Neal took a detour from the restaurant and then returned to the office of Kent's company. There was a light on in the auditor's — Peter's — office. Neal grinned and walked through the door.

Jessica stood bent over an open file drawer, searching. She saw him.

"Jessica."

"George. Hey. You surprised me." She smiled and pushed the drawer closed. Laughed, hoping he had not seen more than he should.

"Good. You don't like surprises?" Neal asked, looking at her, letting her know he had seen.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Working late. How about you?" He glanced at the file drawer. "What are you doing in the auditor's office?"

"You said the auditor was looking into us. I don't like anyone looking into my life, personally or professionally."

Nice try, Neal thought.

"It's a little hypocritical, considering your current position, don't you think?"

"You said you were working late. What is it you're working on, George?" she shot back.

"I needed to see R&D's field studies on the new product launch."

"Oh, those are on records on twelve."

"Twelve. Got it." But he made no indication to move. He remained to look at Jessica who he caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"So, uh, why didn't you call security? You could have reported me."

"I'm here after hours. I could be up to anything. Which means you could probably report me, too."

She relaxed and grabbed her handbag.

"Well... I won't tell if you won't." Then she left the office.

Peter sat on one of the sofas in his hotel suite. He had tried the jacuzzi and sat in an endlessly soft bathrobe and watched the photo of El. He wanted to share this with her. They could have enjoyed this alternate universe together and made it all the more real and fun.

"You're probably asleep right now. Oh, I know, it's too late for coffee, but this is Ethiopian Sidamo. And it's not decaf, and it's delicious. I know I'll be tossing all night, which would probably drive you crazy if you were here. Or I was there. Yep... This could have been my life." He looked around in the marvelous suite. "Any regrets?" He gave it a good thought. El loved him for who he was. And he liked the life they had together. "No. But it's not all that bad. The coffee's good, and we should think about silk sheets. I never saw myself as a robe guy, but I don't know. When in Rome..."

There was a knock on the door.

"Room service." Neal's voice.

"I love you," he told the photo and rose. "Coming!"

He opened the door to the young convict who made big eyes when he saw him and chuckled.

"Look at you. What? You're staying in character in case I'm one of Kent's minions?"

"All right, what do you have?"

Neal handed him an envelope.

"She took the bait."

"Jessica Breslin," Peter read from the contents. "She's been at the company for the last 14 months."

"When did Novice put in its bid for the defense contract?" the kid asked.

"Eighteen months ago."

"So it's possible she's spying for one of their competitors."

"She could lead us to whomever she's working for."

There was a new knock on the door.

"Room service." For real this time.

"Yeah, come on in," Peter called.

"Keeping up appearances?" Neal asked.

"A man has to eat."

"Your Kobe steak, sir." It was rolled in on a trolley laid as a fine dining table. And the plate was covered with one of those metal hemispheres. He had always wanted to try that kind of room service.

"Ah, thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Nothing but the best for Peter Lassen, CPA extraordinaire," the kid said with a tone that Peter did not care much for.

"I think you're jealous that I got the penthouse and you got the paperwork for once."

"It's true," Neal admitted upfront. "Up is down. Black is white."

"Let's focus on Jessica," Peter said, a bit annoyed that Neal was jealous. The kid probably had had plenty of these situations in his life already, not to forget that he had also encouraged him to enjoy himself.

"She's been sending out a lot more mail since Hayes died. Most of it to a P.O. box in White Plains."

"Company doesn't do any business in White Plains." That he was sure of. He was, after all, their auditor.

"Exactly."

"I'll have Jones get a warrant for that P.O. box. You get a chance to check out Jessica's office, take it."

"Sure."

Peter saw an envelope on his 'dinner table'.

"What's that?" the kid asked.

It was an invitation to dinner from 'W.K.' at Drayton's.

"Looks like Kent's inviting me to dinner tomorrow night." He put the envelope away and lifted the lid of the plate. "Ooh, look at that. Wow. This smells delicious. You want some?"

"No, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Ah, ate before I came."

"Oh, you had some Kobe, as well?"

"Yep."

"Look at that. Okay. What is Kobe beef?" He had just picked the most expensive thing on the menu that included the word 'beef'. He put a piece in his mouth and chewed. Amazing.

Neal put his hat on.

"Google it."

Peter watched him go. He smiled. Neal was a prison inmate working for the FBI. And, at the moment without an anklet as well with a tracker in his watch he could ditch without any alarm going off.

Jessica and Andrew went out for lunch and Neal took an "important paper" hiding a water spray can and moved over from his cubicle to her room across.

He browsed through her letters on her desk and saw one big envelope to White Plains. No time to get the contents out and replaced without leaving traces. He sprayed the envelope with water, making it a bit transparent making it possible for him to read what was inside.

It was travel documents for Wesley Kent.

He heard Jessica talk to Andrew as they returned. They must have bought something quick to bring back to the office.

He put things back as they were and listened to check how far away Jessica was. He peeked from her doorway and saw her with her back to him, talking to Andrew. He walked across the corridor to his pitiful cubicle.

When Jessica passed him they sent each other a little smile of 'hi' and then she walked into her office.

Neal watched her in the reflection of her screen. She noticed something. The mail basket on her desk was not as she left it. She put it right and glanced in his direction. He should have been more careful.

On his way out to lunch himself, he met Peter waiting for an elevator.

"Hey. How are you doing today?" he greeted the auditor.

"Good."

Waiting for the elevator too, Neal leaned a little closer to Peter and whispered:

"Jessica's putting together intel on Wesley Kent. She's digging

into his travel arrangements."

"What does she want with the C.E.O.?"

The others waiting got into an elevator and they were alone.

"He could be another target."

"Jones got our warrant. He's gonna get ahold of me as soon as he gets to White Plains. We find anything incriminating, I'm bringing her down." One of the elevators pinged and Neal walked there. "Where you headed?"

"Business lunch."

He hurried a few blocks away and met up with Mozzie.

"Hey," he greeted his waiting friend. "All right, let's make this quick. I need to get back to the office."

They began to walk.

"First week, and you're already a corporate shill? My condolences on your recently departed integrity."

"How'd it go with Diana?"

"Torture," Moz said with emphasis. "Lady Suit put a lot of labels on me. Which only shows her own ignorance and lack of an open mind. Then June came by and Lady Suit was careless enough to turn her back to me. Did you know that June has the right to put you under a curfew?"

"Moz!"

"I saw some sheet music in her briefcase."

"Maybe she's learning the violin."

"It was Mozart's Piano Sonata no. 2 in F from 1775."

"The year the music box was made," Neal sighed and stopped. Diana knew.

"Need I go on?" Mozzie asked.

"I'm sure you will."

"I will. There's no historical record of what song it's playing. The only way she would know it's Mozart is if she's heard it."

His friend was probably right. But it was Peter hiding things from him, not Diana. She was loyal to Peter who had probably told her not to tell. He remembered the photo with Peter in a mustache. Before knowing what Diana was talking about he had looked horrified as if Diana betrayed him.

"Peter trusts Diana," he said. "And I trust him." Whatever Peter was hiding he probably thought it was for his pet convicts own good. Not that Neal agreed that it was, but he trusted Peter to do the right thing.

"Ah, could be something," Mozzie said, removing his glasses, cleaning them. "Could be nothing. I just thought you should know. Also, you've got a tail." He watched Jessica for a second in the glass of his glasses before he put them back on.

"Yeah, I noticed a couple blocks back," Neal confirmed sending Jessica a glance, which she noticed, and walked away. "Listen, I'll worry about my shadow. In the meantime, stay close to Diana."

"Why don't I just go have coffee with Hughes while I'm at it?" Mozzie returned.

"You're my hero, Moz," Neal grinned and followed Jessica's footsteps. It was not difficult. She was not used to not standing out. She turned a corner into a area where they were alone. There she waited.

"Jessica—"

She turned at pointed a huge gun at him. He had not seen that coming.

"Who do you work for?" she demanded. "You work with Kent?"

"No, no. I'm with the FBI," he replied and looked puzzled. "I was sent in to find out if you murdered Joseph Hayes."

"I didn't murder Joseph," she said as if she was about to cry.

"Then who did?"

"That's what I want to find out."

Neal had a hunch they were on the wrong track as far as Jessica was concerned.

"Can you please lower that?" Neal gestured at the gun. She did but not by much.

"FBI?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna call my boss, alright?" He brought out his phone and called Peter.

"Yeah?" his handler answered.

"I think we're on the wrong track with Jessica."

"How so?"

"Besides from pointing a gun at me believing I was a spy from Kent, she says she didn't kill Hayes."

"Still pointing a gun at you?"

"No."

"Alright. Nothing you said convinced me, but I'll be there in five and bring her in for questioning. How does that sound?"

"Perfect."

He hung up.

"What now?" she asked, looking miserable.

"My boss wants a word with you."

"Am I under arrest?"

Neal had no answer to that. Technically he had no right to arrest anyone, but that did not mean that Peter would not arrest her.

"How do I know you're the real FBI?" she asked. Neal was more than happy to show his credentials. Too few asked in his opinion.

"Your real name is Neal? It says here you're a consultant."

Peter found them.

"He is," Peter said, "but I'm not." He flashed his badge. "Give me your gun, please."

She stared at him.

"Peter Lassen?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke. Your gun."

She handed it over to Peter.