As art museums went it was far from the largest or most impressive he had ever been in but he admitted the Phoenix Art Museum was decent… and had the advantage of being far outside the range available to him the last few years. Neal smiled a bit at that thought… one positive thing about his current situation, new museums and galleries. He would have to bring Nate here one day soon… the boy would get a kick out of the hands on children's art studio upstairs. His smile widened as he pictured the attendant's response to his son's talent. Neal ran a hand through his hair. He really needed to stop thinking of himself as Nathen's father. He was a temporary foster parent, nothing more… even if the boy did have his eyes... and smile. Ryan Bryant was Nate's father, he needed to remember that, but he couldn't help the pride that crept into his heart when the child brought home tests with perfect scores, or set up his own easel next to Neal's and painted alongside him for hours…

Neal felt some of the tension draining away. After the morning he had being here surrounded by beauty was like salve in his wounds. The appointment with the orthopedic surgeon was discouraging…at least two more surgeries to repair his ankle, one of them a bone graft. Then the physical therapy session ended with the therapist looking him in the eye and telling him to expect at least three more months in the wheelchair before he could even try to stand. Even though the news wasn't entirely unexpected it was still… frustrating. Neal realized he had been staring at the same painting for long time… he couldn't quite place what about it had caught his eye

He shifted his chair closer to painting, curiosity drawing him… George Romney wasn't his favorite artist… he hadn't spent that much time studying his work but, something felt… off as he gazed at the portrait of Anne Birch, something he couldn't quite put his finger on… he leaned in as close to the work as he dared… no need to draw attention to his movements. Keeping his hands in his lap he scrutinized the portrait of the young woman in her salmon colored gown… suddenly he knew… he didn't need to be an expert in Romney to see it…all of the paint was right for the period except the pearls on her wrist… that particular shade of white had not been created until 1800.

Neal relaxed, thoughtful. He could leave it alone… he had no obligation to report a forgery, no real reason to either right now. Well… there was Nate and setting a good example for the boy, considering his own past and his father's….discouraging the Bennett DNA in Nate seemed incredibly important. It wouldn't hurt to have an ally in local law enforcement either… of course on the other hand he really didn't need an enemy on the other side. His eyes never left the painting scanning for a clue to who the forger might be. He definitely didn't want to send trouble after a friend.

Neal's smile brightened suddenly even as a shiver ran down his spine. A tiny almost imperceptible black star, in the shadows under the plant at the bottom left of the piece. He knew under magnification the star would resemble a skull and cross bones. The investigation into this woman in New York hadn't gone well…he was grateful it hadn't been his case. Before she left town 4 paintings were missing and two men were dead. With that knowledge in mind he considered his options. Not that there was much of a decision to make…

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Peter anxiously pulled the package from his mailbox and tore it open. They came every week… paintings, drawings every style and sizes, seascapes, mountains, portrait but never anything that would give a clue to the identity or location of Neal or Nathen although one package contained a perfect life size granite sculpture of Nathen's hand. They came in boxes of all shapes…sometimes large envelopes, each one from a different post mark…Colorado, Nevada California, Michigan, Oklahoma, Minnesota, Illinois, Delaware and others… never a note, just the art, reassuring him that his friend was ok.

Todays was a portrait of a motherly looking Asian woman with a kind smile and spark of mischief in her eyes… drawn with a smooth hand in charcoal. She was captured in such detail he almost expected the dark eyes to blink. Peter had to admit he was curious who this woman was.

"Agent Burke?" agent Williams startled him out of his thoughts.

"How can I help you?"

"Actually I was hoping I could help you…" she looked nervous and disappointed

"Help me…" he looked at her closely "do what exactly?"

"Find Johnny Richards." her gaze met his unwavering "I know you are looking for him."

"I was officially removed from the case."

"I was too. Valdez doesn't seem interested in finding him… she is fixated on Caffrey. Nothing I say gets through and no one else is saying anything. I'm afraid she is losing her grip."

"She is in charge of the case and the team… they wouldn't."

"I want Lenny's killer brought to justice. I know you want to find him too."

"I do." He confirmed. "But you could get in trouble for investigating a case you were removed from."

"Do I look like I care?!" Jennifer snapped "Lenny has been dead two months! And the official team is getting nowhere. He deserves justice… Melinda and Davy deserve closure."

"Yes they do." He smiled at her "Yes they do."

"so whatever you and your team are doing … off the record… I want in."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Karl Young strode into the second floor gallery in the Phoenix art museum. The FBI office in phoenix didn't get many art theft cases. He wasn't exactly an expert on cultural things… he could appreciate a nice painting as well as the next guy but… he wasn't sure how he found himself volunteered for this. The nervous curator fluttered up to him.

"So you have a missing painting."

"It's not missing… exactly" the little man fidgeted not quite meeting Karl's eye.

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means" the voice that broke into their conversation was soft…calm and slightly breathy. "That is not really Anne Birch" Karl spun to face the man and stopped short s his gaze fell on the slim dark haired young man who appeared to be lounging casually in a wheelchair his right hand raised to point to the picture in the frame near his head. His startlingly blue eyes met Karl's with intelligence and amusement.

"How do you know that?"

"We are waiting for the authenticator to confirm his claims."

"It is a forgery" the man assured "come here… look closely at the plant in the foreground… there is a tiny black and white star in the shadow. If you look at it under magnification it will make a skull and cross bones… it's a signature, agent…"

"Young… whose signature?" He focused on the man in front of him, trying to get a read on his expression, ignoring for the moment the jittery curator. "How do you recognize it? Who are you?"

"Michael Hamilton." The young man looked up at him clearly trying to read him as well. "I've seen it before…"something dark flickered in those eyes. "Her name is Alicia Clayton…"

"How do you know her?"

"I never met her in person" again that glimmer of something "but she is dangerous… if you get a lead on her… wear a vest." His jaw clenched slightly "she doesn't like men much… especially not Feds."