"What do you mean I failed?" Chance asked, his usually imperturbable voice tinged with disbelief.

"You lied, Mr. Harper," was the condescending reply from Baer.

"About what?" the photographer shot back, still incredulous.

"You tell me."

Chance reviewed the interview in his mind, trying to come up with even one thing that he would have had reason to lie about. "I don't know why I didn't pass, but I promise you, everything I told you this afternoon was true."

Baer ignored him and moved to unlock Audrey's cell, leaving the photographer to stare after him in silent frustration. Suzanne frowned, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. It didn't make sense. That look of surprised confusion in his eyes couldn't be anything but genuine, yet she had seen the results of the polygraph herself.

Westin stepped out of the cell, casting a concerned glance back in the direction of her friend. All anger towards him had vanished. "What exactly are you holding him on?" she asked Baer.

"You know the charges."

His dismissal only made her angry again. "Yes, I do, and as I remember them, you accused us of accepting payment from Joseph Giovanetti to hit your car and cause you to miss your rendezvous. I'm just curious how you're going to make that stick to Chance when he wasn't even driving the car. Not to mention when and how he formulated this plan when he's been in the hospital for weeks after a dock blew up under his feet. Or was that a plot to spoil your little party too?"

Chance shot her a warning look. You're out of the hole, don't dig yourself back in!

Audrey ignored him. "Besides, I thought a polygraph wasn't admissible in court anymore, because the results could be faked or misread."

Emerson flinched at this, and the other woman noticed immediately, her eyes narrowing in suspicion before turning to Baer.

"You're right about two things, Ms. Westin," the agent replied. "Your friend wasn't driving the car, and polygraphs can be mistaken. For either of which I could put you back in this cell if you'd like." He made no effort to disguise the threat in either his words or his eyes.

"Mark," his partner warned, a touch of weary exasperation in her voice.

"Audrey, just go. I'll be fine," Chance pressed. She turned to face him, meeting his eyes with a silent question. He merely gave a slight nod in answer. My luck got me into this, and it's gotten me out of worse before.

With a discontented sigh, she turned to leave, casting one last glare towards Baer and Emerson. "I'll have you know, I intend to return with a lawyer."

Chance watched the two agents follow his boss out of the cell block, then moved to sit on the narrow cot. On the bright side, he might be able to take comfort in the possibility that at least his luck couldn't do much more damage in here. But on the other hand was the grim knowledge that it had always found a way before.

The next morning

Chance looked up curiously as he was led into the interview room. Suzanne had come in with the guard to get him, informing him that there was someone to see him. He'd been curious as to who ever since.

Dr. Anne Richter smiled at him from the other side of the table. "Hello, Chance."

He laughed. "Dr. Richter--long time no see." She smiled in return and he crossed the empty room to the table, resting his cuffed hands on top of it once he had seated himself in the chair.

The uniform turned to leave, and Richter spoke again as soon as the door had closed behind him. "Well, I can see you still haven't taken my advice...to walk away."

Chance shook his head. "You know I tried--it didn't work."

"I always got the impression that you didn't try very hard."

He shrugged. "I decided there really wasn't much point to it. 'Going with the flow' has always worked pretty well for me, a lot better than fighting it ever did."

Richter sighed, running one hand along her hairline. "I'm not concerned about what 'works' for you, Chance. It's a matter of you losing touch with reality. I understand the need to give some meaning to your life, especially after the recent deaths of your father and brother, but this isn't the way--"

"They're not dead," Chance interrupted, his voice reflecting the same conviction as when he'd spoken on the subject earlier with Audrey.

There was a pause as she absorbed the significance of his statement. "Chance, there is no way anyone else could have survived that explosion. The fact that you did is extremely--" She stopped, not wanting to say the only word that fit the end of that sentence.

"Lucky?" he asked with a pointed look. Richter didn't respond.

"They have the luck too, Doc. If it saved me, it would have saved them."

"If I recall correctly, Chance, the first time you met your brother, he didn't have this 'luck' that you claim runs in your family. Now, after meeting you, all of a sudden he does? It's much more likely that you simply convinced him that he has it, or else why would this gift have failed to manifest for so long?" There was a challenge in her eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted, turning the question over in his mind. "Maybe...maybe it requires some sort of major trauma to trigger it. For me, it was the plane crash. For Eric, it would probably have been his wife getting killed for finding out about the illegal chemical weapons manufacture that her
company was involved in--"

"Chance," Richter interrupted quietly. "In a way...isn't that what I've been telling you all this time?"

"So what did he say?" Emerson asked when Dr. Richter entered the room from next door. She and Chance had been talking for almost an hour.

"He denies any involvement, just as I expected him to," Richter replied with a smile that could almost be described as fond. "And I believe him. Chance Harper may be mildly delusional, Agent Emerson, but he's no criminal. And even if he were, you don't have enough to hold him more than another day or so."

The female agent nodded grimly. She was well aware of how little they had to hold Harper on, but Mark had insisted. He was determined to convict the photographer of something and, frankly, it worried her.

"What do you mean, he's mildly delusional?" she asked.

"His 'luck.' Chance puts himself in a position for things to happen to him," Dr. Richter explained. "I suppose he told you about the plane crash he was in as a child?"

"He told us that his mother and sister were killed in a crash. I didn't know he was on the plane as well."

Richter nodded. "Out of 107 people on the plane, he was the only survivor. Chance uses this 'luck' he believes he has to justify that survival. By placing himself in a position to help, he feels that there was a reason he survived when the others didn't. Because of this tendency to walk into any circumstance where he sees a potential crisis, he frequently finds himself in a position to look guilty of a crime." She watched the man on the other side of the one-way mirror with a thoughtful expression. "Of course, he denies this, insisting instead that he does have some sort of metaphysical gift."

It made sense to Suzanne, except for one problem--the case they were holding him on now didn't fit the pattern the doctor had described.

"It's gotten worse since the last time I saw him, too," the psychiatrist continued with a sigh. "His father and brother were killed in an explosion a few weeks ago, one that he narrowly escaped. He's become convinced that they're not dead, that this 'luck' saved their lives as well."

"The explosion...isn't that what he was in the hospital for?"

Richter nodded. "He had just been released when you had your accident."

A long silence followed, during which both women watched Chance twiddle his thumbs in the other room. Every so often, he would glance up at the plate glass window that separated them.

Finally, Emerson let out a long sigh and dug in the pockets of her suit coat for her cell phone.

"Mark, it's Sue. I'm releasing Harper."

Outside the station

Chance didn't even look up as he pushed through the door of the station. With expert steps he dodged the scattered crowd of feet moving towards that same door. Feet in well-polished department-issue shoes passed him with calm confidence, while a variety of other footwear were dragged reluctantly by.

A trademark crooked smile touched his lips as he studied the sidewalk. An image flashed in and out of his mind of Emerson's apologetic smile as she unlocked the cuffs.

"Chance, I'm sorry about all this--" she had tried to apologize.

His answer had been a grin as he retrieved his coat and camera. "Don't worry about it. Stranger things have happened, and I've been in the middle of most of them."

Her smile had brightened at that.

He was jostled out of his memories by the impact of another body with his. Startled, he lifted his eyes to stare into the scowling face of a scruffy, bitter redhead being led into the station by a uniformed young woman who looked like she'd just finished the academy.

"Watch where you're going, you son of a bitch," the other man sneered.

"Sorry."

The uniform pulled the other man away and continued inside. Chance watched them with an odd expression on his face. He frowned and started to reach for his pocket, which seemed a little heavier.

"Chance!" a familiar voice shouted, followed by the unmistakable "harnk" of Audrey's horn.

The photographer's head snapped around to where his editor was waving to him from the driver's seat of her still-crunched Mustang. He waved in return and hurried to the curb.

Audrey reached over to open the door and Chance climbed in. She smiled at him. "What I wouldn't give to have seen Baer's face when they let you go."

He laughed. "Just don't give it to me."

Outside Chance's apartment building

"Are you sure you don't want to come up for a few minutes?" Chance asked as he closed the passenger door on the Mustang. "I feel like I owe you."

Audrey chuckled. "That's exactly why I don't want to come up."

Chance grinned wryly.

"Besides," she continued, nodding towards the still-mangled rear bumper. "I still need to get this taken care of. I had to cancel my original appointment because of our little detour down to the county lock-up."

He nodded. "Well, thanks for coming to get me. If there's anything I can do to make up for the trouble, Westin..."

The blonde woman's grin never faded. "Just get out of here before someone else decides to hit me," she teased. "Meet you at the Diner at six?"

"How will you get there without your car?"

"I'll take a cab. Don't even think about picking me up in that hunk of junk of yours!" she warned him lightly.

He nodded. "Ok. Guess I'll see you tonight." The photographer turned away towards the building.

"Chance!" she shouted after him.

Chance looked back.

Audrey grinned as she released the brake and shifted the car out of park. She draped her left arm over the door and leaned towards him. "*Try* to stay out of trouble for a little while, okay?"

Laughing at the sheepish look on his face, she drove away.

The hallway outside his apartment was mostly deserted, except for the newspaper outside Jake's door. Chance afforded it a brief glance as he dug in his pocket for his keys. Finding the one to his apartment, he slipped it into the lock and turned it.

Uh oh...

The door was already unlocked.

Slowly he withdrew the key, turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Two men were sitting on the sofa, one with brown hair, the other with black. Both were dressed casually, the brown-haired one in a green polo shirt and khaki pants. The black-haired man--who struck Chance as being the one in charge--wore a light blue buttoned shirt with off-white Dockers and a navy-blue sport coat. This one smiled at the wary photographer.

"Mr. Harper?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

The black-haired stranger smiled a calm smile that seemed both friendly and threatening at once. He rose from his place on the couch and crossed to stand before Chance. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"You're Joe Giovanetti," Chance stated.

Giovanetti smiled mildly. "I see you've heard of me." He gestured to the other man with him. "This is my associate, Mr. Jenkins. He accidentally addressed something to you that was intended for a friend of mine. He's come here with me today to make sure it gets returned to the proper party."

Chance spread his hands helplessly. "I know what you're talking about, but I don't have it. It was confiscated by the FBI."

Jenkins looked startled, and a little frightened. "How the hell did that happen?"

"It's a long story," the photographer grimaced.

Giovanetti studied him for a moment, then turned and settled himself again onto the couch. "I have time to kill."

29th Precinct Station

"Well, I guess we're finished here," Emerson admitted as she gathered her papers off the desk that the police had loaned the two agents. "If I can convince Mark to leave without Harper's head on a platter."

Richter nodded, her lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. "Agent Emerson, do you mind if I ask if your partner is always so--?"

"Vindictive?" Sue completed the question when the other woman hesitated to. "No, Dr. Richter, I don't mind. And no, he's not. Do you think he would have passed the psych screening to get into the Bureau if he was?"

Her hands fell on Giovanetti's file and paused there, fingers hovering over the folder. A deep sigh escaped her lips. "This is a new facet of Mark Baer that I don't think anyone has been exposed to before."

"Were you in contact with him while he was undercover?"

"Not really. He was in pretty deep, and the one contact he did have couldn't be me--there was too much danger of Giovanetti's people putting two and two together..."

Richter studied the female agent. Pensive eyes and lips drawn into a thin line supported her words that her partner's behavior was atypical.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Richter, but I really don't feel that I'm at liberty to discuss this with you," Emerson apologized, visibly withdrawing from the conversation.

The other woman nodded. "I understand. But if you feel that you need to talk to someone--"

"I'll call one of the Bureau psychologists," Sue stated firmly but with a kind smile. "Thank you, though."

Just then a shouted conversation from elsewhere in the station caught Richter's attention.

"I swear, he had it on him!" a young, female voice protested miserably.

"Well, he doesn't anymore."

"So, you're just going to let him go?"

"We have nothing to hold him on. In the future, confiscate the evidence from your suspect *before* you bring him in."

The young uniform looked about ready to cry as her superior glared at her. Richter abandoned the agent's packing process and crossed the room. "What's the matter?"

The captain glared at the younger officer. "Officer Blair here failed to make sure that the cocaine she found on her suspect stayed on her suspect," he stated disdainfully.

Officer Blair returned the stare with equal venom. Then her eyes widened. "Wait! He bumped into a brown-haired guy just outside the station--maybe he passed it to him!"

The psychiatrist felt a cold lump settle low in her abdomen. "A brown-haired man in his early thirties, wearing an indigo plaid shirt and a worn-out brown trench coat?"

"That's him," the younger woman confirmed.

Damn. Richter closed her eyes with a silent groan. Chance, what have you gotten yourself into now?

Chance's apartment

"Well, Mr. Harper, I don't know what to say," Giovanetti replied calmly after Chance had finished his story.

Jenkins, meanwhile, was staring at the photographer with an absolutely flabbergasted expression. Chance resisted a smile, his eyes wandering to the serene face of the other criminal. Wonder if he deals with this sort of thing as often as I do? he wondered. Now that would be something!

"While you're deciding, can I at least take off my coat?" Chance asked. "I feel like a guest in my own home."

The other man smiled. "You can do whatever you want, Mr. Harper."

Chance stood and shrugged off the battered trench coat. Folding it over one arm, he started towards his bedroom. The canvas swung against his arm as he walked and the pocket hit him with a soft "pfft."

He stopped.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Harper?"

Instead of answering, Chance lifted the coat and stuffed one hand into the left-hand pocket. His fingers touched warm plastic. A bag and its powdery contents yielded under the pressure.

The photographer's mind spun for a moment in search, before finally latching onto the relevant memory. Damn. The guy at the station--

His face still grim, Chance pulled his hand out of the pocket and stared at the little packet of white powder in it.

Giovanetti's interest seemed to be immediately arrested. He stood and crossed the room to stand beside the other man. He took the bag and questioned Chance with his amused eyes.

"What's this?"

Parking lot
29th Precinct Station

Emerson shut the driver's door of her rental car a little too hard, Richter's words still ricocheting in her mind. Her memory summoned up an image of her partner from shortly before he'd gone under. Blue eyes danced with joy and one arm was slung casually around Kelly's shoulders...

Sue smiled--the engagement party.

That same honest enthusiasm had still been in his voice a week later, when he'd called to tell her he'd been selected for the undercover assignment. Before she'd set foot in the car that had brought them to this point, she'd never seen the moody, angry man her partner was now.

"God, Mark," she whispered to the empty vehicle. "What did Giovanetti do to you?"

Chance's apartment

"That's what I'd like to know," Chance admitted, staring at the bag.

Giovanetti peeled it carefully open and dipped one finger in the powder. He tasted the sample and nodded. "Cocaine."

The photographer snorted. "Just my luck," he murmured.

"You had this on you when the Feds took you in, and they let you go?" Jenkins asked in disbelief. "Man, you *are* lucky."

"That isn't mine," Chance argued with a shake of the head. "Some guy ran into me as I was coming outside. I thought he'd slipped something into my pocket, but I got distracted and forgot to check."

By this time, Giovanetti had sealed the bag shut again and was rubbing it between his fingers. He bounced it once or twice in his hand.

"Well, Mr. Harper, since I owe you my thanks for exposing the threat within my circle, I'm going to give you a second chance."

"Really." Chance's voice was bland.

The black-haired man nodded. He held out the packet. "This will cover part of the twenty thousand you owe me. I'll take it as contraband, and give you an opportunity to make up the difference."

"What makes you think I'd want it?"

"I read your arrest record before I came here today, Mr. Harper. You have quite an impressive ability to cast reasonable doubt."

The photographer winced.

"I can use someone with your gift for staying out of trouble."

Chance blinked. "I think you must have me mixed up with someone else."

The other man smiled. "Perhaps I should rephrase that. Your gift for *getting* out of trouble."

My innocence is what gets me out of trouble. Well, that and my luck, but it gets me *into* trouble too. "What exactly do you want me to do?" was the next wary question.

"I had an important business deal I was supposed to conduct a few days ago. Due to your interference, that transaction had to be postponed. I'd like to reschedule it, with you picking up and making the delivery instead of the man who would have betrayed me."