OMG the next White Collar is going to be so awesome. Can't wait!!!!!

Sorry it takes such a long time to update. But, I'll probably be updating every Friday from now on.

This chapter is more of a plot intro, but you do get to find out bits of the nefarious plan that started with Neal's mysterious midnight meeting at the museum.

Thanks for all the reviews!

SopranoandBass: Neal definitely wouldn't be so careless with his hat. I liked the security guard bits too. He's going to pop up again in later chapters.

Drowning-ostrich: Peter agrees with you too, but that'll be next chapter :)

Ghostdolly: There'll definitely be more of this story. As I am also a rabid fan.

NJD-NW-GG-E-H: The fake guard Smithers will be coming up in the next chapter, and this chapter is the longest of the 4 so far.

Kanae Valentine: Yes, but cliffhangers make the story more fun!

Disclaimer: Don't own White Collar, or any of its characters.

I stared blankly into the darkness while the floor of the truck rocked and jolted its way towards wherever we were going. This was not going well at all. No one was supposed to actually die. A shudder ran through me involuntarily as I thought of the surprised expression on that maintenance worker's face as the bullet ripped his life away from him. The blood, ohmygod, the blood, that trickled down a face that didn't see anymore, would never see anything anymore. Stop it, I told myself sternly, Just don't think about it!, quickly restraining myself from thinking about the horrible scene anymore.

Maybe Peter would find me? I wondered hopefully. But did I really want him to? The masked man had shown little reluctance in killing. Another shudder went through me as my runaway imagination conjured up images of Peter lying dead on the floor, of Peter's body in that closet instead, of—

My train of thought was interrupted as the bouncing motion of the truck stopped. I tensed as the doors were flung open. Masked Man, as I thought of him, who I saw through eyes squinted against the sudden glare of light, simply stood there staring at me. I glared right back at him, although I wavered a bit when I noticed the gun he absentmindedly fingered in his hands. He spoke first.

"I suppose you want to know why I brought you here." I said nothing, just kept my steady glare on him. Inside though, I was suddenly reeling with outrage. He was damn right I was wondering! And where was "here" anyway? He smirked through the mask at me. Sullenly, I wondered if he covered his face because he was ugly. And then I opened my big mouth and snarkily asked him just that.

His reaction wasn't exactly what I expected. Well, I reprimanded myself, did you want him to hit you instead of just laughing? But it still stung. I hated being laughed at, especially by a crazy murderer.

"You'd better keep that attitude in check," he told me, but he was still smiling…sinisterly? Maybe I was just paranoid. Then again, he had taken me here against my will.

"Where are we anyway? Why did you bring me here?" I kept my voice politely neutral. It probably wasn't a good idea to antagonize him.

"I'm hardly going to tell you where we are. As to why, well I wanted to prove a point to you."

I gaped at him. "I don't even know you!"

"Well, I don't know you either. But I know of you." He said with that infuriating smile again. "I know the things you stole, the places you went, the people you know…particularly that FBI agent who caught you. He hounded you for years, and when you were caught, you turned 'consultant'?" Skepticism clouded his voice. "I know your past. It must be stifling, having to help those bumbling fools in the Bureau. And that leash they have on you!" He paused then, and I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the dramatic pause. His voice lowered. "I can help you though. I can help you escape their clutches."

I was not that easily fooled. "What's in it for you?"

"Maybe I just wanted to help out a fellow entrepreneur." I still didn't say anything. "Well, I guess we could also steal stuff together too." This time I really did roll my eyes. This turned out to be a mistake as Masked Man suddenly struck me across the face. "You don't have a choice," he hissed in my ear as he dragged me out of the truck and into the building he had parked in front. I was still slightly in shock from the blow, but even more so by the extreme change in personalities.

I finally gathered my wits enough to spit back at him, "I don't work with murderers." An image of the dead worker flashed through my head again and I felt faint. There was no reaction from him, but he tied my hands and feet together rather brutally.

"I suppose I am. But I'm offering you your freedom. What's a random life worth next to that? It's survival of the fittest." His tone was even and controlled again, but I didn't dare risk angering him by pointing out the irony of my current tied-up state and his offer of freedom. I suppose he guessed my thoughts as I received a vicious kick to the head. My vision swam as black spots flickered around me and I barely suppressed a groan.

He went on as if nothing had happened. "Think about it. Freedom. Doesn't that sound nice?" I was glad that he left the room after that, locking the door and leaving me alone in the small, windowless room. A loud scraping sound from behind the door told me that he had probably dragged a piece of furniture in front of it.

I admit, I considered his offer seriously. He was right, I did miss my old life. It wasn't just the adventure or the adrenaline rush from a narrow escape or the satisfaction of a job successfully completed. It was the ability to choose where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do with my life. Unlike now. Now I was surrounded by people who distrusted me, trapped by the tracking anklet as effectively as a cage trapped a dog. Even Peter probably didn't trust me, even though I wanted him to. It hurt when you knew that someone you considered your friend only thought of you as an asset. A partner maybe, but not a friend. So why did I see him as a friend?

Mozzie was my friend though, I reminded myself. Even if he couldn't understand why I didn't make more of an attempt to escape the FBI's grasp. Even if I didn't exactly trust him completely.

Maybe I could fake it? Pretend to be on his side long enough for Peter to find me?

The door opened, and Masked Man once again interrupted my thoughts. He crossed his arms and looked at me, the gun in his hand like a third presence in the room. I knew he was waiting for me to speak. Too bad I didn't know what to say.

Finally breaking the silence, he said, "Have you made up your mind? You want to be their slave, or you want to be free again? It's that simple. Slave or free."

Well…if you put it that way, I'd pick free. But it wasn't that simple. Life is never that simple.

"It's that Agent Burke, isn't it? The one who caught you," his voice was really very annoying. "You think of his as a friend, don't you?" This time he waited for my reply.

"Yes. I do," I finally said wearily, feeling as if we were going through lines in a script.

"You do know that he doesn't see you as his friend, right?"

I felt a surge of anger at that statement. He didn't know me, and he didn't know Peter! Conveniently forgetting that I had been telling myself that just a few minutes ago, I growled, "That's not true. And even if you were right, Peter would still find me and stop your criminal activities!"

"Talking like a Fed now, Neal?…I expected so much better than that from you." I glared at him. Ignoring my look he said, "How do you even know he's bothering to look for you?" Inwardly I flinched. Would Peter really not even attempt to find me?

My voice was steady though, as I replied, "Even if you were right, and Peter isn't looking for me, he's still looking for you. And since you're here with me, he'll find me when he finds you." There. That showed him. My momentary triumph was interrupted by him speaking again.

"Do you really think that little of me? He's never gonna find this place. My partner's dealing with him right now." His smirk was back.

"Peter can handle himself. Your partner won't be able to kill him," I retorted with a confidence I didn't feel.

"Kill him? Ha! We're not going to kill him. Well, that is an eventual possibility, but that depends on you." He paused for a moment, looking at me smugly. "What we're implementing right now is Plan B. In which I and/or we prove to you that Peter is not your friend."

Once again, I found myself gaping at him. "Are you insane? You kidnapped me, murdered someone, and is currently trying to hurt Peter, all so that you could prove that he isn't my friend?" This guy definitely had issues.

"I didn't kidnap you. As I recall, you came to me. I—"

This time, I interrupted him. "I only came because of what you threa—" He struck me across the face again.

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking," he hissed at me. His frequent mood swings only reinforced my idea that he was crazy. Insane. Loony. My stunned mind continued to (unhelpfully) provide synonyms.

"As to my possible insanity, I'm not. I was quite a successful con myself, but I'm retired now. Quite frankly, it's boring."

A headache was beginning to form between my temples, and not just from the multiple blows I had suffered. He was doing this because he was bored? That was just…just wrong.

He was still speaking. For a crazy, bored crime mastermind, he really loved the sound of his own voice too much. "So I set out for a task worthy of my time. And I decided that I would free you," he pointed at me, "from the FBI. Because it's a disgrace to the criminal world that you turned traitor."

Traitor? How was I a traitor? I didn't owe that lot of people anything!

"And don't think I didn't notice your missing hat. I allowed you to leave it there as an incentive to get Peter to come after us. Only he wouldn't be coming after us, but my partner. And at the end of that long winding trail, after he sees all the things 'you've' done, after he's showed you that he doesn't trust you, has never trusted you…well, the end'll be up to you. But I'll wager you won't be feeling too kindly toward him by that point."

So much for the hat plan then. But there were more important things to worry about than my beautiful hat. "What do you mean 'the things 'I've' done'?"

The look he gave me was almost apologetic. "The people you're going to murder, of course, in order to get your hands on that priceless statuette they're showcasing in the Metropolitan Museum this week."

Murder? Me? Peter would never believe it was me! I had to stop this madman before more people died.

"You're wrong," I shook my head, "Peter wouldn't."

"Don't be so sure of that." His tone was still concerned and regretful. I had never wanted to punch someone as badly as I did now.

As if sensing my fury, he changed tactics. "If you could walk out of here right now. With Kate perhaps—"

"What does Kate have to do with anything?" I snapped, forgetting that I wasn't supposed to interrupt.

"Nothing, nothing," Ignoring my suspicious look, he continued, "If you would walk out of here right now, free, no strings attached, would you? The anklet's off. The FBI won't find this place for a long time, if ever. If you could leave now…would you?"

"What's the point of asking me that?" I scowled. "I'm not free to do that. So it doesn't matter. What does matter, though, is that you'd kill people to get what you want. I would never join someone like that."

I didn't like his look, or that gleam in his eye as he left the room, the furniture scraped back in front of the door. I definitely didn't like his whispered statement, so quiet I could barely hear him, before he left.

"We'll see."