Roosevelt Island was not a place John visited often. Or rather he didn't visit it at all. Finding the address wasn't a problem, and he didn't even had to try to get buzzed in. When he came by the door, a teenager girl was just leaving, he smiled and nodded in greeting, keeping the door open as she dragged a small dog behind her. All that left was to get to apartment 14E.

The corridors were empty, and all seemed in surprisingly good shape. Finding the door, John looked around, then knocked and waited for any reaction. After 30 seconds, he hit again, and again.

"Seems Miss Parker is not at home," He muttered, knowing that the piece in his ear will catch it anyway.

"I don't see any activity on her accounts in the past few days, be careful Mister Reese. She might look just like an older lady, but she was a cop and a private security guard for most of her life."

Fishing a set of lock-picks from his pocket, he smirked, Harold was back in his mother henning element. Grabbing the handle and slightly turning he was surprised it turned all the way. The door was open. With one smooth move, he exchanged lock-picks for his gun. That wasn't a good sign.

Surveying the small corridor with one quick glance, he swept the flat with efficient moves, born from doing the same thing over and over again. It was clear, but there was a nagging feeling in his gut that something was wrong. The apartment wasn't big, pots of flowers were set on each windowsill, modest furniture, and paintings on the walls.

In the bedroom, the first thing that caught his attention were partially open drawers. Pulling one out it quickly became evident they were empty. The closed doors hinge squeaked when he pushed one wing slightly, revealing some half-empty boxes and empty hangers.

"Seems Miss Parker has moved out," John reported.

"I'll check what happened, but this is the last address witness protection has for her."

A squeak sounded somewhere in the apartment. A squeak that reminded John of a sneaker sole on linoleum made. Carefully he moved back towards the door, only to see a leg disappear out of view, the owner hiding in the kitchen.

"Harold, Miss Parker has a visitor."

"A visitor?"

"Unwanted vi…" a gunshot rang, and the bullet hit door frame, sending pieces in all directions, one hitting John's hand, tearing the skin. Another shot allowed him to localize the shooter, and fire back, unfortunately, he was further from the exit door that the shooter. When he tried to get out, his luck run out, and the bullet hit his arm. Firing again, he missed, however, this time he saw the person disappearing thru the exit door.

Activating his comm again, he needed Harold, as he ignored him for long enough. "…eesse?!" He winced at the volume after the connection came back.

"I'm okay. Someone was here and he wasn't in a mood to talk. Can you check the cameras around the building, I caught only the back, around six feet high, gray hair." He starts to feel the wound in his arm, the prickle of hurt, the tug of muscles. He knows it's a flesh wound but with cops probably on the way already he doesn't have time to look for more.

"Harold try to identify him." Finding a kitchen towel big enough to wrap around his arm is not a problem.

"I'll see what I can get. Unfortunately, this part of New York is surprisingly low equipped in surveillance. Are you all right Mr. Reese?"

"I'm fine, just a flesh wound. I think detective Carter can help us more in this situation."

The corridor outside is by some miracle still empty; maybe people are too afraid to get out after the shooting.

"I'll call doctor Martinez, get to him directly." His friend reassures him. "And Detective Fusco is on his way."

Reese leaves the building and hides behind a corner just as the first police car pulls before the entrance. His car is parked nearby, and this time nothing stops him.

"Harold, did you find anything about our mysterious shooter?"

"I'm still searching Mister Reese. How is your arm?"

The doctor just finished putting the last stitch on his arm and put a dressing on it.

"The good doctor is not happy seeing me here again." Doctor smiled tightly. He was doing it just for money, although he liked John much more than his usual patients, and the pay wasn't hurting either.

John nodded his thanks to the doctor leaving him to clean up the mess.

"I'm sure the good doctor is much happier to see you than his other patients. Now I didn't find anything more about our mysterious shooter. However, I found where they moved Miss Parker."

"Do you think that the person that found her place on Roosevelt Island will be able to find her in the new place too?"

"Well it's not so easy, the first place was her permanent residence for a few years, and it was much easier to identify. According to my data, she left it over four weeks ago, so even if the person managed to find it, it would take more time than for me."

"So where do I go?"

"85th West Street, number 118. I would suspect there will be Marshals keeping an eye on her, so be careful John."

"Harold I'm always careful."

He could hear a chuckle coming from his friend and friendly barking of Bear.

"I'll come by for a camera it will be easier to see who is coming by, and maybe we will be able to identify better who the shooter might be."

It took a few next days to meet with Ellen again, and this time what she had to tell him wasn't something he expected. Her words rang in his head every time his attention shifted for a moment from their current case.

After Peter came back to the office, they had some time to fill up the rest of the paperwork. But now new cases piled up and the work was actually something he enjoyed a lot. Which didn't stop him from wondering about what Ellen said the last time they met.

The Irish Mob.

He had few reasons to avoid Mob before, and not only because they tend to cut your fingers, and usually solved issues by force. He didn't like violence, especially one that ended in a chance of someone dying.

"Caffrey, stop dreaming, we have work to do!" Peter called from an entrance to a conference room. It was unusual those days that he missed anything. It was also quite unusual for Peter to call him Caffrey.

Neal was spending his time there, surrounded by various stacks of paperwork and case files. There were again in the middle of a fraud case, not mortgage fraud, thanks gods, but a developer or architect was sparing way too much on construction costs.

Neal frowned at him and played the best innocent face he could. Eyes wide open, a slight upper frown on the forehead, mouth slightly open forming an o. Picture perfect "what did I do."

Peter glanced at him from his folder and stopped. One of his eyebrows rose in question. Neal repeated the innocent face adding a slight move of his lips, as in asking something.

Peter groaned. "Dammit Neal."

Neal smiled. "What?". The personification of innocence.

"Stop daydreaming and get back to your paperwork." Peter tried to be stern, but he did find it too amusing the by play they were doing. It was good to have Neal back.

Neal smiled secretly and whined as best as he could. "But it's boooooring."

This time they both laughed, grabbing the attention of others in the office. Jones and Diana shared a smile, some of Harvard crew smirked under their noses.

Peter closed the doors. "Joking aside, what bothers you?"

Neal looked away, concentrating on the papers. He promised Peter, well he even promised himself, to be honest, and tell him about James. But…

"Something about your father?" It was a gamble on his side, but this was the only trouble Peter could see brewing on the horizon.

"You could say so. I told you he was a dirty cop." He said still looking anywhere than Peter.

Peter nodded. "Yeah you did, but that's not all." Waiting patiently for Neal to speak further, he started to analyze the situation. It might have been something even bigger than both of them anticipated, and he was still mostly in the dark.

"No, that's not all. He was accused of a murder of his CO, and confessed to it before we were taken into the program." This time Neal looked at him directly, trying to gauge his reaction.

It wasn't really too difficult to read what Neal needed from him at that moment. He was scared, as he once mentioned that he was his father's son, a criminal. But Neal wasn't a murderer, his aversion to guns and bodies even more understandable now. It wasn't just precaution. If you have a gun, the potential sentence is going right up, but having a gun also mean a quick way to hurt people. Even kill them and that was something Neal abhorred, even before he knew, or did he…

"Did you knew about it, before?"

"No. Just that he was a corrupted cop, that was what Ellen told me on my eighteenth birthday."

"What else did she told you?"

Neal frowned, looking away again. "That he was alive."

"What?" Peter looked at him in shock. That wasn't news he expected. No wonder Neal, with an instinct to run every time live got difficult, run away after hearing that. "Did you knew it before?"

"Yes. It's… it's why I run away from home. Because that news was just too much."

Peter wasn't really sure what to do now. He wished El was there to guide him. Instead, he tried to remember what to do. "I'm sorry." He finally said.

"You shouldn't be, it wasn't you that told me the news." Neal was hiding behind a con man mask.

"Still, I'm sorry you were lied to by your mother and Ellen. That you had to learn the truth so late."

Neal frowned, he never thought about it, what would be if his mother and Ellen were honest with him from the beginning. Well, maybe not when he was three, but when he was a little bit older, fascinated with cops. They should have told him before. His hand twitched, fingers squeezing into a fist, he was angry at his mother all over again.

"Neal." Peter just a moment ago was standing on the other side of the table, now was close by and squeezed his shoulder. The anger and stress started to fade away, but the uneasiness in his mind was still there.

"Ellen told me that he was involved in corruption, but he wasn't the only one. She also said that part of the issue was Irish Mob." They say that confessing your sins is a cleansing of the mind. Neal never a very religious person, not to mention not one to confessing ever, now understood how it worked. Secrets were a burden, heavy burden difficult to keep alone. But telling Peter made him lighter, easier breathing, Peter would help him to solve it.

"Irish Mob, that's heavy stuff. But what was the corruption part?"

"As I understand it Irish Mob was involved in corrupting cops. But Ellen refused to tell me more, insisting it's still not safe for anyone to know more. I'm meeting here today to get some more information, she mentioned a friend, that was helping her in the beginning to uncover all, so I hope she can point me in some direction."

"You want to get back at Irish Mob, Neal…"

"I don't want to get back at Irish Mob Peter. I'm not that reckless." Corner of Neal's mouth raised in a sarcastic smile. "But I want to know what was going on and if we can do something about it."

"We?"

"Yes, we. Or are you not here to fight for justice?"

"I'm in, don't worry, and I'm sure we can get Diana and Jones to help too. But Neal, remember, we are doing it by the book. Corruption is easy to spread and easy to pin on someone." Peter was grim, remembering his own troubles with corruption accusation.

"Fine. By the book." He shrugged, having promised that to Peter before, it was not easy to remember the failures, but it was something he tried to amend now. "As we are doing things by the book, I'm meeting Ellen again. Hopefully, she will tell me some more."

This time, he was taking Mozzie with him, in hopes that the great understanding Ellen and Mozzie got one evening will allow her to open a little bit more about secrets of his father.