<div class="floatright">(http://i1133.photobucket.com/albums/m592/MistressofPen/Steph01.jpg) </div><strong>Character:</strong>Stephanie Kane<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Home; 63 Wall Street/0910<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Jeans, boots, sweater, scarf, leather jacket.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>All Present<br/><hr/><br/>The first indication that something wasn’t quite right was when the light on the alarm system was unlit.  Stephanie stared at the little box on the wall in her garage for a long moment before setting down her shopping bag and picking up a baseball.  She’d been a pitcher in high school and college and had a good aim.  And, a bat would take you too close for her tastes.<br/><br/>Opening the door into the kitchen, she saw a man who was vaguely familiar, but being out of place, she took a moment to recognize him.<br/><br/>“Ian?” she hissed, entering the kitchen and staring at the well-dressed man at her kitchen table.  He’d had the audacity to make himself a cup of coffee!  “What the hell…?”<br/><br/>“Good to see you, too,” the man said, taking a sip of the coffee.  “How’s the hunt going?”<br/><br/>“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen for anything else he might have done.<br/><br/>“Sit.  Let’s have a conversation.”<br/><br/>Stephanie’s eyes narrowed.  “That means you want to talk and me to shut-up.”<br/><br/>The man smiled minimally, but didn’t argue the point, simply gesturing to the chair across the table from him.<br/><br/>He shared with her the information that she had gathered on the people who had killed her parents and others like them.  He let her know that she’d been watched from that point.  And, he shared that he was the reason for her Air Force career’s demise.<br/><br/>“You are a pain in the ass,” he said, genially.  “You are single-minded, determined, and conniving.”<br/><br/>Stephanie started to deny the accusations, when he lifted his hand a fraction from the table, she fell silent, glaring.<br/><br/>“But, your ‘research’ you call it, sent us along the right line.”<br/><br/>“You aren’t telling me you have found the group responsible…”<br/><br/>The man looked down at the table, drew a breath and then looked at her from under his brow.  “No; I’m not telling you that,” he said, an inflection on “tell.”<br/><br/>Stephanie stared at him, her eyes searching his face.  She gave a small nod.<br/><br/>“I have a job offer for you…”<br/><br/>“But, my writing…”<br/><br/>He gave her a hard look.<br/><br/>“O.K.  So, the last book was a dud…”<br/><br/>He snorted.<br/><br/>“Editors suck,” she said, sitting back in her chair.  “What’s the job?”<br/><br/>The plan that was laid out had her first grinning, sure her leg was being pulled by the man she’d known as a “consultant” with credentials from an alphabet soup of government entities; all were false she’d found out.  But, as he talked, Stephanie began to believe him.  What other way could a group work than to be autonomous in the way that he described?  You flash credentials and you either lose credibility, become an instant target, or are feared so that nothing you learned could be accepted at face value.<br/><br/>“And, they aren’t to hunt jay-walkers or drug addicts?” she asked.<br/><br/>“Hardly.”<br/><br/>“Real work…”<br/><br/>“Serious work.  Eliminating targets.”<br/><br/>Stephanie took a moment to absorb the killing part.  “Can I trust you?” she asked.<br/><br/>The man’s face went blank and then he chuckled.  “No.”<br/><br/>She shrugged one shoulder.  “O.K.”<br/><br/>He nodded.  He placed a tablet on the table and told her to put her hand on it.  Then, he used what appeared to be a cell phone to take a photo of her eye.  And, then he packed up and was gone.<br/><br/>Stephanie watched him leave by the front door.  It seemed surreal.  She walked back to the kitchen and looked at the table and chuckled; he’d taken the cup with him.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>New York City<br/>April 15 -- 0910<br/>63 Wall Street<br/><br/>The feeling of country mouse in the city grew from the moment she landed at JFK to the time she reached the apartment building, her assigned destination. Not that she lived in the country.  But, the Redwoods made you feel rural even though San Jose was 5 minutes away.  She paused on the street, waiting for a break in traffic to turn the Kawasaki into the structure’s driveway.  She took a deep breath, focused on the traffic, picked a spot and shot through, earning a symphony of honks and a few single-finger salutes.  She grinned behind the face-plate and steered the Ninja away from the parking garage to a spot by the front doors.  She’d rented the Ninja in an effort to center herself.  After all, who didn’t get their head on straight whipping through a strange city on a motorcycle?  Also, being a bit of a speed freak, she’d managed to nearly make up the time that her flight was late.  She powered off the cycle, removed her gloves and then the helmet, tucking the gloves inside.  Stephanie unlocked the boot and hooked the rectangular fitting from her helmet over the inside bracket, replaced the cover, and effectively locked her helmet to the bike.<br/><br/>She had a serious case of helmet head, but she was late.  Kicking the stand into place, Stephanie beeped on the alarm and then hurried into the building.  She glanced at the lobby and went directly to the elevator; it was nice, but not extravagant.  The penthouse had its own button and she rode up so fast she almost didn’t get her hair put back into a folded ponytail before the doors opened.  Dragging her scarf from around her neck, she shoved it into one of the pockets of the leather jacket as she walked to the lone door, and the security panel beside it.<br/><br/>Prepared by the events that had taken place in her home, Stephanie looked at the panel and placed her hand on the scanner and looked into the other, retinal scanner.  The door to the penthouse opened to her touch and she pushed the door open before entering fully.<br/><br/>It was beautiful; un-lived-in pristine, kind of cold.  The wood floors were nice, she mused, looking around at the dark furnishings.  She walked a few steps inside, glanced around, and stared at the view from the huge windows.<br/><br/>“Sonofabitch,” she breathed out, looking at the other towering buildings.  She didn’t have time to gawk.  She could hear others in the apartment.  She walked quickly towards the sounds, past a pool table and the kitchen, then to a hallway with numerous doors. The space had obviously been remodeled.  Making her way along the hall, she reached a door that was open and looked in.<br/><br/>It looked like a small conference room.  Others were there ahead of her.  She knew she was late and she was not going to apologize for that.  Not knowing what to expect, Stephanie remained stoic; a small nod to the others and then she noticed the “place cards” in the form of labeled black boxes sitting on envelopes.  Moving around the table, she came to her name on one of the boxes and stopped, next to the man who had eaten something.<br/><br/>“Hi,” she said, glancing at those assembled.  “I’m Kane,” she said with a slight nod of her head to the box.<br/>