When Peter came home late that night, he found El asleep on the bed with a book beside her. He took the bookmark from the nightstand, put it in the book, and closed it.
She awoke and smiled at him.
"Hi," she mumbled.
"Hi."
"Did you catch any bad guys today?"
"A couple."
"Oh, good. I can go back to sleep now." They kissed. "Come to bed." Peter sat down beside her with a heavy sigh. He knew he had to tell her. But he just wanted to keep her safe and not to worry to much. But he knew El did not want that. He pulled off his tie. "Honey, you okay?"
"There's something I need to tell you."
"Okay. I'm listening."
"One of the guys we were pursuing, he got away."
She frowned.
"Are you concerned?"
"It's Matthew Keller."
She sat up, wide awake now.
"What? Keller's in New York?"
"Hon, I was gonna tell you."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we weren't sure. Then we had him cornered —"
"Honey, this man had you kidnapped."
"I know. We're gonna find him. FBI has got him on the most-wanted list, the U.S. marshals are out in full force, and there's a bounty on his head. I should have told you. I'm sorry."
"Don't do this. I can handle it. You know that."
"I know."
"What I can't handle is finding out after something happens."
"Nothing will. I promise." Peter was confident. If he could not promise these things, he could not do his job. It was more of a spell than a promise. A sort of odd magic, far less trustworthy than he would ever admit.
He kissed her.
"So they have a bounty on him, huh?"
"Yeah. All we know at this point is that they're willing to pay six million to make him go away."
Who else had Keller upset? Who had that kind of assets to pay that much? He had no idea.
Neal sat with the treasure cam, going through each item on the list once again. He had a nagging feeling in his stomach where those six million came from. Though it was so unlikely that he was right, the feeling did not leave him.
"The Van Dyck. Good," he mumbled. "Matisse. Degas…" He moved the camera. There was no painting. "Where's the Degas?" He knew where the Degas was. It was sold. "Mozzie, what did you do?"
As on cue, there was a knock on the door. Neal flipped the copy of the manifest over.
"Yeah?" To no surprise, it was Mozzie, stone-faced and grave. "We arrested Keller," Neal told him.
"Oh?"
"Except as we were cuffing him, someone shot him. Winged him. And in the chaos, he escaped."
"Oh." Still not much of a reaction from his friend. Mozzie pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him.
"Someone put a bounty on his head. A six million bounty. Now, that's roughly the black-market sale price of the Degas."
"No. That's exactly the sale price of the Degas."
"You fenced it." Mozzie stared back at him with his arms crossed. "You should have asked me." He rose. They were in deep trouble now.
"Well, you should have told me Sara knew about the warehouse. I guess we're in the habit of keeping secrets now." That was not even close in comparison. Besides, Mozzie had suspected that she knew already.
"You took out a hit on Keller?" Had his friend turned to violence? Did he suddenly think it was okay to kill other people?
"He killed Hale! He went after Sara. Keller wasn't gonna stop till he destroys you."
"I told you not to sell it."
"It was all set up. I didn't have time to fence anything else."
"It's on the list, Moz!" Neal grabbed it and slammed it onto the table in front of Mozzie. "It's on the damn list!"
"Excuse me?" Neal strode across the floor, knowing that no matter what he did now, things would never be the same ever again. "Where did you get this? You told me when you broke into Peter's house, the list wasn't there."
"It was."
"You lied to me?"
"We got bigger problems, all right? When the Degas turns up, and it will, the FBI is gonna know the treasure didn't burn. And we're the prime suspects.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Look, it doesn't matter now. Who did you fence it through?" Mozzie leaned back in his chair, looking at him as if he saw the villain in this game, and Neal knew he had every right to. "We have to get it back. Or we're done, Moz. We're done."
"You lied to me. I think I have the right to know why?"
Neal had no easy answer to that one. Or he had.
"I couldn't do it, to Peter. He's my friend, too, Moz."
"You already have, stealing the treasure."
"No, you did that! And got me involved."
"Because we are friends! This," he pointed at the list on the table, "this is not what friends do!"
Mozzie rose and walked to the door.
"Moz! I need to know who you fenced it through!"
He looked back, displaying just how wounded he was, and left without a word. Neal wanted to cry. He wanted to call Peter. He wanted to hug Sara and forget the world around them. He could do neither.