Neal settled into the airline seat. Business class. It wasn't the same as first class, but still comfy. Not that the couldn't afford a first class ticket to New York! As has been proven, flight attendants remembered the face of first class passengers, whereas business class passengers were too many to leave a lasting impression.

Going home for the first time in years made him anxious and gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling at the same time. Walking down the familiar streets, drinking overpriced espresso, or having a dozen oysters at the best bar in town... Sharing lunch with Peter while complaining about the terrible smell of deviled ham. Oh no, most certainly not meeting his old FBI handler! By no means was he to cross the path of any FBI agent.

The flight attendant addressed him with a professional smile. "Would you like to have a glass of champagne, Mr. Turner?"

While sipping the mediocre champagne, he waited for the plane to taxi to the runway and finally take off. He planned to stay 5 days in New York, a week at the most. The job sounded interesting, yet not too dangerous or complicated. You could call it well paid entertainment with agreeable company as an additional bonus.

Neal traveled to the US for the first time in over three years. He had crossed European borders frequently, gone to Japan a few times and visited wealthy clients in the Emirates at least twice a year. Taking his nervous anticipation into consideration, though, you would expect that he was an inexperienced traveler.

True enough, New York was different. Home and abyss, friend and foe at the same time. His best and worst memories both were connected to that city. He had found love here - and lost it. Only here his heart felt free. He has been part of New York and New York has been part of him. He remembered the city painted in colors to outshine the sun.

It couldn't be helped - he has never felt complete anywhere else. London was great, Berlin buzzing, Paris charming, and Tokyo fascinating, even overwhelming. Yet still all the cities were lacking something: they were not New York.

They landed on time at JFK airport. His passport was high-end work so that he had no problems passing the border control. He traveled as Jonathan Turner, a wealthy Brit who lived in Brighton. The immigration officer asked only a few questions. "Are you visiting the US on a business trip?"

Neal smiled politely. "No, Mam. Just a quick vacation and then I have to head back." He could have turned on his charm, give her the full Caffrey treatment. But once again, he didn't want to leave a lasting impression.

She looked at the computer screen showing his travel details from the ESTA application. "I see you stay at the Belmont Hotel. Enjoy your stay and welcome to the US." With that, she handed him the passport back.

The con man had no intentions of staying the Belmont or any other hotel. Nevertheless, he smiled at her and nodded. "Thank you, Officer!"

He traveled light, only carry-on luggage, so he was out of the airport in a few minutes. Getting a taxi took a bit longer, but he waited patiently until it was his turn to take the next car.

It was a clear and cold winter day; the sun was shining bright but not giving much warmth. Neal couldn't care less about the cold, he was just happy to be home.

The taxi ride took almost an hour, but finally, they arrived in front of the townhouse in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Manhattan.

After ringing the bell, he announced himself through the intercom, "Jonathan Turner, International art thief, and con man. You asked for my services."

An attractive female opened the door. The welcome he received sounded stern. "Caffrey, will you ever grow up?" However, the smiling face gave the impression that his host was nevertheless pleased to meet him.

"Sara, I missed you, too!" A tight hug and passionate kiss later, she led him into the living room.

Both of them were adult as well as single. Their relationship was nothing exclusive, but they enjoyed each others company whenever they met.

Over the years, Sara Ellis had hired Neal's services for Sterling Bosch frequently. He put security systems to the test, helped to retrieve stolen goods from the black market, or obtained background information from dubious sources all over the world – except the US. Until now, his services excluded the US. Most of the operations were legit, perhaps bordering a bit on the gray area. Fortunately, no one at the insurance agency wanted to know details how a job was completed. They were just paying for the results.

Neal and Sara had met by chance in London a few month after his 'death'. At least, it was chance on Sara's part. Neal might have carried out a thorough investigation before running into her 'accidentally' while picking up a glass of champagne at the opening event of a gallery in London.

After a stormy reunion affair, they established a successful working relationship with benefits. Every now and then, Caffrey took an assignment from her. If none of them was involved with someone else at the time, they used the opportunity well.

So now, Sara gave him the tour of her house. She had bought the property last year when she returned for good from Europe. "This is the guest room, if you want to settle here, make yourself comfortable."

Neal gave her an amused look. "The guest room? I heard the real estatenik - what was his name, Ken? - has disappeared from the scene. I pinned my hopes on staying in your bedroom."

The redhead had no objections. "Yes, his name was Carl, but otherwise, you're correct. He's gone and I'm not crying my eyes out. If that annoying Italian girl you fancied is a thing of the past as well and you haven't developed a habit of snoring, you're welcome to share my closet and my bed."

Once this was settled and celebrated, Sara briefed him on the assignment at hand. One of Sterling Bosch's clients, Daniel Beau Marshall, had purchased a necklace that had belonged to the Maharani of Baroda in former times. The exquisite piece of jewelry had been auctioned off for over $29 million 2 month ago.

A magnificent ruby, emerald, and diamond necklace of oriental inspiration had been created by Van Cleef & Arpels in the 1950s. The brilliant proximity of delicate gemstones, creating a flamboyant exuberance of colors, was a true feast for the eyes.

Sterling Bosch insured it against damage and loss. The insurance value was $40 million because the owner insisted on taking the future increase of value into consideration. Of course, they checked and approved the security system beforehand. Nevertheless, only two weeks after Marshall had stored it in the brand new safe at his apartment in New York, the valuable item was stolen.

Neal Caffrey couldn't stop admiring the full-size pictures of the necklace. He'd love to steal such a beautiful object himself. "I heard about Sita Devi's treasure. This is indeed a piece of art. Look at the sparkle, even the photo can't hide it. Do you want me to catch the thief or what's my job?"

The FBI was investigating the theft, but so far there was no real progress. The necklace has been taken at night when the owner was at a party. The staff has been put to sleep by gas radiating through the air condition. The locks at the front door were picked by an expert who knew that type of lock quite well. The alarm system got disabled and the safe was opened. No fingerprints, no other traces. International sources reported rumors circulating in Russia about such a necklace being up for sale.

The ex-criminal was impressed. "Sounds like a clean job, could have been me!" The grin on his face was annoying.

Sara wasn't in the mood for joking. "Will you stop it, Caffrey? This theft cuts down my yearly bonus by a 7 digit figure. It's not funny. Besides, I don't think it has been stolen. Daniel Beau Marshall, that son of a bitch, is trying to pull a double-deal on me. It's your job to find the necklace and bring that bastard down."

Neal was amused. "Language, my dear!" While she cut him a face, he continued, "What makes you think he is hiding the little darling?"

Sara shook her head. "I don't really know. Just a hunch. The necklace was stolen only two weeks after we have issued the insurance policy. The amount insured exceeds the buying price notably. The thieves seemed to have a lot of knowledge about the security system. I did some digging myself. Marshall is a trust fund kid. He has sold his collection of expensive watches over the last two years. Three of his servants have left earlier this year because they were paid irregularly, waiting for months to get the money. Furthermore, his middle name is Beau and he ogled my ass."

The last comment caused her old friend to laugh. "I can't blame him for that. It is an ogle-worthy ass by all means. But someone named Beau must be guilty, I agree. Is there a Mrs. Beau? Who was supposed to wear the necklace?"

Mr. Marshall was divorced without any girlfriend at the time being. According to his statement to the FBI, the bought the jewelry as a financial investment.

The former criminal consultant read through all the papers in the file with professional interest. He couldn't deny that Sara's theory might be worth looking into. "What does the FBI say? I guess they keep Sterling Bosch informed about the investigation. Maybe, your consultant, Jonathan Turner, could talk to one of the agents to find out what they know or which traces they follow?"

Sara Ellis had to disappoint him. "You won't be able to talk directly to the FBI team. The White Collar division is taking care of the investigations. Unless of course, you want to meet Peter Burke and explain why you're alive and kicking, using the alias of Jonathan Turner... In that case, you'll get me in trouble because Peter would ask some unpleasant questions who is employing you. If you have any questions to the FBI, I'll pass them on. You can't risk meeting anyone from your old team in person."

No indeed, Jonathan Turner had no intentions at all of raising awkward questions. There was no doubt about that. Neal would stay away from the FBI and any agent from the White Collar division.

He was flippant in his reply, promising that he knew better than risking his exposure. The con man knew how to smile her worries away. But deep down, he felt a distinct sadness that he wouldn't be able to reconnect with his old friend, discussing the necklace theft with Peter Burke. Maybe, driving the agent crazy with some carefully placed hints he might be involved himself in the crime. Hell no, he would stay out of Peter Burke's reach. It was better for both of them.

AN:
After a long while, I felt like writing White Collar fanfic again. I hope you like it...
Still hoping for a real White Collar sequel, one day, maybe not 2017 though.
This story will have 3 short chapters. Anyone volunteering to beta-read? You'd be welcome.
The necklace I featured in this story is a real thing. The Maharani of Baroda, aka Sita Devi, owned an incredible treasure of jewels.