I was meant to die alone, those were Neal's thoughts as he sat at his desk in the bullpen, staring at his computer screen, the words there never processing through his brain. Such a random thought, he wondered why the hell it was popping into his head at this moment. It'd been months since Kate's death, Mozzie was keeping his distance from "the suit" since getting shot and nearly killed, but Neal Caffrey had dealt with the pain of both incidents and was moving on. So why did that just come to mind? Simply because he was single? He was a conman and a romantic, it was easy enough to charm a woman but he wasn't interested in a relationship and with his current living arrangements, it probably wasn't a good idea anyhow. He was a convict out on parole and in FBI custody, he had a penchant for getting into trouble, what woman would trust him with his past and bad habits? And that was besides the whole two-mile-radius thing courtesy of the only lock he couldn't pick: the tracking device on his ankle. What fun. Of course, it was his idea to begin with, but it didn't make his limited travel area any more pleasant. He was supposed to be looking over some files for a case he was on, one that promised a quick resolution, it was pretty straightforward.

"Looking over those files, Caffrey?" a voice muttered in his ear.

"Yeah," he replied, still lost in thought.

"Anything interesting?"

"That'd be great."

A whack to the back of his head, brought Neal back to earth, looking up to see his handler, very Special Agent Peter Burke, head of the white collar division of the FBI. Clearly someone's been watching NCIS again.

"That's what I thought," Burke said, looking into those blue eyes, one of many things that added to the con's charm, "You familiar with man named Trouillefou?"

"A character in Victor Hugo's novel," Neal replied, " 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame.'"

Burke sighed, dropping a folder in front of Neal, "Also known as LeNoir. You think Trouillefou could be another alias?"

Neal opened the file and saw a face he hadn't seen since the last time he was in France, a man he'd run some relatively minor cons with before he came to New York. The surveillance photo showed a long, angular face adorned by a short goatee, the pointed nose jutting out arrogantly, thick brows curving over large round eyes. He was a Frenchman known as Clopin Trouillefou, Neal had only ever known him by that name, so couldn't say for sure whether or not it was an alias. He wondered why Peter had asked if he was familiar with the man until he came across a grainy photo taken from some security footage taken in Paris clearly showing the two talking. He debated briefly lying to him, but Peter Burke was possibly the only person alive who could see through Neal's lies so where was the point? There was also the warning look the agent was giving him, a look that clearly said "Don't you dare lie to me." He flashed Burke a charming smile.

"Ah, I see," Burked said, hand on his hip, "Another of your alleged cons?"

"No, that's covered by the statute of limitations," Neal replied still smirking, "We pulled a few minor insurance scams back in the day. He was small-time, why? He's hardly worth your time."

"I'm not investigating him," Burke replied, "Neither are the French," he added in response to Neal's raised eyebrows.

"Then what's this about?" the ex-con asked.

"He has connections to someone I am investigating. He's currently working here in New York as a detective with the Manhattan SVU."

Interesting, Neal thought as he skimmed over the file; he'd never pegged Clopin as the type to go cop, not that he was one to talk but this arrangement with the feds that Neal had was simply probation. Even more surprising was the fact that the Frenchman had a two felony charges and yet had made detective. In order to become a police officer, there could be no criminal record, yet there they were both within the last five years. Both of those felonies placed Clopin Trouillefou on the sex offenders registry, but he was a detective, with Special Vics of all things, nonetheless. How he'd pulled that one off was beyond Neal, but clearly he wasn't the only con on a leash these days.

She'd always hated New York, just the very thought of it, the sound of it, the people of it, everything about it. She never understood the appeal of it, why so many television shows and movies took place in it, why so many flocked to it or why it was so much more cramped and so much dirtier than any other city in the States. From the outskirts, it'd looked like every other American city, granted Grand Central Station was impressive and walking out into Time Square breathtaking. But she still couldn't see what so great about the so-called Big Apple. She headed toward Central Park after getting directions there from an officer, checking her phone for any missed calls. She groaned; Santos had called, big surprise. She'd broken up with him months ago because she was maturing and he wasn't and she was fed up with his juvenile games and controlling nature, but apparently he wasn't taking the hint. Now here she was in New York for a fresh start and to finally meet a guy she'd met while in Texas, but had been exchanging e-mails with online. He was handsome and charming, had swept her off her feet and made her feel better than she'd felt in a long time, but he'd only been in the area for a few days on business. They'd exchanged e-mail addresses and kept in touch, so thoroughly had he charmed her that when the time came to leave Texas, she came to NYC where he'd said he lived and worked. She barely knew him and played cautiously so she planned on staying with her uncle who'd moved to the city almost six years ago.

Her uncle, who now worked as a detective with the SVU, had readily offered her a place to stay when she'd told him she was having a rough time in the Lone Star State. They'd always been close, he was like a father to her, so he was always looking out for her and was more than happy to give her a place to live until she was back on her feet. He knew about the man, she'd told him about it, and had warned her to watch out. The circumstances made it easy to lie to her and very possible that everything she'd been told was false. No guarantee that it was, but her uncle was paranoid and lived his life always looking for the ulterior motive and taking nothing he was told at face value. She lived her life more or less the same way, not simply out of nature but because she had a friend who made a habit of lying and making false promises. So life had already taught her to live her life as her uncle did and she knew full well what to look out for especially when it came to men. She slowed as she came to Central Park, pulling the headphones from her ears as she caught sight of her uncle entertaining a small crowd, hands never still and gesticulating with every word. It was clear he was in the midst of a story, a large blue hat on his head, a magenta mask on his face, the bells tied to his shoelaces jingling merrily with every move.

The story ended quickly enough, apparently he'd been towards the end, the crowd moved along, a few throwing change and a few bills into the hat he set on the ground. He sat on the edge of the fountain behind him as he removed the mask and bells, tossing them into a backpack at his side even as he pulled a detective badge out and clipped it to his belt. He didn't necessarily need to do this, the extra cash helped, but more than anything it was an escape for him, he'd always loved entertaining. He smiled as he glanced up and saw the young woman approaching him, slipping his holster over his shoulders. She was a lovely little thing with raven hair and eyes that rivaled the clear blue sky, she was also a good six inches or so shorter than him.

"Ma cherie," he greeted her, drawing her into his arms for a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Hey, Nonc," she returned, the term one she'd used since a small child, a shortened form of mon oncle.

As they stood and chatted, neither was aware of the pair watching them from the other side of the fountain.

"There they are," Burked muttered, eyes narrowing behind the sunglasses he wore.

Neal recognized Clopin even from the distance, it wasn't him they wanted, then his eyes landed on the girl he was talking to, "The girl? We're investigating her?"

She looked nothing like the female cons he'd met and worked with, the usually wore much nicer clothing and make-up for the purpose of charming their mark. He had some vague memory of glancing at her as she walked down a Parisian street. There was nothing about her that pointed to a con artist.

"Not exactly," his partner replied, "Her name came up during the investigation: Ravyn Trouillefou. Our target's been in touch with her almost every day from what we could trace."

"She might not have anything to do with it," he pointed out.

"Maybe, maybe not," the fed beside him returned, "But she might be able to lead us to him."

Neal was surprised when Burke made no move to stop her as she walked away from the detective after taking a piece of paper from him.

"Peter," he began.

"We're here to talk to him first," Burke answered, "Just courtesy, the girl happens to be his niece."

That explained the shared surname.

From what Neal had read, the con man they were after was also under investigation by the Manhattan SVU so at the moment at least the FBI was playing nice. Burke had been told by Captain Kragen, head of the SVU, that Detective Trouillefou could often be found in Central Park this time of day. Clopin was a key investigator in the current case for his department and supposedly had some personal tie to their suspect, what that was no one seemed sure. The pair approached, Neal ahead of Burke, as Clopin bent his head to light a cigarette he held between his lips. Neal was going to start this conversation since the pair had some history.

"Clopin Trouillefou," Neal called, charming grin in place, "Been awhile."

"Neal Caffrey," he returned, exhaling the cigarette smoke, "When did they let you out to play? I expected you to be locked up for a long time."

"Four year sentence," that grin only seemed to widen.

"Word was you escaped with a few months left," those sharp black eyes landed on the ankle monitor, "So your next four years will be spent on a leash?"

"You know my story," Neal said, "What about you? Thought you were still in Paris."

"I never stay in France for very long."

"You went cop on me, though. I'm a bit disappointed."

"You went fed."

"True, but it as a work release. What's your excuse?"

"What's your angle, Caffrey?"

"Clopin, I'm hurt. I thought you trusted me."

"Neal… I know you. Doesn't mean I trust you. And that grin you're giving me, you want something. What is it?"

At that moment, Burke stepped forward, flashing his badge, "Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI."

Fathomless black eye narrowed, long fingers unhooking his own badge and holding it up, "Detective Clopin Trouillefou, SVU."

"My badge overrides yours," Burke commented, putting his away, "We're here to talk."

"Yeah, Kragen gave me the heads up," he returned his own badge to his belt, his other hand lowering the cigarette, then glanced at Caffrey, "Shoulda known the one holding your leash wouldn't be far. So what does the FBI want with me?"

"Your department and mine are investigating the same suspect," Burke replied.

"So I heard, but what does your division want with him? We want him for a number of sex crimes, last I checked those weren't white collar."

"He's crossed state lines," the fed answered, "That makes it FBI's business."

"Not the white collar division," came the quick response.

"Granted. Forged documents and passports plus suspicion of money laundering, however, are. You might only be concerned with the sex charges, but we're interested in the forgeries."

"You really want to get into this pissing contest? Because our ADA would love-"

"No, we're willing at the moment to investigate this jointly."

"Why?" Neal's smile widened; Clopin was ever the paranoid one, always looking for the angle, "FBI could easily claim jurisdiction."

"The more people we have looking into him, the better our chances of tracking him down. If this is the same guy, two departments charging him with different crimes, might make it easier to find evidence supporting at least some of them. He'd be put away for something."

"Sex crimes would keep him behind bars longer than anything you want him for."

"Exactly. If we could get him on both, he'd never get out."

"You feds are never so willing to cooperate."

"We let him out, didn't we?" Burked pointed to Neal who gave a shrug at Clopin's glance, "I'm interested in getting justice, the more the better."

"Still waiting for the angle. Every detective in my unit is working this and helping where they can. Why not talk to one of them? Why me? They'd be easier to find."

Burke cleared his throat, "Because their niece isn't connected to our suspect."