After the manager had escorted us to the door, he said, "Again, Mr K, thank you for choosing Nuance."

"Our pleasure. We've not dined in such a superb fashion in a long while."

Michael extended his hand to shake Lorne's. "We look forward to your reviews."

A few minutes later, outside in the warm evening air, just beyond Water Street's bend into West Cordova, Lorne led me into the nook of a shop entrance, pulled me into a hug, and our mouths met in a long, passionate kiss. When our lips parted, he said, "Wanted to do that all evening."

"Yeah, didn't we both?"

"Quite the game they're playing; manipulating the reviewers."

I nodded. "But the saddest part is that many play along with them – turning a blind eye to reality."

"Or too caught up in the hospitality to see the reality." He released the hug, took my hand and led me back along the sidewalk to wait for the pedestrian signal. Then across the street and up Richards almost to Hastings, he turned us around, hesitated a few moments, and we headed back down the street.

"Hunh? Where are we going? You forget something?"

"We're being followed. Don't focus. The man in the dark blue shirt."

"How do you know?"

"He was seated alone near the door while we spoke with Michael, and he walked past us when we paused to kiss. Now he's headed toward us as we walk back down."

"Wow! Observant."

"Training. Vigilance is a necessary precaution when leaving the Courthouse during some trials."

We continued down the slope past the man, and then around the corner on Cordova, Lorne hailed a cab. As we entered, he said, "Homer and Davie, please."

While we rode, he examined the contents of the Nuance bag, nodding as he took out a logoed corkscrew and pen. "Always suspicious of fat pens."

Then unscrewing the pen, removing the ink cartridge and tapping barrel ends, a small piece tumbled into his hand, and he held it out to show me. "As I suspected – a GPS chip and battery."

"Oh, God! They know it was me."

"Possibly. They appear sufficiently sophisticated to use facial recognition software – though this seems too quick and far-fetched for that. Likely not connected you. Only want to track me home so they can identify me."

"Ummm, maybe threaten your anonymity – coerce you into compliance."

"Yeah." Lorne pushed the chip and its battery into the crack between the seat and the back cushion. "One of the reasons I always give away the pens or abandon them for scavengers."

"Oh, God! Nathan collected those. There'll be a gazillion GPG trackers zeroed in on my townhouse."

"No, highly unlikely. The chip placements are specifically targeted, and the trackers are configured to them. From what you've said, there'd be no reason to track him until the kerfuffle at Dalliance."

"Yeah, true."

After examining the corkscrew, he dropped it into the bag and took out the sheath of papers, flipped through the pages and shook them. Then, we sat in silence, skimming through Nuance's suggested review phrases, sentences and paragraphs.

A short ride later, with the cabby paid, we got out and walked the two blocks toward the SkyTrain station, Lorne stopping us a few times to look behind before he guided me onto the escalator. We remained silent as we descended, then a growing rumble and an increasing wind announced the imminent arrival of a train, and we rushed down the remaining steps to the platform.

Ten minutes later, as Lorne closed and locked the loft door behind us, I scrambled to unwrap the scarf and strip off the suffocating smock, blowing a loud sigh as I let them drop to the hallway floor. "What gawdawful torture they put themselves through."

I looked down at my glistening arms and the perspiration-spotted T-shirt. "Stewing unseen in discomfort for the sake of culture."

Lorne stooped and picked up the clothes. "Your hair appears to have acted like a thick fur cape, trapping your body heat."

"Ummm, yeah." I pulled the damp T-shirt over my head, added it to the heap in Lorne's hands, and then peeled off my yoga pants. "I need a shower."

He stared at me, round-eyed and mouth agape. "No undies?"

"Similar to your kilt tradition – usually none with yoga togs." I laid the bottoms onto the heap in his hands and took it from him. "I'll put these in the laundry room and meet you in the shower."

"I had one just before I dressed – Oh!" He blushed and shuffled out of his jacket. "Need to get used to this."

A long while later, showered, dried and multi-orgasmed, I lay sprawled on top of him on the bed, coming down from our mutual. When my erratic trembling had eased, I asked, "Why can't we simply snap our fingers and have the Mob disappear in a poof? Enjoy our happily ever after?"

"That's only in fantasy and paranormal. SciFi too. The writers of those can make anything happen – never have to worry about painting themselves into a corner."

"Yeah, create an escape out of thin air. Doesn't need to be logical or reality-based. Just snap, poof, done. Cue drum-roll and sunset. Poof and ping a few more times to fill plot holes and complete character arcs, then write The End."

"Ummm. I've always struggled reading that stuff. Logic continues surfacing to pop me out of the story, no matter how good the writing."

"Yeah, thank God none of that was required reading in high school. If it were, I wouldn't have aced English Lit."

We remained quiet for a while, enjoying our closeness, and then I asked, "So, without magic wands, paranormal powers or a time machine, what's our next step?"

"Cancel tomorrow night's dinner. Too dangerous, now. Dekeing our shadow and sending the GPS chip on a taxi's wanderings will surely have shown them our hand."

"Ummm. Then what?"

Lorne shrugged. "Craft some posts for the blogs."

"Hunh? Surely not about Nuance."

"Yes, but not directly."

"How?"

"My mind's still churning possibilities. Let's sleep on it. Allow it to cook."