A/N: This is my first White Collar fanfiction. I wasn't sure if I wanted to post this or not, since it's a variation of a novel I was writing before I got into the show. Now, I realize how well the two universes (my novel and White Collar) mesh. So, I've started writing something I think you'll enjoy.

Please review (as it keeps me going).

Chapter 1: New York State of Mind

"We'll just go and see what we can find…", my best friend Rayna whispered as we attempted to chat about our trip, right under my parents' noses. It's not like I was too young to leave, or anything. Being twenty-two and fresh out of college was tough, especially with a degree that was a dime a dozen. Living with the parents? It just made things easier.

"I just think we need more of a plan than just staying with your cousin for two weeks, running the streets like tourists. We should find an apartment if we're moving there.", I retorted, only to cause Rayna's face to turn downward. She rolled her eyes, and shook her head.

"You don't just 'find an apartment' in New York. The closest to affordable the two of us are even likely to find, is some shit hole staring at a brick wall, and a guy getting stabbed down the fire exit. Do you really want that?"

"Of course not…", I rolled my eyes, and my parents began to whisper to themselves, glancing at us every now and again, "Fine. We'll stay with Robert for two weeks. If we like it after a week…we start looking for jobs. I don't want to be in anyone's debt."

"Deal."

"What are you two whispering about, over there?", my mother chimed in, her eyebrows stitched together as she approached us, "Is it about that New York thing? Honey…I've explained to you why it's a bad idea."

"People like me just don't move to the city. I got it.", I argued, staring at her with pleading eyes, "But we're leaving tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow?! Shan when were you going to tell me this?"

"We were still working out the details, mom! We're going to be back after two weeks. I have a cell phone, and plenty of money to last that long. We have a nice apartment set up in Manhattan, and when we come back, we're deciding on whether it's right for us, or not."

"You couldn't just try New Orleans?", my mom whispered, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

"Mom. Don't do this. Please don't do this. New Orleans is a bay city. There's no room for law, there…not what I'm wanting to do."

"Get yourself killed? Shan, if you wanted to be a cop, you should have just stayed here…There are great benefits to…", my mom started. I threw my hands up, standing from the couch. My brain was running a million different ways, and my mouth wanted to scream a million obscenities, to possibly make her kick us out. It would save me a hell of a lot of trouble.

"I don't want to be a cop! I want to go into LAW. Get it through your head, the difference! I didn't break my back to get this degree to sit around Jonesboro and work on a farm for the rest of my life, like the two of you! I got it so that I could get away from all of this!", I practically screamed my feelings out to the world, and I could see both Rayna and my father wince at the harsh words I was spitting at my mother, "I just want a chance to do something with my life, besides what's already been handed to me on a silver platter."

"And what about Jacob?"

"What about Jacob?", I repeated her, staring between her tearful eyes.

"How's he going to feel when he finds out you ran halfway across the country, to get away from all of this…from him?"

"Don't say that to me, like I'm throwing him away. We're not together! We're never going to be together…He's delusional, and I love him, but I'm not cut out for all of this. I wasn't born to sling mud, like him. I wasn't born to live in a huge house with five kids, and to basically sit around while I depend on a man. I was born to take care of myself. If that means moving to New York and making a few sacrifices…I have to. Understand that. I'm begging you to understand that."

"Oh I understand…but let me make one thing clear…", my mom whispered in a deadly tone of voice. She glanced between my eyes, pointing her finger loosely at my chest for a few tense seconds, "If you come back to this house after those two weeks, and you're all decked out in your fancy clothes, thinking you're better than this family…don't bother coming back into my home. I didn't bring you up that way, and that's not how you'll present yourself to your family. Do you understand me?"

I narrowed my eyes, attempting to read her words as they fell off her lips, and then I nodded, "Yes, ma'am…"

"Good. Your father will gas up your car, and he will give you the money to get you there and back, but the rest is up to you. I want you to think about the decisions you're making. You're not stupid, and I know you'll do great…but my warning stands."

"Yes, ma'am…", I repeated, and she stood without another word, the strongest woman I had ever met. She wiped her eyes, and returned to the kitchen, where she stood for most of the night, silently cooking dinner alone.

The Camaro rumbled to a stop in the middle of the parking garage, and both Rayna and myself could hardly contain the excitement oozing from us. We were in New York City! We were in the place where dreams are supposed to be made, and opportunities were supposed to be waiting at ever corner.

"So what do we do?", Rayna asked, her bright blue eyes lighting up as she glanced around the disgusting garage. It cost us eighty dollars to park in this dinky garage for two weeks, come and go as we please. That was eighty dollars that could have bought meals for a week, but no. Her cousin failed to inform us his apartment had no parking.

"Um…we could…", I thought out loud, staring down at my phone, as I flipped through the itinerary we had made, "Let's hit up Grand Central Station. I hear there's a place there…"

Rayna winced, "The oyster bar? Shan, I don't eat things like oysters…"

"Not the oyster bar… the Campbell Apartment."

"So now we're hitting up some poor guy's place? We just got here!", she shrieked, and I rolled my eyes, my teeth clenching together in raw annoyance.

"It's a bar…"

"What kind of bar?", she asked, her interest piqued at the fact that I, of all people, would choose a bar for entertainment. She practically bounced in her seat, turning to stare at me.

"A very fancy bar. You know our 'interview clothes'? We need those."

I could almost see the color fading from her olive skin, as she widened her eyes and bit her lip. I narrowed my own eyes, waiting for her to speak.

"We've driven for sixteen hours, Shan. We haven't had a chance to shower or anything, and you want to get formal? That's insane."

"We'll use shower in can. What can it hurt? We put our hair up in buns and we walk up into that bar like we own the place, whether we do or not. You never know who you're going to find in an upscale place like Campbell's…C'mon Ray…", I pleaded, giving her my best pout. With my bright red hair and 'too big for my face' green eyes, it was a wonder anyone could deny me anything. It was my calling card…

Charm

"And if we don't find anyone?", she asked, and I stopped the pout, rolling my eyes.

"Then it's one day wasted of fifteen. This isn't even our first official day in the city. This is fun night, not work night. We'll worry more about connecting, tomorrow…", I explained, widening my eyes to see if she would comprehend anything I was saying. Finally, she nodded her head, and began pulling her long black hair behind her head.

"Fine. But if the drinks are over six bucks, you'll just have to drink your water out of a martini glass…"

Giggling at her brilliant idea, I also began pulling my hair back, reaching into the backseat for my duffel bag.

"Act cool…", I whispered into Rayna's diamond adorned ear as we stepped through the beautiful oak doors of the 'apartment'. The glorified butler stepped through behind us, and began telling us the history of the bar, and how it got its name, as well as the reasoning for the dress code. I found myself nodding absentmindedly, as we were escorted to the bar, and not a table, "Oh, sir…a table would be fine…"

"Nonsense, miss. A lady of your stature deserves the best of service. Come…", he explained, gesturing for us to follow him. It was the first time I noticed how the rest of the crowd was dressed. It looked like a party from the forties, as the women wore relatively long dresses, and the men adorned their heads with expensive fedoras. I smiled at the class, and almost found myself speaking in a new accent. Rayna's hands clamped down on my arm as we neared the heavy oak bar, and were guided to three remaining seats. Both of us hesitated, not particularly wanting to sit next to anyone.

"Can you give us just a second?", I asked the butler, and he nodded, stepping back from us for a moment, "Who's gonna get the good seat?"

Rayna shrugged, her head shaking slowly as she did so. Almost suddenly her brilliant blue eyes brightened and she held up her hands. Her right hand doubled into a fist, while her left hand flattened, and she placed her fist loosely against her left palm.

"Really? Rock, paper, scissors in the nicest bar in New York…", I marveled, staring down at her hands. I glanced back at the bar, noticing that my options if I lost were a very rich looking lady in a too low white dress, or a man in a fedora. Sighing, I rolled my eyes and held my hands out as well. We both slapped our fists down onto our hands three times. Her hand flattened against her palm, and her eyes widened, as she realized my hand was still doubled into a fist, and that I had lost.

"Son of a bitch…", I whispered. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath through my nose, turned back to our escort (who gave me a disgustingly fake smile) and stepped up to the bar. I quickly made a mental note of whom I would rather sit by, and sitting next to a woman in a white dress just sounded like a hideous idea, with Rayna's clumsiness. So, I chose the seat next to the man. I was slow to sit down, fighting myself every step of the way, in case he was some sort of serial killer, like in the movies.

Rayna victoriously took her seat before I had a chance to take my own, and the man turned to us, throwing me off guard a bit. He simply glanced at first, but as I took my seat, and our elbows brushed, he turned completely to face us. I could almost feel Rayna's drool on my arm as she caught sight of his eyes. I had to admit, however, I was in a bit of a trance at first.

Blue.

Everything was blue, and so big. Much like my own, his eyes took up much of his chiseled face, leading your eyes down to his jawline, which seemed to be carved out of some sort of marble. He turned a bit further to me, his eyes narrowed in amusement as I stared at the stubble on his chin.

"Hi…", he casually quipped, leaning in closer to me. Rayna made a small squeaking noise, leaning away from me, as I closed my mouth and attempted to find words. I stumbled on my breaths for a couple of seconds, and the man sniggered, "Take your time."

That small bit of wit pissed off something inside of me, and I straightened up in my seat and found my voice, "Hi. Sorry, I was caught off guard by that god awful beard you have going on there…"

As if he could show off any more of his 'charm', he flashed a brilliant smile, his tongue between his teeth as he sniggered once again. He raised his eyebrows and signaled for the bartender to bring him three drinks. As the bartender turned to retrieve the drinks, the man turned back to me.

"That accent. You're from the south.", he murmured, a smile still playing at his lips, "Arkansas…"

My mouth dropped open once again, and Rayna snorted her drink that was placed in front of her. I grabbed my own, staring at the stranger from the corner of my eye, "How would you know?"

I took a sip of the obviously expensive concoction the stranger had ordered for me, and waited for his reply. His smile was back, as he shrugged, "There was a slight inflection in the way you said caught. It's a tell, if you will, that says you're definitely from a southern state. The way you hold your mouth, and the hard ass look you try to give people who surprise you, says you're from either Texas or Arkansas. Your last name points me to one place, specifically, in Arkansas, that was a popular haven for Irish men back before World War 1. Hence…Arkansas."

I stared at him, my mouth fighting hard to fall open as he explained his methods to me. As I collected my thoughts, and he simply smiled down at me, amused, I realized something he had said.

"How do you know my name?", I asked quietly, watching him carefully to see if he was somehow reading me. However, all charm disappeared from the situation, as he pulled my drivers license up from under the bar, along with my clutch. He placed the license back into the purse and sat it in front of me, "What the hell?"

"You dropped it, as you were coming into the bar. There was a guy, who bumped you. He's quick with his hands, and managed to somehow bump it away from you before you even realized it was missing. I worked a little magic, and voila, all of your stuff…", he explained, picking up his drink. He finished it off, and signaled toward my own as I fought my brain for words.

"So you're saying you're a good Samaritan?", I asked, in a slightly snotty tone. His eyes lit up even further, as he glanced past me, and then grabbed my neck, leaning in close to my ear. I frowned, shoving at him at first, before his voice willed me to stop, the hot air from his lips washing over my ear.

"Stop moving, and giggle…", he ordered, but quickly took the words to a not so scary place, "The man who followed you is here…and he's looking for both of you."

I swallowed heavily, and let out a strained giggle, leaning my face against his. His hand brushed my bare leg, a tiny piece of paper scratching the smooth skin, as he tapped Rayna on the knee, behind me. She took the crumpled piece of paper, and quickly stood from the bar, and strutted away.

"Wait…where is she going?", I asked hastily.

"Do you trust me?"

"Not particularly…", I answered. My voice was shaking a bit, as he wrapped an arm around my waist and gave a fake giggle, nibbling at my earlobe. Seriously?

"Good girl…But know this. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, or your friend. I have friends in high places…", he whispered, his eyes scanning the room as he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, "Stand when I do…"

Quickly, his warmth was gone, and he stood from the bar, tossing a few bills onto the marble. His long fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he began leading me through the tables, carefully adjusting his fedora with his other hand. Even the way he walked was flawless, as he strutted past a man in an equally impressive suit. I noticed every detail about the man, storing them in my brain for later. He was tall, built like a bodyguard of some sort, and he had a baldhead. He was wearing a suit (possibly Prada),that was tailored somehow to fit his large body like a glove. As we passed him, he gave my escort a look that spelled trouble, and I began to worry about the strange man that held my arm. I worried about Rayna. I worried about myself. What had I walked into?

Once past the doors, and back into the stairwell of Grand Central Station, the man let go of me and began descending the stairs. He stopped a few rows down, and stared up at me, waving me to him.

"C'mon. We need to get away from him, before his buddies show up…", he called out to me, waving for me once more.

"What about my friend? You just send her some sort of message and now you want us to leave her? I'm going back for her."

"She's not there. She's safe, but we can't stay here. Trust me…", he pleaded, as the door behind me opened. I turned to the door briefly, and then ran down the stairs to meet his open arm.

As we exited into Grand Central Station, over a dozen men and women, dressed in FBI jackets, ran up the stairs beside us, a couple nodding toward my 'savior' as they passed. Wow. Talk about your friends in high places.

I wrenched my arm from him, turning to shove him against a wall, which caused one of the FBI agents (a dark skinned man, in sunglasses) to stop for a second and smile. The man went ahead and passed, as my stranger held up his hands in defense.

"What the hell was that?! The FBI?! You said you had friends in high places. You said nothing about the FBI…", I scolded him, shoving his chest a few times. He straightened his fedora and frowned at me.

"Such a hostile woman.", he said simply, shaking his head, "I didn't tell you about the FBI, because I had to feel you out and make sure you weren't working for your admirer back there. Surely someone who graduated top of their class from law school would understand the basis of an investigation…"

"I understand that just fine, but what does that make you, some sort of liaison? You're some rich, elite businessman, and they send you to a bar to scope out the place? Sounds like a great pilot for a television show. Who are you, really?", I snapped back. Wait. Did he just mention that he knows I went to law school?

"I'm just that. I'm a liaison…My name's N-", he paused, frowning once more, as if he couldn't even tell me his name. I returned the frown, and leaned on the wall next to him.

"What? Feds got your tongue? You already know my name…what's yours?", I asked bravely, my hand wanting to dip inside of his jacket and grab his wallet. Liaison my ass…

He paused for one more second, and then adjusted his stance, leaning close to me as the agents returned from upstairs, a man in tow between them. An older gentleman stepped up beside us both, and looked down at me, and then at my 'friend', his expression not pleased.

"My name is Agent Peter Burke. I'm with the FBI…", he started, and I scoffed.

"I figured that one out."

"Right. Are you okay? Do you need anything?", he asked, frowning at the younger man as a snigger left his lips, "I need a statement, but I can't do anything about that until I find your friend. I'm aware that she has been…moved to a safe location."

"Yeah. I'd like her back, if you don't mind."

"I'll get right on that. In the meantime, I'm going to give you my card, and I'd like to take your phone number. We'll be in touch with some questions…and maybe protection."

"Protection? Why would I need protection?"

"We'll discuss that when we contact you. For tonight, I suggest you get to where you're staying, and lay low. We'll be in touch.", he explained professionally. He gave me a business card and one simple glare to Mr. Mysterious, and then disappeared with the rest of his agents.

"He's a little snappy today. His wife got a bit bothered by an investigation he just returned from…Couch is getting real comfy by now.", the man snarked. I admit I had to fight a laugh back, until I realized the agent had forgotten something.

"Shit. He didn't get my number…", I frowned, staring down at the business card in my hand, "I'll just have to call him."

"No! Um…I'll just give it to him. No need to bother him when he's so caught up in husband/wife troubles, ya know? Just…give me a second and I'll put it in my notepad.", the stranger stepped away from the wall, dragging his Blackberry from his pocket. He opened the notepad program and then stared up at me, as if waiting.

"I still don't know who you are, sir.", I whispered, "A name for a number…"

"The name's Nick Halden."