Wherever You Happen to Be: Chapter 5
For Chapter 4, click HERE
“-brought your lunch,” said El. She leaned down and kissed Peter’s temple fondly and pressed a small bottle into his hand. He looked at it in surprise, then grinned. Migraine pills. Yep-those might make a dent in his headache.
“Thanks, Hon,” he said, and stretched to get a real kiss. She allowed it, then moved away. “I’m just going to drop in and see Reese before I go,” she said. She pointed at the paper sack in her hand and mouthed, “chocolate-chip cookies.” Peter grinned at her, glad she understood his obsession with seeing this through. Whatever Neal had done, whatever his past may have been, he was trying. Heck, in the past year, they’d seen more agents go afoul of the law than criminals-well, almost. Peter squirmed, wondering if he ought to include himself in that list. He knew Reese would back him if he could at all-he was as pissed about the loss of Caffrey as anyone else-and this had the shape and feel of a turf war to him. Most people didn’t try to poach folks out of his office-not and brag about it, anyway. Still, he’d cautioned Jones and Diana that as much as possible, everything they were doing needed to happen outside office hours. Official inquiries could take time on the clock, but everything else needed to be not only off the clock, but off the radar.
Peter watched El go, watched her greet Reese warmly and offer the bag of treats. Reese motioned her to a seat and El refused, but they stood in the doorway of Reese’s office and chatted for a few moments, then she turned and looked instinctively toward her husband’s office. They exchanged smiles, and El made a little gesture with her eyebrows that told him she’d have something to tell later, when he was home. She blew him a kiss and was gone.
***
It’s a cliché, but Neal really did feel better after lunch. There hadn’t been anything in the little apartment that resembled food, nothing that appealed to Neal that morning with his stomach all churned up, but when Kramer suggested lunch, Neal had not had a hard time saying “no.” He had done it, had refused to accept Kramer’s food if it came with Kramer’s presence, but one of the other agents, seeing his plight, gave him half a hoagie and sat down across from him. It proved to be Reynolds, who smiled at Neal as he unwrapped his half of the sandwich.
“I won’t say I hope you aren’t picky,” said the agent dryly. “I will say, ‘I hope you’re hungry.’’’ The sandwich was crammed with every meat and cheese and vegetable the bun would hold.
“This looks great,” said Neal, pushing his knees under the little break table. “Thanks.” Without Kramer accompanying him, Neal was stuck in the office for lunch, but it hardly mattered. He had no money, no phone, not even his lousy credit card-he couldn’t even offer to buy chips. He found glasses in the cabinet and got them each a glass of water from the cooler.
Although many of the agents had gone out to secure lunch, the little break room was busy. People came in and got coffee, retrieved their lunches from the fridge, used the microwave. Many of them spoke in a friendly manner, and Neal could feel lots and lots of eyes on the back of his head, but most of them were kind enough to not intrude just for the sake of novelty.
“I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, but it’s a good office, good people,” said Reynolds kindly. Neal smiled politely, noncommittally, wondering if Reynolds was the plant, the kindly tugboat who would help haul Neal into harbor.
“I listened to the briefing this morning-a lot of exciting cases going on.” And not a mortgage fraud case in sight!
“We do get our share, and our agents are good at what they do.”
Neal felt his competitive urges stir. He was good at what he did, too.
“So, Agent Reynolds-”
“Dag, please. We’re going to be colleagues.” The kindness of that remark was unexpected, and Neal swallowed.
“Dag, then. What’s your thing-pre-Columbian, right?”
Reynolds smiled. “You were listening. I’d say…yes. That is one of the areas where I’ve gone rather deep.” He smiled at Neal. “I understand you’re more of a generalist,” he said.
Neal fought the urge not to bristle, but the agent’s next words surprised him. “And I hear you’re good at just about everything.”
Neal’s anger quickly changed to pleased surprise and he smiled, blue eyes wide, but his voice, when he spoke, was wry. “I’m afraid the reality doesn’t always live up to the hype,” he said, charmingly self-deprecating.
The older agent chuckled, the expression comically at odds with his sad-faced demeanor. “I’m looking forward to seeing the real Neal Caffrey at work,” said Dag, the steered the conversation on to more general topics.
****
Diana’s own lunch experience was slightly different. This was, in fact, the third sit-down lunch she’d had that day-she could hardly even stand the sight of food-and she was about to scream from the effort of making small talk, but the people she had called required a certain finesse if she was going to get anything useful.
“Little Diana-all grown up!” mused the woman across the table from her. Diana did her best to smile.
“Yes, Ma’am. All grown up and catching bad guys,” she quipped, then worried her humor had been too blunt.
But to her relief, the older woman had laughed. “Well then,” she said, her mouth curving into a wry smile, “you’re probably very busy! You’ve been a dear to take time out of your day to catch up with me.” Her delicate, blue-veined hands played with the coffee cup in front of her lazily, but when she looked up at Diana, her grey eyes were piercing in their intensity. “I know a little about what’s going on in your office. Tell me, dear-what can I do to help you?”
****
Although the problem of Neal was on the top of everyone’s mind, the members of Burke’s 7 who actually worked at the White Collar division had other pulls on their attention. Despite what they felt, what they were worried about, work went on as usual. It was a testament to Peter’s ability to compartmentalize that he was able to give a pretty fair imitation of himself all day. Agent Reese had called him in just after lunch, ostensibly to be brought up to date on their regular caseload, but actually to find out where things stood with Neal.
He listened with that complete absorption he was capable of, then leaned back at his desk and steepled his fingers.
“I do hope you know what you’re getting your into,” he said. “Kramer can be pretty formidable, Peter.”
“I know that, Sir, and I’m willing to do this on my own time-”
“Hell’s bells, Peter-stop with the ‘Sir’ and ‘I’m ready to fall on my sword’ crap. I’m with you on this. I just can’t be…with you, if you know what I mean.”
Peter visibly relaxed. “I think I do.”
“You’re going to have to do this outside of proper channels-you and…all of you-don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, and the less I know, the better-until it’s time. And you’re a fool if you don’t assume that everything you’ve thought of to get around Kramer he hasn’t already anticipated. There’s not much I can do if you defy a direct order not to interfere with his C.I.”
At the word “his,” Peter had gathered himself, preparing to say something, but Reese waved it away. “Save it for the battlefield, Peter,” he said. “I’m just looking at it the way a judge would look at it-from the point of view of law.”
“I’m not talking about the law,” Peter gritted. “I’m talking about what’s right.”
“Agreed,” Reese said levelly, “but you’ve been at this long enough that you know those two things aren’t always the same.”
They traded looks, and Peter nodded.
“Kramer threatened one of your agents, which means he threatened one of my agents,” Reese said. “If he crossed the line once, he’s probably crossed it before. Bring me the evidence and I’ll do everything I can to ram it home.”
“Thank you, Sir-Reese.”
“But Peter-” Peter stopped with his hand on the knob. “If Caffrey runs, there’s nothing I can do to help. If you get me the evidence, we’ll do our best to pry him out of Kramer’s grasp, but if Neal doesn’t wait for us, if he jumps the gun….” He did not finish the sentence.
“I understand, sir.” He hesitated, and Reese sighed.
“What?”
“The way things are, there’s no way for me to communicate with Neal. Kramer’s blocked all access, so I don’t see any way to tell him we’re trying to come and get him.”
At this, Reese actually smiled. If Kramer had been there to see it, that smile would have given him pause. “Peter, I’ve seen you and Caffrey work together for almost two years. These past few months…. Trust me-he knows you’ll be coming for him.”
****
“-horrible little place in Foggy Bottom. Used to be a house, but now it’s chopped up into these tiny units. I think mine used to be a walk-in closet.” Sometimes all you got out of a bad situation was a good story.
They had found him a desk-a temporary situation, he thought-and while some agents had given him a wide berth and disapproving looks, others had gone out of their way to be friendly, or at least kind. Agent Scooperton had stopped by on the way back from the bathroom to ask if Neal was moved in. Neal realized with some relief that while they all seemed to know that he wasn’t here by choice, they weren’t fully aware of his situation. He tried to think if he could use that knowledge to his advantage-especially since Kramer obviously didn’t want it widely known.
“Near Georgetown, you say. Uh-coeds?” said Scooter, grinning. Agent Scooperton was a numbers guys-could’ve taken a spot in Accounting without blinking-but he had a passion for seeing artwork returned to its rightful homeland, and he was the best logistics guy they had. He could map out an escape route in his head faster than anyone Neal had ever seen, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the various modes of transport in major cities made him invaluable. Neal almost wished he’d had someone like Scooter on the other side-almost.
“Uh-noise?” countered Neal.
“Well, yeah,” said Scooter, still grinning. “I guess it could be party central.”
“Yeah, well, my party plans are pretty curtailed,” Neal said. He was careful not to sound bitter or annoyed.
Scooter laughed. “You won’t have to worry about a social life,” he said ruefully. “Things are pretty busy here.” He stood abruptly and left. Acting on instinct, Neal turned and saw Kramer looking down from above, an enigmatic expression on his face as he watched Scooperton walk away.
Neal took that piece of information and worried it around in his head. Scooter said they were busy and not to worry about a social life. Did that mean that all the agents here were on a short leash, tethered to their desks? If so, then maybe they had some common goals-or at least one common goal. Neal added that to his growing stack of information and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him.
****
“Yes,” said June, sitting very properly in the travel agent’s office. “I understand you book senior citizen tours to DC.”
“Yes Ma’am, we do,” said the man behind the counter, smiling at her and the generous length of leg her fashionable suit showed. “What are you, um, interested in?”
“Oh, art galleries,” June said sweetly. She re-crossed her legs and smiled. “I’m very interested in art.”
****
The office was almost empty. Peter wanted to be sure-to be certain-that no one could say he was shirking his own duties to deal with Neal, so he had made sure that every other case had been reviewed and managed at whatever level was appropriate. Now, for the first time since early that morning, he truly felt like he could get something done.
He’d already talked to Diana, who was following up a couple of leads of her own. She had been low-key, but Peter had detected an air of suppressed excitement, so one of her leads must be taking her somewhere. “Be careful!” he’d admonished, but Diana had just smiled.
“I’ll be careful. I’ll be ready,” Diana had said, and had left the White Collar office.
Now it was just him and Clinton, following up on his day’s work.
“There’s something there that can help us,” Clinton said earnestly. “I feel it. As soon as I can get out there-“
“Just find it,” Peter said, motioning Clinton out the door as his phone began to buzz, but when he looked down, he almost fumbled the phone. His sharp intake of breath caused the other agent to turn. Peter beckoned him hastily with his hand, pointing at the phone even as he snatched it open.
“Kramer,” he said, and there was suppressed fury in his voice. Clinton looked at him in surprise, and motioned for Peter to put the call on speaker phone. Peter did, but held the phone to his ear just the same.
“I thought I’d better get a hold of you before you go and do something stupid, something that might ruin the lives and careers of lots of agents in your office.” Kramer’s voice was raspy and genial, but there was steel beneath the velvet.
“Enough with the lecture. Where’s Neal?”
“Safe. Busy. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“I want to talk to-”
“Peter-I’m not taking requests on this. I’ve told you-I’m doing this for your own good. And for Neal’s own good. He needs better limits than you seem able to impose, and I’ll make sure he gets them here in the Art Crimes Division. He’ll be fine-you’ll see-and so will you, once you get over your pride and see that I was right.”
“You can’t do this,” Peter said. “Neal’s deal was with me, and-”
“That’s right-it was with you. It’s not with you any more. There’s no sense in arguing about it. I called you as a courtesy, but I’m done being polite now.”
Peter bit back the reply that was clamoring to burst out of his mouth. “What does that mean?”
“That means that I’m done playing cat and mouse with you and your agents there. I’m going to give Neal back his phone, and I’m going to tell him not to call you. I’m telling you not to contact him-not in any way possible. If you do-if you persist in undermining what I’m doing here, then the consequences will not be pretty.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m informing you. I’m telling you what I expect. Neal is under my supervision now, and if he refuses a direct request not to be in contact with you or anyone from White Collar, then the consequences of him disobeying me are…pretty severe...for Neal. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” said Peter. He forced himself to answer civilly, but he wanted to climb through the phone and wring Kramer’s neck.
“Good-because if you don’t, you’ll only be hurting Neal.”
“Kramer…!” Peter’s voice was tight, his nostrils flared with suppressed fury.
“And the same goes for any of your agents from White Collar-the ones who are listening in on our conversation right now.”
Clinton reacted as though slapped. Peter said nothing, but he had grown very still, his free hand on his hip, glaring at the phone.
“Neal’s talented and an asset, but he’s not worth risking their careers over, is he?”
“It’s not right!”
“It’s what is.” There was a silence. “Do the right thing, Petey-do the right thing for Neal.”
He clicked off before Peter could respond.
For Chapter 6, click HERE
“-brought your lunch,” said El. She leaned down and kissed Peter’s temple fondly and pressed a small bottle into his hand. He looked at it in surprise, then grinned. Migraine pills. Yep-those might make a dent in his headache.
“Thanks, Hon,” he said, and stretched to get a real kiss. She allowed it, then moved away. “I’m just going to drop in and see Reese before I go,” she said. She pointed at the paper sack in her hand and mouthed, “chocolate-chip cookies.” Peter grinned at her, glad she understood his obsession with seeing this through. Whatever Neal had done, whatever his past may have been, he was trying. Heck, in the past year, they’d seen more agents go afoul of the law than criminals-well, almost. Peter squirmed, wondering if he ought to include himself in that list. He knew Reese would back him if he could at all-he was as pissed about the loss of Caffrey as anyone else-and this had the shape and feel of a turf war to him. Most people didn’t try to poach folks out of his office-not and brag about it, anyway. Still, he’d cautioned Jones and Diana that as much as possible, everything they were doing needed to happen outside office hours. Official inquiries could take time on the clock, but everything else needed to be not only off the clock, but off the radar.
Peter watched El go, watched her greet Reese warmly and offer the bag of treats. Reese motioned her to a seat and El refused, but they stood in the doorway of Reese’s office and chatted for a few moments, then she turned and looked instinctively toward her husband’s office. They exchanged smiles, and El made a little gesture with her eyebrows that told him she’d have something to tell later, when he was home. She blew him a kiss and was gone.
***
It’s a cliché, but Neal really did feel better after lunch. There hadn’t been anything in the little apartment that resembled food, nothing that appealed to Neal that morning with his stomach all churned up, but when Kramer suggested lunch, Neal had not had a hard time saying “no.” He had done it, had refused to accept Kramer’s food if it came with Kramer’s presence, but one of the other agents, seeing his plight, gave him half a hoagie and sat down across from him. It proved to be Reynolds, who smiled at Neal as he unwrapped his half of the sandwich.
“I won’t say I hope you aren’t picky,” said the agent dryly. “I will say, ‘I hope you’re hungry.’’’ The sandwich was crammed with every meat and cheese and vegetable the bun would hold.
“This looks great,” said Neal, pushing his knees under the little break table. “Thanks.” Without Kramer accompanying him, Neal was stuck in the office for lunch, but it hardly mattered. He had no money, no phone, not even his lousy credit card-he couldn’t even offer to buy chips. He found glasses in the cabinet and got them each a glass of water from the cooler.
Although many of the agents had gone out to secure lunch, the little break room was busy. People came in and got coffee, retrieved their lunches from the fridge, used the microwave. Many of them spoke in a friendly manner, and Neal could feel lots and lots of eyes on the back of his head, but most of them were kind enough to not intrude just for the sake of novelty.
“I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, but it’s a good office, good people,” said Reynolds kindly. Neal smiled politely, noncommittally, wondering if Reynolds was the plant, the kindly tugboat who would help haul Neal into harbor.
“I listened to the briefing this morning-a lot of exciting cases going on.” And not a mortgage fraud case in sight!
“We do get our share, and our agents are good at what they do.”
Neal felt his competitive urges stir. He was good at what he did, too.
“So, Agent Reynolds-”
“Dag, please. We’re going to be colleagues.” The kindness of that remark was unexpected, and Neal swallowed.
“Dag, then. What’s your thing-pre-Columbian, right?”
Reynolds smiled. “You were listening. I’d say…yes. That is one of the areas where I’ve gone rather deep.” He smiled at Neal. “I understand you’re more of a generalist,” he said.
Neal fought the urge not to bristle, but the agent’s next words surprised him. “And I hear you’re good at just about everything.”
Neal’s anger quickly changed to pleased surprise and he smiled, blue eyes wide, but his voice, when he spoke, was wry. “I’m afraid the reality doesn’t always live up to the hype,” he said, charmingly self-deprecating.
The older agent chuckled, the expression comically at odds with his sad-faced demeanor. “I’m looking forward to seeing the real Neal Caffrey at work,” said Dag, the steered the conversation on to more general topics.
****
Diana’s own lunch experience was slightly different. This was, in fact, the third sit-down lunch she’d had that day-she could hardly even stand the sight of food-and she was about to scream from the effort of making small talk, but the people she had called required a certain finesse if she was going to get anything useful.
“Little Diana-all grown up!” mused the woman across the table from her. Diana did her best to smile.
“Yes, Ma’am. All grown up and catching bad guys,” she quipped, then worried her humor had been too blunt.
But to her relief, the older woman had laughed. “Well then,” she said, her mouth curving into a wry smile, “you’re probably very busy! You’ve been a dear to take time out of your day to catch up with me.” Her delicate, blue-veined hands played with the coffee cup in front of her lazily, but when she looked up at Diana, her grey eyes were piercing in their intensity. “I know a little about what’s going on in your office. Tell me, dear-what can I do to help you?”
****
Although the problem of Neal was on the top of everyone’s mind, the members of Burke’s 7 who actually worked at the White Collar division had other pulls on their attention. Despite what they felt, what they were worried about, work went on as usual. It was a testament to Peter’s ability to compartmentalize that he was able to give a pretty fair imitation of himself all day. Agent Reese had called him in just after lunch, ostensibly to be brought up to date on their regular caseload, but actually to find out where things stood with Neal.
He listened with that complete absorption he was capable of, then leaned back at his desk and steepled his fingers.
“I do hope you know what you’re getting your into,” he said. “Kramer can be pretty formidable, Peter.”
“I know that, Sir, and I’m willing to do this on my own time-”
“Hell’s bells, Peter-stop with the ‘Sir’ and ‘I’m ready to fall on my sword’ crap. I’m with you on this. I just can’t be…with you, if you know what I mean.”
Peter visibly relaxed. “I think I do.”
“You’re going to have to do this outside of proper channels-you and…all of you-don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, and the less I know, the better-until it’s time. And you’re a fool if you don’t assume that everything you’ve thought of to get around Kramer he hasn’t already anticipated. There’s not much I can do if you defy a direct order not to interfere with his C.I.”
At the word “his,” Peter had gathered himself, preparing to say something, but Reese waved it away. “Save it for the battlefield, Peter,” he said. “I’m just looking at it the way a judge would look at it-from the point of view of law.”
“I’m not talking about the law,” Peter gritted. “I’m talking about what’s right.”
“Agreed,” Reese said levelly, “but you’ve been at this long enough that you know those two things aren’t always the same.”
They traded looks, and Peter nodded.
“Kramer threatened one of your agents, which means he threatened one of my agents,” Reese said. “If he crossed the line once, he’s probably crossed it before. Bring me the evidence and I’ll do everything I can to ram it home.”
“Thank you, Sir-Reese.”
“But Peter-” Peter stopped with his hand on the knob. “If Caffrey runs, there’s nothing I can do to help. If you get me the evidence, we’ll do our best to pry him out of Kramer’s grasp, but if Neal doesn’t wait for us, if he jumps the gun….” He did not finish the sentence.
“I understand, sir.” He hesitated, and Reese sighed.
“What?”
“The way things are, there’s no way for me to communicate with Neal. Kramer’s blocked all access, so I don’t see any way to tell him we’re trying to come and get him.”
At this, Reese actually smiled. If Kramer had been there to see it, that smile would have given him pause. “Peter, I’ve seen you and Caffrey work together for almost two years. These past few months…. Trust me-he knows you’ll be coming for him.”
****
“-horrible little place in Foggy Bottom. Used to be a house, but now it’s chopped up into these tiny units. I think mine used to be a walk-in closet.” Sometimes all you got out of a bad situation was a good story.
They had found him a desk-a temporary situation, he thought-and while some agents had given him a wide berth and disapproving looks, others had gone out of their way to be friendly, or at least kind. Agent Scooperton had stopped by on the way back from the bathroom to ask if Neal was moved in. Neal realized with some relief that while they all seemed to know that he wasn’t here by choice, they weren’t fully aware of his situation. He tried to think if he could use that knowledge to his advantage-especially since Kramer obviously didn’t want it widely known.
“Near Georgetown, you say. Uh-coeds?” said Scooter, grinning. Agent Scooperton was a numbers guys-could’ve taken a spot in Accounting without blinking-but he had a passion for seeing artwork returned to its rightful homeland, and he was the best logistics guy they had. He could map out an escape route in his head faster than anyone Neal had ever seen, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the various modes of transport in major cities made him invaluable. Neal almost wished he’d had someone like Scooter on the other side-almost.
“Uh-noise?” countered Neal.
“Well, yeah,” said Scooter, still grinning. “I guess it could be party central.”
“Yeah, well, my party plans are pretty curtailed,” Neal said. He was careful not to sound bitter or annoyed.
Scooter laughed. “You won’t have to worry about a social life,” he said ruefully. “Things are pretty busy here.” He stood abruptly and left. Acting on instinct, Neal turned and saw Kramer looking down from above, an enigmatic expression on his face as he watched Scooperton walk away.
Neal took that piece of information and worried it around in his head. Scooter said they were busy and not to worry about a social life. Did that mean that all the agents here were on a short leash, tethered to their desks? If so, then maybe they had some common goals-or at least one common goal. Neal added that to his growing stack of information and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him.
****
“Yes,” said June, sitting very properly in the travel agent’s office. “I understand you book senior citizen tours to DC.”
“Yes Ma’am, we do,” said the man behind the counter, smiling at her and the generous length of leg her fashionable suit showed. “What are you, um, interested in?”
“Oh, art galleries,” June said sweetly. She re-crossed her legs and smiled. “I’m very interested in art.”
****
The office was almost empty. Peter wanted to be sure-to be certain-that no one could say he was shirking his own duties to deal with Neal, so he had made sure that every other case had been reviewed and managed at whatever level was appropriate. Now, for the first time since early that morning, he truly felt like he could get something done.
He’d already talked to Diana, who was following up a couple of leads of her own. She had been low-key, but Peter had detected an air of suppressed excitement, so one of her leads must be taking her somewhere. “Be careful!” he’d admonished, but Diana had just smiled.
“I’ll be careful. I’ll be ready,” Diana had said, and had left the White Collar office.
Now it was just him and Clinton, following up on his day’s work.
“There’s something there that can help us,” Clinton said earnestly. “I feel it. As soon as I can get out there-“
“Just find it,” Peter said, motioning Clinton out the door as his phone began to buzz, but when he looked down, he almost fumbled the phone. His sharp intake of breath caused the other agent to turn. Peter beckoned him hastily with his hand, pointing at the phone even as he snatched it open.
“Kramer,” he said, and there was suppressed fury in his voice. Clinton looked at him in surprise, and motioned for Peter to put the call on speaker phone. Peter did, but held the phone to his ear just the same.
“I thought I’d better get a hold of you before you go and do something stupid, something that might ruin the lives and careers of lots of agents in your office.” Kramer’s voice was raspy and genial, but there was steel beneath the velvet.
“Enough with the lecture. Where’s Neal?”
“Safe. Busy. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“I want to talk to-”
“Peter-I’m not taking requests on this. I’ve told you-I’m doing this for your own good. And for Neal’s own good. He needs better limits than you seem able to impose, and I’ll make sure he gets them here in the Art Crimes Division. He’ll be fine-you’ll see-and so will you, once you get over your pride and see that I was right.”
“You can’t do this,” Peter said. “Neal’s deal was with me, and-”
“That’s right-it was with you. It’s not with you any more. There’s no sense in arguing about it. I called you as a courtesy, but I’m done being polite now.”
Peter bit back the reply that was clamoring to burst out of his mouth. “What does that mean?”
“That means that I’m done playing cat and mouse with you and your agents there. I’m going to give Neal back his phone, and I’m going to tell him not to call you. I’m telling you not to contact him-not in any way possible. If you do-if you persist in undermining what I’m doing here, then the consequences will not be pretty.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m informing you. I’m telling you what I expect. Neal is under my supervision now, and if he refuses a direct request not to be in contact with you or anyone from White Collar, then the consequences of him disobeying me are…pretty severe...for Neal. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” said Peter. He forced himself to answer civilly, but he wanted to climb through the phone and wring Kramer’s neck.
“Good-because if you don’t, you’ll only be hurting Neal.”
“Kramer…!” Peter’s voice was tight, his nostrils flared with suppressed fury.
“And the same goes for any of your agents from White Collar-the ones who are listening in on our conversation right now.”
Clinton reacted as though slapped. Peter said nothing, but he had grown very still, his free hand on his hip, glaring at the phone.
“Neal’s talented and an asset, but he’s not worth risking their careers over, is he?”
“It’s not right!”
“It’s what is.” There was a silence. “Do the right thing, Petey-do the right thing for Neal.”
He clicked off before Peter could respond.
For Chapter 6, click HERE