Chapter 1

Just the sight of her cracked me up every single time. No matter what I was doing, if she was in the room, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Ever since she'd come into our lives thirteen months earlier, my first thought every morning when I woke up and the last before I went to sleep, were of her: those mischievous, inquisitive blue eyes, those soft dark curls, the constant chatter peppered with the odd recognizable word, the way her nose got crinkly just before she let loose with those contagious belly laughs.

I never quite got it before. The way people fawned over their kids, how they could talk about them for hours on end, reciting chapter and verse on their latest feat, the new word their toddler had uttered, how cute they were as they waddled through the house, how angelic they looked as they slept.

I sure as hell got it now. She was the sun and the moon and the stars all wrapped into one amazing twenty-two pound package of pure joy. She was my sweet pea, my baby girl, the joy of my life. And to think that just two years earlier, the thought of becoming a dad would have sent me packing and running as far as I could get - well, within my two mile radius that is, considering I was still on anklet at the time.

Parenthood was turning out to be one amazing, kickass journey, one I had never expected to embark on and now, I got to spend my days marvelling at this amazing human being who'd made an unexpected appearance in my life at the ripe old age of thirty-six.

In hindsight, you might say my life was divided into two totally distinct periods: life before Hope and life after Hope and although the two worlds had collided on occasion over the past year and half, they couldn't be more different from one another. My life before Hope had been all about instant gratification — read self-gratification. I'd convinced myself that life owed me big time and that I was entitled to take whatever I wanted in order to make up for what I'd decided had been a difficult childhood — as if I was the only person on the planet who'd ever suffered hardship or loss.

After she was born, I began to see life through her eyes and what I wanted more than anything was for her to become a happy, healthy, well-adjusted young woman who would contribute to making this world a better place. That was a hell of a tall order and I'd known from the start that the only way Sara and I could accomplish that was to become good role models for our daughter. Hence, what some might call, my transformation. And I use the word loosely. I'd always been drawn to crazy, lucrative schemes and machinations that allowed me to showcase my… superior personal skills and attributes. All modesty aside, I was, by all accounts, a good - if not great - looking guy, a charmer, a sweet talker and yes, I'll readily admit, usually the smartest guy in the room. Well, at least I'd thought so until I met Special Agent Peter Burke. He'd managed to outwit me on occasion and for years, I too had taken pleasure in trying to find ways to outsmart him.

Since our forced partnership, I'd learned to appreciate some of his more virtuous traits: his unwavering integrity, his earnestness and sincerity, his unyielding sense of right and wrong. And so, under his tutelage, I began to change just as I like to think he'd begun to evolve, becoming more spontaneous, channeling his inner id and basically not being such a tight ass.

But honestly, who can truly divorce themselves from their true self? And so, I still struggled from time to time with the need to balance my compulsions with my responsibilities as a husband and father. And so the battle raged on - a battle between my baser instincts and the now inescapable awareness that I had an important role to play in my baby daughter's life.

I worked hard at it but hey, like I said, who's perfect?

'Poppa! Poppa! Poppa!' came my daughter's creaky little voice from the family room. She sat on the carpet, babbling away as she stacked brightly coloured blocks, oblivious to me as I worked in the kitchen.

'Are you hungry sweet pea?' I called out to her.

She ignored me and continued to build her tower, starting again after each collapse and displaying unflappable patience, the likes of which I couldn't help but admire. She was wrapped up in her own little world, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked — a look of concentration not unlike the one on my face in years past as I struggled with, say… cracking an impenetrable safe or planning an elaborate con.

We'd only been in our new house for a few weeks and we were still getting settled into a new routine. I'd been doing an awful lot of reading and I'd discovered that for a kid Hope's age, routines were essential in making her feel happy, safe and secure. Eat, play, get your diaper changed, sleep… eat, play, get your diaper changed, sleep and repeat. Well, you get the gist of it.

At just over a year of age, Hope needed two solid naps in order to get through her busy day without fussing — one around 10:00 right after her morning snack and a second, longer one after lunch. I'd become quite astute at picking up on the cues. Whenever she got too quiet or cranky or overly clingy - definitely out of character for her - or when she began to twirl her hair between her stubby little fingers or stick her thumb into her heart shaped mouth… well, it was time to put her down in her crib and watch her curl up into a little ball and fall into a deep sleep.

One of the things I'd learned during my short tenure as a parent was that babies could crash and burn in the blink of an eye. She'd be in perpetual motion, chatting up a storm, running around the house creating joy and havoc and then suddenly she would stop, curl up against my chest and fall into a deep slumber - as suddenly as if I'd clicked on the tv remote or turned off a light switch. Her little eyelids would flutter and close like a veil on the world and her breathing would slow as her body became slack, a respite from the constant movement of life as a busy toddler.

The opposite was just as true. The moment she opened her eyes again, the chattering and running around would resume as if it had never stopped - a strange and new phenomenon I'd yet to comprehend.

While she slept, I'd roam aimlessly around the overly quiet house, putting on a load of laundry, tidying up the family room, doing some work in my studio or getting an early start on dinner. Ironically, after years of being tethered to a tracking anklet and forever at the beck and call of my FBI handler, here I was once again shackled to the confines of a still unfamiliar house in suburban New York, carrying out mundane tasks while my heart continued to beat in another room nearby.

Most days, I didn't mind it one bit. I would gladly carry out the domestic chores required of a stay-at-home parent just so I could get to spend time with my gorgeous daughter and her beautiful mom when we were finally reunited as a family at the end of the day. But there were still moments when I yearned for the excitement of life in the big city and the adventures of being a confidential informant for the FBI. Those years working with Peter and the rest of the white collar crew had been some of the happiest of my life. But they remained a study in contrasts: moments of exhilaration as I put my multiple talents to work to help catch the bad guys mixed with moments of frustration and exasperation as a part of me longed to be the one being chased. For so long, I'd struggled with where I fit in the larger scheme of things and then life had made the decision for me, throwing me a huge curve ball when I'd least expected it.

Of course, I still longed for the sights and sounds of the big city where I'd lived ever since I'd first come to New York. June Ellington's mansion in Manhattan had been an amazing place to live but after Sara moved in, it had immediately begun to feel cramped.

Strange thing but as her belly grew, the space seemed to get tighter and tighter - her expanding waist a joyful reminder that soon, we would be three. Of course, it didn't help that I kept adding to the clutter with my obsessive daily shopping sprees at all the kid boutiques that crossed my path. I'd become unable to resist bringing home toys, kids' furnishings and accessories - and once we'd found out we were having a girl, mountains of clothing some of which she would outgrow before she even got a chance to wear.

Then Hope had arrived… and the small space had begun to feel downright claustrophobic. The first few months before she started to crawl, weren't too bad considering her movements were somewhat contained. June had insisted on breaking down the wall between my loft and the room next to it, creating a big beautiful bedroom for her but most of the time, the three of us co-existed in the small open space which consisted of our bedroom - basically a small nook in the corner with our bed and dresser - and the living and dining areas which had been overtaken by toys and baby paraphernalia. It hadn't taken long to come to the conclusion that we needed to find a bigger place but it had taken forever to find the right house.

In November, at a lovely get-together in my honour, Peter had removed my anklet for the last time, bringing my years at the Bureau to a bittersweet end. Sara, who up until that point had been home with Hope, returned to work full time at Sterling Bosch, instantly delegating me the role of main caregiver. Then, within weeks, there'd been the move out to Westchester, a totally different life than anything Sara or I had ever known.

As a kid, my mom and I had lived in the inner city and I was used to bustling sounds and constant activity. The first few weeks after we moved into the new house, Sara would tease me when I couldn't sleep because things were just too quiet. Two months in, we were all getting used to the new place, especially Hope who now had plenty of room to run and play.

Although Sara and I had agreed on the basics for our new home - at least three bedrooms, a large yard, a quiet street near schools and parks, you know, the usual - we each had our wish list for what was to become our 'forever home'. Sara needed easy access to the train into the city, I wanted a large kitchen with an adjoining family room, Sara wanted a walk-in closet, I wanted a room where I could paint, Sara tended towards houses with the kitchen located at the front of the house, I preferred those with the kitchen at the back… That one had us arguing for weeks until Sara finally gave in in exchange for another one of her must-haves: an ensuite bathroom, something that hadn't even registered on my radar.

Like all new homeowners, now that we'd lived in our home for a few weeks, all the little details good and bad we hadn't noticed at first glance had become more obvious. For one thing, I loved the patio door off the family room and the large picture window in the kitchen which let in the afternoon sun and gave us a clear sightline all the way to the back of the yard. The first week we'd moved in, Hope had helped me hang a bird feeder out on the deck and we were enjoying the sight of chickadees and the odd blue jay as I worked and she played — fodder for an introduction to the study of fauna and flora. For her part, Sara was enjoying the layout of our bedroom, large enough to set up a makeup table which had quickly become strictly her domain.

On the flip side, Sara missed the easy access to all those fashionable clothing boutiques she favoured and I wasn't crazy about the fact that the staircase was one long flight of fifteen steps without a landing to break it up. I'd begun to have nightmares about Hope escaping from her crib in the dead of night, managing to climb over the gate at the top of the staircase and tumbling all the way to her great peril.

To be honest, I'd become a bit obsessive about safety since we'd become parents - after all, I'd always been a details kind of guy. There were plenty of real and imagined dangers in any home and my daughter was proving to be both nimble and inquisitive - a scary combination.

One afternoon, as I was putting on a load of laundry down in the basement, I'd heard a loud thud followed by crying coming from upstairs. I'd run up the steps three at a time to find Hope on the floor next to her crib, tears running down her face as she sat there with her thumb in her mouth, trying her best to self-soothe. I must have held her in my arms for hours following the incident, unwilling to put her down long after I'd ascertained she'd been unharmed and despite her constant demands for me to stop smothering her. I never did figure out how she'd managed to escape the confines of her crib but I lived in constant fear of her repeating the feat. Of course her escape had led to unending taunts from both Peter and Sara about the apple not falling far from the tree.

Daughter of infamous conman and prison escapee slips out of

the confines of her crib undetected.

You get the idea… anyway, the following day, I had run out to get a bunch of gym mats at the local Home Depot - mats which I'd used to cover the entirety of the floor in her bedroom before laying a large area rug over top.

Sara said I was a worry wart - which I was. To be honest, I'd always been on the overly cautious side (my previous job as a conman had demanded it) and I was becoming a bit of a safety freak when it came to anything involving our baby girl.

One particular Saturday morning, we'd had a moment of sheer panic when Hope had disappeared from sight within seconds of us watching her. She had been sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by a dozen or so of her favourite stuffed toys, babbling away happily. I'd been sitting at the kitchen table, paying the monthly bills and Sara was putting on a pot of coffee when we both shouted simultaneously: 'Where's Hope?'

She'd been there a minute before and the two of us began frantically calling out her name as we embarked on a thorough search of the surrounding area. Once we'd calmed down enough to listen, we could hear her humming, the sound coming from behind the door of the broom closet. We rushed to open the door only to find her sitting there between the broom and the mop, her pink elephant in her arms as she rocked it back and forth, humming a horribly off-key rendition of 'Eensy weensy spider'.

I chuckled at the recollection and glanced towards the family room where Hope had abandoned the blocks and had moved on to the stack of plastic coloured rings she favoured. I watched as she opened her mouth wide to try to take a bite out of the red one - which I'd noticed lately seemed to be her favourite. I'd just returned to the task of cutting up veggies when I felt a tug on my pant leg. I looked down, setting down the knife and turning towards her. She'd been doing that lately, moving a lot more stealthily and appearing out of the blue — especially if I was busy doing something and momentarily not paying attention.

'Hey sweetie' I said, turning to face her.

She dragged herself up to standing position and, leaning on my legs for support, she put her arms out for me to pick her up. She'd been walking for about six weeks now but she still alternated between toddling around on two legs and doing that thing where she sort of crawled - one leg straight and the other bent at the knee as she propelled herself forward. It got her where she was going faster than taking the time to balance herself on her own two feet before taking off.

'Are you getting tired baby girl?' I asked as I cradled her against my chest.

'Poppa…' she murmured her mouth full of thumb.

I gave her a smile and a kiss, ruffling her thick dark hair.

'Wam' I heard her say - Hopespeak for 'lamb'. Again with the thumb.

'You want Poppa to sing about the lamb?' I asked unnecessarily.

My extensive research as a new dad had taught me the importance of stimulating my daughter's language every chance I got, encouraging the sounds she made and trying to get her to repeat things.

I took that kind of advice in parenting very seriously.

Of course, that meant I spent most of my days talking to myself and waiting for the odd response - which I had to admit had begun to increase in frequency as of late. The one sided conversations lacked somewhat in stimulation but I usually made up for it when Sara got home, giving her a blow-by-blow account of our busy day, complete with an in-depth report on meal times, nap times, any new developmental milestones that might have popped up like a new word or a new facial expression - even bowel movements which any good parent knows is an essential part of the day.

Hope pulled her thumb out of her mouth and settled her eyes on me. 'Lamb' she repeated.

I began to hum as we made our way towards the staircase at the front of the house. The latch on the baby gate was a little tricky to unlock with just one hand but I held her tight against my chest and fiddled with it while she snuggled closer, her eyes already fluttering.

I glanced over my right shoulder into the formal living room - a room we hadn't yet made much use of - except for the obligatory 'christening of each room' with… well, you get the picture. I glanced out the front window at the quiet street; the older kids were in school and the little ones… well, they were probably all napping. Living in the suburbs sure had its perks: clean air, lots of space, private parking, large back yard.

A million dollar view of Manhattan, however, wasn't one of them.

'After your nap, how about we go visit uncle Peter at his office. Would you like that?'

''andy?' she asked expectantly, forcing her eyes to remain open but not bothering to remove her thumb from her mouth.

I chuckled quietly. 'I don't think uncle Peter has any candy at his office. Only at his house.'

She sighed and let her eyes flutter shut, her face pressed firmly against my chest.

'And then we'll come home and make dinner and when Mommy gets here, we can tell her about all the things we did today.'

Once again, I was talking to myself because Hope was sound asleep.

WCWCWC

Life as an insurance investigator at the prestigious firm of Sterling Bosch certainly had its ups and downs. Although she specialized in the recovery of stolen goods, much of Sara Ellis' time was spent liaising with fussy clients, catering to their every whim and writing reports, lots of reports. Not exactly glamorous stuff.

What she did love, however, was the excitement of being out in the field, investigating leads and ultimately recovering precious items her clients feared had been lost forever. On a moment's notice, she would take off on those four inch heels of hers and follow her nose wherever it took her - including some pretty unsavoury locations. She'd been known to dumpster dive on occasion, stretch the truth to get her stiletto clad foot in the door, twist some arms or bluff with threats of retaliation in order to get the information she was after. It was all fair game when you were dealing with the lowlifes of this world. And for Sara, the whole thing was elevated to an art form: the thrill of the chase, the excitement of setting the trap, the exhilaration of the recovery.

Up until a few years ago, that had pretty well been the extent of her life: endless hours chasing down leads, a shot of bourbon or whiskey after a long day of work, the odd roll in the hay with men she found interesting - but not so interesting that they would disrupt her busy life. Then, there'd been her ill-fated affair with Bryan McKenzie, the VP of Sterling Bosch's New York Division. It had been a bad fit from the start but Sara had gone so far as to accept his marriage proposal; after all, if she was going to have any kind of a long-term relationship, it would have to be with someone who was as doggedly committed to the job as she was.

But it turned out the guy was a crook and Sara moved on, drifting back into a casual affair with Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire, a man who intrigued her and angered her in equal measures. They had dated off and on - if you could describe casual mind-blowing sex and witty banter as dating. They'd grown closer over time, unwilling to admit to their deepening feelings until a twist of fate had shaken them both to the core. To their consternation and faster than you can say 'defective condom', they'd been faced with the most difficult and life-altering decision of their lives. After some soul searching, they had decided to take the plunge and embark on the most exciting albeit unexpected adventure of their lives: parenthood.

Her new role as a mother had brought out some hereto hidden nurturing traits in Sara Ellis but it had done nothing to dull her voracious appetite for the chase and the kill. Contrary to her husband, who tended to use his silver tongue to get what he wanted, Sara didn't hesitate to use her baton or her company issued Glock in her quest for success. She came across as fearless - which she wasn't, not really. But she was badass and she'd learned early on that if you acted self-confident and weren't afraid to be labelled as bitchy, most men would back down, including some of her male cohorts. Life as an insurance investigator was cut throat and you needed to rise above the constant misogyny and wise-ass comments if you wanted to make a go of it, something she had no problem doing.

But make no mistake about it, Sara loved her daughter. Hope was pure joy from the top of her dark wavy head to the tips of her teetering feet. But six months at home with a little one while Neal finished up his sentence with the FBI had been more than enough for the ambitious woman. Meanwhile, her male counterparts at Sterling Bosch schemed to take over her prestigious clients, leaving her to play catch-up upon her return.

Not surprisingly, Sara had realized she wasn't full-time mother material and she would joke to her colleagues that she went to work in order to get some down time. At least, at the office, she could close the door for a few minutes and regroup, have a cup of coffee without interruptions, return calls without having her pant leg tugged at incessantly or her new silk blouse spit up on by a whiny toddler. As far as she was concerned, having Neal at home with their daughter was the best of both worlds.

'You ready to go?' came a voice from the doorway to her office, startling her.

She rolled her eyes before turning to look up at Mitch Dunlop and slapping on a phoney smile. Mitch was the most recent addition to Sterling Bosch's stable of investigators - and if Sara had her way, he wouldn't last the month. Although no real threat to her, he acted as if he owned the place - and for good reason. He'd been brought in by his uncle Win - aka Winston Bosch, CEO. Mitchell Harold Dunlop III was Mr. Boch's sister's youngest son and the most problematic of her three boys. Despite a life of privilege and a bought and paid for degree from an Ivy League School, the only thing Mitch had majored in during his four years at Princeton was partying and chasing skirts.

Unable to keep down a job, he'd been passed on to his favourite uncle in the hopes he could straighten him out and help him settle down. In the two weeks since his arrival, the young man had already alienated every one on staff especially the women whom he flirted with and leered at constantly. A team player, this guy was not!

To Sara's great dismay, Mr. Bosch had turned to her in the hopes that she would mentor the young man. Being away for six months on maternity leave had a price and Sara was still trying to climb the steep hill back to her previous standing as one of the boss's most promising investigators. She had returned to fewer cases and less prominent clients thanks to the likes of assholes like Ross Greene and Mateo Suarez, two ambitious investigators who had taken advantage of her absence to horn in on Sara's clients, leaving her with the crumbs. Hence, her eagerness to get into the boss's good graces by taking the brat nephew under her wing.

She stared Mitch down as his eyes locked in on the neckline of her dress, licking his lips obsessively as he stared back.

'Uhhh, Mitch, my face is up here' she said, pointing to her face.

He gave her a naughty little smile and returned to staring at her breasts.

Sara stood before him and stared him down. He was short - no more than five-feet-seven and she hovered over him in her four-inch heels. It was a clear case of little man syndrome, something not unknown to her. She perched on the edge of her desk, coming face to face with him.

'If you don't bring your eyes up here in this general area' she said, her finger circling her face, 'I'm going to bring my knee up to that sad excuse you call junk and you'll be writhing on the floor in five, four, three…'

He looked up, taken aback by her comment and absentmindedly brought his hand to cover his junk. 'You wouldn't' he said arrogantly.

'What do you want Mitch?' she asked, her voice monotone.

'You said you'd take me with you to meet your contact down in the garment district.'

It was true, she had told him he could tag along but now she was wondering how much of a liability he might be.

'First of all, I'm not taking you unless you bring it down a notch and promise to keep your mouth shut' she said, moving back to sit at her desk. 'I work hard to cultivate my sources and I don't want you messing it up.'

'And secondly, the 'meet' as you call it isn't for another hour.'

It was obvious this guy had been watching way too many cop shows.

He leaned on the desk and brought his face down uncomfortably close to hers. 'Why don't we leave early and get a drink on the way?'

Sara turned to look at him, noticing his gaze moving down to her bosom once more.

'Mitch, go pretend you have something to do. Because I do' she began, facing her computer. 'I'll let you know when it's time to leave.'

'Are you bringing your gun?' he asked, like a dog salivating at the sight of a pork chop.

Sara pretended to keep reading something on her computer screen.

'Uncle Win said you would get me my own firearm.'

Again, Sara did her best to hold her tongue. She wasn't about to put a loaded gun into the hands of such a reckless and immature eager beaver.

'We'll see' she said soberly. 'Let's see how today goes first.'

Of course, she had no intention of having him around long enough to warrant getting him a gun and sooner rather than later, she was going to have to break the news to her boss that his no good nephew had none of the prerequisites to become a successful insurance investigator.

She just needed to find the right time to break the news.

TBC