According to Ms. McBride, Creedance Branson had first shown up at the Gallery about three months earlier, trying to sell his work. Unfortunately, the young man's enthusiasm didn't make up for his lack of talent, and he'd been turned away. As kindly as possible, Ms. McBride had assured him. It wasn't uncommon for artists to show up, hoping to be given the patronage of Nathan Clay. The Gallery always took their information, promising that if anything changed, they would be contacted. No one had ever returned without an expressed invitation except for Mr. Branson. He returned the following week with a portfolio of his pieces. This time, when he'd been turned away, he had become overwrought and angry, demanding to see Mr. Clay himself. When he was informed Mr. Clay was not in, he left but came back several times over the next two months. The staff had dreaded his visits and inevitable outbursts of either rage or despondency, sometimes both within the course of a single encounter. However, his impromptu visits stopped when one coincided with Mr. Clay being present.

"He was so good with him," McBride had related. "He took him into his office and spent close to an hour with him. I think he tried to mentor him, you know, encourage him to keep painting, to keep improving his techniques. Mr. Branson seemed okay when he left, and we haven't had any problems with him since." She frowned, looking down at the photo. "Well, until now."

Peter had a feeling they'd been having more problems with Branson than they'd been aware of. McBride didn't know the exact day the man had first appeared at the Gallery, but it didn't take long for them to see it closely coincided with the rash of vandalism that had begun in the neighborhood. Neal's heart-to-heart with Branson had happened two weeks ago. Maybe that meeting had caused Branson to switch from targeting galleries in general to targeting a specific gallery owner. Poor Neal, Peter thought. He'd tried to help the man, to encourage him in his artistic endeavors, and look what it had gotten him.

No good deed and all that.

But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He wanted it to be Creedance Branson. The man was an annoyance, true, but he seemed more unstable than anything else. And maybe an unstable artist might think kidnapping a talented gallery owner in order to convince him that his art was worth investing in was worth a try. Convince him and then let him go. A dead gallery owner would do him no good and earn him no spotlight or recognition. That seemed like what Branson was craving; recognition. Neal would be all over that; he'd assure the man he saw his talent and his potential and would host an exclusive showing to rival anything the New York Art scene had ever seen. Neal could say whatever he wanted to, but he was still an expert con artist and could con anyone if the need arose. It was that skill that saved Peter's life in Venezuela and then, stateside, brought down the entire Cordero Drug Family. Neal could handle one unstable artist.

So, he wanted it to be Creedance Branson.

Plus, he had the man's name, phone number, and email address; they'd know everything about him in five minutes.

But just because the man had walked with Neal on the street didn't mean he'd done anything more than that. He could not let his emotions, his desperation to find his friend, cause him to forget how to investigate. If nothing else, Branson might be able to provide information to help him find Neal.

And He had to find him. His showing had been a huge success even if he hadn't been there to see it. And judging from the smiles on the kid's faces at that children's home, his monthly visits there were successful, too. Nathan Clay was building more than just a reputation and fortune; he was building a life in New York. He did good things with his money, time, and talent and touched the lives of others in positive ways.

Neal thought he'd reinvented himself in Nathan Clay, but the truth was this was who he always had been. Peter had seen it from the start; otherwise, he'd have never agreed to take Neal on as his CI. But he hadn't encouraged Neal's positive traits; in fact, he'd given him little positive feedback at all. He'd chosen to focus on what Neal did wrong instead of what he did right. Over time it had become an unbearable way to live, and Neal had been willing to risk his life going after the Black Panthers in order to escape it.

That was why Peter had blamed himself for Neal's death more than he blamed Kellar. That year had been a dark time in Peter's life. He'd suffered loss before, he'd lost his parents and he'd grieved for them, but it had been different with Neal. The pain he felt was made sharper by regret at how he'd treated Neal and guilt that it was that treatment that had propelled Neal down that fateful path.

After learning Neal was alive, it had taken a while for Peter to realize that, though the path was different than he'd originally thought, he still bore the same responsibility.

Neal hadn't planned to let him know he was alive, and when he'd asked him when he'd changed his mind, he'd said when I decided that you'd like who I was. His words had stung, and Peter had assured Neal that he had always liked him. Neal's reply to that had been, I always wanted you to.

Neal had never apologized for what he'd done, and Peter had come to understand why. Being Neal Caffrey had been painful, and Neal had wanted to leave all that behind. He wanted a new life, a fresh start, a chance to be who he wanted to be. And that was Nathan Clay. Peter was grateful that, though he was part of the life Neal had left behind, he'd finally allowed him a place in his new one.

Fresh Perspectives. It was what they'd all needed.

He had to find Neal and bring him home. Home to his Gallery, to the Children he painted with, to the causes he supported. Home to June, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Little Neal, and yes, to him. Neal was his closest friend, his brother. His family. And he wasn't going to lose him.

He'd given Elliot Branson's name as soon as he'd gotten it from Ms. McBride, and Elliot's team had already compiled a file by the time Peter arrived at the office.

He exchanged the additional information he had acquired from the gallery manager for the file; Elliot took it and gave the number to the tech to trace, and Peter read over what a record search had turned up on Creedance Branson.

It was clear Creedance Branson had been a problem for more than three months. His criminal records included a juvenile record dating back nearly two decades.

There was also a history of mood disturbances and erratic behavior which validated what he'd learned from Ms. McBride. He'd been held for evaluation nearly a year ago after an incident with a neighbor. The arresting officer noted on the report Branson seemed to be suffering from persecutory delusions and had made comments that indicated there was a risk of self-harm. Branson had been held for seventy-two hours but had then signed himself out.

Since then, there had been other instances of altercations, with coworkers and customers at various jobs and even a clerk at a small bodega. The complainant dropped the charges in most cases; in one, the judge dismissed the charges when Branson agreed to seek counseling with a mental health provider. Whether or not Branson had followed through with the judge's orders was unknown.

The issues at art galleries that had resulted in police involvement started about a month ago and were not confined to the Nathan Clay Gallery. The owner of a neighboring gallery had sought a restraining order against him, and another had called for an officer when Branson had become violent. That incident resulted in an arrest for disorderly conduct, communicating threats, and destruction of property. Those charges had an upcoming court date.

Branson's criminal behavior seemed to have been escalating over the past months, and so had his level of violence. According to the arrest report for his behavior at the neighboring gallery, Branson had been screaming the words traitor and sell out as he was forcibly removed from the premises. There was no doubt he had been the one to follow Neal to Howard's Beach and vandalize his car, and little doubt he was behind Neal's disappearance.

As he read, Peter started to have a niggling fear that Branson might be more than a little unstable. Neal was good, but even he couldn't reason with a madman, and the more he read about both witness and police interaction with the man, the more it seemed Branson had some serious mental health issues. He had gone from minor altercations to violent outbursts to the destruction of personal property and on to kidnapping: he was clearly devolving and for some reason, Neal had become the focus of his rage.

Peter supposed Nathan Clay was everything Creedence Branson wanted to be.

"Branson didn't show up to work Thursday or Friday, and he didn't call in, either," Elliot announced, returning to Peter. "They've tried to call his cell, but he doesn't answer, and his voicemailbox is full. "

"Were you able to track his phone?"

"Yeah," Elliott replied. "And according to the data, he's been at the same location since 5:35 Thursday afternoon."

Neal had left the gallery just after 5 pm. "At his house?"

"No," Elliot answered. "Some run-down building in Clinton Hill." He handed Peter a slip of paper with an address on it. "If he still has Clay, that's where he has him."

If he still has Clay.

The phrase caused Peter's gut to clench. He knew as well as Elliott that the likelihood of finding a kidnap victim alive decreased with each passing hour. Most victims were killed within hours of being taken, and Neal had been gone almost forty-eight.

"Tactical is pulling info on the building," Elliott informed, "and the NYPD is getting a discreet perimeter in place. We're heading over there now."

"I know it's a lot to ask," he began, "But-"

"You have your creds?" Elliot interrupted.

Peter stared at him. "Of course."

"Then grab a vest," Elliott told him. "You're going in with me. If Clay is there, I know from experience you are the person he's gonna want to see."