is dead. Make sure Neal knows he'll be facing a dead guy again."

"Sex games gone wrong?" Lauren wondered as she looked closer at the body.

Neal walked back and forth by the door, uncomfortable. But at least he had come and did his best to stay, Peter noted.

"No. Could just be a message," Neal replied. "Maybe he was trying to shut him up."

"We don't even know if Ghovat was here" Lauren objected.

"No, our ghost was here. The knife wound matches the blade width and angle of penetration on our foreign national killed by Ghovat." Peter pointed at the body. "It's him."

"Do we know how Ghovat got out of the building?" Lauren asked.

Jones came into the room.

"I found a service elevator down the hall," he informed them. "Wasn't on the reconstruction blueprints."

"Which is exactly why he picked this place," Neal concluded.

"Yeah, this guy is good," Peter agreed and saw Neal's focus shift.

The crime scene investigators had removed the cloth from the body's mouth and unwrapped it on a couch draped in plastic. This was something within Neal's comfort zone.

"Why a dress?" he asked as he approached. A dress? Peter rose and focused on the red velvet too. Yes, it was a dress alright.

"I don't know." Peter studied the dress. "It's not off the rack. There's no tag, which means it's couture." Neal turned his head and stared at him. "We deal with a lot of knockoffs. Ask me what I know about a Prada bag sometime."

"Oh, look at this," Neal called his attention. He had his fingers along a seam. "There's a slit here."

"It's about the size of an electronic security strip," Peter noted and explained to Neal: "A lot of the designers are building them into the clothes."

"So, it's a miniature flash drive?"

"In theory, you could piggyback up to four gigs on one."

"That's enough space to smuggle all kinds of information worth killing for." This was not about knockoffs. It was probably not about clothes at all.

"Lauren, get me a photo book of all the designers who had a show this year. Let's find out who made this dress." She nodded. Peter's focused returned to the body again.

Neal returned to the background again. Peter knew he did not feel comfortable around dead bodies and had told him it was okay. It was bad enough to see a killed man. This man he had talked to twice, shook his hand, looked in the eye.

Someone had killed for a dress and left a message by tucking it down Dmitri's throat. Stolen a possible security strip. This someone had not bothered to take any of the designer's items in the room. Neal opened a jewelry case. The necklace inside was probably made with a particular dress in mind. Dmitri obviously had something to do with fashion after all. Or was it just for show?

"Spread your arms." Peter's voice behind him.

Neal turned, baffled.

"What?"

"Com'on." Peter pulled them up for him and performed a pat-down on him. Neal felt the other in the room stared. Jones and Lauren too. Peter was fast and effective, but the damage was already done.

"Satisfied?" Neal hissed.

Peter gave him a glare.

"Stay away from those cases."

Neal opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He marched out of the room. He left the hotel and waited for his handler on the sidewalk.

Peter who usually treated him with such respect had done a pat-down on him. He could not get his mind around what just happened in there. Sure, Peter mentioned and even joked about his anklet and his background and situation, but he had always seen them as harmless. Comments and fun to not make him an elephant in the room. Had he misunderstood Peter?

"That was completely uncalled for," he burst at Peter when he too left the hotel.

Peter blinked as he did not understand what Neal talked about.

"Neal, you had no business around those jewelry cases."

"I didn't steal anything! I was working! Figuring out what had happened in there. While you treated me like a criminal in front of everybody."

"You are a criminal, Caffrey. And I couldn't know what you were thinking. It's within my rights to frisk you."

Now Neal got angry. Peter did not live by double standards. But when it came to Neal things were different, after all. Disappointed, Neal turned and walked to the car.

Peter stared at Neal's back as he left. What had happened? There was some form of misunderstanding he could not figure out. He had never seen Neal so upset. Peter got to the car and sat down beside him. The kid just looked out of the window.

"Neal, I'm your handler, I'm responsible for your actions while we work. You know I have the right to do a pat-down on you."

Peter waited for some form of reaction from Neal. It took awhile.

"It's not about you having the right." Neal still looked out through the window.

"Then why are you so upset? It's not the first time someone frisked you. You must have been that every day in prison."

Peter studied Neal's face. It was a cold mask. This was not a scared kid trying not to show. It was a face creating distance and it made Peter uncomfortable. He had a feeling he had done something terribly wrong but he could not figure out what.

"Neal?"

"I've told you why." Neal sunk back in the seat. "Just forget about it. You won't understand."

He had told him? Peter frowned.

"You stood by that jewelry... I saw a risk and I frisked you..."

"Yeah, you did," Neal agreed. "In front of my colleagues and team members. Or so you claim them to be. Now you made sure they only see the criminal again."

Peter felt ashamed. He had not considered the implications. He and Neal had a special relationship. He knew Neal wanted his trust and Peter had made sure to tell him he would check on him. But he had never considered how the other team members would see it.

"I'm sorry, Neal." He meant it. The kid glanced at him. "You're absolutely right. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have done that in front of everyone."

Neal gave a nod, accepting the apology.

Peter got the car started and left the parking.

"No more pat-downs?" Neal asked.

Peter throw an eye at him.

"You know I can't promise you that." The disappointment glimmered in Neal's eyes. "But I won't do it in public, okay?" That was a promise he could keep. Neal nodded.

An Israeli designer with the name Avet sat in Peter's office. Jones had picked him up.

"I don't know who this Ghovat is," the man stated first thing when Peter sat down on the other side of his desk.

"You don't know his name, hm? Not even by a rumor?"

"My world is fashion."

Just like Neal, Peter thought. An answer, but not an answer.

"Well, we both know we're not talking about fashion."

"I have a show this evening I must be prepared for."

"That's on hold."

"You have no reason for any of this," Avet insisted.

"Actually, I do," Peter made clear. "Can you explain why one of your designs showed up at my murder scene?"

Avet met his gaze.

"You're the police, you tell me." He did not claim it was stolen, no explanation no matter how ridiculous. No experienced liar, but surely involved. Determined to not give them any clues.

"Whatever you did, resulted in the death of two people," Peter pointed out.

Avet kept his eyes on Peter's face, watching him in silence. There was something in his mimic, like a debate inside his mind.

"And if I didn't do it," he said at last, "my son would be dead also."

Peter got the picture. This was a victim, a father protecting his family. They were finally getting somewhere.

"All right, what happened?"

"A few hours before my team and I are to leave Tel Aviv, my wife calls. Tells me that they have my son.

"Ghovat kidnapped your child?"

"And then I was told to clear my shop and wait for instructions. And then he showed up. Told me I had to smuggle something into the States for him."

"What was that 'something'?"

"All I know is, that it was in the dress."

"That's it?"

"After we cleared U.S. Customs I heard from my wife that my son is returned to us." That was good news. Avet's family was in no immediate danger.

"All right, look, two people are dead because of whatever you helped bring in the country," Peter said with a softer attitude than before. He wanted cooperation, not to scare him. "Is there anything you can tell me about it?"

"Well…" the designer considered. "I can show you the real dress."

They gathered in the conference room and the designer Neal had been told was named Avet unpacked a duplicate of the red dress they had found on the murder scene. He pointed out where the strip was and an FBI agent cut the thread to the seam. With a pair of tweezers, he brought out what looked like a piece of wire.

"That's it." The wire was placed in a tube and sealed.

"I always make two dresses," Avet told them. "I didn't tell him he took the wrong one."

"That makes sense," Neal figured. "Dmitri shows up to get the dress from Ghovat and finds out it's a fake. They struggle. Ghovat manages to make it out alive."

Peter had been looking at the thread and handed the tube to Neal. It was not much to see. And still, it could contain a lot of secrets.

"So why kill him and bring all that heat?" Lauren asked.

"He's trying to salvage the deal," Peter figured "but can't if Dmitri is running around telling everybody the technology is no good."

"What do you think is on this thing?" Neal asked and returned it to Peter.

"Could be launch codes, covert ID, the formula for a new Coke. Who knows?" He gave the tube to the FBI agent who pulled it out. "But our technology guys will have an answer for us by tomorrow morning." The guy gave Peter a nod and left.

"Something that valuable," Lauren shook her head. "There's no way Ghovat's gonna pack it up and go home."

This seemed to got Peter thinking. He looked at Neal.

"I've got a thought. Let's take our thread and go fishing." Neal hoped that fishing did not include him. The Ghost was no healthy company. But Peter's eyes wandered to the designer.

"You have his number?" Avet nodded.

"Call him. Putt him on speaker. Tell him he got the wrong dress." The man got pale. "You're safe in this room. No one is going to harm you." And then Peter explained what he wanted Avet to say.

Avet nodded and made the call. Ghovat answered and learned that he had got the wrong dress. The poor designer's voice shivered but he spoke to the man who had kidnapped his child. It was only natural.

"How could you be so stupid?" Ghovat growled over the phone.

"Ghovat, please, you have to believe me. I didn't know what you wanted me to do. You didn't want me to know."

"Where's the dress now?"

Good, Neal thought. He is focused on getting the dress, not taking his anger out on the designer.

"It's gone. I sold it."

"You sold the dress? My dress?"

"Someone made an offer ahead of the show. He bought it for his fiance."

"How much did he pay?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

"Who did you sell it to?" Ghovat demanded. Avet raised his eyes from the phone to Neal.

"To Tony Strong."

Tara was stunning in the red dress. Neal walked her up to the bar at the luxurious hotel.

"How long will we have to keep this up?" she asked.

"Just long enough to get noticed. You're doing great, Tara."

"I'll be doing better once this is over." She smiled like they talked about something pleasant and sat down on one of the high stools. Neal sat down beside her, close, like they were in love.

"That dress really does look fantastic on you."

"If only I could wear it on a runway."

"There's nothing to say you won't someday." Neal saw Peter and Lauren at a table nearby in the restaurant. It gave him some comfort at least. "Can I get you a drink?"

She nodded. He ordered two glasses of white wine. They got them and Neal enjoyed the aroma. He had ordered something worthy of someone paying fifty thousand dollars for a dress. Peter would get upset but it was worth it.

A member of the staff walked up to them with a tray.

"Excuse me. Sir, this just arrived for you." He held out the tray and on it was a cell phone. It rang. Neal took it.

"Hello?"

"I recognize you from the party," said a voice on the other side. So he was watched. From where? Neal's eyes darted around the room.

"Who is this?"

"I saw you steal Dmitri's phone."

Observant. Or guessing.

"Yeah," Neal agreed, getting eye-contact with Peter for a second, moving closer to him. "I was trying to eliminate the competition. Guess it worked."

"So you know what you have?"

Neal looked at Tara.

"I know exactly what I got."

"You paid fifty thousand dollars for the dress. I'll give you five million."

Generous. But then the content must be worth more than that, since Ghovat wanted to sell it.

"My fiance loves it so much, how about we make it ten?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" The voice was not amused or interested in games.

"This is Steve, right?" Neal could not help himself. He knew it was a dangerous game. Too dangerous.

"I tried to be nice," the voice replied. "I tried to give you a choice." Then the phone call was ended.

Neal's body went cold. He knew he had crossed the line. Not with a muscle in his face, he let it all show. He went back to Tara. Whoever had been watching them would not see any of them scared. He smiled at her and drank his wine.