Hi everyone! I know, I know, the time between these updates seems to grow and grow. I'm sorry for that if any of you are waiting for this story (if that's the case it makes my life!). Unfortunately tho, I do have a life - specifically one at university which keeps me very busy. So though I am sorry, my current priorities don't particularly lie (see what I did there?) with pumping out this fic. So you will receive this story in drips and drabs. Bear with! The chapters will come! ANYWAY - I really do hope you enjoy!

Chapter 6

The FBI office was in constant movement. At first glance, it seems like an overwhelming mess of people. But overtime Neal began to discern reason amongst the madness. He mentally named each group, noting the standing of every agent.

There were three main ones. 'Underlings' buzzed from desks to coffee machines, arms full of papers and steaming cups. Eager eyes and busy feet. They didn't have desks of their own so they moved freely though the mess. They were the worker bees. They switched their jobs at a whim, often balancing many at once. This contrasted with the 'Workers'. These agents where less youthful. They were not interns with hopeful eyes and dreams of changing the world. They moved through the office purposefully, part of a finely tuned machine. Circling occasionally, they always returned to their desks. The 'Workers' left and returned at their own bidding, a luxury the 'Underlings' did not have. Finally, there was the 'Overlords'. Named for their offices which are located overlooking the open-plan mess below, well, and for Neal's tendency towards the dramatic. These were the people with real power. They ran the show.

Neal smiled at one of the "Underlings" named Lee. Lee smiled back. He seemed more relaxed than his co-workers. Perhaps Neal could squeeze some information from him – like the location of evidence lock up.

Peter walked by Neal's desk.

"Anything yet?" he questioned, pulling Neal from his reverie.

"No, not yet." Neal sighed, his mind switching track from his current con to his current case.

The agent was still looking at him, waiting.

"I keep going over it, the house's security, the interviews of White, the pictures and analysis of the paintings stolen, the style of the art. It doesn't offer any hints as to who did this." Neal swivelled in his chair, his voice growing in volume as he spoke. "Then there's the question of the illegitimacy of White's art collection. Where did he get his collection from? Did he know any of it was fake? There are too many unknown variables."

Something tugged at Neal memory as he flicked through the files. He couldn't place it.

A smile flickered over Peter's face. He paused, considering. "Is it not in the interview transcripts?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head.

"Well, why don't we go ask him?" Peter asked.

"What?" Caffrey.

"White," Peter replied. "Why don't we interview him?"

Neal smiled. "I thought you already did that," he pointed out.

"We did, but I'm sure he won't mind if we pop round again to ask a few more questions. It is his paintings we are attempting track after all."

Neal jumped from his chair, eager to get out of the office and followed Peter out the door. They two were accompanied by almost jealous looks from a few of the 'underlings'. Apparently interviewing a witness was something they had yet to do. Neal noted their faces, crossing them off the list targets for his con. For this to work, he needed someone sympathetic, not envious.

Mr White's house was a half hour drive from the precinct. An elegant 19th-century mansion, it rose proudly, confident in its rightful place. People came and went, but this building remained standing. Peter and Neal were ushered inside by a maid and quickly lead through a series of corridors to a decorative room and asked, kindly, to wait. Tall bookshelves bordered the back wall, while the room covered with large paintings. Peter took a seat in one of the chairs situated near the centre of the room.

Neal wandered the around the walls, eyes flicking over the various volumes and tomes. Towering oak bookshelves reached to the ceiling. A smile flashed across his face as he came across a book he was familiar with.

Neal continued to walk around the room. The paintings were decorated with intricate golden frames. Filled with cavernous, dark colours, the art seemed to sink into the walls. Burying itself deep within the building.

"Only look. No touching," Peter warned, as he watched Neal from the corner of his eye.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Neal replied absently. He was busy analysing a rather gruesome painting that he was surprisingly unfamiliar with. It depicted a man standing on a battle field, slain soldiers beneath his feet. Their expressions were painted in painful accuracy. Shivering, Neal moved on.

Neal was just admiring the exquisite brushwork on one of the paintings when he was interrupted by footsteps. The door open as Mr White waltzed in.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," he smiled a smile that was anything but apologetic.

Mr White's smile was what one would call a defining feature. A rather friendly feature that would be an asset if his white teeth weren't quite so disconcerting. They glared an unnatural light. Threateningly large, they seemed to be preparing to snap, to bite.

"I'm afraid I got caught up in with some business. You're with the FBI?"

"Agent Peter Burke," Peter replied, shaking White's hand in greeting.

"And this is my associate Neal -."

"-Caffrey," Neal interrupted. The 'associate' stepped forward and confidently shook White's hand. The young con flashed a smile to rival White's own.

As Peter and White began the pleasantries of conversation something began to tug on Neal's mind. He found his eyes pulled back to the gruesome heroic painting he saw before.

"This is quite the art collection you have here Mr White," Neal stated.

"Well thank you," White smiled. "I've spent most of my life building it. I'm quiet the art lover. Even dabbled a little myself."

"You paint?" Neal asked.

"Oh yes!" White grinned, clearly pleased to discuss his artistic talents.

ConArtist101: People like to talk about themselves, give them an opening to do so and you never know what sort of useful information will come spilling out.

"Yes, a couple of these paintings displayed in this very room are mine, if from my earlier more youthful years. Like that renaissance imitation over there," White gestured towards the very same gruesome painting that had court Neal's eye. "I painted that in my early twenties."

Telling information indeed.

"The craftsmanship is stunning!" Neal complemented.

"You do many paintings?" he pushed on, causally eyeing White's mannerisms and expressions.

"It's more of a hobby than anything," White replied, "Oh! I'm a terrible host, I've offered you no refreshments. Mary? Yes, could kindly bring in a tray of drinks and snacks? Thank you."

Peter had been watching the interaction between his young charge and his witness with growing interest. At first, when the conversation verged off track, he thought to intervene. But Neal's words were to purposeful, his posture to posed, his interest to genuine. In the few weeks that they had been together, Peter had begun to spot when Neal was putting on a show. There was a purpose to this line of questioning.

If there was anything else Peter learned the past few weeks living with a closed off, talkative, con artist; it's how to spot a redirect, and White's one was staring him in the face.

"I'm fine. Thank you," Peter commented waving away food. He stepped up to analyse the painting White had gestured too.

There was one thing they hadn't yet considered.

"This is fantastic! My hobby is baseball. I don't know all that much about art but this could be your profession. Ever sell any art?" Peter asked.

It's so simple.

He caught Neal's eye and saw realisation dawn on him. In a second it was gone, replaced by his casual smile and eye's scanning the painting before him.

So obvious.

"A pipe dream, really. I'm just a collector. My life has always been in my business. I do hope you recover my paintings, with the amount of tax I pay this country I would expect faster results."

So ridiculously unlikely.

Could there be two art forgers in that room?

THANK YOU FOR READING! Let me know what you'll think! Reviews are AMAZING (and super motivating) so if you enjoyed this drop me a line. I'm also open to critical feedback as I am always looking to improve my writing. Hope your having a wonderful day! Xx