A/N: All right, this is the sequel to Before the Anklet. I would like for you to read that, but you don't absolutely have to read it to understand this one. There will be a couple references, but that's it! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar: just this storyline.
"The Only One?"
Michael's Apartment, Miami
"Mikey, there's only one person I know that will be able to tell if this is a fake or not." Sam's face was serious as he looked his friend in the eye. Michael sighed.
"You sure? No old Navy buddies, no one that's an expert in obscure old art?" Michael asked. Sam just raised an eyebrow. Michael sighed again.
"Fi is gonna kill me." He said. Sam grinned.
"Not it." He commented, looking pleased. Michael just glared at him and Sam raised his hands.
"Hey, she's the one who got us into this job in the first place, so she can't complain!" He exclaimed. Michael shook his head.
"Maybe we can do it without her knowing." He said hopefully. Sam just laughed.
"Good luck, buddy!" He said, then went to grab a beer. Michael collapsed in his favorite chair and rubbed his forehead. Like he didn't have enough to do, now Fi had to bring in a client. Even worse, a client with stolen art! He didn't know a thing about art, especially whatever artist had done this painting. He sighed again.
"All right Sam, get ahold of his number and I'll tell Fi." He said, resigned to his fate.
New York, FBI Office
Neal sat in the conference room, tossing his rubber band ball up and down. It was boring today, just mortgage cases and other paperwork, so when Peter waved him aside, he quickly got up. Peter led him out to the walkway above the busy bullpen.
"What's up?" Neal asked. Peter frowned.
"How about you just go home. You're not doing anything here anyways." He commented wryly. Neal grinned.
"Thanks Peter!" He said, then headed down to his desk to grab his hat before Peter could change his mind. He didn't understand his partner's change of heart, but he was more than willing to accept it. He was to June's when his phone rang. He answered it without checking the number.
"Hey Moz, I'm off early today!" He said excitedly.
"I'm not Moz." A familiar voice said on the other end. Neal frowned. The voice was so familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Then it hit him.
"Michael Weston, right?" He said smugly.
"Yeah, that's me. Listen, I need your help with something." He said quickly.
"What, not gonna kidnap me this time?" Neal shot back. Michael coughed.
"Uh, that shouldn't be necessary. Listen, I just need you to see if a painting is authentic or not." He said. Neal shrugged even though Michael couldn't see him.
"Sorry, but if you're still in Miami I can't help you. There's no way I can get there. Unless you want to wait about three years of course." He said.
"You got caught." Michael said bluntly.
"And released! Just with a tracking anklet." He said sheepishly. Michael groaned.
"All right, I'll just mail it to you. It will be express, so it should be there tomorrow morning." He said. Neal grinned.
"I'll anticipate it." He said, then snapped the phone closed. This would be fun.