Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

Decades ago, back when Michele had decided she wanted to be a nurse, she had also made a "to do"-list. It contained all the things she wanted to do in her professional life and things she definitely didn't want to do.

Now, it was not a "next step on the career ladder"-list – in two years I want to be married to the resident surgeon, in five years I want to be head nurse…

Michele called it "List of Rules" and it still existed, tucked away in some drawer, underneath a couple of old diaries and letters she had received back when people actually wrote letters.

Rule number one was "Always listen to the patients." Rule number two was "Hopeless cases deserve attention, too. " Just because someone was beyond rescue and definitely going to die didn't meant he deserved to be ignored cause it wouldn't matter anyway.

All in all she had drafted eighteen rules. Over the years not all had turned out to be practicable, some just took away too much energy from her, drained her emotionally, invaded her private life too far…

But rule number one had always remained on top of the list.

Which was exactly why she was in this mess right now.

She had lost track of time soon after her second incarceration. This place was a lot better insulated than the last cell. No noises helping her to figure out where she was and if it was day or night. Her only orientation were the regular meals, but they gave her no clue about the time – sometimes she got scrambled eggs and toast three times in a row, then half a dozen meals that all pointed at lunchtime… Michele had the feeling that Russian was enjoying her disorientation and loved enhancing it with little psychological tricks.

Gosh, did she hate that guy. He had never laid as much as a finger on her, but the way he looked at her… like a farmer would look at a porker, calculating how much money he'd get once it was time for the trip to the slaughter house.

And all of that because she had adhered to rule number one…

"Oh Kitty", she thought, curling up into a tight ball on her mattress, imagining she was lying in Hank's arms, "I wish you had just shut up…"

… … …

"Remember Jennings?", Winston asked the others, showing them the message he had received. "The larger criminal conglomerate his organization was only a part of? With the Basil on top and someone trying to take him down, but nobody knew who?"

His friends all nodded in unison. The name Basil had stuck, especially after the Jennings lead had turned out to be a dead end. Ambushing Jennings' stash house under great risk and then finding Michele's cell empty, that had been quite a blow, to all of them…

"Apparently whoever tried to take the Basil down had an accomplice. Young hooker named Kitty Briano. She was badly hurt shortly after the assassination attempt on the Basil, in an apparently unrelated car accident", Winston continued.

"Let me guess, she was admitted to Michele's ward?" Chance was beginning to see a picture.

"Where she died during her first night…", Winston nodded. "Looks like she made some sort of confession first, though… Michele has a couple of rules she strictly adheres to. Number one is Always listen to the patients. I can imagine her sitting at her bed, holding her hand…" His voice trailed off. Ilsa lightly put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"If the girl confessed, she put Michele into a very dangerous position…" Chance used his fingers to make the sheer number of people who were probably after the knowledge Michele possessed visible to the others. "The person behind the attack on the Basil, the Basil himself, his loyal followers and the others who are contending for the throne but agreed upon waiting till the boss bit the dust without assistance…"

"Back when you and Baptiste were caught in that jungle with Ash's grandf…"

A withering look from Chance stopped Ames in mid-sentence.

"With Joubert", she quickly corrected herself. "That woman, Anna…"

"Araña", Chance grumbled, slightly irritated without really knowing why. Absentmindedly he tugged at the wristband of his watch.

"Anyway, she wanted to auction you off, right? To the highest bidder who then could do with you whatever he pleased, kill you, torture you…"

"What's your point, Ames?" Winston was grumbling now, too, and not slightly.

"Did I get that right, according to the message that Innokentij guy wants to auction off Michele to the highest bidder because she knows something nobody else does?"

"Innokentij Krektovic." Guerrero showed them a blurred picture on the conference room's monitor. "He took over горизонт from Bogdan…" With a swish of his hand, he revealed a rough sketch of Innokentij's multiple layered organization on the screen.

For a moment they were all silent.

Finally Chance turned to Winston. "We're going to get her back, no matter what", he said quietly.

… … …

Innokentij didn't like getting disturbed while doing paperwork. Granted, if he was honest with himself, it was the paperwork he didn't like, an annoyance he took out on everyone unfortunate enough to stumble into his office at the wrong time.

On this occasion, however, he was willing to put mercy before justice.

Krystof, one of his closest employees – a little too close, actually, he might have to shoot him soon to make sure he wouldn't try to take his place one day, it's what Innokentij would do – was smiling at him like the proverbial cat after swallowing the proverbial canary.

Oh, he was proud of himself.

And rightfully so.

"Where did you get this?" Truly fascinated, Innokentij looked over the contents of the envelope spread out on his desk once more. His eyes were gleaming with delight.

"The woman foolishly put it into a safe deposit box. At a bank. And thought it was safe."

They both shared a laugh.

Foolish indeed.

Then Innokentij reread the shorter letter again.

Dear Chance…

Oh, this was gold.