8 comments/ 25204 views/ 4 favorites Period of Adjustment Ch. 05-08 By: coaster2 Part 2 of 4 My thanks to ErikThread and DaveT for their helpful and thorough editing. Any errors are mine alone. * Chapter 5: Back in the Saddle I don't think I've ever felt so inadequate and ill-prepared for sex as I did that night. Thankfully, Natasha understood. Although it had been some time since she had been with a man, it was nothing like the years I had been celibate. I was beginning all over again. Natasha, however, knew how to get things under control. I'd hardly begun after we'd undressed when Natasha made sure I understood she wanted oral sex. I had been caressing her lovely breasts and kissing her gently until she pushed my shoulders downward toward her completely shaved pussy. It was an irresistible invitation. There are some things you don't forget. Cunnilingus is one of them. I took my time and within a couple of minutes I could detect her hips starting to react to the stimulation. As I continued, she became more animated and then vocal. Not words, but grunts, moans, and gasps. I kept at it until she let me know she'd had enough and wanted me in her. I was careful not to just ram into her, despite the instinct to do just exactly that. I remembered how out of control I could get when the stimulus was right. I was doing all I could to hang on that first time. I only partially succeeded. Natasha looked after the rest. After emptying myself into her, I collapsed beside her, about to apologize when she put her finger to my lips to silence me. "I know. Next time it will be better," she promised. And it was. She used her lips and tongue and soft hands to revive me a few minutes later. But Natasha had a different expectation of me. "Nail me, Nathan. Do me hard. I want your hard cock pounding me. Do it!" she ordered. It didn't require any thinking. It was an instinctive reaction to her demand. It was furious few minutes that tested my fitness to its extreme. Natasha reacted just as wildly, slapping my ass, gripping my arms when she couldn't get purchase on my hair. She was reacting to a primal urge that drove her onward with me. I have no idea if she orgasmed. I couldn't tell from the wild gyrations she was going through. When it ended, I collapsed onto my side while we both tried to suck air into our scorched lungs. However long we had be fucking, it was at the limits of my physical endurance, despite my coveted fitness. And it was fucking. No resemblance to making love. Just fucking ... and I loved it. "There ... that got it ... out of our systems," she panted. I snorted some sort of laugh. "Yeah ... it did that all right. Was this your plan all along?" "Sort of. You said you'd hadn't even kissed a woman since you'd been married, so I figured it was going to be hard for you to be in control. We both needed some release, so ... what the hell ... I just thought we might as well let it all hang out." "I don't know if I could handle a steady diet of this." "How about just once in a while ... a wild while?" "Yeah ... could be fun. But ... that kind of brings up a question." "I suppose it does. You're wondering what happens when we get back to Canada." "Yes ... but ... I think we should just see how things go for the rest of the trip. No need to rush into anything. I've been out of circulation for a long time, and I don't know if I'm going to be very good at rational decision making for a while." "You want to test-drive some others?" It was a smart-alec question. "Uh ... no. Just want to get accustomed to having a bedtime companion." "That's a nice way to put it. So much better than a fuck buddy." I could tell she was teasing. "You weren't expecting this, were you?" "No ... not at all. You surprised me. I didn't have any time to think about it." "Let's get some sleep, Nathan. We've got another long drive tomorrow." And with that, she rolled on her side and pulled the covers up. I snuggled in behind her naked body and pulled her to me. It brought back memories, memories that once I had tried to expunge. All the same, I drifted off to sleep quickly. When I awoke at my usual time, it was just beginning to get light. The sun was still behind the mountains to the east. I eased myself out of the bed without disturbing Natasha. She looked beautiful as she slept. I dressed quietly, wrote a short note, and let myself out of the room as silently as I could. There was beach access next to the motel, and I walked down to the sandy-pebbly shore. The waves quietly lapped near my feet, and I felt the peacefulness of an early Saturday morning. Very few cars and trucks were rushing along the highway. As I walked, it gave me time to think. Think about last night. Think about Natasha. Think about tomorrow, when we would be back in Canada. I couldn't presume to stay with her. Not yet. She was getting to me, I knew. I'd only had this happen to me once before, and that turned out to be a mistake. Was this a mistake waiting to happen? Too soon to tell. Take it as it comes, I admonished myself. Yeah. Easier said than done. I was all set to propel this relationship ... if that's what it was. I walked back to the motel, my mind wandering as I hit the asphalt. As I walked by my car, something caught my eye. It took less than a second to notice, but one of my tells had been disturbed. I continued walking, concentrating on not paying any attention to the Taurus. I slipped the card into the lock as casually as I could and entered the room. I heard the shower running and quickly moved to the closet. I pulled out my clothes and packed them in my bag. I gathered up Natasha's, and as carefully as I could, I packed them in her suitcase, trying desperately to dream up a story I could tell her to cover my actions. We had to get out of there and it had to be soon. It was all I could do to patiently wait for her to finish in the bathroom. When I heard the hair dryer, I assumed she was nearly done. It wasn't long afterward that she came out, wrapped in a towel. "I hope you don't mind, I put your things in your suitcase as neatly as I could. I thought we could get an early start and have breakfast up the road a bit," I explained. It sounded lame, especially to me. "What the rush?" She looked curious rather than upset. "Just thought we could make some early time and then knock off earlier this afternoon." It was the best I could think of at the time. She shrugged. "Okay ... but I'd sure like a coffee before we get too far." "There's an espresso shack across the highway. Why don't I get a couple to go while you're finishing up here?" She told me how she wanted her latté as I made for the door and ran across the highway to the shack. I wasn't gone five minutes by my estimation, and I'd had my eye on the door to both our rooms the entire time. No one had been visible anywhere near the rooms or the car. I began to wonder if something else had knocked the "tell" off its perch. I opened the car and gave it an inspection as I put the two paper cups in the front seat cup holders. I was fairly sure neither the hood nor the trunk had been opened. Maybe someone just brushed up against the car by accident, rocking it enough to cause the upset. I tried to cool down and think rationally. Who knew I was here? I couldn't find any evidence of a locator device. Just the same, my senses were all on full alert. I went back into the room and found Natasha waiting for me, ready to go. I took her suitcase and my bag, and put them into the trunk. I had enough little bits scattered around to let me know if it had been invaded. Nothing was out of place. Again, no evidence that it had been tampered with As I pulled out onto 101, I was beginning to breathe a little easier. Maybe it was my overactive imagination, but something wasn't right. I would be on guard for the rest of the trip, that was a given. I even debated abandoning the car and finding another way to Vancouver, but that was just going to create more questions than answers. The last thing I needed was a nervous Natasha when we crossed the border. If she had been suspicious with my behavior, she didn't show it. She sipped her coffee, made some small talk as we headed north and generally appeared to be relaxed. In the meantime, I was watching my rear view mirror for any sign of a tail. There was none. When we got to Port Orford, we found a small café and stopped for breakfast. We sat at a table that gave me a good view of both the car and the highway, but I saw nothing that was remotely suspicious. The traffic was exceptionally light for an early weekend morning. I almost made a decision to leave Hwy 101 at Bandon and cut across to I-5, but figured I had more options on my original coastal route, so I stuck with it. It wouldn't arouse any suspicion in Natasha either. This was the way I told her we would go. I kept a close eye on my rear view mirror still, but nothing untoward caught my attention. We made an early lunch stop at Newport, allowing me to leave the highway for a while. When I turned off, there was no one behind me, and I hoped that would be the end of my concern. We found a nice restaurant in the lower town, and had a light lunch before leaving to return to the highway. I filled the tank at a local station, so we were good for the rest of the day. I had planned to stop in Tillamook for the night, but now I was pondering whether we might push on to Portland. It would make tomorrow's drive that much shorter. The route to the big city was less than a three hour drive, so with Natasha's approval, we set out for Portland. We would be less visible in the city. I found a decent motor inn off the I-205 bypass, and we checked in just after three-thirty. This time, there was no pretense. We rented only one room. I flicked on the TV as Natasha was unpacking, and found a local college football game in progress. I was wondering if I hadn't made a mountain out of a molehill today with my worries over someone following us. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that something wasn't right, but I couldn't put my finger on a single thing other than the one disturbed "tell." Natasha, it turned out, liked football, so she was fine with my program choice. In the meantime, I had neither showered nor shaved today, so I took my kit into the bathroom and restored my personal grooming. So far, I had done all the driving and Natasha hadn't volunteered. I didn't mind. She was a good passenger and companion on this trip. She was enjoying the scenery, and seemed quite satisfied with the status quo. The desk clerk had suggested a couple of restaurants she said were highly recommended by numerous guests. She mentioned one off S.E. Division, just a few blocks east of the motel. I made a note of it and wondered if we should make a reservation. Perhaps later. The room was set up with two queen size beds, a sofa bed, two tub chairs, a desk and chair set, and a wardrobe closet housing the TV and three drawers. Natasha was sitting in one of the tub chairs watching the TV, while I lay on the nearby bed, my head propped up on two pillows. It couldn't have been much of a game because before I knew it, I was asleep. When I awoke, Natasha was beside me, watching a movie. She looked down at me and smiled as I came to. "Welcome back. You must have been tired. I'm sorry I didn't offer to drive. That was thoughtless of me." I yawned and stretched. "No problem. What time is it?" "Almost six. You've been out two hours. I hope that restores your energy levels for tonight." Her grin confirmed my expectations. "Couldn't hurt. Where do you want to eat? We had an early lunch today." "Why don't we try that place the desk clerk suggested ... the Ranch House, I think she said." "Sure. I wouldn't mind a steak and potato meal. How about you?" "I'm hungry. Let's go," she said, hopping off the bed. By the time I'd destroyed a ten ounce New York Strip, a baked potato, Caesar salad, and two glasses of Cabernet, I was feeling pretty good. Natasha had been a little less aggressive with a small filet, rice, and some coleslaw. She was still working on her first glass of wine, so we mutually agreed she would be the designated driver. When we strolled out of the restaurant later, I gave the car a careful once-over without being obvious about it. Everything seemed okay. I had almost convinced myself to dismiss my concerns as unfounded. When we arrived at the motel, I gave Natasha the room card and she gave me my car keys. I wanted to set up a different set of tells and I made the excuse I was just going to check the engine oil. The engine was too hot to get at my Glock without crawling under the car. I would rather not have to access it until I was back in Canada, but if I saw anything out of place tomorrow morning, it would be the first thing I would retrieve. In the back of my mind, I was still uneasy with what I had discovered that morning. It might be nothing, but I was taught that there are few coincidental occurrences. On the other hand, I had seen nothing that would indicate I was being followed. I returned to the room and found Natasha sitting on the sofa bed, watching TV. The show looked like a sit-com, and I sat beside her, trying to pay attention. When the commercial came on, she rolled over and straddled me, her face barely an inch from mine. We were kissing in an instant, and my hands were roving over her back. It took a moment before I realized she was no longer wearing a bra. "Much more comfortable, Nathan," she whispered. I tugged at the bottom of the cotton pullover and raised it above her head. She helped me get rid of it. I intended to pay close attention to her breasts, and she was in favor of that as soon as I began. Natasha's breasts were not large, more medium size, I suppose. They were firm and the nipples were prominent. I nipped and pulled at them with my lips when I wasn't tickling them with the tip of my tongue. She was telling me how much she liked what I was doing. "Do my pussy, Nathan. I want you to do the same thing to my pussy," she begged. Always one to want to please a lady, I helped her out of her short skirt and panties before I moved to her shaved mons. She slouched back on the sofa and spread her legs in anticipation of my attack. I had satisfied her last night, but then we hadn't spent very much time at it. She had been anxious to have me in her. Tonight, I would try and set the pace of our adventure. I took my time, and as I did, I used every move I had ever learned to bring her pleasure. It didn't take me long to get confirmation that she was happy with what I was offering. I continued with my various moves until she grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up. She undid my belt and quickly stripped the pants and undershorts down, giving her access to my very erect cock. I was determined that we wouldn't engage in the uncontrolled fuck-fest we had last night. I wanted something more meaningful. I disengaged from her and stood, removing my shoes, socks, shorts and pants before pulling my polo shirt over my head. I held out my hands, and she rose as I led her to the bed. The fact that I was acting calmly must have contributed to her reaction as well. I took my time as I laid her on the bed and then, climbing over her, entered her slowly, almost gently. Natasha reacted just the way I hoped she would. She gave a sigh of satisfaction as I began to pump slowly and deeply into her. This was so much more erotic and sensual than last night. We were making love, and it felt just right. We spent the rest of the evening exploring each other, trying different moves and positions, but never losing control. It went on and on, with her reviving me after our resting periods. I lost count of how many times we made love. Natasha was quiet when she orgasmed. It was hard to tell when she did, so I wasn't sure how often I had satisfied her, but I got the idea she was content. We fell asleep naked with the lights on and only a sheet covering us. Sometime during the night, I woke up and headed to the bathroom. When I got back, I turned out the lights and pulled the light blanket up over the sheet. Natasha hadn't moved a muscle. My eight year hiatus from sex had come to an end. The trouble was, I was going to hunger for it every night. You can't just dangle a steak in front of a starving man, and then only let him have one small bite. That just makes the craving worse. In my opinion, that's what having Natasha for only two nights was like. I wanted more and I wanted it very much. If not her, then some other woman. I needed to replenish my sex deficiency. When I woke at my usual time, Natasha was pushed back into me, and my morning woodie was nicely nested between her butt cheeks. She smelled sexy as hell, and I was softly stroking her breasts, lightly playing with her nipples. I could feel her begin to stir, probably reacting to the stimuli I was providing. I had my hips moving slightly, my cock sliding between those lovely globes, and the tip just touching her pussy lips. Soon enough, she reached back and grabbed my cock, guiding it to her and rubbing the head along her slit. The effect was electric. I couldn't stop myself from pushing forward and entering her and she couldn't stop herself from pushing back. In less than a minute, we were going at it pretty good. I rolled up on top of her, pulling her hips toward me and began to pick up the pace. I was getting a lot of encouragement from Natasha. "Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah ... do me baby ... do me." Again, her orgasms were subtle, but she assured me that they were just fine, thank you very much. We kept at it for several minutes until I knew it was going to come to an end. "I'm coming soon, girl. Soon!" I cried. I let loose seconds later. I heard a sigh of contentment from my partner, and that was as much as I could hope for. We lay in each other's arms for several minutes before Natasha stirred. She leaned over and gave me one of her molten kisses before getting up and padding to the bathroom. I made a quick check of my car, waiting until I heard the toilet flush. A minute or so later, the shower was turned on. I slid out of bed and followed her. We met in the shower. She got me up, and we had another little session under the warm water. One hell of a way to start the day. A quick breakfast in the motel's restaurant and we were on the road northbound. The freeway was almost deserted this Sunday morning, and we made exceptional time to our ten o'clock rest stop in Olympia. A coffee to go and we switched drivers. Natasha took over until our lunch break near Everett. We switched drivers again until Bellingham, when Natasha convinced me she knew a quicker way across the border. She took a right turn and drove straight north on State 539 to a small two lane border crossing. We showed our passports, had nothing to declare, and were through and into B.C. in a matter of five minutes. Less than an hour later, we were pulling up to Natasha's apartment building in Burnaby. It was just coming up three-thirty in the afternoon. Along the way, Natasha made it clear that I would be staying with her, even if only in the short term. Despite my hunger for a regular bedmate, I was a bit concerned about moving in with her. We still hardly knew each other, although you wouldn't know it the way we had acted in the past two days. It was hard to argue her logic. I didn't have a reservation at a hotel. I didn't have any relatives or friends in the area. I did enjoy being with her in the past three days. What's the problem, she asked? I really couldn't come up with a good argument. Mind you, I wasn't trying very hard. Chapter 6: Road to the Future I couldn't blame Natasha from being curious. She wanted to know what I was going to do with myself. I didn't have a job and I didn't express any plan to go look for one. I had to convince her that I wasn't about to sponge off her. I would pay my way ... and then some, if she'd let me. I wondered if she thought I might be involved in some criminal activity, despite the fact that on more than one occasion, I had assured her I was not. Period of Adjustment Ch. 05-08 She went off to work on Monday morning and gave me a spare key to the apartment. She only had one underground secure parking spot, so I was forced to use the street for the time being. That made me very uncomfortable, particularly in an area where car theft was a common occurrence. I made a couple of decisions when she had left for the day. First, I stopped at a large shopping mall and bought a cheap sport bag. Next, I found a secluded place in an area some distance from the apartment. It was an abandoned industrial site. I made sure I was out of sight when I removed the Glock, the ammunition and the five remaining bundles of cash. Everything went into the sport bag. After finding a small ceiling hatch in the hall closet in Natasha's apartment, I put the bag up there, making sure I left no evidence that I had been there. Then, I went back to my car and started searching out car dealers in the area. I found several, and after perusing their used car inventories, I bought a nearly new Nissan Maxima in trade for the Taurus and some cash. I used Taggart's compensation fund for the first time. By noon hour I had my stash secured, and a new car, fully licensed and insured. I decided to drive into the city as see just what Vancouver was all about. I discovered that it was all about traffic. By trial and error I found Grandville Island and spent most of the afternoon there. I headed back for Natasha's place just before five. When I let myself into her apartment, she was already home. I was greeted like a man just coming home to his wife. A nice big kiss and a "how was your day?" I told her about the new car and she wanted to see it. She liked the Maxima. Very sexy, she thought. She drove a fairly new VW Beetle Convertible, a chickmobile in my opinion. She made a nice, simple dinner for us with a glass of wine to complement it, and we sat down to eat. When I tried to talk to her about my looking for an apartment, she wouldn't hear of it. As far as she was concerned, I was staying with her. I thought about it, voicing my concerns about her privacy, giving her some space, and my being someone new in her life, but it was to no avail. She was determined, and to tell the truth, I wasn't that upset. I was looking forward to continuing our intimate relationship. I had a lot of catching up to do. It took me a little while to track him down, but I finally located an old acquaintance of mine from Interpol. Harold Sinden had retired to start his own private investigation firm in Vancouver. He was a very cool, savvy operative, and if he ran his business like he performed his job, he would be a monster success. He called his agency Orca Investigations, and their number was prominent in the yellow pages. "Harold Sinden, please," I said to the receptionist. "Who may I say is calling?" "Just tell him it's Rocky." I heard her switch the call, and after a moment, the ring tone. "Colin? Is that you?" "Yeah. Back from the dead, Harold," I chuckled. "Bloody hell, mate! It's good to hear your voice. Where are you?" "I'm here." "Can we meet? Are you okay?" "Yeah, so far. No sign of problems. Fancy a pull at a local?" "Took the words right outta me mouth, son. Pig and Whistle at half three?" "Fine, see you there," I agreed, and hung up. Old habits die hard: short phone calls with little unnecessary conversation. I picked up the phone book, checked the yellow pages for downtown pubs, and found The Pig and Whistle. I tapped in the address on the Maxima's GPS screen, and set out following the voice instructions. Harold had changed very little in the nearly ten years since I'd seen him last. His British midlands accent had faded some. Tall, over six feet, lean, gray combed back hair. Cold blue eyes that saw everything. He held out his hand to me and pulled me in for a hug. He was that kind of guy. Cold when he had to be, and warm when he allowed himself to be. I trusted him above anyone I knew. Only Anwar Muktiar, Denis Simard and his wife Cassie ranked at the same level of confidence. We took a seat in the far corner of the room. There were few people in the bar at mid-afternoon and we could talk in relative privacy. "How are you, Colin," Harold asked as we ordered our drinks. "Not bad. Angry, as you can guess, but otherwise, not bad." "I'm still shaking my head about how they dropped you in it. Their best operative and they treat you like dirt. Thank god Taggart's gone." "Taggart's gone! What the hell?" "Of course, you wouldn't know. Sorry. They gave him a golden parachute. It might as well have been made of lead. He didn't last a week." "What the hell are you talking about Harold?" "He dropped dead of a heart attack working in his back yard. His wife was with him. He was gone before the paramedics got there." "Shit! Miserable bastard can still get to me, even when he's dead." "What are you talking about?" "I was going to harass him just to get even for what he did to me and my family. Now ...." I left it at that. "Colin, it's over now. Done. He's gone, and you've got the rest of your life ahead of you. Do yourself a favour and forget him." "When did all this happen? I had a meeting with him just two weeks ago." Harold laughed out loud. "So you're the one! I heard he was so upset that he nearly had a stroke. Anyway, he was given the boot on Wednesday last, and he died on Sunday afternoon." "Where the hell are you getting all this information from?" I was curious just how Harold would know so quickly. He tapped the side of his nose and said nothing. I knew better than to probe any further. It would be futile. I sat silently for a while, sipping my beer and thinking. What now? It was time to change the subject. "How are Dorothy and the kids?" "Fine. She's happy here, and the children come across to see us once a year or so. We should have grandchildren soon." "Good to hear it." "Do you have any plans, Colin?" This wasn't an innocent question from Harold. "No. I'm not in any rush. I'm flush. However, you should know I'm currently going about as Nathan Poirier. Nathan doesn't have a criminal record. I'm staying with a woman I met in California. She has an apartment in Burnaby. I'll probably stick with my new identity." "What about your parents? Have you seen them yet?" "No. They never came to see me in prison. I don't know why. Perhaps they've disowned me ... the wayward son. Just like Elise." "I heard. She's disappeared. Not on anyone's radar right now. Your parents moved, I know. They've got a winter home in Florida, and they moved to someplace near Waterloo. Nice part of the country, I understand." "Where the hell did they get the money to buy a home in Florida? They win the lottery or something?" Harold shook his head. "Don't know, son. I expect they'll be heading down there soon. I'm sure I can find a phone number and address for you, if you like." "No ... that's fine. I can dig that up easily enough." I paused again, before changing the topic once more. "Something doesn't smell right, Harold. I'm not sure I wasn't being tailed in Oregon ... maybe even before then. I checked the car for tracking bugs, but couldn't find anything at all. Still, I think the car was disturbed at least once." "Things have changed in eight years, Colin. Technology has made another big jump while you were gone. Today's tracking device is a clear plastic patch, not much more than an inch square. Most often, it's hidden near the stem of the passenger side windshield wiper, down where the black mask on the windshield prevents you from seeing it from the inside. If you don't know where to look for it, you won't notice it." "Shit. I've probably been tracked since I bought that car. I'd better check the one I'm driving now." I was shaking my head. I wonder what other surprises were in store for me. "Don't worry too much about it, son. I'm pretty sure it was you former employer trying to keep tabs on you. The place is in turmoil right now. Several upper level bureaucrats went for the high jump with Taggart. They sent Singh off to India as security for the cultural liaison staff." "Who's running the show?" I asked, now intrigued with the changes. "Don't know yet. Denis Simard is heading up tactical, but I hear it's temporary. The rumour on the street is that the minister wants field experience at the top." "Well I'll be damned. They might accidentally do the right thing. I hope they make Denis's appointment permanent. There might be hope for CSIS yet." "So ... Colin ... if you haven't decided yet ... why don't you give coming to work here a thought? You'd fit right in." Harold had been after me in the past to work for him. "Things have changed in the past five years. We spend our efforts combating industrial crime. Besides, I'm now working internationally. I need someone who can operate in foreign countries. You've got that experience. I think you'd find this work rewarding, Colin." "I can't travel with my criminal record, Harold. I'd be no use to you." "No ... but Nathan whoever can." "My fingerprints will give me away." "Colin ... this isn't CSIS. This is industrial and commercial. Unless you get picked up by the police, fingerprints won't be an issue." I sat, looking down into my beer. Was this offer a way to a decent future? I couldn't see one as Colin Stewart ... not with my record. Perhaps I should take what I could get and not argue. I should be grateful that people like Harold wanted to help. I needed something to give my life some purpose. It would never again be about the money. That was all taken care of. Now, it was about self-worth. "Let's talk about it. I haven't had any offers lately that sound better." "Come to my office on Monday. I'll introduce you to some of my people and give you a walk around. You might find this more interesting than you think. At least come and have a look." I had no doubt about Harold's sincerity. I trusted him and I was confident I could work for him. I nodded my agreement. Chapter 7: Visitors "How was your day," Natasha asked as I stepped into the apartment. "Interesting. I met an old friend of mine and he offered me a job. I'm thinking I might take it." "Oh ... what kind of job?" I had her attention. "He runs a detective agency. He's going international and wants me to use my experience in catching commercial criminals. He made it sound interesting." "Oh ... is it dangerous?" "No, I don't think so. Most of what he described was theft, industrial espionage ... that sort of thing." "Are you sure you want to do that?" "Sure ... why not. It's something I was trained for ... in a way. Gathering intelligence, assessing information, separating the good guys from the bad guys. It's what I know." "Yeah. I suppose it is." Natasha seemed less than delighted with my potential new career. "You don't sound very happy about it," I said. Natasha was quick to deny. "No ... no ... It's not my decision anyway. You have to do what you think is right. What you'll be happy with." I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what she was thinking. We had become physically close in the past few days. The intimacy was one thing, but the personal closeness was different. We were still feeling each other out. Trying to understand if there was a future for us. I didn't know, and I was fairly sure Natasha didn't either. I walked to her and wrapped my arms around her. "What's wrong? You seem a bit down." "I keep wondering if one day you won't just disappear, just like you appeared." "Would that bother you?" "Yes ... of course it would. I don't just let anyone into my life." There was an unspoken message in that comment. "Why do you think I would just disappear?" She looked at me strangely, as if she was wondering what to say herself. It took her a moment before she spoke. "I know some things about you. I know you worked for CSIS. I know you were in prison for several years." I was caught completely off guard. "How do you know these things?" "Denis Simard told me." "How do you know Denis?" "I work for CSIS." I was stunned. I had been played like an amateur. My so-called skills had been useless to protect me from an easy intercept. Speechless, I moved back from her and dropped my arms to my side. I turned to the lounge chair and sat. "Denis will be here after supper. He needs to talk to you," she said in a quiet voice. She almost seemed afraid of me at that point. I sat in the chair, saying nothing, just staring at her. I didn't know whether to be hurt, angry, or relieved. Hurt that she had deceived me, angry that I had allowed her to get close to me, or relieved that our mutual deception was over. "Denis will explain everything when he comes, Nathan." She was still using that soft, quiet voice I had come to love. "Why do you still call me Nathan? You know my name is Colin." I wasn't irate ... but I wasn't very happy either. "I told you, I like that name. It suits the person I think you are. The person I've been with for the past week." "The person you've been controlling the past week, you mean." I was beginning to feel an anger building. I had been followed, tagged, and maneuvered like a steer on a cattle drive. There was nothing to feel good about with this turn of events. "I wasn't doing anything of the kind. I was there because I wanted to be with you. Once I knew you were coming here, my assignment was done. The rest of it was personal. We could track you anyway, but we wanted to know your destination, and if possible, your intent. You gave me both, and I had no reason not to believe you." I had my hands folded beneath my chin, watching her, trying to judge just how honest she was being. I really couldn't tell. At length, Natasha spoke. "Why don't we eat now? I've made supper and it's in the oven, waiting for us." I thought about it for a moment before I agreed. I stood and walked with her to the kitchen. We ate in silence, my mind trying to decide just how I felt about the events of the last seven days. I was thinking as much about Natasha as I was about the interception. I didn't work for CSIS any more, and I never intended to again. They couldn't be trying to retrieve the eight million I had extorted out of Taggart. Hell would freeze over before that happened. And I wasn't going back to jail. Not under any circumstances. What did Denis want? I barely heard the question she asked as we finished the meal. "Do you hate me, Nathan?" "No. You were just doing your job," I answered honestly. I had been in her situation before. I was curious though. "If you didn't have to accompany me, it puts a different colour on your behaviour. "It wasn't really my job. I just happened to be nearby. I work in Section One. We don't get involved in field work." "You did this time. Why did you agree to travel with me?" "I told you ... I was lonely. You were good company. I trusted you." "Is Natasha your real name?" "Yes." She stood to clear the table and as she did, the intercom buzzer sounded. Natasha put the dishes down and moved to the phone on the wall. "Hello?" She listened and then pushed the button for the lobby door release. "It's Denis. He will be here in a moment. He will want to talk to you alone, so I'll look after the dishes and then go the bedroom while you talk." I couldn't miss the look of sadness on her face. Two minutes later I heard the knock on the door and I walked to it. "Hello, Colin," Denis said with an understated smile. This didn't look like a social call. We had been very close; he and his wife, Cassie. It wasn't how I expected him to greet me after more than eight years. "Hi, Denis. Come in, please." We walked to the living room and Denis sat in the lounge chair, wearing a serious mask. "Can I get you a drink?" "Yes ... the usual, thanks." "Scotch, water, no ice," I remembered. I poured myself one as well. "It's been a long time, Denis. How's Cassie?" "She's fine. She sends her best." I nodded. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't an 'old pals get together for a drink' meeting?" "Colin ... I'm sorry to have to tell you this ... but ... your parents are dead." I sat there stunned into silence. My parents dead? How? When? I couldn't comprehend it. I had planned to find them and try to reconnect with them in a week or so. Bewildered, I didn't know what to say or where to start. I sank back on the sofa, tears beginning to well in my eyes. "There's no easy way to say this, Colin. They were murdered." Now I was really in turmoil. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't an act of God. Someone had taken their lives. Why? Denis sensed my frozen state and continued. "They were in their home in Sarasota. They had been tied to their kitchen chairs, facing each other. There were signs they had been ... interrogated." I finally found my voice. "How did they die?" "They were shot. One bullet in the head. I'm sure they never felt any pain." "Executed, you mean," I said, feeling the groundswell of anger building in me. "Yes." "Why?" "There's no evidence of anything being stolen. The place was undisturbed and there was no sign of a break in. They weren't there to steal," he said, his slight French accent still evident. "They were looking for you. When your parents couldn't tell them ... well, you can imagine the rest." I don't think I'd ever seen Denis look quite as pale and unhappy as he did at that moment. "Why me?" "We're sure it's the River Riders. After you fingered the killer of the boy, the SQ's moved in and raided their club houses. They got enough evidence to break the gang up into fragments. There are some old grudges out there. We believe they want you for 'demonstration purposes,' to make sure everyone knows what happens if you mess with them and their operations." "Pros?" "I'm sure that's right. We have picked some street noise that Marvin Warrington has been hired. He was last seen in the U.S., but he's dropped out of sight in the past two weeks. Your parents died sometime late last week, but weren't found until two days ago. The Sarasota County police are keeping a lid on this for now. The FBI has joined us in asking them to kill any publicity. It's being played like a domestic violence crime for the time being. "And you're here to warn me," I said finally. He nodded. "Where are my parents' bodies?" "They're in the county coroner's office until the autopsies are done. Then they will be shipped back to Kitchener. I'll let you know when that happens, but I don't think you should be involved. I'm sure someone will be watching for you." "Kitchener. Is that where they moved to from Ottawa?" "Yes. We suggested both they and your ex-wife should be less visible, just in case. When nothing happened for eight years, we thought they were safe. We should have guessed they might go after you when you got out. I'm sorry, Colin, I never wanted this to happen." "I know. I didn't expect anything either." I sat, lost in a tumble of unconnected thoughts. "I'll be packed and out of here in a half hour. I don't want to put Natasha at risk." "Don't jump to conclusions yet, Colin. They haven't found you and they don't have any leads. They don't know your new name, I'm betting." "You're betting with my life, Denis. And Natasha's. I don't like the odds. Besides, someone may have disturbed my car in Oregon. They may be closer than you think." Denis sat back and sipped his drink. "That was four days ago. If it was them, they'd have found you and tried to deal with you by now." I had never seen him this way before. He looked gray with worry. He really didn't know what to expect. Neither did I. But it was pretty certain I was targeted, and that whoever was after me would use any leverage to find me. It didn't look good for my future. Period of Adjustment Ch. 05-08 "You'd better look after Natasha," I said quietly. He nodded. "Stay here, Colin. We'll assign agents to watch the place. Do you have a gun?" "No," I lied. "Natasha does. I'll get you one. In the meantime, we've got agents watching Elise as well. I'd be surprised if they aren't looking for her. No one but Cassie and I know your whereabouts at CSIS, so there's no chance of a leak." I nodded, suddenly tired. I didn't like the way this was shaping up. My parents were dead before I could talk to them. I'd never be able to make it right with them. Never get them to understand I wasn't who they thought I was. We sat silently for a while. "How did they end up buying a house in Florida?" I finally asked. "Your dad and two of his army friends bought a double-wide in a mobile home park. Apparently it needed fixing up, but the park was nice and I guess they figured it was a good investment. There was enough room for all three families, but only your parents were there at the time. I think they were getting it ready for the winter season." "Fuck! How the hell would someone know that? Have you checked his friends?" "Yes. They're fine. I doubt they're in danger. They don't know anything about you." "What's the chance of finding Warrington?" "Maybe fifty-fifty. He's pretty unremarkable. I'm sure he'll be back in Canada, if not already here. We're checking all the border and airport security tapes. Sooner or later we'll track him down." "I'm counting on sooner, Denis." I couldn't help a worried smile. He nodded his agreement as he sipped on his scotch. Mine had been hardly touched. Suddenly, I didn't like the taste. "You know I'm never coming back," I finally said. "Yes. I know. I don't blame you. You were treated very badly by the top end. I'm glad you got them to pay for their betrayal. The only trouble is that it didn't cause them any pain. I think they're much more worried about what you have tucked away -- safely I hope." "Yes. Let them know it's in their best interest that nothing happens to Natasha, me ... or for that matter, you." Denis smiled for the first time since he'd walked in the door. "I will." When I closed the door behind him, I wondered what was going to happen in the next week or so. Would I even have to wait that long? I had made a decision about Natasha. For her protection, I was going to have to guard her as carefully as myself. I was also going to have to take her into my confidence. I walked to the bedroom door and knocked softly. She answered almost immediately, a terrified look on her face. "Come into the living room. We need to talk." I walked back to the sofa I had been occupying and Natasha followed me, choosing to sit near me. "I've put you in danger, girl. I didn't mean for that to happen, but it has. Someone is out to kill me. A professional. He won't stop until we get him, or he gets me. Denis is arranging for protection, but it isn't foolproof, and we are going to have to be very careful for the next while." Her expression hadn't changed, but she was nodding her understanding. "Denis tells me you have a gun. Would you get if for me, please." She rose and walked swiftly to the bedroom, returning seconds later, handing me a small pistol. It was a Beretta 3032 Tomcat, a ladies gun with limited range and stopping power. A purse pistol. Of little use to me, I checked it and it was loaded. It didn't look like it had ever been fired. "Can you use this?" "Yes. I've had some practice with it. It doesn't have much range, though." I nodded. At least she had fired it and knew its limitations. "Keep it on you at all times. Without fail! Understood?" I delivered my order in a no-nonsense tone. "Yes. I understand, Nathan" "I told Denis I didn't have a gun and he said he'd get me one. I hope neither of us ever needs to use it." She nodded her agreement, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty. I moved to her and wrapped my arms around her. She was shaking as I held her. "You didn't sign up for this, did you?" I murmured in her ear. She shook her head, still trembling. "Well, girl, you're going to have to trust me and Denis. I promise we will do everything we can to keep you safe." Chapter 8: Survival The next day, a courier delivered a package to Natasha's door. It was a carefully packaged 45 cal. Glock 36 Slim-Line, complete with back holster. A box of shells accompanied the weapon. I now had two very powerful weapons at my disposal. I tested the holster and gun under my jacket, and I was satisfied that it was unobtrusive. I would be wearing it constantly until my adversary had been dealt with. More surprisingly though, the box contained a concealed weapon carry permit, made out to Nathan Poirier. Now I wondered how many people knew that this was my new identity. It made me uncomfortable, but the permit would resolve any problems I might have if someone spotted the gun. I dropped Natasha at her gallery and met with Harold Sinden on Monday as promised. He gave the full tour and what I would describe as the full-court press. It wasn't very subtle, but it didn't leave any doubt that he really did want me to work for him. I met several of his people, and I was impressed with their professionalism and diversity. It was a bit of a risk, but when the tour was over, I filled Harold in on what had happened to my parents, and the threat to myself, Natasha, and my ex-wife. He immediately offered to provide some additional surveillance on Natasha, and I accepted. I would pay for their protection services, but it wasn't an issue at this point. I just wanted all the resources I could gather to protect her. I told Harold that I would join Orca Investigations, but not until I had some sense that the danger was lessened. He wasn't happy, but he understood. We did agree that I would come in during the day for a couple of hours for orientation and training before I began with a caseload. It would at least give me something to do when Natasha was at her office. He loaned me one of his electronics specialists, and we went over my car, Natasha's, and the apartment, making sure we were free of tracking and listening devices. When that was accomplished, Harold installed tracking patches that were exclusive to his "system," and applied them to Natasha's and my car. He was concerned that the CSIS system may have been compromised, and I might be located. Denis didn't need to know about that. So it began. The orientation was quite surprising and revealing. I had little understanding of the kind of work private detectives did in this modern age. Sam Spade was long dead, and his methods as well. Science played a major role, along with forensic accounting and plain, old-fashioned footwork. The advent of GPS systems had changed the art of tracking people and items, making it easier and more precise. On the other hand, the need for irrefutable evidence was heightened at the same time. Harold was religious about following the law and involving law enforcement when crimes had been uncovered. He wanted police co-operation, not confrontation. He spent a great deal of his time cultivating the relationships with the RCMP and city police forces. It had paid off handsomely. He was happy to let the police take the credit, and they were happy to get the help. His clients were glad to have their problems resolved. It was the following Tuesday that I had decided to stay a little later and talk to a couple of the operatives in the industrial espionage group. I phoned Natasha's apartment and left a message that I might be a little later getting back there. She usually got home just before five, and I didn't want her to worry if I wasn't there when she arrived. It was not much after five-thirty when I walked down the hallway to her apartment and slipped the key card into the slot. I entered the room and noticed all the lights were on, but I couldn't hear any sounds from Natasha. I began to walk toward the kitchen entrance when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I froze for a moment, then carefully got down on my belly on the carpet, drawing my gun. As I looked toward the kitchen entrance, I noticed the fridge door was slightly ajar and there seemed to be a light spray of something on the door. I lay still, my mind screaming at me to do something. All those hours of training began to kick in. Don't make the first move. Make your adversary come to you. Be patient ... but be ready. I couldn't tell if there was anyone in the kitchen or in the back of the apartment. I concentrated on listening for anything that might help me locate the hit man ... if that's who it was. I don't know if time compresses or expands when you're in a situation like this. It might have been less than a minute or it might have been much longer, I couldn't tell. I knew I was forcing myself to breathe evenly, steady my nerves, and be alert. I might only get one chance. It's strange what goes through your mind when you are under extreme stress. Logic was asking me if he might have body armor. If so, did I have to risk a head shot? Would he have a silencer? It reduced muzzle velocity and altered accuracy. Intermixed with these questions I wondered what Natasha had been preparing for dinner. I couldn't smell anything. I waited, not daring to make a sound or a move. Then, I heard it. The slightest squeak of a door moving. There was only one place it could be and that was in the back. And, there was only one way out of the back and that was directly in front of me. I remained in the prone shooting position, forcing myself to stay calm and be ready for whatever came next. It came in a blur. The intruder dove to the carpeted entrance, rolling once and coming up in a kneeling shooting position. I aimed and squeezed the trigger once before he had finished moving. My bullet tore away the left side of his head above the ear. I had hit my target, but only just. He dropped face down on the carpet and didn't move. I stayed in my shooting position for some time before I ventured to rise and move toward him. A quick feel of his carotid artery confirmed he was dead. I kicked the gun away from his body, but he wouldn't need it any more. I began to breathe again. I holstered my gun and turned toward the kitchen and stopped cold. Natasha was sitting in a kitchen chair, hands bound behind her and feet tied to the chair. Her head drooped on her chest, her hair matted with blood on the back. There was little doubt she was dead too. I walked carefully to the entrance of the kitchen. She had been executed, just as my parents had been. The speckles on the refrigerator were blood spatter. I took another deep breath. She had no chance ... not against a professional, a guy who could beat all the CSIS and Orca surveillance and work his way into the apartment. I stood there for a moment more before realizing that someone might have heard my gunshot and called the police. It woke me from my trance. I walked quickly to the laundry area and took the collapsible footstool to the hall closet. In seconds I had removed my sport bag and replaced the hatch cover. I took the Slim-Line, wiped it clean, and threw it on the carpet in front of the dead man. I holstered my unused alternate. It took me less than a minute to throw my clothes and toiletries into my carryon bag and prepare to leave. I opened the door slightly, listening for any sounds of activity in the hallway. Hearing none, I walked out, closed the door quietly behind me and moved rapidly to the stairwell. I ran down the six flights to the basement entrance into the underground parking lot. I had been "borrowing" a space from a vacationing tenant, so I didn't have to worry about going outside and exposing myself to identification. I drove slowly and carefully out of the garage and moved quickly to the main road connecting to the freeway east. There was no sign of police or any other emergency vehicles heading toward the apartment building. Turning onto the freeway, I immediately encountered rush hour traffic moving at a very slow, but steady pace. I willed myself to calm down and think logically. It took nearly an hour before the adrenalin ran out. I was nearing Chilliwack and I knew I had to stop. I pulled off at the first exit, rolling into a gas station. I stepped out, but before I could make it to the washroom, I vomited. I must have stood at the side of the paved apron for several minutes as I emptied the contents of my stomach. When the heaving finally stopped, I felt no better and was aware of the onset of a headache. I would be a wanted man. I was on the run. I had killed a man. For the very first time in my life, I had killed a human being. Not that he gave me a choice. It was my first life or death moment, and I hoped my only one. I got no satisfaction from the fact that I had avenged my parents and Natasha's murders. Natasha. A woman I thought I might be falling in love with. Another innocent victim of my past. First the Mohawk, then my parents, and now Natasha; all dead because of me. Warrington had defeated every attempt to protect us. We had all failed. I wasn't in any state to think or drive at that moment. I went inside the convenience store and bought a coffee and sat down while I tried to decide what I was going to do. The coffee tasted like battery acid and I didn't finish it. I bought two bottles of water and a small package of Tylenol instead. I filled the tank at the self-serve and returned to the freeway. I was beginning to form a loose plan for my next moves. There wouldn't be any hit man chasing me for the foreseeable future. Even the River Riders had limits to their resources. Sooner or later however, the police would be looking for Colin Stewart. No matter who it was I had killed, there would be questions, and with my record, I didn't like my chances of escaping another jail term. I was destined to be Nathan Poirier now. In the back of my mind, I knew I had to try to see Elise. Perhaps there was a reason my ex-wife was so quick to divorce me. I was beginning to wonder just what she and my parents had been told. Did Denis know? My parents were too easy to find. Elise's maiden name was Parton. Was that the name she was using today? One way to find out. I gave up driving in Hope, just before entering the Coquihalla highway. I found a modest, fairly modern motel with a pub nearby. It would do for tonight. I checked in, parked the car around the back, stashed the gun and money under the spare, and dropped my clothes and sport-bag in the room. I walked to the pub, found a table away from the small crowd and sat. The clock on the wall said it was almost eight o'clock, and I was hungry. I ordered a pint of dark ale and the house special burger. Simple enough food that it shouldn't cause my stomach any problems. My headache was almost gone and my stomach was stable again. I was, however, very tired. The stress and tension had drained the energy out of me. This day couldn't end too soon. Tomorrow, I would start again. I was awake before dawn, showered and shaved. I made some coffee in the coffee maker, just to get me started, but it was little better than the gas station coffee from yesterday. The motel had wireless, and I logged on to an airline site. Within five minutes, I had reserved a flight out of Kelowna to Calgary, then from Calgary to Kitchener. I paid for the flights with my new credit card and relaxed. It was a five hour drive to Kelowna at most, and the flight left at 5:05 that afternoon. I had plenty of time. I checked out and had breakfast in a small restaurant attached to another gas station. The car had plenty of fuel to get to Kelowna, so I took my time and considered just what I was going to do over the next few days. I had slept better than I expected to, despite what had happened the day before. I had been thinking that I should phone Denis and see what had happened at the apartment. I would use the satellite phone to avoid any trace. "Denis ... it's Colin." "Are you all right?" "Yes. Do you know what happened?" "Yes ... I think so. You took out Warrington, but he got Natasha and our surveillance man. Three dead. He came at a high price. I'm sorry, Colin." "I know. I'm going to see Elise, Denis. I need to know what happened, now that she's out of danger." "Call me when you get to Kitchener. I'll give you her address. Use the secure line. I'm not sure we didn't have someone tip off Warrington. I've got a couple of people trying to find out. You're not out of danger yet, friend." "I hope you're wrong. About the inside help I mean." "Yeah. I hope so too. When are you coming east?" "Tomorrow. I'll call you Thursday morning." "Good. Take care, Colin." I phoned Harold Sinden next. "I guess you've figured out I won't be into work any time soon," I said after identifying myself. "I heard. I'm sorry, Nathan. I know you had something with the girl. I'm sure that hurts." "You'll see that my car will be in Kelowna this afternoon, but I won't be. I'm going to try and find Elise. I need to know what happened." "Do you think that's safe?" "Yeah. I figure they'll be a while deciding if they want to pay another guy to take me out. They didn't get anything for their money this time." "Be careful, Nathan. The job will be here for you when this is over. Stay in touch. If there's anything we can do, just name it." "Thank you, Harold. I know you mean that." It was just before ten am when I set out for Kelowna. With a brief lunch stop along the way, I was at the Kelowna Airport by three. As luck would have it, I was in time to get the earlier 3:40pm Calgary flight and I took advantage of it. I had ironed and repacked my clothes before leaving the motel, so at least I would be reasonably presentable when I checked in at the hotel. It was shortly after six when I arrived at the Calgary Sheraton for an overnight stay. My flight to Kitchener was just after noon the next day. Connections to the Ontario city were limited. I treated myself to a nice meal, but slept fitfully after the turmoil of the past two days.