Unintended Consequences

DISCLAIMER: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA Network.

A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story, please leave me a review and let me know what you think! Reviews make my day!

[Neal] needed to find something solid enough that would convict Frank's associates and send them to prison for a very long time. This, after all, was the deal he made with Peter; helping Peter catch the toughest and most elusive criminals. He knew Peter was trusting him, and he wasn't about to let Jones get in his way.

Chapter 19

Neal had changed clothes and put a few essential tools along with some latex gloves in his bag. He briefly thought about grabbing his beloved fedora, but realized the storage shed would more than likely be grimy and dusty, and the fedora did not deserve that kind of treatment. He grabbed the messenger bag and headed down the stairs at June's. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Sunny's Storage Rentals before he placed a call to Elle at home. Neal let the phone ring several times, but didn't want to leave a message. He wondered briefly where she was as he terminated the call. He thought for a few seconds and then dialed another number.
"Moz? Hey, I need a small favor."
"Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favors for big ones."
"Charles de Montesquieu? Come on Moz, is that what you really think I'm doing here?"
"Yes."
"Ok. You win. This probably will turn into a big favor, but I need help with the small one first."
"And how can I be of service to you, my friend?"

Mozzie stressed the word friend enough so he knew Neal would pick up on it.

"I need you to get the painting I did from the Suit's house. That's where it ended up right?"
"Yeah, unless the Suit confiscated it for evidence; it should be there."
"Yeah, about that, Moz, Peter was kidnapped and I need your help. I need to..."
"No need for more information, I am more than willing to swap the paintings for you. I'd love to see their faces when they realize it's a fake."
Neal silently chuckled. That was not actually the plan he was working on, but Moz didn't need to know that as long as he was willing to help Neal pull off this caper.
"Thanks, Moz, I owe you one. Could you get a hold of Alex for me? This is definitely going to be a 3-person operation. I'll need a couple hours. Could we meet back at my place?"
"Will do."
The cab pulled up in front of Sunny's, Neal paid the driver, and walked toward the entrance. Neal entered the building, approached the heavy-set man whose faded name tag read "Hank" and flashed his consultant ID.
"I'm here to see the FBI guys that came in earlier."
"Oh, yeah, nice guys. They seemed to be in a hurry though, so I gave them a lift. I can take you out there."
Remembering Jones' warning, Neal politely declined.
"If you could just give me directions, that would be great."
"It's down three rows and then right; all the way to the end."

Jones looked up to see Neal approaching carrying a messenger bag.
"What are you carrying?"
"Come on man, you know I don't like guns."
"I just asked what you were carrying in a bag like that, there's no need to be defensive. It's not like we need tools for breaking and entering. We do have permission to be here."

Neal adopted a more patronizing tone.

"Jones, for a Harvard educated man such as yourself, you should know it never hurts to be prepared. There might be a lock that needs to be picked or something. I also brought gloves so that I'm not accidentally charged with anything from having touched something in here that might be illegal or stolen."

Jones didn't look like he believed Neal, and he definitely didn't like Neal's tone, so he decided to pre-emptively give Neal some boundaries before he could pull any scams and get Jones in trouble with Peter or Hughes.

"Let's set a few ground rules here, Neal. Knowing your reputation, I want to search your bag before and after. Just to make sure you don't pawn off anything you may be trying to hide and make it look like Frank had it, or take off with anything valuable that Frank might have had. I'm sure this is probably valuable plunder to you. You know, one man's trash is another man's treasure."

Neal simply opened the bag, not at all concerned that Jones would find anything out of the ordinary.

"Knock yourself out. I have nothing to hide, at least not this time."

Neal flashed his mega-watt smile, as if daring Jones to find illegal contraband on his person. Jones looked in the bag and was surprised to find just a few tools and some latex gloves.

"Ok. You can get started. There really isn't a whole lot left to search; just this stack of boxes on this wall over here. Otherwise it's just random old dusty furniture."

"I'm just here to help, Jones. Many hands make light work."

Jones looked at Neal suspiciously, but didn't make a comment as he started to rifle through another box. The other two FBI Agents that Neal surmised were rookies due to their youthful appearance and exuberance had arrived earlier with Jones and were sorting through several other boxes on the other side of the storage unit. They didn't bother to acknowledge Neal's presence.

Neal pulled out a pair of the latex gloves and slipped them on as he wandered around the large storage unit, randomly wiping his fingers in the thick dust. If I were a Vermeer painting, where would Frank hide me? The light bulb went on in Neal's head. Random old dusty furniture Jones had said…that would be perfect.

##

Diana glanced up as Elizabeth entered Grace's room. Elizabeth quietly walked over to Diana, motioning at Grace.

"How is she doing?"

"Well, if you don't count feeling like I was hit by a Mac truck, then I'm great."

Elle looked up in surprise, not expecting Grace to be awake, much less talking.

Diana stood up, deciding to let them have a few moments alone.

"I'm going to run down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee; I'll be just outside if you need anything."

"Thanks, Diana."

Elle turned away as Diana left, walked over to the bed and reached for one of Grace's hands.

"I'm Elizabeth, Peter's wife. I'm glad to finally meet you. I can't say I've heard much about you, but I'm glad you're feeling better."

"The doctor said it looked much worse than it was. It hit my shoulder, but they seemed to patch me up just fine. Is Peter with you? I thought he was going home to see you."

"He and Neal are still working on the case."

"Neal? I thought…I thought Peter shot Neal. I thought Neal was dead."

"Dead? Oh my goodness, Grace, no, he's not dead. Neal was wearing a bullet proof vest, although Peter didn't know that at the time. Neal is fine. He just had a few minor bruises; nothing to worry about. He and Peter are going to find out who did this; they will. They are both very good at what they do; they just usually disagree on how to get there."

"I've tried to follow Peter's career, but Frank found out and was incredibly mad. It never once occurred to me that he might be jealous. Even the fights with Peter years ago, they all seem so insignificant now, so petty."

"That's what happens when we get older, hopefully we become wiser and we are able to look back and reflect on what we can do better in the future."

"You are a remarkable woman, Elizabeth. I can see why Peter married you."

##

In the previous hour, Neal had examined all the furniture and even found a few smaller works of art that he recognized and knew were stolen. He picked them up and brought them over to the two rookie FBI Agents who had been ignoring him earlier. He would have alerted Jones, but Neal decided it would be a good thing to establish right off the bat with the rookies that he was Agent Burke's consultant and deserved a certain amount of attention and would hopefully gain some respect. Neal walked forward and extended his right hand holding the two paintings with his left.

"Hey, guys, my name is Neal Caffrey, I'm an art consultant for Agent Peter Burke. You may have heard of him."

Neal watched and waited for the response. He saw the moment the name clicked and they both looked at him with big eyes. The taller of the two couldn't resist elbowing the other, commenting.

"You're Peter Burke's consultant? We've heard all about you."

"I see my reputation precedes me. I hope it's nothing too scary, you know how rumors start. You can never believe everything you hear."

Neal flashed a conspiratorial grin specifically designed to intimidate the rookies. From the looks on their faces, Neal was certain he had. He held out the paintings, switching one over to his right hand and offering one to each.

"Anyway, I came over here because I found something you might be interested in. I'm pretty sure these two pieces are on your watch list for stolen art. I'd bag them and tag them if I were you before Jones gets wind of this. I'm sure even Hughes will be impressed."

The two FBI Agents were in a tizzy about how important it would be to impress Hughes and how proud he would be when he saw the art work they had found. They each took the painting Neal handed them and were each carefully wrapping it and sealing it in a plastic bag; reminding each other about the importance of labeling them to preserve the all important chain-of-evidence concept. Neal was trying to stifle a laugh at their enthusiastic response. He wondered how long it would take to break them in and lose that enthusiastic spirit. For now at least, he was glad they were distracted.

Neal had been waiting for an opportunity to check out a few specific furniture pieces in more detail, away from prying eyes, when Jones' phone rang. Neal saw him step outside the storage unit to take the call. Neal could hear a few words and phrases; it sounded like he was talking to Diana about Grace. It sounded like Grace would be ok. Neal breathed a sigh of relief; one less thing for him to worry about.

Sensing his opportunity to investigate some specific pieces of furniture more thoroughly while the rookies were distracted and Jones was on the phone, Neal quietly slipped back over to an old dresser in the far corner of the storage shed. There were random old pieces of furniture covered in cobwebs and boxes everywhere, so the dresser didn't look at all out of place. When he first had quickly rummaged through the drawers, he had noticed that the bottom drawer sounded different than the others, but he didn't want to draw any special attention to it at the time. He quickly knelt down and withdrew a metal file from his bag and carefully inserted it into the corner of the drawer. He slowly pulled up on the cheap plywood revealing another compartment below where a dusty piece of canvas was resting. Neal quickly looked over his shoulder and could see the rookies still discussing who was going to tell Hughes what and who was going to get the credit; even though neither of them had actually found either of the paintings. Neal smiled, that was definitely one of the problems with being a forger. Unless you wanted to get caught by signing your work, you could almost never claim credit for your actual work because it was always a reproduction and never an original. Refocusing on the task at hand, Neal carefully slipped the canvas out to reveal a very dirty and dusty portrait of a musical scene painted long ago by Johannes Vermeer. Neal could hardly contain his excitement as he quickly rolled the canvas up and slipped it into the secret compartment at the bottom of the bag; the magnetic clasp sealing it shut; leaving no evidence of buttons or zippers. Neal quickly shut the drawer and stood up just before Jones re-entered the storage locker. Jones spotted Neal and made his way to the back.

"Find anything Neal?"

"Actually, yes. I gave your two rookie agent friends some paintings that I know are on the art registry list as being stolen. Obviously, you'd have to have them tested, but they look like they could be originals to me. I have to laugh though, I find the paintings and your rookie friends are out there congratulating themselves on a job well done. I should at least be congratulated for not sneaking them out myself."

"You sure there aren't more in your bag?"

Neal refused to dignify Jones' comment with a response, and Jones had paused for just a second, still processing Neal's earlier comment.

"How did you know they were rookies?"

"Are you really serious, Jones? Come on, it's pathetically obvious."

"No it's not. Never mind. I think we've covered everything, are you ready to go?"

"I'd hate to overstay my welcome. Here's my bag; be my guest. Check away."

Neal handed over the bag to Jones, completely assured of the security of the hidden compartment and knowing that the added weight from the canvas was fairly nominal; it wasn't like Jones had weighed the bag on the way in.

Jones wasn't sure what to make of Neal. He had honestly thought Neal would put up more resistance against Jones searching his things; grumbling about his privacy rights being violated or some such things…as if a convicted criminal should have any anyway.

Jones looked through the bag and didn't see anything new or absent to indicate Neal was taking anything away from the scene. Jones handed the bag back to Neal. He was impressed, but still feeling that this was too easy. After all, it had taken Peter three years of chasing Neal to finally catch him, and it had never been this easy. He did give Neal an apologetic glance though and attempted to apologize for his lack of trust.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Neal. Old habits die hard I guess; maybe I should follow Peter's lead and trust you a bit more. After all, you have been a huge help to the department. I'm also impressed that you just let my fellow rookie agents, have the paintings. No questions asked."

"Beginner's luck?"

Jones shot Neal a look that expressed total disbelief.

"Ok. Fine. Just before Peter was taken, he told me to do the right thing. Turning over those paintings was the right thing to do, Jones. Besides, I don't need the heat. I only want to help Peter and Grace right now. I did overhear a few words while you were on the phone. Is Grace going to be ok?"

"Yes, actually. She's out of surgery and she should be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but it didn't hit anything vital, so she should have no problems recovering. Diana said Elle was with her at the hospital as well."

"Ok. Thanks, Jones."

Neal was grateful that Elle was at least safe with Diana at the hospital; another weight that seemed to be lifted off his shoulders. Now he just had to rescue Peter. Neal started to walk out of the storage unit, but Jones stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and turned Neal slightly to face him.

"I'm sorry we didn't find what we were really looking for. Maybe Frank never had it to begin with."

"I guess we'll never know, Jones. It doesn't do me much good though. What am I going to tell the kidnappers? I'm sure they'll be very understanding about this whole mix up."

"If there's anyone that can charm them, it's you Caffrey. Get Peter back. We're all counting on you."

"Thanks, I guess. I do appreciate the compliment."

"Did you want a ride back to headquarters?"

"Oh, no thanks. I'm beat. I think I'll head back to June's, if you don't mind. I need to be fresh for the meeting tomorrow."

"Ok. Call me if you need back up or anything."

Neal turned and started the walk back to the front of the complex, pulling out his phone to call for a cab. As he closed the phone, he stopped for just a minute and finally allowed himself to breathe deeply before he resumed his walking pace. He had to admit, he was tempted to keep the painting. He had the original Vermeer painting of The Concert; the painting that had been lost for 20 years and it was his, all his. He had found it when no one else could. Neal congratulated himself on being a master thief, yet again. Who said he had lost his touch? Seconds later though, he was shocked when he realized that somewhere along the line his motives had changed; when had this happened? He realized he had no desire to fence the painting and make a monetary fortune anymore. Worse yet, this time he really just wanted to save Peter and take down the scoundrels that had kidnapped him and hurt Grace. What kind of con man had he become? When had he developed a conscience? Neal knew that the choice was his. He had been given another opportunity to do the right thing or the wrong thing; Peter trusted him to do the right thing. Peter trusted him. No one had ever trusted him before and now it was Peter's life that was at stake if he made the wrong decision.

##

Mozzie rang the doorbell at the Burke's home. He waited for a minute or two, but no one came to the door. Neal hadn't indicated if he thought Mrs. Suit would be home, but it was getting near dinner time, so she should be. Still not getting a response, Mozzie pulled out his tool set and had the lock picked in less than a minute. He quietly stepped into the house, hoping Satch was not in attack mode.

"Mrs. Suit? It's Moz. Neal sent me."

Moz waited for a few seconds, but still didn't hear a response. She must not be home. Moz took a few more steps into the home and saw the painting still setting near the fireplace. He carefully pulled out Neal's forgery of The Concert from the velvet covering and rolled it up and inserted it into a black tube Neal had given him. The big bouquet of flowers that Elle had signed for, along with the painting, was still sitting on the dining room table. Mozzie carefully avoided them; convinced someone had probably sprayed them with a chemical to congeal all of his brain cells. He had already been exposed to it once today; twice was just too much. Mozzie was about to leave when he heard the front door jiggle. He set the tube down by the wall and flattened himself against the nearby bookshelf so that he couldn't be seen from the front door. Mozzie heard footsteps approaching as the intruder slowly entered as if they were intently looking for something. The steps were much too heavy to be a woman's, so it couldn't possibly be Elle. Mozzie looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon; and the only viable option seemed to be the very flower vase Mozzie had been desperately trying to avoid. As much as he was convinced the flowers were somehow poisoned, he realized he didn't have a better idea, and had no time to look for anything else. He quietly tiptoed back to the table to grab the vase, and then edged back to the bookshelf to wait for the intruder to pass in front of him. Seconds later, Mozzie swung the vase as hard as he could, smashing the ceramic structure into the base of the intruder's skull. The now limp body dropped instantly, the gun with an attached silencer dropping from the intruder's hand and clattering to the ground. Shards of ceramic pieces, water and flowers scattered everywhere. Mozzie briefly hoped that Elle wouldn't be too upset at the mess as he reached for his cell phone and hit the speed dial number for Neal.

"Hey, Moz. I'm on my way back to my place. Where are you?"

Mozzie ignored his question, and instead issued a command in a rather stern voice that Neal was not used to hearing from him.

"I need Junior Suit at Suit's place. NOW! There's an intruder. I think they were trying to get Mrs. Suit. I hit him with a vase, but I'm not sure how long he'll be out. I've only seen one so far, but there could be others."

"Ok. Just breathe, Moz. I just left Jones, but I'll call him right away. Hang tight."

Mozzie hung up the phone and hurried through the swinging door into the kitchen. He located a drawer of odds and ends and hurriedly dug through it until he found a roll of gray tape. Walking back out to the dining room, he quickly bound the intruder's hands and feet hoping to at least immobilize the intruder until Junior Suit showed up with backup. Mozzie waited until he finally heard the sirens, grateful the intruder was still out, before he quickly let himself out the back door, not about to be caught with Neal's forgery in his sweaty hands.

##

Neal opened his apartment door to find Alex standing there and stepped aside to let her in.

"So, Mozzie tells me you need help with a con and that somehow Peter was kidnapped? What's in it for me?"

"Hello to you too, Alex."

"I don't have time for petty chit chat, Neal; I do have things I could be doing. What's the take? This had better be good. I already gave up the music box for you."

"A forged copy of Vermeer's The Concert."

Alex laughed out loud, placing her hands on her hips in a defiant posture; her body language screaming that she definitely did not believe Neal.

"I help you with this, and I get a copy of Vermeer's The Concert? Did I just hear that correctly?"

Neal smiled his mega-watt smile trying to convince Alex to go along with his caper as he shrugged, palms upturned.

"What can I say? Small favor; big reward. It should at least help pay the bills. Fence it internationally, I don't care, but we're going to nail the thieves that shot Grace and kidnapped Peter."

"Ok. I'm in. What do I have to do?"