White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 6

Stickball

Neal lay on the bed in a bathrobe. It had not been champagne, but the bathroom was exclusive enough as it was. Diana exited the same bathroom, her too after a bath, now in the same white hotel robe. She lay down beside Neal. He rolled over on his side watching her.

"Well?" Neal asked.

"Okay. You're right. It doesn't hurt to relax a bit." She tried to sound stern but he was sure he enjoyed a jacuzzi extra much during working hours. He rolled over on his back.

"I wonder how many rooms like this I've stayed in." If you were able to con your way into a hotel, only the best rooms were good enough.

Diana rolled over to her side and leaned her head in her hand.

"Want to know a hotel-room secret?"

"I'm pretty sure I know every secret there is." He looked at her. She smiled and seemed confident that he did not know what she knew.

"All hotel-room paintings are locked onto the walls, right?" she asked.

"Sure. And they're not hard to unlock, but why bother? The paintings aren't worth stealing, and hotel doesn't put safes behind them."

"They don't. But there's something better." She got to her feet and Neal sat up, curious. Diana picked a knife from one of their plates. She sat on her heels by the nearest painting. Her finger slid on the wall under the frame.

"There's a little mark... right here. So you know something's there. It's for people who live out of hotels," she said while she unlocked the painting with the knife. She unhooked it. "A sort of secret art... To make the experience more bearable." She placed the painting on the floor and revealed a painting behind it. One unique piece, one with class. Still not one worthy of stealing, but still... Neal rose and got closer, laughing that he had had no clue about the trick.

"How did you know about this?"

"I'm the daughter of a diplomat. I grew up in fancy hotels."

Neal stared in disbelief.

"You're the daughter of a diplomat?"

"Why are you so surprised?"

"Diplomats' daughters don't normally know how to field-strip a semiautomatic."

"My bodyguard taught me."

"Oh, and you had a bodyguard," Neal mumbled. Most diplomats' kid could stay alive without.

"His name was Charlie. He practically raised me. Was like a father to me."

Her voice had been so cheery, so natural. But Neal saw something in her face. Grief?

"What?"

"He died in the line of duty." She looked at him. "Protecting me." Diana walked past him, back to the bed sitting down.

"Were you there when it happened?" Neal asked as he sat down beside her.

"I was."

So she too had had a loved one taken away from her in front of her eyes. And she had opened up to him, telling him, showing him trust. This was not something everyone knew. It was probably in a Bureau file somewhere but he was sure it was not common knowledge at the office.

"My first date with Kate, we conned our way into some rich guy's hotel room," Neal told her, without thinking of whether or not he incriminated himself. Diana rolled her eyes and smiled. "And we ordered the most expensive food they had. Did you know there's a thousand dollar hamburger?"

"You're joking," she answered in return, baffled and amused.

"We ordered five." Diana laughed. "And from our window... there was a view of this run-down old bridge. I'm sure it was a mess up close, but from our angle, the way the sun hit it..." Neal could recall the image so clearly. "It was beautiful. And we never wanted to leave that room." But they had. Of course, they had. But every moment with Kate he had recalled that view, that perfect moment. "It should have been me on that plane."