[White Collar AU]
He had to be getting close.
Jim slid a hand through his hair, and leaned over the newspaper spread out in front of him, on the little cafe table he was seated at. To anyone passing, it just looked like he was enjoying a cup of coffee and a scone to go with his morning paper, like any other white collared business man before heading to his job on Wall Street.
James Kirk wasn't that man at all. The only thing he had in common with him was enjoying a cup of coffee and a nice scone, which it took him about six months to scope this place out after moving into Christopher Pike's Manhattan penthouse. It served the best coffee outside of that same penthouse and was just busy enough that none of the baristas really remembered him. His newspaper was a gift from Scotty, full of bits and pieces of paper cut out and glued to the pages, the excerpts what little information he could dig up on Nyota. She was good, almost as good as he was at hiding her trail. He'd taught her pretty well, at least, that was something of a consolation.
And finally, Jim was no stock broker. He was a con artist, serving out his new four year term on loan to the FBI as a consultant with a tracking anklet as a leash. Some days he thought about cutting it and running, but he needed the FBI's influence to hunt down Nyota, if what little Scotty had been able to dig up was true.
She had to be out there. He didn't have a better reason than her to run from the FBI again. And until he found her, he was content to bide his time and play McCoy's lap dog.
Jim slid a hand through his hair, and leaned over the newspaper spread out in front of him, on the little cafe table he was seated at. To anyone passing, it just looked like he was enjoying a cup of coffee and a scone to go with his morning paper, like any other white collared business man before heading to his job on Wall Street.
James Kirk wasn't that man at all. The only thing he had in common with him was enjoying a cup of coffee and a nice scone, which it took him about six months to scope this place out after moving into Christopher Pike's Manhattan penthouse. It served the best coffee outside of that same penthouse and was just busy enough that none of the baristas really remembered him. His newspaper was a gift from Scotty, full of bits and pieces of paper cut out and glued to the pages, the excerpts what little information he could dig up on Nyota. She was good, almost as good as he was at hiding her trail. He'd taught her pretty well, at least, that was something of a consolation.
And finally, Jim was no stock broker. He was a con artist, serving out his new four year term on loan to the FBI as a consultant with a tracking anklet as a leash. Some days he thought about cutting it and running, but he needed the FBI's influence to hunt down Nyota, if what little Scotty had been able to dig up was true.
She had to be out there. He didn't have a better reason than her to run from the FBI again. And until he found her, he was content to bide his time and play McCoy's lap dog.