Austin, TX. Friday afternoon. June 25, 2004.

After he left the bank, Neal caught a taxi to take him to Miranda's studio. This was a change from the late '90s, when she'd used her garage to record demos of the songs she wrote. She'd had a lot of success these last few years. Now she had a studio downtown, and recorded demos for other songwriters, too. And some of the singers who picked up her songs liked the sound of her demos so much that they came to her studio to replicate what they'd heard.

Miranda Hunter Garza, Lawson's sister, was a savvy businesswoman on top of her musical talents. She was smart, stubborn and compassionate – exactly what Henry and Neal had needed in their younger days to keep them on their toes. Her daughter, Yvette, was about a year younger than Neal, and had suffered from bronchitis and other respiratory ailments as a child. When Miranda had wanted to use her talents to give back to the community, that effort revolved around music therapy. She specialized in helping patients who needed to strengthen their lungs.

Neal recalled the story as Henry originally told it. Henry had been pushing to be released from the hospital, even though Lawson had concerns that he was moving too fast for someone with cracked ribs and who had been fighting off pneumonia after drowning. Lawson introduced Miranda as a therapist who would evaluate Henry's recovery. She took him on a trip away from the hospital to the University of Texas campus. She gave him a backpack of text books, and said if he could walk the route for his Monday class schedule, she'd tell the hospital that he was well enough to be released.

Henry had been shocked and distressed at how weak he was, realizing he couldn't keep up his usual level of activity. As they rested on the campus grounds before returning to the hospital, Miranda recommended that he go to school part time while his ribs healed, and also that he have physical therapy to regain normal lung capacity. She'd just about talked him into it, when a former roommate saw them and jogged over to say hello. He mentioned that someone had dropped by their old apartment looking for Henry, and described the guy. Henry tried to keep it together, but on the drive back to the hospital he started to panic. He was making plans to leave the hospital and get out of Austin, and Miranda realized something was wrong. She gathered he was about to bolt, even if she couldn't figure out why, and she made him a deal. He could work part time at her studio for the next semester in return for room, board and therapy. There would be no money involved, no rent, no utilities in his name as he would live in the apartment over the garage she'd converted into a recording studio. He'd withdraw from college for a semester and drop out of sight, hidden from whatever had him in such a panic.

He'd taken her up on the offer, and in the spring when he felt responsible for a cousin who was also slowly recovering from pneumonia, he'd brought Neal to Austin hoping to get him the same deal.

Now, entering Miranda's new studio, Neal looked around until he found her office. Before he could say anything, she noticed him and jumped up to hug him tightly. "I thought you were dead!" she accused, as she released him. "You let me believe those rumors for nearly two years before you called me last December."

He apologized again for assuming she'd known Shawn Legend had been lying about Neal Legend's death. And for the first time he admitted the fears he couldn't share with Noelle. "I'm not the one you have to worry about. Henry's disappeared. His father is out for blood and I'm pretty sure Henry's plan is to keep us all safe by sacrificing himself." He ran his hands through his hair. "Have you heard anything from him, Miranda? Anything at all? I'm seriously worried about him."

It had been months since Miranda had heard from his cousin. They sat down in her office and brainstormed places Henry might go, ways he might stay hidden. Miranda was the only person outside of Urban Legend – other than Mozzie, now – who knew who the members were. Neal explained his theory that Henry would hide in his Shawn Legend identity, bringing down Masterson and at the same time leaving clues to tantalize and infuriate Robert. And Miranda was willing to help get ahead of Henry, starting with providing copies of recordings she'd made of Henry, Neal and Angela singing in her studio.

As they searched her archives for the songs Neal wanted, they talked about their first meeting seven years ago. "You were so skittish when Henry brought you to me," she remembered. "That first day, when I tried to evaluate the health of your lungs, I had you hold a note as long as you could. I put my hand on your chest, intending to tell you to work your diaphragm, and you nearly jumped through the roof."

Neal nodded absently as he sought out a specific song he remembered. "Because the torso was Vance's favorite place to hit me when I was a kid. I wasn't a fan of any strangers touching me, especially there."

Miranda drew a sharp breath. "What's changed, Neal? It used to be when I so much as hinted that you were abused, you changed the subject in the blink of an eye."

And Neal blinked involuntarily in surprise. He'd always been uncomfortable when Miranda suggested that his reactions to being touched were indicative of being abused, and he would change the subject whenever she suggested he should talk to someone about it. But now the topic didn't stress him as much. "I've been talking to a therapist."

"It's made a world of difference," Miranda said.

And to think Neal had been trying to find an excuse to end the sessions with Noelle. He'd dealt with the repressed memories, the flashbacks and nightmares. That was all he'd expected to get out of the sessions, and didn't see the point in continuing now that he'd achieved those goals. He hadn't realized that he'd gained any other benefit, but Miranda was right. Even two months ago he wouldn't have been able to talk so calmly about his experiences. "She's good," he acknowledged. He'd have to remember to thank her. He glanced at Miranda to see if she'd made any progress hunting through the old tapes, and noticed the guitar hanging on the wall. "Is that..."

She turned in the direction of his gaze. "Yes, that's Henry's favorite guitar. He loved that damned thing, and I swear it loved him, too. He made it sing like nobody else."

"I remember he showed off with it, must have been less than twenty-four hours after we got here." Neal could picture it as if it were yesterday. Henry was playing that guitar like a rock-and-roll god. Neal had simply stared in wide-eyed awe, and when Henry glanced over at him it felt like he'd traveled back in time. He wasn't eighteen, but three years old, watching in amazement as a slightly older boy pulled pots out of a kitchen cabinet, turned them upside down, and started playing them like drums. The boy had looked up at Neal and grinned, his expression a combination of pride and mischief that was quintessential Henry.

It was the first time since meeting up with Henry in Chicago that Neal recalled his cousin as a child. And it seemed like Henry's memory was triggered, too, because as he took in Neal's expression, he suddenly faltered on the guitar, and his face was filled with surprise followed by recognition.

"Wow," Neal had said, as much about the memory as about the guitar performance.

"Yeah," Henry had said. Then the moment of wonder had passed and he looked very pleased with himself. "C'mon, kiddo." He led the way, and Neal followed after him eager for the next adventure.

Neal shook his head, coming back to 2004.

"Yes, he showed off then and pretty much every day thereafter," Miranda recalled. "I put him through the same drill as you when I first brought him here. Singing lessons to exercise his lungs, office work to pay for room and board. Eventually I showed him how to run the sound equipment, and he had free rein with the instruments at night. When I learned he could play the piano I made him practice and sometimes used him for small parts in the demos, but he was made for the guitars. That's where he excelled."

Neal went back to searching for the song he wanted, and said in an offhand manner, "He told me once that you made him sing country."

"Mm-hmm. Most of my early success was in country music. Henry has a nice voice for country, but his heart wasn't in it."

Neal didn't snort, but it took an effort. "He's rock-and-roll to the core."

"Would you like to hear one of the demos I recorded with Henry taking lead vocals for a country song? He complained bitterly, but I'm the boss. He had to sing what I assigned." Miranda found the song and they laughed to hear Henry's voice in a genre he normally avoided. Then they found the other songs Neal wanted to give Mozzie to upload to the Urban Legend site.

As they were wrapping up, Neal said, "I've always wondered... When Henry first brought me here, he seemed at loose ends. Then about a week after I met you, you pulled him aside for an intense conversation. I heard him shouting a few times, but I couldn't make out the words. And then after that he seemed settled in. What did you say to him?"

Miranda studied Neal a moment, as if judging his ability to handle the story. Then she nodded and said, "I told him that you were scared. The minute you would notice he wasn't around, you'd look for him or ask me where he was. It was clear you expected him to abandon you, and you weren't comfortable with us the way in the same way he was. When he moved into that garage apartment the first time, it was like he was an extension of the family. From what I could tell he came from a big family and was used to hanging out with various aunts and uncles, used to being welcomed with open arms. I was like another aunt. On the other hand, you seemed baffled by us, and he was your one familiar, trusted element. When I talked to him that day I said he needed to do something to show you that he was committed to staying here as long as it took for you to recover, and I insisted that enrolling in UT for the summer semester was the best way to do that. He had concerns about being found by someone, but Lawson went with him to the registrar's office and spun some story about Henry's parents being famous people and the need to repel requests for information from reporters posing as family. They locked down his records in fear of a lawsuit if they inadvertently shared his schedule or even his enrollment status."

"Did he resent –" Neal started, but Miranda cut him off.

"Don't ever think that way. That big family of his, with all those Winslow cousins... I could tell he was fond of them, but it almost seemed as if they were interchangeable when he talked about them. He'd be happy to see them, but he'd be fine if he went months or years before the next time he ran into them. Lawson told me a while back that Henry had lied about the two of you being half-brothers, and I believe that from a pure family tree sense of the world. But it was always clear to me that emotionally you were brothers, and that Henry wouldn't dream of abandoning you. Not because he felt obligated, but because he loved you."

And as a result of her words, Neal had a lump in his throat when his phone beeped to remind him of the time. It was 6pm in New York, time to check in with Tricia. "Can I borrow your office?" he asked. "I need to make a call."

"Be my guest," Miranda said. "Let me know when you're done, and we'll head out for dinner. Yvette's looking forward to seeing you again."

Neal wasn't surprised to find that Peter was lingering in the background when Tricia answered her phone. Reporting that Henry hadn't been in contact with the Hunters, and that Robert was aware of the Shawn Hunter alias, Neal tried to get off the phone quickly. He didn't want to mention the Garzas, keeping Miranda a secret in order to preserve the Urban Legend identities.

Peter had other plans. "When I first recruited you, you told me to ask you sometime about the first time you were arrested, in Las Vegas."

Inwardly Neal cursed his carelessness in mentioning that to Peter. "You know most of it. Henry broke the display case around a guitar that had belonged to Jimi Hendrix. There was a warrant issued for his arrest, and he skipped town with my ID. I thought it was just a game, until I was arrested when I used the ID he'd left behind. The Las Vegas Metro police didn't buy the fact that I was a victim of identity theft, not at first. They tossed me in a holding cell overnight. The next day they let me go."

"After Robert Winslow bailed you out," Peter pressed. "Why didn't you tell us about that part?"

"Listen, you know I spent some time with Henry and Robert," Neal said, "and that it ended with Robert tricking me into forging the Atlantic bonds, which he used to blackmail me. What does it matter how it all started?"

"If it doesn't matter, then you shouldn't have an objection to telling us the details," Peter countered.

"Fine," said Neal. "It was all a setup. After several years apart, Henry softened on his stance toward Robert. He convinced himself that Robert was gruff and annoying, but that under it all he really wanted the best for Henry. He thought he could kill two birds with one stone: getting a father for me, and starting over on a fresh foot in his own relationship with his dad. So he purposely got in trouble, knowing I'd be arrested when I started flashing his ID around. The arrest of Henry Winslow popped on the Winston-Winslow watch lists, and Robert immediately came out to bring his son to heel. But instead of his son, he got me. Didn't take him long to figure out who I was, and that I could lead him to Henry. Soon enough he had us both on a corporate jet headed back to Baltimore, pretending that he was happy to meet me again. The rest is my usual dismal history with father figures."

###

Neal's comment stung a little when Peter heard it. The kid should have emphasized that he was talking about his former dismal history with father figures, because it was different now, right?

But Neal remained silent on that score, and Peter was left wondering what the hell had gone wrong, and how things could have soured without his even being aware of having done anything to impact Neal's opinion. It hadn't even been a week since Father's Day. He just didn't get it.

"In retrospect, it's safe to say Robert was angry with both of you for tricking him into going to Vegas to bail you out, right?" Peter asked.

"Angry would be an understatement. When he blackmailed me he made it very clear how unworthy I was to pretend to be his son. And he had a lot to say about my pernicious influence on Henry."

Peter rolled his eyes. Henry was older than Neal and a ringleader by nature. "To recap, Robert has been irrational in his hatred of you for years, and you're going back to where it all started, taunting Robert with the memories of how you impersonated his son."

"What? No! It isn't like that. This isn't about Robert. Vegas has always been a favorite haunt of Henry's. I'm going there for the same reasons I came to Austin. I'm looking for leads into how he stayed hidden before, and who's helping him now. That's all it is, Peter."

"Then why won't you be more specific about your plans? Just tell us who you're going to talk to."

"No."

Peter couldn't believe his ears. "The FBI isn't paying for you to hang out at casinos, Neal. We need some idea of what you're planning."

"The FBI isn't paying for any of this, remember? I'm traveling on my dime. I'll be there on a Sunday, so it isn't even a work day." There was a pause, and based on Neal's tone, Peter guessed the kid was running his hands through his hair. "We're not talking about gangsters or even criminals. But Vegas attracts eccentrics, people who live on the edges and prefer to go by pseudonyms. They'll scatter like mice if they get a hint of the Bureau, so I don't want the local agents hanging around when I'm trying to gather information. Can't you trust me, just this once?"

Peter was about to retort that he'd shown a lot of trust in Neal over the last six months, but Tricia intervened. "How about we compromise on this, Neal? We won't insist on a detailed itinerary for your stay in Las Vegas, and in return you check in more frequently. Every two hours."

"Are you kidding me? When will I have time to track down Henry's old contacts if I'm always on the phone with you? Make it four hours."

"Three," said Tricia. "That's my final offer. Check in every three hours, or I'll fly out to Vegas and go to every meet with you."

"Great," said Neal, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Every three hours when I'm in Vegas. Now if you don't mind, I need to get back to the Hunters."

With that the call ended, and Peter looked at Tricia. He was pretty sure she saw how bewildered he felt. "What's going on here? Last week I was congratulating myself on how Neal was becoming a team player, and now it seems like he resents having to work with us."

Tricia shook her head. "Maybe it's a manifestation of his fear about Henry? Let's not jump to conclusions. Tomorrow he'll be with his family, going to a birthday party. That should be a chance for him to relax and unwind. If he still seems out of sorts when he calls from Seattle, I'll let you know."