A/N: So I decided I don't care what you guys think- I'm actually enjoying this piece. So when I thought of a continuation of the story, I decided to run with it. It's mostly Peter and Elizabeth's POV (third person), but if you wait long enough, there's a Neal in there once or twice.
A/N: If I owned White Collar, I would not be sitting here writing fan fic. I mean, I love you guys, but not that much.
Elizabeth found herself sitting in a cold metal chair with her hands handcuffed behind her back in a well lit room with no windows and damp walls. If she was going to hazard a guess, she'd bet she was in some sort of basement. Not good.
However, she wasn't dead, and she was no longer being held at gunpoint, so she decided to call this a high point in the dangerous game she found herself in.
"Hey!" She shouted as she realized her kidnapper was leaving the room. "Hey! What's going on?"
"Don't bother—they're just minions," a soft voice whispered behind her, and out of her peripheral vision, El saw a mess of matted dirty blonde hair and green eyes glancing at her. She took another moment and realized the girl's clothes were torn and bloodied, and she looked pale from stress.
"God—" the brunette began, but the younger girl interrupted again.
"Shh," she hissed, and El could hear the echo of footfalls from the hallway outside. "There's not a lot of time. I can help you, but you've got to talk fast. Who are you, and how are you connected to Keller?"
"Matthew Keller?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. How many times was that man going to be responsible for trying to destroy her life?
"Yes, Matthew Keller," the blonde replied impatiently. "Psychotic bad guy with a cockney accent. Come on—name and connection. Hurry."
"My name is Elizabeth Burke, and my husband works for the FBI—he's arrested Keller for murder before, and was kidnapped by him just a few months ago, but he escaped."
"Elizabeth Burke with the FBI?" the other repeated, processing the information. "I can work with that." Just then, the lock began turning. "Don't say a word."
El turned to watch the same brute that had manhandled her into an SUV earlier that night entering the room, carrying a camera and newspaper in his hand.
"Hey Tyrell—no Buckingham today?" the girl's voice spoke up hoarsely.
"I'd be careful, Worm," the man said gruffly. "You keep saying that, your father may get less back than he thinks."
"And if that was your call, I might be more concerned," she scoffed, and Elizabeth flinched as she heard the hard smack of a hand connecting with a cheek.
"Don't push your luck," he growled. "Keller never said you had to be conscious for any of this." He roughly shoved the newspaper against her chest. "Smile."
El heard a camera click, and watched as he batted the dirtied paper onto the floor and walked out the door, footfalls echoing down the hall.
The other girl took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, taking a moment to spit blood toward the wall. "I can maybe buy you a syllable in what's coming, so make it a good one."
"What? I don't—" none of this made any sense to El.
"I've got a plan," the blonde interrupted. "You need to stay quiet, but on my signal you get one sound, okay?" Suddenly the lock quietly clicked open. "Just wait for it."
El was confused, but she had spent enough time with Peter and Neal to recognize the whirring cogs of an unspoken plan, so she thought quickly.
"Hey Buckingham," the girl smiled.
"Hey Booker," a different man, bearded and stocky, replied as he slid the door closed. "Same deal?"
"This time I want assurances," she told him. "I want proof he gets the message."
"What, you want me to hand it to him? No way."
"How am I supposed to know you're not just taking my five grand and tossing the tape? No way, I want something."
"We all want something. I could just walk away and Daddy gets nothing but the mug shot."
A long pause, followed by the blonde sighing. "Fine. Five grand now—"
"From a different account. I want to make sure I can't be traced."
"Five grand now; five more after I get proof of the transfer."
The man nodded, pulling out a small tape recorder. El listened as a small beep sounded, and he barked, "Talk."
The night felt eternal for all of them. Peter and Neal had remained at home, trying to figure their way around discussing the treasure at the Bureau as much as possible. Peter wasn't sure that he wouldn't throw Neal back in prison, but he knew he needed him for this last case at least.
Neal had spent most of the night making calls—anyone that he could contact to find Mozzie, Keller, or El. And the only thing he knew by the first rays of light was that Mozzie hadn't been heard from for the last eight hours (more than enough time to disappear if the score was already packed).
As for Peter, he scoured his computer for every file, every contact, the Bureau had on Keller: anything that he could potentially trace to a lead on El. He originally sent Jones and Diana to the unit address Neal had given them with no luck, and when Neal had informed him that Mozzie (and subsequently the treasure) were off the grid, the conversation between the two was reduced to clipped statements.
When they walked into the office, the undercurrent was even more tense. Officially Peter wasn't part of the investigation, since that was against policy, but neither Rice (who was taking charge of the investigation) or even Hughes had the heart to tell him to go home, and so he and the conman situated themselves to his office.
Peter purposely avoided Neal's flitting glances toward him in between staring at his file. He wasn't ready to talk about anything but ways to get his wife back, and he still couldn't hold eye contact without seeing red. So he took to staring at his computer screen, using momentary breaks to pace to the door and glance out into the bullpen.
Both men looked up as they heard footsteps approaching, and watched hopefully as Diana pushed through the door.
"Boss, got a phone call," she told him.
"El?" he asked.
She shook her head. "But we think it might be a lead."