This chapter includes Prompt 3 - Your character has an extreme feeling that something is not right.

Dane sat for a while staring out into the night. He did not like this at all. Learning that his friend and employer was CIA was a tough blow to absorb. Was that even true? What would his niece have to do with the CIA, and Doc had insisted he go through with it - his niece for Christ's sake? Something definitely stank about the whole deal.

He started the car and drove home. With the papers spread across the coffee table he sipped a fresh vodka, and read every word in detail. The timeline was a puzzler - three days. Why? Too many whys.

He picked up the picture of the young woman. She was smiling into the camera and her whole face was involved - lips, eyes, cheeks, and even a tiny dimple took part. Her brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, with a wisp hanging down in front of one ear. He sipped the drink and stared at the photo.

Something wriggled around in his mind and down his back - a sure sign his gut was waving a red flag. What would the government want that would drive Doc to waste his own niece? He tossed the picture aside and sat up. This was not on. He would call Sanford and tell him he was sending the material back.

They could get someone else. Swearing, he picked up the photo and stood looking at the face. Shit, Chase. You're gonna meet her, aren't you? You jerk! He groaned aloud. That meant breaking rule number one - never any social contact with a target.

After a moment of mental arguing, he reconciled the action and put everything away except the picture, then lay back on his sofa and perused every detail of the woman's features again. Tomorrow, Miss Regan.

******

Paula Regan left the meeting feeling all eyes on her back. Another stormy outbreak by Sanford Whitthall had forced her to accept failure for her proposal to run more trials before applying to the CDER (Centre for Drug Evaluation and Research). She knew she was right in demanding more evidence that the drug was effective, and safe, before rushing to market. No amount of pleading was going to budge the board - particularly Sanford - and she was tired of the verbal abuse for standing in the way.

She went to her office, locked her papers in the safe, grabbed her coat and purse and started out of the building. The elevator doors opened, and four men got out, two in military uniform. Paula stepped inside and pushed the button, watching an argument break out as the doors closed.

Outside, she stood at the curb and hailed a cab, and when it pulled up, a man reached for the door at the same time as she.

"I'm sorry, I was waving back there." He gave her a pleasant smile and held the door. "Would you object to sharing, I have business that needs prompt attention, and taxis seem to be at a premium here today?"

Paula hesitated and then thought, what the hell, the day couldn't get any worse by sharing a cab.

"Sure, that's fine. I hope we're going in the same direction."

"We are." He had learned Paula Regan didn't drive, and after discovering that she was on her way out of the building, the taxi driver he had paid to wait outside was alerted.

Dane gave the driver an address and sat back waiting for her outburst. It came almost instantly as the cab pulled away, and he placed a firm hand on her arm, keeping her still.

"It would be better all around, Miss Regan, if you relaxed and let me explain."

"Do I know you? How do you know my name? What is this? Stop this taxi immediately!"

"It will stop when we reach our destination, so please, just relax. You aren't in any danger . . . here."

"I beg your pardon? What do you mean - here?"

Dane turned his attention to the window and let her bang on the driver partition to no avail. When the taxi finally stopped, Paula tried the door handle but the child lock came on, and she was forced to exit on the same side as Dane. He held her arm, slapped the roof of the cab, and waited until it drove away.

"You are in some big trouble, Mister if you don't let go of me right now."

"Miss Regan, it's you that is in big trouble, and I am trying to see that you come out unharmed."

"What are you talking about? Where are you taking me?"

"That little diner across the street makes a mean cup of coffee. We can sit comfortably, in private, enjoy a cup, and I will explain everything."

******

More threats and objections had rained down on him, but in the end she allowed him to lead her to the diner and take a booth.

"I'm waiting."

"No you aren't, actually," he smiled, "you're pushing pretty hard."

"Listen-"

"Chase. Dane Chase, Miss Regan."

"Listen, Mr. Chase-"

"No, you listen, Miss Regan." He leaned back as two coffees arrived, and the pot was left on the table. "I know what's going on with your company, and how you are at loggerheads with your board - particularly one Sanford Whitthall."

She gawked. "What has that got to do with you, and how do you know this?"

He fixed his coffee and stirred it slowly, watching the fire dance in her eyes. When he didn't answer, she gulped a mouthful of her own, dabbed her mouth and prepared another salvo.

"Because," he pre-empted her, "I was hired by Sanford Whitthall to remove you as an obstacle to his plans."

Paula stared. Her expression altered with each random thought firing through her head about his statement. There he sat, calmly, smiling pleasantly, and telling her he- he . . . he what, exactly?

"I beg your pardon?"

"I think you heard me, Paula - may I call you Paula?"

"What? No! You can call me a cab and we can end this bizarre situation."

"I think you may want to hear me out. It also involves your uncle."

******

The coffee was cold, and Paula's earlier objections had jelled into a hollow defiance. The facts he chose to reveal had been laid out so sparingly, with no regard for feelings, she felt the threat of tears, and struggled to hold them back.

"I see two options, Paula. One, I carry out the contract as requested, with the exception that I fake the suicide and you go into hiding until it's safe to come out - or - we both go into hiding right now and play the rest by ear."

"By ear . . . how do I even know you're telling me the truth?"

"Why would I not? It would be easier for me to just kill you and move on. I don't need the trouble not killing you is going to bring."

The argument made sense, she guessed. He was offering to save her from being murdered - by him. But why would they go to such lengths? Surely it can't be just about this particular drug - the company had gone through lots of delays for re-testing and human trials.

"If I agreed with you, which option would you choose?"

"The second." No delay answering. "Less work. Less chance of error, and no racing against time."

She chewed at her lip, and fiddled with the coffee cup. "What if I called my uncle and asked him to explain-"

"No way. Doc would make a decision, if he hasn't already, and that could end all our options except the original one, and I think we agree, you wouldn't like that one. What else is Rytex up to that would generate concern over these three days?"

"Who's Doc?" She waved a hand, her eyes closing while she ran back over his words.

"Your uncle, Doctor Emile Regan."

"He's a doctor? Doctor of what?"

"Are you kidding me? Your own uncle and you don't know what he is?"

"As far as I knew, he was a teacher at some institute."

Chase sat up, moving his cup aside. "What institute? What does he teach?"

"I thought you said he was a doc-"

"What does he teach?"

"I don't really know. The family mentioned one time that it was a government institute - something about technical intelligence." Paula hedged.

Chase shook his head. "So he did tell me the truth . . . that son-of-a-bitch!"

"Excuse me?"

"An awful lot of doubts I had just became very clear." He gave a sardonic laugh.

"Well not for me." She snapped angrily.

"Miss Regan, your uncle is CIA, and they are involved with Rytex."