You Look Good In Orange

By Ultracape

Genre: Gen, friendship, humor (I hope)
Characters: Neal, Peter, El, Hughes, OC
Summary: Elizabeth reluctantly sends Neal on a strange errand to the middle of a wilderness.
Spoilers: Only slightly for “Need to Know” and takes place sometime after that.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This kind of popped into my head and so I wrote it when I was supposed to be working. And this makes me different from everyone else because?

You Look Good In Orange
By Ultracape

Except for Peter Burke and his team, Neal Caffrey was not fond of law enforcement personnel; certainly not fond of them at all.

Also, city boy that he’d become, despite his wish to have more than a two mile radius to wander the concrete valleys of New York City, these days, whenever he saw more than three trees in a group, he felt faint from fear about being stranded in the wilderness.

Well, yeah, that was a bit of an exaggeration. It would take considerably more than three trees. But Neal did prefer not having to walk more than a block to a variety of establishments where almost anything that he needed or wanted could be had, uh, purchased. He had to remember that subtle difference if he didn’t want to get Peter angry with him. Angry Peter, even severely annoyed Peter, could equal prison and Neal did not want to go back to prison again.

So of course, for some reason beyond Neal’s comprehension, Elizabeth Burke had woken him at 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning with a phone call from San Francisco, to tell him that the U.S. Marshalls had given Neal special dispensation to meet Peter at the sheriff’s office and auto mechanic’s shop in some Podunk place called Laceyville, Pennsylvania tucked away in one of the meandering bends of the shores of the Susquehanna River. He just had to file his route with the Marshals and the time of travel and all would be well.

“But,” she cut him off.

“I can’t reach Jones or Diana. Neal, I know it’s an imposition but it’s got to be you and you’ve got to hurry.”

“Well, no, Elizabeth, of course it’s not an imposition, you know I’d do anything for you and Peter.”

“Great, that’s great. Listen, take a bus. Oh, oh, no, I don’t mean take a bus. I mean travel on a bus.”

Neal chuckled, “I know what you mean. Buy a bus ticket. Got it.”

“Oh and take your F.B.I. Consultant’s I.D. and you have the $10,000 in cash that the F.B.I. gave you back from that sting a few days ago?

“Yes, I do but don’t you think you should...”

“Just bring it, all of it,” she cut him off again.

“Huh? What? How? Where? Why am I going to…,”

“Sorry, gotta go,” she hung up before Neal could even form one of the dozens of questions that buzzed around in his mind after the bombshell was dropped.

“Okkkkaaayyyy,” Neal thought as he reluctantly left his nice, warm, cozy bed to trudge over to his laptop and start a websearch. He would have felt put-upon except for the several dozens of times that he had put upon Peter at all hours, so he figured, it was only fair that he get put upon. However, when he put upon Peter, Peter only had to travel across the East River, from the semi-civilized Brooklyn suburbs to Manhatten.

Neal had never even heard of Laceyville, though he had to laugh when he found the place listed on a website labeled “Podunk.”

“Elevation 692, population 385, huh, that must be reversed,” he said to himself but as he rubbed the sleep that still clung to his eyes he realized that the first impression was right. “What the heck is Peter doing there, on a Sunday?” he asked of the computer screen, but no answers magically popped up.

Then, since he had to take a bus instead of conveniently stealing, (borrow, not steal, borrow, he had to remind himself of that) a car, or take, no hire a cab, the fare would have cost more than a Renoir anyway, and Peter had still not allowed him to apply for a legitimate driver’s license so that he could legally rent a car, he was left with buses or trains and so it took him at least an hour to find transportation. It had to be a bus, or rather a series of buses. It was going to be a very long trip.

Despite his usual sartorial splendor and expensive tastes, Neal had spent a good portion of his youth traveling by bus so except for the occasional sleepy passenger dropping a head on his shoulder and drooling on him, the screaming children and their mothers, the trip, already topping six hours, was not exceptionally uncomfortable.

Besides, this far out away from the city the scenery was green and lush and beautiful. He really hadn’t been able to see anything like this in a very long time and besides, “it’s only Peter’s own fault that he has to wait so long,” Neal thought even as he watched the mountains and forests role by while sitting safely protected from nature inside the commuter bus. It was the last one of three he’d had to transfer to from the steadily shrinking hubs of civilization.

Unfortunately there was one aspect of urban civilization that was quite evident, especially to one such as Neal who had trained himself to be aware of ever lurking agents of the law, lurking in out of the way and unexpected places, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting dishonest and guilty criminal.

There were an unusually high number of police cars, artfully tucked away in curves, and hidden drives and behind signs the mountainous Route 6 as it traversed the Adirondacks. The way they were placed he could tell that few others would readily notice what must have been speed traps. But it wasn’t worth more than a thought. He was a legitimate paying passenger on a bus and if anyone would be in trouble for a driving misdeed, it would be the bus driver, not him.

Finally, the bus turned down a sharp curve and a steep decline and onto a street that was lined with vacant lots and an occasional store, church or bar. It finally came to a stop in front of the only open establishment, a feed and grain store.

Unbending himself and climbing down the steps to an actual wooden sidewalk, he stretched a bit while looking around. “So here I am,” he thought as he took in the one and a half streets that made up the bustling metropolis looking up one and down the other for the mechanics shop/sheriff’s office.

He saw a saw a small grocery store, an actual video tape rental, a furniture store, a post office, a library which was sadly smaller than his closet, and the aforementioned feed and grain store, a hardware store and five bar and grills, but no mechanic’s shop.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

Not wanting to stand out was what a con man did and so though his jeans cost more than the car rental would have been, his button down was made of silk, and the boots he’d chosen were of hand tooled leather, the general form of his attire at least conformed to that of the local costume he’d seen a couple of individuals wearing before they’d ducked into the feed and grain store as well as that of a man leaning against the open hood of a pick-up truck.

It was not without a little paranoia, actually a lot of paranoia that fortunately he was able to conceal a lot better than Moz that he realized his large, bearded interrogator was wearing on his shirt, a brightly shining silver star with “sheriff” stamped into it and one point ominously dented in with a round hole.

Instinctually, Neal knew that with the way the man was wiping his hands with a dirty rag and looking him up and down, this was not a time for sarcasm.

“No, sir,” he said in as polite and diffident a manner has he could manage, “You’re right. I’m not. From your badge I believe I’m here to speak to you, actually, Sheriff Clyde Foster, is it.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me,” he said closing the hood of the truck.

“I’m Neal Caffrey,” he said holding out his hand.

“Ah, you must be the fella they sent to fetch the mooks,” he said taking Neal’s hand and shaking it with a not surprising amount of strength in the crushing grip.

“The ….” Neal cut himself off. He didn’t want to fall into any rooky mistakes and admitting that he had no idea what the guy was talking about would not bode well.

“You sure you can handle them fellas, puny guy like you?” The Sheriff said as he released Neal’s hand and watched him rub it. “I’ll tell you, those two city slickers have given me more smart ass back talk than any six drunks on a Saturday night.”

Conceal, conceal, conceal, was all that Neal could think before the sheriff offered up more information. And where the heck was Peter? And mooks? He was supposed to transport mooks? Those were what law enforcement called suspects.

So him, Neal Caffrey a felon on parole, was supposed to transport criminal suspects? What type of monumental screw-up, the best case scenario, or frame-up, the worse case scenario, had he been thrown into? But it was Elizabeth who had called him and she was the last person in the world who would be involved with anything incompetent or sinister.

The unvoiced questions mounted as he followed the sheriff to his mechanic’s shop and then down some back stairs to a well lit basement, half of which was furnished with an ancient but serviceable desk, chair and file cabinet.

The Sheriff pointed with his chin to behind Neal but before he could turn around, he heard a familiar voice bellow in an ever increasing louder voice, “What do you mean Jones isn’t coming? You, no, no, don’t tell me that El, just don’t. You called Neal!”

Slowly Neal started to add two and two together and before he completely turned, there was a grin on his face that no amount of con man artistry would ever be able to erase.

“You look good in orange,” he said.

Peter, dressed in a brightly covered jump suit, dropped his cell phone as he stared at Neal in horror.

“Not one word Caffrey, not a single word or I swear,” Peter said his hands clutched around the iron bars of the jail cell keeping him captive.

“You threatening an officer of the law?” said the sheriff, “You’re in enough trouble the way you were speeding down the road. You want another charge added to your sheet?”

Suddenly Peter was pulled behind by none other than Reece Hughes, also adorned in an orange jumpsuit.

“No sir, no he doesn’t and neither do I,” he said to the Sheriff. “Mr. Caffrey,” he turned to the con man who was making soft choking sounds as he was attempting and miserably failing to keep not only laughter but any sort of amusement from his face. “Why don’t you pay our damages so that we can get back to New York some time this year.”

Neal barely managed to nod as he looked over the list of offenses and charges. Speeding, he had already gathered, but endangering the wildlife was a new one on him, property destruction, destruction of an historical monument, the list went on and on. No wonder Elizabeth and told him to bring a lot of cash. He just hoped he had enough.

“With the condition that all the damages are paid today, you can take them out on probation and you won’t have to bring them back as long as they keep their noses clean for six months,” he told Neal.

“You got that,” he called back to Peter and Hughes.

Then to Neal’s utter shock and surprise, he was handed the keys to Peter’s beloved Taurus. “Oh, yeah, you’re the only one who can drive it.”

Neal looked at him questioningly, “Both their licenses have been revoked. They must have been going 65 and in a 20 mile zone.” Neal’s mouth formed a silent “O.” This was just getting better and better.

He turned back to Peter and Hughes as Neal stared open mouthed at the car keys. “Remember. I got the word out. We’ll be watching you all the way to the state line.”

The devil on Neal’s shoulder poked him and he just couldn’t resist, “that’s right, you wouldn’t want me sending you back here behind bars, now would you?” he grinned at his handler who was turning redder at an alarming rate.

“Mouth closed, right,” he reminded himself silently.

The sheriff reached into a cabinet and pulled out two sets of neatly folded clothes and handed them to Peter. “You’re fishing gear is still in your car. Now you change while I help this young fella square away the violations. You two would do well to follow his example you know. It’s good to see a nice polite young fella with the proper respect for the law, come through here even if he is from the city.

Neal was sure he was hearing Peter’s teeth grind and growls coming from his direction. “A fishing trip, a great new place you heard of for a weekend fishing trip, Burke, and we end up here.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Peter practically whined. “Can I help it if my foot slipped onto the gas when I saw that huge bear?”

The Sheriff had his arm over Neal’s shoulders now, “Its bear season, no reason for them to get hysterical about one little cub, the judge’s son’s pet no less, crossing the road. I mean it and he had to be blind to plow into the mayor’s memorial cannon lawn ornament.

Neal just nodded politely. “Yes sir, we’ll look into the driving, I promise you.” The sounds coming from the cell were getting really frightening.

“Now listen, you seem like a sensible young guy, so I’m paroling them into your custody and I’ll trust that you can keep those two out of trouble.”

Neal didn’t have the nerve to open his mouth. He knew that he was way beyond being able to form words without bursting out in hysterical laughter. Also, Peter looked like he was ready to kill him if he said so much as a word. Yes, keeping as quiet as possible was his best strategy for survival in the wilderness right now, especially with these two dangerous and one possibly homicidal prisoner in his custody all the way to New York City. So he just crossed his heart and made a scouts pledge which seemed to satisfy his new, best buddy, the sheriff of Laceyville, which Neal was nominating as the most beautiful and desirable vacation spot on Earth. He could not wait to tell Mozzie.

Besides, as Neal followed the sheriff upstairs to the mechanic’s shop he started thinking of all the blackmail material and how to best use it. Top of the list was a dinner, on Peter, outside his radius at a nice five star restaurant, for Elizabeth. He’d definitely invite Diana and Jones to thank them for whatever reasons they could not make the trip.

What I think is that while Kate did love Neal, she was being used as a pawn by Adler. Adler knew that Nick was Neal, he'd already seen it in the paper if he didn't know already. Neal conned Adler for his account password and then I think Adler told Kate to delay Neal so that he did not make the transfer. Then Adler set his plans in motion to disappear.

Skip ahead and Fowler approached Neal about the music box. I think Kate knew it was Adler. When Peter confronted her, Kate loved Neal but was under Adler's thrall and made plans with Fowler to escape. Adler had the plane blown up early in order to kill Kate for defying him. He wants to get control over Neal to have him work for him again.

Just my idol speculation when I should be working.

Neither Kate nor the shop owner had ever, to our knowledge, done anything against Adler and they're both dead. Mozzie wasn't even known by Adler and probably was only targeted because he figured out the code.

Alex and Neal are the only one who were known by Adler and were actually going after Adler to take him. Also, it was obvious from the anagram he'd left Neal that Adler knew who Neal was and he does know who Alex is. Yet no move has actually been made to kill either Alex or Neal. After this last episode I think the plan was to kill Kate before Neal's eyes. It would not have mattered if Peter was there or not.

So my moment of speculation brings me to the idea that Adler wants to "own" Neal in one way or another but he definitely wants to hurt him in every way he can but we don't know the reason why. Both Neal and Alex tried to swindle him, but Adler swindled Neal in the end.

A conundrum.

Title: Fearful Concerns: The Earning of Trust
Author: Ultracape
Rating: Young adults
Genre and/or Pairing: Suspense, Crime Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Spoilers: All of Season One
Warnings: Graphic violence and brutality, language
Summary: Neal is sure he would endure anything to bring Kate's murderer to justice until more is demanded of him than he could ever imagine.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6122363/1/Fearful_Con_Cerns_The_Earning_of_Trust

Title: Fearful Concerns
Author: Ultracape
Rating: Over 14
Genre and/or Pairing: Hurt/Comfort Friendship Neal, Peter, Elizabeth
Spoilers: Season One
Warnings: Russian Roulette, Neal forced to participate, intense. No Slash but definitely very close and deep friendship
Disclaimer:Summary: The amber music box passed through many hands but whatever the mystery it held, has not yet been discovered. Fowler manipulates Peter and Neal into a black op to find its secret.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5939060/1/Fearful_Con_Cerns

Title: The Best Laid Cons
Author: Ultracape
Rating: Very mild sexual references
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey/other
Spoilers: Season 2 - Withdrawal
Warnings: None

AN: The second season premier was amazing, they hit every single high note but the scene between Neal and Whitney went just knocked my socks off. However, I just wondered what if Whitney wasn’t quite the, ahem, innocent, Neal took her for. It’s a big mistake not to know your mark.

AN: Thank you to the wonderful Kiki Cabou for volunteering to beta this for me. It’s the first time I’ve had any of my work betaed and I valued all of her suggestions and used 99 percent of them.

DISCALAIMER: No ticky, no money (I don’t own them, I’m not getting paid)

The Best Laid Cons

By Ultracape

“It’s a big day for me. You're the first girl I've had a drink with since I got out of prison.” Neal wiggled his eyebrows at Whitney, watching how she leaned back from him, her eagerness turning to wariness. The truth hurt, but it also aided his purpose.

Having finished his oh-so-embarrassing tale of that silly forgery and his hilarious capture (twice!) by Peter, he asked, “It’s not a problem, is it?” and flashed her a killer smile.

It was fairly alarming that Whitney smiled right back. “A problem? Are you kidding me?” She sounded almost indecently excited. “Oh, Neal, you're a dream come true.”

Neal's train of thought derailed and his smile vanished. "Huh.” He felt like someone just kicked his legs out from under him ... and he was sitting down.

"I've always wanted to be an ex-con’s first. All that pent up sexual energy, you know? I've heard that for every year a man’s been in prison, he can keep it up a whole day."

"Uh..." Neal was panicking now. How had this situation gotten out of control so quickly?

"You wanna go for it? We can take all night. I've got the next few days off. What do you think about handcuffs?"

"What?" he squeaked.

“Oh, I forgot. The whole prison thing would bring back ... well, I guess handcuffs are out." She sighed in disappointment.

"Yeah! Yeah. ... Yeah." He trailed off stupidly in relief at dodging that particular bullet and stared between Whitney's head and the bar. Mozzie was looking right back at him with raised eyebrows. Neal waited until Whitney closed her eyes to take a luxurious pull from her wine glass, and mouthed "HELP!"

"Mmm, that's good," Whitney said, setting the glass down. "And you know, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but Mr. W. keeps me crazy busy, so I haven't had a lot of action lately. All work and no play. You know what that's like, right?" She chuckled. "What am I saying? Of course you do. Anyway, that's kind of why I go on all these trips." She wiggled her eyebrows at Neal. "The hot beaches are nice, but the hot men are nicer."

Neal willed himself to say something witty that would also allow him to escape. "Uh huh," he said instead. He didn't have enough air behind it and it came out about half an octave too high.

Whitney, sensing his delicious weakness, gripped his arm like a vice and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, stud muffin, my chamber, I mean, my apartment, is this way. Would ropes bother you, or maybe plastic ties?”

Neal just slowly nodded his head, and then shook it. No words would come.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, mistaking his silence for deep thought. "You can choose when we get there. I've got a large assortment of toys we can play with. Once I get you where I want you, well ... my last boyfriend told me I was the energizer bunny from hell." She grinned like this was a good thing. Neal blinked in alarm. "Sadly, well, this is kind of embarrassing for me. The last time we, uh, we hadn’t seen each other in a few days and, well, the medical examiner said…. But you look like you’re in excellent health.”

As Whitney dragged a now struggling Neal out of the bistro, Mozzie shook his head and calmly took a sip of his wine before unlocking his cell phone and dialing.

"Only you, Neal," he muttered as it rang. "... Hey, Suit? It's me. You know how you always tell Neal not to do something stupid?"

END

Title: "Con"fluence of Personalities
Author: Ultracape
Rating: None
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffery, other
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None


By Ultracape

Phyllis saw the young scruffy looking boy through the mall’s sliding doors, leaning against the exterior pillar and her self protective instincts kicked in immediately. Don’t make eye contact, keep your car keys in your hand, move your purse to the opposite shoulder, walk directly to your car.

Yet somehow, when the kid called out to her, he gained her reluctant attention as she was going out the door headed to her car and then to her next errand. While he was tall, taller than her 5 ft. anyway, he was so thin that she estimated she was easily double his weight. She could step on him if he caused her any trouble. His clothing was ill fitting, with his pants legs showing his ankles, and his sleeves not covering his wrists, yet he looked clean.

“I just want to get something to eat,” was all the boy said staring at her with big blue puppy dog eyes. She had just had too much lunch and it weighed heavily in her stomach and so the plaintive request hit her right in her guilt button, not that she had anything to feel guilty about except what to tell her doctor or herself when she next dared to step on a scale.

While it was a busy day, Phyllis still had a little time to spare, enough to do a mitzvah, (a good deed) and it was a family tradition she upheld whenever the opportunity presented itself.

“I won’t give you any money but I’ll buy you a meal,” she said to the kid.

Startled, he smiled at her. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. No fancy restaurant. I’m not going to pay for ambiance. But there is a food court in the mall. Also, it’s got to be something healthy. When I buy a meal for someone I want them to benefit from the food, not get something that will kill them. There’s a fresh salad place. You can get anything you want, something to drink and a desert if you want it.”

“I know the place.”

“Good. Come on.”

Phyllis had to rush to keep up with the boy’s long stride but he slowed and waited for her to catch up, yet it only took a couple of minutes to get to the vendor.

The boy looked down at Phyllis again. “Anything?” he checked.

Oh, those definitely were puppy dog eyes if she’d ever seen them. “I said anything and I meant anything. Get two salads if you want.”

The boy ordered the super large Cobb salad, and checked with Phyllis for her approval of his choice. However, when he was about to order a soda she insisted he get milk or juice instead and he happily complied and stood next to Phyllis as she paid the bill.

“Well, bon apatite,” she said turning away.

“Hey, aren’t you going to get anything?’

“No, I ate earlier.”

“Won’t you join me then? I’d like the company.”

Phyllis was startled. Her own nephews and nieces were always happy to have her pay for food and entertainment, rarely even said ‘thank you,’ and would never want to sit with her. She was pretty much ‘the wallet,’ to them and nothing more.

On the other hand, she was suspicions of ulterior motives in the invitation.. However, anyone who stole her purse needed the contents more than she did and the kid really didn’t look like a threat at all. In fact, he looked like he was about to fall over, if not just a bit lonely.

Quickly thinking about when her next appointment was and what errands she had to get done; she figured she still had about 20 minutes she could spare.

“Okay,” she got herself a bottled water and joined him at a table.

“So what do you like to be called?” Phyllis asked.

“That’s a strange way to ask for my name.”

“If you want to give me your name, that’s great. Let’s just say that this way, if you don’t want to give me your real name, I won’t take offense and you won’t have lied.”

The boy looked offended.

“Why would you assume that I’d lie?”

Phyllis smiled, “You could not be more than 15 and school hasn’t let out yet for the day. You look like you’ve been fending for yourself for a while and that means that in one way or another you’re probably ducking the authorities.”

He smiled at her and it was a smile to die for. Wow, he already was a heart breaker. Though he was no more than a teen there was a promise of maturity to his face that would only increase his appeal. She didn’t know if she wished she was about 45 years younger and 100 lbs. less or old enough that a face like that wouldn’t phase her. Damn, any woman, no matter what age, would have to be dead not to fall for that face, and when he smiled, oh mama.

“I call myself Neal, but that’s my name too,” he held out his hand.

She reached for his hand and was startled when she felt something like a spark of electricity jump from his to hers, and reminded herself that she was a member of AARP. “My name’s Phyllis, glad to meet you.”

Neal’s manners seemed impeccable. He unfolded his paper napkin, spread it on his lap, cut and buttered his roll neatly and removed the straw for his drink from its paper package.

Picking up his fork and knife, he asked, “So, what do you do that you can be out shopping in the middle of the day? You don’t look old enough to be retired and I don’t see a wedding band or even a line which means you’ve got to fend for yourself as well.”

“Observant, aren’t you? I like that. I hate when people just assume things about strangers. I’m a freelance journalist.”

Neal dropped his fork. “Well, thanks’ for the meal,” and made to leave.

“Hey, calm down and finish your food. You’re not a story, okay, and you approached me, remember?”

Neal relaxed back into his seat and slowly took some food. Before long he was shoveling it in faster than he could chew. He had to have been starving.

When he was about two thirds through the salad he took a breath. “So, if I’m not a story, what do you write about?”

Phyllis smiled; she loved talking about her work basically because it was about the only thing she had to talk about. “Pretty much everything except sports though I’ve covered a few sports related stories in my time.”

“So why wouldn’t I be a story?”

Phyllis leaned forward, “because even when I’m writing an expose, my purpose is to help people, not hurt them. If you thought a story about you would be helpful to you, you wouldn’t have gotten upset when I told you what I do.”

“I thought, if it bleeds, it leads.”

“I prefer providing information over sensationalism.”

Neal sat back for a moment. “For someone who values information, you haven’t asked me anything about myself.”

“If you wanted to tell me your true story, you’d do it without me asking. The longer it takes for someone to answer a question, the more likely they’re figuring out how to frame an answer so that they can tell you what you want to hear and not what they’re trying to hide.”

Neal’s eyes went wide. “You’re a smart lady.”

“No, just old enough to know better.”

Neal cleaned his plate and finished his drink with a satisfied sigh. “You know Phyllis, if I were 20 years older…” Neal trailed off.

“You’d be just about old enough to be my son,” Phyllis smiled at him and checked her watch. “I’ve really got to go. Will you be alright? Is there someone I can call for you?”

“You want the truth?” Neal smiled.

Phyllis took out a twenty from her purse and her business card. “Buy dinner on me and if you ever need someone to put in a good word for you, give me a call.”

“What makes you think I’d ever need that?” Neal said pocketing both.

“Because Neal,” Phyllis struggled out of her seat, “you’re a heart breaker and way to charming for your own good.”

But before she turned to leave, Neal was out of his seat, he hugged her tightly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. It made her happy for the rest of the week.

Title: Con fessions of Innocence
Author: Ultracape
Rating: A few colorful words
Genre and/or Pairing: NON SLASH
Spoilers: Out Of The Box
Warnings: None

A/N: I read the article about the art heist this morning and fictional character be damned, the first thought that came to my head was, "Neal Caffery." Can we imagine an episode of White Collar "ripped from the headlines?"

Con fessions of innocence.

By Ultracape

Neal nearly spewed out his mouthful of Italian roast coffee as he read the newspaper article. Of all the times for him to be in the midst of an undercover operation. The anklet was off. With a hint of trepidation and a careful look skyward, he wondered if he'd get the benefit of the doubt via a phone call first, or the full force of the FBI attack team swarming into the loft from every conceivable avenue.

A thief, apparently acting alone, broke a window and smashed a security grill when he was caught on a video surveillance camera early Thursday morning, entering the Paris Museum of Modern Art, across the Seine River from the Eiffel Tower. The tape showed a masked man exiting with five paintings, "Le pigeon aux petits-pois" by Pablo Picasso, "Pastoral" by Henri Matisse, "Olive Tree near Estaque" by Georges Braque, "Woman with a Fan" by Amedeo Modigliani and "Still Life with Chandeliers" by Fernand Leger. The paintings are estimated to be worth a total of half a billion euros.

Thinking it would be better to be led away in chains fully dressed rather than in his pajamas, robe and slippers, Neal barely got to the French doors before two men surrounded him.

"You're here," the surprised announcement came in stereo, on one side Moz and on the other side Peter.

Neal felt insulted on a number of levels. One - that both men immediately thought that he was the thief (on this he also felt flattered), two - that he hadn't run, three – that if he had taken the paintings that he would still be here, four – what professional thief worth his black mask would need to stoop to breaking a window and they'd think he was so rusty that he would have been caught on surveillance video. After all, as much as he admired Adrian Tullane, Neal knew he could have pulled off that heist of the pink diamond without the wave and flirt which tied Tullane to the heist.

Looking from one man to the other, Neal didn't know which direction was worse. Moz looked up at Neal with a sly expression, his eyebrows doing a bit of a happy dance as he alternating smiled knowingly at Neal, and innocently at Peter.

On the other side, looking down at Neal, Peter's frown had reached new stress points and his expression needed no tutoring in how to look menacing, no matter at whom he looked.

Neal stepped away from the two of them, "I know neither of you are going to believe me but I didn't do it," said Neal.

"Uh, huh," said Moz.

"I really didn't do it."

"Where were you last night?" asked Peter.

"Here and I was sleeping, alone in my bed, so no, I don't have an alibi."

"You know, Mr. Suit," Moz said looking around the loft from where he stood, "The paintings aren't here."

"Thank you, Moz."

"It would have been too difficult to transport them so he probably just stored them in Paris."

"Moz!," Neal exclaimed looking horrified that his, friend, would have said such a thing.

"I would agree," said Peter. "But there's been no activity around your suspected stashes in the last 24 hours, however Investi Brigade de Répression du Banditisme is keeping them under surveillance."

"He might have taken them across the border to Belgium or Spain."

"Moz, you're not helping."

"No, the time factor is already slim enough. I dropped him off here last night at 6 p.m. and there's a six hour difference. The broken window was discovered before 7 a.m. their time. That would have given Caffery, (Neal noted how he was now Caffery instead of Neal, bad sign,) a seven hour window of opportunity."

Neal looked from one to the other in amazement.

"So let me get this straight. You suspect me of being able to not only fly to Paris and fly back and rob five paintings and hide them all in seven hours? Who do you think I am, Superman?"

"He wouldn't have robbed the Museum, Caffery," said Peter.

"But, you have given off the impression from time to time that you're superhuman," Moz said with a significant look.

"And you have scaled walls," remarked Peter.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Repelled, repelled down a wall, not flew."

"There were some people who thought that when you wear glasses, you do look a little bit like Clark Kent.'

"MOZ,"

Peter relented, "Okay, okay, I guess that it would be a bit beyond your capabilities to pull that off."

"Am I supposed to feel insulted or challenged?"

"I'd feel relieved if I were you and be grateful I'm not hauling your ass back to prison," Peter walked over and sat down at the patio table, "Any coffee left?"

Neal and Moz joined him and just picked up the pot when Alex barged onto the balcony.

"Caffery, wow, five paintings and one of them a Picasso; I'm stalling at least 10 buyers already."

"Peter, please, just shoot me now."