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elrhiarhodanTitle: If Your Hopes Should Pass Away (then simply pretend)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke
Spoilers: S2-15 – Power Play
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 6300
Summary: It is said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Neal tries to return a favor and unwittingly kills a dream.
Beta’d by the fabulousjrosemary and rabidchild67. All mistakes are mine, and feedback is ALWAYS appreciated.
__________________
The remains of take-in Chinese and two bottles of wine were spread out on Neal’s dining table. He had kung pao and Sara was still picking at the last of her vegetable chow fun.
“Tell me about your sister.” Neal’s idle question wasn’t really idle.
“Why do you want to know?” She tossed her chopsticks onto her plate. One missed and clattered against the egg-shell thin tea cup. Neal winced. There was an unfamiliar note of hostility in her voice. Or maybe not unfamiliar, simply something he hadn’t heard from her in a long time.
He stifled a grimace. His usual bag of tricks rarely worked on Sara Ellis, which was a good thing, he supposed. “I’m trying to get to know you better – every time I think I have a bead on what makes you tick, you say something that blows me out of the water and I’ve got to start from scratch.” He took a sip of wine and leaned back in the chair.
“Hmmm, I don’t know if I should be worried or flattered that you are trying to figure me out.”
Neal cocked his head. “Worried?”
“Yeah – worried. Neal Caffrey, social engineer, par excellence.”
“Come on, Sara – after everything, do you really think I’m playing you?”
“Answer my question, Caffrey. Why do you want to know?” The hostility had been dialed back, but Sara didn’t seem in a confiding mood right now.
Neal sighed. “After Kate was killed, no one really wanted to talk about her.” He traced a finger through a patch of dampness on the dining room table - some tea that had spilled. “Peter never trusted her. Before she was killed, he did everything he could to get her out of my life.”
“With good reason.”
He closed his eyes against the memory of what they all had learned about Kate - and not learned. “And Mozzie – he had issues with Kate, too. So, for the longest time everyone just danced around her, what she meant to me. It festered – it made me angry.” Neal hadn’t told Sara anything about the wild hunt for the music box – she knew some of it of course, but not the whole story - not from the beginning, with Adler and Alex. And she certainly didn’t know anything about his confrontation with Garrett Fowler. Neal didn’t want her to know about that
“I’m sorry.” Sara whispered a small apology.
“You shouldn’t be – I’m not telling you this for your sympathy. I’ve just learned that sometimes it’s better to be able to talk about things that hurt you. You seemed so lost when you talked about your sister.”
She smiled at him, a bitter twist on her lips. “I had five years of very expensive therapy to help me deal with Amanda’s disappearance. Believe me, I’ve worked through all of my abandonment issues.” Her armor was back in place. Sara got up abruptly and started clearing the dishes.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to pry.” Neal pulled the dinner plates out of her hand. “Don’t – just leave them.”
Sara laughed, relaxing just a bit. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I get very defensive when someone wants me to talk about Amanda. I hated therapy. ” Sara ducked her head, letting the swath of red hair cover her face. Neal didn’t have to be a psychotherapist to understand that she was hiding.
“The whole couch and probing question thing?”
“Yeah – even the memory of the smell of that office still makes me want to retch.”
“Your parents wanted to help you.”
Sara sniffed at that.
Neal wanted to drop the whole thing. “The road to hell…”
“Yeah – I was drowned in their good intentions.”
They took coffee out onto the terrace, the cool night a harbinger of the changing seasons. After his clumsy attempt at conversation, Neal kept his mouth shut. One of the things he found irresistibly attractive about Sara was how easily she kept him on his toes. The way someone else did on a daily basis – someone else he also found irresistibly attractive.
Sara leaned back against the terrace wall, the fairy lights casting wicked shadows across her face. “So, tell me, how long have you be in love with Peter?”
He wasn’t shocked at her question. Sara was smart (and he liked that), perceptive, and unlike Mozzie, she didn’t have clouds of paranoia and an instinctive dislike of authority fogging her vision.
“I have a habit of desiring things I know I can never have.” Not a complete answer, but not a complete lie either. More of a deflection.
“I’ve watched the two of you together – you look at him like the sun rises and sets on his every word.”
He shrugged. “What can I say – I occasionally respond very well to authority.”
“Look – you don’t have to tell me anything, you can even lie to me. But don’t lie to yourself, okay? I know all about that - what that does to a person.”
Neal brushed his fingers through the fall of hair that covered her face. “Don’t you know by now that lying is one of the things I do best?” He pressed a soft kiss against her jaw, and another one below her ear.
“Are you lying now?” Sara reciprocated, her nails digging sharply into his back, her thigh riding up against a startlingly swift erection.
He bit down lightly on her earlobe and whispered, “What do you think?”
__________________
Neal never quite forgot the non-conversation he had with Sara. He understood her reluctance to talk about her sister – it felt like his own distaste for discussing his father, or Mozzie’s dislike for thinking about the people who dumped him in an orphanage before he was old enough to talk.
This was something that went to the core of Sara Ellis. It made her what she was. If she was anything like him (and Neal thought she had the heart of a marauder underneath those rather enticing little tits), then she would certainly be reluctant to expose herself unnecessarily.
He supposed he should have vehemently denied his feelings for Peter, or countered her question with the very same one. The truth of the matter was that what was between him and Peter was difficult . But their own their relationship - whether it should be called dating or friends with benefits - wasn’t a chess match or a series of tit-for-tat exchanges anymore. They enjoyed each other’s company – the sex was highly satisfying and uncomplicated. Despite how their relationship may have started, he liked her now, and even if she still was sniffing around for the Raphael, he considered Sara Ellis a friend.
And if there was one problem with that, Neal had learned, it was that he always wanted to help his friends, which probably goes a long way in explaining why he gave his best smile to Special Agent Kathleen Rice when they got into the elevator together.
“Good morning, Agent Rice.” He winced – that was way too perky – too fake, even for him.
She nodded back, business-like and suspicious. “Morning, Caffrey.”
A few more people squeezed into the car, and they both moved to the back. “What brings the rising star of Kidnapping & Missing Persons to our humble abode?”
She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Not a rising star - not any more, not by anyone’s standards. And why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. These aren’t your usual stomping grounds.”
Rice didn’t bother with diplomacy. “Why are you being so pleasant? Last time we met, you were rather hostile.”
The mask dropped from Neal’s face. There was no point in continuing the charade. “Not without cause, Agent Rice.”
Rice gave him a twisted smile. “That’s better, Caffrey – I have a hard time trusting you when you’re smiling for no reason.”
Neal shook his head. When had he become so damn predictable?
The car emptied out at the fifteenth floor. Interesting, she wasn’t getting out at the main administrative level. That leaves White Collar and Organized Crime.
“What do you want, Neal?”
“Who says I want anything?”
She gave him a look of utter disbelief.
“Okay, okay. I need a small favor.”
“I don’t do favors. They tend to cause trouble – especially favors for CIs.”
“Look, it’s really not for me, and it’s nothing more than seeing if there’s a Missing Persons case file.”
The car stopped at the 19th floor – Organized Crime, and Rice started to get out. Neal grabbed her arm. Rice looked at his hand as if she was contemplating amputation, He let go abruptly and stepped out of the elevator with her.
“Sorry.” Neal gave her a rueful smile.
Rice didn’t say anything, but she didn’t make any move to go into the offices.
“Look – a friend of mine, her sister disappeared about fifteen, sixteen years ago. She has no idea what happened to her. I was wondering if the FBI had been involved.”
“I hope you and your friend aren’t expecting anything. After that long, there’s be no way the FBI could justify reopening the case. Unless you have a lead. Do you?”
Neal stepped back. “No, no - nothing to reopen. It’s just – well, my friend – she deserves a little closure. She was a child when her sister disappeared, and I don’t think she ever got over it.”
“Hmmm.”
“Agent Rice – you owe me.”
She looked at him like he was some lower form of life. “How do you figure that, Caffrey?”
“Your disciplinary hearing. I didn’t testify.”
“You were in prison, if I recall. Something about an escape attempt?”
“No, I would have been there – there was a request to compel my testimony. My attorney didn’t get the paperwork for transportation to the Metropolitan Correctional Center turned in on time. I heard that the complaints were downgraded – you got a slap on the wrist, not a suspension.”
“I think Agent Burke’s suspension and his inability to testify was more pertinent.”
Neal stared at Rice – he hadn’t thought about that. Damn. “Still…you do owe me, if only for nearly getting me killed. For getting me kidnapped.”
Rice nodded, finally agreeing. “Okay – yes, I owe you. And all I’m doing is looking up a file.”
“And giving me a copy.”
She glared at him, eyes narrowed. “If I can.”
Neal accepted that, but if she couldn’t – he didn’t want to know what mystery was attached to Amanda Ellis’ disappearance. “Thank you.”
Rice handed him her card. “Email me as much information as you have – name, date of disappearance, date of birth. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“As soon as possible, please.”
“Don’t push your luck, Neal.”
Neal opened the door to the stairwell, quicker to run up the two flights to the White Collar offices than wait for the elevator. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
__________________
A new case kept Neal busy for the better part of that week and the next. An investment scheme involving, of all things, Brooklyn waterfront property. How anyone could believe that the U.S. Navy was interested in repurchasing the site was hard to comprehend. He had considerable fun taking apart the shell corporations running the scam.
Wednesday, about ten minutes before he was getting ready to leave, a courier arrived with an interoffice envelope. The sender was Agent Rice. Neal waited until he got home to open it. When he saw the note that said “Not a cold case – not for a long time, KR” he immediately regretted that decision.
He needed to talk with someone. Not Moz – there was a little too much strange friction between his friend and Sara - something he didn’t know if he wanted to puzzle through. June still actively disliked Sara – for bringing the police into her home, and trying to have him arrested.
Peter – no. He’d want to know why he hadn’t gotten the information from him – even though Rice worked Missing Persons, Peter would still be able to request information from the FBI databases. But Peter was too complicated. Hard to ask the man for whom you have wholly inappropriate feelings to search for a file on your sometime girlfriend’s missing sister.
Elizabeth. If there was one person he could trust, one person who had the clear-eyed emotional maturity to steer him in the right direction, it was Peter’s wife. Problem was, he couldn’t talk to Elizabeth without Peter there. But he could also count on El keeping Peter under control.
He contemplated the tracker and sent Peter a text telling him he was on his way over.
Halfway down the stairs, he got Peter’s reply.
Can’t it wait until tomorrow? About to have dinner with my wife
Need to talk to your wife. You’ll be done with dinner by the time I get there
Why do you need to talk with my wife?
Neal contemplated a half-dozen different answers. Because she’s wise and has never steered me wrong.
And I’m not wise? If he wasn’t mistaken, Peter’s response was actually tinged with a little jealousy.
Yes, Obi-Wan, you are wise. But I need a woman’s point of view.
Oh.
That was the last text before he got to the subway. It was surprisingly easy to get from his apartment to Peter and Elizabeth’s – the express to Penn Station, a change to the 3 Train, and then a straight shot to Brooklyn. The walk from the subway was less than ten minutes. He trusted that Peter sent a message to the EMU to put him on monitoring status.
Neal couldn’t believe it, but Peter was waiting at the door for him.
“El insisted on holding dinner for you. Hope you’re hungry.”
“You’re annoyed.”
Peter sighed. “No, not really. I guess I should be happy that you came to us…”
“Us?” He really couldn’t resist needling Peter.
“Elizabeth – all right?”
That seemed to be a cue for El to come out of the kitchen with a big bowl of something that looked like cold pasta and veggie salad. She seemed genuinely delighted to see him.
“Peter says you want to talk to me.”
Neal smiled at her and she grinned back – and Peter cleared his throat. He was right, Peter was just a tiny bit jealous. But of whom?
Peter looked at the envelope in Neal’s hands. “Can it wait until after dinner?”
Neal looked at it too, and dropped it on the coffee table. “Yeah, yeah – sure.”
Dinner was fun – dinner with Peter and Elizabeth was always enjoyable. Not that the food was particularly good. El was an indifferent cook and Peter had simple tastes. It was the conversation – the challenge of keeping up with two very smart, very focused people, two minds that seemed to work in tandem – much the way he and Peter worked at the office.
He insisted on kitchen duty, as an unplanned dinner guest, and came out to find the Burkes, man, woman and dog, had relocated to the patio. He picked up the envelope with the information about Amanda Ellis and joined them.
Elizabeth cut right to the chase. “Okay, sweetie. What’s on your mind?”
“I may have made a mistake, and I need your advice.”
“You may have made a mistake?” That was Peter.
“Hush, hon. What’s the matter.”
Neal swallowed and tried to keep his eyes off of Peter. “Sara told me something, about her sister.”
Peter interrupted. “Her sister ran away – at least fifteen years ago. She never knew what happened to her.”
“She told you?” The question was unnecessary, but something unclenched inside Neal – he was glad Peter knew that much.
“Yes – a few years back. After your trial, she asked me to look into the cold case files.” Peter looked down at the envelope Neal brought.
“Hon, what’s the matter?” El looked from Neal to Peter.
“What did you do, Neal?”
Neal winced – this time he deserved that reaction from Peter. He swallowed. “I ran into Agent Rice the other week. Since she’s in Missing Persons, I asked her if there was a file on Amanda Ellis’ disappearance.”
“There was no file – I checked the cold case database.” Peter looked grim.
Neal took a deep breath and licked his lips. “That’s because it wasn’t a cold case.”
Elizabeth was confused. “If it wasn’t a cold case, that means that…” The light dawned.
“Yeah.” Neal looked at Peter, who suddenly realized his own mistake. He took the envelope from under Neal’s hand and opened it.
He looked at the file, then at Neal, and then back at the file. “You were going to show this to my wife?” There was a strong note of caution in Peter’s voice.
Neal abruptly shook his head. “No, of course not. I just don’t know what to do about it - it’s not what I expected to find.”
Elizabeth reached for the file. Peter held it out of her reach. “You don’t need to see this, hon.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Sara’s sister’s dead – and no one ever told her. Why?”
“I don’t know – I don’t know why her parents kept it a secret.” Peter was equally puzzled.
“Sara said that both her parents were dead.” Neal didn’t know what was worse – to be lied to or to never be able to find out why that lie was told in the first place.
“Poor girl. Poor, poor girl.” El placed a hand over Neal’s. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
“I wanted your advice – should I tell Sara the truth? She’s been looking for closure for so long, but her parents knew what happened. They even had her sister’s body buried. And they never told her.” Neal knew all too well what it was like to have a parent lie – and he was still living with the consequences of that.
Peter checked the dates in the file. “Sara would have been just starting college when the case was closed. When they found Amanda dead.”
Neal turned to Elizabeth. “If this was you, would you want to know – and also know that your parents lied to you?”
Peter started to interrupt, but El held up her hand, silencing her husband. “I think I’d need to know. But I would be utterly devastated, too. For a while. Not forever, but it would wreck me for a long time.”
“You’d have to question everything. Maybe lose your trust.”
“Yeah – exactly. Everything that I had been told, maybe even my parents’ love. It would rock my whole world.”
“Sara’s strong.” Peter offered his assessment. “She won’t break – or at least, not easily.” Neal ducked his head, not wanting to expose too much to Peter’s all-seeing gaze. This cut too close to home.
“I think you need to consider the consequences.”
“Sara probably will go back to recording everything I say.”
Peter gave a sharp bark of laughter. “No – I was thinking about the consequences of lying.”
“Peter – I know those all too well.” This time, he didn’t dodge Peter’s eyes.
“Sweetie?” Elizabeth was curious – Peter hadn’t told her.
“My mother did something similar to me.” Neal picked up one of her small hands and kissed the back of it. “Peter can tell you – or maybe I will, some day.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I’m always here to listen – whatever you want to tell me.”
He squeezed back. “It’s a good thing that plural marriage is illegal in New York, because I may just love you best of all, Mrs. Burke.”
__________________
Neal and Sara kept missing each other – the weekend after he got the file from Rice, Sara was in D.C., the following weekend, Neal and Peter and the rest of the office were working flat out to bust an identity theft ring. The third weekend, Sara called to cancel – she had a bad migraine. It was nearly a month until they were able to get together.
Neal was quite grateful, actually. It gave him time to plot and strategize – and if it had been anything else, he would have riffed with Moz, from start to finish. El volunteered to help, but he declined, and instantly regretted it. He would have called her up, but then he’d have to deal with Peter – and that elephant in the room.
So, for the first time in a very long time, he worked everything by himself. It wasn’t a feeling he liked at all. But by Saturday night, he had his game plan all set.
Neal was just lighting the candles on the dining table when there was a knock on the door. He was surprised – it was June, with Sara. She gave him a look – not quite disapproval, but not quite accepting either.
He thanked June, wished her a good night and closed the door, turning back to Sara.
“I don’t think your landlady likes me.”
“She’s a bit more than just a landlady. And it’s going to take a while. You brought a search warrant and the police into her home.”
Sara shrugged. “You stole something of mine.”
“Come here – you’re too prickly tonight.” He pulled her slightly resisting body into his arms and kissed her. “Come on, Repo. It’s been a month since I saw you.”
Sara relaxed against him. “Yeah – missed you.” She kissed him back; her hands were hot as they slid up underneath his shirt.
Things may have escalated a little too quickly, but Neal pulled back. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Slow down, slow down. Dinner first, bed in a little bit?”
“Okay.” She gave a small, delighted laugh and Neal almost ditched his plans altogether – dinner, the file, the tears (hers, not his), the apologies (his, not hers). But he thought about all the lies that had been told to him over the years. He had to tell Sara the truth. Tonight.
Dinner was a little more elaborate than the last time – Elizabeth had hooked him up with one of her caterers who doubled as a private chef.
“So, how have you been?” A banal enough start to a conversation.
Sara smiled at him. “Busy – on the trail of a set of Tiffany silver.”
“That’s what took you to Washington?”
“No – I was following a lead on some Picasso sketches that had gone missing about ten years ago.” She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Anything you’d know about?”
Neal grinned back at her. “Would you be interested in splitting the recovery fee?”
“Not if you are returning property that you stole – it doesn’t work that way.”
“No – I didn’t steal any Picassos. But I might be able to get a lead for you.”
“Tell you what – you get me the lead, if it pans out, I’ll kick a few points to you.”
Neal laughed. He might like Sara, he might really like Sara, but there was no way he’d burn a single connection for her, or for the money. And they both knew that.
He emptied the last of the Shiraz into her glass. “So, Repo – what was the most dangerous recovery you ever worked on?
“You really want to talk shop?”
“Yeah – you don’t like to talk about personal stuff…”
“You don’t either…”
“You don’t like sports.”
“Nor do you.”
“Which leaves various forms of entertainment…”
“I rarely go to the movies, and the last book I read was The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.”
“Not my cup of tea…”
“So – I guess shop it is.”
“And – I’m really dying to know. You’re way too proficient with that baton you carry.”
Sara launched into a long and complex tale about the recovery of a yacht that had been hijacked off the Florida Keys. The hair on the back of Neal’s neck stood up as Sara told him that the intel had been faulty – that the owner had falsely reported the theft, and the ship was actually being used by drug runners.
“Sounds like a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t that bad. The Coast Guard provided backup.” Sara finished her wine and reached for the second bottle, opening it with the efficiency of an expert. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Neal held out his glass and suppressed a triumphant grin. She was as predictable as he had hoped. “My turn?”
“Yes – yours. What’s the most dangerous case you worked on with Peter.”
Neal pretended to think for a moment. “Hmmm – I’ve been shot at so many times, I almost miss it when no one’s trying to kill me.”
She gave him a very disbelieving look. “Come on – there’s got to be one that stands out?”
“I think that would have to be when I got seconded to Kidnapping – I had some prior dealings with the suspect. And the victim – or the victim’s father, to be more accurate.”
“Kidnapping? Sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”
He walked her through the highlights – his own kidnapping, how he was able to draw Moz in, then Peter and Agent Rice. He didn’t mention Edward Reilly and the zig-zag scam. Sara was smart and she’d find a way to use that someday – regardless of their relationship. Throughout his tale, he was careful to keep the focus of the story on the FBI’s role, particularly Kathleen Rice. He didn’t trash her – or express anything less than cautious professional respect.
And Sara picked up on that like a shark after chum. “She should have been suspended – or brought up on charges.”
“She was – but with everything that happened to me, to Peter when I went after the music box…neither of us were available for her disciplinary hearing. She got a slap on the wrist.”
“Doesn’t seem quite right, does it?”
Neal sighed, but kept a steady eye on Sara over the rim of his glass. “I ran into Agent Rice about a month ago. She was working something with Organized Crime.”
“Hmmm. Hope you gave her what for.” Sara sipped her wine, and Neal ignored the teeming flock of butterflies in his chest.
“Actually – I didn’t. I asked her for a favor.”
She looked up sharply at him. “Oh? What type of favor would you need from someone in Kidnapping?”
“That department also covers Missing Persons. I asked her if there was a file for your sister”
Sara schooled her face to utter blankness, but Neal was a past master of that art and he could see the hurt in her eyes.
“There was no file. I asked Peter years ago – he said there was nothing in the cold case logs.” She took a small sip of wine. “When I went back to my hometown, I asked the local police department too – they said that since Amanda was nineteen when she ran off, she wasn’t really a missing person – she was an adult. I just remember my mother crying all the time. Nothing was ever right with them again.”
“Sara – I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Neal. You wanted to do for me what I was trying to do for you. Give me a little closure.”
“No, that’s not why I’m sorry.” He got up and retrieved the file from the bookcase. “Peter only looked for cold cases. He didn’t look for closed cases.”
“What are you saying, Neal?”
“The FBI had investigated your sister’s disappearance, but it had been solved.”
“Are you saying my sister was found?”
He hated that look of shining hope on her face, and hated even more to see it extinguished.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Neal nodded. “She died in 1999.”
“When did they find her body?”
“Sara …” Neal didn’t know how to continue.
“When? When did they find her?”
“A few days after she died.”
“What - what happened to her?”
“She had gone to California - she had worked in the adult film industry.”
“My sister...was making porno? No, that can’t be right.”
“She had for a while – but she was cut loose when she tested positive for HIV and hepatitis. The FBI had been brought in when the coroner had accessed the Missing Persons database.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your sister was brought into the L.A. County Morgue - she was identified from her prints and dental x-rays that your parents had provided when the FBI had taken the case.”
“My sister died of AIDS?”
Neal almost wished that was the truth. “No, Sara. She was a drug addict, she died of a heroin overdose.”
Sara opened her mouth – but she couldn’t seem to say anything.
“She had been living on the streets, someone found her body behind a dumpster.”
Sara looked at him like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.
“According to the file I got from Agent Rice, your parents went to California in October of ‘99 and identified the body. They arranged for transportation back to Pennsylvania.”
“There’s a file? You have the file? I want to see it.” There was a terrifying, frantic sound to Sara’ voice.
Neal retrieved the file from where he hid it in the bookcase. “Sara - it’s bad.” He didn’t give it to her, instead - he took her to the couch and held her as they looked at it together.
She opened the folder, scanning the LAPD report and the FBI notes. Rice had copied the entire folder, which included the coroner’s photographs, pre- and post-autopsy. Neal had thought about removing them, but that would be another lie.
Sara turned to the photographs and gasped. At the time of her death, Amanda Ellis weighed ninety-two pounds, emaciated from the diseases that wasted her body as well as the drugs she took. The body on the coroner’s table was skeletal and marked with sarcomas of advanced HIV, the face aged far beyond that of a 24-year old.
As Sara’s hands started to shake, Neal took the file and set it aside. She started to cry and he gathered her close.
“They knew? Why didn’t they tell me?”
“Shhh. I don’t know, I don’t know.”
He ached for her and let her sob. Neal understood that this moment of vulnerability wasn’t going to last – she’d dry her eyes and rebuild her armor, becoming harder, more determined than before.
It didn’t take long – her tears were still a hot, damp patch on his shoulder when she lifted her head. Sara’s face was tight, resolute, angry.
“I’m sure they had their reasons…” Neal tried to placate her, but the look she gave him would have scorched a lesser soul. And then, nothing. Sara shook her head in sadness.
“My parents never forgave me.”
“What?” Neal was confused.
“It was my fault Amanda ran away. They always blamed me.”
“How – you were thirteen years old? How could it be your fault?”
Sara looked at her hands, toying with one of her rings. “Amanda had come home from college – and I was so happy. We’d do things – go shopping, to the movies. She was the best big sister. She had promised to take me to the park, but some friends came to town and she ditched me. I pitched a fit and my father got angry, started yelling at Amanda – how she never lived up to her responsibilities, she was such a disappointment to him. He went on and on – I’ll never forget her face. She just sort of crumpled in on herself.”
She paused and swallowed. Neal let her continue
“I wanted to make it better, so I told her that I didn’t want to go to the park anymore. That set my father off again. I really don’t remember much of what happened after that. Amanda started screaming at him, my father shouted back, and she took off. We – I – never saw her again.”
“I’m sure your parents didn’t blame you – you were teenagers, things happen.”
She shook her head. “Not in my house. There were rules and curfews and you were expected to show proper respect at all times. Amanda – she pushed sometimes.”
Neal thought there was so much that Sara probably never saw - things that she was shielded from.
Sara picked up the file and stared at the pictures until Neal pulled the file away. “You don’t need to see these anymore.”
“Yes – you’re right.” Sara agreed, her voice leaden.
Neal understood, too well, the hollow emptiness she must be feeling right now – the death of hope, the death of trust.
Sara got up and started to leave. “I … I need to be alone now.
He grabbed her wrist. “No – you shouldn’t be – not now.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Sara tried to free herself, but Neal held on and pulled her into his arms. “No – I don’t think you will be. Not just yet.” He held her, rubbing a hand up and down her taut back, feeling her muscles pull and shake.
“Shh, sweet Sara…” He kissed her jaw. “Sharp Sara…” And another kiss along the curve of her neck. “Smart Sara...” Neal’s fingers worked at the zipper on the back of her dress. “Sexy, very sexy Sara…” The dress dropped to the floor, and Neal’s mouth wandered down, pressing hot kisses along her throat, to her cleavage. “Yes, sweet, sweet Sara.” Neal’s lips captured one taut nipple through the silk of her bra, and he set his teeth on it.
“I don’t need a mercy fuck, Caffrey.”
“Hmmm, I think maybe you do, Repo.”
They looked at each other and maybe for the first time, the last of Neal’s wariness and Sara’s hostility – the final remnants of the negative emotions that had often clouded what they could have - simply fell away.
The hours that followed were a symphony of hands and sweat and sensation. Wet mouths followed lips and moist breath. She bit him on the round apple of his shoulder and he set his teeth onto the ticklish curve of her waist. He fucked her navel with his tongue before skimming down to sweeter, more fluid recesses. Sara screamed her pleasure, and Neal worked to ensure that her only thought was of him and what he could do to her.
__________________
Sometime north of dawn, Neal woke to a cool, empty bed. The habits borne of four years in prison made him stay still as he opened his eyes halfway. Sara was dressed and writing a note; she had her sister’s FBI file under her arm.
There was a sour taste in his mouth – he had hoped she wouldn’t do this, but all the same, he expected it. They had burned the night down, not so much in sexual excess, but in near-perfect understanding of each other’s needs and wants. It wasn’t love, and would probably never be that, but Neal thought that maybe, just maybe they could find happiness together where there was only loneliness apart.
He was wrong.
He watched, silent and unmoving as she finished writing and stuck the paper between the wine bottle and an empty glass, and left without looking back.
The sound of the closing door hadn’t stopped vibrating in the warm apartment before Neal sprang out of bed and grabbed Sara’s note.
Dear Neal:
The road to hell…right?
I try to help you get some closure for Kate – and all you were left with was more questions than answers. You tried to give me some comfort and instead you unearthed the festering pile of lies my family told me.
I don’t know where to go from here – there are things I need to look into. Things you can’t help me with, and right now – I don’t know if I want to see you again. At least, not for a while. Everything is so fucked up. But that’s on me to sort out.
You’re good at dancing around the truth, deflecting those questions you don’t want answered – but you can’t keep lying to yourself. I’ve watched you with Peter, and with Elizabeth – with both of them. It’s really clear to me where you want to be – even if you never move into the subtext of your relationship.
I envy you – I do.
Don’t wait for me or anything – I’ll be back when I’m ready and no hard feelings if you’re committed elsewhere.
We’re even.
Sara
He crumpled the note, then smoothed it out. She was right, their hearts weren’t engaged and they weren’t going for the long term. But he’d still miss her.
Neal found a box of matches, put Sara’s note in a small metal bowl and burned it. He watched the flames, blue to orange to burned brown edge to black ash, and felt the sharp acrid bite of smoke in the back of his throat. Not unlike tears.
Yeah, the road to hell and all his good intentions.
FIN
`
Author:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke
Spoilers: S2-15 – Power Play
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 6300
Summary: It is said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Neal tries to return a favor and unwittingly kills a dream.
Beta’d by the fabulous
jrosemary and rabidchild67. All mistakes are mine, and feedback is ALWAYS appreciated.The remains of take-in Chinese and two bottles of wine were spread out on Neal’s dining table. He had kung pao and Sara was still picking at the last of her vegetable chow fun.
“Tell me about your sister.” Neal’s idle question wasn’t really idle.
“Why do you want to know?” She tossed her chopsticks onto her plate. One missed and clattered against the egg-shell thin tea cup. Neal winced. There was an unfamiliar note of hostility in her voice. Or maybe not unfamiliar, simply something he hadn’t heard from her in a long time.
He stifled a grimace. His usual bag of tricks rarely worked on Sara Ellis, which was a good thing, he supposed. “I’m trying to get to know you better – every time I think I have a bead on what makes you tick, you say something that blows me out of the water and I’ve got to start from scratch.” He took a sip of wine and leaned back in the chair.
“Hmmm, I don’t know if I should be worried or flattered that you are trying to figure me out.”
Neal cocked his head. “Worried?”
“Yeah – worried. Neal Caffrey, social engineer, par excellence.”
“Come on, Sara – after everything, do you really think I’m playing you?”
“Answer my question, Caffrey. Why do you want to know?” The hostility had been dialed back, but Sara didn’t seem in a confiding mood right now.
Neal sighed. “After Kate was killed, no one really wanted to talk about her.” He traced a finger through a patch of dampness on the dining room table - some tea that had spilled. “Peter never trusted her. Before she was killed, he did everything he could to get her out of my life.”
“With good reason.”
He closed his eyes against the memory of what they all had learned about Kate - and not learned. “And Mozzie – he had issues with Kate, too. So, for the longest time everyone just danced around her, what she meant to me. It festered – it made me angry.” Neal hadn’t told Sara anything about the wild hunt for the music box – she knew some of it of course, but not the whole story - not from the beginning, with Adler and Alex. And she certainly didn’t know anything about his confrontation with Garrett Fowler. Neal didn’t want her to know about that
“I’m sorry.” Sara whispered a small apology.
“You shouldn’t be – I’m not telling you this for your sympathy. I’ve just learned that sometimes it’s better to be able to talk about things that hurt you. You seemed so lost when you talked about your sister.”
She smiled at him, a bitter twist on her lips. “I had five years of very expensive therapy to help me deal with Amanda’s disappearance. Believe me, I’ve worked through all of my abandonment issues.” Her armor was back in place. Sara got up abruptly and started clearing the dishes.
“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to pry.” Neal pulled the dinner plates out of her hand. “Don’t – just leave them.”
Sara laughed, relaxing just a bit. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I get very defensive when someone wants me to talk about Amanda. I hated therapy. ” Sara ducked her head, letting the swath of red hair cover her face. Neal didn’t have to be a psychotherapist to understand that she was hiding.
“The whole couch and probing question thing?”
“Yeah – even the memory of the smell of that office still makes me want to retch.”
“Your parents wanted to help you.”
Sara sniffed at that.
Neal wanted to drop the whole thing. “The road to hell…”
“Yeah – I was drowned in their good intentions.”
They took coffee out onto the terrace, the cool night a harbinger of the changing seasons. After his clumsy attempt at conversation, Neal kept his mouth shut. One of the things he found irresistibly attractive about Sara was how easily she kept him on his toes. The way someone else did on a daily basis – someone else he also found irresistibly attractive.
Sara leaned back against the terrace wall, the fairy lights casting wicked shadows across her face. “So, tell me, how long have you be in love with Peter?”
He wasn’t shocked at her question. Sara was smart (and he liked that), perceptive, and unlike Mozzie, she didn’t have clouds of paranoia and an instinctive dislike of authority fogging her vision.
“I have a habit of desiring things I know I can never have.” Not a complete answer, but not a complete lie either. More of a deflection.
“I’ve watched the two of you together – you look at him like the sun rises and sets on his every word.”
He shrugged. “What can I say – I occasionally respond very well to authority.”
“Look – you don’t have to tell me anything, you can even lie to me. But don’t lie to yourself, okay? I know all about that - what that does to a person.”
Neal brushed his fingers through the fall of hair that covered her face. “Don’t you know by now that lying is one of the things I do best?” He pressed a soft kiss against her jaw, and another one below her ear.
“Are you lying now?” Sara reciprocated, her nails digging sharply into his back, her thigh riding up against a startlingly swift erection.
He bit down lightly on her earlobe and whispered, “What do you think?”
Neal never quite forgot the non-conversation he had with Sara. He understood her reluctance to talk about her sister – it felt like his own distaste for discussing his father, or Mozzie’s dislike for thinking about the people who dumped him in an orphanage before he was old enough to talk.
This was something that went to the core of Sara Ellis. It made her what she was. If she was anything like him (and Neal thought she had the heart of a marauder underneath those rather enticing little tits), then she would certainly be reluctant to expose herself unnecessarily.
He supposed he should have vehemently denied his feelings for Peter, or countered her question with the very same one. The truth of the matter was that what was between him and Peter was difficult . But their own their relationship - whether it should be called dating or friends with benefits - wasn’t a chess match or a series of tit-for-tat exchanges anymore. They enjoyed each other’s company – the sex was highly satisfying and uncomplicated. Despite how their relationship may have started, he liked her now, and even if she still was sniffing around for the Raphael, he considered Sara Ellis a friend.
And if there was one problem with that, Neal had learned, it was that he always wanted to help his friends, which probably goes a long way in explaining why he gave his best smile to Special Agent Kathleen Rice when they got into the elevator together.
“Good morning, Agent Rice.” He winced – that was way too perky – too fake, even for him.
She nodded back, business-like and suspicious. “Morning, Caffrey.”
A few more people squeezed into the car, and they both moved to the back. “What brings the rising star of Kidnapping & Missing Persons to our humble abode?”
She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Not a rising star - not any more, not by anyone’s standards. And why do you care?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. These aren’t your usual stomping grounds.”
Rice didn’t bother with diplomacy. “Why are you being so pleasant? Last time we met, you were rather hostile.”
The mask dropped from Neal’s face. There was no point in continuing the charade. “Not without cause, Agent Rice.”
Rice gave him a twisted smile. “That’s better, Caffrey – I have a hard time trusting you when you’re smiling for no reason.”
Neal shook his head. When had he become so damn predictable?
The car emptied out at the fifteenth floor. Interesting, she wasn’t getting out at the main administrative level. That leaves White Collar and Organized Crime.
“What do you want, Neal?”
“Who says I want anything?”
She gave him a look of utter disbelief.
“Okay, okay. I need a small favor.”
“I don’t do favors. They tend to cause trouble – especially favors for CIs.”
“Look, it’s really not for me, and it’s nothing more than seeing if there’s a Missing Persons case file.”
The car stopped at the 19th floor – Organized Crime, and Rice started to get out. Neal grabbed her arm. Rice looked at his hand as if she was contemplating amputation, He let go abruptly and stepped out of the elevator with her.
“Sorry.” Neal gave her a rueful smile.
Rice didn’t say anything, but she didn’t make any move to go into the offices.
“Look – a friend of mine, her sister disappeared about fifteen, sixteen years ago. She has no idea what happened to her. I was wondering if the FBI had been involved.”
“I hope you and your friend aren’t expecting anything. After that long, there’s be no way the FBI could justify reopening the case. Unless you have a lead. Do you?”
Neal stepped back. “No, no - nothing to reopen. It’s just – well, my friend – she deserves a little closure. She was a child when her sister disappeared, and I don’t think she ever got over it.”
“Hmmm.”
“Agent Rice – you owe me.”
She looked at him like he was some lower form of life. “How do you figure that, Caffrey?”
“Your disciplinary hearing. I didn’t testify.”
“You were in prison, if I recall. Something about an escape attempt?”
“No, I would have been there – there was a request to compel my testimony. My attorney didn’t get the paperwork for transportation to the Metropolitan Correctional Center turned in on time. I heard that the complaints were downgraded – you got a slap on the wrist, not a suspension.”
“I think Agent Burke’s suspension and his inability to testify was more pertinent.”
Neal stared at Rice – he hadn’t thought about that. Damn. “Still…you do owe me, if only for nearly getting me killed. For getting me kidnapped.”
Rice nodded, finally agreeing. “Okay – yes, I owe you. And all I’m doing is looking up a file.”
“And giving me a copy.”
She glared at him, eyes narrowed. “If I can.”
Neal accepted that, but if she couldn’t – he didn’t want to know what mystery was attached to Amanda Ellis’ disappearance. “Thank you.”
Rice handed him her card. “Email me as much information as you have – name, date of disappearance, date of birth. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“As soon as possible, please.”
“Don’t push your luck, Neal.”
Neal opened the door to the stairwell, quicker to run up the two flights to the White Collar offices than wait for the elevator. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
A new case kept Neal busy for the better part of that week and the next. An investment scheme involving, of all things, Brooklyn waterfront property. How anyone could believe that the U.S. Navy was interested in repurchasing the site was hard to comprehend. He had considerable fun taking apart the shell corporations running the scam.
Wednesday, about ten minutes before he was getting ready to leave, a courier arrived with an interoffice envelope. The sender was Agent Rice. Neal waited until he got home to open it. When he saw the note that said “Not a cold case – not for a long time, KR” he immediately regretted that decision.
He needed to talk with someone. Not Moz – there was a little too much strange friction between his friend and Sara - something he didn’t know if he wanted to puzzle through. June still actively disliked Sara – for bringing the police into her home, and trying to have him arrested.
Peter – no. He’d want to know why he hadn’t gotten the information from him – even though Rice worked Missing Persons, Peter would still be able to request information from the FBI databases. But Peter was too complicated. Hard to ask the man for whom you have wholly inappropriate feelings to search for a file on your sometime girlfriend’s missing sister.
Elizabeth. If there was one person he could trust, one person who had the clear-eyed emotional maturity to steer him in the right direction, it was Peter’s wife. Problem was, he couldn’t talk to Elizabeth without Peter there. But he could also count on El keeping Peter under control.
He contemplated the tracker and sent Peter a text telling him he was on his way over.
Halfway down the stairs, he got Peter’s reply.
Can’t it wait until tomorrow? About to have dinner with my wife
Need to talk to your wife. You’ll be done with dinner by the time I get there
Why do you need to talk with my wife?
Neal contemplated a half-dozen different answers. Because she’s wise and has never steered me wrong.
And I’m not wise? If he wasn’t mistaken, Peter’s response was actually tinged with a little jealousy.
Yes, Obi-Wan, you are wise. But I need a woman’s point of view.
Oh.
That was the last text before he got to the subway. It was surprisingly easy to get from his apartment to Peter and Elizabeth’s – the express to Penn Station, a change to the 3 Train, and then a straight shot to Brooklyn. The walk from the subway was less than ten minutes. He trusted that Peter sent a message to the EMU to put him on monitoring status.
Neal couldn’t believe it, but Peter was waiting at the door for him.
“El insisted on holding dinner for you. Hope you’re hungry.”
“You’re annoyed.”
Peter sighed. “No, not really. I guess I should be happy that you came to us…”
“Us?” He really couldn’t resist needling Peter.
“Elizabeth – all right?”
That seemed to be a cue for El to come out of the kitchen with a big bowl of something that looked like cold pasta and veggie salad. She seemed genuinely delighted to see him.
“Peter says you want to talk to me.”
Neal smiled at her and she grinned back – and Peter cleared his throat. He was right, Peter was just a tiny bit jealous. But of whom?
Peter looked at the envelope in Neal’s hands. “Can it wait until after dinner?”
Neal looked at it too, and dropped it on the coffee table. “Yeah, yeah – sure.”
Dinner was fun – dinner with Peter and Elizabeth was always enjoyable. Not that the food was particularly good. El was an indifferent cook and Peter had simple tastes. It was the conversation – the challenge of keeping up with two very smart, very focused people, two minds that seemed to work in tandem – much the way he and Peter worked at the office.
He insisted on kitchen duty, as an unplanned dinner guest, and came out to find the Burkes, man, woman and dog, had relocated to the patio. He picked up the envelope with the information about Amanda Ellis and joined them.
Elizabeth cut right to the chase. “Okay, sweetie. What’s on your mind?”
“I may have made a mistake, and I need your advice.”
“You may have made a mistake?” That was Peter.
“Hush, hon. What’s the matter.”
Neal swallowed and tried to keep his eyes off of Peter. “Sara told me something, about her sister.”
Peter interrupted. “Her sister ran away – at least fifteen years ago. She never knew what happened to her.”
“She told you?” The question was unnecessary, but something unclenched inside Neal – he was glad Peter knew that much.
“Yes – a few years back. After your trial, she asked me to look into the cold case files.” Peter looked down at the envelope Neal brought.
“Hon, what’s the matter?” El looked from Neal to Peter.
“What did you do, Neal?”
Neal winced – this time he deserved that reaction from Peter. He swallowed. “I ran into Agent Rice the other week. Since she’s in Missing Persons, I asked her if there was a file on Amanda Ellis’ disappearance.”
“There was no file – I checked the cold case database.” Peter looked grim.
Neal took a deep breath and licked his lips. “That’s because it wasn’t a cold case.”
Elizabeth was confused. “If it wasn’t a cold case, that means that…” The light dawned.
“Yeah.” Neal looked at Peter, who suddenly realized his own mistake. He took the envelope from under Neal’s hand and opened it.
He looked at the file, then at Neal, and then back at the file. “You were going to show this to my wife?” There was a strong note of caution in Peter’s voice.
Neal abruptly shook his head. “No, of course not. I just don’t know what to do about it - it’s not what I expected to find.”
Elizabeth reached for the file. Peter held it out of her reach. “You don’t need to see this, hon.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Sara’s sister’s dead – and no one ever told her. Why?”
“I don’t know – I don’t know why her parents kept it a secret.” Peter was equally puzzled.
“Sara said that both her parents were dead.” Neal didn’t know what was worse – to be lied to or to never be able to find out why that lie was told in the first place.
“Poor girl. Poor, poor girl.” El placed a hand over Neal’s. “Why did you want to talk to me?”
“I wanted your advice – should I tell Sara the truth? She’s been looking for closure for so long, but her parents knew what happened. They even had her sister’s body buried. And they never told her.” Neal knew all too well what it was like to have a parent lie – and he was still living with the consequences of that.
Peter checked the dates in the file. “Sara would have been just starting college when the case was closed. When they found Amanda dead.”
Neal turned to Elizabeth. “If this was you, would you want to know – and also know that your parents lied to you?”
Peter started to interrupt, but El held up her hand, silencing her husband. “I think I’d need to know. But I would be utterly devastated, too. For a while. Not forever, but it would wreck me for a long time.”
“You’d have to question everything. Maybe lose your trust.”
“Yeah – exactly. Everything that I had been told, maybe even my parents’ love. It would rock my whole world.”
“Sara’s strong.” Peter offered his assessment. “She won’t break – or at least, not easily.” Neal ducked his head, not wanting to expose too much to Peter’s all-seeing gaze. This cut too close to home.
“I think you need to consider the consequences.”
“Sara probably will go back to recording everything I say.”
Peter gave a sharp bark of laughter. “No – I was thinking about the consequences of lying.”
“Peter – I know those all too well.” This time, he didn’t dodge Peter’s eyes.
“Sweetie?” Elizabeth was curious – Peter hadn’t told her.
“My mother did something similar to me.” Neal picked up one of her small hands and kissed the back of it. “Peter can tell you – or maybe I will, some day.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I’m always here to listen – whatever you want to tell me.”
He squeezed back. “It’s a good thing that plural marriage is illegal in New York, because I may just love you best of all, Mrs. Burke.”
Neal and Sara kept missing each other – the weekend after he got the file from Rice, Sara was in D.C., the following weekend, Neal and Peter and the rest of the office were working flat out to bust an identity theft ring. The third weekend, Sara called to cancel – she had a bad migraine. It was nearly a month until they were able to get together.
Neal was quite grateful, actually. It gave him time to plot and strategize – and if it had been anything else, he would have riffed with Moz, from start to finish. El volunteered to help, but he declined, and instantly regretted it. He would have called her up, but then he’d have to deal with Peter – and that elephant in the room.
So, for the first time in a very long time, he worked everything by himself. It wasn’t a feeling he liked at all. But by Saturday night, he had his game plan all set.
Neal was just lighting the candles on the dining table when there was a knock on the door. He was surprised – it was June, with Sara. She gave him a look – not quite disapproval, but not quite accepting either.
He thanked June, wished her a good night and closed the door, turning back to Sara.
“I don’t think your landlady likes me.”
“She’s a bit more than just a landlady. And it’s going to take a while. You brought a search warrant and the police into her home.”
Sara shrugged. “You stole something of mine.”
“Come here – you’re too prickly tonight.” He pulled her slightly resisting body into his arms and kissed her. “Come on, Repo. It’s been a month since I saw you.”
Sara relaxed against him. “Yeah – missed you.” She kissed him back; her hands were hot as they slid up underneath his shirt.
Things may have escalated a little too quickly, but Neal pulled back. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Slow down, slow down. Dinner first, bed in a little bit?”
“Okay.” She gave a small, delighted laugh and Neal almost ditched his plans altogether – dinner, the file, the tears (hers, not his), the apologies (his, not hers). But he thought about all the lies that had been told to him over the years. He had to tell Sara the truth. Tonight.
Dinner was a little more elaborate than the last time – Elizabeth had hooked him up with one of her caterers who doubled as a private chef.
“So, how have you been?” A banal enough start to a conversation.
Sara smiled at him. “Busy – on the trail of a set of Tiffany silver.”
“That’s what took you to Washington?”
“No – I was following a lead on some Picasso sketches that had gone missing about ten years ago.” She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Anything you’d know about?”
Neal grinned back at her. “Would you be interested in splitting the recovery fee?”
“Not if you are returning property that you stole – it doesn’t work that way.”
“No – I didn’t steal any Picassos. But I might be able to get a lead for you.”
“Tell you what – you get me the lead, if it pans out, I’ll kick a few points to you.”
Neal laughed. He might like Sara, he might really like Sara, but there was no way he’d burn a single connection for her, or for the money. And they both knew that.
He emptied the last of the Shiraz into her glass. “So, Repo – what was the most dangerous recovery you ever worked on?
“You really want to talk shop?”
“Yeah – you don’t like to talk about personal stuff…”
“You don’t either…”
“You don’t like sports.”
“Nor do you.”
“Which leaves various forms of entertainment…”
“I rarely go to the movies, and the last book I read was The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.”
“Not my cup of tea…”
“So – I guess shop it is.”
“And – I’m really dying to know. You’re way too proficient with that baton you carry.”
Sara launched into a long and complex tale about the recovery of a yacht that had been hijacked off the Florida Keys. The hair on the back of Neal’s neck stood up as Sara told him that the intel had been faulty – that the owner had falsely reported the theft, and the ship was actually being used by drug runners.
“Sounds like a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t that bad. The Coast Guard provided backup.” Sara finished her wine and reached for the second bottle, opening it with the efficiency of an expert. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Neal held out his glass and suppressed a triumphant grin. She was as predictable as he had hoped. “My turn?”
“Yes – yours. What’s the most dangerous case you worked on with Peter.”
Neal pretended to think for a moment. “Hmmm – I’ve been shot at so many times, I almost miss it when no one’s trying to kill me.”
She gave him a very disbelieving look. “Come on – there’s got to be one that stands out?”
“I think that would have to be when I got seconded to Kidnapping – I had some prior dealings with the suspect. And the victim – or the victim’s father, to be more accurate.”
“Kidnapping? Sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”
He walked her through the highlights – his own kidnapping, how he was able to draw Moz in, then Peter and Agent Rice. He didn’t mention Edward Reilly and the zig-zag scam. Sara was smart and she’d find a way to use that someday – regardless of their relationship. Throughout his tale, he was careful to keep the focus of the story on the FBI’s role, particularly Kathleen Rice. He didn’t trash her – or express anything less than cautious professional respect.
And Sara picked up on that like a shark after chum. “She should have been suspended – or brought up on charges.”
“She was – but with everything that happened to me, to Peter when I went after the music box…neither of us were available for her disciplinary hearing. She got a slap on the wrist.”
“Doesn’t seem quite right, does it?”
Neal sighed, but kept a steady eye on Sara over the rim of his glass. “I ran into Agent Rice about a month ago. She was working something with Organized Crime.”
“Hmmm. Hope you gave her what for.” Sara sipped her wine, and Neal ignored the teeming flock of butterflies in his chest.
“Actually – I didn’t. I asked her for a favor.”
She looked up sharply at him. “Oh? What type of favor would you need from someone in Kidnapping?”
“That department also covers Missing Persons. I asked her if there was a file for your sister”
Sara schooled her face to utter blankness, but Neal was a past master of that art and he could see the hurt in her eyes.
“There was no file. I asked Peter years ago – he said there was nothing in the cold case logs.” She took a small sip of wine. “When I went back to my hometown, I asked the local police department too – they said that since Amanda was nineteen when she ran off, she wasn’t really a missing person – she was an adult. I just remember my mother crying all the time. Nothing was ever right with them again.”
“Sara – I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Neal. You wanted to do for me what I was trying to do for you. Give me a little closure.”
“No, that’s not why I’m sorry.” He got up and retrieved the file from the bookcase. “Peter only looked for cold cases. He didn’t look for closed cases.”
“What are you saying, Neal?”
“The FBI had investigated your sister’s disappearance, but it had been solved.”
“Are you saying my sister was found?”
He hated that look of shining hope on her face, and hated even more to see it extinguished.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Neal nodded. “She died in 1999.”
“When did they find her body?”
“Sara …” Neal didn’t know how to continue.
“When? When did they find her?”
“A few days after she died.”
“What - what happened to her?”
“She had gone to California - she had worked in the adult film industry.”
“My sister...was making porno? No, that can’t be right.”
“She had for a while – but she was cut loose when she tested positive for HIV and hepatitis. The FBI had been brought in when the coroner had accessed the Missing Persons database.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your sister was brought into the L.A. County Morgue - she was identified from her prints and dental x-rays that your parents had provided when the FBI had taken the case.”
“My sister died of AIDS?”
Neal almost wished that was the truth. “No, Sara. She was a drug addict, she died of a heroin overdose.”
Sara opened her mouth – but she couldn’t seem to say anything.
“She had been living on the streets, someone found her body behind a dumpster.”
Sara looked at him like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.
“According to the file I got from Agent Rice, your parents went to California in October of ‘99 and identified the body. They arranged for transportation back to Pennsylvania.”
“There’s a file? You have the file? I want to see it.” There was a terrifying, frantic sound to Sara’ voice.
Neal retrieved the file from where he hid it in the bookcase. “Sara - it’s bad.” He didn’t give it to her, instead - he took her to the couch and held her as they looked at it together.
She opened the folder, scanning the LAPD report and the FBI notes. Rice had copied the entire folder, which included the coroner’s photographs, pre- and post-autopsy. Neal had thought about removing them, but that would be another lie.
Sara turned to the photographs and gasped. At the time of her death, Amanda Ellis weighed ninety-two pounds, emaciated from the diseases that wasted her body as well as the drugs she took. The body on the coroner’s table was skeletal and marked with sarcomas of advanced HIV, the face aged far beyond that of a 24-year old.
As Sara’s hands started to shake, Neal took the file and set it aside. She started to cry and he gathered her close.
“They knew? Why didn’t they tell me?”
“Shhh. I don’t know, I don’t know.”
He ached for her and let her sob. Neal understood that this moment of vulnerability wasn’t going to last – she’d dry her eyes and rebuild her armor, becoming harder, more determined than before.
It didn’t take long – her tears were still a hot, damp patch on his shoulder when she lifted her head. Sara’s face was tight, resolute, angry.
“I’m sure they had their reasons…” Neal tried to placate her, but the look she gave him would have scorched a lesser soul. And then, nothing. Sara shook her head in sadness.
“My parents never forgave me.”
“What?” Neal was confused.
“It was my fault Amanda ran away. They always blamed me.”
“How – you were thirteen years old? How could it be your fault?”
Sara looked at her hands, toying with one of her rings. “Amanda had come home from college – and I was so happy. We’d do things – go shopping, to the movies. She was the best big sister. She had promised to take me to the park, but some friends came to town and she ditched me. I pitched a fit and my father got angry, started yelling at Amanda – how she never lived up to her responsibilities, she was such a disappointment to him. He went on and on – I’ll never forget her face. She just sort of crumpled in on herself.”
She paused and swallowed. Neal let her continue
“I wanted to make it better, so I told her that I didn’t want to go to the park anymore. That set my father off again. I really don’t remember much of what happened after that. Amanda started screaming at him, my father shouted back, and she took off. We – I – never saw her again.”
“I’m sure your parents didn’t blame you – you were teenagers, things happen.”
She shook her head. “Not in my house. There were rules and curfews and you were expected to show proper respect at all times. Amanda – she pushed sometimes.”
Neal thought there was so much that Sara probably never saw - things that she was shielded from.
Sara picked up the file and stared at the pictures until Neal pulled the file away. “You don’t need to see these anymore.”
“Yes – you’re right.” Sara agreed, her voice leaden.
Neal understood, too well, the hollow emptiness she must be feeling right now – the death of hope, the death of trust.
Sara got up and started to leave. “I … I need to be alone now.
He grabbed her wrist. “No – you shouldn’t be – not now.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Sara tried to free herself, but Neal held on and pulled her into his arms. “No – I don’t think you will be. Not just yet.” He held her, rubbing a hand up and down her taut back, feeling her muscles pull and shake.
“Shh, sweet Sara…” He kissed her jaw. “Sharp Sara…” And another kiss along the curve of her neck. “Smart Sara...” Neal’s fingers worked at the zipper on the back of her dress. “Sexy, very sexy Sara…” The dress dropped to the floor, and Neal’s mouth wandered down, pressing hot kisses along her throat, to her cleavage. “Yes, sweet, sweet Sara.” Neal’s lips captured one taut nipple through the silk of her bra, and he set his teeth on it.
“I don’t need a mercy fuck, Caffrey.”
“Hmmm, I think maybe you do, Repo.”
They looked at each other and maybe for the first time, the last of Neal’s wariness and Sara’s hostility – the final remnants of the negative emotions that had often clouded what they could have - simply fell away.
The hours that followed were a symphony of hands and sweat and sensation. Wet mouths followed lips and moist breath. She bit him on the round apple of his shoulder and he set his teeth onto the ticklish curve of her waist. He fucked her navel with his tongue before skimming down to sweeter, more fluid recesses. Sara screamed her pleasure, and Neal worked to ensure that her only thought was of him and what he could do to her.
Sometime north of dawn, Neal woke to a cool, empty bed. The habits borne of four years in prison made him stay still as he opened his eyes halfway. Sara was dressed and writing a note; she had her sister’s FBI file under her arm.
There was a sour taste in his mouth – he had hoped she wouldn’t do this, but all the same, he expected it. They had burned the night down, not so much in sexual excess, but in near-perfect understanding of each other’s needs and wants. It wasn’t love, and would probably never be that, but Neal thought that maybe, just maybe they could find happiness together where there was only loneliness apart.
He was wrong.
He watched, silent and unmoving as she finished writing and stuck the paper between the wine bottle and an empty glass, and left without looking back.
The sound of the closing door hadn’t stopped vibrating in the warm apartment before Neal sprang out of bed and grabbed Sara’s note.
Dear Neal:
The road to hell…right?
I try to help you get some closure for Kate – and all you were left with was more questions than answers. You tried to give me some comfort and instead you unearthed the festering pile of lies my family told me.
I don’t know where to go from here – there are things I need to look into. Things you can’t help me with, and right now – I don’t know if I want to see you again. At least, not for a while. Everything is so fucked up. But that’s on me to sort out.
You’re good at dancing around the truth, deflecting those questions you don’t want answered – but you can’t keep lying to yourself. I’ve watched you with Peter, and with Elizabeth – with both of them. It’s really clear to me where you want to be – even if you never move into the subtext of your relationship.
I envy you – I do.
Don’t wait for me or anything – I’ll be back when I’m ready and no hard feelings if you’re committed elsewhere.
We’re even.
Sara
He crumpled the note, then smoothed it out. She was right, their hearts weren’t engaged and they weren’t going for the long term. But he’d still miss her.
Neal found a box of matches, put Sara’s note in a small metal bowl and burned it. He watched the flames, blue to orange to burned brown edge to black ash, and felt the sharp acrid bite of smoke in the back of his throat. Not unlike tears.
Yeah, the road to hell and all his good intentions.
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