7.

The painting was, in a word…breathtaking. An angelic masterpiece. A photograph, almost, brushed over with light and softness.

A young girl, with a small, pointed noise and skin like fine, silken porcelain reclined in a rustic wood-and-rope swing. The swing, and subsequently the girl, dangled from the burly branches of a grand old oak tree, which rested in the heart of a sunlit orchard. Her long, dark, chocolaty curls tumbled down her pale, delicate shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face and glimmering gold and brown in the sunlight. One elegant hand reached up to grasp the rope of the swing, while the other reached out to catch at a falling, red-gold leaf. Her bare feet were crossed in front of her, and the skirts of her swirling pale tangerine chiffon dress danced around her calves. A dark blue morning glory resting in her dark curls lent her an even more fairylike appearance.

The girl, in all of her soft, elfin beauty, would have appeared perfect, angelic, if not for the glassy, pleading look in her clear blue-gray eyes, the agonized slant of her brow, the yearning in the arch of her neck and the tight, pained set of her velvet-red lips. Neal felt his chest tighten as he allowed his analytical, all-seeing blue eyes to glance over the painting. The portrait expressed the girl's quiet agony in such a raw and vulnerable way that Neal almost felt as if he were intruding on something very private, too sacred and innocent for his soiled criminal's eyes.

"Neal."

Neal jumped as Peter appeared at his side, a look of peaceful satisfaction mingling with the exhaustion on his face. "Bernard's in custody; we've got him cold for theft, forgery, and murder, thanks to Reilly. He'll get 25 to life, easy."

Neal nodded and grinned. "Good work, Petey."

"Call me that again and you'll be back behind bars before you can blink."

"Relax, buddy," Neal laughed. He paused. "Hey, so what happens to Reilly?"

"Full immunity," Peter said, his voice gruff, although Neal privately thought that the rough older man was secretly glad to see Reilly do the right thing and be rewarded for it. "She and her little sister will be under witness protection for a while, just until the dust clears and things settle down with Bernard and his crew."

"Is she still around?"

Peter glanced back over his shoulder. "Uh, just left, actually."

"Great." Neal hurriedly grabbed his coat and hat. "Till tomorrow, then, Peter."

"Neal!" Peter barked out. Neal skidded to a halt and looked back, his expression bright and inquisitive. Peter just sighed.

"Nothing illegal."

Neal flashed Peter his best dazzling conman grin. "Of course not, Peter. Who do you think I am? Oh, one last thing." He doubled back and grabbed the canvas.

"Caffrey!" Peter bellowed. "That's evidence!"

"Aw, come on, Peter, you said it yourself, it's practically open-and-shut from here on out. Don't worry, I won't do anything illegal with it." He winked, tipped his hat, and was gone.

Peter huffed, with half a mindful to stomp out there after Neal, seize back the forged painting, and demand to know what the conman was thinking, but all he could manage at that moment was a small, simple smile.

A/N: Questions, questions! What is Neal up to this time?

REVIEW PLEASE. I'm planning to put up Ch. 8 fairly soon, since it's all pretty clear in my head, but reviews will make the writing process that much faster. So please. For me? :)

Again, thanks so much for reading everyone. I hope you enjoyed this installment. We're nearing the happy ending. It's getting close. :) Hang in there!

love&cheers!

-queen