Harlequin's Shadow

Chapter 1: Backscratches

Over the Atlantic Ocean. August 11, 2005. Thursday evening.

"More cognac, sir?"

Peter shook his head and mouthed a no to the attractive flight attendant. He switched off the overhead light but kept his laptop powered on.

He knew he should follow Neal's example. His fellow passenger was already asleep, reclined in the luxurious padded-leather first-class seat. But, first-class or not, Peter found it hard to sleep during a flight. And while Neal might have had no difficulty with the five-star cuisine and fine wines of Air France, Peter would probably have been better off with meatloaf and a beer.

After the attendant picked up their dessert plates, Peter retrieved his laptop from the overhead bin to review case files. Old habits, he realized. He still wasn't into character. Neal would probably deduct points. Ever since he appointed himself to be Peter's coach in how to play fast and loose with rules and regulations, he'd been an exacting taskmaster.

According to the script they'd all—even Hughes—signed off on, Peter was supposed to be embracing his new image as a Bureau agent gone bad. He'd been corrupted by his reprobate consultant to abandon the strict code of ethics he'd previously adhered to. He now skirted guidelines as easily as Neal. The former rules governing what was permissible no longer applied. Flying first class to Paris by using Neal's cousin Henry's frequent flyer miles wasn't just sanctioned, it was encouraged.

Right.

Heaving a silent sigh, Peter admitted to himself this was still a work in progress. It was all Mozzie's fault.

The week had started so well. The team members at White Collar were all on the same page. Over the past month, they'd developed an elaborate multi-pronged con to trap not only the crooked hedge fund manager Vincent Adler but also Klaus and Rolf Mansfeld. The brothers had both faked their deaths. Together they ran the most successful partnership of art criminals in the world, combining the skills of a master thief with an expert cybercriminal to confound law enforcement.

Peter had advocated for himself to be an active player in the op. He'd insisted that the days when Neal had to shoulder the entire responsibility of being a rogue agent were gone. In the past, Neal needed to convince criminals that he'd agreed to work with the FBI as part of a long con. Now Peter was several shades grayer as well. The fact that Hughes also had a part to play helped to mitigate the awkwardness, but Peter's new persona had been much easier to discuss when the con was off in the future. The moment was now staring him in the eyeballs.

Thanks to Mozzie, he and Neal had boarded a plane this evening to fly to France. Their mission was to clear an innocent man's name. Not something that should fill Peter with unease. But when that person happened to be the world-class thief Gordon Taylor, he knew he was in for his initiation by fire.

"You still stewing?" Peter glanced over to see Neal looking at him with amusement. "Your worry lines are searing my eyelids."

Peter restrained his groan to a low rumble in his throat. "When I approved the con, this is not what I had in mind."

"Think of Gordon Taylor as another Mozzie. Yes, his definition of what's legal may not be the same as yours—restrain those growls—but he also has high ethical standards and he pays handsomely. You should consider this a spectacular opportunity. If we can help him, we'll earn his gratitude, and that's something we can place in the bank for a rainy day. We're investing in the future, Peter."

"Why do I have the feeling you're trying to sell me a castle in the clouds?"

Neal smiled. "You'll thank me when you see the size of the dividend he pays. Get some sleep. You need to be at your con artist best for Paris." He relaxed back into the cushions and closed his eyes.