The 21st floor was abuzz with activity when Peter and Neal arrived. With Hughes running the meeting, the conference room on that floor had been chosen to host the budgetary discussion. Agents, many of them from different units, milled about, waiting for the meeting to start.

Neal recognized a few of them. Ruiz, from Organized Crime – not one of his favorite people. Still, the man had been a bit more civil since Neal had uncovered a lead that had given OC a high profile arrest. Blakely, from the technology crimes section. According to Mozzie, the man really needed to upgrade his own firewall defense. Not that Neal planned to mention it to the man. And that was Lake, from Counter Terrorism by the break room. A surprising number of their white collar cases wound up developing information that got passed on to CT.

White collar crimes used to be simpler, cleaner. The money from the thefts simply went to the perpetrator's pocket, not off to be funneled to some terrorist group to buy guns or explosives.

Peter greeted a few other agents Neal didn't know, and then they stopped by Diana's desk. Jones had pulled his chair up and the two of them were reviewing a report on the computer monitor.

Diana looked up as they approached. "Hey, boss. Neal."

"Diana, Jones." Peter leaned in, looking at the screen. "Anything new?"

Jones shook his head. "Best information is still that the drop will go down today, most likely at that convenience store where Polson's cousin works."

"Well, I hope it works out," the senior agent said. "You can brief Neal on the way over."

"Can't wait," Neal said, a little too brightly.

Jones grinned. "Come on, Caffrey. What could be better? You get to spend the day with us in the van! My wit, Diana's charm…"

"No deviled ham?" Neal asked, pointedly staring at Peter.

Jones grimaced and shook his head. "Definitely not."

Peter scowled at all of them. "I know what you're all getting in your Christmas stockings," he muttered.

Diana laughed and locked her screen. "I think that might be considered cruel and unusual," she said as she stood up, grabbing her jacket. "Come on, Neal." They started toward the door as she continued. "It's over four months until Christmas. Hopefully he'll forget by then."

"I heard that," Peter called. He took Jones by the elbow, lowering his voice. "You're all right with this?"

"What, having Caffrey with us? Yeah, not a problem."

"If he tries anything…"

"He won't. I mean, he'll probably try to flirt with Diana."

"She'd hurt him if she really minded," Peter said, trying out Neal's theory.

Jones grinned. "Yeah, I know she would." He grabbed a file from his desk. "Have fun with the budget meeting, Peter."

Peter watched the younger agent leave, surprised a bit by the feeling it left him with.

Jealousy.

He'd even forego the deviled ham to be heading for that van, and not the damn budget meeting.

The problem with the van, Neal decided, was that there wasn't even really room to spin in your chair properly. Not without hitting the other occupants, anyway, and that was rarely a good idea in his experience. Especially since they had guns.

It was just that stakeouts were so… boring.

That was especially true when they were after a low-level art thief. The crimes showed a distinct lack of imagination and panache. Really, how could you take someone seriously who broke into the homes of some nouveaux rich people and took works by artists who might – might – be famous someday.

All right, from his new found perspective on the badge side of the law, home invasions were bad. So far the suspect had hit places that were empty, but if the guy got that wrong, and someone was home… well, that could end badly.

Still, if you were going to go to the trouble of breaking in somewhere, at least go after the good stuff…

"Yo, Caffrey!"

Neal turned around, finding both Jones and Diana smiling at him. "Zoned out?" he guessed.

"Big time." Jones pointed at the file in front of Neal's place. "Any insight on this Polson guy?"

Neal shrugged. "Beyond the fact that he obviously has no style?"

Diana grinned. "You mean you're not expecting him to send champagne to the surveillance van?"

"Now that requires a certain very special type of style," Neal replied, returning the grin.

Jones shook his head. "I can't believe you did that, man."

"Allegedly," Neal pointed out.

"The note had your name on it from what I heard," Diana said.

"Circumstantial. That could easily have been a forgery."

"Yeah, right," Jones laughed. "So, Polson?"

Neal sighed and flipped the file open. "Lionel Polson. Age fifty three, former construction worker, injured on the job." He closed the file and looked up. "This guy is not a professional. That's obvious from the places he hits and the type of art he takes. That all points toward desperation."

Diana was nodding. "Injured, can't find a job. He has a wife, and three children under the age of ten."

"So he turns to a life of crime," Jones said. "Kind of sad. But we need to catch him before anything escalates."

"Agreed." Neal looked back over at the monitor. "So, we hope that this fence Polson called shows up."

Jones looked at his notes. "Yeah, this guy, The Arranger. Know anything about him?"

Neal shook his head. "My… source hasn't found anyone who even knows what the guy looks like." He pulled out his phone, looking to see if he had missed a call from Mozzie, but there was nothing.

"I would have thought you'd know all the fences," Diana said.

"Oh, please." Neal pointed at the monitor. "Look at this place. Any items I may allegedly have acquired would not be handled by anyone with a comic book nickname and in this part of town."

Jones leaned toward Diana. "You forgot about the style part."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

Neal huffed in mock exasperation. "Make fun if you will," he warned. "But style points do count for something."

Diana shook her head and rolled her chair closer to the supply box. In theory it was where they kept important things like pens and note pads and other things that might come in handy during a long stakeout. In practice, however, it generally held something even more important.

Snacks.

She rummaged for a moment and then sat back, shaking her head sadly. "That's all the crap stuff left, and not even much of it. Wonder why someone didn't refill it."

"We lost our driver to one of the visiting Homeland Security bigwigs," Jones said. "I think it's the drivers who usually do that when they're getting the van ready."

"Well, you were the driver today," Neal pointed out, trying once more to get a good chair spin in. "Are you saying you let us down?"

Jones shook his head. "Nope, I think I just remembered the other rule. Seems like if there's a consultant riding along on the stakeout, he's supposed to fill the box."

Neal kept his face perfectly composed, playing along. "No. No, I've been reading the manuals, and I can definitely say I have not seen that rule in any of the books."

"You've been reading the manuals?" Diana laughed. "Must have too much time on your hands."

Jones nodded in agreement. "I think it was a new rule anyway. Maybe you had an older version of the manual."

"Hey, you big, important agents get paid way more than poor lowly consultants like me!" Neal protested.

"Yeah, that's why your shoes cost more than my whole outfit," Diana grumbled.

"That just goes back to the style question," Neal replied.

"Uh huh. How about that bottle of wine you opened last week when we were reviewing some files at your place? I liked it, so I went looking for it." Jones shook his head in amazement. "I'd have to hock my first born!"

Neal just raised an eyebrow. "You don't have any children."

"Well, my potential first born then. Geez, I'm hocking my unborn children before I've even had a chance to meet their potential mother!"

"I know where you can get the wine at wholesale," Neal offered.

"Seriously? Like, legally?"

Neal gave in and laughed. "Yes, legally. I know the importer."

"Well, maybe…"

Diana sighed and stood up. "Well, while you boys discuss wine, which we can't have on the stakeout, I am starving. I'm making a junk food run, so if you want something special speak now, or live with what I buy."

"Chocolate," Neal said immediately. "Pretty much anything chocolate, the darker the better."

"Yeah, chocolate's good," Jones agreed. "But something salty too. Maybe get some chips or pretzels or something."

"All right, salty and sweet. I can do that. Besides, it'll give me a chance to get eyes inside the store. We've only seen the plans."

"Yeah, kind of hard just seeing the outside. But since the place is owned by a relative of the suspect, they couldn't really ask to put up cameras," Jones pointed out.

"We could have gotten cameras in there," Neal said. "It would have been easy to…"

"Legally?" Diana challenged.

"Might be a gray area," Neal acknowledged.

"Well, then, I guess it's up to me to get eyes inside, make sure everything's covered." She stopped at the back door and looked back. "Be good while I'm gone, boys."

Neal got to his feet and pulled the door shut, watching as Diana crouched low, hurrying along the street side of some cars parked behind the van. Three cars down she stood up straight and moved to the sidewalk, walking toward the store as if she had been on the pedestrian way all the time.

He really would have gone in to get the junk food, after the little debate. Those debates made life in the van tolerable after all. Still, it was fun to watch the others in action too.

Maybe he'd buy lunch for them a little later. He knew this perfect Asian fusion restaurant, and for a fee they'd deliver…

"Hey, Reese…"

"Later, Peter."

Peter stared after his boss, more than a little puzzled. It wasn't like Hughes to brush anyone off like that; in fact, as he thought about it, Peter truly could not remember the last time he'd witnessed such a display. And certainly it had been a very long time since it had happened to him.

Curious, he stepped out onto the walkway outside the conference room, watching as the older man stalked quickly toward his office, entered, and slammed the door.

Feeling more than a little guilty, Peter followed, trying for his best nonchalant demeanor. He wasn't exactly sure what he thought he'd find out – or even if he wanted to find anything out. This was, after all, his boss they were dealing with.

Everyone knew that the Special Agent in Charge of the New York office had more than enough on his plate at any given time. The very fact that it was New York, home to so many, symbol to so many more, added exponentially to the headaches Hughes suffered here compared to those of the SAC in, say, Omaha; the headaches here were many times magnified. And the current economic situation certainly hadn't helped in that regard. The White Collar division was seeing a drastic increase in cases being reported – but more of the small time efforts like his team was investigating today. People stealing art, or embezzling money, not so much to make a fortune but, rather, just to make ends meet. The sheer volume of cases threatened to overwhelm the agents available to investigate them.

Still, they had faced budgetary cuts before, and high case volumes. And Peter wasn't convinced that either of those reasons alone could really explain the way Hughes was acting in the budget meeting.

Oh, no one expected frivolity and light banter; no, this was serious business. But Hughes seemed even crankier than normal at one of these meetings and… what? More distracted. Anxious even. As if waiting for something else to happen.

Peter stopped just short of the corner office. He loved a lot of things about this office suite, but the huge volume of glass did not lend itself to stealth. Maybe the designers hadn't intended that to be a necessary attribute inside the FBI offices…

Sometimes they were wrong.

Fortunately, he knew from experience (because Neal had told him) that this particular spot could not be seen from inside the SAC's office. And Neal never had explained just how he had come to discover that little tidbit of information, or why he had bothered to find out…

Peter glanced around, satisfying himself that no one was paying undue attention to him. And why should they? He was taking a break from the deadly boring budget meeting, just like everyone else. He leaned his head back against the wall.

He could make out Hughes' voice, raised and angry. No one else had gone into the office, so the other man must be on the phone. Unfortunately, he couldn't really make out more than a word here and there – unjustified, unrealistic, short-sighted.

Stupid.

Stupid? Peter smiled slightly, wondering who or what Reese Hughes was discussing that would lead him to use that word in a professional setting.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the mysterious folders Hughes had brought into the conference room. He hadn't passed them out, merely alluded to the fact that there was a new directive they'd be discussing later.

He heard the phone slam down, and he jumped involuntarily. It was probably time to just give up this chase before he got caught spying. The bad mood either had something to do with the mysterious budget documents, in which case he'd find out later today. Or the mood was unrelated to the day's meeting, in which case he'd find out some other time, one way or the other.

Peter made his way back along the walkway and then downstairs, glancing at his watch as he went. Time enough for a quick bio break, and then a cup of coffee from the shop in the lobby, before walking back into the lion's den that was the budget meeting.

He briefly considered calling his agents to see how the surveillance was going, but decided against it. It was a fairly straight forward case, and Jones and Diana were good, experienced agents.

Even with Caffrey in tow, what could go wrong?

"Uh oh."

Neal slid his chair over next to Jones, looking at the monitor. "What?"

Jones pointed at a car that had just pulled into the tow away zone in front of the store. It was big, black, shiny, and new – and the three men getting out all had suspicious bulges under their jackets. He pointed at the third man, the last to get out of the car – and the one the other two seemed to defer to. "Know who that is?"

Neal shook his head. "Should I?"

"Tommy Angelos. Youngest son and chief enforcer for Eduardo Angelos."

"Now him I've heard of. Controls a lot of the dock work, right?"

"Yeah." Jones looked over at Neal, eyebrow raised. "Now how does a stylish criminal…"

"Alleged. Stylish, yes, but alleged on the criminal."

"Alleged criminal like you know Eduardo?"

Neal shrugged. "I may have heard about someone who had to deal with him to get certain goods shipped out of the country."

"Ever meet him?"

"No. My friend always worked through intermediaries. Better that way."

"Yeah," Jones agreed. "Think he's this Arranger guy?"

Neal shook his head. "Not likely. Fencing is a fairly specialized skill – not the same as breaking legs and extorting cash. Then again, anyone who takes a name like the Arranger… who knows?"

"Doesn't feel right," Jones said. "More likely a shakedown for protection money." He paused, shaking his head. "I don't like that Diana is in there alone. She doesn't know."

The three men were still standing by the car, gesturing and pointing toward the store.

Jones tuned to Neal, his expression clearly frustrated. "Look, I worked some cases with Organized Crime, and I crossed paths with Tommy. He could recognize me."

Neal nodded, reaching for his jacket. "No problem. I'll go."

"Just make sure Diana knows what's going on," Jones warned. "If these guys are just here for protection money, they probably don't want any complications."

"Got it." Neal loosened his tie and ruffled his hair a little, more in keeping with the neighborhood than the full spit and polish look. He started for the door, but Jones grabbed his arm.

Sighing, the agent reached down and pulled a small automatic out of his ankle holster. "Take this," he said. "Just in case."

Neal looked at the gun, his distaste written clearly on his face. "I'm really not a gun guy."

"Yeah, I know," Jones said, still holding out the gun. "But there are three of them, all obviously packing." Neal still made no move to take the weapon, so Jones played another card. "So how do you feel about being dead?"

"I like guns better than being dead," Neal admitted.

"And Diana's in there."

"I like guns better than Diana being dead too." Neal reached out and carefully took the pistol, checked that the safety was on, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "But if it comes down to me using this, you better have a backup plan."

Jones nodded, reaching for the phone. "I'm going to drop a call to the local precinct. I'm sure Tommy's boys all have permits for those guns, but it can't hurt to check." He started to dial before continuing. "Just get Diana out, or at least make sure she knows what's going on."

"Right."

Neal stepped out into the street, silently closing the van door behind him. He crouched down, much as Diana had, using the cars to cover him as he moved away from the store. Then he stepped onto the sidewalk.

He had to pause a moment to adjust his jacket – the weight of the gun made it feel like it was hanging all wrong. Then he started for the corner store.

The three men preceded him inside, the bell over the door jangling as they entered. He hurried forward, catching the door before it could close, and slipped inside.

The juxtaposition for the sunlight outdoors to the dim light inside the shop took a moment to get used to. He could see the three men moving toward the counter to his left, so he went the other way, moving quickly but silently in front of the window.

There were only a handful of aisles. The first one had various medicines, paper goods, and a smattering of auto essentials. The second aisle was canned goods. The third had diapers and baby goods.

He found her in the fourth aisle, filling a small basket with assorted snacks.

She looked up as he stepped closer, obvious surprise in her eyes.

He managed to stop any questions, shaking his head firmly and putting a finger to his lips. "Trouble," he whispered as he got close.

"The fence?" she whispered back, her lips nearly touching his ear.

He shook his head, his cheek brushing against her hair. "Tommy Angelos."

"The mob enforcer?"

"Probably a shakedown. Jones is calling the police."

"We could take them…"

"Technically, they haven't done anything," Neal pointed out. It was somewhat amusing that the words were coming from his mouth.

Diana nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. She started to say something else, but just then heavy footsteps came into the aisle.

Neal stood up quickly, one arm going around Diana's waist as he took the basket with his other hand. "Now, honey, I think you've got plenty here," he said, smiling as he led her boldly toward the heavyset man at the end of the aisle.

The man crossed his arms, clearly showing the outline of the gun under his jacket, but he made no move to stop them as they went.

Walking up to the counter, Neal studiously ignored Tommy Angelos and the other man with him, addressing the rather terrified looking man behind the counter. "Well, I think this will do," he said, putting the basket up. "Kind of a strange combination, I know," he added, smiling and moving his now free hand to Diana's stomach. "But my wife is eating for three now."

Diana nodded, playing along. "We're having twins. We just found out. And uh... cravings!"

It was Angelos who responded, something resembling a smile crossing his face. "Got three kids myself," he said.

"These will be our first," Neal said, friendly as he could be. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash. "You just tell me what we owe," he added, addressing the man behind the counter.

The man's hands were shaking as he started to scan the snacks Diana had collected. It took multiple tries to get some of the items into a bag.

Neal stole a glance out the window; no squad car yet. And no way he could think of to safely let the man know that relief was coming – at least a temporary reprieve. Especially since the third man had come back up front. Hopefully they'd at least bought a little time, and Jones had the police on the way.

Neal paid the total and took the bag. "Have a good day now," he said, smiling and giving a friendly nod. Then he took Diana's arm, as a loving husband and father to be would, and led her toward the door.

Once outside, he turned to the side, pressing her back against the wall as he looked back inside. "If we actually see them do something to that guy, we can arrest them, right?"

"I can arrest them," Diana said, reaching for Neal's jacket collar and spinning him so that his back was against the wall and she was looking in. "I'm the one with the badge and the gun."

Well, he might have to concede the badge part… "I have a gun."

"What?"

"Jones gave me his backup." He shook his jacket pocket, demonstrating the weight.

"Jones gave you the gun?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes," Neal insisted. "He wasn't going to let me out of the van otherwise."

"Why didn't he come?"

"He said he crossed paths with Angelos a couple of times, and the guy might make him."

"So you with a gun is supposed to make me feel safer?"

"Well, that was the general idea."

"Hmmmm."

"Anything yet?"

"No, they're just talking so far."

Neal stiffened, listening. "Someone's coming," he whispered. He wrapped an arm around Diana's waist and pulled her in, his lips closing over hers. It only took a moment for her to realize the situation and lean into him.

And it felt like her tongue was reaching right down his throat…

The voices came closer, and Neal let his eyes follow the two teenage girls who came into view, walking a Chihuahua between them. They giggled as they passed the kissing couple, but kept on going.

When the girls were well past, Neal reluctantly pulled away, breathing hard. "They're gone," he managed to say. "Good cover."

"You were just looking for an excuse to do that," Diana accused, breathing a little harder than usual herself.

Well, yeah, but it wasn't like he was actually going to admit it…

She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "You're sure the gun is in your pocket?"

He was saved from having to make any reply by the arrival of a squad car. "I think that's our cue to go," he said, leading her toward the van.

"We can pass the information on to Ruiz. Let him know that Angelos is collecting here."

"Good idea."

They reached the back of the van and Neal opened the door, letting Diana in. He handed the bag of snacks up to her, climbed in, and pulled the door shut.

Jones was grinning at both of them. "I thought maybe you should just get a room," he said.

"There was someone coming," Neal objected.

"Yeah, those girls looked pretty dangerous," Jones teased. "And that Chihuahua…"

The bag of pretzels Diana threw at him hit him right in the mouth, cutting off any more talk.

"Good shot," Neal said approvingly, clapping his hands a few times. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the gun, holding it gingerly in two fingers. "Glad I didn't need this."

"You and me both," Jones agreed, sliding the weapon back into the ankle holster. He went back to trying to get the pretzel bag open.

"Thanks for the trust though," Neal said quietly.

Jones looked up, all serious for the moment. "No problem," he said. "You've earned that, especially these last few months."

The lunch break was another episode in frustration as far as Peter was concerned. As soon as he called the recess, Hughes made a beeline for his office, ignoring all pleas to stop. A walk down through the bullpen, and a casual glance up to the corner office, showed the SAC on the phone again, gesturing angrily, definitely not happy.

Peter's thoughts again went to the mysterious folders sitting on the table in the conference room. He couldn't shake the feeling that this odd behavior was related somehow. And since he relied heavily on those gut feelings in his work, and found that he was right far more often than he was wrong, it was a pretty good bet that he was right about those folders.

If Neal was here, he'd come up with some diversion plan, keep everyone occupied while he snuck a peek at the contents of those folders.

But that would be bad – very bad, to go behind his boss's back like that.

On the other hand, the files were in the conference room, and obviously intended to be discussed at some point. He could hear Neal's voice in his ear, arguing that a little sneak peek wasn't really wrong, it was just getting the information a little early…

"Geez, Burke, your boy Caffrey just can't stay out of my business, can he."

Peter turned, looking at Ruiz. "Excuse me?" What has Neal done now?"

Ruiz waved his cell phone. "Just got a call from your man, Jones. Seems he and Caffrey identified one of my main projects, Tommy Angelos, during the stakeout they're on. Caffrey had to go in and get your other agent out."

Peter was really trying to remain very calm. "Anyone hurt?"

"Nah, no shots fired. Your people didn't interfere. Just called the locals to come and put a little scare into Tommy."

"Well, that's a relief." Inside, Peter breathed a big sigh of relief.

"Messes up my life," Ruiz countered.

"How's that?"

"It's new territory for Angelos and his people. Now we've got them running protection rackets in an even bigger area."

"Guess the economy's tough on everyone," Peter remarked dryly. "Even the mob guys have to expand to keep up with expenses."

Ruiz laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "Yeah, right."

Peter reached over and cuffed the other agent on the shoulder. "Job security, Ruiz."

"That why you keep Caffrey around? Your own job security?"

"With Caffrey around, I have a higher closure rate than I've ever had," Peter pointed out. "So yeah, I guess you could call that job security."

"Yeah, well, now he's giving me more work. Is he going to help me close cases too?"

"Are you asking for his help?"

Ruiz grinned and shook his head. "Nah, not yet anyway. I still have a few competent real agents to work on this." He paused, shrugged. "I'm a big enough man to admit though that I might have been wrong about Caffrey."

"What? Do my ears deceive me?"

"Oh, can it, Burke! I'm not saying I approve bringing a convicted felon so deep into the bureau, but I have to admit, he's done some decent work."

Neal had done some brilliant work – but right now, he'd settle for decent, coming from Ruiz. "Gonna tell him that?"

Ruiz scowled. "Don't push it."

Peter gave the other agent a measured smile. "A lot more criminals than there are of us, George. I'll take all the help I can get."

Ruiz nodded slowly in agreement. "I'm gonna get a couple of people on this," he said, waving the phone again. "Before it's back into the breach."

"Yeah. I'd rather be getting a root canal," Peter muttered.

"In the middle of a shootout," Ruiz added. "See you in a bit."

Peter watched the other agent leave, and then he pulled out his own phone, hitting a speed dial number as he did. "Hey, Jones! Just checking in. How's it going? Oh yeah? No fence yet, huh? So what's this about Tommy Angelos? So you and Neal… Uh huh. And why didn't you… Oh, yeah, good call. Angelos could have made you. Right. But Neal and Diana got out clean? Uh huh… He did what?" Peter paused, squeezing the bridge of his nose against a sudden headache. "Please tell me there was no bloodshed. Uh huh… She what? Uh, yeah, go ahead. I'll talk to you later."

Peter stared at his phone for a moment, considering the laughter coming from the other end, before snapping it off.

Oh, he really was so jealous…