5 comments/ 24095 views/ 4 favorites Period of Adjustment Ch. 09-11 By: coaster2 As always, my thanks to ErikThread and DaveT for their editing skills and helpful suggestions. Any errors are mine alone. * Chapter 9: Getting in Touch I had picked up my Avis rental at the Kitchener airport and set off to the address Denis had given me. He would phone ahead to let the surveillance team know I was coming and what I looked like. I had no idea what I was going to say to Elise since I didn't know how she would react to my arriving on her doorstep. Denis said she would be home by five in the afternoon and it was just before five-thirty that I pulled up in front of a bungalow on the east edge of town. It was a modest looking home, not very big as far as I could tell. There was an aging Cavalier in the driveway, but no sign of any other vehicle. I sat in the car, trying to summon the will to face my ex-wife for the first time since I had been sent to prison. I pushed the button and heard a typical chime ring in the house. It was less than a half-minute before the door opened and Elise stood before me. It took her a few seconds to recognize me, and then her hand went to her mouth and her eyes went wide in surprise. "Colin ... is that you?" She was struggling with her emotions from surprise to what I thought might be fear. "Yes. Good to see you again, Elise. How are you?" She seemed confused at first, then stood aside, clearly wanting me to come in. "I wasn't expecting you," was all she could manage. "Sorry ... perhaps I should have called first. I didn't mean to frighten you." "I'm OK ... I mean ... I just didn't expect to see you. Please ... sit down. Can I get you something? Coffee, a drink?" "A beer, if you've got one, thanks." She walked quickly to the kitchen and a few seconds later returned with a bottle of local lager. "You look good, Colin. Are you OK ... I mean ... after the prison ... and everything?" "Yeah ... I'm OK. Pissed off, but OK. But I'm curious, too. Why did you divorce me so quickly? You didn't even talk to me about it. You never visited me in prison. Did you hate me that much?" I was working up to an angry plateau once again. "No! No! It wasn't that at all. Mr. Taggart told me that it was for my own safety. He said someone would want to hurt me for what you did. He said if I divorced you, it would look like I didn't want anything more to do with you. Then they moved me here to be safe. I didn't think I had a choice." She looked at me with a sad expression and I began to see the light. Taggart again! He couldn't resist fucking with me. It wasn't enough to set me up ... he had to destroy everything I had. Now it was clear. He hadn't even attempted to get me off. I was the fall guy, and it was going to stay that way. Too bad he was already dead. I would have relished the opportunity to do it myself. "Did anyone ever tell you what really happened," I asked her. Her head drooped and her shoulders sagged. "Yes, Mr. Simard. Just last week. Mr. Taggart died, and they wanted to set the record straight. It was too late to help you, but at least I knew you weren't the man he made you out to be." "I think the danger's over now. But five people died along the way, Elise. My parents are dead." Her head snapped up and her eyes grew wide again. "What?" "They were killed by a guy looking for me. They were innocent, but it didn't matter. He killed them anyway." "Oh no ... Colin ... I'm so sorry," she cried genuinely. "They were such nice people." I nodded. "Another CSIS agent was killed and a woman I was living ... staying with as well. I killed him, but it was too late to help the others." "You had a dangerous job ... when you were working back then ... didn't you?" She was beginning to understand that I wasn't some cipher clerk in an office. "It came with the job. But I got blamed for something I wasn't responsible for ... at least ... not in my mind. I spent a long time in prison thinking about what had been done to me. It didn't help me get over it. Maybe now ... with what's happened ... maybe now," I trailed off. "I hope so, Colin. I truly hope so. I'm so sorry; I didn't know the real story. I didn't think they would lie to me. I'm sorry," she repeated mournfully. I put my head back on the chair and took a pull on the beer. Maybe this is what I needed. At least Elise was sorry ... and I felt she meant it. "Where are you staying, Colin?" she asked after a long silence. "Don't know. I'll find a hotel." "No ... please ... stay here. I have an extra room and bed. Please. I'll make us something for dinner and we can talk some more. I don't want you to just disappear again." I looked at her and saw nothing but hopefulness. "Sure. I can do that. Thanks." It didn't take Elise long to make a simple meal for us: Chili, a tossed salad, and rolls. It had been one of our regulars that I had relished. The conversation during the meal was limited to my compliments and thanking her for remembering something from our past. When we were done, she cleared the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and we moved back to the living room. "Are you working?" I asked "Yes. I'm assistant manager of claims at Holland Mutual. It's a good job and I like the people. I'm very happy there." "Good. This is a nice house, but I gather you live alone." "Yes. I have a boyfriend, but I'm not ready to have him move in ... or vice versa. I haven't made up my mind about him yet." "Do you love him?" "I don't know. I think so ... some of the time. He's very kind and very patient with me. I've told him my life story ... so there are no surprises." I looked at her, wondering what the last eight years had done to her. I had been so wrapped up in my own misery that I had never really thought about what Elise might have been going through. I automatically assumed she wouldn't have worried about me and had gotten on with her life. "Colin ... are you thinking we could ... maybe ... try again?" Her voice was faint and very uncertain. "No ... no Elise. I think that's in the past now. We aren't the same ... or at least, I'm not. We can't rewrite history. We just have to get on with ... things." I thought I saw a look of relief quickly pass. It was just as well. I didn't have any strong feelings about her one way or the other any more. It was a shame. She was a very attractive woman, perhaps even more beautiful than she was eight years ago. We sat and talked about mutual friends from the past and I felt comfortable with just conversation. My anger had vanished, and I was happy that there were no complications between us. We could be friends, I thought. Tomorrow was a work day for Elise, so we turned in just before eleven pm. I fell asleep quite easily, the tension I had brought along with me having disappeared as had any concern about my meeting my former wife. Sometime during the night, I became aware of something happening in my room. In the pitch black, my first clue was the scent, followed by her naked form lifting the covers and slipping in beside me. Her arm pulled my shoulder toward her and I felt her soft lips on my cheek as she searched for my mouth. I wrapped my arm around her and held her tightly. We made love. It was slow and patient and comforting. No words were spoken, but I supposed this was our formal goodbye. If she felt she owed me this, she was wrong, but I was not going to push her away. She needed her own absolution, and if I was the means to that ... so be it. When we finished, she kissed me again and left the bed, returning to her room. I lay on my back, thinking about what might have been before falling asleep once again. Neither of us mentioned the episode the next morning. I quickly showered, shaved, and packed before Elise had to leave for work. We said a few words about wishing each other good luck and staying in touch, but I doubted the latter would happen. She said something about maybe resolving how she felt about her boyfriend. I wondered if that was a result of us closing the chapter on that part of our lives. Perhaps that was what she was waiting for. I drove away from her little home with a clear conscience and a sense of having accomplished something. Questions had been answered and I knew now why things had gone the way they had. I had some peace of mind now thanks to Elise. I phoned Denis and he invited me to stay with him and Cassie over the weekend. They lived in Toronto now. Denis gave me their address and general directions to their east-end townhouse in the old Balmy Beach area. What was once a declining neighbourhood had become gentrified, and they had invested a good deal of time and money restoring the house Cassie had inherited from her parents. I had the day to kill, so I drove the back roads into Toronto rather than the freeway. I worked a zigzag route up through Elmira, Fergus, and across to Orangeville. Then through Newmarket to the north end of the 404 and down into east Toronto. When I exited near the lakeshore, I was almost on the Simard's doorstep. I spent some time walking in the nearby park and wondering what might come next. My short interlude with my ex-wife had put my mind at rest and I was even beginning to reconcile Natasha's death. Perhaps because we hadn't had time to get truly emotionally involved. Or perhaps because I had become calloused to violence and used to non-emotional response. Was I that cold now that I barely felt the loss of another human being? Cassie welcomed me with a big bear-hug and a wonderful, wet mushy kiss. "Welcome, Colin. I'm so happy you are here. It's been so long." I was beginning to think she wasn't going to let go of me as I shook Denis's hand while she clasped me to her massive bosom. Same old Cassie, alive and happy, genuinely glad to see me, wanting me to tell her everything about my life since we had last been together. The good and the bad. Cassandra Fortin-Simard was a big woman. Almost six foot tall and easily two hundred pounds. She was an imposing figure, but amazingly attractive for an outsized fifty-something woman. By contrast, Denis was slim, almost wiry, a couple of inches shorter than Cassie, with a shock of white hair he had shown since his early forties. They had met in school in Ottawa and had been life soul mates ever since. Their three children, two girls and a boy, were grown and gone, but they stayed in touch regularly. It had been a happy family and remained so. "How is Elise?" Cassie asked. "Fine. I think she's happy. She has a good job and apparently a nice guy that I think she's serious about." "So ... there won't be any getting back together for you?" she asked tentatively. "No. Too much time has passed. We are not the same people we once were ... especially me." "That's too bad. I was wondering ...." She didn't finish the thought. "I did find out what happened and why she was so quick to initiate the divorce. Taggart again. I can't blame Elise. She did what she thought was right. I don't hold any bad feelings toward her. It's over now, that's all." "What will you do now?" Denis asked. He had been sitting quietly as Cassie and I talked. "I have a job in Vancouver with an old acquaintance. Private Investigations. Mostly commercial and white collar crime. I'll see how that goes. I gather you've told Cassie about what happened this week?" He nodded. "I also told her that you would be using an alias for now." "Yes, Nathan Poirier. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to be Colin Stewart again. With my parents gone and Elise too, I don't think it much matters. By the way, I didn't tell Elise my new name." "I understand, but things can change," Dennis said cryptically, looking at Cassie. We talked and Cassie insisted I tell her about my prison experience. It wasn't some sick fascination, but a genuine interest in how it felt and how I survived. She was curious about how I was different now. I was vague with my answers to that question. I wasn't sure myself just how I had changed. More hardened and less trusting? Probably. Unhappy? Possibly ... or until I saw something in my future that would give me a sliver of optimism. The conversation was downbeat and I thought it was time to lighten it up or we would all be down in the dumps together. Denis sensed what I was trying to do and picked up the theme quickly. He produced four tickets to a Leafs exhibition game tomorrow night. Damn, that sounded good. Hockey night in Canada. I had been to the old Gardens only once, but never to the new Air Canada Centre. Even if it was just a pre-season game, I was up for it. "Who's the fourth?" I asked. "A family friend," Cassie quickly answered. "A big hockey fan, too." "Great ... I'm already looking forward to it." Cassie produced one of her typical gourmet meals when guests were present. It was chicken, but it was incredible. Whatever she put in that sauce was almost an aphrodisiac. She almost always created something special, and this was very special. We demolished two bottles of wine and a couple of heated brandies over the evening as I caught up on events at CSIS and our mutual friends. By eleven I was beginning to fade, and we all decided to retire. I was asleep instantly and didn't stir until the light through the curtains told me it was well after eight am. I could smell coffee and I made my way to the ensuite, shaving, showering, and dressing in short order. I walked downstairs into the kitchen to find both Denis and Cassie preparing a breakfast. I was hungry and happy to announce it. Cassie just smiled as she prepared omelets, sausages, and fried garden tomatoes for each of us. It was the perfect start to a Saturday morning, and I blithely suggested that perhaps I might become a permanent house guest if she kept this kind of cuisine coming regularly. "You'd weigh as much as me in no time at all, Colin," Cassie quipped. I shrugged. There are worse things, I thought. "You'd end up like Taggart," Denis shot. That put a stop to that. A sobering picture indeed. "You just had to go and spoil my fantasy, Denis," I said, hopefully lightheartedly. He just grinned and shrugged. We hopped on the streetcar and rode into town to the St. Lawrence market. We spent the day there, wandering through the shops and stalls, looking for bargains. I found a nice leather vest that I thought matched my boots and bought it. What I needed now was the hat. We had lunch at a little café near the market before riding the streetcar back to their East Queen Street district. The game was scheduled for 7:15 that evening. Cassie decided that we would have a snack before leaving. Denis made a reservation at their favorite restaurant for 10pm. Once again, we availed ourselves of the streetcar service to Air Canada Centre, the car getting more and more crowded as we headed west into the city center. Cassie had informed me that we would be meeting our "fourth" at the arena. As we walked up toward the arena entrance, I saw an absolutely knock-out blonde standing by herself, looking around as if to find someone. When her eyes locked on Cassie and Denis, she walked up to them and embraced them warmly. I, of course, stood there stupefied. "Nathan," Cassie announced, "I'd like you to meet Kayla Van Sand. Kayla, this is Nathan Poirier." Cassie was smooth, and had adjusted to my new identity very easily. I, on the other hand, was dumbstruck. "Nice to meet you, Nathan." When Kayla smiled, I was dead meat. Saying nothing, I took her offered hand and gently shook it. The look on my face was a dead giveaway. "I think he's glad to meet you too," Cassie laughed. That snapped me out of my reverie. "Sorry ... my apologies. I'm not usually this rude." She smiled again and we walked toward the gathering crowd at the turnstiles, Denis having handed us our tickets. I don't recall much about getting to our seats because I was too focused on the vision of this woman. I remember purchasing a program, while Denis led us to our seats, placing me next to Kayla, as I suspect was Cassie's plan all along. The warm up skate was over and the ice was being resurfaced. I finally found my tongue and opened a conversation with the striking blonde beside me. "Cassie tells me you are a family friend." "Yes. My parents knew Denis and Cassie in Ottawa. We were neighbours." "Ah ... yes ... I grew up in Ottawa too. I met Denis and Cassie when I left the army and joined Denis's company." "Oh ... that's right, you were with CSIS too." I was surprised that she knew Denis's employer. I decided to be coy about probing for more information. Perhaps she would volunteer some without prompting. "I'm not with CSIS any more," I explained. "I know. Denis told me. He told me quite a bit about you," she said, looking at me intently. "I'm not sure what 'quite a bit' means." "We can talk about it later. I know this isn't the place." I nodded. That was thoughtful, but I was left to wonder. "Are you with CSIS too?" "No. I'm a private investigator." "I beg your pardon!" I was caught completely off guard. "Do you find that hard to believe?" she challenged. "No ... no ... not at all, but ... well this is too weird to be a coincidence. I'll take you up on your offer to talk about it later." I got a big smile and a nod from her. I began to breathe again. When she shrugged her coat off her shoulders, I got a better look at the woman. I had already determined that she was in her early thirties. Her hair was flaxen blonde, woven in a single wide braid past her shoulders to mid-back. Her appearance struck me as pure Nordic. She had a lovely, even tan that highlighted her perfect complexion and cobalt blue eyes. When she smiled, her teeth were perfect and brilliant. She could easily have been a model. She was tall, almost my height, even though she was wearing low-heeled shoes. The rise of her chest was prominent, and all-in-all, she was a vision. I was going to have a hard time concentrating on the game with her beside me. I turned to her. "Denis tells me you are a hockey fan." "Yes. I love the speed and the hitting and the sounds of the crowd. It's very exciting. I used to play a little when I was younger. I wasn't very good, but I had fun." I was about to say something when the lights dimmed and the player introductions began. I wouldn't have much of an opportunity to talk to her again until the end of the first period. I sat back and admired the view. I had almost forgotten about Denis and Cassie when I got a not-so-subtle elbow in the ribs from Cassie. She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Relax. She's joining us for dinner afterwards." I laughed and nodded. Trust Cassie. She always did have impeccable planning. The game was a typical pre-season effort. Plenty of unknown faces, lots of mistakes, a few goals, and a few hopeful prospects that might make things better for the lowly Leafs. Their opposition, the Red Wings, looked every bit like past Stanley Cup champions, but the score was close until the end. I found my mind wandering during the game. I had a chance to talk to Kayla during the intermissions. We kept the conversation light and I didn't probe too much. She was another fan of Cassie's cuisine, so we had that in common. I also gathered that she had traveled a fair amount in Europe, and we exchanged notes on our experiences there. She was quite knowledgeable and interested in the history and significance of the European continent on North American affairs. At the end of the game, we joined the other eighteen thousand fans exiting the building and Denis led us on a walk uptown toward his chosen restaurant. It was at least a five block walk, but I didn't mind. The fresh air cleared my head and I was hungry. Kayla walked beside me step for step, chatting as we moved along the crowded sidewalks. Period of Adjustment Ch. 09-11 The restaurant was almost full and yet reasonably quiet with the after-game clientele. A solitary piano player soothed the patrons with soft, non-descript tunes. We were immediately seated at a nice booth with very high sides that gave us some privacy. It wasn't a coincidence that Kayla and Cassie were again on each side of me. My earlier good spirits were lifted once more with the delightful company and the excellent food. It was almost midnight before we left. I gave Kayla my cell phone number and she gave me hers. We promised to talk tomorrow. She seemed as anxious as I was to continue our acquaintance. We parted as she caught an uptown streetcar, while Denis, Cassie and I picked up the East Queen Street run once more. We rode quietly along in the almost empty car, Denis and Cassie talking softly while I was lost in my thoughts. I realized Kayla had made a big impression on me. I also realized it was no secret to either her or my friends. Chapter 10: A Spectacular Detective I slept well that night, but images of a beautiful blonde drifted through my nocturnal thoughts. I awoke rested, but well aware of those images and the effects they had on me. I was surprised that this woman was having such a dramatic impact on me, and I was determined to spend more time with her if she would allow it. "Good morning, Colin," Cassie sang. She was in cheerful spirits as usual. I saw a crepe pan on the stove. "Are you making what I think you are making?" fingers crossed. "I know you used to love crepes. I hope you still do," she smiled. Denis gave me a 'thumbs up' signaling his vote. "I haven't had them for so long, I've almost forgotten. You are spoiling me rotten, Cassie." "We don't see each other very often, Colin. It's fun for me to treat you to these dishes. I'm just happy you enjoy them." "I'm very grateful. Thank you," I said sincerely. "I gather you enjoyed the company we chose last night," Denis said with sly look. "Yes. Very much so. She is quite a beautiful and interesting woman. I'd like to get to know her better. She tells me she's a private detective. That's an amazing coincidence." "Yes, it is, isn't it," Cassie said. She wasn't telling all either. If this was all a plot on their part, I wasn't about to complain. I was getting the benefit. It was nearing noon when I finally had a chance to call Kayla. I had already entered her number on my cell phone. "Hello." Her voice was like still water, clear and soft. "Hi ... it's Nathan. Good morning." "Good morning. Nice to hear from you." "We promised we would talk today. Can you find some time?" "Yes. Why don't you come here? It isn't far from the Simard's." She gave me the address and we agreed I would be there in about an hour. I was looking forward to being with Kayla and learning more about her. She was standing at the storm door as I walked up the steps to her porch. The smile on her face told me she was happy to see me. "Hi," I said, stepping into the foyer of the townhouse. "Hi again," she smiled. "Would you like some coffee?" I followed her to the kitchen. The house was older, but it was immaculate, something I took as a big positive. It looked very neat and organized and I took that as a sign of a disciplined person. "I enjoyed our evening last night," I began. "Yes. Me too. But I should confess I knew something about you before we met. Denis and Cassie gave me some background on you." "I guess that's inevitable. They've been kind of looking out for me for a long time. Just what did they tell you?" "That you'd been in prison for something that wasn't your fault. That you were in CSIS. That your parents had been killed ... murdered." "That's quite a lot. I suppose that would put you off." "You're wrong. Your life went to shit and you handled it. All I needed to do was watch you for a few minutes last night at the hockey game. I knew you were under control. Besides," she laughed, "Cassie said you were a pussy cat." "You're forgetting Cassie hasn't seen me for over eight years. Things can change. People can change. I know I've changed." There was something nagging at me and it surfaced then. It was very unlike Denis to give out that kind of information, even if she was a trusted family friend. "I'm surprised that Denis told you as much as he did. That isn't normal for him. There must be a reason." She didn't waste any time replying. "I was with the RCMP for ten years. I was assigned to the internal security detail in Montreal, then Ottawa. I got to know more about Denis's job then. We were working together on the same project as you were involved in." There was no hesitation on her part. Her story seemed plausible. "Then you know what happened," I said. "Yes. I also know why it happened. I was assigned to parliamentary security. I knew more than enough to figure out who felt threatened." "Why did you leave the force?" "It wasn't voluntary. I ... I had an affair with another officer. He was married. His wife found out and raised holy hell. I was given the opportunity to resign so that it could be hushed up. I took it. "How long ago was that?" I asked. "Three years. I worked for Metro Toronto security, then applied for my private investigator license. I've been working at York Investigative for the last eighteen months." "You like the work?" "I would, if I could get some decent assignments. I'm afraid it's a men's only club. I get assigned to the usual wayward spouse case ... or once in a while, a screening on a prospective employee. I'm not sure this is what I want to do if that's all that I'm going to be assigned." "Yeah. My feelings exactly. The reason I reacted the way I did last night was because a very good friend of mine wants me to come to work for him. He runs a private investigation business, but it's more geared toward commercial and industrial crime. Fraud, theft, espionage ... that sort of thing. I told him I wouldn't be interested if it was just following people to find out if they are cheating. He assured me it's not what they do any more ... at least ... not very often." "Shit. I'd give anything for that kind of assignment. I don't even get a sniff of it at York." "What's your educational background," I asked. "Bachelor of Science in Chemistry. Damned if I know why now. When I graduated, the only jobs were in the petrochemical industry, and that's not what I wanted. I was looking for a small lab that did research, and that meant I needed at least a masters. I looked around for something that might interest me and chose the RCMP. The rest you know about." I did a little arithmetic. Twenty two or older when graduating, ten years with the Mounties and another three since then. She was older than she looked. At least thirty five, I thought. Amazing. She barely looked to be in her thirties. "Would you be interested in meeting my friend? He's always looking for good people," I smiled. "I gather he's in Vancouver?" "Yes. Is that a problem?" "Hell no! It's a bonus," she laughed. "Fine. Let me make a phone call tomorrow morning. I'll talk to Harold. If he's interested, you can set up an interview. I'll fly you out, so you'll need some time off. Can you get it?" "Yes. I'm barely working full time as it is. But ... I don't want to have you spending your money on a wild goose chase. I'll pay for my own flight ... and hotel. I can afford it." "So can I, and since this is my idea, I insist." I was forceful, but smiling at the same time. No more was said about it, so I assumed she would agree. Kayla lived in a nice townhouse on the edge of a park near the Don River. Away from the freeway, it was quiet and very settled. Fall was almost here, but it was too early for the trees to be changing yet. It had been a warm late summer, and this Sunday the park was full of people walking, jogging, and roller-blading. We found plenty of things to talk about. I opened up to her about my past. Denis had given her a lot of information, but she was curious about my time in prison and my attitude today. I told her of my anger and disgust with Taggart and his superiors. I told her about Natasha too. She hadn't heard about the shooting and Natasha's death, but she listened intently as I described how upset I felt after having killed someone. Even someone as evil as Warrington. "It's all very fresh, Kayla. It only happened a few days ago. I don't know what I have to look forward to in the future. I'm not sure if the police will be after me ... or what? I don't feel guilty about killing him. I feel guilty as hell about not being able to protect Natasha. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Neither did my parents." She wrapped her arm around my shoulders as we walked down the pathway by the river. It felt comfortable and natural, and I relaxed. Kayla was a very good listener. "Are you going back to Vancouver?" she asked after a while. "Yes. I need to see Harold ... the friend I will call on your behalf tomorrow morning. He keeps in very close touch with both the city police and the RCMP. He'll know what's going on. That will tell me what to do." "Are you worried?" "Yes. I don't want to be on the run for the rest of my life, and I'm damn sure I'm not going back to prison. Not willingly." I felt her arm hold me tighter as we walked. "A wise old sage once said that the best you can make out of shit is shit pie," she said quietly. I burst out laughing. I was bent over, almost hyperventilating as I roared. It was contagious as she began laughing too. We must have been quite a sight to the passers by. "Dammit, woman. You sure have a way with words," I managed to spit out as the fit subsided. "I think we needed that," Kayla giggled. "This conversation was getting way too serious. Besides, I got the impression from Denis that you wouldn't have to worry about the police. I'll leave it to him to explain." We walked for a while before I spoke up again. "What do you do for fun?" "I like to ride my motorcycle. I've got an old Harley 883 Sportster that suits me just fine. It's great during the summer. I also swim and ski ... and with the right guy ... I like to dance." "I had a bike when I was young. A worn out old BSA 350 twin. I found it in England and paid twenty pounds for it. Spent more time fixing it than riding it. But ... it was fun." "Were you with CSIS in England?" "No ... in the Army. NATO exchange duty. Keeping an eye on movements in the eastern bloc countries. We hadn't quite decided that we could trust our Russian friends. I loved that tour. That's where I met my friend, Harold Sinden. He was our Interpol liaison guy. He used to invite me back to his house to have dinner with his wife Dorothy and their three kids. I was a lot younger than they were, but it was great to have them treat me so well. I guess Harold must have seen something in me way back then ... god ... nearly fifteen years ago." Kayla smiled. "So we have some things in common, then." "Yeah, we do, don't we." "Can you stay for supper? Nothing fancy ... but ... I'd enjoy the company." "Let me phone Cassie and make sure I'm not messing up her plans." I pulled out my cell and called the Simard's number. Cassie picked up on the second ring. It was a short conversation. She encouraged me to stay and said she would see me "whenever." I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but I nodded my agreement to Kayla and she smiled in return. Kayla kept the meal simple, and she did just fine as far as I was concerned. I was paying more attention to the cook than I was to the food anyway. She was a very confident woman in many ways. The way she held herself, walking, sitting, even relaxing on the sofa. She exuded power. Not some manly female, but certainly secure in her skin. I could see muscle development in her arms and legs. I was sure she was exercising regularly. From the outside, it would be easy to be overwhelmed by what most men would term a "blonde bombshell." I know initially that was my inclination. Try as I might, I really couldn't see any evidence of her true age. She was one of those fortunate women that would always look younger than the actual number. She caught me staring at her a couple of times and I know I must have blushed in embarrassment when she did. She got a funny little smile on her mouth, but never said anything. I'd already made up my mind to try and date her, and also hoping that Harold would be interested in her. It would be a hell of a lot easier if she and I were in the same city and not five hours flying time apart. As much as we had talked that day, we hadn't run out of things to say to each other. We had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner and afterwards, just relaxing in the living room. I hated the idea that I would have to leave. "I'm going to have to go soon, Kayla." "I know. Call me tomorrow after you've talked to your friend. You have my cell number." "Yes. Harold's usually in early, but that's ten o'clock here. I should be able to call you around noon." "Make sure you do," she said with a non-nonsense tone. Then she grinned and I stood to leave. I was hoping for a long kiss or even a hug, but she was holding me at a distance for now. I could wait. I could be patient. There was no need to rush. "Good night and thank you for the meal. I enjoyed spending the day with you." She smiled. "You're welcome. We'll do it again ... soon." I nodded and stepped out onto the porch. I heard the door close behind me as I descended the steps, letting out a sigh of regret. Oh well, you can't expect every woman to jump into bed with you, boy. You aren't that irresistible. I arrived back at the Simard's just past ten, and they were in the parlor watching television. Cassie immediately snapped off the TV and the inquisition commenced. What did we do? Where did we go? Did you have a good time? Did she make a nice dinner? Isn't she a nice woman? I was laughing to myself. She was like a mother, worrying about her boy after his first date. I saw the look on Denis face and knew he was enjoying this far too much. "Well, I do have to compliment your taste in potential girlfriends for me, Cassie," I grinned. "I just knew you two would hit it off. I could tell last night." It was a triumphant statement from the would-be matchmaker. Denis was shaking his head. "Sorry, Colin, I wouldn't deliberately do this to you with anyone else. Kayla is ... different. She's not the shy retiring type, but she doesn't have a lot of patience with fools. She got hurt pretty badly with that other officer she got involved with. She might be a bit gun-shy at the moment." Cassie was nodding her agreement. "There's no rush for either of us. This has been a very traumatic week. I've never killed anyone before. I've never had to face the violent death in my family or my friends. I'm no more ready for a relationship than ... I don't know ... I'm just not ready. Kayla is a very beautiful woman and I won't lie ... I'm attracted to her. But ... the timing is lousy. I need to get my head straight. Today was a good day because I didn't once think about all the shitty things that happened to me and around me in the past week." Again, I saw Cassie nodding along with Denis. "Take my advice and take your time, Colin," Cassie said softly. "Cassie, would you excuse us. I have a couple of things I need to discuss with Colin in private." She rose from her chair and as she passed by me, stopped and kissed my cheek, smiling as she did. When she had left, Denis turned to me. "I've had a conversation with the RCMP Burnaby detachment and the Joint Homicide Investigation Team. I think I've looked after any concerns you would have about returning to the coast. They have identified Warrington as a known contract killer. I have identified Natasha and my operative as CSIS employees. They have no record of your fingerprints on file, and there is no national database set to check on in Ottawa. "I've been given the opinion that they aren't overly interested in pursuing an unknown assailant who may or may not be a CSIS operative, so it will go into the unsolved case files and remain there. I hope that puts your mind at ease." I nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Denis. That's a big load off my mind. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You've been one friend I know I can always count on." "Why don't you get some sleep? This has been a very troublesome week for you. I imagine you've had little rest in the past five days. I have to go to Montreal tomorrow morning, but I'll be back on Wednesday." "Yeah, I guess I'll think about heading back to Vancouver tomorrow." "Don't be in a big rush, Colin. You are always welcome here. Why don't you take some time to settle yourself? I'm sure your friend Harold will understand. Besides, I get the feeling you would like to spend some more time with Kayla," he smiled. "You're right, I would. In the meantime, I think I'll take your advice and hit the sack. Still a bit of jet lag, I guess." We said goodnight to each other and I went to my room. I was tired, but I think it was more from stress than jet lag. A hell of a lot had been happening to me in the last month and I was still running to catch up with it all. Chapter 11: A Blast from the Past When I awoke Monday morning, the smell of coffee got me moving. I did my usual morning thing and headed for the kitchen when I was dressed. Cassie had prepared some French toast and I smiled. She could seduce a gargoyle with her food. "Denis left early this morning. Did he tell you?" "Yeah. He said he was going to Montreal and would be back Wednesday. I was thinking about going back to Vancouver this week." "Oh ... don't Colin. Stay here for a few days. Just let things in your life cool down for a while. You need that." "I won't argue with you, Cassie. This past week has been awful. I keep wondering when it's all going to end. Is there still someone out there looking for me? The River Riders? The police? I don't even know who I am any more. Am I Colin, or am I Nathan? What kind of a life does that lead to?" "Colin ... you need some time to recover. A period of adjustment. You can't just go on with your life when so much ugliness has happened to you. Denis says you have all the money you'll even need for the rest of your life. Use it! Go to Egypt ... or the North Pole ... or ... I don't know ... anywhere. Get way from all this. Find yourself! Make a new life for yourself. Please!" I walked to Cassie and embraced her. She was a true friend and she really wanted to help. Perhaps she was right. I needed to escape. Get away. Go somewhere where no one knew me. Find a reason to go on from here. "Cassie ... I think you're right. I do need to get away. It's a matter of where." "Do you think you might be happy on some south sea island?" "No ... I don't think so. Australia or New Zealand possibly. Tahiti? I guess there's lots of possibilities. Maybe I'll visit a travel agency and see what they have." "Whatever you decide, Colin, take care. I want you back here as the old Colin that we knew years ago. Go find yourself. Take away the pain and ugliness of the past years and find yourself again." Cassie kissed me warmly and emotionally as she ended her plea. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I had to get my feet under me again. I had been living on anger, adrenalin, and fear since the day I was released. I needed a purge, and getting away from everything to a pleasant place made sense. But first, I had one more obligation. Shortly before ten am, I called Harold on his direct line. I explained what my plan was and why. He readily agreed. He wanted me fresh and free of ghosts as well. I also told him of Kayla: her background, training, and my brief assessment of her capabilities and potential at Orca. He welcomed the opportunity to meet her and discuss a position. Period of Adjustment Ch. 09-11 I phone Kayla on her cell. "Good morning, Nathan." she answered brightly. Surprised she knew it was me, it took a second to realize she had loaded my number into her cell and had caller ID. "Hi ... good morning. How is your day going so far?" "Oh ... same old, same old," she replied with what sounded like a sigh. "Well then, I'll give you something to think about. Harold would like to interview you, just as I suspected he would. I'm going to give you his direct line phone number and he'll be expecting your call." "Oh, Nathan, that's great. Thank you so much. I've been thinking a lot about a new start ... or at least ... another new start," she laughed. "Glad to be of assistance," I said, pausing for a moment. "Kayla ... I'm going to take some time to get myself together. Too much has happened and I'm afraid I'm not very stable right now. I wanted you to know ... I'm still interested in seeing you. But I'd rather you got to know the real me ... not the oxygen burner I am right now. I think Cassie can explain it to you better than I can. I hope you understand." I finished on a hopeful note. "Of course, Nathan. I understand perfectly." "I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but knowing me and my restless feet, it won't be too long." "Get well, Nathan. I'll be here when you get back." I couldn't help but hear the serious tone in her voice. Cassie and I drove out toward the Scarborough Bluffs. It was a cloudy and much cooler day than Sunday. We stopped at a restaurant and had a very nice light lunch before driving to a nearby shopping center and a branch of a national travel agent. An hour later and loaded down with brochures, we walked across the parking lot toward her car. I was conscious of a loud truck engine nearby and turned to look at the unwelcome noise. It was a big, late-model pickup, jacked up a few inches and sporting oversize tires and a very heavy looking set of bars on the front. A macho rig, was my first thought. Someone trying to prove to himself he was a real man. I tried to ignore it, but the sound was getting louder and I turned back to the source again. I couldn't see through the tinted windshield, but I got the impression he was headed my way. I took Cassie's arm and moved her off to the side as the truck rolled towards us. I took a quick look around and saw only one safe route between some parked cars. I hurriedly pulled Cassie toward it. As I did so I heard the revs go up on the truck, and a quick look confirmed that it had picked up speed and was heading right at us. I no longer thought this was some show-off trying to impress us. This had the smell of a hunt, and I had to assume I was the hunted. "Cassie, I want you to run to your car and get into it and stay there. Call 911 and report what's going on. Go!" Cassie had been around Denis long enough to know that I wasn't overreacting or trying to be theatrical. With a worried look, she moved rapidly toward her car. The truck didn't turn toward her. It was after me. Now, I was going to have to find a way to avoid being crushed or run down by three tons of black sheet-metal and steel. I was unarmed. I had only one thing going for me. I could move faster and turn more sharply than the truck. I was safer out in the open than I was trying to use other cars for protection. The truck could easily ram them and crush me in the same process. Of course, that assumed that the driver was alone and didn't have a gun. I didn't like betting against unknown odds. I'm not sure how my brain picked up on it, but I noticed Quebec plates on the truck. Useless information? Probably. It's amazing how many thoughts can rip through your mind when you are trying to figure out how to stay alive. I was hoping for a stalemate until the police arrived, but first I had to avoid getting run over. The truck made a straight ahead run at me and I held my breath, waiting until the last second before I ran diagonally toward the left side. My action was too quick for the driver to correct and he missed me by several feet. I got a quick glimpse of him as he roared past. The side windows were down and the man's face was turned toward me. A look of disgust? Too little time to evaluate that. I moved around toward his turn, making it almost impossible for him to turn into me. He jammed on his brakes and put the truck in reverse, moved back a few feet, then charged at me once more. I was betting that he would expect me to make the same move again, so I moved the opposite way this time. He tried to correct his mistaken guess and snapped the truck around in my direction. I'm sure he was confident in the invincibility of his machine, but almost every device has its weakness. As he gunned the motor in a futile effort to move in an ever tightening circle, the inside front wheel hit the concrete curb at the end of the sidewalk. It was like watching something in slow motion. The truck bounced once, both passenger side wheels slowly rising into the air as it rolled, first onto its side, then the roof, and finally slamming down on the passenger side. I ran toward the now immobile truck, its engine still roaring in frustration as the wheels spun uselessly. I jumped up on the side of the box, making my way toward the driver's side door. I noticed movement through the rear window, but what captured my immediate attention was the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun as it poked out the driver's side window. I could think of only one option. I grabbed the short barrel with both hands and yanked on it as hard as I could. The sound of the explosion was deafening. I felt the blast of shot moving past my face, missing me by inches. Possibly the noise or my pull on the barrel had loosened the grip the man had on the weapon. Despite the heat of the barrel, I held on and looked down into the cab. The occupant was reaching for the steering wheel to lever himself up and out, but I put a quick end to that when I smashed the pistol grip butt down, first on his fingers, then on his face. He was out cold. The blood spatter from his face was evidence that I had rearranged his features fairly severely. I allowed myself to breathe again. I slid down off the side of the truck to the ground and laid the shotgun on the ground beside the truck. The next thing I heard was Cassie as she ran toward me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly. "Easy, Cass. I'm just catching my breath," I pleaded. She didn't let up right away. She was coming down from being very frightened too. I noticed a crowd as I could hear sirens in the distance. The engine had finally quit and was quiet at last. It took an hour to deal with the police. Fortunately, there were several credible witnesses to what happened, and any suspicion that Nathan Poirier had been other than the intended victim was alleviated. Cassie identified herself and gave one of the officers a complete description of what happened. We were both requested to come downtown to Metro Police H.Q. We agreed to be there later that afternoon. Now, I had a problem. Was I Nathan Poirier, or Colin Stewart? The officers at the scene had called a forensics team to go over the truck and the gun. My prints would be on both. Colin Stewart's prints. It was probably too late to try and explain without ending up in a cell waiting for someone to verify who I was, so I would try to brazen it out. Cassie and I drove to her home, discussing the situation. "I'm sure they'll want my prints to match up with the gun and the truck. That may screw up everything, Cassie. But ... I can't keep running. Sooner or later, I have to be Colin again. It might as well be now. There's nothing about what I've done that will put me back in prison unless they connect the shooting at Natasha's with me. Even then, that was self defense and the case was set aside." "You know it's always easier to tell the truth than remember a lie, Colin. But for now, let them decide who you are. Don't volunteer anything you don't have to. Just wait and see what happens. You know Denis and I will always be here to help if you need it." "Yeah. Thanks. I think I'm really going to enjoy that vacation now, assuming I get a chance to take it," I grinned. She took my hand and squeezed it, smiling as we drove along. The interview at Metro H.Q. was in a relaxed atmosphere. I was asked to voluntarily submit to fingerprinting to establish whose prints were on the truck. I reluctantly agreed, knowing that sooner or later it was inevitable. Meanwhile, Cassie had phoned Denis in Montreal to apprise him of the day's events. By fluke, she had taken a picture of me and the truck after the fracas had ended. Happily, it showed the Quebec license plate. Denis carried the ball from there. Two hours of polite but intense interviewing ended with a summary by the detective assigned to the case. "Mr. Poirier, can you think of any reason why a notorious Quebec biker gang would want you eliminated?" "No sir. I have no dealings with anyone involved in Quebec, much less a biker gang. Perhaps I look like someone else?" "Perhaps. The man you were up against is Philippe Turgeon. He's a ranking, full patch member of the River Riders. They are the largest of the gangs in Quebec and have been a constant target of both the S.Q. and the RCMP. Can you think of any connection with any of those organizations?" "No sir," I lied. "Well, we have no record of you on file, Mr. Poirier. Either this is a case of mistaken identity, or you are a very skillful liar," the detective smirked. "Fingerprints don't lie, I'm told," I snapped back. "I don't appreciate the insinuation that I'm involved with the criminal element ... in Quebec or here. Perhaps you should be asking yourself what this guy was doing in your territory." "Oh we'll be doing that all right, Mr. Poirier. You can count on that. We're going to have to wait a while, though. Mr. Turgeon isn't able to communicate just yet. You did quite a number on his jaw and teeth. But don't feel too put upon, sir. There are several warrants out on our Quebec friend. He's going to be behind bars in one place or another for quite some time. I just want to make sure that this little episode is at an end. The last thing we need is a biker gang war like they have in Montreal. Naturally, I'm suspicious. That's my job. Don't take offense if it isn't warranted." I nodded, saying nothing. "Thank you for coming in today, sir. I have your cell number, so if anything further comes up, I'll get in touch. I gather neither you nor Mrs. Simard was injured, so you're free to go with our thanks for your cooperation." I walked out of the Metro station with Cassie and I think we simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief. Then we laughed. "You can't say we didn't have an interesting day, Cassie." "No ... God no! I'm not sure how much of this I want to tell Denis. As far as he knows, I was just a spectator and I think I want to leave it that way. But I won't forget what I saw. That was as amazing as it was frightening. I didn't think you had any chance against him. Did you know he had a gun?" "No. I was hoping he didn't. Luckily his driving skills weren't up to his ambition. To tell the truth, though, I didn't have time to be thinking about anything except survival until the cops arrived." "I need a drink," Cassie announced. "Come with me." I followed her into a local bar near the police station, and despite the crush of people headed home from work, we found a small table for two. A waitress appeared promptly and we ordered our drinks. "I think we should have dinner in town tonight, Colin. I'm too shook up to cook." "Absolutely. Tell you what, I'll buy and we can go over the brochures at dinner and decide on my getaway." We did just that. We had a second cocktail, then walked to a nearby hotel featuring a good restaurant. The travel brochures took our minds off the mayhem of the afternoon and by the time dessert was served, I had pretty much decided on two weeks in the Caribbean, probably on St. Maarten. A couple of thousand dollars would get me a flight and an oceanfront room for two weeks. I could afford it, I reminded myself. I slept well that night. Tension and fear take a lot out of a person, and I was exhausted by the time we got back to the Simard home. My plan for Tuesday was to contact the travel agent and book a trip to St. Maarten. Then, I would get on the Internet and find out what I could about the destination. I was hoping I wouldn't be bored since I planned on two weeks on the small island.