A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I really do appreciate them. I should point out that I've never been to New York, so please excuse any egregious geographical errors.

As always, anything you recognize isn't mine.

Chapter Three

Present – Manhattan

"Hey, El. What's up?"

"Peter, I'm sorry, but I won't be home anytime soon. I know we planned on going out, but someone made an enormous error inventorying our stock for Mr. Gallun's charity dinner tomorrow night and I have to stay until I can get everything all worked out." Elizabeth sounded annoyed, apologetic, and angry all at the same time. Peter knew that someone at Burke Event Planning was about to have a very bad night.

"El," said Peter calmly. "Hon, it's okay. You know me, I'll just order a pizza and watch the game. You go do what you have to do and I'll be home waiting for you when you get back." Peter knew the stress his wife endured before every major event her company handled. He laughed, "Just don't hurt anyone!"

With a sardonic laugh, El said, "I can't promise that. Someone really messed up this time. I'm glad we have that bottle of Neal's merlot from dinner the other night left – I'm going to need that and a bubble bath stat when I get home!" El paused, then suggested, "Honey, speaking of Neal, why don't you call him and see if he wants to do something. I'm sure he'd be glad for the company. There's a new exhibit at the Met that I'm sure he'd like to see, especially since its out of his radius."

"I'm not sure that's how I'd like to spend my night, honey. As much as I'd be willing to take Neal somewhere, if we went to the Met, I'd never be able to take my eyes off him! I can't help it! I'd be wondering, no, waiting, for him to try something. Besides, I don't want to give him any more temptations. He's been good lately and I don't want to ruin that." Peter sighed. "But, as usual, you make a good point. I'm sure Neal would like to get away from June's house for a bit. And I haven't been to Moe's for a few weeks," Peter said warming to the idea of going out. "I'll call Jones and see if he wants to come too!"

El smiled into the phone. "Okay, then, have fun with the boys. I'll see you at home. Love you!"

"Love you too, hon," Peter said, glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of his wife's ire. She was nothing but steel and determination when things weren't done correctly. Peter almost felt sorry for the poor schmuck who screwed up. But he also knew that El wouldn't get worked up over a small mistake, so he knew that whoever made the error deserved whatever his wife was about to dish out.

Peter smiled; a night out with Neal would be educational if nothing else. Moe's was definitely not a place that Neal would typically go. It would be fun. That is, Peter thought, if Neal lets me relax enough to enjoy myself! Peter did trust Neal but still had difficulty being 100% relaxed around him. They were getting there, though. Peter was getting better about reading the conman's expressions, much to his surprise and Neal's dismay. Usually Neal kept his mask up for everyone in all situations. His snarky, devil-may-care, "I'm fine, Peter," mask. Peter knew what Neal was doing, but he couldn't figure out a good way to start that particular conversation with his partner. Since Kate's death and Mozzie's near miss, Peter could see the effort it took Neal to keep that mask in place 24/7. Peter had seen Neal without his guard up only a handful of times. The first time had been on the tarmac just after Kate's plane exploded. The second time was when Neal had Fowler at gunpoint at the Russian Museum. The last time Peter had seen the cracks in Neal's façade was at the hospital waiting for news on Mozzie's condition. As much as he hated that carefully constructed mask, Peter understood that his friend couldn't let his real emotions show. It was a habit that was too deeply ingrained in the ex-con. Peter also knew that he was going to have to convince Neal to open up to him, or someone, soon. He didn't want to tear all of Neal's walls down, but Neal needed to know that he had people he could talk to if he needed to.

Peter sighed and dialed Neal's number.

Hi! You know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Leave a message but remember that Big Brother is watching!

Peter smiled at Neal's voicemail message and hung up. Peter waited a few minutes and dialed again. When he got Neal's voicemail again, Peter said, "Neal, I'm coming over and then we're going out. Be ready when I get there."

25 minutes later Peter pulled up in front of June's mansion on Riverside Drive. He still couldn't believe that Neal had managed to con his way into June's life so easily. Sometimes he even wondered if Neal was the one running the con – June was an exceptionally smart lady and used to be married to an equally smart conman. However it happened, Peter had to admit that June was good for Neal. She understood Neal's motivations and helped remind Neal that he could use his talents in a legitimate way. She'd lived on the other side of the law long enough for Neal to be comfortable around her and on this side of the law long enough for Peter to be sure that she wasn't going to encourage Neal to do anything stupid. Her absolutely perfect Italian Roast was another mark in her favor.

Peter left the Taurus and knocked on June's door. The housekeeper answered and informed Peter that June was out. Neal, however, was upstairs the last time she checked. Thanking her, Peter went up the stairs and knocked on the door to Neal's apartment. There was no answer, so Peter knocked again.

"Neal? Are you there?" Peter asked. Receiving no response, Peter flipped open his phone and dialed Neal's number for a third time that night. He was surprised to hear a ringing coming from behind the door.

Concerned now, Peter knocked again. "Neal? Are you okay?"

Peter tried the door and found, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He stepped into the dark apartment, his hand automatically resting on his gun. It was clear that Neal was not at home even though his phone was on the table and trademark fedora was on the hat rack.

With a growing sense of unease, Peter called the US Marshall tracking office. "This is Agent Burke, FBI. I need the location for tracking anklet 5729 Delta."

The operator said after a moment, "Agent Burke, I have that signal at 3781 Wilson St."

Peter thanked the operator and ran back to his car where he plugged the address into the GPS unit. The address turned out to be just barely inside Neal's two-mile radius and in a part of town that, while not especially dangerous, was an area that Peter never would have thought Neal would willingly go. Peter's unease grew. He really wanted to trust Neal, but he also didn't want to have to clean up any disasters that Neal might be causing. Peter decided to drive over to Wilson St. and then decide what to do, depending on where Neal was and, more importantly, who Neal was with.

A few minutes later Peter pulled up outside a seedy-looking bar. I can't believe this is where Neal went, Peter thought. The place hardly looked like somewhere Neal Caffrey, lover of all fine things and not one to deny himself even the smallest luxury, would be. Unless he's meeting someone here. Peter thought with a grimace.

Peter started at the soft knocking on the passenger side window. He looked over to see Jones' casual smile. Peter got out of his car – he'd forgotten that he had called Jones after he called the Marshalls.

"Hey Boss," Jones said. "Didn't mean to scare you. Have to say, this isn't what I expected when you called." He said, nodding at the bar.

"It's not what I expected either," Peter said. "Neal's in there and I'm not sure what to do. I'd like to trust that he's not doing anything stupid, but it's Neal."

Jones was surprised. He'd not often heard Peter vocalize his indecision, especially when it came to Neal. Jones thought for a minute and then said, "Well, if you have a pair of binoculars, we could look in through the front window and see what he's doing."

Peter smiled at the junior agent. "What do you think I was doing before you got here? You can't see much, but I don't think there are many people in the place. There are a few guys sitting at the end of the bar, but not anyone who looks like Neal."

"Why don't we wait for a little bit to see if Neal leaves with anyone. I can't imagine he'd bring a girl here, but, if he is on a date, I don't think he'd be too happy if we crashed it."

"Good thinking," said Peter. "Let's wait over there," he said, indicating the shadows next to the building. "If he does come out with anyone, he won't see us over there." Peter felt guilty spying on his friend and for forcing Jones into this unofficial stakeout during his free time, but he was concerned about Neal.

A little more than an hour later, just as Peter was beginning to doubt his plan, a man walked out of the bar. He was wearing a short, dark-colored jacket, ratty blue jeans, old sneakers, and a baseball hat. Certainly something Neal would never be caught dead in. Still, there was something familiar, something Caffrey-esqe, about the man.

"Jones," whispered Peter, pointing at the man. "Do you think that could be Caffrey?"

The man stiffened and stopped. He looked around, face obscured by the hat and by the shadows, before staring straight into the shadows where Peter and Jones were hidden. Peter knew that his whisper wasn't loud enough to be heard from two feet away, let alone from across the street. The man stared into the shadows for a few moments more and then continued walking. Peter decided to follow him and motioned for Jones to come with him. They slunk out of the shadows and walked a few feet down the sidewalk. With a look back, the man broke into a run.

Peter shouted and took off after the running man, Jones following closely behind. If this was Caffrey, he was going to get a piece of Peter's mind when he caught him again, for the third time. And if it wasn't Caffrey, then Peter was mighty curious to know why the man had run from them.

The stranger ducked into the next alley and had vanished by the time Peter and Jones turned the corner. If they had looked up, they would have seen the man disappearing over the top of the building. But they didn't look up. Peter and Jones were just starting down the alley, guns drawn, when they heard a familiar voice behind them.

"Everything okay here?" Neal asked with a laugh. The agents whipped around in surprise, guns up and safeties off. "I didn't think alley cats and garbage bins were on the FBI watch list."

"Damnit, Neal! I almost shot you," said Jones, holstering his weapon.

Neal grinned at the agents. "I'm glad you didn't. Blood stains are so hard to get out of suits and I don't think the FBI wants to pay any more for my dry cleaning than they already do."

Peter sighed and said, "Dry cleaning wasn't part of our agreement anyway. Why am I not surprised that you conned the Bureau into paying for it."

"And I'm not surprised you're here checking up on me. Peter, it's a Saturday night! Don't be such a workaholic – it's not good for your health. I'm well within my radius." Neal countered, pulling up his left pant leg to show the green light on the tracker.

"If you hadn't left your phone at June's, Neal, I wouldn't be here. Believe me, the last thing I want to be doing on a Saturday night is chasing you all over everywhere. El's out late and I wanted to see if you wanted to join me for a drink. But nothing is ever that simple with you."

"Peter!" Neal said brightly after a moment, flashing a wide grin at the agents. "You do care!"

"I care about not getting my ass chewed out by Hughes. Which it is every time you decide to leave the reservation." Peter said grumpily. "Come on, I'll drive you back to June's, then I'm going home. Sorry for dragging you out here for nothing, Jones. I'll make it up to you."

Jones smiled and walked away with a nod to Peter and a shake of his head for Neal.

"Really, Peter, I don't mind walking," Neal said. "It's a nice night and…"

"Get in the car, Neal," Peter grumbled. "Now."

"Okay, okay," said Neal, raising his arms in mock surrender. "This is what I get for trying to be green. Peter, I'm blaming global warming on you."

Peter was silent as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. After a few blocks he asked, "What were you doing there, Neal?"

"Why, Peter? I was within my radius and not doing anything illegal."

"That's not the type of place that you normally go, Neal."

"You don't know everything about me, Peter," Neal reminded his partner. "Believe it or not, I actually do like that place. I grant you, the décor leaves much…okay, a lot, to be desired but they have absolutely fantastic Manhattans. I've been there once or twice before, go ahead and check. The bartender's name is Ray and he plays a mean Twelfth Street Rag on the piano. Ask him about me – I know he'll back me up." Neal's tone held an edge of hostility by the time he finished.

"I'm not going to check your story, Neal. I trust you," Peter said slowly. "I was worried. You left your phone and hat at June's. And I know you're not fine like you keep telling everyone you are. Anyone else would be a wreck considering everything that's happened in the last few months. But you just slap that fake smile on – and, yes, most of the time it is a fake smile, Neal – and act like nothing's wrong. Damnit, Neal, I'm your friend! I'm worried about you!" Peter was a little surprised at himself; he hadn't expected to say so much.

Neal was quiet until they reached June's. When Peter pulled up in front of the mansion Neal said, "I know you're worried, but I'm okay, Peter. Thanks for checking up on me. Say 'hi' to Elizabeth for me. I'll see you on Monday." With that, Neal got out of the car and let himself into June's house. Peter stared after him for a moment and then drove home.

~oOo~

Neal leaned against the door to his apartment and sighed. He knew his partner was concerned about him, but, as much as he trusted Peter, Neal wasn't ready to share everything with the FBI Agent. It was an occupational hazard that came with the territory of self-reliance.

Neal pushed himself away from the door and went to the cabinet. He pulled down two wine glasses and filled them from an already-opened bottle of Shiraz. Neal grabbed both glasses and walked out onto the patio. He set one glass on the table and walked over to the ledge, the other wine glass in hand.

A shadow detached itself from the corner and reached for the wine glass on the table.

"Neal, you always did have impeccable taste in wine," said the shadow after taking a sip.

Neal didn't turn to face his companion. "And you've always had a habit of making a scene. That was a close one, Adam. After Peter started chasing you, I wasn't sure you'd be able to slip him. You didn't do me any favors by running from them, you know. I just barely avoided a game of 20 questions on the way home. You couldn't have just quietly slipped away, could you? You had to run."

Adam smiled to himself and said, "I knew I could get away. I've always been better than you at slipping a tail."

"You wish," scoffed Neal, turning his head slightly.

"Remind me again who got caught by the FBI and who is still nothing more than a rumor in a file or two?" Adam jumped in before Neal could continue.

"That was different," said Neal, now facing Adam, anger and grief barely evident behind the words. "I needed to see Kate and…"

Adam held his hands up in surrender, "Okay, Neal, okay. I don't want get into an argument with you. Let's just drop it, alright?"

Neal stared at Adam, who was still half-hidden in the shadows. "You're right. I don't want to argue either. We did enough of that when we were younger." Neal paused. "So, are you going to tell me why you found me again after all this time? And 'because of my wine' is not an acceptable answer."

Adam smiled at Neal's directness. "Well, Neal," he said with a slight emphasis on the name. "Between the various alias's, the constant movement then the prison stay, and our last conversation, you didn't make it easy to find you."

A shadow of something flickered in Neal's eyes at Adam's mention of their last conversation, but it was gone immediately. If Neal couldn't show Peter his true emotions, he sure as hell wouldn't let Adam see them.

Adam continued, "I wanted to see you, man. It's been awhile – six or seven years at least."

"It's been ten, actually," interrupted Neal. "We were in Rome for the Botticelli. The same Botticelli, I might add, that nearly got me killed. But that's a different story, isn't it, Adam?" He turned back toward the ledge and resumed his nightly study of the city.

Adam smiled slightly and with a small wince. "Ah, yes, well I guess you have a right to still be a little touchy about that. But it really wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know that the key would break in the lock?" He paused at Neal's arched eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Maybe that was my fault. But, hey, you got the Raphael and you aren't dead! So, it all turned out okay. By the way, do you still have it? The Botticelli, I mean?" Adam asked eagerly.

Neal stared at his old friend as if trying to decide what to say. He finally settled on, "What is it that you're really here for, Adam?"

Adam looked away and slowly shook his head. He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "No, Neal. That's not why I asked you to meet me. Mina contacted me last week," he said quietly. "She didn't say so specifically, but I think she's in trouble."

Neal's head snapped around, a look of pure shock on his face. "Mina contacted you? How? Where is she? How is she? What is she…" Neal stopped midsentence when he saw Adam's bemused look. "What?" Neal asked defensively, all eagerness vanishing from his face. "I haven't talked to her in a long time. After Geneva she said she never wanted to talk to me again."

"Geneva wasn't good for anyone, least of all Mina. But that was then and this is now. Neal, I think she needs our help." Adam didn't elaborate and Neal didn't ask for any other information. Both men stared at one another as if each were waiting for the other to make the first step toward rekindling something both had thought died a long time ago.

Finally Neal sighed and looked away. "Adam, we can't go back to how it was before Geneva. I can't. If you haven't noticed, I'm accessorizing a little differently these days." Neal pulled up his left pant leg to reveal the tracker. "Besides," he continued. "Peter doesn't give me a lot of time to myself. You might say that the leash metaphorically runs out in the middle of the street. Actually, now that I think of it, it literally does run out in the middle of the street. I couldn't have crossed Wilson Street without the Marshalls notifying Peter that I'd gone outside my radius." Neal paused. "Adam, I'll do what I can for Mina, but it won't, it can't, be like old times. I can't get set back to prison. I won't get set back to prison."

"Fine, Neal, fine. It's not like we're planning a major score here. I know you have certain…limitations…now. I don't have all the details yet, but I'll do all the heavy lifting when the time times. I just want to know that you'll have my back."

"Get me the details, Adam. Then let's talk about who's going to do what. Mozzie will do what he can to help and I could probably try to use some FBI resources if it came to that."

Adam set his now empty glass on the table with a smile. "I knew I could count on you, Neal."

"That's what friends are for, isn't it? Give my love to Mina when you see her next. And tell her…" he thought for a moment. "Tell her that I think I've finally found my Mona Lisa. She'll know what I mean," Neal said in a tone that invited no questions.

Adam shook his head, gave Neal a small salute, and faded back into the shadows.

Neal poured himself another glass of wine and resumed his study of Manhattan's nightlife, thoughts far away.