A/N: Shauna's episodes will continue in a series of one-shots as long as my addiction to White Collar lasts, which will probably be until the show ends, which will hopefully be never. Rated T just in case. Neal, Peter, and the rest of the gang (including a couple of quotes) do not belong to me, but to the brilliant writers of a brilliant show.

This episode has spoilers through Season 2 Episode 6. [BEGIN SPOILERS] It takes place in the middle of the episode, when Sara shows up at Neal's house with a search warrant, looking for the package from the FAA. If, of course, during the show Neal had a sixteen-year-old sister named Shauna Caffrey. :)

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Neal peered over the top of his book. "Would you please sit down? You're driving me crazy."

She sat down at the table, moved one of the chess pieces. It had been a game between Neal and Mozzie, but Mozzie had vanished, as usual, and now Shauna moved one of his pawns forward. "I'm just nervous."

"So am I, but you don't see me pacing holes in the carpet." Neal sighed, moved a bishop without looking at it and captured Shauna's pawn.

"You also just lied your way through a polygraph." Shauna sighed.

"You could, too, you know."

She captured his bishop, knowing full well that he'd intentionally left it unprotected. "But this isn't a polygraph, this is your house. I should be able to be myself. There's nobody here except—"

Knocks on the door. Unfamiliar knocks, not Peter, not June. Not Mozzie, because Mozzie's knocks were full of Morse code, when he bothered to knock at all. Shauna wrapped her fingers around Neal's bishop. "Expecting someone?"

But he was already up, already opening the door. "Sara?"

Sara Ellis didn't answer, only stepped aside to admit a guy who could only be a cop. "Detective Lewis."

Not good. Shauna stood, the chess piece still clenched in her hand. Sara didn't look in Shauna's direction, which was probably a good thing, because if looks could kill, Shauna's would have. And then arrests would definitely have to be made. "This is a search warrant," said the detective.

"We're looking for the stolen FAA package," said Sara, sweeping into the room as if she owned the place.

The recordings. Shauna closed her eyes, opened them again as Neal started protesting ignorance and innocence. So much for being herself. She ran forward. "Sara, what's going on?"

"I don't want to hear it, Shauna Caffrey. Or Simpson, or whatever name you're going by now." Sara ran her fingers over the bedframe. "Mid nineteenth century tiger oak?"

"I've always gone by Simpson," snapped Shauna, which was a total lie, but she'd never minded lying to Sara.

"Hand-carved," said Neal, who could do charm better than Shauna could ever hope.

"It's beautiful," said Sara, but she didn't linger. She stepped over to the wardrobe.

Neal turned around while she rattled the key in the lock. Peter, he mouthed. Call him.

So Shauna backed into the shadows until her back was against an underused end-table, ignored by the detective and his men with their search warrant. She was good at shadows, good at hiding, good at being completely visible yet completely unseen. She dialed Peter's number. It went to voicemail. She didn't leave a message, only dialed again. Voicemail again.

So she called Diana, who answered. "Shauna?"

"Tell Peter to come over to Neal's. We have..." She covered the phone with her hand as the detective stepped in her direction. But he wasn't looking at her. He was waving to Sara with a yellow package in his hand. "We have a problem."

"What kind of a problem?"

Neal took in the package, his sister, and Sara Ellis' face with one glance. He stepped toward the center of the room. He was still smiling. "I can explain that."

Shauna fingered the drawer behind her, pulled it out and searched through it without turning around. Most people's junk drawers contained thumbtacks, screws, and rubber-bands; a Caffrey junk drawer had lock-picks. Lots of them. All different sizes. "Neal's being arrested."

"Am not." Neal was still smiling as he walked by. "I didn't steal it."

"I'll tell Peter," said Diana, though she'd surely heard Neal's protest. "He's talking with that adoption lawyer right now, but we'll be there as soon as we can."

Shauna hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and closed her fingers around the lock-pick that was the best fit she could find. She slipped it into her pocket and entered the fray. The fray being Sara Ellis. "So, what's in that package, Sara?"

"You tell me." Sara turned it over in her hand, curious, but more angry than curious.

Shauna shrugged. "Hard to tell you when we've never seen it."

"Really? How'd it get in your house then?"

Neal's voice was still calm, if a little annoyed. "This isn't my house, remember? I think you'll find that the deed belongs to June—"

Sara fixed him with a no-nonsense glare. "I doubt June has any dealings with the FAA."

"You'd be surprised." Neal grinned.

"I'm not surprised," said Sara tightly. "Throwing your elderly landlady under the bus so you can get away."

"He's not throwing anyone under the bus," said Shauna. And he wasn't. He was stalling. There was way more evidence pointing to Neal than to June, if worst came to worst. But worst wouldn't come to worst...because Peter was coming.

Who would have ever thought they would be glad Peter was coming?

And Peter was coming too late.

Sara gestured that the interrogation had ended, and the detective stepped forward. He grabbed one of Neal's arms, clasped the cuff around his wrist. Neal flinched, jerked away, the blood draining from his face.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can—"

Neal cut him off, his whole body taut. He wasn't running. Yet. "I'm familiar with the speech. Sara—this is a really bad time."

Sara shrugged.

"No, really, Sara!" Shauna grabbed her arm.

Sara threw her off, eyes narrowed. "Shauna Simpson, how old are you? Because if memory serves me correctly, you're only sixteen. Still a minor. And seeing as how you're legal guardian is being arrested, we may have to call Child Protective—"

"You're memory serves you incorrectly," said Shauna, with ice in her voice. "I'm eighteen."

"You've got the ID to prove it?"

"I do." And she did, even though it was completely faked.

Noise at the door. "Agent Burke, FBI."

Shauna had never been so glad to see the FBI in her entire life.

Neither, it seemed, had Neal. "Peter, will you please tell—"

"What's going on here?" Peter barely looked at Neal, and he didn't even notice Shauna.

Well, she could fix that. She ran up, grabbed the arm of his blazer. "Peter, you've got to stop this! Sara just waltzed in here—"

"I had a search warrant," interjected Sara.

"And starts turning the whole place upside-down," continued Shauna, without breaking flow. "And now they're going to arrest Neal, and if that happens, then tonight will tank, and Ollie will never see his mother again, and...and...and..." And she burst into brilliant, well-calculated tears.

Sara gaped for all of two seconds before scowling once again. "Neal stole a package."

"He didn't," sobbed Shauna. "We've never seen it before!"

Peter shook his arm, but Shauna pretended not to notice. She didn't let go. She wasn't letting go until they let Neal go. Peter sighed. "Detective, may I speak with Mr. Caffrey please?"

The detective hesitated only a second. "Sure."

"Thank you." Peter waited until Sara and the detective were far enough away before shaking Shauna off successfully and approaching Neal. "Did you steal it?"

Neal shook his head quickly. Honestly. "No."

"He didn't," said Shauna, whispering now, straining her voice through fake tears.

"Mozzie?"

Neal didn't answer that one, honestly or dishonestly. He just shrugged.

Peter scowled. "You realize what this—"

"Yes." Neal met Shauna's eyes.

She sucked in a breath. "What's going to happen to Ollie?"

"That's enough, Shauna," said Peter quietly. He looked at Neal. "You can't play if you're in jail."

"I know," said Neal. His eyes were on Sara, who was glaring at them all. "She's mad."

"Yeah." Peter raised his eyebrows as if Neal had just been brilliant enough to point out that the sky was blue.

"Please talk to her," whimpered Shauna, who hated to whimper. "Just get her to delay pressing charges until tomorrow."

A lot could happen before tomorrow. Especially since they were removing Neal's tracking anklet for the evening. It was more than enough time to leave town. Or the country.

"I'll talk to her," said Peter. He looked down at Shauna. "I'm not the villain here. You can stop crying."

Shauna sucked the down the last of her artificial sobs. "S-stop?"

"Yeah. Stop. You're making me feel manipulated."

"Is it working?"

He paused, head cocked to one side. "We'll see." He cleared his throat. "Sara!"

As he left to convince Sara to delay pressing charges, Shauna took a deep breath and pushed her hand into her pocket. "I am way too old for that."

"Nope. You're still brilliant." Neal forced a grin. Difficult to grin while handcuffed.

"I feel ridiculous."

"You gave a performance worthy of Broadway. I was impressed. It was beautiful."

"Well," said Shauna, slipping her hand into his, even though his was cuffed behind his back. "I did learn from the best."

"That you did," said Neal, slipping the lock-pick from her fingers and letting it disappear between the knuckles of his left hand. "That you most definitely did."