June's mansion. Thursday morning. July 8, 2004.

The arrival of former U.S. Marshal Mike Chan had created quite a stir. After confirming with Marshal Brandel that it was safe to talk to the guy, assuring Graham Winslow that all was well, and letting Peter know he'd be late for work, Neal finally had a chance to lead Mike to the dining room. June's efficient staff had already cleared the breakfast plates, but there was still a pot of coffee and Neal selected two cups and poured.

He studied Mike carefully. He'd never met anyone who knew him as Danny Brooks outside of St. Louis; seeing this man in New York felt surreal. Memories were roiling to the surface. He handed Mike a cup of coffee, paced over to the sideboard and back again. Then he forced himself to stand by a chair. He was still too rattled to sit.

"Your mother did that," Mike said. "She was a pacer."

Neal nodded, as a memory of her pacing jumped into his mind. "Is she all right?"

"I don't get details, not being with the marshals anymore. She left St. Louis years ago. But Ellen would hear if anything happened to her."

"This danger you mentioned... Are they safe?"

"Both of them have been moved to temporary safe houses while the threat is evaluated. The marshals said you were aware of the threat, but Ellen asked me to talk to you personally and make sure you take it seriously."

Neal finally sat down. "The only threat I know about is someone working with my uncle Robert Winslow hacking into the marshals' email. I saw him watching me a few days ago. I thought witness locations weren't shared in email. What's the threat to Ellen and my mom?"

"They both got postcards this week, sent to their current addresses and their pre-WITSEC names. Postmark was in St. Louis. The message on each was: I'm keeping an eye on your boy. Hope to see you soon."

Neal took in a sharp breath. He knew that Robert, with Henry's help, had figured out Neal's WITSEC name and location when he was a boy. From there finding Ellen's address wouldn't have been difficult and she'd never moved, out of hope that Neal might return home. But his mother had moved. Even Neal didn't know where she lived. How... He frowned. Had she continued calling her sister Noelle each Christmas? That's how Robert had tracked them down the first time, by looking at the phone calls to Noelle. He could have pulled that information before he left Win-Win.

Chances were that Robert wouldn't waste time going after either Ellen or Neal's mom. He had his hands full already, and simply wanted to distract Neal. This was probably in retaliation for Neal's recent disappearances from New York. Neal vowed to himself that he'd find ways to keep Robert too busy to bother anyone else. "I'll take care of it," Neal said grimly. "I don't know if anyone told you, but I work for the FBI now. I have resources, not to mention a boss who would be more than happy to monitor my comings and goings if that's necessary." Neal cringed at the idea of actually asking to be tracked in order to give Ellen peace of mind. That would be a last resort. "But more importantly, I've recently gotten involved in the search for Robert. I have a plan to stop him."

"Is it safe?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. He won't come anywhere near Ellen. And as long as Mom isn't in the Seattle area, he won't be around to bother her, either."

"That's not what I mean. I'm in contact with the marshals. I know Ellen and Deirdre are safe."

Hearing his mother called Deirdre took a moment of adjustment. That was her name in WITSEC: Deirdre Brooks. But all the Caffreys called her by her birth name of Meredith. They might not even know what name she used now. Neal looked at Mike and blinked. He'd missed the last thing the man had said. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if this plan is safe for you. Ellen was worried someone would be tempted to use you as bait, and I think it's a legitimate concern."

"Perfectly safe. The first part's all electronic. Think of it as computerized sleight of hand that will send Robert on a wild goose chase." Neal smiled his best trust-me smile.

"So the danger's in the second part?"

It would seem Mike knew Neal's tricks. He hadn't been lulled by the innocuous first part of the plan or the con man smile. Neal sighed.

Mike chuckled.

"What?"

"You always sighed like that when you felt put upon."

"I didn't think you were around often enough to learn stuff like that. I remember seeing you a few times, but Mom usually sent me to my room when you came to the house."

"There were plenty of times I watched over you during outings. I saw you in restaurants, movie theaters, grocery stores, even school events. And there were times we put up cameras in the living room of your home. When your mom's drinking got bad, we were concerned that she might put all three of you at risk."

"Did Mom know about the cameras?"

"Yes. And about the monitoring of her phone records and even her mail sometimes. Going into WITSEC involves giving up a lot of privacy in return for a shot at safety. It's a compromise, and not everyone can tolerate it."

Neal often found it difficult to empathize with his mother, but right now he could. The tracking by Peter sounded like a small taste of what she had to endure. Shaking away that thought, he studied Mike with the care he might use for a model when he was painting. Seeing him and hearing his voice brought distant memories to the forefront of his mind with stunning clarity. "Usually you stayed in the background, but when I was in the hospital you spent a lot of time in my room."

"That's right. Your mom was losing it. She was horrified at how badly you'd been hurt, and was spiraling into guilt. She dealt with it by drinking to forget. I was concerned she'd get drunk and spill your real identities to a bunch of strangers. I watched you and Ellen while another marshal kept your mom under control until we could get her into rehab." Mike finished his coffee. "Ellen said you usually didn't remember being in the hospital or what put you there, other than the occasional flashback. I hope I didn't trigger one. Those were some dark times. I was kind of glad you forgot about it."

"I talked to a psychologist a few months ago, started some therapy when the flashbacks happened more frequently. Finally it all came back to me." Neal glossed over the trauma of the return of those memories. He'd been lucky to have Noelle, Henry and Peter there for him when it happened. "At least, I thought it had, but there's something else..."

Neal focused on an elusive memory swimming in the depths of his mind. "A hospital? No. An ambulance. But I passed out before they got me to the ambulance when I was nine, and that was in the morning. What I'm remembering was at night." He paused. There was only one other time he knew of that he'd been loaded into an ambulance in those WITSEC days. He thought he'd been unconscious the whole time, but he must have come around at least a few seconds. "What were you doing at the lake the night I drowned?"

"Ellen called me that night, as soon as you left the house. She said she'd told you everything: the fact that you were all in WITSEC, the fact that your father was a confessed murderer and not the hero your mother had led you to believe he was. You'd driven off and Ellen was worried about your state of mind. She knew some of your favorite places to drive when you wanted to unwind. The road along that lake was the most dangerous, winding and slick from the rain that evening. I told her I'd go up there, keep an eye on you if I could find you. I was right behind you when your car slid off the road into the lake."

It all came together. The life-saving rescue had been due to Ellen's concern. "You were the one who dove into the lake to pull me out, and then did CPR until the ambulance arrived." He looked at Mike, amazed. "How do I ever thank you?"

"Just keep yourself safe so Ellen doesn't have to worry. And that takes us back to the second part of your plan that you're avoiding telling me about."

Neal wondered if Peter would get to be this annoying in a few years. It was a good reminder not to become too predictable. Otherwise Peter would constantly be second guessing him and not letting him get away with anything. "The second part is the actual arrest when Robert takes the bait in that wild goose chase I mentioned. The challenge will be taking him by surprise. If he's expecting us, he'll start shooting as soon as he sees he's surrounded by the FBI."

"Us? You plan to be there for that? Marshal Brandel told me you're a consultant, not an agent. Shouldn't you let the professionals deal with this guy?"

Suppressing the urge to argue his right to be there, Neal tried another tactic. When all else fails, befuddle the opponent with Mozzie-isms. "A friend of mine has a philosophical bent. He'd say that when you save someone's life, you take on a sense of responsibility – even ownership – for that life and how it's used. Do you think you're culpable for all the mistakes I've made since you pulled me out of that lake? And do you get credit for all the good I've done in the last seven years?"

"No. You were an adult, responsible for your own actions. But that doesn't mean I can't weigh in with some advice for someone younger and less experienced than me. I get wanting to be in on the action. You want to see for yourself that this guy is stopped, and to help if you can. But I also get the other side. You have people who love you, and who would be devastated if you took a foolish risk and died. You've got to be wondering why I'm here, right? Ellen could have told the marshals about the postcard and then let them pass on word to you. In WITSEC, it's not like she can come here and see for herself that you take the danger seriously."

"But she can send you," Neal said. "Someone to give the warning in person, who can watch my reaction and then go back to assure her that I'll be careful." When Mike nodded Neal added, "I don't want to lie to you, even if that might make everyone feel better. If I think I can stop Robert, then I'm willing to take a few calculated risks. I'm not planning to take foolish risks, but someone who's worried about me might have a different perception of what's foolish and what's acceptable." He glanced at his watch.

"You need to get to work?"

"Yeah. How long are you in town? I'd like to talk to you again before you leave."

They made arrangements to meet for dinner that evening, and then walked out of the mansion together. Mike caught a cab back to his hotel, and Neal went to the Federal Building. Before going inside he called Mozzie to put a few more twists on the ideas they had discussed the night before.

###

The morning briefing had ended before Neal arrived. He stopped by Jones' desk, needing his expertise for a portion of the plan he had in mind to catch Robert. As they talked through the options, he noticed his own reluctance to draw out the conversation beyond the details pertinent to the case. He'd suspected almost from his first day at the FBI that Jones had been assigned to befriend and watch him, but knowing the extent of it was uncomfortable.

The discomfort was particularly evident in contrast to the time he'd spent earlier in the morning helping Travis prepare for an undercover assignment. Neal and Travis didn't know each other well, probably had little in common, and yet that acquaintance wasn't burdened with the secrets of his supposed friendship with Jones. He honestly didn't know if he and Jones were now or ever really had been friends. Maybe it had all been an assignment from Jones' point of view.

It occurred to Neal that now he knew how it felt to be the victim of a long con. He couldn't say he liked it. In fact, he was glad his own long cons had been limited to working for Adler and the Masterson con.

He made a few final notes and then glanced up at Peter's office, to see if he was available. Peter was standing at the open door to his office looking down at the bullpen. He caught Neal's eye and stepped forward to the half wall. "Neal, if you're ready to describe your plans for the Winslow case, let's meet with Jones in the conference room."

Neal nodded and stepped away from Jones' desk. Jones stood and said, "Hey, Caffrey, before we go up there..."

"Yeah?"

Jones glanced around the bullpen. It was relatively empty. "Soon after I started this job, I accepted that sometimes I have to do things that people won't like. And they might be people that outside of work I'd be friends with. I decided I'd do the job to the best of my ability and never apologize for it, because I believe in what I'm doing. But this time... I'm sorry, man. I guess I don't have what it takes to be a con artist, because I hated misleading a friend. I know you probably don't want to be buddies right now, but I hope you can trust me to have your back, at least when it comes to the job."

There was still a pang of bitterness that Neal realized would take a while to fade, but Jones' words were welcome. "Thanks. And just so you know, I might not have realized the full extent of what you were doing, but I always knew you were up to something."

"Really?" Jones didn't sound convinced.

"Did you expect me to believe a straight arrow like you would willingly hang out with a confessed criminal for reasons other than surveillance?" He said it with a hint of a smile, letting Jones know he was willing to forgive, even if trust would take longer.

"Hey, I helped you move into that loft. That's three stories, man. I didn't have to do all that just to figure out your new address."