Neal Caffrey was as smooth as silk. Sara Ellis had never been silk. She had never wanted silk either. She was steel. Sara Ellis was smooth as steel.

“I don't think you get it,” she snapped like a coiled spring. “He broke into my house, my home, the place where I sleep.”

Peter shuffled his feet a little and turned to the side. “His tracking data-”

“Then he got somebody else to do his dirty work for him!”

“He passed the polygraph.”

She glanced up at the ceiling, too furious to speak at first. “He beat it somehow, and you know it.”

She remembered the way Neal brought her the print of the painting he had stolen, and how pleasant he had been even while he taunted her.

Neal Caffrey was effortlessly comfortable to be around, and frightening, because that was how he took everything away. Sara Ellis had never been comfortable, for herself or anyone else.

He hadn't been so comfortable when he had woken her up with a gun. For a moment, he had seemed like steel. Until he saw her own gun, and folded like the silk she knew he was.