I'm so sorry for the late update. I actually had most of the chapter written, but I never got the chance to finish it up. But at least the plot's finally moving along. Hope you enjoy it!

Thanks for all the reviews! They make my day every time I read them.

Disclaimer: don't own White Collar.

A few days ago:

I flicked a quick peek over my shoulder as I snuck into the building. Then I mentally smacked myself when I realized how that would look to the FBI who would surely look at the security cameras later. Too late to try and look innocent, I stole carefully around the interior of the room. As this was the crime scene Peter and I had just been at earlier in the day, I knew that my being here would definitely be a cause for suspicion if he were monitoring my tracking anklet right now.

But he wasn't. I knew he wasn't. Because he trusted me, and I trusted him, and we were friends. My gut twisted a bit when I thought of Peter's reaction when he discovered my disappearance.

But it was a long night and several hours of darkness before that would happen.

………

"Where is he?" Peter shouted. "He was wearing a tracking bracelet, for crying out loud! Just look at where he was the past few hours before he cut the anklet!" Great, just great. Now, instead of working on catching the elusive criminal that had been hitting museums, wealthy homes, and random shops around the city, they were stuck trying to track down Neal.

Peter was surprised, as well as slightly irritated, at the mayhem in the office. Sighing, he said, "Alright people, pull yourselves together." They stopped to listen. "Lauren, Jones, we're gonna retrace his footsteps. The rest of you, try to come up with any possible escape routes, locations, hideouts Caffrey could've gone to. And set a watch on his apartment. But be discreet." Orders given, the confusion metamorphosed into determination. He motioned for Lauren and Jones to follow him.

On the way to the elevator though, they were intercepted by Hughes. Peter groaned softly to himself. He did not want to deal with this at the moment. Not before he got his hands on Neal and had wrung his little excuses out of him. It wasn't like him to run. Sure, they had their ups and downs, but they were partners, friends. Was he in trouble then? He knew that Hughes wouldn't consider the possibility though. Neal was just another criminal to him. To most at the office, actually. Sourly, he thought that Fowler would probably faint from delight if—when—he heard. He definitely needed to contain this before this mess got even more out of control.

"Agent Burke, I heard about Caffrey," Hughes announced as he came up to him. Of course you had, Peter thought furiously, You were the one Jones told first!

"Don't worry, we'll find him," Peter said shortly.

Hughes looked at him for a moment and said nothing. He felt the familiar stirrings of guilt. This was all Neal's fault. He'd gotten him use to the feelings of guilt with his puppy dog expressions that followed him everywhere. Now he felt guilty for things that weren't even his fault! He opened his mouth to say something, but Hughes beat him to it.

"Look Peter, I know you're upset. I know that you considered Caffrey your partner, if not your friend. I know that, and I understand that. But you have to remember: he was a criminal before he was ever your friend. Just…prepare yourself, just in case. Just in case he did betray you." Hughes turned and moved away.

A part of Peter knew that it was a good idea to take Hughes' advice. Neal could've been conning him all along. But he wanted to get Neal's side of the story, before judging him. He had said he trusted him. It was time to repay that trust.

He noticed Lauren and Jones watching him and forced a small, confident smile. "Let's go see what Caffrey's been up to this time."

…………

"So where was he last night?" Peter asked.

"He went back to that museum that you guys were at yesterday morning. He stayed there for bit, and then left, most likely in a car. Cut his anklet this morning at around 5 am," Jones reported.

"Museum first then," came the terse reply.

A few minutes later, they arrived at their destination. A security guard came to greet them. "You were here yesterday, weren't you?" he asked. He led the way to the room. "When you're done, just call me over, and I'll show you the security footage." With a cheery grin, he backed up a short distance away so that they could talk in private.

They set to going through the room, looking for clues to Neal's disappearance. After half an hour of searching though, they had to admit to themselves that nothing was different. The room was untouched. Priceless original paintings and pottery were part of the exhibit currently being displayed, and yet, nothing had changed since the last time they were here. Jones and Lauren looked slightly perplexed. Peter was relieved. This was all in favor of Neal's innocence. He called the amiable guard over and he led them to the security room and called up the video.

They watched intently as the Neal on the screen walked in. He looked around nervously, but didn't seem to notice the hidden camera. Now, he crouched down and began to sneak carefully across the room. Silently, they saw him shuffle across the room and then back. Then he moved across the room again. What in the world was he doing? After the third repetition though, Peter realized something was definitely wrong. The guard was called over again.

Peter pointed to the screen. "Why is he doing that?"

The guard shook his head, confused. "I don't know. Maybe he's just an odd person."

"No. Caffrey's odd, but not like this. This I would expect from his friend. Someone's messed with the security footage. We're seeing this on loop." The guard shrugged, looking vaguely interested. "Come on," Peter said, "We have to search around that room."

He turned around for the guard, but he had vanished. Peter didn't like this one bit. Another guard walked by and saw them in the room. "Hey!" he shouted, running over, "What are you doing in there? That's for authorized personnel only!"

"Woah, calm down! Another guard let us in to view a video we needed."

The guard—Bentley, as his nametag read—looked them over suspiciously, his hand on his gun. "What was his name?"

"Smithers. That's what the tag said," Jones supplied.

"I don't know a Smithers. You'll have to come with me."

Peter protested, "Look, we're with the FBI. We were here yesterday investigating the stolen painting. The head of security knew that we were coming again today. Just talk to him and he'll confirm it." The guard hesitated, confused and wary. Watching them carefully, he took out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it.

"Alright. There is supposed to be another FBI investigation today. I guess you can continue to look around. Careful though, there's something not quite right about all of this." With that, the guard took a familiar, unobtrusive stance nearby.

Peter led the way, determined to find some clue of what Neal had been up to. He doubted it would be good. Neal was too thorough to make the mistake of actually being caught on camera, as his previous escapades had shown. As the minutes ticked on while they searched through the many hallways around the crime scene room, Peter began to worry. Then, he spotted it—a tiny smudge of blood on the floor right next to a closed door.

By now, they were in one of the smaller hallways that visitors to the museums didn't travel in. These were for cleaning crews and the like. Pointing the blood out to the guard, they put their hands to their guns and advanced cautiously toward the door. No sound came out. Flinging the door open, they were hit by a faint, but horrible smell. A smell of death. The blank eyes of a dead maintenance worker stared at them, while a third, a small red circle, mocked them from his bloody head.

Grimly, Peter looked around the small closet, scanning for anything that could link back to Neal. Did he even want to find something? As he turned away to talk to the shaken guard, something caught his eye. A shelf that had been half hidden suddenly came into sharp detail. And on that shelf, sitting as innocently as its owner would in Peter's chair, was Neal's hat.