Speranza chicagos most wanted

Was like a federal holiday around here. Sammy jerked a nod at him. And today, all of a sudden, Pietro Denati and Ricky Kazinski crawl out of the sewer. Everybody's jockeying for position—because now that Carlo's back, Vito might drop the small stuff and go back to big time robbery. Another inmate. You hear anything about that? Day or night. The bedroom door opened and Carlo came in, carrying a brown paper bag. Can we talk for a minute? Carlo sat down on the bed with the paper bag in his lap; he looked ill at ease.

Vito means well, okay? I just want you to know that. Vito's like—really, really smart, way smarter than me.

He plans all our heists and he never gets caught. Carlo was instantly defensive. I fucked up. That had nothing to do with Vito—that was about me being an idiot, which just happens sometimes. Don't get me wrong, Ben—I like you, I respect you, you got me outta prison which I ain't never gonna forget. But you are broke , pal—and your cut outta this heist is gonna be nearly a hundred grand, so I think you should shut the fuck up about my brother.

Certainly someone has to be in charge, I accept that. I'm just Ben's headache grew worse, and he rubbed hard at his temple again. We got a big day tomorrow. Ray stared up through the darkness at the ceiling over his bed, watching the blur of lights as the occasional car drove by on the street below.

He couldn't sleep—but he just had to sleep, he needed to have his brain fresh and working for tomorrow. He groaned, shifted, rolled onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head. He needed to sleep. Fraser was out there, somewhere; he was probably sleeping too, or trying to. Ray hoped that Fraser was sleeping in a nice comfortable bed, and not, like, tied up on the floor in somebody's basement, or on a Greyhound bus heading for Mexico.

It seemed wrong, really, really wrong, that he didn't know where Fraser was right this second. He felt like he had a right to know, that it was his right to know where Fraser was Ray squirmed again and his t-shirt rucked up uncomfortably beneath him. Everything was uncomfortable: the sheets and blankets were all tangled, the pillow was hot, his shorts were riding up—and he rolled again, lay flat on his back, and wrapped his arms around his head.

I just sent a description to the airport, in case he tries to leave the country—". Told them we got an important message for him. He's been missing for three days—don't you think we should mention that?

And as far as we know, that's still the truth, right? I mean, all this stuff about Fraser's memory—it's all hypothetical. It could be just what you said—Fraser escaped with Carlo in order to catch Vito and bring him in. They could all turn up at any minute. To worry those poor people for nothing. Could set U. Until we're sure about what's going on. It was hard to see him in the dark; it was hard to see everybody, as a matter of fact.

The black clothes they were wearing sucked up all the light—and in the darkness of the van, all that was visible were the whites of their eyes and the glow of reflected light on their faces. Even that disappeared as, one by one, Carlo, Pietro, and Little Ricky pulled on their black masks. Ben took a deep breath and followed suit.

Everyone stepped back as Little Ricky jimmied the revolving door with a dangerous looking steel implement—and then they were revolving through, one by one, stepping into the high ceilinged west lobby. Ben, as the newest member of the gang, had been assigned the position of lookout—and look out he did, keeping a few paces behind the other men as they headed down the south corridor to dispense with the guard.

Little Ricky reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver ball-bearing, and with a quick glance at the others he rolled it down the corridor like it was the world's smallest bowling ball. The sound of steel against the granite floor was loud in the silence—and when the guard appeared at the end of the hallway Vito and Carlo were ready for him, grabbing him by the arms and holding a gun to his head.

Pietro pulled a roll of duct tape out of his bag. He quickly slapped a piece over the struggling guard's mouth, taped his wrists together, and threw him to the floor.

Ben noticed a light flickering on the guard's console and ran toward the desk, gun drawn. Vito roared and tried to shove Ben to the floor—but Ben simply pulled the gun out of his hand, flipped it around, and whacked him hard in the head with it. Vito stumbled back against the marble wall but didn't fall—he just crouched there, staring at Ben, outraged and shocked. Slowly Ben revolved the gun in his hand and pointed it at Vito's head. I'm not ready to tell the Canadians.

The human Canadians," he added quickly. Dief barked at him and Ray sighed and scratched first Dief's head, and then his own. But I swear to you, I just was not expecting—". I asked dispatch to notify me if anything unusual happened at a bank or a securities firm or—". Ben ran full speed up the east hallway, following the increasingly loud sounds of banging and muttered Italian curses.

He darted through a series of interlocking doors until he found Carlo and Pietro, who were struggling to unlock a massive steel door. Pietro grunted and shoved a steel implement harder against the lock. From the door," Ben repeated; and when neither of them moved, he pulled his gun and fired into the air above their heads. They jumped, shocked at the sudden noise, and leapt away from the door. Ben lowered his gun and fired a bullet into the elaborate combination lock, which exploded outwards.

The door suddenly clicked open, and Ben grabbed the handle and turned—and then they were all in there, grabbing everything they could get their hands on and stuffing it into Pietro's black bag. The sirens were now unbearably loud—and Ben heard the faint screech of tires as the police pulled into the lot. Please follow me if you want to stay out of prison.

The GTO turned into the parking lot of Illinois Brokerage on two wheels—and nearly collided with the black van that was careening out of it. Ray jerked the wheel to the right and thus narrowly missed colliding head-on with the van and the two police cars which were in hot pursuit, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Ray cut the wheel hard and turned the GTO around, taking up the chase. The van sped furiously down the service road toward the highway, the police cars slowly catching up. Ray, bringing up the rear, stared as one of the van's back doors flew open and a black-clad arm holding a gun was extended outwards—and then bang!

Ray jammed his foot on the brakes to avoid crashing into the car in front of him, frantically turning the wheel left! He sailed around the disabled police cars, leaving skid marks on the asphalt, but by the time he could work back up to speed the van was gone, gone, totally fucking gone.

Ben sat back against the side wall of the speeding van, Pietro's bag in his lap, and pulled his mask off. He was overheated and vaguely sweaty; he felt flushed with excitement and keyed up with adrenaline and anger.

First of all," he said, turning to look at Little Ricky, "why on earth would you break in through a revolving door? Didn't it occur to you that we might need to leave in a hurry? And you ," Ben added, turning to look at Pietro, who was driving the van. Kindly join us here in the twentieth century, if you please. And Vito— honestly! You have to anticipate that any reasonably competent guard would trigger the alarm before investigating a strange noise.

And why were we interfering with the guard when it's so much simpler to disable his cameras? Under your magnificent leadership, we'd all be in the custody of the police right now, facing felony murder charges. Carlo looked up. That was a disaster. It's a miracle they didn't catch us—and felony murder is twenty-five years to life.

I've already spent six years in prison, and I just got sentenced to another twenty. And okay, maybe it'd only have been seven, but that still would make me forty when I got out. Twenty-five years Ben transferred the gun from his right to his left hand, still training it on Vito, and then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.

As I understand it, the way a gang works is—I tell you what to do and you do it. Vito looked at Carlo, looked at Little Ricky—but they both looked away. Vito turned back to Ben, teeth clenched. You had really better think twice Ray propped his feet up on his desk and rewound the footage from the security camera for the seventh time. He then played it again in slow motion, gesturing at it with the remote control.

The paunch and the psychotic body language just give it away. Except then this guy—" Ray raised the remote control and paused the tape, "—stops him. Guy stops the murder, yeah—but then he bashes Vito on the head and starts giving orders.

Watch this. Ray let the tape roll again, and they watched as the man finished giving instructions and then disappeared down the east corridor. Is that Fraser?

I dunno. He squinted and leaned forward a bit to peer at the tape. Carlo and Pietro will come in through the garage, and they will break into the janitor's closet here.

Now according to this map, which I have obtained from Chicago Gas and Electric, disabling the electrical system will give us precisely nine minutes before the emergency generators kick in. You will be given a precise timetable—you will fetch Carlo and Pietro outside the garage at precisely twenty minutes to three, and then you will swing around and meet us at the back door of the building at precisely A. Now," Benton said, spreading open another blueprint, "the moment the power goes off, Vito and I will proceed to the fifth floor via Staircase B.

Benton looked at Vito sharply. And yes, Carlo—our target is that six million dollar deposit. I don't think we should take the risk for any less. That last heist was Which is Especially if you're going to That's what we do. In a flash, Benton had reached into his holster and whipped out his gun. I would hate to have problems with you, really I would. Vito raised his hands and stepped back.

You have become a touchy little fucker, Ben—do you know that? Ray nodded grimly and bent over to examine the pile of bills on her desk. At first I thought I was seeing things. And then I thought—oh, some kind benefactor has decided to help us!

Because we've been so desperately in need of funds The dark-suited man standing behind Ray coughed discreetly into his fist. I mean, didn't you? Debra Tolland beamed and clapped her hands. Carlo peered down through the glass case at the micro-transmitters, the tiny fitted earpieces, the miniature microphones.

It's our very finest model! Two years ago it was classified, top-secret, government technology. We've since sold this particular system to a number of different companies—because it's so lightweight, you see? Plus it's guaranteed to work at considerable distances—". Carrying their bags, Benton and Carlo walked down the street toward the car. And then suddenly Ben stopped and drifted over toward a shop window. Ben raised his hand and pointed.

Carlo saw the black leather jacket—it was chained to its gold hanger at the back of the window, looking thick and dark and buttery soft. Ted Carter, managing partner of Carter, Phillips, and Thompson, nodded grimly. Six million dollars in cash—oh, this was no amateur job here, believe me. They knew precisely what they were looking for; we didn't even know the money was missing until an hour ago—".

Carter looked sort of embarrassed. The vagaries of international business meant that we could not effect the transfer of funds over the weekend, and for a number of complicated reasons we decided to liquidate the entire amount and—". Ray pursed his lips. Complicated reasons, sure —the only reason to put that kind of money into cash was to do something you really shouldn't be doing, like getting a larger profit by bringing hard American currency into some foreign country.

Carted glared pompously at him, his fat neck turning red. Benton Fraser, black leather satchel slung over the shoulder of his black leather jacket, strode purposefully through the lobby of the Chicago Hilton to the reception desk. He had his share of their latest robbery—five thousand dollars—tucked away in his wallet, and he supposed that five thousand dollars would be enough for him to be able to rent the penthouse suite, at least for a while.

He'd be happy for a bit of privacy. Carlo and Vito were like family, but—well—perhaps a bit too much like family, really. He waited patiently while a man dressed as a giant moose attempted to resolve some sort of issue with the beleaguered-looking concierge. Benton smiled pleasantly as the concierge waved him over, but the moose rather stubbornly refused to give way.

The concierge instantly brightened. The penthouse suite, sir. Much too small. Unless you're a female moose," Benton added quickly. This was not going to be fun.

Ray could see that right away—this was not going to be fun at all. The kids in the playground all had bright new uniforms, and their white sneakers hadn't even had a chance to get scuffed up yet. Inside the building, a group of workers were up on ladders—they were spackling, painting, making what even Ray could see were desperately needed improvements.

We heard a rumor," he began, and suddenly there was a horrible banging noise from overhead. Let's go into my office. She guided him gently across the hallway into her office and shut the door behind them. Ray shuffled from foot to foot. Sister Mary Louise's lined face instantly brightened. I've been praying so hard—and anyone who says prayers aren't answered just does not understand the ways of the Lord.

God works in very mysterious ways, Detective—oh, he was just the loveliest young man: so polite, so charming, so—". Believe me, if you'd met the young man in question, you'd just know that—".

Sister Mary Louise stared at him for a moment, and there was a flash of something in her eyes. And then she was raising a hand to her head, her face the very picture of confusion. A rather unfortunate mole! Right here! There was a knock at the door and Sister Mary Louise practically rushed away from him to answer it. A young man wearing the orphanage uniform stood there.

He'll be going to Yale in the fall. She's a nun —she's a shitty liar! Fraser's tall; she says he's short. Fraser's dark; she says he's a redhead.

Fraser's built; she's says he's dumpy. Fraser's beautiful; she gives him a big fat ugly mole right in the middle of his face—". Which is how we know it's Fraser—QED. Nobody else could look so much not like Fraser—". I don't think so. You've gotten very good with that headset," he added, smiling at Little Ricky.

At that rate, your yearly income will be something in the area of four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Only four percent of Americans make more than a hundred thousand a year. I advise you to count your blessings and file a tax return.

It's not a very big target—we're looking at about two million dollars in bearer bonds—but the Samstel Corporation's security is a disaster, partly because they refuse to pay the union wages required by decent security firms Ray's phone rang at about four o'clock in the morning, scaring the shit out of him.

He kicked the sheets from around his legs, fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, and stumbled into the living room in his boxer shorts and t-shirt. Apparently the new guy's pretty talented—has an eye for a safe heist and a real talent for organization. Ricky feels like he's finally getting some on-the-job training. And Carlo—all he wants is a safe, steady income.

Cause see, he's got this girl, Gina—". Carlo's just nuts about her, but the burglary business is always a little hand-to-mouth, you know? So he's happy as a clam—behind the new guy a hundred percent.

Even Pietro's apparently coming around. The only problem is Vito. But the thing is, Ray—he's talked to some people, you know? Sammy gave a significant-sounding cough. Talked to people Nobody's gonna set a price until they know what they're dealing with. But Vito is talking to people There is cash and prizes and a trip to the Bahamas in it for you if you let me know the second Vito makes a contract!

You hear me? I will do my best," Sammy said, and then he added: "I like the Hyundai, you like the Hyundai? Carlo grinned up at him. We can make payroll out of the cash, and still have extra money left for expenses. Carlo nodded, stripped five thousand off the top, and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. One of them nice, round-cut diamonds—big as the moon. Andrew's," Benton explained to him.

Ray burst into Welsh's office and slammed the door behind him. Look at this. It was blurry, yeah, but it was pretty clearly Benton Fraser's face. But here's the thing—because the bastards were so cheap, they just threw these store-bought cameras up. They weren't all connected , you see? So Fraser and his guys, they cut the wires and all, but a couple of the cheap cameras just kept on rolling.

Ray went still for a moment and then whirled and started kicking violently at Welsh's file cabinet. So Ben—you got any ideas about our next heist? Benton quickly sucked up his forkful of spaghetti, and then wiped sauce off his lips with his napkin. I think we'll hit the Boorman Corporation next. Possibly on Thursday, weather permitting. I was hoping that Carlo might find a way to broker them though his jeweler—". Life is good, okay?

Carlo shook his head and looked back at Benton. But certainly we should accept no less than five. Twenty grand apiece? Vito suddenly pounded his fist onto the table, sending the plates and glasses and silverware lurching and clattering.

Vito whipped his gun out of his holster and pointed it at Benton's head. I'll give you a difficult transition—". With a loud scrape of chairs, Carlo, Pietro, and Little Ricky were all on their feet, guns trained on Vito.

Benton leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, and continued talking placidly: "As I say, change can be very, very stressful—I'm well aware of that.

So I'm going to take that into consideration in evaluating this situation. Because we're like family, Vito, aren't we? Vito looked around at the three pistols, and then slowly reholstered his own gun. Benton smiled and nodded. And what family doesn't have its little problems? And meals can be specific focal points of tension.

Please," he added, gesturing. I'd hate for you to miss the spumoni. Ray sat in his chair and cringed while the Ice Queen stormed around the office, waving her arms and doing a pretty creditable imitation of a Fury. Least of all me. Thatcher flung herself back into her desk chair, and put both her fists on the desk.

His psychological profile intimated that he could snap at any time. But this! I never imagined anything like this. You have to find him, Vecchio! Ray rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. Oh, hey, thanks—I hadn't thought of that! I've been playing air hockey in the basement!

I am looking for him! I am trying to keep this quiet! I am doing as much damage control as I possibly can! I am informing you out of courtesy —". They were interrupted by a meek little cough from the doorway. Ray held the paper up so she could see it. Benton dropped the paper on to the table, shook his head, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. Benton looked up at him, surprised. The police know that you and I have escaped from prison. The police are well aware of the robberies we've committed.

The police are no doubt looking for us as we speak, and have probably been looking for us for some time. Nothing's changed. In fact," Benton added with a smile, "I believe that the police generally find media attention to be a hindrance rather than a help. And really, photograph aside, the article is quite flattering. The station was a madhouse when Ray pulled the GTO into the lot. The courtyard was thronged with reporters—who all ran for the car when they saw him, crowding him and shoving their microphones in his face.

A uniformed officer held it open for him, and blocked the reporters from following him inside. The scene inside the station wasn't much better—he found himself surrounded by people the minute he walked through the door to the bullpen. Welsh came to his rescue, booming from the door to his office.

You are under the strictest of orders not to discuss, confer, or speculate about this with anyone. The strictest orders—is that understood? You are in trouuuu-ble Benton rappelled quickly through the darkness down the side of the Boorman building; Pietro and Carlo were there to catch him in their arms at the bottom, settling him onto his feet and rapidly detaching the huge, metal climbing hooks and nylon cords from the leather harness he wore around his waist and chest.

Benton raised his hand to his ear and pulled the microphone toward his lips. Vito flung the back doors open and they all leapt in. Vito extended his hand, and Benton overturned a cascade of glittering diamonds into his palm.

After all," Benton said with a smile, "diamonds are said to be a girl's best friend. There's a robbery, and there's a donation. This time it was you guys. At the moment, all this is correlation , not connection , do you follow me? Not really possible—but legal possible, okay? So we're obligated to investigate, but we can't take the money away from you unless we can prove that it wasn't a genuine charitable donation. Listen, is there anybody here who might have seen something last night?

He let himself out of the administrative offices and wandered around the shelter, making inquiries. The women were generally pleasant enough to him until they learned who he was and what he wanted—and then Ray could practically see their faces closing down, growing shuttered and defensive.

Ray turned to leave and found his way blocked by a tall, redheaded woman. Ray winced and took a step back—the woman's face was badly bruised, her left eye swollen so terribly that Ray doubted she could see out of it at all.

He'd seen boxers who hadn't looked as bad as this. Because somebody might have stolen some money—yeah, sure, if it's money , the cops are all over it. Where were you guys when we needed you, huh? And now you want us to help you put this man in prison? You ought to be ashamed of yourself Ray propped his head on his elbow and stared hard at the paper.

There just had to be a pattern here. They were all pretty rich companies. And they were all local companies, headquartered here in Chicago. Which was nicely ironic, when you thought about it, considering how they were now funding a bunch of local charities Benton sat on the front stoop of the Salmonelli house, smoking and watching the kids playing stickball down the street.

He heard the screen door bang open behind him, and then Carlo came and sat down next to him, patting his pockets for a light. Benton reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket, pulled out a lighter, and lit Carlo's cigarette. We used to play stickball just like them kids—it's a nice neighborhood. I'm thinkin', you know, if things keep going good like they are, maybe I'll buy a little house around here, set up shop with Gina, have a couple of kids of my own. Benton thought about that for a moment, and then shook his head slowly.

I don't think I'm wired that way. Different strokes for different folks, right? You do the same—I'll need you to be on your toes, tonight, Carlo.

This one might be a bit tricky, and Vito's been Ray sauntered into Welsh's office, shut the door, and leaned back against it, grinning triumphantly. Welsh settled back in his seat, hands gripping the arms of his chair.

Ray pushed himself off the door and laid a piece of paper on the desk in front of Welsh. Just take a look at that. Welsh leaned forward to look. Ray had stroked through a few lines in blue highlighter:. Really narrows it down—good job. Cross-reference The Chicago Hundred against the list of companies that give to registered charities and you get this.

It was the same page from Fortune Magazine; the same list. Welsh looked up at Ray, and it took Ray a moment to figure out what was wrong with his face. And then he figured it out. His earpiece momentarily buzzed with static and then he heard Carlo's voice. So far, so good. Benton leaned back against the wall and took a quick glance at his watch. Ray was nearly on the verge of falling asleep when the lights cut out. Instantly, he was on his feet, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound at all against the thickly carpeted floor.

Fuck, this was it , they were here —except where were they exactly? He'd hedged his bets by staking out the main lobby to Wentworth and Associates, which had a clear view of both the elevators and the office's main safe. The problem was that he had no idea of the target. Sure, Wentworth and Associates had a central safe—but the firm's twenty partners had twenty small safes in their twenty large offices, and each of them had their own, highly lucrative clients. So Fraser could be almost anywhere The office was laid out as a square, with staircases coming up from the lobby at each of the corners.

Stealthily, Ray moved through the dark, carpeted corridor, passing dark offices with frosted glass doors. He reached Staircase A, raised his gun, and then wheeled around the corner, taking aim. Then he tugged them out again. Luke obeyed instantly, dropping down at the foot of the bed lightly.

Loyalty, maybe. Maybe he worked with a team before and it all went wrong thanks to fights about money. Who even knew? Phil studied him, taking up a spoonful of the pho. Off the team? Another hard throb at his temple. Phil let out a slow breath, trying not to let it show on his face. You got plans to go on to better schemes? Luke shrugged. Luke shot a look at the open bedroom door and lowered his voice.

Not even jaywalking. You know how hard that is in my neighborhood? Cops park along our streets and just sit and wait for someone to shake down. His mind flashed him images of a face, wide blue eyes and a gorgeous jawline, a nervous smirk. A kiss that he could still feel on his mouth. A connection, the first Phil had felt since he got hurt. Luke just shrugged. Still, if we get caught and I go into the system Phil nodded.

And I have no problem with it. Luke met his eyes for a moment, searching, then breathed out as he relaxed all over.

Phil smiled back. Neal moved into the house, in no mood to stall or be polite. She whistled, shutting the door and following Neal to the kitchen. Elizabeth leaned in the doorway and watched him, eyebrows hiking up.

She was aware of his aversion to beer. Neal nodded solemnly. Or straight, apparently. He would never. But still, it happened. Neal groaned and dropped into the closest chair at the kitchen table. And I have been kissed often. And well. He could still feel it, almost.

The hot press of lips, the slide of tongues. Hot breath, the rasp of stubble. So fucking assertive. Urgency in it somehow. Elizabeth was grinning. Neal got up instantly to get glasses, as familiar with the Burke kitchen as he was with his own. He set the half-empty beer in the sink. I want him back. This kind of thing Neal set the glasses down on the table.

That more than anything spoke to her stress level. She smiled at that. We both are. But to get to this place, we decided early on that we had to be as honest with each other as possible. We are open with each other about everything, past and present. Not bad. He saved himself the indignity of a spit-take, but only barely. He swallowed in a hurry, only choking a little. She smiled. I would never sleep with another man. Peter gives me everything I could need. But every now and then After the kiss this morning, he was all surprised out for the day.

She nodded. A treat. Same for him. It would never even occur to him to be with another woman. I mean, never. It was an absurd thing to lie about, especially considering the situation Peter was in, but. Come on. She waved a hand. Peter and I never do. If he wants cock, he can go get it. At some point in the last two years Peter Burke had a fling with a man.

Neal scoffed. I know there are rules. We tell each other beforehand. It made sense, really. At least it explained why Peter without his memories would be so obviously attracted to Neal and not bother repressing it. Before Renaissance masters or Picasso or the art of handwriting forgery, he would have said Peter Burke.

He thought he knew the man inside and out, thought Peter was entirely up front and open. Normally he had no issues with people or their respective closets, but this was Peter.

Elizabeth was studying him, watching his face. If he tells stories about old lovers, he never changes names or avoids pronouns. His family knows. Peter went undercover as a blind date for some embezzler once and didn't hesitate to tell Hughes and his agents why he was fine to volunteer for it. That was disconcerting.

Though he supposed that explained why Clinton was so casual about putting money on the possibility that Neal and Peter might sleep together someday. No random gay jokes or emasculation attempts, only normality. And it explained why his crack the other day about Peter being closed-minded had surprised Elizabeth.

She must have assumed he knew. Elizabeth topped his glass off with the rest of the bottle. People like him are easily underestimated. Our relationship is so strong people never look behind it. If he was in the closet, furtive and guilty and scared to be caught, I have no doubt you would have noticed. And, okay, that did ease some of the apprehension swirling inside of him. The idea of Peter being dishonest about himself was impossible to believe.

Her smile was gentle. If we sleep with someone more than once, no big deal. And breathtakingly good at her work, which, really, is one of my biggest turn-ons. I told Peter about it, because I was attracted to her but thought if I slept with her it might get complicated.

He gave me his blessing. Especially once she started working for me. She hesitated then for the first time, taking a deep draw off her own glass of wine. He frowned, thinking about it. His mind immediately pointed to one possibility where this was headed, but it seemed far-fetched.

She put him out of his misery fast, at least. We had that discussion before he even caught you, when you were a face in grainy surveillance shots and the memory of a handsome stranger in front of a bank handing out candy.

And he always thought your brain was sexy. Competence is a real kink for him too. And if it did, he knew it would never be simple. Maybe this entire day was one long fever dream. Maybe instead of Peter being hit by that car it had been Neal.

Maybe he was medicated in a coma somewhere and his brain was being really, really mean to him. Before today he never would have considered the possibility of even thinking about Peter that way.

That was just Neal having eyes and good taste. Even for a fed, he took care of himself. Neal and Peter worked together intimately. They were together a lot of days from breakfast until the AM hours. Knew each other, the good and bad. Faced danger together, which was a whole other kind of intimacy that Neal had never known before.

It was different with Peter. It was the feeling of knowing that when they had a plan for a sting Neal could always be sure Peter would come through.

Peter would pick up on his signals, back his plays, and when Peter took over and made moves Neal would back those without a second thought. It was levels of trust Neal had never believed were even possible. It was connection. Nothing he saw in the other agents on the team, as good as they all were. God, maybe it was Peter. His two most serious relationships were this incredible, unwaveringly strong marriage, and Neal.

Maybe he was so solid a person that his relationships all developed that strength. Neal had no doubt that being so close to Peter had made him a better, stronger person. Elizabeth sat quietly, sipping her wine and letting Neal get lost in his head, which he was grateful for. She was the main reason why he never would have thought of Peter in a sexual way.

They had so much love and respect for each other that it showed in everything they did together. The anklet, the work. But it was apparent fast that getting that close to Peter would be a mistake.

Very different. Earth-changing-rotation different. He frowned at Elizabeth finally. She reached for it, but before taking it she met his eyes for a long moment. Plain text with limited HTML?

What an exciting setup! Can't wait to see where you take this next and how 'Phil' will take to his new career.

Not to mention the FBI crew trying to get him back. Really looking forward to the next chapter! Very exciting! I haven't read the original, but I can see why you wanted to do this plot with White Collar!! So excited for actual-criminal! Keep going! I love bad boy Peter and Neal missing him. My favorite part was Elizabeth laughing at Neal about their sex bets. Can't wait for the next chapter!

As S6 undeniably proved and was already proven before actually , if Peter, NEal and Moz ever teamed up for a real crime , they'd be unstoppable.

Even Peter taking over the team and insisting that they do it without violence is very much in character :. Amnesia was probably a blessing. The list of people Neal had trouble lying to was miniscule, but she was on it.

Ooof, so good! I love El. And thank YOU for not giving up on this story. Ugh, so good! What an evocative and accurate way to put it! And poor, stunned Neal, bless him! Can't wait to see what he takes away from this conversation! I mean thanks for the update! This story is so good, I'm really enjoying crime lord Peter and poor, confused Neal as "the cop".

And Luke is freaking adorable. Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled. Get an Invitation. Comments: 23 Kudos: 71 Bookmarks: 16 Hits: Most Wanted cenotaphs Summary: An accident while undercover leads to Peter forming the wrong idea about who he is and what he does.

Anyway, here. Part One. Chapter 1. Chapter Text Neal despised being the one in the van. Peter hated doing undercover work, but sometimes he was the obvious choice.

Ellison had bit the hook almost the moment they met. Neal rolled his eyes. A loud knock came through the monitor suddenly, and a strange voice. Peter answered, voice loud and authoritative. Neal grinned and shook his head proudly. About Peter and me? Neal turned his eyes to the monitor. Neal frowned. The man you hit was one of ours! He caught it clumsily, swearing under his breath. Blood, smeared over the crumpled metal. But his friends came back for him. Pulled some guns on us and carried him off.

He shrugged. But after only another minute Clinton and Diana emerged, looking grim. He called to them as they came down the stairs.

He was pissed. Son of a bitch. Pain hurt. You said it was okay to call you that. You remember me? Chapter 2 Summary: Peter Burke is a team leader. Even when he doesn't know it. Seemed pathetic to Phil. Phil blinked up at him, then grimaced and dug into the wallet. A worn-out bank card, a MetroCard that looked well used. He looked up at Luke. Not long. Want a drink? It was his favorite place in the apartment, by far.

What do you already know? He might be hurt. She smiled after a moment. You want that drink now? Apparently, she was pretty good at dis honesty when she gave it a shot. He frowned back at the sheets. Phil shot a frown at him. Shut up. He knew that. Some damn how, he knew it. What a gigantic fucking waste.

Ellison looked back at Phil, intense. You think you have a better idea? This is a better idea. Ellison let out an incredulous sound. Phil looked over at Ellison. Also, we shake off the cops for good. He looked at Phil again. What do we need to do? He listened, staring out at the darkness. He lay back down after a moment, but his eyes stayed wide open. This was different. Because it didn't seem to be happening tonight. Chapter 4. An accident while undercover leads to Peter forming the wrong idea about who he is and what he does.

Neal does not appreciate this role reversal in the slightest. Except when he does. This story is a completely blatant homage read: ripoff, but I'm open about it? It's a classic. Everything Speranza wrote was classic. I steal many, many things from that story. But come on, what a perfect plot for White Collar.

This would have been an amazing episode of the show. Except for the sexy parts, maybe. But those too, really. Hit me up, Matt and Tim, I'll write the screenplay. It was the sheer.

He would have whined and complained until he was so annoying they sent him home, except, in a rare occurrence, the agent they had undercover was his own partner. They were after Bernard Ellison and his ever-changing crew of flunkies. His specialty was banks, in two-pronged attacks. The flunkies would wave guns and threaten and shout, rob the tellers, do everything a regular pack of bank robbers would do.

Meanwhile, usually unnoticed at the time, Ellison himself and his financial guy would take over one of the computers and rob from the inside. There were techs still trying to reach the end of the trail for robberies that happened weeks ago.

White Collar had identified the current money guy and arrested him, and like a hell of a lot of white collar bad guys he sang like a bird the minute he was threatened with real time. So now Peter was in there playing the role of Phillip Lassiter, a disgraced embezzler who, while caught and blackballed, was also so good that his guilt was supposedly never proven.

Good with numbers, good with computers, bad at morals. As much as he balked at undercover, he was the obvious choice to go in quickly. Peter had sat in through most of the planning sessions for this upcoming heist, terse and bitter and not very chatty, which seemed to make Ellison trust him more. Neal had laughed at him. Luckily the heist was planned for the next day, and then it would be done. Today was about going over last-minute things, making sure everyone knew the plan.

Ellison had a lot of turnover with his crews, and for some reason he preferred it that way, but it meant he had to retrain the whole crew before every job. He and Ellison would already be in the bank, would sneak back to the computers once the madness happened, and be among the hostages when the robbers finally left. On screen the men all jumped to attention. The guy whose apartment they were in, who Neal supposed was probably Jason Andrews, shot a wild look around.

Peter looked to the other men. He moved close, pitching his voice low. So go out the window, down the fire escape. Ellison stared at him for a moment that might have turned dangerous, but then he nodded agreement and steered them towards the window. The first kid was already out of sight. Let me see the warrant first. And you keep your mouth shut. Diana looked up from her intent phone conversation. Peter had a crumbled form in his hand, looking from it to the window.

It looked like all the other guys had made it out, which meant Peter was trying to decide between following or IDing himself to these cops. Peter seemed to come to the same conclusion. Give me a minute here. Peter dropped the paper on a nearby chair and headed for the window, quick and quiet. The footage got shaky as he climbed his way out the window into the sunshine. The fire escape was narrow, but not nearly as decrepit as many of them were.

Diana was still on the phone, just in case. The problem was a police car at the end of the alley, driving in fast. Peter jumped down from the top of the first flight instead of moving down the steps. The car coming up behind him blared its siren in warning, but Peter kept moving. Diana was all but shouting into the phone. Your guys are chasing an undercover FBI agent, call them off! Peter was nearing the end of the alley, racing after the rest of the team. He was hardly breathing hard, but his voice shook with motion as he talked for the mic again.

Let us get a few blocks away.