"Neal, I'm picking you up. Be ready by 7:00."

Neal rubbed the towel across his wet hair as he played the message on his phone. That was interesting – Peter hadn't picked him up for a few days.

He wondered what it meant…

No, better to not try and read too much into it.

He dropped the towel over a chair, and followed it with the towel from around his waist. Making his way to the wardrobe, he selected a suit for the day, and paired it with the appropriate shirt and tie. Underwear and socks from the chest of drawers, and he was set.

He dressed quickly, combed out his hair, and then gathered the towels to put in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. The housekeeper had brought up the usual coffee service and some rolls, and he poured a cup now.

The clock read 6:53 – perfect. Time to enjoy the coffee and be downstairs on time.

Or maybe he'd be two minutes late, just because it annoyed Peter…

Peter stepped into the entryway, nodding his thanks to the housekeeper who had opened the door. He looked at the stairs, debating about going up…

No, actually going to Neal's apartment seemed way too personal right now.

He walked back and forth in the hallway, planning his discussion points for the car. The case file had been messengered over last night, and it was a perfect distraction. A gallery had been hit, with several priceless antiquities now missing. The thief had managed to avoid all of the security systems, including video surveillance that wasn't even connected to the other alarms.

Add in the fact that there were some striking similarities to a job in Pittsburgh a few weeks before, and there should be plenty to intrigue Neal on the drive to the office.

"Good morning, Peter."

He started, unaware that anyone had come close. "June. Good morning."

"I haven't seen you come by for a few days."

"Well, I can't spoil him too much, right?" He batted the case file against his leg nervously.

June's eyes followed the activity, obviously missing nothing. "What's wrong? I hope Neal isn't in some kind of trouble."

"No, no, nothing like that." But the words came out too fast, and he knew the moment he said them that he was in trouble.

"Peter, what is it?"

He decided on a modified version of the truth. "Oh, it's just budget season," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "There are just some issues with the fund that pays Neal's expenses."

"Well, if it helps, you know I don't really need the seven hundred dollars you pay me each month."

Oh, if only it was that easy… "Thank you, June. I appreciate the offer. But I'm still trying to track down where these funding decisions came from."

She smiled and touched his arm. "Oh, I understand that. I'm on several charitable boards, and I deal with strange budget decisions all the time."

He forced a smile onto his face. "I guess you do understand. And really, it's nothing Neal needs to worry about. I get all the budget headaches."

"Ah, the perils of being in charge." June stepped away, stopping at the concierge table to pick up her purse and keys. "Well, I'm off to help do some early set up for the benefit fair for the children's hospital this weekend. Neal has offered to help with the face painting. I'm expecting to see tiny Monets and Picassos adorning the children's cheeks. He really is a dear boy."

Peter rolled his eyes in what he thought was a pretty good imitation of his normal response to statements like that. "You spoil him when he hears you say things like that."

June just laughed and patted his arm. "No, just giving a young man who's trying to find his way his due."

Peter deflected that by going back to the event. "You know, Elizabeth is an event planner. She might be able to help."

"Oh, she already is," June replied. "Neal called her for me a few weeks ago." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but I believe your wife has some plans for you at the fair."

He felt his stomach drop at that news, but he managed to smile. "I'll just bet she does."

June laughed again, and he had the distinct impression that she had just read his mind. "Well, I'm off. I hope you and Neal have a good day."

"You too, June."

He watched as she made her way toward the side door, where he knew her car would be waiting. And then he pulled his coat sleeve up, looking at his watch.

7:02

"Caffrey," he grumbled, starting up the stairs.

"Oh, this is slick," Neal said, studying something in the file.

"So it's better than another mortgage fraud case?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Worlds better." He caught himself, realizing what he had just said, and grinned. "Not that I think stealing from the Wentworth is good, of course."

Peter nodded sagely. "Of course."

"But this is way more interesting," Neal continued, turning his attention back to the file.

"So what do you think?"

They'd been driving for a few minutes, in a silence that was not quite comfortable, but not really uncomfortable either.

Just strange, Peter decided.

Neal's face held just a trace of a smile as he answered. "What do I think? I think it's going to rain this afternoon. I think I'll need an umbrella tonight for Samantha's piano recital. I think your suit should be retired and burned, just like an old flag. I think there are too many secrets in the world. I think I wish I'd brought a cup of June's coffee…"

"I meant about the case," Peter said, tapping the folder Neal had been looking at. "And what's wrong with my suit?"

Better to let the comment about secrets go for now…

"I don't even know where to start."

"About the case or the suit? And I don't know how you can even complain, not with the clothes from the sixties that you wear."

"Classics never go out of style, Peter. On the other hand, that suit you're wearing was never in style."

Peter sighed and tapped the folder again. "What about the case? Do you know this Wentworth Gallery?"

"I know of it. Mozzie really likes it."

"Never been there?"

Neal shook his head. "The Wentworth is fairly new. It opened while I was in prison. And now it's outside my radius." He paused, glancing over at Peter. "Are you checking my tracking data to make sure I didn't pay a visit last night?"

"Should I?"

Neal sighed, and for a change, Peter thought it sounded genuine. "I was at home all night, Peter. Mozzie was there for a while, and then I was alone. Not the greatest alibi, I know. But assuming no one has hacked the tracking database again, it should show that I was nowhere near the Wentworth." He paused, and added, more quietly. "Or I could just tell you that I didn't do it."

"Never thought you did," Peter replied. "Any ideas on how it was done?"

"Maybe a couple. But I'd like to see the layout at the gallery first."

"Sure. What about the items taken here and in Pittsburgh? The computer made a potential match in age and theme."

"Egyptian, third century BC. Could be. Are there more photos in the full case files?"

"Probably."

"I know someone who could probably tell us more about the items, and any connection between them."

"Mozzie is an Egyptian authority too?"

"Well, he probably knows quite a bit about it. But I actually had someone else in mind."

"Thief, or fence?"

Neal shook his head and turned to look out of the passenger window again. "Believe it or not, Peter, I do know people who have no connection to the world of crime."

There was something about the weariness in the younger man's voice that made Peter regret his assumption. "I'm sorry. I admit, that's not the first guess that comes to mind with you. So who is he?"

"She. A professor at Cornell, with a specialty in ancient civilzations."

"Cornell. Isn't that one of the schools you conned your way into as an instructor?"

"Conned is such a negative word…"

"Neal…"

"Visiting professor of art history, yes." A small smile crossed his face. "And that class walked away with a lot of knowledge."

"I'll bet. And how much loot did you walk away with?"

"Loot? Another ugly word. And the answer is, I didn't steal anything from Cornell. Well, maybe a few pens or something. Normal stuff."

"Then why do it?" Peter asked, genuinely confused.

"Why teach at Cornell? It was a challenge. And, I used the time, and their excellent library, to hone my knowledge in other areas."

"Knowledge you could use to pull other jobs."

"Hypothetically."

"So who is this professor?"

"Dr. Gayle Hunt. PhD., Professor of Archeology. With a side Master's in Anthropology."

"Figure she's still speaking to you?"

"I imagine the news that I wasn't a degreed professor probably didn't go over well. But we were pretty close back then. I think she'll talk to me."

"Well, it's an option to keep in mind. I want to stop at the office, brief in Jones and Diana. Then we can go check the gallery out and plan from there."

Neal just nodded and turned back to stare out of the window.

This time, Peter let the silence ride.

It didn't take long on site before Neal was able to confirm his suspicion on how the thief – or thieves – had gained access to the Wentworth Gallery and pulled off the theft. A combination of poor camera angles on the surveillance set up, combined with an alarm system without a sufficient emergency power supply, led to vulnerabilities.

Add in the skylight, which provided wonderful natural light during the day, but also turned into an easy access point when the alarm system was short circuited, and the perpetrators had had, in effect, an open door.

"I just don't understand," Maggie Shepherd, the gallery's curator said, after Neal and Peter walked her through the problems. "We had a very reputable security contractor make the arrangements when this gallery was built."

"We'd like to see the information on that contractor," Peter said. "Do you by any chance remember the name?"

"Oh, dear. Goldman? Goldfarb? I'm afraid I have a better memory for artists and antiquities than for things like that. But I'll have my assistant find all the information and send it to you."

"It might help to have the names of the building contractors and the designer too," Neal suggested.

Maggie nodded. "Of course. I'll see what I can find. Is there anything else you need from me right now? Otherwise, I can go start on this."

"No, I think we have what we need for right now," Peter replied. "We'll just take another look around, to be sure."

"Well, I'll be in my office if you need me."

Peter watched the curator leave and then turned to Neal. "The building contractors?"

Neal pointed up at the skylight. "That's a really strange feature to put on a fairly new building like this. A building that is going to need heavy security features."

"Could still just be a security system issue," Peter countered. "If there had been a better backup system…"

"Not much of a difference," Neal said. "A skylight like that, there are only so many ways to wire the security alarms. Even if the alarm has a backup power supply, that's fairly easy to bypass." he paused, and grinned. "Hypothetically, that is, from what I've heard."

"Uh huh." Peter stared up at the skylight, thinking. "But a lot of museums and galleries have skylights."

"Sure," Neal agreed. "But they're mostly older buildings, a lot of them erected before lighting improved to where natural light can be mostly replicated."

"So the skylights would provide the natural light, and make the displays look better."

"Right. Now, natural light is still better. And it's easier on some types of art. But with the tools available now to defeat security systems…"

"Which you would know all about."

"Isn't that why you pay me, Peter?"

Peter just stared at his partner for a long, silent moment. Had he mis-heard the emphasis on the word 'pay' in that statement? "So you wouldn't put a skylight into a building like this."

"No. At least, not unless I was willing to put a whole lot more money into a security system."

"So it would be possible to make it impregnable?"

"Impregnable? No. There's no such thing."

"Oh, so I suppose you figure you could stroll into Fort Knox and make a little gold withdrawal?"

"Fort Knox is hardly impregnable," Neal explained. "It's just protected well enough that no one has decided the risks are worth trying."

"You really think Fort Knox is vulnerable?"

"Sure. With the right group of experts."

"Neal, so help me, if you actually planned…"

"I didn't plan anything, Peter. Not about Fort Knox, anyway. But it may have been a topic of discussion in prison. You know, bonding over a shared pursuit."

"So should I be issuing an all points bulletin for a group of ex-cons heading for Kentucky?"

Neal shook his head. "Not for that group. None of the ones who have been released have the IQ to even get close."

"Except you?"

Neal stared at Peter for a long moment before answering. "I'm really not planning to rob Fort Knox, Peter. Besides, Kentucky is a little outside my radius," he added, pointing at his left ankle.

"Yeah, I'd catch you before you got there," Peter said, grinning to try and lighten the mood again. "All right, back to the skylight. The contractor could have known about the vulnerability?"

"Yeah, could have. Or the architect could have known. Or they might have just been trying to put natural light in here, without knowing the risk."

"Which puts us back to the security company."

Neal nodded. "And maybe they're in on some kind of scheme. Or just negligent. Or the owners hired an inexperienced company to save money."

"That's a lot of options," Peter said, sighing.

"And it doesn't include the further option that someone connected to the gallery discovered the weak spots and passed the word on."

Peter nodded. "An inside job is always a possibility, I guess. I already have Jones gathering the personnel records." He took one more look at the skylight and shook his head. "All right, anything else you want to look at here?"

"There's a lot I want to look at here," Neal said. "But I guess it's not case related."

Ah, the comment from the car, that Mozzie spoke highly of the Wentworth but Neal couldn't go… "Look, we have a lot of records to pull, and there's not much more you can do until we have all of the information gathered. If you want to take a couple of hours here and look around…"

"Really?"

The look of pure surprise and pleasure on Neal's face made Peter feel guilty – again. "Just be back at the office by 2:00, all right?"

"Sure. No problem."

"And nothing new will go missing, right?"

"Nope. Scout's honor." Neal raised his fingers, and then crossed his heart.

"Were you actually ever a Boy Scout?"

"Sure, for two years," Neal replied. "That's where I learned all about being prepared," he added, grinning.

"Heaven help us all," Peter said, looking skyward and shaking his head. "Just remember, 2:00. Don't be late."

"He actually let you stay at the gallery, outside your radius?"

"Yeah, he did."

"No pleading or threats of a tantrum on your part?"

"Moz, I didn't even ask. He volunteered it."

Mozzie stared across the table, finger raised. "That is very unlike the Suit."

"Tell me about it," Neal replied. "Actually, you don't need to tell me about it. I know it's unusual. Even when I ask, I usually just get the lecture about how I broke the law and the limit on my movements is a fair punishment. Oh, and then the threat that the radius could be tightened."

"Right, so this was very un-Suit-like. What do you think it means?"

"Moz, you're the one who can usually find meaning in everything."

"True," Mozzie conceded. "And it's obvious, really. The Suit feels guilty."

"But guilty about what?" Neal pressed. "Guilty because he hasn't told me about the funding cut? Or guilty because he had something to do with it?"

"Yes, that is the question." Mozzie drained his wine glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. "I'm still working on tracing where that alert on your name in the FBI system is going."

"This guy must be really good to hide his tracks like that."

"Unfortunately," Mozzie agreed. "But I'm still working on it."

"Thanks, Moz."

"So, what did you think of the Wentworth?"

That brought a genuine smile to Neal's face. "You were right," he said. "They have an excellent collection…"

The rain of the previous two days had passed on, and Saturday was bright and cheery. All in all, it was a perfect late summer day in New York City, and the turnout for the children's hospital benefit showed it. The park was filled, with happy, laughing children, relaxed parents, and various members of the hospital's staff mingling.

Peter made his way carefully through the crowd, carrying several large boxes of hot dog buns. Just as June had predicted, El had volunteered him to help. So far today he had schlepped about a zillion assorted boxes, bags, crates, and carts of stuff, by his own conservative estimate.

He didn't really mind though. Seeing all of the children, many of whom had been, or still were, patients at the hospital, but who were having a great time today, made it worthwhile. He and El had agreed to wait on starting a family. Maybe it was time to have the discussion again…

The good weather, and the happy atmosphere helped relax him too, taking his mind off of certain pressures from the office – mostly, anyway. He couldn't quite escape thoughts of work, because he couldn't avoid thinking about Neal.

The man's artwork was everywhere.

He honestly had to admit that he had never seen face painting like this before. Neal didn't just do a small heart or a rainbow on a cheek – he did face painting. Rainbows covered the whole surface, the colors blending with the wearer's smile. Instead of a small unicorn drawing, the child became a unicorn, complete with a sparkling horn and equine features. There were many small dragons and dinosaurs running around.

Several of the other agents had been drawn into the event as well, apparently conned into helping by someone. He'd seen Drew earlier, though it had been hard to recognize the young man past the lion artwork adorning his face. Jones had been transformed into a Klingon. And Diana had a series of delicate feathers on her face that gave her a very bird-like appearance.

He made it to the food stand and put his load of boxes down as he looked around for his wife. She was the one who looked like a cat today…

"Oh, thanks, honey."

He turned, smiling at the vision of feline, and female, perfection in front of him. "Hey, that's what us big, strong men are for," he joked, cocking his arm up to make a muscle.

El grinned, which had the effect of making her nose, and her delicately drawn whiskers, scrunch up. "You know, you should get Neal to do something on your face."

"Yeah, maybe he could make me a donkey – a beast of burden."

"What a wonderful idea!"

"No. No, it's not a wonderful idea." Letting Neal loose around his face with paints would be such a very, very bad idea…

She laughed and took his arm, leaning against his shoulder. "Well, the children are enjoying the face art. Just look at them! Neal does good work with them."

"It's because he's just a big kid himself," Peter grumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on his face and in his voice.

"And nothing wrong with that!"

"I guess. Not when it comes to something like this anyway."

El pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. "June brought this over. Look at how much his face painting booth has brought in in donations."

Peter unfolded the paper and glanced down at the listings. The hot dog stand had done well, cotton candy looked very popular, neck and neck with mini donuts, and face painting… "Wow."

"Yeah, wow."

"Talking about me?"

They both turned, and Peter got his first close-up glimpse of the artist in question since very early that morning. Neal's trademark grin was in place, and his blue eyes still sparkled familiarly, but the rest of his face was almost unrecognizable. The delicate artwork almost looked like real fur, even fairly close up. And there were spots drawn across his face, along with whiskers much like those adorning El's face. "What are you supposed to be?"

"A jaguar, of course," Neal replied. "Samantha chose for me."

"Oh, I saw the clown face you did for her," El said. "She is so cute!"

"Thanks. June really liked it too." Neal turned toward Peter. "Speaking of June, she was looking for you. She's over by the stage."

"I was just getting to that," El confirmed. "She has something else she'd like you to do."

"More lifting and toting, I suppose," he said.

The suppressed giggles on the part of his wife and Neal as they jointly pushed him toward the stage were his first clue that it might be something else…

"Well, Peter, since you haven't got a face painting, we were wondering if you'd mind…"

The conversation replayed itself in his mind as he sat perched precariously on the seat of the dunk tank. Senior FBI agents did not do dunk tanks…

And yet, here he sat, waiting and watching as child after child stepped up with their three balls for a dollar and tossed them at the target. Fortunately, no one had managed to hit the swing arm yet and send him tumbling into the water tank below.

In fact, most of the balls thrown by the children so far had fallen well short of the target, so he was probably pretty safe…

The thought stopped midway in his mind as a familiar looking jaguar stepped up to the line, tossing a ball up into the air and catching it.

"Wait! I thought this was for kids."

"I don't see anything about that," Neal said, a dangerous smile on his face. A group of children had gathered around him and he turned to them. "Did you see any signs?"

"NO!"

"Do you want to see if I can dunk the FBI agent?"

"YES!"

Neal turned back to Peter, the grin growing. "Well, there you go, Peter. I'm here by popular demand."

The audience laughed, and Peter glared – trying to pinpoint the glare to where he saw Jones and Diana standing. But apparently it wasn't very effective, because they seemed to be laughing harder.

"All right, here we go," Neal said. He turned his body slightly, pulled his arm back, and then let the ball fly.

Heart in his throat, Peter watched… and breathed a sigh of relief as the ball came close enough to make the target shake, but didn't actually hit.

There was a groan from the audience, but Neal just held up another ball. "Second try."

This time there was a loud CLANG! as the ball impacted solidly against the target. For a moment, nothing happened, and Peter had a split second to hope that the apparatus was broken. But after that slight delay, the seat collapsed against the tank, and he dropped into the water.

The very cold water.

He came up sputtering, and it was a moment before he even became aware of the cheers from the crowd surrounding Neal. He could hear June's voice in the background announcing the new donation total following a dunking.

One of the volunteers was resetting the seat, and Peter slowly climbed back up. "All right, Neal, you had your fun."

But Neal had another ball in his hand, rolling it around with his long fingers. "Oh, I'm not done yet. It's three balls for a dollar." He turned to the gathered children. "If I get three balls for a dollar, and I paid twenty dollars, how much is that?"

"SIXTY!"

"Sixty!" Neal turned back to face the tank, and Peter swore those jaguar spots took on an evil look. "Sixty chances to raise donations for the hospital." He tossed the ball straight up and caught it again with one hand. "Oh, Peter, I'm just getting started."

CLANG! The seat dropped again, and Peter fell into the water, to the sound of resounding cheers.

Oh, it was going to be a very long afternoon…

"I'm going to catch my death of cold."

"Oh, Peter, it was a perfectly warm day."

"El, the water was cold!"

She took one hand off the steering wheel and reached over, patting his arm. "I'm sure it was honey. But remember, you're a big, strong man."

He pulled the rough car blanket tighter around his shoulder, wishing that he had removed his jeans before they started driving. Wet denim was not fun to sit in. "Do you know how many times I went into the water!" he demanded.

"Fifty one out of sixty." She pulled her hand back, using it to try – unsuccessfully – to stifle a giggle. "Neal was quite accurate."

"Accurate?" he shook his head. "I'm glad you can laugh. When I catch pneumonia…"

"The dunk tank raised almost as much money as the face painting."

"Yeah?" Some of the indignation eased. "I guess that's good."

"It's very good. The money is really needed to help the children."

"Well, I still don't think Neal had to be quite that efficient."

"Actually, he was kind of upset that he missed on nine."

"Oh, I'll bet he was."

Her hand reached out for his arm again. "Peter, you can't let him go back to prison."

"I'm doing everything I can, El."

"Are you… are you going to tell him soon?"

Peter sighed as he looked into her eyes. "Yeah, I have to."