Harlequin's Shadow takes place after the events in Nocturne in Black and Gold and Dark Rabbit. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. I've also written a post on the status of the key players at the beginning of the story for our blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Prelude to Harlequin's Shadow." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.

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 didn't fall asleep easily on board a plane. 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 had 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, Neal had 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. Peter 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.

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

The week had started out 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 and had only recently been discovered to still be alive. Together they ran the most formidable 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, Peter 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 air?"

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.

Peter glanced at his watch. No chance of sleep for him. Only an hour to go.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Neal awoke to his shoulder being shaken. "Are we there already?" he mumbled. It was the middle of the night. The plane was dark. Everyone except Mr. Can't-Sleep-in-a-Plane Burke was doing what sane passengers were supposed to do.

"You can't miss this," Peter said in a low voice. "It's a once in a lifetime experience." He reached past Neal and pulled up the window shade.

The sky was black with a few stars glinting like diamonds against the velvety background. Peter was an astronomy enthusiast. Did he intend to give Neal a lesson in stargazing? Neal considered closing his eyes once more, but if he did, Peter would be even more of a grouch in the morning. He blinked to focus. "What are we looking at?"

"The Perseids. They're the most spectacular meteor shower of the year and tonight they're at their peak."

"So this is why you agreed to travel today!" Once Neal had secured Peter's approval, he'd been astonished that Peter insisted on flying out the next day. Mystery solved.

He'd never heard of the Perseids but Peter soon told him more than he needed to know. The best part for Neal was that the meteors originated from the constellation Perseus. Peter had once said that the sword-wielding slayer of Medusa was Neal's constellation. As they watched the faint streaks zip across the sky, Neal took them as an auspicious omen for the con ahead. Their success was already being celebrated in the stars. How could it go wrong?

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

The glow hadn't faded by the time they arrived at the Jeu de Paume on Ile-Saint-Louis. Neal discovered this hotel when he worked with Klaus and his ex-wife Chantal. It had been her favorite pied–à–terre in Paris. For this trip he'd selected a two-bedroom suite to give them privacy to conduct business. Mozzie's safe house was off limits to Peter, and it was conceivable Gordon Taylor or one of his associates might visit them. A certain refinement was essential.

"D'accord, merci." Neal accepted the keys from the hotel receptionist and gave one to Peter. "They gave us their largest suite," he explained to his French-challenged partner in crime. "I bet you didn't think you'd be returning so soon. I'm sorry El couldn't make the trip with us."

"I intend to not be gone long enough for that to be a severe issue," Peter countered, still a little grumpy from the overnight flight.

Not Neal. He was floating on a Parisian gossamer cloud. He intended this experience to make up for the three-car pileup his last trip to France had been. In a few short days, he'd succeeded in being dumped by his girlfriend Fiona, making Mozzie furious at him, and going behind Peter's back to retrieve a Braque painting which he and Klaus had stolen a few years ago.

Now Peter was fully informed about the Braque. They were about to sell a forgery Neal had made of it as part of the con to catch Vincent Adler, Neal's former boss. Adler was convinced that the painting was the key to finding a hoard of art looted by the Nazis. He'd been putting out feelers since February that he was prepared to pay a king's ransom for Violin and Candlestick. Neal intended to make his dream come true.

The manager of the Jeu de Paume, Yves Thierry, was a friend. Neal had often played piano in the lounge during the time he was a member of Klaus's crew, and he'd maintained the tradition ever since. In return Yves gave him a hefty discount off the hotel bill. It was all a matter of scratching each other's back—an exchange of favors. In Neal's former world, favors were often a more reliable currency than cash or any other form of treasure.

It was a lesson Peter still had trouble accepting. Neal hoped this trip would make his rookie more comfortable.

The suite Yves had provided them was the same one Neal had stayed in with Klaus and Chantal. Peter reacted warily to the news. He still worried about lingering ghosts from the psychological mind games Klaus and Rolf had played on Neal last month. But Neal assured him the choice of suite had the opposite effect. It helped him slip back into the mindset of the out-of-control thief he needed to portray for their upcoming con.

The third member of their crew had already arrived in Paris. Mozzie would join them in their suite after Peter had a few hours to catch up on sleep. Neal used the time to sketch. Their sitting area overlooked the central courtyard. He opened the French doors and positioned himself where he could gaze down on the patio below. The window boxes were bright with red and white geraniums in the morning sunshine. He planned to make a drawing of the scene for El.

When Peter emerged from his bedroom, Neal was glad to see that he was wearing the maroon silk shirt which Neal and El had purchased during their shopping spree.

The news about Gordon Taylor's arrest had broken on Tuesday, and it had taken a full twenty-four hours to convince Peter they should take advantage of the opportunity. While waiting for permission, Neal had gone into contingency-planning mode. During the lunch hour on Wednesday he'd sneaked off to meet El at the Burke townhouse. Together they'd inspected Peter's wardrobe. The results were about as dismal as he'd feared. El had warned him in advance there would only be few items Neal would find acceptable, and she was right.

When Peter secured Hughes's okay to proceed, Neal called El with the green light for Operation Metamorphosis. In two hours of frantic shopping they'd achieved a new wardrobe without breaking the bank. As part of the Adler con, Neal was supposed to act like he was flaunting procedures and thumbing his nose at the work routine. Taking off midafternoon to shop surely qualified.

And now Peter was dressed appropriately for his new role. Even Mozzie eyed him with approval when he joined them an hour later. "Good color on you, Suit."

"As leader of this crew, I expect you to call me something else. Peter will do," he added hastily, realizing he really didn't want to give Mozzie an opportunity to come up with another term.

Peter's mood turned threatening when Mozzie headed for the mini-bar, but Neal cautioned him with a head shake. "New rules, remember."

Peter reduced his growl to clearing his throat. "What's Taylor's status?"

"He's still under arrest. He's was transferred to prison yesterday."

The case against Gordon Taylor was at first glance rock solid. He'd been charged with the theft of one of the treasures of the Louvre—The Madonna of Chancellor Rolin by Jan van Eyck. A guard had been killed during the commission of the crime. Gordon's image had been captured on security cameras and his fingerprints were found on the support mounting for the wood panel. Gordon denied any knowledge of the crime. To Neal the evidence reeked of a frame but convincing the French of that could be difficult.

Peter pulled his chair closer to Mozzie. "You're the expert on Gordon. You've worked with him on jobs for years. The Interpol files describe cases where they believe he may have played a role. What I want to hear from you is what the man is like."

Mozzie, primed with a glass of Courvoisier cognac, considered for a few moments before speaking. Neal gave Peter points for knowing how to handle his iconoclast friend. Mozzie responded best to being consulted as one might an oracle. And while the Oracle of Gotham might not impart his wisdom to the Bureau, he was receptive to the supplication from the leader of his crew.

"Gordon is the thief we all admire and wish to emulate. He never hurts anyone. He pays his crew members exceptionally generously and treats them as his extended family. Because of that closeness, he's very particular about who makes the cut. Once you're in Gordon's inner circle, you know you can count on him if you fall into a rough patch."

"How familiar are you with the rest of his crew?"

"I don't know many of them," he admitted. "Gordon has people on call throughout the world."

"Do you suspect he was framed by someone from his inner circle?" Neal asked Peter.

"It's always a possibility, but based on Mozzie's assessment, it does sound unlikely."

"It's difficult to conceive he's been betrayed by someone from within," Mozzie confirmed. "Gordon abhors violence and has no tolerance for anyone who displays shall we say a lower code of conduct. You might not call him a Robin Hood but others have. He's acquired a fortune through wise investments and is highly selective of the jobs he undertakes."

"Can you share any specifics about which types of jobs are most attractive?" Peter asked.

Neal gave him a warning shake of his head as Mozzie's lips clamped shut. Peter's question was too incriminating to be answered.

Peter eyed the two of them for a moment then reached into his pocket. Pulling out his wallet, he retrieved his badge and placed it face down on the cocktail table. "None of what you divulge will be used against Gordon. You know me. I'm willing to stack my integrity up against Gordon's. If either one of you feels otherwise, we need to have a talk."

Neal wouldn't have been able to provide many details since he'd never worked for Gordon and Peter knew that. But by including him in the mix, Mozzie wouldn't feel singled out. Peter just earned himself bonus points.

Mozzie pursed his lips as he swirled the glass of cognac. "Gordon is intrigued by high-value merchandise—an obvious observation, but he does set a high bar before he'll consider any job. Because of his investments and real estate holdings, he can afford to. He demands from any prospective client that they be willing to put skin into the game, usually in the form of a substantial down payment. Jewels and antiques can be quite lucrative. Gordon to my knowledge has never stolen from a museum. He prefers targeting individuals and corporations. He's particularly fond of stealing merchandise from crime lords."

Neal listened fascinated. Mozzie was revealing facets to his operation Neal didn't know about either.

"He's cautious and meticulous in any undertaking," Mozzie continued. "That's one of many reasons he values my expertise so highly."

"To your knowledge has he ever worked for the Mansfelds or Ydrus?" Peter asked.

Mozzie considered briefly then shook his head. "He's never mentioned them to me. I concede that Ydrus could have been a client, but I feel quite comfortable in asserting that Gordon never considered himself to be an employee of theirs. He values his independence and freedom far too highly to work for a syndicate."

"We're all in agreement that it's unlikely Gordon would have committed such obvious blunders," Peter said. "Does he have any enemies that you know of?"

Mozzie shrugged. "Only law enforcement. He is beloved throughout our community."

Peter grunted. "Plainly someone doesn't like him. Who's your source for what's going on?"

"André Renard called me Tuesday morning, seeking counsel."

André and Neal had been friends for a long time. They'd both worked for Keller when Neal fled to Europe, and their friendship had been strengthened through a love of competitive fencing. Neal had rescued André from a nasty confrontation with Keller in Geneva. Last fall in New York, André had returned the favor by helping Neal con Garrett Fowler. Afterward, Mozzie had paved the way for André to join Gordon's crew. The exchange of favors had led to this moment when Neal and Peter were in a position to scratch Gordon Taylor's back. Peter didn't yet fully realize how significant the opportunity was.

"The main issue that I foresee is lack of trust," Neal said. "Gordon's only met me once. He knows me by reputation, but that's not necessarily a help in these circumstances."

"Peter faces a much more daunting hurdle," Mozzie warned. "I've done my best to pave the way with André, but Gordon's distrust of anyone connected with law enforcement may surpass my own."

"It's that bad?" Peter mocked.

Mozzie nodded, heaving a sigh as if to highlight the difficulty of the task. "I've become tolerant of the suits on your team. Think of Gordon as what I was like when we first talked, and you'll have a better idea of your challenge."

"That's what makes this such a fantastic opportunity," Neal said hurriedly, injecting an extra dash of enthusiasm to his voice before Peter squelched any attempt to work with Gordon. "If we can prove his innocence, you will have secured his trust. Gordon could play a key role for taking on Ydrus."

He was relieved to see Peter nod reluctant agreement. "Plus, we're counting on André's assistance to fence the Braque forgery you made. That's the primary reason I decided to go along. But it's a big gamble."

Peter seemed obsessed these days in making Neal confront reality. It wasn't that Neal ignored the less favorable outcomes, but he'd always been a glass-is-half-full kind of guy. Still, Neal composed his features into a thoughtful, attentive expression guaranteed to please.

"If we discover Gordon's guilty, we'll be forced to back out and turn over any additional evidence to the police," Peter the pessimist pointed out. "That outcome could prove more damaging than if we hadn't made an overture. And what happens if we can't prove Gordon's innocence? André and Gordon will have an even lower opinion of us."

Mozzie scanned the room and frowned. "It's really a shame there are no board games here. If I only had Candy Land, you'd be able to appreciate the beauty of our concept. By helping Gordon combat Lord Licorice in Molasses Swamp, he will provide us the shortcut we need through the Gumdrop Mountains." He eyed Neal's sketchpad speculatively. "We must make do with the tools available. We have an hour before you need to leave for your meeting. Ample time for Neal to draw an approximation based on my expert knowledge."

Neal broke into a grin. "You want me to draw you a map of Candy Land?"

"Didn't I just say that? Start with the Peppermint Forest on the lower right."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Peter felt on much more solid ground when he and Neal headed to the headquarters of the National Police for a meeting with Marcel Jauffret. Even though Mozzie warned them their destination was the equivalent of the Crooked Peanut Brittle House, Peter was willing to take his chances.

Marcel Jauffret was a colleague on the Interpol art crimes task force. The close working relationship they'd developed earlier in the year was a godsend when Neal was abducted by the Mansfelds in July. The brothers intended to frame Neal for the theft of The Astronomer, a painting by the Dutch Renaissance master Vermeer. They'd placed Neal inside a virtual world with the goal of implanting a set of fake memories which would be triggered by the discovery of the theft.

Their plan almost worked.

Neal had been abducted in San Diego, but he'd been rescued before the procedure had been completed. The Mansfelds didn't know that Neal was aware of the lies they'd crammed inside his head. Once White Collar knew what was intended, they'd been able to prepare suitable countermeasures.

French officials discovered that the Vermeer painting had been stolen from an off-site storage facility, and Marcel had secured approval for the theft to not be publicized. The French were giving them a grace period of three months, after which the painting was due to be exhibited in a retrospective on Vermeer's works. At that point the theft could no longer remain a secret.

The White Collar team hoped to take advantage of the window to recover the painting as well as bring the Mansfelds to justice. Neal had prepared a forgery of The Astronomer which could be used if any questions about the painting were raised.

Despite Peter's mixed feelings about helping Gordon Taylor, he welcomed the opportunity to confer with Marcel. He would be a key player in the operation. Marcel had been a detective for ten years. He'd played professional soccer for a couple of years before joining the force. The same flexibility he'd displayed on the field was carried over to his investigative work.

It was late afternoon by the time they met with Marcel in his office at police headquarters. The furnishings were even more spartan than the Bureau's. Peter felt ill at ease in his new clothes. Neal might be able to wear tight pants, but his chafed. Marcel's rumpled charcoal suit and light blue shirt looked far more comfortable.

"Do you have any additional evidence that a stockpile of Nazi-looted art actually exists?" Marcel asked skeptically. Peter wasn't surprised at his attitude. Marcel had on several occasions referred to the number of leads the French had pursued which turned out to be dead ends or hoaxes.

"We're confident that the major players believe there's a lost hoard waiting to be discovered," Peter said, choosing his words carefully. "Karl Huber has in his possession the shipping manifest. He likely shared the information with Ydrus." Huber was the son of a Nazi officer stationed in Paris. The team believed the partial list had been acquired by the father. On it were the names of several paintings known to be missing since the war.

"But there's no indication where the paintings were shipped," Marcel pointed out. "Huber also has the sheet of fractal equations which you suspect contains a Resistance code. I researched the mathematician Paul Lévy who you believe invented the code and could find nothing about it. I don't suppose you could name your source?"

The eyebrow he raised was directed not at Peter but at Neal. Marcel, like everyone else on the Interpol art crimes task force, was aware of Neal's past. They'd come to terms with the fact that Neal had reformed and they'd learned to appreciate his access to informants who would never consider doing business with official channels.

Neal shook his head regretfully. "Our source wishes to remain anonymous. Since they're cooperating and are actively helping us uncover further information about the code, I'm afraid we can't share any details. We hope to be able to later."

Neal was being diplomatic but by the way Marcel pursed his lips, it was clear he didn't expect that wish would ever be fulfilled. "We're still searching for Huber," Marcel continued, "but have uncovered no new information about him. We assume Ydrus is shielding him."

The international criminal organization Ydrus had only been in operation a few years, but had already become one of the top three major players for illegal arms traffic and art crimes. The fact that the Mansfelds appeared to be working with Ydrus was what gave Marcel the leverage to keep news of the Vermeer theft a closely guarded secret. If the con were fully successful, they'd bring down not only Huber and the Mansfelds but also the Ydrus leadership.

"And you continue to believe that Vincent Adler is unaware of the manifest?" Marcel asked. "You're sure he's not working with Huber?"

Peter nodded. "Adler's father knew the senior Huber, but as far as we know Vincent Adler has not reached out to his son. All indications are that they're competing for the same prize. Adler's father believed that a U-boat filled with Nazi treasure had been sunk somewhere in the Atlantic. Several months ago, Vincent Adler, the son, uncovered information which indicates that a painting by Georges Braque, Violin and Candlestick, contains the key to the sub's location."

"And you intend to fool both parties?" Marcel asked.

"Exactly," Neal said confidently, as if it were already a done deal.

"If we play it right," Peter elaborated, "not only will we capture them but we'll be able to identify the Ydrus informant working within the FBI. Rather than planting misleading information with the entire group, we can home in on the mole."

"Along the way we hope to discover the location of the actual treasure lode," Neal added.

Marcel whistled softly. "You've aimed high. You really think Gordon Taylor can help you?"

"If we can persuade him to cooperate," Peter said. "Based on our understanding of the theft, the crime he's been arrested for doesn't fit his profile."

"You suspect he's being framed and you could be right." Marcel drummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk. "I've been studying Taylor for years. He's never injured anyone, but the evidence against him is damning. A surveillance camera recorded his image a few minutes before the theft was committed. His fingerprints were found on the wall by the painting's location."

"But you haven't recovered the Van Eyck," Neal noted. "And someone could have been disguised to look like Gordon."

"I share your caution," Marcel said. "After all the disguises the Mansfelds have used, I'm also inclined to view a frame as likely. But you should know that my superiors are ecstatic about having finally captured the famous Gordon Taylor. They see this as a great opportunity to put him away for decades. The murder of the guard could keep that cell door locked for the rest of his life."

"Does he know that?" Neal asked.

Marcel reflected a moment and smiled. "You intend to employ bad cop good cop?"

Neal shrugged acknowledgement. "It's a classic."

Marcel twirled a silver ring on his finger. "I could reinforce it."

"Where's he being held?" Peter asked.

"La Santé."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "The VIP wing, I assume."

Marcel smiled. "Given his notoriety, it's appropriate. I'll make arrangements for you to see him this evening. Before then, I'll meet with him. Taylor must already appreciate the severity of his situation, but a reminder can't hurt."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

During the taxi ride to the prison, Neal enjoyed regaling Peter with stories about La Santé—not that he'd ever been incarcerated there, of course. He was still expounding on some of the more lurid cases while they waited in the interrogation room for Gordon to be brought in. "Did you know that the guillotine continued to be used at the prison until the 1970s?"

"And it was abolished in 1981 along with capital punishment," Peter riposted promptly. "I hope you don't have designs on performing a Scarlet Pimpernel rescue?"

"I was born too late." Neal added just the right amount of theatrical overtone to his moan to let Peter know he was joking . . . mostly. Surely Peter understood he was simply embracing his new role. According to the guidelines, as advocated by no less an authority than Reese Hughes, Neal was supposed to play the part of an out-of-control cocky criminal who lived to thumb his nose at the authorities. "Just think, Peter, we could have worn cloaks, tricorne hats, carried sabres . . ."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're no longer content with playing D'Artagnan?"

That was the response Neal hoped for. When he and his friends Richard and Aidan called themselves the Three Musketeers last fall, Peter had been kept out of the loop. "But you didn't get to take part, and I know how much you regretted it. Now's your chance."

Peter didn't appear to particularly value the opportunity, but before he had time to make a rejoinder Gordon was ushered into the room. In France, prisoners were allowed to wear their own clothing, and Neal was glad Gordon was spared the humiliation of an orange jumpsuit. But the expensive sports clothes he had on made it difficult to believe he'd been incarcerated. Would Gordon be less likely to work with them?

Neal made the introductions, and Gordon was as gracious as if he were welcoming them into his home. "Gentlemen, I'm sorry I can offer you no refreshments. Unfortunately we'll have to wait for a later time."

Neal took the lead in the discussion, as they'd already agreed, but Peter wasn't reticent to join in. He displayed a confident and straightforward manner that augured well. As they talked, Neal watched Gordon's eyes. They were telling a different story from his words. To listen to him, Gordon wasn't concerned. He was sure his lawyers would be able to secure his release. But his eyes said, "Get me outta here! I've been trapped and I don't know how to get out." Neal knew that look of panic. He suspected his own eyes had broadcast something similar on occasion.

"Your friends tell me," Peter said, "that this type of crime is not something you'd commit."

"They're quite correct," Gordon said calmly, a slight smile on his lips. His eyes were more forthright. They blared: "You're bloody right."

Peter crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "So who framed you?"

"The police," Gordon said promptly. "For years, they've tried to arrest me. Evidently they've decided their only recourse is to fabricate evidence."

"There's one other option," Neal murmured. "Your rivals."

Gordon shot him a calculating glance. "Anyone in particular you'd care to suggest?"

Neal nodded, pausing a minute before he replied to let Gordon mull over whom he'd come up with. "Ydrus. We suspect it's on a campaign to become the dominant player by eliminating its competition. Your fame must be known to them. You likely have been targeted as an obstacle to their goal. It would be helpful to know if they tried to recruit you."

Neal sat back to assess his reaction. The room they were in was free of listening devices, but Gordon couldn't be sure they weren't wearing bugs. If he'd been approached by Ydrus, he likely wouldn't tell them. A flat denial would mean he considered Neal and Peter to be untrustworthy. In his eyes, they could be either treacherous or working with the police.

"As an entrepreneur, I'm often solicited for advice," Gordon said, keeping his voice even. "I have clients in many spheres who seek my assistance with their ventures."

Neal silently gave Mozzie strokes for his sales job. That was more of an admission than he'd hoped to acquire.

"Do you know of any other clients who may have been upset at your refusal to help them?" Peter asked.

Neal wasn't surprised at Gordon's denial. Organized crime—the mafia, yakuza, and other groups—rarely sought assistance and didn't engage in turf warfare unless provoked. As for the single players like Gordon who operated with small crews, they lived by a code of ethics in some ways similar to a medieval guild. Ydrus was upsetting the natural balance, and that provided Neal and Peter the opening they needed.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

The next day he and Peter worked at police headquarters, reviewing surveillance feeds. Marcel had supplied them with the complete file on the case and allocated them a secure room to work in.

The museum's cameras had been knocked out of commission in the gallery where the Van Eyck was being exhibited. In a matter of a couple of minutes the painting was grabbed. The burglary had occurred when the museum was open. A simple grab and run. The Van Eyck was in a gallery which had been temporarily closed to visitors and no one witnessed the crime. An accomplice was most likely responsible for shooting the guard who was first on the scene. The gun was equipped with a silencer, and the murderer was able to melt into the crowd of visitors.

The Louvre had hundreds of surveillance cameras. Tackling a review of the footage would take days, but there was a way to narrow the search.

"What do you suggest?" Peter asked.

"Think like a thief," Neal said promptly. Peter had attended several of his workshops on art heists. It was time for the master class. "The Van Ecyk painting is a small panel roughly two feet square. You grabbed the painting. How do you get it out of the museum?"

Peter considered the problem. "A toddler's stroller has interesting possibilities."

"Very good. I also like a wheelchair. The advantage there is you don't have to manage a child."

"That would make it a three-person crew—the passenger, the thief, and someone to disable the camera."

Neal nodded. "Whoever took the camera out of action most likely shot the guard while the thief escaped with the art hidden in the seat of the wheelchair."

While Peter searched through the feed for strollers and wheelchairs, Neal scanned through the faces recorded in the adjoining galleries to see if there was anyone he recognized. The odds were astronomical against it, but wasn't he supposed to lead a charmed life?

So midday when she popped into view, Neal's laugh wasn't one of surprise but satisfaction. Leila Bedford, gotcha! She hadn't changed much in the four years since he last saw her, but her choice of companion had. Back then, she wasn't pushing a frail-looking woman in a wheelchair.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"Who's Leila Bedford?" Mozzie demanded impatiently. "And why haven't I heard of her?"

When Neal called him with the news, Mozzie suggested they meet at a café not far from Police Headquarters for a late lunch. It was the same café where Neal had met with him a little over two months ago. That had been when they plotted the break-in at the church to retrieve the Braque. Now Peter was the leader of their crew. No wonder Neal was feeling optimistic. Peter was his good luck charm and this time he was fully on board.

The owner of the café was a friend of Gordon's. They had no worries about being overhead, and the low light suited Mozzie's style.

"You haven't worked much in London," Neal pointed out. "That's where I met her."

"She's listed as the owner of an antique silver shop in the London Silver Vaults," Peter said. "There's nothing in the Interpol database about her."

The waiter came by to take their orders. Neal was pleased to see Peter order the sole meunière based on his recommendation. He was also drinking wine with them. Even his French was improving.

"That's one of her occupations," Neal agreed after the waiter had left. "Another is cat burglar. I met her when I was in London with Klaus and Chantal."

"Is she another Raquel Laroque?" Peter asked, passing Mozzie her photo.

"An apt comparison," Neal admitted.

Mozzie's eyes widened. "You were lovers!"

Neal restrained himself to a low grumble. He wasn't about to open up about that part of his life, particularly with Peter hanging on every word. What he and Leila were to each other shouldn't be a factor. "Klaus introduced me to her."

"Did she work on his crew?" Peter asked.

"Not to my knowledge, but I haven't spoken with her since the summer of 2001."

"Did you ever know her to steal paintings?"

Neal nodded. "She was particularly fond of paintings with women. This Van Eyck with Chancellor Rolin worshiping the Virgin Mary would have appealed to her. Murder, though? I don't know of any violent acts she ever committed."

"She could have been recruited, and either Ydrus or the Mansfelds supplied the crew," Mozzie said, helping himself to a slice of baguette. "She may not have realized the scope of the plan."

"Don't whitewash her too soon," Peter cautioned. "In four years, she could have changed. If she stole the painting, she's probably already left Paris. Any ideas on how to locate her?"

"Hold off on alerting Interpol if you can," Mozzie advised. "Let me give it a shot. Gordon's network of supporters in Paris may provide a lead."

"I haven't mentioned Leila to Marcel yet," Peter said, "but I should."

"Give me till tomorrow morning," Mozzie pleaded.

When Peter agreed to the concession, Mozzie was even more expansive. Neal knew it was a difficult challenge for Mozzie to accept that Peter was willing to bend the rules, but Peter was doing his part to ease the transition.

"I spoke with André this morning," Mozzie said. "He's been helping me locate former members of the French Resistance. As we agreed, André will begin spreading the word that the Braque is for sale." He raised his glass. "Gentlemen, to the Violin and Candlestick. May her strings lead us to the treasure."

Peter clinked glasses and turned to Neal. "To your forgery."

Neal took a sip of wine. "She'll soon be singing for Adler."

Notes: Thanks for reading! Neal may consider that he doesn't need to talk about his relationship with Leila, but Peter will have other ideas. That's coming in Chapter 2: Leila. I plan to post chapters weekly on Wednesday. There are 19 chapters to this story.

A few references to earlier works: Neal's previous trip to Paris was described in Echoes of a Violin. During that trip he met Gordon Taylor for the first time. The Three Musketeers con was in The Queen's Jewels. When Peter placed his badge face down on the table, he was giving a nod to the canon episode "Forging Bonds."

The VIP section at the Santé has housed a number of celebrities including Manuel Noriega and the Jackal. The cells are larger and have amenities normally unheard of, such as privacy doors for the toilets and hot plates.

Thanks to Mysteryfan17, a fellow stargazer, for the inspiration for the Perseid meteor shower. The timing was perfect. In 2005, the Perseids actually took place on the night of Neal and Peter's flight.

Harlequin's Shadow is part of the Caffrey Conversation AU, created by Penna Nomen, and I'm delighted that Penna has offered to act as beta editor. Penna created the character of Neal's cousin Henry and he plays an important role in this story. Henry is particularly grateful to have her on board. No one knows him better than Penna! If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit the Harlequin's Shadow board at our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site where both Penna and I pin illustrations for our stories. I'll update the board with additional pins when I post a new chapter.

Penna and I share a blog, called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation where we post about our stories and adventures in writing. FanFiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to both our blog and our Pinterest site in my profile. This week Penna wrote about the writing retreat we took last week: "Writing Retreat 2018." It was the ideal way to recharge our creative writing batteries.

Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers: This series was created by Penna Nomen and begins with her story Caffrey Conversation. Our blog has a list and short summaries for all the stories in chronological order. The primary difference from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same.

Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In the fall of 2004 he entered Columbia University's graduate program in art as a part-time student. In the spring of 2005 Peter and Neal were appointed to the Interpol art crimes task force. The work on the task force is part time and places additional emphasis on art crimes for the White Collar team. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle married Peter's older brother Joe during the 2004 Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Working with the White Collar team are two non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Neal's friends at Columbia include fellow grad students Richard and Aidan. A costume designer named Janet Dodson is Mozzie's girlfriend. Pins for the entire cast and locations are on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site.

Disclaimers: White Collar and its characters are not mine. Any references to real institutions, people, and locations are not necessarily true or accurate.