A/N: Wow, so many guest reviewers! Well, I obviously can't message you replies so... Thanks! *hugs and runs*


Peter had restlessly flipped through the remaining slides - more photos of James, June's house, and Pratt – and started up the sound file linked at the end. He listened as Neal pleaded with his father, not even realizing he was crushing the remote until the back popped off and the battery rolled onto the floor. He ignored it, waiting for the – bang!

The sound of James shooting his son and leaving him to die broke Peter from his trance and he scrambled for the battery, shoving it back into its channel and mashing the remote buttons until the sounds of Neal's suffering stopped.

God, this is all my fault. He sank onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. If I hadn't convinced him to pursue this relationship with his father; if I hadn't helped... But no, this was James' doing – and he would be the one to pay. He and Neal...What must he have felt when his own father-

Peter cursed and launched himself back up to his feet, pacing like a caged tiger. Callaway had confiscated his phone so he was left without news of what was happening – the office below empty aside from a pair of interns and an agent who studiously ignored his inquiries and glass-tapping. He was tempted to let himself into his office through the adjoining door, but didn't want to test the boundaries.

Needing a distraction, Peter pulled a tablet of paper from the window ledge and started writing out his statement. Might as well do something productive. After all, his people would catch Bennett and Neal would be just fine.


"You'd better be right about this, Haversham." Diana moved up beside Jones, tilting the phone so they could both hear. The two of them had just brought their teams to a seedy sports bar where James was supposedly downing one drink after another.

"I'm looking at him right now. If you wait any longer he'll either pass out or start waving his gun around – and I, for one, am in no mood for the second option."

"Get out of there; we're coming in in five." She hung up, waiting a few moments before a short man with thick glasses, an absurd mustache, and a trucker's hat casually walked out the door and down the sidewalk.

Signals were exchanged and Jones stayed with her in front while his team covered the rear exit and hers the side windows.

"Everyone ready?" She waited as both groups gave confirmation over the radio. "We're going in."

The two of them paused inside the door, letting their eyes adjust to the dim lighting as they flashed their badges at an attendant who wanted to check their ID.

"He's at the bar," Jones pointed with his chin, surreptitiously pushing his jacket aside to hold his weapon. A few of the establishment's meager patrons noticed the action and shuffled away from the pair.

Their target was half-slumped over the bar, thumping an empty bottle against the top as he muttered to himself. His gun was nowhere in sight.

"James Bennett," Jones clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing hard. "You are under arrest for the murder of Senator Terrance Pratt. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say or do-"

The bottle almost made contact with Clinton's head as James twisted on his stool, lashing out and kicking the agent away from him.

Diana grabbed his outstretched arm and flipped him onto the floor, stepping on his right arm as she kept her gun trained on him.

"You alright, Jones?"

"Yeah." He looked down at Bennett, who had passed out. "Guess we'll finish the Miranda warning later."