After Lorne gave editing access to his Blogspot account to the RCMP task force leader, I asked why.

"Allow the comments to be analysed and their IP addresses traced to servers. But beyond that, they can engage suspicious commenters to learn more."

"So, I should give them access to mine, as well."

"If you wish. It'll add depth to their analysis."

When I had done that, we tweeted links to each other's posts, and then I looked up in question, "Do you use Facebook or Instagram?"

"No, they're too socially damaging. Linked to youth depression, eating disorders, suicide – a terrible influence."

"Yeah, when that research was published, I let my accounts go dormant. Still get the occasional notification, though."

While we waited for the results from our posts and tweets, we examined Nuance's menu to better appreciate their manipulation. A few items down the list of appetisers, I pointed and grimaced. Chicken fingers from meat closest to the bone, accompanied by a colourful trio of succulent sweet peppers. "That's what I had at Zack's. Reshaped white slime."

Lorne chuckled. "Yeah, ground and sieved carcasses would definitely be closest to the bone."

"So deceitful. The best meat being close to the bone refers to cooked, not raw."

"But that's their game. Deceive the gullible public with catchphrases, bafflegab and blather."

"Yeah, likely learned a lot from watching Trump." I skimmed down the list of suggested review descriptions. "Here it is: Panko-crusted and wonderfully tender with a melt-in-your-mouth texture and a captivating tangy flavour."

He laughed. "Distorted honesty at its best. The twenty per cent fat content and the high salt would offer those – the addictive aspect, as well."

We continued through the menu and the suggested review phrasing, amused by the creativity of the deception. "Whoever's writing this is a skilled wordsmith with a fine sense of humour."

"Ummm. Just thinking that." Lorne pointed to his computer. "We should check the response."

"Yeah." I opened mine. "How many hits and comments do you usually get?"

"A few hundred the first hour – eight or ten comments. Usually, it tops a thousand views the first day and a few dozen comments. How about you?"

"Close to the same – a thousand by the second day." I pushed the log-in button and tabbed to my Blogspot. "Wow! Over twelve hundred already. The Mounties are really churning this."

"Yeah, mine's now above two thousand. How's your Twitter?"

I tabbed to it, slapped a hand to my mouth and spoke through my fingers, "Ninety-nine plus notifications. I had just cleared them."

"Mine's gone crazy, as well – #Phantom Foodie is trending."

"Oh, God! So is #dining fraud."

"This should –" Lorne paused at the sound of a loud buzz, got up and walked across the room, saying over his shoulder, "Entry phone."

At a box on the wall, he pressed a button. "Hello."

"Novex courier package for Catherine Redburn."

Oh, fuck! They know.

Lorne winced at me and pushed the speaker button. "Sorry, wrong address."

"Do you know which floor she lives on? The address is smudged – only the last two numbers showing. No service on the phone number."

"I'm not familiar with her. Try fourteen on the other three floors."

"Did. No answer. You're the last. Thanks for your help."

With the entry speaker clicked off, Lorne ran to the balcony door, opened it and rushed to the railing. As he came back in, he said, "A Novex van. Adds some credibility."

"How would they have tracked me here?"

"Stupidity."

"Hunh?"

He pointed at the Nuance bag. "Didn't think to check for other trackers."

"Oh, God! In the corkscrew?"

"No, I checked that. Must be in the bag itself." He picked it up and dumped it onto the coffee table, shook the bag and sorted through the spilt contents. "Nothing."

"Maybe taped inside." I picked up the bag and turned it inside out, finding nothing.

Lorne sifted through the contents again. "Strange." 

"Could be stitched into the hem or the handles." I ran my pinching fingers around the hem. "Here!"

He nodded. "Far more sophisticated than I had thought. A good lesson for me on never underestimating." He turned and headed back to the balcony, and I followed.

A short while later, a man in a Novex shirt and ballcap placed a package in the rear of his van and closed the door. As he drove away, Lorne said, "Makes sense. GPS gives horizontal location within five metres, but the accuracy range is beyond a hundred metres with elevation."

"Aha! Why they smudged the floor number."

 "Yeah, clever way to zero in on us. I'll go down and get the delivery attempt notification."

"Then what?"

"Still thinking. Tell you when I return."

A minute later, Lorne returned with his phone in hand, tapping the screen. Then with it to his ear, he sat on the couch. "Good morning. Crown counsel Wilson here. Is he available?"

"Thank you." He nodded and smiled at me.

I cupped my ears and mouthed, "Speaker?"

He took the phone from his ear, touched the screen, and a few seconds later, a voice said, "Good morning, Lorne. You've really stirred their pot with your posts."

"Thank you, sir. Point of my call, though. They've tracked us to my Olympic Village loft. Sent a Novex courier here – package addressed to Kate. I have the attempted delivery notification. I'll send you a photo of it. Need the bomb squad to pick it up from the courier office."

"Are you safe?"

"No."