They gathered around Jones' desk, where Diana flung a file open.

"Last week, the manager of the palladium mine reached out to a local reporter," she said. "She wanted to talk about something illegal going on there."

Neal looked at the photo of the covered body with blood seeping through the white sheet. He hated dead bodies, even in photos.

"Only before the manager could talk, she was killed," he said.

"Smells to me like a cover-up," Jones said.

"Jones," Peter started. "If Jimmy's involved in murder—"

"Peter, he's not. I mean, he sent me that postcard to expose the truth, not to cover it up. Trust me, Jimmy is on the right side of things."

"Only one way to make sure," Peter said. Neal guessed he was not as convinced as Jones.

"We need to find our elusive Striker," Diana concluded.

"He may not be as elusive as we thought," Neal said, looking at Jones' desk. "Take a look at this."

"Barrett-Dunne's hosting a reception tomorrow," Jones said.

"Open to invited guests and all active and retired military personnel," Neal pointed out. "There's a good chance Striker will be there."

His handler was on the idea at once.

"Good. Isabelle's seen him, so she can make the I.D." He turned to Jones, sitting at his desk. "And as a former military, you can go."

Jones stared at Peter for a second, getting his bearings.

"Okay. So, you… uh… you want me to ask Isabelle to the reception?"

"If —" Peter paused and looked at Diana and then at him, but Neal had no help to give him. "Unless it's a problem, given your history with her."

Neal could not help that he was curious, and his eyes wandered to Jones, who looked at him. And then saw they were all waiting.

"O-okay, guys, look… Isabelle and I met my last year at Annapolis. Stayed together through law school. I chose the FBI. She chose Jimmy." He made a gesture with his palms up. "Anything else we got to clear up?"

"No, I'm good, I'm good," Peter said at once. Probably glad the awkward situation was over. "Neal, Diana, you're good?"

"About C.J." Neal turned to Jones. "Is that a special pet name only she calls you, or can we call you that?"

"Neal." Peter's tone cut as scissors.

"You asked if I was good. "

"It was rhetorical."

"I want to ask him—"

"Shush"

Neal got the picture.

"Okay, apparently, I'm good." After all, it was more teasing with Peter than with Jones. Oh, well, a little with Jones, too.

"He's good," Peter said. "Any questions?"

"No, no, not at all," Jones said. "Teaming up with my ex-fiancée to confront a dangerous man to find her missing husband." He put a forced smile on his face. "Should be fun."

"Peter, I'm in." Peter heard Jones over the radio. He was not far away from Barrett-Dunne's party but strolled along the walkway along the docks.

"Good. You have eyes on Isabelle?"

There was a pause. Then:

"Sweet lord almighty." There was something sweet and endearing in the man's voice.

"I'll take that as an affirmative."

"Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant Jones," Peter heard Isabell say. "Wow. I haven't seen you in dress whites since..."

"Your wedding," Jones said. "It's been a while. You okay doing this?"

"If you're okay, I'm okay."

"Yeah, I'm… I'm okay."

Peter was not entirely sure about that, considering the silence following that statement.

"The commander coming in," Isabelle said. "That's him. That's Striker."

There was a silence, and then Jones said:

"Excuse me. The commander, who is he?"

"Henry van Horn," a woman said, and Peter wrote the name down. "C.O.O. of Barrett-Dunne."

"Thank you. Peter, you get that?"

"Yeah. I'm having Diana run the name," he said as he keyed on his phone.

"Looks like he has a couple of bruises on his neck, as well."

"You think he's the guy who attacked you?" Peter asked.

"We're about to find out, aren't we?" Jones said, and after a few seconds: "Afternoon, commander."

"Lieutenant," a man answered.

"Have we met?"

"I don't believe we have."

"Ah, Clinton Jones, FBI. How're you doing?" Peter noted there was no polite reply with his name. "I'm looking for Jimmy Wilson. Don't have any idea where he is, do you?"

"Why don't you ask his wife?" Henry van Horn hissed.

"He already did." Isabelle's voice.

"Isabelle. Your husband abandoned his post. And by the looks of things, you're not far off from abandoning your husband."

"Jimmy wouldn't have disappeared without a reason."

"Jimmy has a nasty habit of getting in over his head," van Horn said. There was a pause. "Tell me I'm wrong. If you'll excuse me."

Peter waited a few seconds, then:

"What'd you find out?"

"Son of a bitch owes me a flat-screen." Peter remembered the bullet that hit his TV screen. "I patterned him on the arm where I shot my attacker, and he could not hide it hurt."

"What's going on, Jones?" Peter asked when there was silence.

"Van Horn's leaving this party, and fast."

Right then, Peter saw why. The man standing further down the pathway. He pulled out his badge.

"Jimmy! FBI! We need to talk."

The man shook his head.

"You can't protect me. No one can."

Jimmy looked the other way, and Peter saw Van Horn coming. He had not seen Jimmy yet, but soon.

"Jimmy, don't... Jimmy, don't run, don't run. Jimmy!"

Jimmy dropped something on the ground deliberately. Then he ran away. Peter glanced at Van Horn. He did not follow because he had not seen the man yet. If Peter ran after Jimmy, Van Horn would for sure.

Peter sighed, put his badge back, and focused on whatever Jimmy dropped. He sat on his heels. It was a bullet. He took it up with his handkerchief. A sharp bullet as well. Why would Jimmy drop a live bullet for him? What did he try to tell?

Peter stared in surprise when he got home. He met Jones on his way out.

"Jones?"

"Hi, Peter, I just stopped by to tell you that Jimmy might be involved. Izz told me he sent home close to a hundred grand, telling her it was some kind of bonus."

Peter glanced at the seat Jones just left at the dining room table, where there was a mug.

"Oh? That must have been a shock for you."

"Yeah. Now you know. See you tomorrow, Peter."

Jones almost pushed himself past him, eager to leave and not waiting for permission. When the door closed after the running agent, Peter looked at El for an explanation.

"Jimmy seemed to have been doing it because he looked up to Jones as the gold standard," El said, pushing a mug of tea in his hands. "Jimmy wanted to prove that he could be a better provider. And I think Jones always looked up to Jimmy, seeing him as a better choice for Isabelle."

Peter sighed. What a mess. Was he normal, not having any ex-fiances or ex-wives?

"I hope he can keep his head clear," he mumbled, sipping his tea. "So, Jones came to talk to you about this?" Was that normal? After spending so much time with Neal, he was not sure what was normal any longer.

"Not sure. I think he came to see you. But when you weren't here…" She shrugged. "Think he just needed an ear."