Jones tapped through his PDA and stopped with his finger hovering over a button. "Agent Burke?"

Peter lowered his coffee cup and looked over. "Uh huh?"

"Something's come down the wire, rumor about a theft being planned at the gallery. Russians, maybe."

Peter grinned. "That so? What do you think, Jones? Should we abandon our stakeout and immediately make haste to investigate?"

Jones looked thoughtfully at the window above and then picked up the last slice of cold pizza. "Yeah, after putting some uniforms on the street. And a couple of black and whites – maybe some police tape?"

"You'll go far, Agent Jones."

-o-

An hour later, Neal quick-dialed and spoke as soon as the line cleared. "Yeah, I don't think he went for it."

"Really?" Mozzie said flatly. "What gave you that idea? It's not like we're in the middle of our own crime scene. Oh. Wait."

Neal looked out the window at the suspicious number of yellow-vested workmen, randomly patrolling police officers, parked up black and whites and the phone repairman on the pole five feet away. He nodded to the man with a pleasant smile and then turned away. "It could be worse…"

"Worse? You made more cops! They brought tape." Neal heard a knocking sound down the line and Mozzie's strident tones muffled to a hiss. "And now they're outside my door. They are knocking on my door. I hope you're happy."

"They're at your place?" Neal frowned; he couldn't follow what Peter was thinking and that wasn't a position he wanted to be in. "What are they doing at your place?"

"Wait a moment, you can ask them when they seize my cell phone."

"I'll fix this," he promised, just as Mozzie hung up.

Neal stared blankly at the torn up walls for a long moment and tried to see a way to make the promise good. He couldn't abandon Kate and he couldn't give Torrio what he wanted; when you couldn't win the game, you had to change the rules.

He grabbed the box of bonds and locked it in the floor safe; it wasn't perfect but at least anyone poking around wouldn't be able to say they'd discovered the evidence in plain sight.

Then, he picked up the still sulking Mr. SchmooDeFluffikins and jogged lightly down the stairs.

He was less than ten feet out the door before a policeman dressed as a traffic warden bumped into him and inexpertly checked for – well, Neal wasn't entirely sure what they thought he was hiding: he'd left his coat off and he didn't have a bag.

Just a cat.

"Do you mind?" He tried to step around the man and found himself in a two-step dance with an officer in a yellow road worker vest. "Careful! Mr. SchmooDeFluffikins is delicate and easily distressed!"

Mr. SchmooDeFluffikins failed to look particularly delicate, or distressed, but he did seem enthralled by the street theatre that was taking place before him.

"Is this your cat?" the traffic warden asked.

"No," Neal said cheerfully. He waited a few seconds for the man's eyes to light up at the happy prospect of grand theft cat charges before he went on. "He's Mrs. Henderson's, from up the road? She's on vacation and he keeps getting out – maybe you could take him back? That's a cop thing, right?"

He thrust the cat towards the man, who backpedaled rapidly. "Hey!"

"Allergic?" Neal nodded sympathetically and dropped the cat into the arms of the road worker. Predictably, Mr. SchmooDeFluffikins began to take umbrage at the treatment and hissed as he extended his claws. By the time he was safely contained in a police cruiser, two policemen wore vividly red scratches on their hands and Neal was out of sight and without a tail.

-o-

Mozzie tugged his scarf higher and peered suspiciously through the inch-wide crack between the frame and the door that his chain allowed. Burke was in the background; the new guy was taking the lead. "You have a warrant?"

"You saying we need a warrant?" Jones crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating in the face of what seemed to be talking knitwear. It was like threatening a Muppet.

"To enter a private domicile without due cause, yes," Mozzie said indistinctly, but firmly. He wasn't impressed - bigger men than Agent Jones had crossed their arms at him - but he made a mental note to assure Neal that the man at least had impeccably groomed facial hair.

Burke stepped forward with his hands in his pockets and a smile. "You know Neal Caffrey? Kate Moreau?" He asked, rather than demanded.

Mozzie rolled his eyes at the feeble tactics. "I have no idea who you're talking about. Please go away, I have to find Mr. SchmooDeFluffikins - the merciless domination of the Federal government puts him off his food."

He pushed the door closed, but wasn't quite fast enough to stop Burke wedging the toe of his shoe in the way.

"We're not going to let him make the delivery, Russian art thieves or no, and his employers aren't going to be happy." Peter softened his tone. "Do you really think that the time he has coming is going to be worse than what they'll do? Tell him to talk to us."

Mozzie kicked the shoe out of the jamb and slammed it shut.

Jones began walking, but Burke stood where he was and rocked gently on his heels while he waited.

The door opened a fraction and a muffled voice said, "You know what I heard?"

"Nope," Burke replied, popping the 'P' and not looking up.

"If you're looking for someone, you just wait in one place and chances are they'll come to you."

This time, Peter began walking when the door closed; he dug into in his pocket as his cell began to vibrate.

Jones waited for him to catch up and then fell into step beside him. "What did that even mean?"

Peter read the text and then snapped the cell shut again. "He thinks Caffrey will come to us. I'm heading back to the hotel; you can take the rest of the night. Do whatever. See some sights."

Jones considered the short list of locations that might constitute a 'sight' and shook his head. "I'm good, thanks. You really think he'll show?"

"Given he just got past the city's finest, I'm guessing he will. Apparently he was carrying an unexploded cat. Do me a favor? Ask a uniform to run it back here. I think we've found Mr. – it."