Composition in Black and White (part one) 3/
Composition in Black and White (part one) - Page 3
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***
When Neal arrived the next morning, Peter was turning over his note in his hands as he had been that morning days earlier. It certainly made the approach easier as Neal jogged up the stairs and paused in the doorway.
Peter seemed to be off in a world of his own as Neal rested in the doorway for a second. Peter didn’t look up.
“You got any leads on that thing?” he asked and Peter finally glanced up at him. It took him a moment to answer, but he did, finally.
“No,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“Thoughts?” Neal asked, stepping inside.
“Nothing new.”
“Ah,” Neal said, walking over to his seat and sitting down.
“I might have something for you.”
He pulled out his own note from his inside pocket and slid it across the table.
“That arrived at June’s.”
Peter’s expression turned tight as he looked down at it. He gingerly picked it up.
“It was sent to your apartment?”
“Yeah. June said it was sent by courier. Like yours.”
“Like mine.”
Peter was quiet as he looked down at it.
“Number two,” he murmured, touching the paper.
“Yep,” Neal shrugged. Peter opened his drawer and pulled out his own note. Setting it down beside the second. He stared at them for a moment before he finally looked back up at Neal.
“Should we be worried?”
“I guess that depends what it’s counting towards,” Neal answered, leaning forward to look down at the two cards.
“Any ideas now?”
“Not about this.”
“About what then?”
“I may have had a tail the other day. I wasn’t sure so I didn’t say anything, but it could have been. They were good at looking inconspicuous.”
“Then I think we should bring in the big guns. Is Diana here yet?”
Neal glanced down at the bullpen.
“Not yet.”
“Well, send her up when she does get here. I’ll inform Jones when he swaps with Blake keeping surveillance.”
“You think these are connected to Luccson?”
“Or our missing mastermind.”
“It’s possible. We’re still missing how the theft and the forgery are connected. There’s definitely something going on there.”
“Well once we find Luccson, we’ll press on him for a form of contact and go from there.”
“The job’s only half done,” Neal sighed.
“Yep. We’ll pressure Luccson for anything he has and go after the paintings and the other players.”
“He won’t have the painting anymore, Peter. He’ll have passed the painting on by now. If it’s a contracted job then it’ll have been passed on the day of the theft. If it wasn’t it would have turned up on the black market somewhere.”
“If that’s the case, then he’ll at least be able to give us a little more insight into whoever orchestrated this whole thing. No matter which way I look at it, it doesn’t seem to make sense. They steal one, they forge another and swap it out, both by the same artist, but owned by different people. But they leave the third as it is.”
“None of the other paintings had anything wrong with them. It didn’t look like they were tampered with and it doesn’t look like any of them are top notch forgeries either.”
“So what does that say about the third Kandinsky?” Peter asked, solemnly.
“Or what does it say about the other two? The Blue Rider I can understand, that’s a milestone piece, especially if you like Kandinsky. Fugue, I’m a little hesitant about. ‘Santa Marguerite’, that’s a work that only someone would want personally. It was painted in 1904; it’s early work for Kandinsky. Not many people know about it.”
“You think that’s why it wasn’t touched?”
“Could be,” Neal shrugged.
“Or it could be they already have it and don’t need to steal it. Maybe the mastermind is whoever owns Santa Marguerite?” Neal said with a shrug.
“Maybe. I’ll get Fenley to run a background check and see what comes up.”
Neal nodded.
“I’m gonna go and grab a coffee. You want one?” he asked. Peter was frowning, staring down at the two notes still out on his desk.
“Yeah, thanks. Send Diana up for me will you?” he asked and Neal nodded. Glancing down in the bullpen where Diana was unpacking for the morning.
He wandered down to meet her.
***
“This about Neal, boss?” Diana asked, pausing in the doorway of Peter’s office. Peter shook his head slightly, leaning back in his seat as she closed the door behind her, watching as Neal slumped down in his chair and reached for his rubber band ball. She turned back to Peter. He was silent, waiting for her to step closer towards him before he continued.
“Not entirely,” he said, frowning. “On Tuesday morning, I received this. It was left at the front desk, by personal courier Monday night,” he said, pushing a small piece of white paper across the desk at her. It was Diana’s turn to frown as she picked it up.
“One?”
“Yeah. I had it run through forensics. Nothing. Just the note in a white envelope. The courier lead went nowhere.”
“What’s this got to do with Neal?” she asked, looking back up at him. Peter looked pensive. This at least answered a few of the questions she’d been stacking up since the investigation began. She’d been sure Peter had been keeping something back, and considering the way Neal had been acting all week, she was beginning to think it had something to do with him. If it was all about the letter then she could set her reservations aside.
Naturally it wasn’t that easy.
“Neal received this, last night,” Peter said, pushing the second piece of paper across the desk.
Two.
Oh.
“You think this is a threat?”
“I do now.”
“Is Neal worried?” she asked, staring at Peter.
“He doesn’t seem to be. I think something else is going on there. I can’t be sure. Neal thinks he had a tail yesterday.”
“What about you?”
“I haven’t noticed. But I want a security detail checking up on Elizabeth just in case. Nothing else has been made of it, but if it is leading up to something, I want her safe. Let me know the moment another one of these arrives. Whether it’s for you or Jones or anyone else. I’ll be telling Clinton the same thing. I don’t know what it’s about yet, but we need to be careful about this.”
“You got it, boss,” she said, looking between the two cards. One and two. Insignificant numbers, but considering the ambiguity of the job they were working and sent in like they were - one and two became threats. They became dangerous.
“Anything else, boss?” she asked, setting the cards down. Peter’s expression hadn’t wavered past concerned.
“Yeah, tell Fenley to run a background check on the owner of the third Kandinsky, ‘Santa Marguerite’, check for any changes in finances, lately. Upgrades to security, home improvements. Things like that. And I want you to cross check any of the others set to show up to that show this weekend for the same thing. We’re thinking the two stolen works could be making up part of a set. A set that’s already partially constructed.”
“You think they only wanted those two because they already have others.”
“Some people go to extreme lengths for interior design. Let’s see whether theft is one of them.”
“Gotcha boss,” she said, hurrying back down to her desk, but not before she cast a cursory glance back up at Peter. His expression hadn’t changed, but if it had, it had scaled a few shades darker. Something else was afoot and she couldn’t help all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was more to this case than met the eye, and if those notes were in any way connected, then things were about to get nasty.
***
Peter left the office about eleven to join Jones in the van outside Luccson’s Queens studio apartment. The place was on the second floor along a busy street and in the fourteen hours they’d been surveilling the place, no one had come in or out. Jones had taken over from Blake about eight, and was just starting to fidget when Peter let himself inside.
“Jones,” he greeted and the younger agent spun on his chair.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Not a damn thing,” Jones replied.
“Time for a coffee break?” he asked, eyeing the door. Peter smiled.
“Neal’s gone to get you one.”
“You sent Neal on a coffee run?” Jones sounded amused.
“He offered. It’s the van, he hates it,” Peter shrugged, sitting himself down.
“Always the van,” Jones snickered, glancing back at the screens.
“Hope you told him to bring snacks while he’s out.”
“We can send him a message. I wanted to talk to you about something,” Peter said. Jones’ smile disappeared and he sat up straight.
“This something about Caffrey? That why you sent him for coffee?” Peter sat back. Sometimes he forgot Jones was as intuitive as he was, which he knew wasn’t fair on the man at all. Clinton Jones was a lot of things, and loyal was at the top of the list, smart, just one step down. Peter knew he didn’t give him anywhere near enough credit.
“Yes and no,” Peter said, reaching in his pocket for the notes.
Jones eyed them warily as Peter handed them over.
“I received the first one on Tuesday. Neal got his last night. We’re not sure what it’s about, whether it’s this case or something we don’t know about yet, but I just wanted to warn you first. I need you to let me know if you get anything like this at all.”
“You told Diana?”
“I showed her this morning. There’s nothing to go on. They’re delivered by courier; they just show up on the delivery roster with no existing paperwork. No prints, nothing forensics could find at all. Just the notes.”
“You think this has something to do with why Caffrey’s been off the last week?”
Peter frowned. So he definitely hadn’t been the only one to notice Neal being off.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Leave Neal to me. The notes, however, are now a team effort.”
Jones nodded and fell silent. Peter watched the man’s face, but after a full tour in the Navy, Clinton Jones knew how to pull a neutral expression. Deception tutorials with Neal didn’t help either, once Jones had started taking over for Neal with the undercover assignments in the last few months.
Peter didn’t have time to open his mouth and ask about the intel before there was the undeniable shuffling as Neal climbed inside the van, juggling coffee and bags of pastries.
“No message required,” Neal smiled as he handed over Jones’ bag of pastries like he’d been listening in and Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little at Jones’ pleased expression. He should have known after three and a half years of surveillance that Caffrey knew to always bring food back when he went for coffee, especially for Jones. The man had a sweet tooth.
“I never doubted you,” Jones said as Neal handed Peter his coffee and set himself down on the third chair, pulling a headset over.
“Anything show up?”
“No one’s gone in or out, whole time I’ve been here,” Jones said ruefully, already picking at a danish Neal had brought back.
“Delightful,” Neal quipped and Peter rolled his eyes at him before looking back to the screens, settling back in his chair for a long day.
And it was.
The only highlight was Diana calling around eleven thirty with a proposal that had Peter berating himself for overlooking.
Mandy had Luccson’s contact details, and while they were keeping tabs on the so-far quiet cell phone, that didn’t stop the girl from calling to set up a meet, luring Luccson back out into the open.
Luccson didn’t answer the phone, but Diana had the girl leave a message and some fifteen minutes later, that Neal counted out with pensive tapping, driving Peter steadily insane - there was an answering text message with a time. 1pm.
Easy.
It left them forty minutes to stake out the building and get into position before Luccson’s arrest.
But even the best laid plans can go wrong, and Peter knew this certainly wasn’t the best laid plan. It was simple, straightforward and from their discussion it didn’t appear like very much could go wrong.
The unfortunate thing about stings like that though, was that Fate seemed to take it up as a challenge.
***
Diana had more than enough time to get down to the meeting point at Luccson’s place, leading a team to stake out any potential back exits and leaving Peter, Neal and Jones to surreptitiously stake out the front.
If there was one thing Neal approved about the hacker’s manners, it was the fact he showed up on time at the very least. One thing that did surprise him, however, was his ability to run. When he’d stared at the man’s photograph in his file, the man wasn’t overweight, he looked normal, average, a little dimwitted; but that had been all in his expression. He’d looked like a sloth, but Neal had no reservations the man actually moved like one.
In reality, the man was built like a tonne of bricks. He was big, but bulky - mostly muscle and he was tall.
Of course, that was no help at all to poor Jones, who braced himself when they’d tried to corner the man on the ground floor of his building. But that didn’t stop the agent going sprawling as he’d barreled into him. Neal heard Jones shout and go flying backwards and had barely enough time to get out of the way before Luccson went running up the damn stairs.
“Peter, he’s got a gun!” Jones shouted, charging to his feet and up the stairs after Luccson. Neal started after him, barely four stairs up before Peter grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.
“Stay here,” Peter pressed and Neal was about to argue before Peter glared at him and started after Jones. Neal could hear both men’s shoes on the concrete as they climbed, the squeak and groan of shoes and body weight and the shouts of Peter and Jones as they gave chase. The bottom floor of the building was deserted; Diana was keeping guard at the back exit, leaving Neal to the front. Not that there was much to the front at all. There were two closets either side of the large staircase and everything else was available via the back entrance. The front was little more than affable grandiose. It was all about upstairs and they hadn’t really expected Luccson to run. Especially not once he was inside the damn building. The man was a hacker, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot, and only an idiot would go running upwards inside a building when approached by the Feds when it was clear they had the place staked out.
Neal shook his head and took one last glance out onto the street and started up the stairs after them. Peter had coddled him for months. The pair of them knew that he was no longer pressured into every single undercover op but he needn’t need the second-guessing. He was fine. He’d proved that time and again for six months and putting him on watch was coddling. Fenley was in the van out the front of the building anyway. It was more likely he’d be needed further up to corner Luccson than simply barricading the front doors.
He could hear Peter and Jones chasing Luccson up to the second floor as he came up the stairs. The first floor branched off down two separate hallways; on one side the wall conjoined with another building, and on the other side there was a modest sized window. Large enough for even someone like Luccson to get through, and from there, it was a fair jump to the ground, but no doubt one modest enough for a desperate man on the run from the FBI. Neal had made crazier decisions than that.
His curiosity piqued, Neal started down the corridor towards the window when there was a shot fired upstairs and a muffled shout. Neal turned abruptly in time to see Benny Luccson come careening down the stairwell, almost slipping on his feet. He stumbled and pushed himself upright, his face contorted into a frantic sort of desperation and in his hand was a gun, that upon seeing Neal between him and what was no doubt the man’s well aimed escape route, he raised it straight on. His finger on the trigger, eyeline bearing straight at Neal.
On instinct, Neal raised his arms above his head and stared down the muzzle of the gun and, without consent, his brain pushed all common sense aside and started to panic. He could feel his heart speed up. He watched the sweat beading the other man’s brow, above his lip. The desperation in the man’s eyes, the gleam that was suddenly a little unhinged. The finger resting just on the trigger, and the eager sort of twitch it was suddenly making. Neal felt ice cold dread run through him and without any sort of rational thinking at all, Neal did the only thing he could do, trapped between a desperate man with a gun and his only way out; on the other end of a long straight corridor.
Neal ran.
And before his brain could catch up with the irrational decision and tell him off, there was the sound of the gun’s rapport and Neal’s whole body flinched and he went down.
***
Nothing had seemed to go right from the moment Diana radioed in from the back door that she was in position. Luccson had arrived on time, but the moment he’d looked both ways and entered the front entrance of the building, everything had gone to hell. Jones and Neal had filed in after him. Peter had been mere steps behind, reaching in his jacket for his badge before Neal suddenly leapt aside and Peter was half a step away from being barreled into by Jones, who barely managed to stay on his feet, but once he had his balance back, went running off.
Peter heard Jones call out to him as he watched Luccson take off up the stairs, Jones chasing after him, Neal a few steps behind.
Peter reached out and grabbed Neal, twisting the younger man back and stopping him before he could get any further out of reach. The kid spun around, his eyes wide and piqued with the briefest flare of annoyance.
“Stay here,” Peter heard himself order before he took off after Jones, taking the stairs two at a time. As he reached the first landing, Jones was half way up the second, his gun out in front.
Peter started after him. Jones was halfway across the room as Peter made it to the top.
Stopping, he braced himself, holding his gun in both hands and carefully cleared the corridor before making his way over to the open door and followed Jones inside the top floor studio. The room was nothing like what Peter had imagined. He’d thought of a room full of wiring and monitors, instead it was practically abandoned, rife with boxes and draped material. It smelt like mortar dust and mildew.
“He’s armed, Peter,” Jones called from a few feet away, his gun out as he turned slowly, eyeing the mess and searching for some sign of Luccson.
“He ran in here and pulled the door shut behind him; by the time I got in here he was gone.” Jones spoke slowly, eyeballing the room, Peter followed, keeping an eye out for the smallest change, the smallest hint of disturbance.
“He was crafty, I can give him that much,” Jones was saying as Peter heard it, a creak of shoes on concrete behind him and he spun, just in time to see Luccson take a quick, badly aimed shot their way before tearing it across the room and back down the stairs again.
“Jones! Down the stairs!” Peter shouted, giving chase.
“There must have been a back door!” Jones shouted, just behind him as Peter ran out the door and down to the stairs. Luccson was taking them two at a time and Peter was at the top as he watched the man trip over his own feet at the bottom and go scattering into the hallway, where instead of trying to run yet again, the man scrambled to his feet and raised his gun upright.
Except he wasn’t aiming at Peter.
Peter felt his heart pounding in his chest as he reached far enough down to see Neal as the CI turned his back and ran. Peter watched in horror as Luccson took a shot. The report of it echoing back up to Peter and stopping him halfway down the stairs. He watched in horror as just up the hall Neal twisted and cringed, tripping over his feet and going down. Peter felt his heart beating in his throat as he watched, wide eyed and useless as his partner fell.
“Luccson!” Peter shouted, bracing himself, raising his gun.
“Put the gun down!” Jones shouted behind him, but Luccson was turning and his gun was still outright, his finger on the trigger. There was a manic gleam in his eyes that Peter understood and he knew what Luccson was planning on doing before the man could finish turning, or his trigger finger finish clenching and take another shot.
Instead, Peter took his chance and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.
He watched in detached slow motion as Benjamin Luccson collapsed.
But the moment the man stopped falling his attention wasn’t on Luccson; it was on the heavily breathing Neal, on his back, his knees tangled under him, staring wide eyed at the body of the man in front of him.
Peter felt his own panic start to dissipate as he took in the sight before him. Neal was alive. He was fine.
Peter forced himself to take a deep breath and accept the sight in front of him. It took far longer than he was willing to admit.
The sight in front of him was too familiar; it was a far too similar to the Thompson case. Their con was dead and Neal was sprawled out against the wall. The upside to it this time was the vibrant alarm Peter could see in Neal’s eyes as he heaved, breathing hard and staring up at Peter. Peter forced himself to take in another deep breath as he holstered his gun, still trying to dispel the sheer panic that had risen up like bile in his throat when he’d seen Neal go down.
But this time there was no blood. There was no sagging head resting on his chest, no limp hand facing palm up covered in blood, the wall streaked red where the kid had slid down it, barricading the door between where little Gerry Halborough had escaped and where Eric Thompson had been standing with a gun. Or at least he had been until Jones had put two bullets in his chest and he’d gone down in a mess of sprawled limbs.
This time was much better.
“Come on,” he said, coming down the last of the stairs, stepping around Luccson and going over to Neal. He held out a hand for Neal to grasp, helping to pull him to his feet. Neal was staring at Luccson, his face white, still gasping for breath.
“Thanks,” Neal murmured, breaking his staring competition with Luccson to glance up at Peter. Peter laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder, hoping to calm the kid down. And himself.
“No problem,” he said back, just as quietly as Neal. Jones was holstering his own gun and talking quietly on his radio to Diana.
“There goes our chance to get any more on the mastermind behind this thing,” Neal said, still warily eyeing Luccson’s body. Peter didn’t care. He couldn’t force himself to care. Not right then, dammit.
“There may be evidence here we can find. It may not be a dead end yet.”
If Neal heard the pun or not, he didn’t let it show; he ran a hand through his hair and as Peter glanced at him, he was a little shocked to feel the young man shaking under his touch as he reached out to guide Neal out past the body and back to the car. Or at least somewhere to sit down. He pushed Neal down onto the steps heading down to the ground floor, sitting him out of sight of the body just as Diana brought up the other agents who had been with her at the back entrance and started coordinating the scene. Peter left them to it, choosing to stay with Neal on the stairs, watching as Neal took a deep breath and tried to relax. It didn’t work; he still looked tightly wound and nervous. He wasn’t shaking so much in the short walk, but he couldn’t sit still and his eyes were wide and Peter was tempted to almost call it terrified. Except Neal didn’t really get terrified, he got rattled, and this was clearly a severe case. But Neal had made sure not to give himself away over the years. Not the real earth shattering emotions, no, those he kept forcibly bottled. This felt like a rare glimpse of them, or as close as anyone got. Peter hadn’t seen anything quite like this since… well. Well, since.
But then, no other case had been this close to replicating that fateful day. In the last six months Neal hadn’t been cornered in a corridor by a psycho with a gun aiming to kill him with no way out.
Neal was doing well not to completely fall apart, Peter thought. Which he almost had due right to do. Peter laid his hand on Neal’s shoulder again.
“You alright, Neal?” he asked softly, trying to meet Neal’s eye. Neal’s gaze wandered, and it took a moment before he even glanced at Peter, but when he did, he didn’t look away.
“I’m fine, Peter,” he said, trying to smile. It didn’t work and they both knew it. But all the same, Peter nodded and let go of his friend. Neal sighed and glanced back up the hallway.
“What do we do now?” he asked and it was Peter’s turn to sigh, setting his hands on his hips and following his consultant’s gaze. Jones was standing with Diana, who was securing the scene. Peter tried to remind himself to thank her.
“We go back to the office and go over what we can find here. See if Mandy Brenner can give us anything else. We go from there.”
Neal nodded and was quiet.
“You alright to sit here while I oversee this?” he asked, turning to look back at Neal. Neal nodded, mutely. When Peter kept his gaze, Neal was the first to glance away, his mouth twisting in a small frown. He braced himself against the steps before he looked up at Peter and Peter pretended to let the telling movement slip him by.
“I’ll be alright, Peter,” he said softly.
“You’ll stay here?” Peter pressed and this time Neal sighed, exasperated.
“Right here,” he said, his voice lilting in common Caffrey style.
“Good,” Peter said, knowing he was patronizing, but not really caring. He didn’t care how he sounded, not when he didn’t want Neal completely out of his sight and not when it looked like if the kid tried to stand up his knees would go out from under him. A part of him knew he was underestimating Neal’s ability to cope, but another part of him was well prepared to coddle and look away in equal measures as long as it meant that Neal could show up tomorrow or the day after and do his job without having to hide his hands trembling.
Peter was sick of watching his partner pretend he was okay because he thought he had to.
“I’ll be back. Right here, don’t move.”
He could feel Neal’s eyes on his back as he wandered back up to where Diana was overseeing the agents securing their scene awaiting forensics.
“How is he?” she asked softly as Peter walked over. Peter watched as her eyes flickered down to Neal who was still on the steps.
“Shaky. He should be alright.”
“Jones says it was another close one,” she said, looking back to where the agents were moving around the body.
“Yeah, it was,” Peter agreed. Another horrible moment of potential disaster. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Neal decided to take up the offer he and Hughes had been discussing on offering the ex-con once his parole ended. Peter suddenly didn’t know if he was even willing to offer it to him. Not when it meant that Neal could potentially keep going undercover for the Bureau. While at that moment it would mean Neal would stick around, be stuck working with Peter for years to come - if it meant that he would one day find himself in one of these situations but running just a minute too late and find Neal on the ground in front of him shot to hell, not some felon Peter didn’t know the name of a week ago. If keeping Neal working with him meant one day burying his best friend, Peter knew he’d much rather Neal take off with a trail of high end felonies as a goodbye.
“You okay?” Diana asked, then and Peter knew he’d let his expression tell too much.
“Yeah. You alright to finish up here?” he asked, glancing at Diana. She nodded.
“Yeah. It shouldn’t take long. The ME should be here in about fifteen minutes anyway. Once the body’s been collected I’ll be right behind you.”
“Good. I’ll inform Hughes what’s going on. I have to lodge my weapon now anyway. Then I’m going to drop Caffrey back home.”
“You should go home yourself, Boss. I’ve got this,” Diana said and Peter nodded. He could trust her to wrap this up properly.
“Besides, there’s nothing more we can do on the case until forensics go through what’s up here.”
“Yeah. Right. Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Diana nodded.
“Bright and early, boss,” she called after him as Peter wandered back over to Neal, where Jones was standing in front of him. Neal hadn’t moved, and Peter couldn’t help but smile a little when he neared the two of them.
They stopped talking as he stopped in front of them.
“I’m heading back to the office. Diana’s going to wrap up the scene and Fenley can take the van back in.”
Neal nodded and Jones looked between the conman and Peter, his hands on his hips.
“Mind if I nick I ride, Peter? Neal’s gonna come back to mine tonight. We can pick up my car at the bureau.”
Peter started and looked between Jones in Neal in mock jest. Jones seemed to read him but Neal was still looking a bit dazed.
“Planning a night without me?”
“Mozzie’s in Chicago,” Neal said quietly and Peter shut up. “He took June to see Cindy.”
“Neal’s taking me up on a raincheck,” Jones shrugged. Peter didn’t press. Considering how pale Neal still looked, he didn’t think it was a good idea Neal was alone either. He’d have to thank Jones later.
“I don’t know about you, Peter, but I need a drink,” Neal said, pushing himself to his feet. He didn’t groan, but his movements were slow and stiff and it reminded Peter of an old man.
He nodded.
“Right, well, the sooner we get back the sooner you pair can head off and the sooner I can get home to Elizabeth.”
Neal nodded and casually glanced back up the hallway.
“I’m gonna go wait in the car,” he said to no one in particular and they watched him walk down the stairs.
“Keep an eye on him tonight,” Peter murmured to Jones. Jones turned to look at Peter.
“One step ahead of you, Peter,” he said, wearing a small smile.
Peter watched as Jones hurried after Neal until the agent was at the bottom of the stairs before he cast one last look at Diana, who was talking with a pair of agents just arrived on scene. The call must have been put through quickly, but that was Diana. She had it all handled. Peter sighed and jogged after Jones.
When he got to the car, Neal was already slumped in the backseat and Jones was leaning against the passenger door talking to Neal through the window. They grew quiet again as Peter neared and Jones just glanced back down at Neal and then slid into the front seat.
The whole car was quiet as Peter turned on the engine and backed the car out into traffic. There wasn’t much to say, certainly nothing that Peter was willing to broach in the car. Elizabeth had warned him of that before, after Neal had returned to work and Peter had been sure Neal still wasn’t ready. Because Neal certainly wasn’t one to share. He hadn’t then, and Peter had been scolded more than once for cornering Neal in the car and asking the big questions, like ‘are you okay? Are you sure? Why do you think you have to be okay with what happened?’
Since then, he’d tried to give Neal space, but given the circumstances…
Peter stopped himself and gripped the steering wheel, eyeing his consultant and then glancing at Jones, who had one arm braced against the window as he watched New York go by.
Perhaps Jones had the better tact; perhaps coaxing it out of Neal was better than just asking. Peter shook his head, keeping the gesture mostly to himself. Of course coaxing it out was the better option. Neal reveled under pressure, but he also rebelled. He only ever revealed things on his own terms, and perhaps over quiet drinks where he wasn’t expected to share anything was certainly better than blunt questions.
Peter pulled up at a red light and couldn’t help but glance at Neal in the mirror. Neal’s face was blank as he stared out the window; his head canted back and turned to the side. He wasn’t as pale anymore, which was an upside. In all the cases they’d worked in the last six months, there had been a distinctive lack of Neal having guns shoved in his face. Peter had made sure of it and he was distinctly proud of the achievement. Jones had gone undercover more often, which he seemed to relish. They still maintained their closure rate, Neal wasn’t threatened as often and they all went home safe.
Peter had forced himself to be more rational about the cases and undercover operations since the Thompson case; it was the case that every other was measured against. The odd thing about it had always been that it had been a case that they hadn’t needed anyone undercover at all. But it had been the case where Neal had a gun shoved in his face and he hadn’t been lucky enough to miss it. From then on, caution was Peter’s utmost concern. His people safe. Today had been lucky. He’d been preoccupied with other things early in the day and hadn’t thought long enough on what Luccson might be capable of. The hacker had gone from computers to breaking and entering and grand theft larceny in a short time frame, coupled with the fact there was an outside benefactor no one seemed to know anything about. And then there were the notes, that could have everything to do with the case, or nothing at all and Peter didn’t know which was which and what was important. All he knew was that they unnerved him.
The red light swapped to green and Peter turned his gaze back to the road as he pumped the gas, focused in that moment on the road in front of him long enough to miss the black SUV speeding through the red light to his right until, with a grinding shriek of metal it connected with the rear of the Taurus. Peter’s head slammed sideways as the SUV drove forward and everything was wiped from his brain except the screaming of metal and the shouts of Neal and Jones and the momentum of the Taurus, forced sideways into the intersection by the SUV. It seemed to take an age before everything went still, and when it did, it was like nothing was moving at all.
Not even to breathe.
****
TO BE CONTINUED:
with
Composition in Black and White (part two)
First/
Previous
***
When Neal arrived the next morning, Peter was turning over his note in his hands as he had been that morning days earlier. It certainly made the approach easier as Neal jogged up the stairs and paused in the doorway.
Peter seemed to be off in a world of his own as Neal rested in the doorway for a second. Peter didn’t look up.
“You got any leads on that thing?” he asked and Peter finally glanced up at him. It took him a moment to answer, but he did, finally.
“No,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“Thoughts?” Neal asked, stepping inside.
“Nothing new.”
“Ah,” Neal said, walking over to his seat and sitting down.
“I might have something for you.”
He pulled out his own note from his inside pocket and slid it across the table.
“That arrived at June’s.”
Peter’s expression turned tight as he looked down at it. He gingerly picked it up.
“It was sent to your apartment?”
“Yeah. June said it was sent by courier. Like yours.”
“Like mine.”
Peter was quiet as he looked down at it.
“Number two,” he murmured, touching the paper.
“Yep,” Neal shrugged. Peter opened his drawer and pulled out his own note. Setting it down beside the second. He stared at them for a moment before he finally looked back up at Neal.
“Should we be worried?”
“I guess that depends what it’s counting towards,” Neal answered, leaning forward to look down at the two cards.
“Any ideas now?”
“Not about this.”
“About what then?”
“I may have had a tail the other day. I wasn’t sure so I didn’t say anything, but it could have been. They were good at looking inconspicuous.”
“Then I think we should bring in the big guns. Is Diana here yet?”
Neal glanced down at the bullpen.
“Not yet.”
“Well, send her up when she does get here. I’ll inform Jones when he swaps with Blake keeping surveillance.”
“You think these are connected to Luccson?”
“Or our missing mastermind.”
“It’s possible. We’re still missing how the theft and the forgery are connected. There’s definitely something going on there.”
“Well once we find Luccson, we’ll press on him for a form of contact and go from there.”
“The job’s only half done,” Neal sighed.
“Yep. We’ll pressure Luccson for anything he has and go after the paintings and the other players.”
“He won’t have the painting anymore, Peter. He’ll have passed the painting on by now. If it’s a contracted job then it’ll have been passed on the day of the theft. If it wasn’t it would have turned up on the black market somewhere.”
“If that’s the case, then he’ll at least be able to give us a little more insight into whoever orchestrated this whole thing. No matter which way I look at it, it doesn’t seem to make sense. They steal one, they forge another and swap it out, both by the same artist, but owned by different people. But they leave the third as it is.”
“None of the other paintings had anything wrong with them. It didn’t look like they were tampered with and it doesn’t look like any of them are top notch forgeries either.”
“So what does that say about the third Kandinsky?” Peter asked, solemnly.
“Or what does it say about the other two? The Blue Rider I can understand, that’s a milestone piece, especially if you like Kandinsky. Fugue, I’m a little hesitant about. ‘Santa Marguerite’, that’s a work that only someone would want personally. It was painted in 1904; it’s early work for Kandinsky. Not many people know about it.”
“You think that’s why it wasn’t touched?”
“Could be,” Neal shrugged.
“Or it could be they already have it and don’t need to steal it. Maybe the mastermind is whoever owns Santa Marguerite?” Neal said with a shrug.
“Maybe. I’ll get Fenley to run a background check and see what comes up.”
Neal nodded.
“I’m gonna go and grab a coffee. You want one?” he asked. Peter was frowning, staring down at the two notes still out on his desk.
“Yeah, thanks. Send Diana up for me will you?” he asked and Neal nodded. Glancing down in the bullpen where Diana was unpacking for the morning.
He wandered down to meet her.
***
“This about Neal, boss?” Diana asked, pausing in the doorway of Peter’s office. Peter shook his head slightly, leaning back in his seat as she closed the door behind her, watching as Neal slumped down in his chair and reached for his rubber band ball. She turned back to Peter. He was silent, waiting for her to step closer towards him before he continued.
“Not entirely,” he said, frowning. “On Tuesday morning, I received this. It was left at the front desk, by personal courier Monday night,” he said, pushing a small piece of white paper across the desk at her. It was Diana’s turn to frown as she picked it up.
“One?”
“Yeah. I had it run through forensics. Nothing. Just the note in a white envelope. The courier lead went nowhere.”
“What’s this got to do with Neal?” she asked, looking back up at him. Peter looked pensive. This at least answered a few of the questions she’d been stacking up since the investigation began. She’d been sure Peter had been keeping something back, and considering the way Neal had been acting all week, she was beginning to think it had something to do with him. If it was all about the letter then she could set her reservations aside.
Naturally it wasn’t that easy.
“Neal received this, last night,” Peter said, pushing the second piece of paper across the desk.
Two.
Oh.
“You think this is a threat?”
“I do now.”
“Is Neal worried?” she asked, staring at Peter.
“He doesn’t seem to be. I think something else is going on there. I can’t be sure. Neal thinks he had a tail yesterday.”
“What about you?”
“I haven’t noticed. But I want a security detail checking up on Elizabeth just in case. Nothing else has been made of it, but if it is leading up to something, I want her safe. Let me know the moment another one of these arrives. Whether it’s for you or Jones or anyone else. I’ll be telling Clinton the same thing. I don’t know what it’s about yet, but we need to be careful about this.”
“You got it, boss,” she said, looking between the two cards. One and two. Insignificant numbers, but considering the ambiguity of the job they were working and sent in like they were - one and two became threats. They became dangerous.
“Anything else, boss?” she asked, setting the cards down. Peter’s expression hadn’t wavered past concerned.
“Yeah, tell Fenley to run a background check on the owner of the third Kandinsky, ‘Santa Marguerite’, check for any changes in finances, lately. Upgrades to security, home improvements. Things like that. And I want you to cross check any of the others set to show up to that show this weekend for the same thing. We’re thinking the two stolen works could be making up part of a set. A set that’s already partially constructed.”
“You think they only wanted those two because they already have others.”
“Some people go to extreme lengths for interior design. Let’s see whether theft is one of them.”
“Gotcha boss,” she said, hurrying back down to her desk, but not before she cast a cursory glance back up at Peter. His expression hadn’t changed, but if it had, it had scaled a few shades darker. Something else was afoot and she couldn’t help all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was more to this case than met the eye, and if those notes were in any way connected, then things were about to get nasty.
***
Peter left the office about eleven to join Jones in the van outside Luccson’s Queens studio apartment. The place was on the second floor along a busy street and in the fourteen hours they’d been surveilling the place, no one had come in or out. Jones had taken over from Blake about eight, and was just starting to fidget when Peter let himself inside.
“Jones,” he greeted and the younger agent spun on his chair.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Not a damn thing,” Jones replied.
“Time for a coffee break?” he asked, eyeing the door. Peter smiled.
“Neal’s gone to get you one.”
“You sent Neal on a coffee run?” Jones sounded amused.
“He offered. It’s the van, he hates it,” Peter shrugged, sitting himself down.
“Always the van,” Jones snickered, glancing back at the screens.
“Hope you told him to bring snacks while he’s out.”
“We can send him a message. I wanted to talk to you about something,” Peter said. Jones’ smile disappeared and he sat up straight.
“This something about Caffrey? That why you sent him for coffee?” Peter sat back. Sometimes he forgot Jones was as intuitive as he was, which he knew wasn’t fair on the man at all. Clinton Jones was a lot of things, and loyal was at the top of the list, smart, just one step down. Peter knew he didn’t give him anywhere near enough credit.
“Yes and no,” Peter said, reaching in his pocket for the notes.
Jones eyed them warily as Peter handed them over.
“I received the first one on Tuesday. Neal got his last night. We’re not sure what it’s about, whether it’s this case or something we don’t know about yet, but I just wanted to warn you first. I need you to let me know if you get anything like this at all.”
“You told Diana?”
“I showed her this morning. There’s nothing to go on. They’re delivered by courier; they just show up on the delivery roster with no existing paperwork. No prints, nothing forensics could find at all. Just the notes.”
“You think this has something to do with why Caffrey’s been off the last week?”
Peter frowned. So he definitely hadn’t been the only one to notice Neal being off.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Leave Neal to me. The notes, however, are now a team effort.”
Jones nodded and fell silent. Peter watched the man’s face, but after a full tour in the Navy, Clinton Jones knew how to pull a neutral expression. Deception tutorials with Neal didn’t help either, once Jones had started taking over for Neal with the undercover assignments in the last few months.
Peter didn’t have time to open his mouth and ask about the intel before there was the undeniable shuffling as Neal climbed inside the van, juggling coffee and bags of pastries.
“No message required,” Neal smiled as he handed over Jones’ bag of pastries like he’d been listening in and Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little at Jones’ pleased expression. He should have known after three and a half years of surveillance that Caffrey knew to always bring food back when he went for coffee, especially for Jones. The man had a sweet tooth.
“I never doubted you,” Jones said as Neal handed Peter his coffee and set himself down on the third chair, pulling a headset over.
“Anything show up?”
“No one’s gone in or out, whole time I’ve been here,” Jones said ruefully, already picking at a danish Neal had brought back.
“Delightful,” Neal quipped and Peter rolled his eyes at him before looking back to the screens, settling back in his chair for a long day.
And it was.
The only highlight was Diana calling around eleven thirty with a proposal that had Peter berating himself for overlooking.
Mandy had Luccson’s contact details, and while they were keeping tabs on the so-far quiet cell phone, that didn’t stop the girl from calling to set up a meet, luring Luccson back out into the open.
Luccson didn’t answer the phone, but Diana had the girl leave a message and some fifteen minutes later, that Neal counted out with pensive tapping, driving Peter steadily insane - there was an answering text message with a time. 1pm.
Easy.
It left them forty minutes to stake out the building and get into position before Luccson’s arrest.
But even the best laid plans can go wrong, and Peter knew this certainly wasn’t the best laid plan. It was simple, straightforward and from their discussion it didn’t appear like very much could go wrong.
The unfortunate thing about stings like that though, was that Fate seemed to take it up as a challenge.
***
Diana had more than enough time to get down to the meeting point at Luccson’s place, leading a team to stake out any potential back exits and leaving Peter, Neal and Jones to surreptitiously stake out the front.
If there was one thing Neal approved about the hacker’s manners, it was the fact he showed up on time at the very least. One thing that did surprise him, however, was his ability to run. When he’d stared at the man’s photograph in his file, the man wasn’t overweight, he looked normal, average, a little dimwitted; but that had been all in his expression. He’d looked like a sloth, but Neal had no reservations the man actually moved like one.
In reality, the man was built like a tonne of bricks. He was big, but bulky - mostly muscle and he was tall.
Of course, that was no help at all to poor Jones, who braced himself when they’d tried to corner the man on the ground floor of his building. But that didn’t stop the agent going sprawling as he’d barreled into him. Neal heard Jones shout and go flying backwards and had barely enough time to get out of the way before Luccson went running up the damn stairs.
“Peter, he’s got a gun!” Jones shouted, charging to his feet and up the stairs after Luccson. Neal started after him, barely four stairs up before Peter grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.
“Stay here,” Peter pressed and Neal was about to argue before Peter glared at him and started after Jones. Neal could hear both men’s shoes on the concrete as they climbed, the squeak and groan of shoes and body weight and the shouts of Peter and Jones as they gave chase. The bottom floor of the building was deserted; Diana was keeping guard at the back exit, leaving Neal to the front. Not that there was much to the front at all. There were two closets either side of the large staircase and everything else was available via the back entrance. The front was little more than affable grandiose. It was all about upstairs and they hadn’t really expected Luccson to run. Especially not once he was inside the damn building. The man was a hacker, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot, and only an idiot would go running upwards inside a building when approached by the Feds when it was clear they had the place staked out.
Neal shook his head and took one last glance out onto the street and started up the stairs after them. Peter had coddled him for months. The pair of them knew that he was no longer pressured into every single undercover op but he needn’t need the second-guessing. He was fine. He’d proved that time and again for six months and putting him on watch was coddling. Fenley was in the van out the front of the building anyway. It was more likely he’d be needed further up to corner Luccson than simply barricading the front doors.
He could hear Peter and Jones chasing Luccson up to the second floor as he came up the stairs. The first floor branched off down two separate hallways; on one side the wall conjoined with another building, and on the other side there was a modest sized window. Large enough for even someone like Luccson to get through, and from there, it was a fair jump to the ground, but no doubt one modest enough for a desperate man on the run from the FBI. Neal had made crazier decisions than that.
His curiosity piqued, Neal started down the corridor towards the window when there was a shot fired upstairs and a muffled shout. Neal turned abruptly in time to see Benny Luccson come careening down the stairwell, almost slipping on his feet. He stumbled and pushed himself upright, his face contorted into a frantic sort of desperation and in his hand was a gun, that upon seeing Neal between him and what was no doubt the man’s well aimed escape route, he raised it straight on. His finger on the trigger, eyeline bearing straight at Neal.
On instinct, Neal raised his arms above his head and stared down the muzzle of the gun and, without consent, his brain pushed all common sense aside and started to panic. He could feel his heart speed up. He watched the sweat beading the other man’s brow, above his lip. The desperation in the man’s eyes, the gleam that was suddenly a little unhinged. The finger resting just on the trigger, and the eager sort of twitch it was suddenly making. Neal felt ice cold dread run through him and without any sort of rational thinking at all, Neal did the only thing he could do, trapped between a desperate man with a gun and his only way out; on the other end of a long straight corridor.
Neal ran.
And before his brain could catch up with the irrational decision and tell him off, there was the sound of the gun’s rapport and Neal’s whole body flinched and he went down.
***
Nothing had seemed to go right from the moment Diana radioed in from the back door that she was in position. Luccson had arrived on time, but the moment he’d looked both ways and entered the front entrance of the building, everything had gone to hell. Jones and Neal had filed in after him. Peter had been mere steps behind, reaching in his jacket for his badge before Neal suddenly leapt aside and Peter was half a step away from being barreled into by Jones, who barely managed to stay on his feet, but once he had his balance back, went running off.
Peter heard Jones call out to him as he watched Luccson take off up the stairs, Jones chasing after him, Neal a few steps behind.
Peter reached out and grabbed Neal, twisting the younger man back and stopping him before he could get any further out of reach. The kid spun around, his eyes wide and piqued with the briefest flare of annoyance.
“Stay here,” Peter heard himself order before he took off after Jones, taking the stairs two at a time. As he reached the first landing, Jones was half way up the second, his gun out in front.
Peter started after him. Jones was halfway across the room as Peter made it to the top.
Stopping, he braced himself, holding his gun in both hands and carefully cleared the corridor before making his way over to the open door and followed Jones inside the top floor studio. The room was nothing like what Peter had imagined. He’d thought of a room full of wiring and monitors, instead it was practically abandoned, rife with boxes and draped material. It smelt like mortar dust and mildew.
“He’s armed, Peter,” Jones called from a few feet away, his gun out as he turned slowly, eyeing the mess and searching for some sign of Luccson.
“He ran in here and pulled the door shut behind him; by the time I got in here he was gone.” Jones spoke slowly, eyeballing the room, Peter followed, keeping an eye out for the smallest change, the smallest hint of disturbance.
“He was crafty, I can give him that much,” Jones was saying as Peter heard it, a creak of shoes on concrete behind him and he spun, just in time to see Luccson take a quick, badly aimed shot their way before tearing it across the room and back down the stairs again.
“Jones! Down the stairs!” Peter shouted, giving chase.
“There must have been a back door!” Jones shouted, just behind him as Peter ran out the door and down to the stairs. Luccson was taking them two at a time and Peter was at the top as he watched the man trip over his own feet at the bottom and go scattering into the hallway, where instead of trying to run yet again, the man scrambled to his feet and raised his gun upright.
Except he wasn’t aiming at Peter.
Peter felt his heart pounding in his chest as he reached far enough down to see Neal as the CI turned his back and ran. Peter watched in horror as Luccson took a shot. The report of it echoing back up to Peter and stopping him halfway down the stairs. He watched in horror as just up the hall Neal twisted and cringed, tripping over his feet and going down. Peter felt his heart beating in his throat as he watched, wide eyed and useless as his partner fell.
“Luccson!” Peter shouted, bracing himself, raising his gun.
“Put the gun down!” Jones shouted behind him, but Luccson was turning and his gun was still outright, his finger on the trigger. There was a manic gleam in his eyes that Peter understood and he knew what Luccson was planning on doing before the man could finish turning, or his trigger finger finish clenching and take another shot.
Instead, Peter took his chance and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.
He watched in detached slow motion as Benjamin Luccson collapsed.
But the moment the man stopped falling his attention wasn’t on Luccson; it was on the heavily breathing Neal, on his back, his knees tangled under him, staring wide eyed at the body of the man in front of him.
Peter felt his own panic start to dissipate as he took in the sight before him. Neal was alive. He was fine.
Peter forced himself to take a deep breath and accept the sight in front of him. It took far longer than he was willing to admit.
The sight in front of him was too familiar; it was a far too similar to the Thompson case. Their con was dead and Neal was sprawled out against the wall. The upside to it this time was the vibrant alarm Peter could see in Neal’s eyes as he heaved, breathing hard and staring up at Peter. Peter forced himself to take in another deep breath as he holstered his gun, still trying to dispel the sheer panic that had risen up like bile in his throat when he’d seen Neal go down.
But this time there was no blood. There was no sagging head resting on his chest, no limp hand facing palm up covered in blood, the wall streaked red where the kid had slid down it, barricading the door between where little Gerry Halborough had escaped and where Eric Thompson had been standing with a gun. Or at least he had been until Jones had put two bullets in his chest and he’d gone down in a mess of sprawled limbs.
This time was much better.
“Come on,” he said, coming down the last of the stairs, stepping around Luccson and going over to Neal. He held out a hand for Neal to grasp, helping to pull him to his feet. Neal was staring at Luccson, his face white, still gasping for breath.
“Thanks,” Neal murmured, breaking his staring competition with Luccson to glance up at Peter. Peter laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder, hoping to calm the kid down. And himself.
“No problem,” he said back, just as quietly as Neal. Jones was holstering his own gun and talking quietly on his radio to Diana.
“There goes our chance to get any more on the mastermind behind this thing,” Neal said, still warily eyeing Luccson’s body. Peter didn’t care. He couldn’t force himself to care. Not right then, dammit.
“There may be evidence here we can find. It may not be a dead end yet.”
If Neal heard the pun or not, he didn’t let it show; he ran a hand through his hair and as Peter glanced at him, he was a little shocked to feel the young man shaking under his touch as he reached out to guide Neal out past the body and back to the car. Or at least somewhere to sit down. He pushed Neal down onto the steps heading down to the ground floor, sitting him out of sight of the body just as Diana brought up the other agents who had been with her at the back entrance and started coordinating the scene. Peter left them to it, choosing to stay with Neal on the stairs, watching as Neal took a deep breath and tried to relax. It didn’t work; he still looked tightly wound and nervous. He wasn’t shaking so much in the short walk, but he couldn’t sit still and his eyes were wide and Peter was tempted to almost call it terrified. Except Neal didn’t really get terrified, he got rattled, and this was clearly a severe case. But Neal had made sure not to give himself away over the years. Not the real earth shattering emotions, no, those he kept forcibly bottled. This felt like a rare glimpse of them, or as close as anyone got. Peter hadn’t seen anything quite like this since… well. Well, since.
But then, no other case had been this close to replicating that fateful day. In the last six months Neal hadn’t been cornered in a corridor by a psycho with a gun aiming to kill him with no way out.
Neal was doing well not to completely fall apart, Peter thought. Which he almost had due right to do. Peter laid his hand on Neal’s shoulder again.
“You alright, Neal?” he asked softly, trying to meet Neal’s eye. Neal’s gaze wandered, and it took a moment before he even glanced at Peter, but when he did, he didn’t look away.
“I’m fine, Peter,” he said, trying to smile. It didn’t work and they both knew it. But all the same, Peter nodded and let go of his friend. Neal sighed and glanced back up the hallway.
“What do we do now?” he asked and it was Peter’s turn to sigh, setting his hands on his hips and following his consultant’s gaze. Jones was standing with Diana, who was securing the scene. Peter tried to remind himself to thank her.
“We go back to the office and go over what we can find here. See if Mandy Brenner can give us anything else. We go from there.”
Neal nodded and was quiet.
“You alright to sit here while I oversee this?” he asked, turning to look back at Neal. Neal nodded, mutely. When Peter kept his gaze, Neal was the first to glance away, his mouth twisting in a small frown. He braced himself against the steps before he looked up at Peter and Peter pretended to let the telling movement slip him by.
“I’ll be alright, Peter,” he said softly.
“You’ll stay here?” Peter pressed and this time Neal sighed, exasperated.
“Right here,” he said, his voice lilting in common Caffrey style.
“Good,” Peter said, knowing he was patronizing, but not really caring. He didn’t care how he sounded, not when he didn’t want Neal completely out of his sight and not when it looked like if the kid tried to stand up his knees would go out from under him. A part of him knew he was underestimating Neal’s ability to cope, but another part of him was well prepared to coddle and look away in equal measures as long as it meant that Neal could show up tomorrow or the day after and do his job without having to hide his hands trembling.
Peter was sick of watching his partner pretend he was okay because he thought he had to.
“I’ll be back. Right here, don’t move.”
He could feel Neal’s eyes on his back as he wandered back up to where Diana was overseeing the agents securing their scene awaiting forensics.
“How is he?” she asked softly as Peter walked over. Peter watched as her eyes flickered down to Neal who was still on the steps.
“Shaky. He should be alright.”
“Jones says it was another close one,” she said, looking back to where the agents were moving around the body.
“Yeah, it was,” Peter agreed. Another horrible moment of potential disaster. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Neal decided to take up the offer he and Hughes had been discussing on offering the ex-con once his parole ended. Peter suddenly didn’t know if he was even willing to offer it to him. Not when it meant that Neal could potentially keep going undercover for the Bureau. While at that moment it would mean Neal would stick around, be stuck working with Peter for years to come - if it meant that he would one day find himself in one of these situations but running just a minute too late and find Neal on the ground in front of him shot to hell, not some felon Peter didn’t know the name of a week ago. If keeping Neal working with him meant one day burying his best friend, Peter knew he’d much rather Neal take off with a trail of high end felonies as a goodbye.
“You okay?” Diana asked, then and Peter knew he’d let his expression tell too much.
“Yeah. You alright to finish up here?” he asked, glancing at Diana. She nodded.
“Yeah. It shouldn’t take long. The ME should be here in about fifteen minutes anyway. Once the body’s been collected I’ll be right behind you.”
“Good. I’ll inform Hughes what’s going on. I have to lodge my weapon now anyway. Then I’m going to drop Caffrey back home.”
“You should go home yourself, Boss. I’ve got this,” Diana said and Peter nodded. He could trust her to wrap this up properly.
“Besides, there’s nothing more we can do on the case until forensics go through what’s up here.”
“Yeah. Right. Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Diana nodded.
“Bright and early, boss,” she called after him as Peter wandered back over to Neal, where Jones was standing in front of him. Neal hadn’t moved, and Peter couldn’t help but smile a little when he neared the two of them.
They stopped talking as he stopped in front of them.
“I’m heading back to the office. Diana’s going to wrap up the scene and Fenley can take the van back in.”
Neal nodded and Jones looked between the conman and Peter, his hands on his hips.
“Mind if I nick I ride, Peter? Neal’s gonna come back to mine tonight. We can pick up my car at the bureau.”
Peter started and looked between Jones in Neal in mock jest. Jones seemed to read him but Neal was still looking a bit dazed.
“Planning a night without me?”
“Mozzie’s in Chicago,” Neal said quietly and Peter shut up. “He took June to see Cindy.”
“Neal’s taking me up on a raincheck,” Jones shrugged. Peter didn’t press. Considering how pale Neal still looked, he didn’t think it was a good idea Neal was alone either. He’d have to thank Jones later.
“I don’t know about you, Peter, but I need a drink,” Neal said, pushing himself to his feet. He didn’t groan, but his movements were slow and stiff and it reminded Peter of an old man.
He nodded.
“Right, well, the sooner we get back the sooner you pair can head off and the sooner I can get home to Elizabeth.”
Neal nodded and casually glanced back up the hallway.
“I’m gonna go wait in the car,” he said to no one in particular and they watched him walk down the stairs.
“Keep an eye on him tonight,” Peter murmured to Jones. Jones turned to look at Peter.
“One step ahead of you, Peter,” he said, wearing a small smile.
Peter watched as Jones hurried after Neal until the agent was at the bottom of the stairs before he cast one last look at Diana, who was talking with a pair of agents just arrived on scene. The call must have been put through quickly, but that was Diana. She had it all handled. Peter sighed and jogged after Jones.
When he got to the car, Neal was already slumped in the backseat and Jones was leaning against the passenger door talking to Neal through the window. They grew quiet again as Peter neared and Jones just glanced back down at Neal and then slid into the front seat.
The whole car was quiet as Peter turned on the engine and backed the car out into traffic. There wasn’t much to say, certainly nothing that Peter was willing to broach in the car. Elizabeth had warned him of that before, after Neal had returned to work and Peter had been sure Neal still wasn’t ready. Because Neal certainly wasn’t one to share. He hadn’t then, and Peter had been scolded more than once for cornering Neal in the car and asking the big questions, like ‘are you okay? Are you sure? Why do you think you have to be okay with what happened?’
Since then, he’d tried to give Neal space, but given the circumstances…
Peter stopped himself and gripped the steering wheel, eyeing his consultant and then glancing at Jones, who had one arm braced against the window as he watched New York go by.
Perhaps Jones had the better tact; perhaps coaxing it out of Neal was better than just asking. Peter shook his head, keeping the gesture mostly to himself. Of course coaxing it out was the better option. Neal reveled under pressure, but he also rebelled. He only ever revealed things on his own terms, and perhaps over quiet drinks where he wasn’t expected to share anything was certainly better than blunt questions.
Peter pulled up at a red light and couldn’t help but glance at Neal in the mirror. Neal’s face was blank as he stared out the window; his head canted back and turned to the side. He wasn’t as pale anymore, which was an upside. In all the cases they’d worked in the last six months, there had been a distinctive lack of Neal having guns shoved in his face. Peter had made sure of it and he was distinctly proud of the achievement. Jones had gone undercover more often, which he seemed to relish. They still maintained their closure rate, Neal wasn’t threatened as often and they all went home safe.
Peter had forced himself to be more rational about the cases and undercover operations since the Thompson case; it was the case that every other was measured against. The odd thing about it had always been that it had been a case that they hadn’t needed anyone undercover at all. But it had been the case where Neal had a gun shoved in his face and he hadn’t been lucky enough to miss it. From then on, caution was Peter’s utmost concern. His people safe. Today had been lucky. He’d been preoccupied with other things early in the day and hadn’t thought long enough on what Luccson might be capable of. The hacker had gone from computers to breaking and entering and grand theft larceny in a short time frame, coupled with the fact there was an outside benefactor no one seemed to know anything about. And then there were the notes, that could have everything to do with the case, or nothing at all and Peter didn’t know which was which and what was important. All he knew was that they unnerved him.
The red light swapped to green and Peter turned his gaze back to the road as he pumped the gas, focused in that moment on the road in front of him long enough to miss the black SUV speeding through the red light to his right until, with a grinding shriek of metal it connected with the rear of the Taurus. Peter’s head slammed sideways as the SUV drove forward and everything was wiped from his brain except the screaming of metal and the shouts of Neal and Jones and the momentum of the Taurus, forced sideways into the intersection by the SUV. It seemed to take an age before everything went still, and when it did, it was like nothing was moving at all.
Not even to breathe.
****
TO BE CONTINUED:
with
Composition in Black and White (part two)