Hola Readers! I hope you have been having an amazing week! I know that my main focus should be We Cry, but this idea seemed intriguing. Yet it is also a bit cliché and overdone. Anyways here goes, just let me know what you think.
Summary: When a stranger from Neal's past appears in New York, it could only mean one thing. Trouble for everyone's favourite con. Told in various viewpoints.
Genre: Crime/Mystery and mostly Family.
Rating: T, most likely could be a K+, but I am not sure how some of the language could affect people. So T because I am paranoid.
Characters: Neal, Peter, and an other character. Maybe Elle, Mozzie, and Diana cause they are freaking awesome !
A/N: I know that this is not normally my thing, but this idea has really gotten me started. Hope you like it. Please Review.
Ps: First section = in Neal's Point of View.
It was three am in the Goddamn morning.
Peter had us working surveillance into the wee hours of the morning.
I hate the van.
A current case involved an elusive con artist who had broken into chock full of stolen paintings from various well-know artists.
But the museum curator wouldn't contact us because the paintings weren't "legally" his.
So some dumbass co-worker came to us, and asked us to investigate. But we can't talk to the curator because he knows "nothing."
Two days, more than thirty phone calls, and where have we gotten? Oh, just south of nowhere.
Peter, being his typical unbelieving self, asked me if I had done it. I didn't, and said he could check my anklet, because I was having a tea party with June's granddaughter.
Not that I would ever actually tell Peter that last part.
Anyways, it couldn't have been me because for one thing, I don't leave calling cards.
This particular cocky con artist left behind a fleur-de-lis business card. The ink was a shade of jet black. There was a slightly noticeable black dot to the right of it. No name, nothing else.
It had been my only source of entertainment for the last hour.
Peter had me go for a coffee run because I had apparently been annoying him with my "lack of ability to remain still."
Excuse me for being "slightly" ADD.
Seated in a small coffee shop, I drank the coffee I had reluctantly ordered black. I took a small sip, and found that it tasted about as good as burnt cardboard. Don't ask me how I know that. It is a long and disgusting story.
I flashed a smile at the barista, and politely asked for a bit of cream. She returned the smile, and said "coming right up." I studied her for a bit while her back was turned.
My eyes grew heavy with sleep, or lack thereof, and I seemed to have dosed off in that small, extremely uncomfortable chair. But the dinging bell of the door jolted me back to reality.
This amazingly pretty woman breezed in through the door, her hair gliding behind her. It was wavy, slightly disheveled, and a dark shade of brown. Her eyes were down, reading a sheet of paper in her hand. When she noticed someone else there she quickly stuffed the paper in the black bag hanging at her side.
She looked beautiful for three am. She wore a teeny black dress, and teetered on tall black heels. She gave me a tense, small smile, and slipped past me to order her coffee.
As she was waiting to place her order, she twisted her hair to the side, only a few stray locks escaping and spilling back down her back. The dress dipped in the back, exposing a tiny ink tattoo. She seemed oddly familiar, yet I couldn't quite place her.
Her electric blue eyes kept darting around the room, as if she was planning the best escape route. She seemed anxious, and wore a confused expression as she shifted from foot to foot, waiting for her coffee. She picked up her order, and her startlingly blue eyes met mine. I gave her my smile, and she returned it with one that could have rivaled mine.
Then she did something that surprised me; she took a seat across from me.
Her eyes locked with mine as she settled herself in the chair. She sat in her chair, her legs and arms crossed in front of her. She casually took a sip of coffee.
I raised my eyebrow questioningly at her.
"So, got a name, blue eyes?" Her tone was somewhere between joking and sarcastic. Her accent slightly British.
"I do. But I don't typically give it to strangers sitting at my table." I replied back.
She shrugged. "Fair enough. I am a stranger, it is three in the morning." She gestured to the chair, "Were you waiting for someone else?"
I shook my head.
"Good." She replied.
"I heard a mockingbird singing in the park this afternoon." She said, and ran her fingers through her hair, without taking her eyes off of me.
I leaned back in my chair, debating whether to play along. "Well that's something you don't here everyday." I chuckled.
"Do you know what colour it was?" Her glare was steely.
I did not know what to say.
"The colour of the flowers we placed on Mum's casket." Her eyes looked down, she began fiddling around with the brim of her coffee cup. "Yellow."
Realization hit me like a bullet in the chest.
I was staring at my one and only twin sister, in the flesh.
I leaned forward, interlacing my hands in front of me.
"Mace?" I asked using her childhood nickname. "What the hell are you doing in New York?"
By the look of fear in my sister's eyes, something tells me that it couldn't be good.
So, what did you think? Caffrey's sister, huh? Anyways, reviews totally make my day, so if you could send me some feedback, it would be awesome.