Trying to keep from crying at the sight of her mangled Mustang, Westin let herself fall heavily against it. "I can't believe this is happening..." she murmured, deliberately avoiding the contrite face of her friend.

Behind them, the doors of the car opened and a man and woman emerged, both dressed in smart business suits and long coats. The man was of medium height with dark blond hair. His companion was a few inches shorter, her dark hair cut into a slick bob that barely touched her shoulders.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. "Special Agent Mark Baer, FBI. This is my partner, Suzanne Emerson."

Oh, God. Not only did I hit a Mercedes, but it's being driven by a couple of Feds! The editor fought the desire to cover her face or--even better--crawl under the car and disappear. I am going to kill him for this!

Westin turned to them with an embarrassed smile on her face, all the while fumbling in her wallet for her driver's license. "I don't believe this. I am so sorry. I didn't see anyone coming, so--"

Agent Emerson smiled. "It's all right. Happens to everyone once in a while, I'd imagine."

"Some people more than others," Audrey muttered, glaring back at Chance who had gotten out of the car to join her. She handed her driver's license and insurance card to Agent Baer, accepting his in exchange.

"You two are with the FBI?" the photographer asked, a note of interest in his voice. They nodded. "I don't suppose either of you would happen to know an Agent Mulder, would you?"

Baer's head snapped up in surprise. "Mulder? 'Spooky' Mulder? 'You a friend of his?"

"Actually, he's a friend of my brother's."

"'Spooky?'" Audrey echoed, glancing over at the photographer with a wry smile. "Figures." She went back to taking down the other man's address and insurance information.

Looking slightly puzzled at the other woman's remark, Emerson nodded. "Actually, Fox Mulder is pretty well known around the Bureau. He used to be one of the best minds in the Violent Crimes Division."

"His name is Fox? Yep--definitely sounds like someone you'd get along with."

"You said he used to be in Violent Crimes..." Chance ignored Westin's jibe. "Where is he now?"

"The basement," Baer replied curtly without looking up from the information Audrey had handed him.

"He's pursuing a project most of the Bureau considers pretty worthless, unfortunately," Emerson elaborated with a regretful smile. "The X-Files--cases dealing with the paranormal. But I've heard he and his partner have a pretty high solve rate, which is impressive, considering."

"Personally, I think it's a crock," the other agent snapped. "No way anyone could have a seventy-five-percent solve rate chasing little green men. He's just got an in with Assistant Director Skinner, that's all."

Audrey resisted the temptation to laugh. How appropriate for a friend of Chance's brother to have an interest in the paranormal! If only she hadn't gotten the impression that this agent didn't get a whole lot of respect from his fellows.

"Would you like us to call a tow truck?" Emerson asked, studying the crumpled mess of metal that had once been two separate cars. Westin shook her head. "I think it'll be okay to drive, as long as I take it straight to a garage to get the tail lights and rear bumper checked out."

"I don't suppose you'd happen to know where I could get a hold of him, would you?" was Chance's next question to the female agent.

"Mulder? Well, I don't know his office number, but I can give you the number for the DC switchboard, if you like."

The photographer nodded. "That would be great."

Emerson borrowed her partner's pen and bent down over the hood to scribble a number on the back of a card. "Here you go." She straightened up and handed the card to him. "When you get the switchboard operator, just ask to be put through to Special Agent Fox Mulder."

"Great. Thanks again."

"Okay, Ms. Westin..." Baer lifted his head and handed her license and insurance card back to her. "We'll be in touch."

Audrey returned the favor with a tight smile. "Thanks."

Without another word, the two agents circled back around their car and climbed in. Westin stalked back to the driver's seat of the Mustang, an angry frown creasing her forehead. As soon as Chance had climbed into the passenger seat, she started the engine and pulled forward.

"Great. Just what I need. I'll bet you anything the insurance company will see this as my fault, even though they hit me. Damned Feds!"

"I don't know, they seemed pretty nice," the photographer commented once she had finished her rant.

"That doesn't matter--when a civilian gets into an accident with the law, it's always the civilian's fault. Didn't you know that?" Her voice was heavy with bitter sarcasm. "And another thing--what makes you think they're trustworthy? Wasn't that guy, Wilford, with the FBI?"

"Actually, Wilford was with some government organization just called 'The Agency.' He only posed as an FBI agent," Chance corrected her. "Besides, Eric told me that if I ever needed to get a hold of him, to contact his friend, Mulder." There was a long moment of silence before he continued. "Well, I need to contact him now."

Audrey sighed, closing her eyes in concern. "Chance, Eric is dead. He and your father both died in that explosion--"

Chance shook his head with conviction. "No--my luck saved me. They have it too--why wouldn't it have saved them?"

Chance's Apartment
The Next Day

Chance paced the room, wearing a path in the already thin carpet with his nervous feet. He had his cell phone pressed against his ear like an ice pack for some obscure injury. On the third ring, someone picked up the other end of the line.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Yeah, may I speak with Special Agent Fox Mulder, please?"

"One moment."

The line began to ring again, and Chance strode restlessly over to his couch, seating himself gingerly on it. No matter what Audrey might believe, he knew that Eric had to be alive. He could feel it. He just hoped Agent Mulder knew where he was.

"This is Fox Mulder. Leave a message. Unless you're part of an international government conspiracy, in which case, don't bother." Chance took his ear away from the phone for a minute to stare at it. If it weren't for the wry tone of the voice on the machine, he'd have serious doubts about Eric's friend's sanity. But then again, who was he, of all people, to question something odd?

With a lopsided smile, he put the phone back to his ear. "Agent Mulder...my name is Chance Harper. You don't know me, but you do know my brother, Eric Vandenberg. He told me a couple of months ago to contact you if I ever needed to reach him. If you have any idea where I might be able to find him, please give me a call at 310-555-6011. Thanks."

With a resigned grimace, he hit the button to hang up the phone.

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
Office of Special Agent Fox Mulder

A thin stream of smoke curled up towards the ceiling from a man sitting at Fox Mulder's desk. He shook his head, a strange smile on his face, then leaned forward to hit 'rewind' on the answering machine.

"Agent Mulder...my name is Chance Harper. You don't know me, but you do know my brother, Eric Vandenberg. He told me a couple of months ago to contact you if I ever needed to reach him. If you have any idea where I might be able to find him, please give me a call at 310-555-6601. Thanks."

When the message was finished, he reached over and calmly pressed delete.

Chance's Apartment

Almost the minute he hung up, there was an insistent knock at the door.

"Coming!" Chance called. He dropped the phone onto the couch and crossed the room quickly. The door opened to reveal a man in a suit rather reminiscent of Mark Baer's.

"Chance Harper?" he asked.

The photographer nodded. "Can I help you?"

The man flipped open an FBI Badge. "I have a warrant to search your apartment."

"A search warrant?" Chance asked, surprised. "What for?"

The other man ignored him. "May I come in?"

Nodding, the photographer stepped aside to let him enter. "Have a look around, if you like. I don't have anything to hide."

The agent stepped into the room, gesturing for another man who had been standing in the hallway to follow him. Without another word, they began tearing into Chance's apartment, reading every scrap of paper they could lay their hands on. One of the two picked up the pile of mail that the photographer had just tossed onto the table a moment before. He flipping through it, pausing on a slim white envelope halfway through the stack.

"Hey, Richards, take a look at this."

Richards crossed the room to where his partner was standing and the other man handed him the envelope. He whistled, surprised.

"Excuse me for butting in, but is there something going on here that I should know about?"

"Do you know anyone by the name of Joseph Giovanetti, Mr. Harper?" Richards asked him, sharp eyes boring into the other man's face.

Chance shook his head. "The name doesn't ring a bell--why?"

"Do you have a roommate?"

"No. Look, I'd really appreciate it if you guys would explain to me what you're doing here, and why you're going through my mail."

Unfortunately, the expression on the agent's face made it pretty plain that he wasn't buying into Chance's ignorance. Handing the letter back to his partner, he crossed the room to where the photographer was standing and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Mr. Harper, I'm afraid I'm going to have to place you under arrest for interfering with a federal investigation."

29th Precinct Station
Holding Cell

Chance looked up at the sound of a key in the lock. A moment later, three uniformed officers came through, leading a very angry Audrey Westin and followed by Agent Mark Baer. He grimaced.

"You too, huh?" Chance tried to joke as they let her into the cell next to his. She shot him a deadly glare and refused to answer. He sighed and turned to Baer, who was watching them through the bars.

"I don't suppose you'd care to let us know why you've had us arrested?" he asked curtly. It wasn't like he'd never been arrested before, but he usually didn't end up dragging his friends into it.

Baer shook his head in amusement, giving them both a sideways glance. "I spent the last year deep undercover to expose Joe Giovanetti. Yesterday was the culmination of that assignment, a sting that was supposed to result in his arrest as well as that of several of his top men. But because of our little accident, we missed the rendezvous for the bust and Giovanetti got nervous and went underground. I have to admit, you're clever. Even I didn't see the set-up at the time."

"Wait a second," Westin protested, speaking for the first time. "You think we ran into you deliberately? You think I caused six thousand dollars worth of damage to my classic red Mustang *on purpose*??" The fury in her voice rose and Chance was grateful not to be on the receiving end.

Baer ignored her comment about the car. "The only way Emerson and I could have blown that sting was to miss the rendezvous. And I wouldn't waste time with the indignant innocent look you're giving me--considering your boyfriend's arrest record, I'm surprised you haven't been hauled in before now. Although your friends in high places would probably make sure those charges didn't stick either, wouldn't they?"

He turned sharply and left the cell block, leaving an absolutely flabbergasted Audrey Westin to stare after him as the door slammed.

When he was gone, she turned slowly back to Chance with murder in her eyes. "When we get out of this one...you're a dead man."

An Interview Room

"Agent Emerson." Chance stood as she entered the room, flashing her a bright, lopsided smile. He started to reach out to shake her hand but stopped, embarrassed, as he remembered that his hands were cuffed. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm sorry for bringing you in on this, Mr. Harper, but I hope you understand--"

He shook his head. "No, not really, but I've spent most of my life rolling with the punches, so I'll do okay."

Suzanne smiled. "It never hurts to be positive about a situation."

Chance grinned, but his smile faded when Baer followed her through the door.

"Trying to charm your way out?" the male agent remarked in a snide voice.

Chance laughed, shaking his head. "Trust me, charm has nothing to do with whether I get out of here or not."

"You've got that right--but don't expect your friends to bail you out, either."

"Why do I get the feeling you're not going to believe I didn't know anything about this Giovanni business before your friends showed up at my door this morning?"

"Giovanetti," Baer corrected. "Very well, Mr. Harper. If you don't know Joe Giovanetti, how do you explain this?" He tossed the letter onto the table and Chance picked it up with cuffed hands.

"What's the problem? This isn't addressed to me--It's for some guy named Chris Carter. Are you going to go arrest the football player too, just in case?"

Baer ignored him. "That is your address."

Chance shrugged. "So, they got the address mixed up. Or maybe this guy used to live in my apartment before I moved in. These things happen."

Baer laughed. "The man who conveniently prevents me from making the biggest break of my career gets a twenty thousand dollar check in the mail from the man I'm supposed to be arresting, and you expect me to believe it's a coincidence?"

"Well, I admit it sounds unlikely, but--"

"Unlikely? How about downright unreal, Mr. Harper? And speaking of unreal--what is your real name?"

"Chance Harper."

"Really? Then why isn't there a birth certificate listed under your name, 'Chance Harper'?" Baer placed his hands on the table and leaned towards the other man, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Because I was adopted as a kid after my mom and sister were killed in a plane crash," he replied calmly. "I was born Alex Sanders."

"So your real name is Alex Sanders."

"No, my real name is Chance Harper. My foster parents had it legally changed when they adopted me. You can check the adoption records, if you want."

Baer started to speak again, but Emerson laid a restraining hand on his arm. "We need to talk."

Reluctantly he let his partner pull him aside. "Mark--don't make a fool of yourself. We don't have anything to hold him on except speculation, and you know it. Personally, I think he's telling the truth."

"Then how do you explain the check?"

"Just what he said--it was sent to the wrong address. I know you're upset about blowing the Giovanetti bust, but you can't go around blaming it on innocent people--"

"What, so it's my fault?" he bristled.

"It's no one's fault--it just happened. But if you take this man and his friend in front of a Grand Jury with just the 'evidence' you've got, they're going to throw you out on your ear."

"And what if I'm right?"

Suzanne sighed. "Fine. Give him a polygraph test before he's released if you want, but don't try to hold him on this. You want lawyers breathing down your neck for false arrest?"

Reluctantly, Baer nodded. "All right. But if I'm right and he skips town, I'm not taking the rap for it." He stalked out of the room.

Emerson turned back to Chance with a sigh, and crossed the room to unlock his handcuffs. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience we might have caused you..."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'm used to it."

She threw him an amused glance. "What, this sort of thing happens to you often?"

He nodded. "As your partner probably pointed out, I've been arrested several times--"

"And the charges were dropped every time--yes, I have to admit that did strike me as odd..."

Chance rubbed his wrists where they were still a little sore from the cuffs. He grinned at her. "It's just a talent I have--being in the right place at the wrong time."

"Like the accident."

He nodded. "Exactly like the accident. In fact, Audrey's probably going to expect me to pay for her car repairs." Chance shrugged.

Suzanne returned the smile. "Well, you're free to go, although we'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mind taking a moment to let our staff psychiatrist administer a lie detector test..."

The photographer nodded. "Be happy to."

"Okay Mr. Harper, I'm going to ask you to relax. I will be asking you a series of questions and I'd like you to respond with a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Do you understand?"

"Look, I've done this before. Can we just--"

"Just a yes or a no, please, Mr. Harper."

Chance sighed. "Yes, I understand."

Suzanne Emerson watched the proceedings through a one-way glass in an adjacent room. Her partner stood next to her, fidgeting slightly with a large ring on his finger.

"How's it going with Kelly?" she asked, taking a quick glance over at his hand before returning her gaze to Harper.

"Okay, I guess," he said, realizing what he was doing and sticking his hand in his pocket. "She's all excited about the wedding."

"And you're not?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's not that--" Baer began. "Look, let's stick to the case for now. Did you manage to contact Mulder?"

Emerson frowned. "No, he and Scully are out on assignment right now. I left a message, but you know how hard they can be to get a hold of sometimes--"

"Maybe we should find a flying saucer and--"

"Mark," Suzanne said, "that's enough."

She watched Chance for a few moments longer. Funny--he wasn't sweating, fidgeting or showing any other behaviors typical of someone taking a lie detector test. The only time that she's seen such control was in agents specially trained to lie and pass.

"You see it, too, huh?" Mark asked.

"Yeah," Emerson said. "He's too perfect--too...well, too calm."

"Like he'd been coached?" her partner suggested.

Suzanne admitted that's what it looked like, but part of her didn't want to believe that Chance was a criminal mastermind. No one with a puppy-dog grin like his could possibility be employed by Giovanetti. "Or like someone who's taken a lot of polygraph tests."

"Oh come on, Sue--you're not buying that story, are you?"

Emerson frowned in thought as she watched Chance through the tinted glass. The arm on the polygraph flicked back and forth leaving a thin blue scribble in its wake. How much could anyone really tell about a person from that? Suzanne watched Harper's calm, compassionate face. Ultimately that told more about the content of his conscience than a machine. "I don't know what I buy anymore, Mark."

"I really hate jail cells," Audrey complained for the forty-second time. "They smell, and they have really disgusting graffiti--"

"Well," a voice said suddenly, causing Audrey and Chance to spin around and face it. "I'll be glad to tell you that you won't be spending any more time in one, Ms. Westin."

Mark Baer was standing just outside the bars with a smug grin on his face. Emerson stood beside him, a worried and somewhat confused look lurking behind her professional composure.

"Really?" an overjoyed Audrey asked.

"Yes, really," Suzanne backed up her partner. "You've passed your lie detector test, and we have no further reason to keep you here."

Audrey squealed with excitement. Chance, on the other hand, remained dubious. "What about me?"

"Chance," Emerson said, "I'm afraid that I have to inform you that you failed, and we'll be keeping you here a suspect in this case."