For wantsthetruth...
Notes: Set after Neal returns to New York
Neal's morning had gotten off to a poor start. Somehow he'd managed to splash espresso across a brand new canvas and his favorite tie. Once he was dressed, he left in a huff. Peter wanted everyone to meet early to discuss the incoming footage from the 'con gone wrong' from the day before. Since the gun to the chest, Neal had become fixated on what he thought was hardly a coincidence. It had kept him up most of the night and, as a result, had him tired and off his game that day. He didn't even notice the tail he had until he'd acquired a second and was having to duck into stores to try and dodge them.
"This is not good," Neal said into his wrist, clicking on the watch so it could start recording. Diana had assured him the thing could have taken thirty-six hours or more. "Not good at all."
After trying to bait and switch more than once and even going so far as to ditch his hat as a misdirect, Neal was getting the distinct impression he wasn't just being followed. He was being stalked. All he could do was try and break his radius while he pulled out his phone. He was close, the train to work always skirted its' edge and Neal had just a few blocks to go before the US Marshals would be alerted. As he ran, he tried phoning Peter but he wasn't going to have time to finish dialing.
As if on cue, a battered cadillac with dark tinted windows cut his path from an alley that should have led him onto a major street. Even as he was turning to run, his tails from earlier had closed in. Neal put up his arms in a silent surrender, desperately hoping that Peter was starting to wonder why he was even later than the coffee incident should have made him.
They didn't give him much of a chance to talk, instead rewarding him with a pair of punches in the side on behalf of the mobster's boss that Neal had 'inconveninced yesterday'. Neal was glad the watch was recording for that bit and spit blood at the feet of his attackers. They weren't wearing masks. That was... less good than yesterday. It meant they didn't care that Neal had seen their faces.
"Look, whatever you want, whatever it's yours. You know I'm a rich man, I was shopping at Harry Winston."
Apparently his willingness to sing didn't earn him much. Either they knew who Neal really was or they had other plans for him from the start. They would deliver him to their boss alive, but not without giving him a good beating first. It was right about then that they found his tracking anklet. They didn't want an explanation, having decided for certain that Neal Caffrey wasn't going to be leaving their air strip alive. They weren't even going to bring him there conscious at that rate.
Lucky for him, they were going to talk about where they were going as they cut off his anklet and dragged his mostly limp body to the car. As they pushed him into the backseat, Neal flicked his wrist twice, slipping the recording watch off and into the gravel. Hopefully Peter listened and figured out which airport and which building they were headed to. Neal was feeling a lot less than confident as he passed out.