"Anything else you want to look at?" Jones asked.

Neal studied the park and the surrounding streets one more time, memorizing the details. It was an open area that didn't offer much by way of concealment opportunities. That was good – his mysterious contact would be harder pressed to bring additional people in unnoticed.

Of course, it also meant that his own Bureau backup would be harder to conceal.

"I think I'm good on my part," Neal replied. "How close can you get backup in?"

Diana was pointing to a corner on the far side of the park. "There's a side street over there that will be the best place for the van. Drew is contacting NYPD now to get it marked as a no parking zone for tomorrow."

"So the closer you can move the meet to that corner, the better," Jones added.

Neal nodded. "And in the park?"

"We'll have people here, as close as we can get," Diana confirmed.

"Hot dog vendor?" Neal guessed.

Jones reached over and slapped his shoulder. "Hey, I make a mean hot dog!"

Neal just grinned. "Maybe I'll have one when this is done."

"Mustard?"

"Is there any other way?"

Jones laughed. "Seriously, anything got you worried about the set up?"

Neal shook his head. "Nope, I'm good."

"I'm dropping Jones at the park and ride. I can take you home," Diana offered.

"Actually, I left something at the office. I'll see if I can catch a ride back with Drew and see you tomorrow."

"All right, see you then."

Neal watched as Diana and Jones walked off toward her car, and then he turned to find Drew. He got along all right with the young probationary agent, but they weren't close like Jones and Diana. The kid would give him a ride, and then leave him alone.

And it wasn't really a lie - he always left something in the office. Not necessarily anything he needed tonight, but he hadn't actually specified that.

Ergo, it counted as not being a lie.

Given what time it was, and with rush hour traffic, the office should be fairly empty by the time they got back. Hopefully, Peter would have left for the day.

He was going to feel bad for what he was planning, but sometimes Peter just needed to be saved from himself.

"Ted, I really need you to call me back as soon as possible. Thanks."

Peter hung up the phone and buried his head against the palms of his hands. The day had been a perfect picture of frustration as far as getting any answers about the whole budget issue.

Well, the conversation with Cole had offered a few 'maybe' answers, but nothing he felt comfortable relying on. Beyond that, he was exhausted from making calls that went unanswered, and trying to work his way through the maze of how and why this decision had been made.

From a couple of encounters with Hughes, experiencing the older man's bad temper, he knew the senior agent was feeling the frustration too.

And the more roadblocks he encountered, the more he was convinced that this was related to the music box, Larrsen, and the mystery man pulling the strings.

He looked up when he heard the knock on his door. "Reese?" From the look on the other man's face, it didn't appear the older agent had had any better luck since they had last spoken.

Hughes stepped into the office. "I assume you haven't had any better luck than I have."

Peter shook his head. "A lot of people out of the office today," he said, his tone clearly indicating his disbelief.

"Yeah, the DC office must have been nearly empty today."

"Hope the bad guys didn't know and plan a crime spree."

That got a tired smile from Hughes. "Might serve them right," he muttered. "Not that I'd ever say anything like that!"

"Of course not."

"Go home, Peter. Have dinner with your wife. We'll start again tomorrow."

"And in the meantime I send Neal out undercover again."

"Do you really think it would do any good to tell him at this point?"

Peter sighed and shook his head. "No, it wouldn't. And I'm glad the team is keeping him busy."

"So… go home."

"I just want to check my e-mail again, and then I will."

"Good night, Peter."

"Good night."

Peter watched the older man leave and then turned to his computer. He refreshed the mail program twice, hoping to find new mail.

All he got was an ad promising the lowest prices on V1AgrA!.

How the hell did the spammers get inside the secure e-mail on the FBI servers?

He deleted the e-mail – fortunately, he didn't yet need little blue pills – logged off, and shut the computer down.

Dinner with El would be good. He didn't want to share the news with her yet – no sense both of them worrying. But she always had a way of making him feel better.

Neal allowed himself a small smile as Drew pulled the Bureau sedan into the parking ramp. Peter's car was gone.

Hopefully that meant he'd gone home for the night.

They rode up together in the elevator, in silence. Neal had the distinct impression that the young agent was a little intimidated by him.

Someone probably told him the big, bad ex-con might bite. Or pick his pocket.

Under other circumstances, Neal probably would have done something to try and ease the kid's uneasiness. But for right now, it played into his plans. Hopefully, Drew wouldn't tarry in the office.

Maybe he should find out…

"Got plans tonight?"

Drew actually flinched, surprised by the conversation. "Uh… just gonna drop off these notes for tomorrow. Then I'm meeting my fiancé for dinner."

"Fiancé. Congratulations."

"Yeah, thanks."

The elevator doors opened and Neal hurried ahead, opening the door. He followed Drew into the office area.

Peter's office was dark, the door closed. Hughes' office was dark as well. And a quick glance around the bullpen showed only a couple of people still working, off in one corner. Drew quickly headed that way, greeting the other young agents as he reached his desk.

Neal stopped at his own desk, making a show of looking for something in a drawer.

It was only a matter of a couple of minutes before Drew was heading out again, accompanied by one of the other agents. Leaving only one other person in the office…

He considered waiting, in the hope that the other agent would wrap things up and leave. If questioned, he could always say he was working on his cover for the meet the next day.

Yeah, as if he wasn't going to make 90% of it up on the spot anyway, depending on how things went.

The problem was, some of these young agents were so desperate to make points with the higher ups that they were known to stay all night.

Well, he wasn't known as a con man extraordinaire for nothing. One young agent, no matter how gung-ho, was not going to stop him.

Neal pulled out a couple of file folders, perfect cover to carry when walking through the office. He also grabbed a penlight from one of the drawers and then extracted his lock pick kit from his inner jacket pocket. Since he might hypothetically have opened Peter's office door before, he quickly pulled out the tool he needed and re-pocketed the rest of the kit.

Fully armed for the job, Neal stood up and walked confidently toward the stairs. Never let them know that you're not absolutely entitled to do what you're doing.

He reached the office door, and a quick glance showed no interest from the agent down below. His hypothetical experience with the lock meant that he had it open in barely more time than it would have taken with a key.

Neal slipped into the office, opening the door only as wide as he needed to. Then he eased the door shut again, waiting.

Still no interest whatsoever from the young agent. He must not have been paying attention to all of the warnings about always being aware of what was going on around you.

Allowing himself a small victory smile that he apparently knew the Bureau teachings better than the agent – or at least applied them better, when it suited him – Neal moved over to the desk and dropped to his knees, letting the furniture provide cover. Laying the folders on the top, he turned the penlight on, clamped it firmly between his teeth, and deftly opened the locked drawers.

Really, the Bureau should provide its senior agents with safes. That would at least make it more challenging.

The penlight's LED bulbs provided good illumination as he started on the top drawer. He knew this was where Peter normally kept miscellaneous things – staples and other office supplies, including an unusually large number of highlighters. An empty sandwich wrapper, which Neal carefully avoided lest it still have traces of deviled ham attached. A stress ball, which Neal knew got quite a bit of use. Somehow, it often wound up in use when he was in here talking to Peter…

Oh, and the extra handcuffs, with which Neal had frequently found himself threatened.

All in all, nothing that looked remotely helpful in solving the current mystery, so Neal moved on to the second drawer. There were folders – personnel evaluations, a couple of recent victim interviews, expense reports. But nothing that looked likely to be causing Peter's current level of apparent angst.

He struck gold with the contents of the third drawer.

There was a large folder marked as the material for the previous day's budget meeting. It was a thick folder and, fervently hoping he didn't need to actually read that, Neal set it aside, at least for the moment. But the blue folder underneath caught his attention.

Budget Addendum. Marked Urgent and Confidential.

A late addition to the budget, maybe something unexpected – that had potential. Neal settled down on the floor and opened the folder.

"Peter?"

"Hi, honey."

El came partway down the stairs, smiling. "Wow, this is downright early for you recently."

"Hughes kicked me out."

"Remind me to thank him." She came the rest of the way down and offered up a kiss.

Peter wrapped his arms around his wife, holding her for a long moment even after their lips parted.

"Peter, is something wrong?"

He never had to worry about remembering what an intelligent woman he had married – there were constant reminders. "Just budget stuff," he answered evasively.

"You mean for once you're worried about something that Neal didn't do?"

He looked at her teasing smile and tried to match it. "Somehow, the Bureau does manage to have other things going on." Even though this did intimately involve Neal. It just wasn't caused by him. Unless it really did turn out to be orchestrated by the puppeteer behind the music box and Kate's death…

"Well, I just got home myself," El was saying. "So there's nothing started for dinner. I guess we could do sandwiches, or…"

"We could go out to dinner," Peter supplied. He could use the distraction. Plus there would be other things going on at a restaurant which might keep El from noticing, and asking too many questions about, his mood.

"Little Italy?" El suggested. "That family place we both like so much."

"Sounds good." Peter leaned in for another kiss. "Let me take a quick shower and change, and we'll go."

"It's a date, handsome."

He was smiling for the first time in two days as he went up the stairs.

No money allocated for full time consultants in the new year.

That was the bottom line of the document Neal held in his hand. He'd read it three times, just to make sure – but he'd understood it just fine the first time through.

All contracts tied to a compensation fund to be voided.

Yeah, he'd struck gold with this file. It would definitely explain Peter's bad mood, and his evasiveness.

From the scribbled notes Neal had found with the file, he could make a good guess why Peter hadn't said anything too. It looked like he, and Hughes, had been trying desperately to get answers about where this directive had come from, and what could be done to change it.

Trying, but so far without success.

They were trying to save him…

That thought made him feel good – sort of.

He still would have liked to have known…

But he could understand why Peter had waited. And it made him feel good to know that his partner – his friend – was trying as hard as all the notes and call history indicated.

He still would have liked to have known…

He read through the file again, looking for anything he might have missed. But it all seemed quite clear.

And it was almost as though he could see his name on the file, surrounded by a target…

Could this be tied to Larrsen, and his still unidentified boss?

It definitely had a bad feel to it, and over the years Neal had learned to go with those feelings. He'd get Mozzie to look into it. After all, this would directly benefit Neal, not the Suits – and the other man most definitely would look forward to an opportunity to get back at Larrsen.

In the meantime, nothing changed. Neal knew he could do a better job of hiding his feelings on this than Peter would. The agent telegraphed his feelings way too often to make a truly successful con man; though, truthfully, he had been quite effective in a few undercover situations.

Neal carefully replaced the notes and the file and relocked the drawers. He extinguished the penlight, picked up the files he had brought, and moved toward the door. A quick perusal of the bullpen area showed that the lone agent had given up for the night; all the desk lights were off, the area empty.

He let himself out, locking the door behind him.

A quick stop at his desk, and then he was on the way out, reaching for his cell phone as he waited for the elevator.

"Moz? Yeah, I need your help with something. Can you meet me at June's? All right, I'll pick up some wine and takeout on the way. Right. See you then."

Dinner out was exactly what he needed, Peter decided.

The food, as always, was excellent. Ever since El's not so subtle poster board sign about liking Italian food – the one that had finally spurred a certain FBI agent into asking her – the cuisine of Italy had played a special part in their lives. They gravitated toward it for special events like birthdays, anniversaries…

And days where it felt like nothing had gone right.

What he really liked about this particular restaurant was that while it was fairly small, its reputation ensured that the establishment stayed busy. That meant other people around, wait staff constantly on the move, other voices blending in the background.

In other words, it was a good place to hide when you wanted to be with someone, but you didn't want to have that person studying you too carefully.

He could hide a lot of things, but El was always the toughest one to fool. He needed to pay more attention to how Neal…

Thinking about his friend and partner's name threatened to bring the day's frustrations back to a boil, and Peter fought it back. He made a show of refilling first El's wine glass and then his own, hoping that she didn't notice how his hand was shaking.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he could – should - share the information with her. How many times had she provided sage counsel – especially when it came to a certain con man of their acquaintance?

But was it fair to burden her with this information when he knew so little about what was going on – and even less about what could happen by January?

Fortunately, El started in telling him about the trials and tribulations of a new event she was planning, which saved his from needing to make a decision just then. He sipped his wine, and resolved to listen to his wife.

The knock on the door came just as he finished pouring a glass of wine. Goblet in hand, Neal took a sip as he went to answer the summons.

The vintage was as good as the recommendation had promised.

He opened the door – to an empty landing. With a sigh, he stepped out toward an alcove by the stairs. "Moz."

"Are you alone?"

"Just me and the cabernet."

He smiled as Mozzie slowly stepped out. "Can't be too careful these days."

"Who, exactly, do you think is going to be skulking around June's house?"

"Ah ha! That's just it, one never knows!" Mozzie announced, walking quickly into the apartment.

Neal took one casual glance around, noting no other skulkers, before following. Mozzie's finely honed paranoia had climbed to new proportions; of course, he guessed maybe near death experiences could do that.

Mozzie had poured himself a glass of wine and was inspecting the takeout containers. "Good, you got the kung pao. Oh, and the curry. Excellent."

"I know what you like." Neal set his glass on the table and busied himself gathering plates, flatware, and chopsticks while Mozzie moved the food from the counter to the table. Then they busied themselves serving up rice and steaming entrees.

"Oh, this place makes the best dumplings," Mozzie enthused, opening the last box.

Neal nodded, helping himself to one with his chopsticks. "That's why I got a double order."

Mozzie looked over, a finger raised in warning. "Don't think that plying me with food and wine will get me to help the Suit."

"No, this one is about me, Moz," Neal said softly.

Mozzie stopped, loaded chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "That sounds serious."

"Could be."

Mozzie let the food fall back to his plate. "All right, tell me."

"We can eat first."

"Oh, like I could eat now!"

"Moz…"

"All right, give me the digest version now. We can do details later."

"Digest, right." Neal took time for a fortifying sip of wine. "I may be back in orange New Year's day."

Mozzie had opted for a sip of wine as well, and now he turned his head to one side, coughing and spitting. "That would be called dropping the hammer, not a digest."

"Sorry."

Mozzie delicately wiped his mouth with a napkin, set it aside, and then turned to glare at Neal. "I always told you not to trust the Suit."

"It's not Peter," Neal said. At least, he didn't think so. "But it's coming down through the Suits."

"Is this another frame job like the pink diamond?"

"Nope. Budget cuts."

Mozzie just stared at him for a moment. "You're serious?"

"Serious."

"Not until January?"

"Not as far as I know."

Mozzie considered that for a long moment and then reached for the dumplings. "All right, that's the digest. And since we're not expecting the federales in the next few minutes, I need food."

Neal leaned back and picked up his wine. "Sounds like a plan, Moz."

Peter sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly removing one sock. He tossed it aside and then leaned his elbows on his knees sighing. He felt better after a night out with El, and yet…

Maybe if he had stayed at the office he could have found something, anything, to lead him in the right direction on this budget thing.

"Everything all right?"

El's voice spurred him back to the present and he busied himself with his other sock. "Sure. Fine."

He felt her weight on the bed behind him, and then her hands were on his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles.

"Sure it is," she said softly. "That's why you have a knot the size of a grapefruit back here."

"El, really…"

"What did Neal do now?"

He actually laughed – a short, sharp laugh that didn't quite convey humor. "Honestly, this time he didn't do anything. At least not that I know of."

She rubbed harder, her fingers moving along his neck. "So why do I get the feeling that he's involved anyway."

"El, really, it might turn out to be nothing." And maybe this would be the year he caught Santa Claus coming down their chimney.

"Uh huh." She moved back, patting his shoulder. "Lie down, let me work on this – while you talk."

He obeyed, knowing he could do nothing else. Laying face down on the bed, he pulled her pillow on top of his to get comfortable as he felt her straddle his hips. "I really don't know much yet."

"Tell me what you do know."

Her fingers worked deep into his muscles; it was more effective than any torture in getting him to talk. "We had the budget meeting yesterday," he started.

"I know. You always get tense after those, but not like this before."

"Yeah, well, this one was even worse than usual." He paused, sighing as her fingers worked down lower on his shoulders. Forget Dr. Tannenbaum and his magic fingers – El was the one with the appendages that could work miracles. "El, they're specifically cutting out the fund that pays Neal's stipend, and his lodging at June's."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"I don't know."

"Well, isn't there someplace else the money can come from? I mean, if I go over an estimate on catering, I can usually cover it someplace else, like on flowers or something."

"I wish it was that easy. The trouble is that Neal's release agreement – the one we signed the second time, after Kate's death – is specifically tied to this fund. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I just knew I had to get him out of there before something happened… and, I wanted my partner back."

"Did they cut any other funds?"

"Cut, yes – but not eliminate."

"Honey, we know Neal isn't really living on that stipend. And I'm sure June doesn't really need the seven hundred dollars…"

Peter carefully rolled over, pulling her down by his side so he could look in her eyes. "But that's just it El, I don't think it would matter if he said he'd work for free. His release is tied specifically to payments that must be made, from this particular fund."

She reached up, brushing her fingers along his temple. "You don't think it's an accident that this cut came through."

He sighed, putting all of his frustration into it. "An accident? No. But I can't prove anything. No one's answering calls from me, or from Hughes. I've got someone from Legal looking at the contract, trying to see if there's some way around this."

"What does Neal say?" she asked carefully.

He knew his face, and his silence, gave away the answer as clearly as any words.

"You haven't told him."

"Tell him what? 'Hey, Neal, great job you've been doing. Keep it up for the next four months. And then sorry, but you're going back to prison.'" He shook his head slowly. "I'm trying to find some answers, some options, first."

She sighed, resting her head on his chest. "You can't keep it a secret long. You know he'll figure out something is wrong."

He's probably already suspicious…

"I know," he agreed, wrapping an arm around the wonderful woman he had married and hugging her tight. "I just need a few days, to try and get some kind of answer."

"I knew it! I knew that this would come to no good. But do you ever listen to me? Nooooo. Of course not."

"Actually, I listen to you quite a bit, Moz," Neal said, trying to sound very reasonable.

"Hmmmmph." Mozzie raised a chopstick, shaking it. "I warned you against the deal with the Suit in the first place, did I not?"

"You did."

"But did you listen?"

"No, I didn't."

"Hah! My point exactly."

Neal sighed and got up to pace. "Moz, this is coming from way above Peter. He and Hughes have been getting stonewalled trying to find out where it's coming from."

"So they'd have you think."

"Okay, play along for now, Moz. Let's assume I'm right on this, just for a minute."

"Fine." Mozzie got up and came to stand next to Neal by the open patio doors. "Assuming for now that the local Suit is not behind this, what are you thinking?"

"It feels kind of personal," Neal admitted. And wasn't that more like something Mozzie should be saying?

"Are there any other full time consultants affected by this?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then I'd say it's personal."

"Thanks. I never would have guessed," Neal said dryly.

"You asked."

"I did," Neal agreed. "Think you can break through the stonewall Peter and Hughes are getting?"

"I may have some resources the Suits don't."

"Just… be careful," Neal said slowly. "This has a bad feel to it. It could be something Larrsen…"

Mozzie's hand jerked to his chest – just about where the scar was from the bullet that had nearly killed him. "I had a bad feeling that name was going to come up."

"There's no proof," Neal said quickly. "But we know the man pulling his strings, and Fowler's, has some pretty good connections."

"Maybe enough pull for a line item veto on some funds."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Nothing would make me happier than to track that bastard down."

"Yeah, me too."

Mozzie considered the night sky for a moment before speaking again. "Say the money thing doesn't work out," he said slowly. "What then?"

Neal made his own concentrated sweep of the skyline before responding. "I don't know if I can go back inside, Moz," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "I'm a known FBI consultant. I've helped get quite a few people convicted."

"It would not be pretty," Mozzie agreed, shaking his head slowly. "And it might very well be an extremely short stay, with a painful ending."

"Yeah." Despite the warm August night, Neal felt a shiver run through his body.

"I can start liquidating assets."

Neal sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out onto the patio.

Mozzie followed slowly. "Let me guess, you don't want to run either."

"Running is hard work, Moz."

"I know. But if it keeps you alive, I'd say the effort is worthwhile."

Neal leaned over the railing, studying the city he loved. "It's not like before. Moz. I've got something here. I've put down roots…"

"And so, another great one falls."

"You make me sound like a tree, Moz."

"You're the one who mentioned roots," Mozzie countered. "Anyway, there is precedent in nature for a cutting to be taken from the parent plant, and grow new roots – somewhere else."

"Thanks for the gardening advice."

"Any time. Now, about the liquidating?"

Neal shook his head, turning away from the railing. "I don't think anything is happening until January. There's still time."

"And what if the Suits decide this makes you a flight risk and move the timetable up?"

Well, Peter wouldn't do that… but with the mysterious puppeteer out there somewhere, all bets were off. "Maybe you should make sure there's some cash on hand, just in case."

Mozzie nodded. "Consider it done," he said, heading back inside. "After we finish that excellent bottle of wine."