Chapter 5: Love Is in the Air

Donatella's, Brooklyn. December 4, 2004. Saturday evening.

When Peter and Neal arrived at Donatella's, they were early for dinner and were the only ones in the restaurant.

Peter ordered a plate of calamari with his beer. "Do you want a glass of wine?" he asked Neal. He supposed one glass was acceptable, but if Neal said to bring the bottle, there'd be words.

"Thanks, I'll pass," Neal said sheepishly, waving it off. He looked fully recovered from his previous night's adventure. They were both going to sleep better tonight.

Donatella's was a neighborhood institution only a few blocks from their house and a Burke family favorite. Peter liked the way the hostess greeted him at the door as if she was welcoming an old friend into her home. The exposed brick walls and rustic floor tile gave a casual feel to the place. The tables were spaced far enough apart that diners could engage in relaxed conversation without shouting at each other and the booths along the walls were comfortable with an extra measure of privacy. A holiday addition was the large Christmas tree which had been set up next to the hearth fireplace. Soft Venetian music was playing in the background.

"I can see why you like this restaurant so much," Neal commented. "How long have you been coming here?"

"Close to four years now. It's been the scene of many a birthday and anniversary celebration. We'll have to make a return trip with El." The hostess had seated them at Peter's favorite corner booth. Pete tore off a piece of hot Italian bread. "How'd your fencing match go?"

Neal raised his glass of water to Peter. "You can chalk up another triumph for the Burke pickle juice elixir. Fortunately, my competition was having a bad day. So even though I wasn't at the top of my game, I was able to squeak by."

From his look of satisfaction, Neal was being modest. Peter wasn't surprised at the outcome. Neal was tougher than he appeared. "I bet Fiona was impressed."

"She wants to come to more competitions, so I must not have disgraced myself too badly." The waitress served the plate of sizzling calamari and grated a generous amount of Parmesan over them.

"I enjoyed talking with her at Thanksgiving," Peter said. "You should bring her over for dinner sometime."

Neal's eyes widened. "Sure ... maybe." He tried to shrug off what apparently was an unsettling topic. "Big step, you know."

Neal reminded him of how he'd felt when he was dating in college. He couldn't remember if he'd ever invited anyone to meet his parents. For all his veneer of sophistication, Neal still seemed very young sometimes. "It'd just be dinner, Neal, not a prenuptial grilling. We could talk to El first and get her to promise not to play matchmaker."

"Yeah, I already have one love mentor in my life," Neal admitted. "I don't think there's room for more."

"Who's your mentor?" Peter asked, taking a drink of his beer. He'd lay odds it was Henry.

"Mozzie."

Peter snorted, almost choking on his beer. "First of all, I wouldn't think you needed one, and to have Mozzie of all people—"

Neal interrupted him with a gesture with his hand, "I didn't think I needed one either. Trust me, the irony of having a man whose own love life is, shall we say somewhat limited, volunteer to be my guide in romance doesn't escape me."

"And what, pray tell, is your love mentor advising you?"

"Mozzie is a strict adherent to the love 'em and leave 'em school. To the best of my knowledge, he's never gotten to the point of loving 'em, so he's frustrated about not being able to leave 'em. I appear to have become his lab rat." Neal sighed slowly. "The only solution I can see is to find someone for Mozzie so he'll lay off me."

"Good luck with that challenge."

Neal looked at him hopefully. "You don't think El would be interested in helping?"

"You could try ... She likes Mozzie. But, honestly, among all her friends that I've met, I don't know of anyone who'd appreciate—and I'm being kind here—Mozzie's unique perspective. Besides, if you're asking me to recommend Mozzie as a date for someone, sorry, kid, but that's not gonna happen."

"I understand. I'm doomed." Neal sniffed appreciatively the scampi the waiter had set in front of him. "Did you make any progress on the godfather front?"

Peter sliced into his scaloppini. "Yes, we did. Diana joined me in the office and together we poured through the records Nakahara provided. We looked for a travel pattern that matched where the robberies had taken place. Several of the directors make frequent inspections of the various branches so it wasn't that clear-cut. However, one name floated to the top—Leonard Stratton. He's a managing director and specializes in mergers and acquisitions."

"Stratton? Hiroki and Shogo haven't mentioned him. Have you found any connection between them and Stratton?"

"They worked with Stratton on several M&A transactions. And this will interest you, I know. One of those transactions took them to Sydney."

"Same time as the bond theft?"

"You got it. Stratton was also in Rome around the time of that theft. There's no record of Hiroki and Shogo being there, but they could have traveled there on personal time or Stratton could have used others for the actual theft."

"What's his profile?"

"He's an American, fifty-two years old. He's been in his present post for five years. Stratton has an expensive lifestyle with a young wife, yacht, Manhattan townhouse, and a house in the Hamptons. He may have overextended himself and is dipping into the pot now." Peter glanced at the photo again before passing it on to Neal. Stratton's brown hair was artistically streaked with gray—probably a dye job. The guy looked suave and self-assured. How easy would it be to rattle him?

"The managing directors are on one of the upper floors. I could—"

"—Not necessary," Peter said, shaking his head. "You're looking at Peter Morris, Internal Bank Auditor, for Azuma Bank."

"You're working undercover with me on a case? Ditching your straight-as-an-arrow persona to be a corrupt bank executive?" Neal grinned mischievously. "This could be entertaining ... Wait. Can you fake being corrupt? I could give you a few pointers."

"Not getting nervous about me, are you? I'll have you know I've questioned more than enough corrupt businessmen to get into their mindset. I'll have no problem."

"You're sure you don't need to first go through bank auditor boot camp?"

"That won't be necessary," Peter said firmly. "Merely handling the taxes for El's business is keeping my accounting skills nicely honed. Nakahara has already made the arrangements. I'll start work Monday morning."

"How will we play it?"

"Morris will discover irregularities in Stratton's files and put the squeeze on him. Morris is lacking in the ethics department himself. He very well may turn out to be more ruthless than Stratton. I hope I can find an actual irregularity and not have to invent something."

"I can help with that. I'll spread the word on the trading floor about you on Monday. Hiroki or Shogo may take the bait and try to warn Stratton."

"Good idea." Peter was looking forward to going undercover. He'd had few opportunities recently, and this role was tailor-made for him. "Another report came in while I was at the office, and in the interest of full disclosure, I want to share it."

Neal paused with his fork in mid-air, his eyes locking onto Peter. "Azathoth?"

Peter understood his impatience. They were both frustrated over the lack of progress in the search for the cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth who'd kidnapped them in October. "We have a lead on the house where we were held. The research department has been combing through the financial records of the owner, a plastic surgeon who lives in Montreal. He'd inherited the house in New Jersey eight years ago. There's one item in his records that's raised a flag. In November, the owner received a large payment from an Austrian biotech company named Maier Bioscience. He claimed it was for research but refused to give any specifics, citing the confidentiality agreement he'd signed. Maier has also declined to elaborate. Four years ago, in 2000, the owner also received three large payments from the same company."

"So we're looking at a possible connection between Azathoth and Montreal and Austria?"

"That's right. So far the only reports of the glowing branch malware being used in museum robberies are here in the States, but I'm convinced there's an angle with Europe. Interpol will monitor Maier's overseas activities. We've put the company on our watch list. Jones is researching their business operations in the States."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not till we have more information." Neal didn't look satisfied with his response, but Peter trusted him to realize that until Azathoth made another move in the States, he was out of their jurisdiction. The waiter carried away their plates and brought them coffee. Neal's appetite had returned with a vengeance. From the way he devoured everything on his plate, they would need dessert too. "Would you like some cheesecake?"

"Please," Neal said quickly and then made an embarrassed gesture. "What was in that pickle juice anyway? I've been ravenous all day."

Peter laughed. "It has the same effect on me. Dad swears the recipe goes back to our Viking ancestors."

Neal's face lit up. "So you admit you have Viking blood. I knew it! The Burke pickle-juice elixir is how your ancestors could go out pillaging after a long night of feasting and wenching in the mead hall. I need the recipe."

"I dunno." Peter hesitated, stroking his chin. "It's a powerful weapon. You have to promise to use it wisely."

"You have my word, and ... as long as you're writing down formulas, you don't happen to have a formula for a Viking love potion?"

Peter eyed him with pity. "I feel your pain, but even if I knew of one, I couldn't do that to the women of the world."

Over amaretto cheesecake, Peter decided to broach the topic he'd been saving for the right moment. "Diana and I had a discussion this afternoon about an incident at work. She wanted to alert me to some office gossip she heard from a colleague." Peter paused and checked Neal's reaction, but the news didn't appear to resonate with him. "It was about some agents giving you a hard time over Fowler. She didn't have the names but the incident sounded unpleasant. Anything you'd like to add?"

"My fan club could use a little work," Neal said, shrugging it off.

"If you're being harassed, you should report it."

"That would make it worse. I'm not surprised that Fowler still has friends at the FBI. It'll blow over."

"You should have told me."

Neal shook his head. "I'm already considered your pet by some. If I run to you every time someone makes a disparaging comment, that will only reinforce the impression."

#

After dinner, Peter and Neal left for the Fort Greene Playhouse. Many of the seats had already been taken when they arrived. This was the first community theater event Neal had attended, and he didn't know what to expect. How amateurish would it be? Would El be worse or better than the others? Neal was familiar with Broadway performances. He'd seen Shakespeare in London. What would Agatha Christie in Brooklyn be like?

It was startling to realize he was having the kind of nervousness for El that a parent might experience over his kid. Would he have to dig deep into his con man reservoir to praise her performance afterward? Looking over at Peter, Neal could tell that he was also growing tense.

Their fears were groundless. The production was outstanding, and El was easily the star of the evening. The curtain closed on the final act of The Hollow to the sound of thunderous applause. The actors had played the mystery with a large sprinkling of humor and milked each character's idiosyncrasies to the hilt, much to the enthusiastic appreciation of everyone there.

"El stole the show," Neal told Peter as they made their way back to the dressing rooms. "You'll need to fight off the talent reps from Hollywood."

Peter's face was flushed with pride. "The audience was really into the mystery. Did you notice that some of them were taking out binoculars to scan the faces of the actors for clues?"

"I hardly recognized El in her red hair. She looked every inch the diva, and a very sexy one at that. Peter, you should have her keep the wig."

"You remember Janet Dodson, the costume designer?"

"How could I forget the person who outfitted us so regally as Romans for N-Con? She's a genius with costumes."

"Janet volunteered for the play. She insisted El wear the wig, and coupled with that black slinky dress, she was a knock-out."

Neal grinned at him. "Still smoking, are you?" El had told them to go backstage after the play. From there, they'd go together to the after-party. As Neal and Peter walked down the back corridor, Neal noticed a furtive shape ducking around the corner. Wearing a large hat and immense muffler with dark glasses, he looked like Truman Capote. The height, the walk—it had to be Mozzie. But why hadn't he mentioned he was coming? Neal assumed he'd already left for Hawaii.

When he and Peter arrived at the backstage rooms, they discovered a large flower arrangement on a side table addressed to El.

"Did you send these?" Peter asked Neal.

"Not me. I should have though." The arrangement included birds-of-paradise, orchids, and red gingers. They looked like one of Maggie's creations from the Aloha Emporium.

When El walked in, they greeted her with hugs and congratulations. Her eyes sparkled when she saw the flowers. "Peter, are those flowers from you? You shouldn't have."

"I wish, but they're not from me," Peter said, checking the card. "It says Your radiant presence sets the stage on fire and eclipses all others"—Peter looked over at El who was glowing at the words—"Sounds like I have a rival."

"I wouldn't be concerned," Neal said. "I believe I know who the secret admirer is. How many Truman Capotes can there be?" He explained about spotting Mozzie in the crowd.

A look of pleased astonishment crossed El's face. "He came to my play? Do you think he's still around? See if you can find him."

Neal dashed into the hallway and after a short search of the theater found the mystery man near the exit. "You made quite an impression, 'Truman,' with those flowers."

"I thought she'd like them," Mozzie said, looking pleased with the recognition.

"So much so that she wants you to join us." Persuading Mozzie didn't require much effort. As they headed backstage, Neal asked, "Why didn't you let me know you were coming? We could have sat together."

Mozzie hesitated. "This was family time. I didn't want to intrude."

"You're becoming family, too. You're the highly eccentric uncle families rarely get to see but always treasure."

"Pshaw," he mumbled, his face reddening. Neal grinned at him. When was the last time he'd seen Mozzie blush?

Even Peter greeted him warmly upon their return. "I'm going to have to redouble my surveillance of you now. Make sure you're not making any moves on my wife."

"You're safe, Suit." Kissing El's hand, he added, "I'd been planning to forge letters to Broadway agents about your performance, but now I know I won't need to. A star's been born!"

The area was filled with cast members and crew being congratulated by their supporters. Neal spotted a familiar face in the throng approaching them.

"Bravura performance!" Janet exclaimed. Janet was a tiny woman with short black spiky hair and immense glasses which gave her face an owl-like appearance. Her glasses tonight were malachite green to match a silk tunic she wore over black leggings and black suede boots. The tunic was hand-painted to resemble a dragonfly with the sleeves representing its iridescent wings.

Putting an arm around her, El said, "Janet designed our clothes, M—"

Peter quickly jumped in. "Mr. Haversham is a friend of Neal's."

"Dante Haversham, at your service," Mozzie said, bowing. "May I kiss the hand of such a talented designer?"

"Why, yes, you may," Janet said, looking amused. Eyeing his clothes, she added, "It's not often I see a man of such distinctive style in the audience."

Janet appeared quite intrigued with Mozzie, amazing as that was to contemplate. "You will stay for the after-party, won't you, Dante?" she purred.

"Please call me Mozzie," he murmured, drawing even nearer to her. "It will be my honor."

The pheromones flying between them crackled with intensity as they strolled off, leaving Neal and the others gaping in their wake. As they fell in step behind them, Neal couldn't resist giving Peter an ecstatic thumbs up.

"What's that about?" El whispered to Neal.

"I've been hoping to fix Mozzie up. Janet may be the ticket to my freedom."

"Janet and Mozzie?" El looked doubtful. "I've never met anyone she's dated, but Janet's such a creative person, and there's no doubt Mozzie's an original."

#

The after-party was held in the banquet room of a Chinese restaurant adjacent to the theater. Along one side of the room was a buffet table of appetizers with chafing dishes filled with hot hors d'oeuvres. In the corner, a table had been set up with bottles of wine provided by the participants and coolers of beer and sodas. El and Peter headed straight for the buffet. She'd been too nervous to eat most of the day, and now that the butterflies were gone, she intended to make up for it.

Neal had joined Mozzie and Janet by the drink table, and Peter was pleased to see Neal pour himself a club soda. Neal spotted Peter looking at him and gave him a grin while lifting his glass to him. Peter chuckled.

"What's so funny?" El asked.

"It's hard to believe Neal was sick last night. Maybe I should market that pickle juice."

"We could couple it with my events. I'll handle the party and you the hangovers. We'd be a one-stop-shop."

"As long as my presence isn't required," Peter said ruefully. "After last night, I want to stay as far away as I can from any hangovers."

Neal strolled back to join them and together they made the rounds of El's fellow actors and their friends. Throughout the party, Peter kept an eye on Mozzie, and Neal was too. Mozzie persisted in staying close to Janet, buzzing around her like an enraptured bee. Peter pulled Neal aside. "Is Mozzie veering into harassment territory?"

Neal shrugged. "I'll go see if Janet wants to be rescued."

Friends walked up to talk with El and Peter, and it was several minutes before Peter looked over at Janet and Mozzie again. She apparently had no desire to be saved. Neal had lingered with them.

El nudged Peter. "Aren't you curious to know what they're discussing? Let's go check it out."

"I think of the human body as a canvas for my art," Janet said as they walked up. "Costumes are a powerful statement of artistic expression. They can also act as a metaphor for our deepest desires."

"Janet's costumes have appeared in exhibitions," Mozzie told Peter and El, his face glowing with admiration. "If I'd only known, I would have gone."

"You'll soon have another chance," Janet said. "My new exhibition—The Insect Perspective—opens next month in SoHo."

"Insects?" Mozzie asked, his eyes widening.

"Yes, for the exhibit I've created costumes inspired by butterflies, grasshoppers, bees, and dragonflies." Janet's face flushed as she talked about her fascination for insects. Sometimes she worked from photographs but her preference was to take her sketchbook into the field and draw them in their natural surroundings.

Mozzie hovered ever closer to her. "I too am passionate about bees."

Mozzie's words propelled Janet to new heights of lyricism. "The fur muff of the bee's thorax combines with the metallic goth abdomen and the lace gauze of its wings with transcendental effect." Gazing into Mozzie's eyes with what only can be described as fiery ardor, she added, "Don't you find the sensuality of the bee's body to be overwhelmingly erotic?"

"Let me get you more wine," Neal murmured. "You two continue your conversation." He practically skipped away in his enthusiasm. Could the sting of a honeybee act as Cupid's arrow? Janet and Mozzie appeared to be living proof.

#

After the excitement of Saturday, Peter and El both were grateful to have a quiet day at home on Sunday. El declared it the official decorate-the-house-for-Christmas day. Usually they went to a tree farm to buy a tree, but since this year they would be in Hawaii over the holiday, they'd settled for a small artificial one. In the afternoon, Peter strung miniature lights on the patio while El hung red balls in the shrubbery. Afterward, they celebrated with an early supper in the dining room from where they could admire their handiwork.

Peter was grateful El didn't take him up on his offer to attend her evening performance. She probably thought he wanted to prepare for his undercover role, but that wasn't a concern. Thanks to Henry, he had another matter to stew about. He wished he could discuss it with El, but she was on the phone with Henry's mother Noelle on an almost daily basis. Planning a wedding in Hawaii in addition to all her other events was stressful enough.

That Henry had made an inquiry or two was not troubling in itself. Of greater concern was how far he'd take it. Recent history was not reassuring. Last spring, Henry made a deal with Kate Moreau to help her flee the country in exchange for information. He'd dragged Neal into the plan at the last minute and almost caused a catastrophe. Yes, he'd succeeded in discovering Adler was hiding in Argentina, but the reckless manner in which he endangered his and Neal's lives was unacceptable. Then this past summer, he dropped out of sight for months in an effort to bring his father to justice while at the same time working a long con to bring down a corrupt music company. Neal's concern over Henry's actions caused him to develop his own secret agenda and the layers of obfuscation and deception that went on as a result were something Peter never wanted to experience again. If Neal felt Henry was putting himself in danger to protect him, Peter would be unable to keep him out of it.

Peter looked at his watch. Eight o'clock on a Sunday evening was as good a time as any. He made himself comfortable on the couch and dialed Henry's number. He answered on the third ring and didn't appear to be surprised to hear from him. Peter opted for the low-key approach. "How's it feel to be back at work?"

"Good, although I could have gone longer without wearing a suit." Henry's voice was relaxed. "I'm not as fond of them as Neal is."

"Who would be?" Peter and Henry exchanged a few remarks about Win-Win and returning to work. Peter hoped Henry would sense the opening and bring up the subject himself, but it wasn't happening. He was polite but unrevealing in his answers. Even when Peter asked about what kind of work he'd be involved with, Henry only replied he was weighing his options.

"So you haven't started a case yet?"

"No, not yet."

Peter took a breath. So much for being subtle. "Then your inquiries about Fowler were not part of an official investigation?"

"I wondered how long it would take for you to get around to this." Henry sounded amused. Peter wasn't surprised Henry deflected his question, but it did make him wonder if Neal had picked up the technique from him.

"Who else is involved? Have you informed anyone at Win-Win?"

Henry paused at that. When he'd been missing over the summer, his grandfather Graham and Graham's wife Julia had secretly aided him with communications and research. Henry knew Peter would see them in Hawaii and could easily take it up with them there. "No, I didn't need to. All I did was nose around a little. After Neal told me what happened with Fowler, I was angry. I was in town on an unrelated matter—a meeting with a nonprofit I've started to volunteer with. I can provide you with the contact information. They'll confirm it. I knew Neal was busy that night. I decided on the spur of the moment to see what I could find out. I'm glad I did. Not that I learned anything, but doing something helped calm me down. It also made me realize I don't have the resources to pursue the matter. Fowler's your mess. I trust you to handle it."

"So you're not planning to investigate it further?" Peter asked.

"No. Even if I wanted to, without a client I'd have a hard time justifying it." Henry hesitated. "Have you told Neal?"

"Not yet."

"Good. I'd rather you not. If he thinks I'm investigating Fowler, he might try to go after Fowler himself. You don't want that."

"No, I don't." Peter grew silent as he considered what to do next. Henry's explanation was a reasonable one, but had he prepared it in advance, knowing he might have been spotted? "I'm willing to accept your word, but if at any time you resume your investigation, can I count on you to let me know?"

"I'll consider it."

"You'll do more than that. You know we can track your movements. If you don't keep me informed—"

"—you'll do what? Ground me?"

Peter's reply was prompt. "No, I'll tell Neal."

Dead silence on the other end.

Peter had known in advance what his best bargaining chip would be, and his gamble paid off. By the time they rang off, Henry had promised to notify Peter if he picked up the investigation. After the call, Peter sat back on the couch and replayed the conversation in his head. He was inclined to believe Henry that at least for the moment he wasn't actively investigating the case. How could he with Fowler in Argentina? But Peter also was willing to bet this wasn't the end of it.

#

"Help yourself to doughnuts." Neal had arrived at the trading room floor on Monday morning loaded with boxes of Christmas doughnuts for his fellow analysts. As the gang gathered around, he added cheerfully, "This is a thank you for the Friday morning coffee."

Munching on a frosted snowman doughnut, Shogo said, "I could have used some of these after poker on Friday. I was wasted. Did you have any problems?"

"Nah, I slept in but by midday I was ready to roll again." Neal savored the look of shock Shogo sent Hiroki at his words and decided to toss out an additional zinger. "I called up Tiffany and we partied all night." Friday, Hiroki and Shogo had displayed too much interest in Fiona. James Bonds would rely on Tiffany Case from Diamonds Are Forever to sideline Fiona from any further discussion.

"Was that the woman you were with at the gala?" Hiroki asked.

"No, Tiffany's a redhead. The blonde's a little too tame for my taste."

"Then you won't mind giving me her number. She looked plenty hot for me."

Maya, another analyst, approached them and provided a convenient excuse to avoid answering. "Thanks for the doughnuts, Nick," she said, helping herself to a Christmas tree doughnut.

"In Los Angeles, we always started with doughnuts on Mondays," he replied. "Nothing like a sugar rush to overcome any hangovers from the weekend."

"Great idea!" Vijay said enthusiastically. Vijay had become Neal's lifeline in navigating the treacherous waters of stock analysis. Friday afternoon he'd helped Neal with a tricky valuation analysis. He was only a little older than Neal, had a quirky sense of humor, and appreciated Neal's jokes. Neal made sure Vijay got plenty of doughnuts.

"I heard from a friend that a colleague from L.A. will be in town for the week," Neal said casually.

"Another analyst?" Shogo asked.

"No, this one's the scary sort. Internal auditor. My advice? Steer clear of him. The guy knows how to strike fear in your heart. He called me in once on a business expense claim I'd submitted. I'd taken a few friends to dinner and filed for reimbursement. It was all on the up and up, you understand. Completely justified."

Supporting murmurs of "Of course" and "Naturally" echoed among the analysts as Neal added, "In L.A. going to a nightclub is an accepted method of conducting business." He helped himself to a doughnut and continued between bites, "Well, Morris the Inquisitor didn't think so. That's our name for him. He raked me over the coals like you wouldn't believe. Not only did the jerk deny the reimbursement but he placed a reprimand in my file and made me take a course on ethics." Neal shuddered. "He made my life miserable. It was like I was shackled to him. When the chance to transfer to New York came up, I seized it. I didn't dream he'd follow me here." Neal shook his head forlornly. "I must be cursed."

"Do you think he'll make us cancel the holiday party?" Vijay asked.

"He wouldn't be that much of a Scrooge, would he?" Maya said, shocked. "My husband's already gotten a babysitter."

"How come I haven't heard about the party?" Neal asked. "When will it be?"

"This Thursday evening, on the main floor. There's music, a catered feast. Spouses and dates are welcome. You should bring Tiffany, or the blonde, or both," Shogo said. "What was the blonde's name again?"

Neal sighed to himself. Why did Fiona have to be so memorable? He needed to spin a wild tale about Tiffany to distract them. While he continued to chat with the other analysts, Neal began fabricating the adventures of Nick and Tiffany at the casinos in Vegas. In Diamonds Are Forever, James Bond had driven a moon buggy. In his version, he'd be in a golf cart. They'd sneak onto a golf course and go on a moonlit ride. Thinking about Sara made it easy to picture a crazy scenario.

Neal later overheard Hiroki and Shogo talking in Japanese. They were discussing what he'd said and what they should tell their godfather. They still didn't refer to him by name. Hopefully one of the bugs he'd placed in their jacket pockets would provide more information.

Pulling up the premiums analysis, Neal settled down for a long morning of data crunching. If he played it right, he could get Vijay to run the comparisons for him while he regaled him with outrageous stories from his days in L.A. After all, it was excellent reinforcement for Nick's playboy character, and besides, Vijay looked like he needed more practice in analyzing median share prices.

Neal had quickly discovered the flaw in the op. When Nakahara arranged for Neal to work there, they'd decided it was too risky to let his supervisor know. So Nick Halden was actually expected to produce. But with a little ingenuity, Nick shouldn't have to overexert himself.

Notes: Neal's difficulties with being considered a pet started in Caffrey Disclosure by Penna Nomen when others resented the special relationship he had with Peter. Agent Ruiz had been a problem for Neal in canon and he continues to be one in our series.