This is a short chapter. I have tried to keep chapters generally the same length but it hasn't worked with this story. Due to my schedule this week, I will try to post chapters about every other day. Thanks for reading and of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility.

Chapter Two

Pick the flesh off his carcass? Peter winced at the visual picture that analogy produced, and Diana and Jones exchanged smiles. Since Neal Caffrey had joined the team, the time in the van was much more entertaining.
Entertaining for them; sometimes more stressful for their boss.

Teagan: Well, then, we just need to be sure that your carcass is not here to be swooped down upon and I have that covered, Mr. Caffrey. I have a route of fast escape.

The whir of the helicopter was heard.

"Damn," Peter swore in the van. You couldn't tail a helicopter.

Neal: This hotel has a helipad. No perimeters or CCTV in the air. Nice.

Teagan: Exactly, You ready?

Neal: One million dollars, a new identify and a ticket out of the country? I was born ready. (pause) And by all means, snip snip.

Peter could practically hear Neal's smile through the wire.

When Neal had entered his office that morning, sitting down in chair, he did not do so with his usual ease. His greeting smile was bright but Peter could always tell when something was off with Neal. And this morning something was off.

"What is it, Neal?" He felt like a parent responding to the principal, calling yet again to say that his child had, yet again, gotten into trouble. Resigned for the bad news.

Neal seemed hesitant, as if uncertain as to how to proceed. Uncertainty was not a usual expression on the young man's face and that got Peter's undivided attention. "What's wrong?"

"I had a conversation yesterday afternoon with a couple of," Neal paused, remembering the encounter, "rather, large persuasive gentlemen." His hand went to his ribs instinctively. "They had an interesting message to deliver." Peter had followed the movement and raised his eyebrows in question.

"And did that message include bruised ribs?" he asked, "Your past coming back to haunt you?"

Neal winced slightly, "Yes to the first question but to the other, I have never seen these men before in my life."

"But they were only delivery boys, how about the person who sent them?"

"I have never worked with Don Teagan, either," Neal paused.

"But?" Peter asked. Neal looked uncomfortable.

"He wants me to do something for him."

"Ah," Peter said, feeling justified. Neal's past was coming back to haunt him. "Your reputation has preceded you, I see."

"Apparently," Neal said. He took out a card and handed it to Peter. It was crafted from some type of special paper; thick and textured, exuding expense and elegance. It was embossed with a heart; it looked almost romantic. Peter glanced at Neal with a mirthful look, and opened it.

" I require your assistance in a private matter.

In return, I offer your hearts desire"

dTe

"Cryptic. Someone offers your heart's desire and you bring it to me?" Peter's surprise was half feigned; but half not. He was surprised.

Neal's tone was one of injury. "I am trying to do the right thing, to earn your trust," but there was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes, "plus, after they delivered the message they beat the crap out of me," his hand again to his sore ribs, "They didn't seem to like me very much. That didn't exactly inspire me with confidence."

"And if they had inspired you with confidence?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised, "Would you be sitting here telling me about it?

Neal smiled. "Guess we'll never know," was his answer.

It didn't take long to get the details on the man who needed Neal's assistance. Donald Edward Teagan was rarely a visitor in New York; rarely a visitor in the States at all. He was well known in Europe, however.

"The two of you seem to share some of the same fan clubs," Peter was going over information on Teagan, "Interpol, Europol, the Douane in France, Guardia di Finanza, even the Algerian Sûreté Nationale is watching him."

"You flatter me," Neal said easily, "But I don't think I was ever on a list as a person of interest on the continent of Africa."

"Ah, but you became a person of interest on my continent; and got on my list."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out," Neal said wryly, moving his left foot.

"That's my point," Peter said with a smile, "once you get on my list, you get caught."

"And now Teagan is on that list." Neal paused, then continued, "He knows about my arrangement with the FBI, too," Neal added. "That's why his hotel is within my radius. That detail was mentioned when they were punching me, encouraging me to keep this invite to myself."

"He knows you work for the FBI and still offered you employment?"

"What can I say," Neal answered easily, "I guess I have mad skills."

"Any idea what he wants you to do?" Peter asked, looked again at the vague message on the card. With Neal it could be anything. The man was a criminal wonder.

"No idea," Neal said honestly, looking at his watch. "But I guess I will find out soon enough since I meet with the man in an hour."

"Let's trade," Peter said, handing Neal the watch that had a transmitter and GPS tracker in it. Neal had worn it many times. Neal removed his watch and replaced it with the FBI issue one. "This way we hear everything. If anything feels off, use the phrase "Its been a pleasure doing business with you" and we will move in." Peter looked at Neal, still somewhat surprised that he had told him about the offer in the first place. The hesitancy in which he had done so told him that Neal had at least debated keeping it to himself.

"So, you ready to go accept your heart desire?"

"What is it they say?" Neal smiled amicably, "I was born ready."