Chapter 13: The Chase

Peter's car. January 2, 2004 – Friday evening.

"Thanks," Neal said on the drive back to the mansion.

"For what?" Peter asked.

"The whole dinner thing. You didn't have to do that."

"That was –" Peter started.

"It was a set up. You were worried about me, and came up with that whole convoluted scheme. But it was... better than I thought it would be."

"With all of those father figures in your life, I'd have guessed you're used to people trying to take care of you."

"They all wanted something from me."

Peter considered that. "I'm not going to deny I want something from you. I want you to contribute to my team, and that's going to be good for my career. But it's tied into wanting something for you. I want you to have a better life, to have the stability and sense of accomplishment that comes from being on the right side of the law."

"You're different," said Neal. "I'm not sure what it is about you. But for the first time, instead of having a father figure imposed on me, I actually picked one."

"It was a joke," Peter said, remembering when Neal first introduced him as his stepdad in St. Louis.

"That's what I thought at the time. But now I wonder."

Peter drove in silence for a while before saying, "I'm honored. And kind of scared. I don't know the first thing about being a father figure."

"Don't worry. Just think of it this way: it would be hard for me to get any more messed up than I already am. That gives you a lot of leeway."

"I wouldn't call you messed up. You have a lot going for you."

Neal shrugged. "Seriously, though. Don't worry about me. I'm an adult and I've been taking care of myself for a long time now. What you did tonight, inviting me over to your house, that was nice, but I didn't need it."

"You weren't fooled for a minute?"

"No."

"Then why didn't you call me out on it?"

"I was curious about what you were doing, and why. I was curious about your life outside of work, too. And..."

"And what?" Peter asked.

"It was kind of you, giving me an evening like that."

"You didn't want to hurt my feelings by telling me I failed in my attempt to con you." When Neal didn't answer, Peter continued, "You don't have to lie to me. I'd rather know the truth than have someone try to spare my feelings."

"Withholding information isn't the same as a lie."

"You pretended something false was true. That's hard to distinguish from a lie."

"You lied about why you wanted me to have dinner at your house."

"Good point," Peter conceded. "And I owe you some truth now. I understand you don't want people to worry about you, but you don't make that easy. For one thing, you have those repressed memories you won't deal with, and who knows what might happen when they're triggered. On top of that, I worry about the lengths you'll go to, to make people happy. Like misleading me tonight, or maybe doing an end-run around the law for one of your friends. Will you promise me, if you're tempted to do something illegal for a friend, that you'll come to me first? Give me a chance to help you find a legal alternative."

"I'm not used to turning to other people for help."

"And why is that?" Peter asked.

"A lot of people in my life haven't been very reliable."

"You can rely on me, Neal. When I first started working cases at the FBI, I got the nickname The Archaeologist, because I wouldn't stop digging. I wouldn't give up. And I don't plan to give up on you."

"Thanks."

It wasn't the promise Peter had asked for, but at least it wasn't an outright refusal. If he wanted Neal to be honest with him, he had to accept that trust came with time, even if he would rather hear immediate assurances that Neal would do as Peter had asked.

The mansion was dark when Peter parked. Neal seemed all right now, but Peter wondered if more nightmares awaited and he asked, "You meditate?"

"What? No."

"You look like someone who meditates. What do you do to unwind?"

"Paint. Swim. Run. There are some parks around here that are great for running."

"Yeah? How about I meet you at one of them tomorrow morning?"

Neal smiled. "You think you can keep up with me?"

"Hey, I'm in the prime of my life, and in excellent shape."

"That's not what I meant. Yeah, I'll run with you. This should be interesting."

###

They started out keeping an easy pace Saturday morning, but about ten minutes into the run Neal sprinted ahead. When Peter picked up speed to catch up, he outpaced Neal to show he could, then looked back to find no sign of Neal.

That's what he'd meant about keeping up. Neal wanted to lead him on the chase they'd never had, since the Bureau had offered immunity. Peter used his training in tracking suspects to keep Neal in sight. After a while he saw Neal back away from a hiding place and trip over an old tree root. He rolled into the fall, but ended up leaning against the tree and grasping his ankle. Looked like he'd twisted it. That was going to mean a painful walk home. Peter made his way into the clearing, saying, "That's not how I wanted to catch you." But Neal was gone. The injury had been a hoax, and Peter had fallen for it. "Damn, he's good," Peter muttered before resuming the chase.

When Peter was starting to feel winded, Neal stepped out from behind a hedge. "You ready to call this a draw?" Neal asked.

"I think we should," Peter agreed.

On the walk back toward the mansion, Neal's phone buzzed, and he ignored it. A minute later it buzzed again. This time he pulled it out and read his text messages. He smiled, then glanced toward Peter and sobered.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Remember when I said that any trouble Henry got into was Shawn's fault?"

"Yeah. You called Shawn a force of chaos rather than a criminal. Just what the hell does that even mean?"

"You know those mythological trickster gods, like Coyote?"

"I refuse to believe this Shawn person is supernatural."

"I'm not saying he is. Just hear me out." Neal stopped next to Peter's car. "Over the course of your life, you meet a lot of people you'd call mischievous. But occasionally, you come across someone truly exceptional. Someone whose talents for mischief are legendary. And I think they're the ones who inspired those myths."

"I also remember I said you need to tell me if this force of chaos re-entered your life. Were those texts from him?"

"He's in New York."

"Is he going to cause trouble?"

"Nothing malicious, or illegal. He just wants to see me tonight."

Peter leaned against his car. "Great. I can't wait to meet him."

"No. You aren't going with me to a club on a Saturday night."

"I like clubbing."

"Right. Name one time in the last three months you've gone to a nightclub."

"I've been busy, lately. Recruiting you and taking over the White Collar taskforce has taken a toll on my social life."

"Uh-huh. I don't need a chaperone. I'll see you on Monday, Peter."

Peter let it go, but he couldn't help wondering if Shawn's presence meant Winslow would also be around. He kept thinking about Winslow all weekend, and as a result he came up with an idea he knew Neal would hate.

###

"I'm doing what?" Neal asked after everyone else had left the Monday morning briefing.

"You're going to spend the next thirty days doing surveillance," Peter said.

"Why?"

"Although you did a good job undercover at the Sinclair party, it was clear you need a grounding in FBI procedures for field work. The best way to get that –"

"Is to do field work," Neal interrupted.

"Is to observe field work, done by people who have the training you lack. You'll have a chance to see how it's supposed to be done, and to ask questions about what you've observed. Then, after thirty days, you'll be ready."

"Thomas warned me about this. He said you'd be tempted to restrict me to desk duty for a month."

"That was tempting," Peter agreed. "But this is better for you. After thirty days of surveillance, and no flashbacks, I'll give you another chance in the field."

Neal wanted to protest, but decided it wasn't the right time. He needed to make a show of trying it Peter's way before demanding something different.

The first day wasn't too bad. He didn't actually get to the van until Monday afternoon. The equipment was all new and fascinating. Jones was okay to hang around with, and was willing to fill Neal in on the suspected gunrunner whose office they had bugged. Neal had missed the part where Jones had gone in to plant the bugs, but the agent was willing to explain what he'd done that morning.

Tuesday was awful. The gunrunner spent all morning in meetings about his import-export business, not saying anything remotely incriminating, or interesting. Instead of Jones, Neal was stuck with Agent Hitchum, who'd had a grudge against Neal since the beginning, and who was not willing to engage in any conversation. It was a relief when Peter arrived with lunch, even if adding a third person to the van was a bit claustrophobic.

That afternoon, Collins called Neal to request his help fencing the book. Neal set up a meet Wednesday at noon in a coffee shop around the corner from Hurst Collectibles. And he was pleased with himself for promising to meet Collins in person to introduce him to the buyer. He was going to do field work, after all.

Following the Wednesday morning briefing, he was less pleased. "Peter, you can't be serious."

"I said thirty days without field work, and I meant it. The clock starts over again on Thursday."

It was unfair, and in retaliation, Neal left a voicemail for Mozzie before heading out to the van again. "Mozz, are you still interested in that first edition Paradise Lost?"

###

Mid-morning, Peter pulled Neal from the van to prepare for the meet with Collins. As they sat in Peter's car, he could tell his consultant was still unhappy about having to spend another thirty days on surveillance. Time to move on to the next part of his plan. "Listen, Neal, I get it. No one wants to spend thirty days working in the van."

"It's excessive," Neal said. "I don't get why I'm being punished like this."

"It isn't a punishment. It's a learning experience."

"Yeah, well I've got news for you. I'm going to die of boredom before thirty days are up, and all of that learning will be a waste of time."

"The first thing you need to learn is that sulking and whining aren't the way to get what you want at the FBI. We're all adults, here. If you have a problem with one of my decisions, you have to talk to me, calmly and rationally. Explain the issue, and work with me to find a solution."

"You mean you'd actually back off on the thirty-day thing?"

"I might be persuaded to make an adjustment."

To Peter's surprise, Neal didn't ask how he might be persuaded. Instead he leaned his head back against the headrest, closed his eyes and groaned. Then he said, "Friday night I made a point of saying I'm an adult, and then I had to go and be childish." He opened his eyes and looked at Peter again, abashed. "I'm sorry, Peter."

"Why am I afraid you're apologizing about more than just your attitude?"

"Remember that phone call I got during dinner at the Sinclair party? It was Mozzie, telling me Benny owned a fortune in rare books. He was particularly interested in a first edition Paradise Lost. That's how I knew it was there."

"Did he ask you to steal it?" Peter asked.

"No, he knew I wouldn't do that. But this morning, when I was upset about the thirty days restarting, I left him a message that the book is changing hands at Hurst Collectibles today."

"Neal, I'm aware that you left Mozzie out of your confession, and I was willing to overlook that because you had warned me there were a few people you felt a need to protect. But I can't overlook any new crimes. If he tries to steal that book, I have to arrest him."

"It's a little unorthodox, but I think there's a compromise."

###

At noon, Collins was waiting for Neal in the coffee shop. They walked to Hurst Collectibles, where Neal vouched for Collins to Louisa Hurst. When Collins placed Paradise Lost on the counter and asked what Louisa would offer for it, the FBI stormed in from a back room to make the arrest.

After two agents took Collins away, Neal stepped into the alley behind the store. "It's safe, Mozz," he called out.

"That's not the code phrase," Mozzie said from behind a dumpster.

"I don't think you want me saying the code phrase right now," Neal said, indicating Peter, who stood behind him.

Mozzie stood, positioned to make a run for it. "What's he doing here?"

"You said you were interested in a first edition because there was a rumor of a code inside it. Is that true, or was it all an excuse to set up Kate?"

"It wasn't a set up. Not entirely. There are rumors of a code."

Neal held the book up so Mozzie could see he had it. "It has to go into evidence at the FBI, so that Collins gets what he deserves. But I can let you borrow it, first."

"What's the catch?" Mozzie asked.

Peter spoke up. "You can't take it with you. We'll let you read it, in a controlled environment. We're going to call you an authenticator."

"Do I get paid?" Mozzie wanted to know.

"Give me a social security number," Peter countered, "and I might be able to pay you a fee."

Mozzie ranted for a while about not being lured into giving any personal data to the suits. Eventually he got into Peter's car with them. Peter drove back to the van, where he monitored the gunrunner while Mozzie and Neal pored over the book.

Mozzie twitched and complained over being locked in the van, but Neal knew it was a ruse. Mozz was taking in every bit of technology the FBI had for monitoring people, and was almost gleeful at the opportunity. They spent a few hours taking notes from the book before Mozzie closed it decisively. "I have what I need," he said. "Time to get out of this government box while my soul is still intact." He put his coat on, and as he was about to open the door, turned to say, "Oh, and you're wasting your time on Jimmy, there. He's too far down the food chain. Quincy is the one calling the shots."

"Wait!" Peter said. "Quincy Tower, their in-house attorney?"

"Try running the name Quincy Watt," Mozzie advised before he left.

Peter called in a request to the office for background on Quincy Tower and Quincy Watt. While waiting for the results he said to Neal, "I'm glad you told me about the message you left Mozzie."

"But you wish I hadn't done something that impetuous."

"One step at a time. You let me know before it was too late, and we were able to find an acceptable solution. That's a win. We'll talk on Thursday about alternatives to spending thirty days in the van."

Neal wanted to talk about it now, but before he could say that, they got a response back from the team with preliminary information about Quincy. Then Peter was busy coordinating approval to bug the man's office. Jones was constantly calling back with the name of one more form he had submitted to get that approval. Then it was time to quit for the day.

Peter offered Neal a lift, but Neal shook his head. He had been sending and receiving texts for the last hour, and there was something he needed to follow up on. "I'll see you Thursday," he said.

###

Peter was halfway to his car when he remembered he'd left his tie in the van. As he was backtracking, he saw Neal head into a nearby park. He couldn't help wondering if Neal and Mozzie were meeting to talk about something they didn't think they could say in front of an FBI agent, and it worried him a little.

Peter watched Neal walk toward a street cart, where a vendor sold souvenirs to tourists. There was only one customer at the cart, a man in a suit who was paying for a tiny yellow taxi. As the vendor made change and the stranger pocketed the souvenir, Neal walked faster. A wallet was on its way into a jacket pocket when Neal grabbed it and ran.

The move was so smooth that the vendor didn't notice, and Peter almost didn't catch it. He had a hard time believing it. Why on earth would Neal steal someone's wallet?

The wallet's owner ran after Neal. Because the park sloped downward, Peter had a good vantage of the chase by simply remaining at the park entrance. Having chased Neal through a park a few days ago himself, he had a good basis of comparison, and quickly realized that Neal and his pursuer knew each other. They anticipated each other's moves, making the chase more like a dance. Furthermore, the pursuer wasn't angry. When Peter caught glimpses of their faces, they were laughing. This was a game to them.

Seeing that Neal was leading the chase in a specific direction, Peter took a shortcut. He was within earshot, but hidden behind a stand of trees, when Neal plopped down onto an iron bench facing an elaborate water fountain. Neal handed the wallet back to its owner, who took a seat next to him. The man was mid-to-late twenties, brown hair, too far away to guess eye color, half an inch shorter than Neal and slightly broader. Not heavy, but bigger-boned.

"You're out of practice," the man said.

"Give me a break," Neal answered. "I don't get to pickpocket anymore. The FBI doesn't approve."

"You went to the club Saturday night, but didn't stick around to talk."

"It was too risky."

As much as Peter wanted to eavesdrop, he knew he needed to take a more direct approach. He owed it to Neal, especially if he wanted to retain Neal's trust. He stepped into the open to make them aware of his presence. "Sorry to barge in, but I thought Neal might be in trouble."

"A reasonable assumption, knowing Neal." The stranger stood up. "You must be Agent Peter Burke. I recognize your voice."

Hazel eyes, Peter noticed as he approached the fountain, filling in a missing detail of the description he'd been mentally logging. "And you're Henry Winslow."