Hitman's Romance

This story develops slowly and has no graphic sexual scenes. It's largely told in narrative form, so if you don't like that kind of story, pass it by. The story is fiction and any resemblance in the story to a person living or dead is purely coincidental. All persons engaged in sexual activities in the story are over the age of eighteen.

HITMAN'S ROMANCE

I never met my father. As far as I can tell, he impregnated my mother shortly before the end of her senior year of high school and then vanished from her life like a puff of smoke in a high wind. To this day I have no idea of his name, how he and my mother knew each other, or if he even knows that I exist.

Mom managed to hide her pregnancy until after she graduated. When her parents finally discovered that their daughter was with child, they threw her out of the house. With nowhere else to go, mom ended up moving to a rural community in north-central Pennsylvania, where her widowed great-Aunt Sally ran a luncheonette, moving into the apartment above the restaurant with Aunt Sally and working for her as a waitress. Between that and public assistance, she eked out a living for us.

To my knowledge, mom didn't date at all during the first six years of my life. Whatever had happened that resulted in her pregnancy had put her off men, perhaps for good. Or at least that's what she had told Aunt Sally, who related this to me some years later. And she held this position fervently until Sam Bowie came into her life.

Several years after mom moved in with Aunt Sally, our little town was surprised to discover that an unknown corporation had purchased a thousand acres of timberland that had been cut over some thirty years earlier and left to regenerate on its own. The corporation, BT Security, established a security training center, with activities ranging from executive protection to counter-terrorism training. There were also some counter-insurgency training programs that attracted foreign military special forces units to the center. Much later, I was to learn that BT Security was a front for one of the three letter federal agencies that wanted an off the books facility that allowed them to do clandestinely what they could not do under public scrutiny.

Sam was the director of the training center. He was in his mid-forties, retired military, now a government contractor. It would also be some years before I learned that Sam also had several other roles, none of which would pass muster with most law enforcement agencies.

My mother was cute rather than beautiful, personable and engaging, but had created an apparently impenetrable barrier against relationships with men. Somehow, Sam looked through the walls she had erected and saw the warm and loving woman I experienced as her child. A bachelor, he decided that she was the woman he wanted in his life. Sam could be very persuasive. There was very little Sam wanted that Sam didn't get. But he had to work very hard for months, eating breakfast at the luncheonette several times a week and flirting constantly with her, before he was able to convince mom to even go out on a date.

I think what finally convinced mom that Sam was worth lowering the barriers she'd erected was his interest in me. From early on, he strove to include me in their relationship. He took me out to the center and allowed me to experience much of what the public portion of the center provided. He taught me to fish and hunt and to catch and throw a baseball, took me camping, and generally treated me like the son he'd never had. If he was trying to woo mom through me, he'd chosen the right approach. Six months after their first date, mom and I moved into Sam's house at the training center and my life changed dramatically.

Shortly after mom and I moved in with Sam, Aunt Sally sold the luncheonette and retired. She'd seen her great-niece delivered into the hands of a man who she was sure would care properly for both her and me and she could finally lay the burden of caring for us down. She was the grandmother I never had and the only one I'd ever know.

Life with Sam was radically different from anything I'd known before. From the moment we moved in with him, he began training me as if I were a client, teaching me all of the skills that the center programs taught, drilling me constantly. I spent hours working on martial arts in several disciplines, rifle and handgun training, stalking and hunting, escape and evasion techniques, and, as I got old enough to reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel, high speed driving with an emphasis on avoiding or defeating pursuit. By the time I was sixteen years old, I had skills many special forces soldiers twice my age would envy. In addition, Sam forced me to learn several languages so I could communicate with the foreign clients. I ended up fluent in Spanish and able to make myself understood in both Arabic and Russian.

Sam and mom never married. I don't know why. I do know that Sam was the one great love of her life and that she was all he had ever wanted in a woman. For all intents and purposes, except legally, she was his wife and he was her husband. And, to my great joy, he was the father I'd never had and I the son he'd never had.

Our idyllic family life came crashing down one cold December evening. Mom had run into Williamsport, the nearest city of any size, to do some Christmas shopping. On the way home, she stopped at a Scheetz for gas and to use the facilities. As she walked out of the bathroom, she walked into a robbery. Three armed druggies, high on meth, were bludgeoning the cashier. When mom turned to run, one of them shot her, killing her. The three then fled, leaving mom dead and the cashier and two other Scheetz employees badly beaten.

All of this was captured on the store's security cameras. The state police took the recordings and began looking for the suspects, but the cameras were not of the highest quality and the footage was grainy.

I had never seen Sam angry in the ten years we'd known him. He was the most even tempered, controlled man I'd ever met and I'd met a lot of men at the training center in the years I'd lived there. When the state troopers came to inform us what had happened to mom, I finally got to understand what was meant when someone described a level of anger as "cold fury." Sam's anger wasn't an explosion, it was the iciest rage I'd ever seen. For the first time since I'd known him, I was genuinely afraid of him. He was in a behavioral mode I couldn't begin to understand, but I recognized it as something more dangerous than a ticking time bomb. And it got worse when the autopsy revealed that mom was two months pregnant with Sam's child, a boy.

Sam came to me after mom's funeral. "I'm going to take care of this. Those scumbags shouldn't have been running around free. Since the law didn't deal with them, I'm going to."

"What do you mean, Sam? How are you going to take care of this?"

"Better you don't know the details. Suffice it to say that when I'm done, there won't be any more women at risk from these guys or the people who provided them with the drugs."

"Sam? Won't you get in trouble?"

"That's my worry. I can't let your mom go un-avenged."

"Please be careful. I can't lose you too."

Somehow, Sam got a copy of the footage from the security cameras and called in some favors from one of the three letter agencies to get the quality enhanced. With a clear picture of the perpetrators, Sam turned the day to day operations of the center over to his number two and went hunting. This time he wasn't looking to bag a buck or a turkey. He was hunting men and he was not going to stop until he bagged his quarry.

With clear photographic evidence, Sam was able to run facial recognition software that allowed him to identify the men who'd robbed the Scheetz and killed mom. All three had lengthy criminal records and should have been serving time, but had been released because of jail overcrowding and lenient prosecutors. Sam decided that if the legal system had allowed these three to run loose, turning them over to it to deal with their latest crimes would be a waste of time. Plus, he wanted not only them, but the drug producers and distributors that were providing the drugs which these men were using.

He picked them off one by one, isolating them and then, I later learned, interrogating them using techniques that would have caused the most aggressive interrogator at Guantanamo Bay's terrorist holding facility to quail. Having pumped them dry of information, he then disposed of them. They simply vanished from the earth as if they had never existed. Then he began working his way up the food chain, one link at a time. By the time he finished, an entire drug distribution network had disappeared and five separate meth labs had gone up in flames, killing the workers in each of them and, in two cases, causing small forest fires in the nearby state forests. Meth supplies had virtually dried up for a fifty mile radius.

When he finally returned home, Sam merely told me that he'd addressed the problem and had dealt with the men who'd killed mom. We never discussed the details, but I understood that justice had been served. Or at least he'd avenged mom's death.

With mom gone, Sam increased the scope of the training he was providing me, including training on how to bypass security systems and access secured areas. He increased the intensity of the training as well, particularly the martial arts, firearms and edged weapon training and that relating to stalking and hunting and escape and evasion. I had expected him to encourage me to enlist in the service when I graduated high school, but to my surprise, he told me, "I've invested too much time and effort in you to take a chance on some lucky jihadi taking you out with an IED or in a firefight. I want you to work directly with me and join the team here at the training center as an instructor." And so I did. "Work with me" turned out to have a far different meaning than I anticipated when I agreed to become training center staff.

As long as I'd known Sam, he'd occasionally disappeared for anywhere from a few days to several weeks. "On assignment" was how he described those absences. He never talked about any of the assignments, although there were times when he returned with evidence that he'd been roughing it for the period while he was gone. Once I had become part of the staff at the center, Sam read me in on what he was doing on those assignments.

Basically, Sam was a paid assassin, working for several three letter federal agencies to remove individuals who threatened the well-being of the United States but were either too politically connected in countries allied to the U. S. to permit direct governmental action or, like several of the drug lords he'd dealt with, located in countries where a formal U. S. action would create diplomatic chaos. And occasionally, he'd been tasked to remove a criminal living in the U. S. who had successfully avoided the judicial system.

Sam operated both with a small team of like-minded and equally skilled individuals and on his own. Since he was now almost fifty-five, he was looking to groom me to succeed him. Without citing specific targets or activities, he described in general terms what the assignments entailed, the nature of the targets, and confirmed that payments were made to an offshore account for successful execution of each assignment. If I joined the team, I'd initially be operating in support of Sam or one of his teammates before being given independent tasks.

I've said that Sam was persuasive and using those powers of persuasion he convinced me to join his team. I made my first kill on an assignment in Mexico, where he and I had been sent to remove a senior lieutenant in a cartel who was engaged in human trafficking with a focus on moving ISIS and Al Qaeda members across the border into the U. S. A three letter agency focused on homeland security wanted to disrupt that flow and we were sent to remove the driving force behind it.

Sam and I spent nearly a week concealed in the scrub on a ridge overlooking the cartel member's home approximately two thirds of a mile from the front door. We alternated between being the spotter and being the shooter, one of us behind a high powered telescope, the other behind a Barrett.50 caliber rifle.

I was on the rifle when our target made his appearance. Sam gave me the adjustments necessary for wind and temperature, which I cranked into the scope. When the target paused on his porch, some 1200 yards away, I took the shot and hit the target in the chest. The 750 grain bullet did its job and resulted in one less human trafficker. Sam and I quickly withdrew to the evacuation point and the job was done.

For the next five years, I performed four to five assignments a year. Some were teamed with Sam. Others with one of the other teammates. Two were solo jobs. Each was completed with the target removed from the board.

Simultaneously with these assignments, I was now a full fledged instructor at the training center. Sam had rotated me through various skills training modules to prepare me to succeed him as the director when the time came for him to retire. That time came all too soon.

Sam had never much cared for doctors and had not maintained anything remotely resembling an annual physical checkup routine. But when he began to complain of abdominal pain and a lack of energy, I finally nagged him until he agreed to go see a primary care physician. That visit resulted in a referral to a specialist who quickly diagnosed the problem. Sam had late stage pancreatic cancer. By the time of his diagnosis he had, at most, a few months to live.

Sam immediately began preparing me for his departure from the scene. Aside from pushing his masters at the three letter agency to place me as director of the center after his death, he also began revealing things about his life that I'd had no knowledge of. He provided me with the account numbers and passwords for his Cayman Island accounts, none of which would appear on his inheritance tax return. He informed me that I was his sole heir as he had no living family to whom to leave his worldly goods. And, to my great delight, he told me that I was the son he'd never had and that he was looking to me to carry on his legacy. I choked up at that.

Sam then dropped a bomb. "Matt, there's something you need to know about me. In addition to the sanctioned assignments I've done over the years, I have had another job. I've been a contract killer. My controller is a guy named Max. He and I have an arrangement. I require he tell me who the client is and why the target is being eliminated. The targets he's asked me to handle have been the scum of the earth - Russian and Albanian mobsters, the occasional Italian mob member, industrial spies, and corrupt law enforcement. I made clear I wouldn't do domestics - that is, take out a husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend. And I won't do anything that might potentially harm a child. Those jobs paid very well and a lot of the money in the Cayman Island accounts came from those jobs."

"Why are you telling me this now? Is this some kind of confession? Am I supposed to provide absolution? How did you get involved in this? This isn't the Sam I know."

"To answer your last question first, Max was the guy I reached out to to help me find the three who murdered your mother. When he retired from the agency, he started a service arranging contract hits for the agencies he'd worked for. He knew what I did to the people who were involved in the drug trade here and he used that as leverage to recruit me for his service. And it turned out that several of the assignments we performed for Max were unsanctioned. Max went off the reservation and you and I have both eliminated people that none of the agencies using our services approved. We're both at his mercy if he ever reveals what we've done."

"And to answer your earlier questions, no, it's neither a confession nor a request for forgiveness. I wanted you to know because Max has you on his radar screen. He wants you to continue what I was doing - taking out some of the worst of the worst."

"That's a big ask, Sam. It's one thing to do what we do with sanction from our masters. It's another to freelance, even if the cause is arguably righteous. We could end up in jail for life or even get the needle for that kind of work."

"True. But in my defense, I've removed a lot of trash from the gene pool over the years. I'd have a hard time criticizing you if you'd continue to 'take out the garbage', so to speak, after I'm gone. And you are going to have to make a decision after I'm gone because Max definitely will reach out to you to take contracts for him."

"I'll think about it." With that, I left to go back to work, my head spinning at what Sam had revealed, the leverage Max had over me, and what he was asking of me.

I was still considering how to deal with the problem Sam had dropped in my lap two weeks later when Sam lapsed into a coma. He died just a day later. I'd lost my father figure, my mentor and my guiding light. And I still had no idea how to handle the call from Max which was inevitably coming. And I had no idea that Sam had left out one important detail when he made his disclosure to me, a detail I wouldn't discover for years. Sam had kept careful records of all of his contacts with Max relating to assignments, both sanctioned and unsanctioned. It was a violation of every off the books mission security practice Sam had taught me. However, I'd be grateful in the extreme when I finally had need of that information and discovered it existed. But that was to be some time in the future.

Our masters at the three letter agency which owned the training center accepted Sam's recommendation and a few days after Sam's death, I was notified that I'd been appointed as the new director of the training center. That same day, I took Sam's ashes and had a pilot friend scatter them over the training center from the air. Sam would forever be linked to the facility he'd stood up and managed for most of my lifetime.

It took us a bit of time to organize because of the distance some of the invitees needed to travel, but we gave Sam a riotously drunken sendoff, the first I'd ever experienced. His friends and former colleagues, the staff of the training center, a number of former pupils and a handful of the locals showed up to his memorial service, after which we went through more beer, wine and hard liquor of various types than I'd ever seen in one place outside a state store. I think Sam would have enjoyed the party.

Max didn't give me a great deal of time to mourn. Less than a month after Sam's death, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. I answered it and found Max on the other end of the line.

"Hello Matt. This is Max calling. I know Sam told you who I am and what I do. I have an assignment for you."

"I'm not sure I want to take Sam's role in your little service organization."

"You have no choice Matt. I'm sure Sam made that perfectly clear to you. You've participated in a number of unsanctioned kills. I have the documentation to prove it. A conviction for any one of these will put you in prison until you're old and gray. I'm not asking you whether you want to participate. I'm telling you that you will take Sam's place. Now let's talk about the assignment."

"Sam's rules apply. You have to tell me who the client is and why the target is being eliminated. I don't do domestics or anything that might result in a child being hurt. Do you understand?"

"Certainly. Those were Sam's rules. I lived with them when Sam was performing the services so I can live with them when you are the service provider. Now let's talk about your target."

My first target was a senior MS-13 lieutenant in the Virginia suburbs. He and his bodyguards had kidnapped, raped and murdered the 19 year old daughter of a prominent businessman. The police had been unable to build a case against the rapists and the father had come to Max for private justice. My instructions were to remove the lieutenant and as many of the gang members as I could within a fairly limited period of time, particularly focusing on the bodyguards. The father wanted his justice before what would have been the young woman's twenty-first birthday.

I ended up taking out the gang leader, his bodyguards and several other members of the gang. Their deaths were attributed to gang warfare and no one seemed overly concerned with their passing. As is often the case, the local police made the usual inquiries, were stymied in their investigation, and, concluding that the removal of these individuals from the living was a net benefit to society, quickly moved on to other matters of more interest or importance.

Between the three letter agencies' sanctioned assignments and Max's other assignments, I was averaging a mission every few months. I was still the director of the training center, but much of the day to day operations were delegated to the leaders of each module while my deputy managed the administration of the facility.

Over the next two years, I got a number of assignments from Max. Most of the unsanctioned were similar to the first: what Sam had referred to as removing trash from the gene pool. A couple had been more difficult. They involved removing high level managers who were engaged in industrial espionage and, in one instance, a prominent executive whose side gig was running a child pornography ring. The client for that assignment was a group of law enforcement officers who had been unable to collect sufficient evidence to indict or convict a man so powerful and who had decided to address the problem in a way that didn't require a judicial proceeding. Sharing Sam's concern for the well-being of children, I found that particular assignment to be one I'd have fulfilled without being paid and, in fact, performed that assignment at a greatly reduced rate. Nonetheless, I collected my fee and further padded my Cayman Islands bank account.

Before he died, Sam had warned me that Max occasionally allowed greed to overcome the standards he was supposed to adhere to. The unsanctioned hits we had made had likely resulted in Max's own Cayman Island bank accounts being enriched. So, it was no surprise to me when Max contacted me to perform a high dollar assignment that, although I didn't know it at the time, directly violated our agreement about the types of targets I would not be willing to engage.

The client was Willard Doors, a centi-billionaire Silicon Valley magnate. The target was a woman named Margaret O'Brien. Ms. O'Brien had allegedly stolen substantial secret software programs and marketed them to the Russians and Chinese. She was staying in a mansion on Long Island. Max provided me with the plans for the security system at the mansion and details regarding the security force guarding it. My assignment was to penetrate the security and dispose of Ms. O'Brien. I was supposed to make the death look like the product of a burglary gone wrong.

The level of detail Max provided about the security at the mansion raised several red flags to me. Historically, I'd scouted the locations where a target was located, studying the security systems on my own and frequently testing them before trying to make an entry. The amount of information which Doors had provided to Max and, hence, Max to me, suggested a level of familiarity that made me question the story Doors had told Max and Max had told me. In addition, my own research caused me to wonder whether this was not simply a very well paying domestic elimination. There were rumors that Ms. O'Brien and Doors had been in a relationship that had ended recently and Ms. O'Brien had left the company when she and Doors split.

That being said, one does not lightly turn down a job worth half a million dollars, even if there are reasons to question the merits of the particular assignment. I prepared my gear and traveled out to Long Island with the clear intent of eliminating Ms. O'Brien as requested.

With the information provided by Doors, entry into the mansion during the wee hours of the morning was a cakewalk. I simply avoided the areas subject to coverage by the camera system, slid in the kitchen door, walked up the staircase and entered the room where Ms. O'Brien was supposed to be sleeping.

I was wearing black and my head was covered with a balaclava that also concealed my face. My weapon of choice was a suppressed Glock 9mm with subsonic cartridges. I expected to make enough noise to wake Ms. O'Brien, cause her to sit up in her bed, at which time I'd shoot her in the head. What I didn't expect was to see her walk out of her bathroom in a nightgown that left no doubt about her being in the very late stages of pregnancy.

Nor did I expect her reaction to finding me in her bedroom. Turning to me, she said, "I see my husband Willard has decided that having me killed is far more economical than honoring our prenuptial agreement. I had hoped he'd allow me to go away quietly and have this child. It's his, after all. And the amount I'm owed under the agreement is only a small fraction of his wealth."

In the course of my career I've seen targets react in any number of ways when confronted with their imminent demise. They've begged, they've cried, they've prayed, they've offered vast sums of money or other things, including sex, but never have I had one react like Ms. O'Brien. She seemed completely unfazed by the gun or me. And she spoke to me as calmly as if we were carrying on a conversation about the weather. Something was seriously wrong with the information provided to us about this target.

"Please sit down on the center of the bed and don't make another sound. I need to check in with my handler. This is not what we were told about this assignment."

With her sitting quietly in the bed, I pulled out the burner phone and called Max.

"We have a problem."

"What is it?"

"The target claims to be Doors' wife and is about eight months pregnant. You know I don't do domestics and I don't do anything that will harm a kid. That includes not quite yet born kids. I think Doors lied to us about what's going on here. I'm going to ask some questions, but I have serious doubts about completing this assignment and if it turns out Doors did lie to us, I'm going to be very, very pissed."

"Matt, it's half a million dollars. Can't you let your principles go one time? This is big money."

"I don't care. I've never done a domestic and I don't ever intend to. And one that's eight months pregnant? Not a chance in hell, especially after what happened to my mother. If what Ms. O'Brien is telling me is true, we'll void the contract and keep the money. If Doors has any objections, tell him that's the fee for lying to you. And if he continues to balk, I can pay him a visit and discuss the issue with him personally."

"Do what you must, but make sure you get out of there clean."

"Will do." And I hung up.

Turning to Ms. O'Brien, I began a quiet interrogation.

"May I call you Margaret?"

"I prefer Maggie."

"Very well Maggie. I'd like to try and clear this situation up to my satisfaction. Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could just say no, but in that event I'll be forced to carry out the assignment. I doubt you want that."

"True. So go ahead."

"You say you are married to Willard Doors. When did the marriage take place?"

"Two years ago in a small village in England. We were married in a civil ceremony at an out of the way location with no publicity. As you probably know, Willard is very careful about releasing any information about his private life."

"And how did you meet Doors?"

"I was the vice president for human relations at his company. We met about five years ago, began dating four years ago and were married after dating for two years."

"So what's the problem?"

"Willard has lost interest in me and found a shiny new toy. He's currently living with a 22 year old mistress who is also pregnant. She apparently wants her child to be his only heir. And he's besotted enough with her to try to make it so. Thus his decision to engage your services."

"Why not just divorce you?"

"Several reasons. First, filing for divorce would generate publicity about his personal life that Willard despises. His private life would be open to the world. Second, that prenup calls for a lump sum payment of $100 million, alimony of $100,000 per month and child support of $100,000 per month for each child. Both sums are adjusted annually for inflation. In addition, he's on the hook for college and any graduate school the child might choose to pursue. And finally, he wants to marry his little toy before their child is born because he doesn't want his heir to be born a bastard. The time necessary to obtain a divorce in any state in which he might reasonably claim residence is longer than the remaining time on his little toy's pregnancy."

"I see. Do you have anything that might persuade me that you are telling the truth as opposed to spinning me a tale?"

"There is a safe behind the portrait on the far wall. In it you will find our marriage license and a copy of the prenup. I'll give you the combination."

Using the information Maggie provided, I opened the safe and removed the documents. The license looked to be an original and clearly reflected the parties as being Willard Doors and Margaret O'Brien. The prenup contained the same names.

"I'm afraid there's been a terrible error, Maggie. I'm truly sorry to have disturbed you. If you don't mind, can you tell me where I might find your husband?"

"He and his little toy are living in our townhouse in Manhattan. Would you like address and the security code?"

"That would be most convenient." She gave me the address, which I memorized.

"The security code is 100224. His grandmother's birth date."

"Thank you Maggie. Now I'll leave you to your slumbers. At this stage your pregnancy must make you very tired. However, I will need to secure you before I leave so you don't rouse the security guards or the authorities before I vanish. I'll try to be gentle."

Having carefully bound and gagged Ms. O'Brien in a manner to secure her as comfortably as possible under the circumstances, I got ready to depart. As I was making my exit, I had one additional thought. "Ms. O'Brien. Your security system and the security company managing your safety are pathetic. You should carefully consider engaging a company that truly knows what it's doing and will build the kind of multi-layered security coverage that keeps people like me from returning to visit. I hope you'll do so immediately. I'm fairly sure the next service provider like me whom your husband engages is unlikely to share the concerns I had with this assignment once I laid eyes on you." And with that final word, I departed.

Once I returned to the vehicle, I called Max again. "Her story checks out. I've seen the marriage license and a prenup. Willard Doors lied to us. Notify him that we're withdrawing from the assignment and keeping his money. And tell him that if he fusses, I'm coming to visit and I won't be friendly."

After speaking that one last time to Max, I pulverized the chip inside the burner phone, broke the phone into pieces and tossed them out the car window at intervals as I drove back to Manhattan.

I had originally intended to return to the training facility when the assignment was complete. Now, for reasons I could not fully explain, I decided to delay my return to make a visit to a certain townhouse in Manhattan. The death of my mother, pregnant with my father figure's child, had resonated with me while I was dealing with Ms. O'Brien. For my own peace of mind, I needed to make sure that there would be no further attempts on her life and that her child would be carried to term and allowed to grow and thrive with his mother's care.

What is it about very rich people and shoddy security setups? One would expect that the townhouse of a billionaire many times over would have the finest and most sophisticated multilayered security system available on the market. In fact, Doors' security system consisted of a camera over the front entrance, remotely monitored, and the fairly simple contact monitoring system that could be disarmed by entering the code to disable the system on a keypad. I would have expected that seeing a figure dressed in black and wearing a balaclava pulled down over his face near the front door would have caused the security service's staffer monitoring the camera feed to react. I would also have expected that disarming the system at 3:30 AM would have at least caused some type of alarm to sound at the monitoring station. In fact, neither proved to be the case.

I was able to simply walk up the front steps, unlock the door using a battery powered lock pick, and key in the code to disarm the system. Then I began moving through the townhouse.

Ms. O'Brien had told me that Doors did not have any servants living full time in the townhouse. Therefore, the only two people I should expect to find at home would be Doors and his little toy. And in fact, that was exactly what I found sleeping in the master bedroom of the townhouse.

My first step upon entering the bedroom was to inject the very attractive young woman sharing Doors' bed with a sedative that would keep her unconscious for at least eight hours. Doors' little toy was going to get a very good night's sleep. Then I awoke Doors, who opened his eyes to find a silenced Glock pistol pointed at his forehead.

He immediately reacted. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"I'm the hit man you hired to murder your wife and unborn son."

"So why are you here? Is the job done?"

"No, it's not. And it won't be. You lied to us and we're not happy."

"What do you mean?"

"You told us that Ms. O'Brien was stealing software and selling it to the Russians and Chinese. Instead, she's demonstrated that she's your wife and you're trying to avoid paying out on your prenuptial agreement with her."

"Why does it matter? You get paid regardless. It's not like you should care why you're killing her. Murder is murder. And I'm sure it's not like this is the first time you did something like this."

"You were told at the time you contracted for our services that we don't do domestics or anything that might harm a child. You violated both standards."

By now, Doors was starting to sweat.

"So what are you going to do to me?"

"Depends on what you decide next. We have some requirements for you if you want to avoid our imposing the penalty for lying to us."

"What kind of requirements?"

"They're simple. You're going to give your wife the divorce she's going to seek. You'll honor the prenup in full. And you're going to deposit the full amount of lifetime alimony, child support and college and graduate school expenses in an escrow account to be held by a trustee with instructions to pay the amounts out as required by the prenup. If she remarries or the child dies, you're going to instruct the escrow agent to accelerate the payments and provide a lump sum to your wife. Plus, just to be fair, you'll increase the estimated annual amount of the alimony, child support and college/grad school expenses by the greater of the inflation rate or three percent a year, compounded annually."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Well, there is an alternative. I can put a bullet in your head and make your wife one of the richest widows in the world. Plus, you see that little toy sleeping next to you. It would be very simple for me to put the pistol in her hand and have her fire a shot out a window so there is evidence of her shooting you. She'll spend the rest of her life in prison and your child with her will end up in foster care. Or, if you'd prefer, I'll just take her with me and sell her to a Mexican brothel. Cute little Anglo blondes bring good money south of the border. In that case, your child will end up as a peasant growing up poor and ignorant and likely working for one of the cartels, assuming it's a boy. If it's a girl, she'll end up following her mother into the sex trade. Your choice. Thirty seconds to tell me what you decide."

I'll give this to Doors. He must have really valued the little toy. In less than ten seconds he said, "I'll do as you ask. How do I prove I've complied?"

"Don't worry. We have ways to confirm such things. You have seven days after you're served to sign the divorce papers and fund the obligations. If you delay beyond that, one of us will be back. You won't like the result of our visit if we have to see you again. And by the way, your fee to us is forfeited for lying to us."

With that conversation completed, I gave Doors a shot of the same sedative I'd given his toy and left him unconscious on the bed. Exiting the same way I'd entered, I retrieved my car from the parking garage and drove back to the training center.

My sources confirmed that Doors had completely fulfilled his obligations as I'd outlined them. With that information in hand, I put Doors, the Doors assignment and Ms. O'Brien in my rear view mirror.

Eighteen months later I was in New York City to meet with a potential client. The head of personal security for the president of a Central American country was looking for a trainer to upgrade the security staff's skills. I had met with him at a hotel in mid-town Manhattan. The meeting had gone well and I was confident that we would be chosen as the contractor to upgrade the security staff's training.

It was my practice when in New York City to visit a couple of art galleries when time permitted. I had no particular favorites, but I'd developed an interest in art while in high school, largely as a result of having a crush on my twelfth grade art teacher. Given my profession and my supplemental professional activities, you may find this to be more than a bit out of character, but while the interest in the teacher had waned, my interest in art had not. Since I had time after meeting with the client, I took a cab to one of the galleries I'd heard about but not previously visited and walked in to see what was on offer.

To my surprise, shortly after I arrived, two burly men entered the gallery. A quick look told me that both were armed. As a carry permit is almost impossible to procure in New York City, I paid careful attention to them. The two men were followed by an extremely well dressed professional woman wearing a scarf and over-sized dark glasses. She in turn was followed by another woman, also apparently armed. The gallery was being visited by a celebrity of sufficient importance to warrant three armed companions.

I took a professional interest in seeing just how well the security team performed its function but I was not impressed. The two males allowed their principal far too much space and the female was spending more time looking at the art for sale than monitoring the principal's well being or keeping an eye on the other persons in the gallery.

The well dressed woman had walked directly to the rear of the gallery upon entering and was engaged in a conversation with the gallery owner. Her back was to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her remove the head scarf and the sunglasses. From the rear, I had no idea who the woman might be.

When the woman and the gallery owner finished their conversation, she turned and began walking toward the main display area, stopping next to where I was standing to look at a painting that I had been viewing. To my astonishment, I found myself face to face with Maggie O'Brien.

I didn't need to think for a moment about what Sam's advice would have been in these circumstances. "Get your ass out of there immediately while making as little an impression as possible," would have been his choice, likely emphasized by the inclusion of several profanities. It probably should have been mine as well. But in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't listen to Sam's voice in my head.

Turning toward her, I said, "Fascinating painting, isn't it. I love the artist's use of bold colors and foreshortened perspective. What to you think about it?"

"Not my favorite. I prefer that Hudson River school painting over on the far wall. I've been negotiating with David [the gallery owner] on and off for a couple of months, but we haven't been able to strike a deal. I probably should push harder, but the room in my apartment where it will hang is undergoing renovations and won't be finished for another month."

"Well, good luck to you with that purchase. My tastes run more to the abstract, but that is a fine example of the genre. You'd be fortunate to be able to own it and display it."

I continued. "Would you mind a professional comment about your personal security?"

"You noticed them?"

"I'm in the business of training people to perform that role, among others. The quality of staff provided by the security company managing your safety is unacceptable. They leave you too open and aren't paying the kind of attention to the surroundings or the other people in the gallery that they should. You should carefully consider engaging a company that truly knows what it's doing and will build the kind of multi-layered security coverage that keeps people with an intent to do you harm from being able to reach you. I suggest you do so immediately if you have any valid concerns about your personal safety."

"That's the second time someone has told me that my security service needs upgrading. In fact, they used almost the same words. Perhaps I should make the effort to find better quality people to protect my son and me."

"If I can be of help, either in training your existing staff or in assisting your finding a better security firm, please give me a call." With that, I handed her my business card, bade her good day, and left the gallery. As I reached the door, I turned to look at her one last time, only to find her looking at me with a quizzical expression. Had she somehow recognized me? Probably not. After all, it was over a year ago and I'd been dressed in a fashion that kept my face or any other portion of my body from showing.

In all honesty, I never expected to hear a word from Maggie O'Brien. Extremely wealthy women have people to do that, assuming there was actually a modicum of interest on her part about examining the performance of her security team. Which is why I was surprised to find Maggie O'Brien on the other end of phone call some three weeks later.

"Mr. Sadler? This is Maggie O'Brien. We met at that gallery in New York City and discussed the quality of my security team. You gave me your card and suggested you could be of help either upgrading their skills or finding a replacement. Would you still be willing to do that?"

"Of course, Ms. O'Brien. It would be my pleasure. And please call me Matt."

"Only if you call me Maggie."

"O. K. When would you like to meet?'

"Would you be available next Tuesday to meet at my offices in the city? Say around ten in the morning."

"That would be fine. Please send me the address and I'll meet you then."

"Thank you very much. I look forward to meeting with you."

"As do I with you." She ended the call and I added our meeting to my schedule.

That Saturday evening, Maggie was leaving a Times Square theater with her security team. They had formed too loose a cordon around her and a purse snatcher saw his opportunity. He darted in from the rear, grabbed the Hermes purse Maggie was carrying and managed to escape from the pursuit in the crowd. I had no idea that this had happened. A purse snatching in Times Square didn't warrant a comment of any kind in any media. They were as common as the sun rising every morning and about as newsworthy. However, the experience had the effect of sharply focusing Maggie on her security situation and she brought that focus to our meeting the following Tuesday.

I arrived at Maggie O'Brien's office a few minutes early on Tuesday. The office turned out to be the headquarters of a charitable foundation. The receptionist greeted me and provided me with a steaming cup of superb Kona coffee. Clearly the foundation didn't scrimp on the basics.

Promptly at 10:00 A. M., Maggie's admin gathered me up from the reception area and led me to Maggie's office. After rising to greet me, Maggie asked me to take a seat. Her admin seated me on a love seat and took a seat in a chair in the same seating group. Maggie moved around her desk and seated herself in another chair in the group. The office had a spectacular view, with the Statue of Liberty off in the distance. After a few preliminary remarks, Maggie got directly to the point.

"Your comments about the issues regarding my security team's quality were spot on. I received a painful confirmation of that on Saturday evening, when I had my purse stolen after leaving the theater. It appears that the gaps in my coverage allowed the thief to get to me. The value of what was stolen is of less importance than that the team let it happen on a busy New York street with a crowd of people around. I'd like you to make some recommendations for upgrading my security detail, choosing a new service provider if you think it is necessary, and training me to better defend myself and my son."

"We can arrange to do that. Our training facility is in north-central Pennsylvania. My instructors can do an assessment of your current team's skills, decide whether the current team can upgrade those skills sufficiently to remain in place or needs to be replaced and, if replacement is necessary, assist you in choosing a new service provider."

"What about training me?"

"What are you looking to accomplish?"

"I'm not looking to be a martial arts champion, but I am looking to be sufficiently skilled in some form of fighting that would allow me to defend myself and my son from most ordinary attacks. Can you do that?"

"How much time would you be willing to dedicate to training?"

"How much would I need?"

"I'd suggest a month of daily training, at least four to six hours a day, to build a foundation. Then two to three times a week at a good local training facility for an hour or two. We can build you a base and help you find an appropriate facility in the city once you have that base."

"When could we start?"

"We're about to begin our one month shutdown, when the bulk of our staff takes their vacations, right now, but we could set up a one-on-one class beginning next week."

"Who would be the instructor?"

"My senior trainer in unarmed combat would be the initial trainer. He's staying around and I'll simply compensate him for the lost vacation time."

"I really don't want to be away from my son for a month. Could I bring him and his nanny along?"

"We could set you up in one of our cabins. They are all three or four bedrooms with two to a room. Since we're between classes, we could give you one of the cabins for your exclusive use."

"Will you be supervising the training?"

"I'll oversee it and may actually provide some of the instruction, depending on John's schedule. I may also be available to be a sparring partner once you've laid a base. If this works out as you hope, we could add a program for one-on-one training to our course availability. You don't mind being a guinea pig, do you?"

"I'm fine, if it gets me the instruction I need and the results I desire."

"You haven't asked about costs."

"Matt, with all due respect, cost is no object. After the break-in of my home about a year and a half ago, your observations regarding my current team's deficiencies and the purse snatching incident, cost is the least of my worries."

"Very well. I'll get John to put a program together, send it to you to review, and let the staff know you'll be onsite starting next week. I'll also send you some suggested security firms to consider as replacements for your current firm."

"Thank you. I'll look forward to seeing you then."

With that, I said goodbye and left Maggie's office. As I headed back to the training facility, I called John to tell him what was coming down the pike and asked him to get a cabin set up for Maggie, her son and the nanny.

The following Sunday afternoon, Maggie, her son Ronan, and Ronan's nanny, Melissa, arrived in Maggie's Mercedes. To my surprise, she'd come without the bodyguards.

I stepped out of the offices to greet them. "Welcome. I'm glad to see you made it safely." Turning to the nanny, I introduced myself and Maggie in turn introduced Melissa to me.

"Where is your security?"

"I had them drop off at the gate to the training facility. They're taking some time off. I figured that if I was spending a month here, you and your staff were more than sufficient security for my son and me."

"What about your going off the facility?"

"I can always take you or John along. I suspect one of you is worth any three of the staff that's been protecting me to date. Plus, if I'm training four to six hours a day, I'm not going to have much energy for offsite activities."

"Let's get you set up in your cabin and I'll show you where the mess hall is located. There is a fully equipped kitchen in the cabin, but we do prefer that students use the mess hall whenever possible. We find it builds rapport and provides networking opportunities, particularly for our law enforcement clients. You'll find me there for most meals. Melissa and Ronan are welcome to eat there as well. John's arranged a high chair and a crib for Ronan."

"Follow me and I'll show you your cabin. It's right next to the one I call home."

We got the three of them settled in for the evening and I headed out the door. Just before leaving, I turned and said, "Just so you know, breakfast is at 7:00, class starts at 8:00. John will first do a physical fitness assessment on you and then move on to actual training. Class length will depend on how much he thinks you can take. I'll be there for the assessment as well. I hope all of you have a restful evening. I'll see you in the morning."

Maggie was waiting outside the mess hall when the doors opened at 7:00. We had only a skeleton staff working, as we were between sessions. Nonetheless, the staff provided a more than adequate breakfast buffet and I noticed that Maggie was not a bashful eater. Apparently, she was fueling up in anticipation of a fairly vigorous workout. I was sure John would find a way to burn all of the calories she'd consumed that morning.

With breakfast finished, Maggie returned to her cabin to dress for her first session and I headed over to the unarmed combat training building. I had suggested that Maggie wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt for the initial training and she showed up a few minutes before 8:00 dressed as I had suggested. John started off with stretching exercises, then began testing her aerobic capacity. Maggie turned out to be extremely fit. When John asked her about her training regimen, she replied, "I run five miles a day, three days a week, swim a mile a day three days a week and lift weights twice a week. I also do a half hour of stretching exercises most evenings unless I'm out at a foundation function, usually after I put Ronan to bed."

"Very impressive," John said. "You are in far better shape than I had expected, given what you do for a living. I wish most of our law enforcement students were as fit as you are. So, let's get started on some basic drills."

Seeing that John had things well in hand, I headed off to the office to get some work done.

At lunchtime, John pulled me aside for a chat. "This woman is picking things up far more quickly than I anticipated. She's either had some previous training or has a natural gift for this. I'm going to need you as a sparring partner before the end of next week if she progresses at the speed she's initially picked up the basics this morning."

"See where it leads and make sure that the lessons are well ingrained. I want this to be a success. There's a whole new market opportunity here if we do well with Maggie."

"OK, boss. But clear your calendar for the last two weeks she's scheduled to be here. I think you'll be sparring with her by then for sure."

John and Maggie went back for two more hours in the afternoon before he released her for the day. She headed back to her cabin for a much needed shower. John stopped in to see me in the office.

"She's doing great, boss. And more importantly, she hasn't slowed down or complained about the pace at all. For a woman of her age (Maggie was 31 according to her driver's license, which we'd checked when we agreed to train her) to be in that kind of condition, she has to be serious about physical training. And she's stronger than I expected as well. I'm not sure I'd use her experience here as a valid test case. I can't imagine many women in her circles are in the kind of shape she's in. And by the way, for part of the class, we stripped her down to gym shorts and a sports bra. She's an attractive woman. We'd have real problems if she were part of a class full of cops and private security guys here. They'd be hitting on her constantly."

I hadn't really noticed Maggie's physical assets. When I saw her as a target, she was very pregnant. During our encounter at the gallery and again at her office, she'd been dressed in the standard women's business suit. It was obvious that she was female, but there was nothing showing that particularly caught my attention. Clearly, John had gotten a better look at her than I had. He wasn't interested, as his wife, who was a small arms instructor at the training center, would have made her objections quite clear, possibly with the assistance of one of those small arms. But he'd piqued my interest, at least a bit.

I should explain at this point that I'd never had a long term relationship. The combination of location, schedule, under the table activities and lack of opportunity had made such a relationship a dream rather than a reality. Not that I hadn't had plenty of short term relationships. We cycled enough attractive and willing female students through the training center that I'd not lacked for companions. And many of the assignments had provided opportunities for me to sample the pleasures of foreign cultures. But none of those had led to a permanent or even long lasting relationship.

Over the next few days, I got to know Maggie and her son a bit better, primarily at mealtimes. With only a skeleton staff in place because of the month long break, we were down to just two tables in the dining hall. Somewhat to my surprise, Maggie made a point of dining with me at most meals and she and Melissa brought Ronan to those meals except when he was sleeping.

I'd had no experience at all with small children. I'd obviously been one, but living with Aunt Sally hadn't exposed me to any others and once Sam came into our lives, I'd spent most of my time out at the training center, where I was the only child.

Ronan was a charmer. He was almost always happy, babbling away as only an almost two year old child could, and actually made some effort to have me pay attention to him. He would reach out to me to have me pick him up when he walked into the dining hall and put his arms around my neck, resting his head on my shoulder. Maggie and Melissa would stand by watching this, chuckling to find me charmed by a not quite two year old.

Maggie also proved to be more than a little bit interesting. She was obviously extremely bright, well educated and quite aware of how the world worked. She was, as John had noted, also extremely attractive. At five feet seven inches and approximately 130 pounds, she had curves in all the right places and clearly had done the work to remove any of the baby weight from her carrying Ronan. To be honest, I was a bit intimidated by just how well educated and sophisticated she was. Sam had raised me with a particular set of skills, but they were not the skills that would allow me to thrive in Maggie's world.

Nonetheless, by the middle of the second week, I was beginning to get indications that Maggie might have an interest in me that was more than just professional.

Maggie had almost finished her second week of training. She was sitting at dinner that evening and we were discussing art and music. Our tastes, as I've previously noted, were different, but the conversation was stimulating and the back and forth gave both of us new insights into the art and music being discussed. Given the subject matter, I wasn't prepared for Maggie's question.

"Matt, when are you going to ask me out on a date?"

"Maggie?"

"Come on Matt. I know you're interested. And you're interesting. Plus, you like my son and he clearly likes you. So why not take me out on a date?"

This discussion was headed in a direction I needed to think about and I needed to do so with dispatch.

"Well, Maggie, you're a client and the client in our pilot program of one on one training. It would be irresponsible of me to hit on you while you're training and take a chance on generating a negative review of the program in your circle. If this works out as we hope, one-on-one training of high net worth individuals is going to be a new revenue source for us. I wouldn't want to screw that up."

"What makes you think you would screw it up?"

"Do you really have to ask? Look at the differences between us. You're highly educated, extremely wealthy, a city dweller who has 24/7 security and you have, or at least had, a significant other who fathered Ronan." I obviously knew who Ronan's father was, but the information had never become public knowledge and acknowledging that I knew of Doors' role in Ronan's conception would have been tantamount to confessing my role in the home invasion while Maggie was pregnant.

"Let's address your concerns. You needn't worry about Ronan's father. He's not in the picture and has made clear he has no further interest in me or in having a role in Ronan's life. He's never met Ronan."

She continued. "I have no idea what kind of education you've had, but it clearly was a good one. Outside of gallery owners and museum curators, I've rarely met anyone who can hold a conversation about art like you can. And so what if I'm rich? You obviously do well running the training center and our conversations have revealed that you've traveled extensively. In fact, you've traveled far more than I have." (This was not the time to tell her that most of the countries I'd visited had been for assignments and the vast bulk of my time had been spent in ways that precluded seeing the usual tourist attractions in those countries.)

Having now seized the bit, she went on. "As for being a city dweller, everyone has to live somewhere. I live in the city because that's what I'm used to. But I've enjoyed the time spent out here, away from the hustle and bustle. I'm not saying I'd want to live in rural north-central Pennsylvania on a permanent basis, but the time I've spent here has given me a whole new appreciation for slowing down and taking the time to really experience life lived at a less frantic pace."

Finally, she said, "And I promise that regardless of how a date went, I'd give my friends an honest evaluation of the program you and John created for me.

"Maggie, you need to understand, we aren't talking about Michelin star restaurants in this part of the world. The local diner is about the only option, unless you drive into Williamsport. And that's not exactly a mecca for fine dining."

"So? Isn't a date more about the company than the food? As long as no one ends up with ptomaine poisoning or an allergic reaction, simple and hearty can be as satisfying as some gourmet over the top experience."

She was wearing me down and at this point the entire table was watching the give and take between the two of us with some interest. To my surprise, Melissa chimed in. "Come on Matt. Give her a chance. How often do you have an attractive woman ask you to take her out? I haven't seen Maggie interested in anyone since I started caring for Ronan. And you're obviously unattached. Why not take a chance as two healthy adults who've spent hours talking about subjects that interest them both? Do this for Maggie's sake, if not your own. She must have some interest or she wouldn't have asked. Haven't you ever taken a chance?" Melissa's interjecting herself into the conversation unleashed a flood of comments from my people at both tables, all of whom were egging me on to take Maggie out on a date.

This was not the time to discuss taking chances, given my secondary work on my "assignments", but I could see her point. I was a couple of years younger than Maggie, which didn't seem to faze her, completely unattached, and in something of a sex drought because of a lack of eligible candidates. So maybe I could take Maggie out to dinner, enjoy the evening and if see it resulted in a roll in the hay. She was attractive, I did like her company and it wasn't as if getting together with her would be painful.

"OK, Maggie. Saturday night. We'll leave here at five and drive into Williamsport. I'll make reservations at my favorite restaurant there and we'll enjoy the evening. Is that satisfactory?"

"Completely." And with that, after listening to a series of catcalls along the lines of "All right boss!" we turned the discussion back to other things.

Saturday night I dressed in a button down shirt, khaki trousers and a navy blazer and walked next door to pick up Maggie for our date. She cleaned up very nicely. Dressed in a little black dress that probably cost more than some of my staff's cars and a pair of low heels, she greeted me at the door and allowed me to escort her to the car. After opening her door and assisting her into her seat, I walked around to the driver's side and we headed for Williamsport and dinner.

The drive took about forty-five minutes and Maggie grilled me for the entire trip. She wanted to know about my background, my family history, how I'd ended up working at and then managing the camp, and where my interest in art had originated. I told her I was an orphan, having never known my father and losing my mother as a teenager. Sam's role as father figure, trainer and mentor took a bit of explaining, but she understood how important he'd been to me by the time we'd covered that information. I got a chuckle from her about the crush on the art teacher and its impact on my passion for art. By the time we reached the restaurant, Maggie knew as much about me as anyone outside my staff or the people in the various three letter agencies who employed our services.

Once we were seated and had ordered, I turned the tables on Maggie. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from originally? What's your family like? What did you do prior to having Ronan? How did you end up running a private foundation in New York?"

Maggie laughed. "Are we practicing interrogation techniques now?"

"No. I'm interested in how you got here and want to know more about the journey."

"I was born and raised in Seattle. I'm an only child. My parents still live out there, so I don't see them very often. I went to college at Notre Dame, studying psychology. Then I got a graduate degree from Harvard. I worked for a couple of different companies before my last employer, a firm run by Willard Doors. You may have heard of him. I ended up as his VP of human resources before leaving the firm to have Ronan."

"Is that where you met Ronan's father?"

"Yes." She made a face indicating her discomfort with that subject.

"I don't mean to pry, but why isn't he involved with your son. The boy's a delightful child. I can't imagine a father not wanting to be part of his life." (In fact, given my personal history, I could easily imagine that, but Maggie didn't need to know that and I wanted to see if she'd tell me about her marriage to Doors.)

"That's where I met him. He and I married and I got pregnant with Ronan. While we were married, he decided that he preferred a younger companion and began an affair with an intern that resulted in her becoming pregnant. We divorced shortly after Ronan was born. He was a very senior person in Silicon Valley. You would almost certainly recognize his name. Our divorce provided me with sufficient funds to ensure I'd never have to worry about money again. He pays child support and alimony, but I haven't heard from him since shortly before Ronan's birth."

That was an excellent job of telling me details while concealing Doors' identity.

"That was quite artfully done, Maggie. You've told me everything about how Ronan came to be except who his father is. Are you concealing that intentionally or embarrassed about who he is?"

That got me a glare.

"I've deliberately kept Ronan's father's name private. Our marriage was quite private and even our divorce didn't register with anyone. My son doesn't need the pressure of being his father's child, even if his father has no role in his life. If you and I end up as more than a date or two, I'll tell you eventually. But for right now, I'd like to keep Ronan's father out of our lives and out of this conversation."

With that, we moved onto other topics.

I must confess that the dinner with Maggie was one of the most interesting evenings I'd spent in quite some time. It had been quite a while since I'd met anyone as stimulating as she was. The attraction wasn't just her physical appearance, although she had nothing to be ashamed of in that regard. Rather, it was her poise, high level of self-confidence and conversational skills that kept the evening flowing without interruption.

It was still light out when we finished dinner, so I drove us over to the levee along the Susquehanna River and we walked along the water for almost an hour. By the time we got back to the car, she'd placed her hand in mine. When she did that, I felt an almost electric charge. I'd never experienced that kind of reaction to a mere touch before.

When we got back to the camp, I walked Maggie to her door. She turned to me and kissed me on the cheek. "I really enjoyed our evening, Matt. I'd like to do it again."

"I enjoyed it as well, Maggie, and I'd love to do it again. Perhaps next weekend? I'm sure that given the intensity of our training sessions, you'll probably want to do it on a day when there's no training. In the meantime, I'll look forward to our time together on the mat and meals with you and Ronan."

And with that, I watched her walk into her cabin and then walked next door to mine.

If I were being candid, that was not how I had anticipated the evening ending. In my experience, "dates" with women undergoing training had generally ended with a robust interaction in my bedroom. A kiss on the cheek and a gentle goodnight was something of an unexpected experience for me. My maintaining any interest in the woman who'd done so was definitely a first for me. And yet, I found Maggie extremely engaging, despite our quite disparate backgrounds and education levels.

I spent the next week in close contact with Maggie for hours each day, both as a sparring partner for her training and also sitting at her table at mealtimes. By now, in addition to toddling across the dining hall insisting on my picking him up, Ronan had begun fussing if I were not sitting next to him at mealtimes. I was bemused, both somewhat flattered and, at the same time, concerned at the implications. I'd not had any real engagement with a child before this. And he clearly was growing attached to me, something I'd not anticipated and was at a loss how to handle. What I did know, though, was that his mother was doing nothing to discourage his growing attachment and seemed almost amused at my bewilderment at this completely unexpected development.

Our second date was quite different from our first. I took Maggie fly fishing at the village of Slate Run, in the stretch where Pine Creek had been designated as a catch and release area and the local trout club was engaged in a program of stocking browns and rainbows. This was a first for Maggie. Initially, she struggled with the mechanics of casting the fly and I spent a goodly amount of time untangling her line and removing the hook from her waders or vest. But by the end of the day, she had a decent grasp of the mechanics and had managed to land a couple of nice sized trout. We finished the day with dinner at the Hotel Manor, then drove back to camp. When we arrived, Maggie asked me if I'd like to walk a bit before we called it an evening. We parked the car in front of my cabin, then walked along one of the trails that wended its way through the wooded portion of the property, hand in hand. When we reached the edge of one of the ponds on the property, we sat on a log at the pond's edge.

Maggie turned to me and looked at me for what seemed a long time. Then she asked, "So Matt, where are we going? I'm here one more week, then I go back to New York. Is this simply something that fills your time until your regular clients return and you can hook up with them or are you interested in exploring whether there could be an 'us' once I leave here?"

"Pretty direct question, Maggie. You don't beat around the bush much, do you?"

"I thought you'd have figured that out by now. We've spent more time together in the three weeks I've been here than I've spent with any man since Ronan's father and I separated. I find you attractive and personable. You seem to have a firm grasp of what's important in the world. You've been patient with me and kinder to my son than any man he's ever met. He likes you and so do I. But I'm not going to invest in a relationship with you unless you're willing to invest in one as well. So, what's it going to be? A couple of nice evenings together and a 'goodbye' or are we going to try to actually make something out of meeting one another?"

"What do you want the answer to be?"

"No you don't. You answer for you, not because I've told you what I want."

"Shit! You don't make this easy, do you?"

"No, I don't. And I want you to understand. I'm not interested in a roll in the hay or a 'friends with benefits' arrangement. I'm looking for someone who thinks he could be a life's partner. And don't give me any of those excuses you served up two weeks ago. If you are interested in something that could grow into a lifelong commitment, be honest with me. If not, tell me now and I'll be out of your life after the end of next week's training."

I sat there silent for a moment, then said, "Maggie, this is something new to me. I've had lots of casual, short term 'relationships' but never a serious one. The women I've been with didn't expect commitment from me nor did I ask it of them. I don't have any experience in committed relationships and the one real example I've had, Sam and my mother, ended violently while I was still in my teens. Sam was never the same after my mom was murdered. I think I want to explore a relationship like you've described, but I need some time to think about it. Can you give me that?"

"That's an honest answer. I understand your hesitancy. How much time do you need."

"I promise I'll give you an answer before you leave at the end of next week. Is that acceptable?"

"I can live with that."

With that, we stood up off the log and walked hand in hand back to the cabins. At her door, she turned to me, put her arms around my neck, pulled my head down to hers and kissed me. It was not a casual kiss, but a searing one. When it ended, she looked me in the eye, said "A promise of things to come if you decide you want to pursue this" and walked into her cabin, leaving me breathless on the porch.

Most of the next week's training focused on breaking holds and forcing releases, which meant I spent far more time in very close physical contact with Maggie than I had previously. I was extremely aware of her body. She generated a physical response in mine. I could tell she also was aroused, at least to some degree, as well. We ate all of our meals together, nearly all of them with Ronan.

When I wasn't actually with her, I found myself thinking about her. She'd inserted herself into my psyche and I was beginning to dread the day when she'd be leaving. For the first time in my life, I was seriously considering a long-term, potentially lifelong, relationship with a woman.

We finished the training on that Friday and I asked Maggie to stay through the weekend and go out with me one more time before she returned to New York. I wanted to give her my answer, but not at the camp.

We drove to Lock Haven for dinner at the best restaurant in town, a brew pub. The conversation in the car was casual, but both of us sensed an underlying tension, as Maggie awaited my answer to her request. After we ordered our drinks and dinner, I reached across the table, took both her hands in mine, and looked directly into her eyes.

"Maggie, I've come to a conclusion. I hope it's the one you were looking for. I've thought long and hard about this for a week and have come to a realization that I never thought I'd reach. I'm deeply attracted to you, not just physically, but emotionally and intellectually. I'd like to explore a relationship with you that might lead to something long term or even permanent. But I do have some concerns."

"Let's hear them."

"I have never had a relationship like you describe. My 'relationships' with women have been either hookups with students at the camp or short term flings with women I met in my travels while on assignments. The only long term relationship I've had the opportunity to experience was that between Sam and my mother and I was only a teenager when that ended. As I told you a few weeks ago, Sam and my mother never married and that relationship ended when mom was murdered. Sam never got over it and never committed to another woman during his lifetime. I know he loved my mother and he demonstrated that to her while she was living and showed just how much he loved her in the way he pursued the people who killed her after she died."

I continued. "We come from considerably different worlds. I told you about my concerns regarding those differences the night you asked me if I were going to ask you out. I know that because of those differences I'm going to make mistakes and I'm sure you'll find some of the things I do inexplicable or just plain offensive. But I want you to know that I'm committed to trying to learn how to have the kind of relationship you are seeking. I can see falling in love with you and with Ronan and wanting to build a family with you. Do you think you can give me the room to make the mistakes I know I'm going to make and have the patience and grace to forgive me when I screw up?"

"I think I can do that. I understand that we are starting from vastly different points. But I'm hopeful that we can work from those different beginnings toward toward a meeting place that turns the you and me into a we. I'm willing to be patient and work at it and I hear you saying you are as well. I can't ask for more than that at this point."

When we finished dinner, we drove back to camp. Unlike previous evenings, Maggie and I necked like teenagers after our return. She wasn't ready to go further and I wasn't going to push. This had to move at a pace we both were comfortable with or it wouldn't work.

The next morning, Maggie had her last meal before heading back to the city. As she was headed to the car, she pulled me aside. "Matt, do you have a tuxedo?"

"I do. Why?"

"I have to attend a formal dinner for a charity I support this coming Saturday and I'd like you to be my 'plus one' at the event. It's black tie."

"I'd be delighted."

"Great. And Matt..."

"Yes?"

"Plan on staying with me for the weekend."

I looked at her. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I am. I'm looking forward to it and I hope you are as well."

"You can count on it!"

Maggie left the camp, meeting her new bodyguards at the gate and headed back to the city. I went back to work, prepping for the next training cycle.

During the week, Maggie and I spoke by telephone every night. Friday afternoon couldn't come soon enough.

When the weekend finally arrived, I climbed into my car and headed for the city. Four hours later, I was knocking on Maggie's door.

Maggie answered the door herself, then threw herself into my arms, kissing me enthusiastically. "I've really missed you, Matt" she said once the kiss ended.

"And I've missed you. Phone calls just don't hold a candle to holding you in my arms."

"Would you like some supper? My cook has dinner in the warmer. I knew you'd be late and I asked her to make sure that I could feed you."

"I'd love that. And after dinner, if I can be so bold, I'd like you for dessert."

Maggie laughed, then blushed, but she didn't say no.

"I hoped you were thinking something like that. I had Melissa take Ronan to her parents' house for the weekend. They are his surrogate grandparents, since my parents live so far away and his father's family isn't involved in his life at all."

I made quick work of my dinner, then moved into Maggie's living room. Each of us had a glass of wine. We began by cuddling on the sofa, then necking, then moving toward a more intense physical interaction. After a bit, Maggie stood up, grabbed me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. She had turned the covers down on the bed and lit the room with candles.

I've had sex with a fair number of women over the years, but this was the first time in my life that I'd ever made love to a woman. The emotional connection was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Maggie was a generous and responsive lover and by the time we finished, both of us were spent. We spooned under the covers and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke and spent several minutes just watching Maggie sleep. I had never felt this kind of bond with any woman and I was more than a bit uncertain how to deal with it. Maggie had put herself out there for me and I had done the same for her. This was new territory for me and I needed time to explore it.

When Maggie awoke, we made love one more time, then had breakfast and spent the day wandering the city, visiting galleries and museums. We returned to Maggie's apartment, showered, dressed and took a limo to the dinner.

As I was to discover from attending other such functions with Maggie as time went by, this event followed the general pattern of a cocktail hour before dinner, allowing the attendees to circulate and socialize, followed by dinner, a round of speeches and a pledge request. Maggie's bringing a date caused more than a bit of a stir. Apparently, she had made a practice of attending these functions unaccompanied. Her turning up with a man, particularly a man not part of the social circle of the entitled, created more than a bit of interest. That she was holding on my arm or had her arm around my waist (as I did hers) as we arrived and began circulating quickly caused the vultures to circle.

One of the chief vultures glided over to us and began a conversation. "Maggie, darling, how good to see you. It's been too long. And who is this delicious man you're with?"

I could sense Maggie bristle, but she did nothing to show her displeasure to the woman.

"This is Matt. He's a friend."

"And where have you been hiding him darling? He's much too tasty to hide from your friends."

At this point, I was expecting some sort of explosion. But I'll give Maggie credit. She showed no signs of being annoyed.

"Matt operates a business in north-central Pennsylvania. His business provided me with some services that I required and we got to know each other during the course of that transaction. Matt's in town for the weekend and I asked him to accompany me to the dinner tonight. After all, aren't you always asking me why I only seem to fly solo? Tonight I have a companion."

The mistress of diversion once again had answered all of the questions without providing a bit of substantive information. Everything she said was true, but none of it was particularly informative. I chuckled to myself as I watched our interrogator wrestle with how to respond.

"Well, darling, don't be a stranger. We shall have to get together sometime soon so I can get to know this mysterious friend of yours better."

"Of course. I'll give you a call and see if we can schedule something." And, as she turned away, Maggie added, under her breath and so quietly that only I could hear her, "when Hell freezes over."

We ended up at a table with a number of investment bankers and lawyers. The conversations revolved around deals and money. I quickly realized that the talk around the table was not so much a social conversation as it was a "mine is bigger than yours because I did this..." kind of exchange. By and large, the wives/girlfriends pretended to listen but you could see their eyes glazing over and each of them worked through several glasses of wine during the course of the evening. In keeping with my practice when in hostile or unknown territory, I limited my alcohol consumption, drinking only half a glass, and kept silent, listening to the give and take. I noticed Maggie doing the same.

I suspect my silence eventually registered, because about the time the third course was served, one of the lawyers looked over to me and asked, "And what is it you do, ahhh, Matt, isn't it?"

"Yes, Matt. I'm in the security industry."

"Very interesting. What does that entail?"

"A number of things. I train law enforcement personnel, executive protection contractors and a number of other types of high end, high risk security personnel, including some non-U. S. specialty protection staff for high ranking foreign governmental officials." I didn't add that I also had a second job killing bad people for the government and occasionally for other, less savory customers. No sense spoiling the evening.

"That's certainly interesting." But clearly not interesting enough to continue the conversation, as the rest of the men at the table went back to their game of "mine's bigger than yours", having concluded that mine wasn't even worthy of consideration or measurement.

I noticed Maggie grinning at the course of the conversation. Meanwhile, the other women at the table were clearly interested in learning more about us, but were far more discreet than the vulture. Maggie continued to fend off inquiries with non-answers. The woman was a master of the art.

When the speeches were over, the pledges collected, and the evening mercifully ended, we made our way to the limo Maggie had arranged to return to her apartment.

"So, Matt, how do you like the society of the rich and narcissistic?"

"You, my dear, have far more patience than I ever will if you can deal with those people on a regular basis. Give me a break. Those guys at the table have no interest in anything but money. And I wasn't overly impressed with any of them. They substitute 'net worth' for 'actual value.' The law enforcement officers and security people I train are far more grounded and realistic than that collection of overinflated egos. If I had to spend time with them on a regular basis, I'd be thinking about draining that particular gene pool in its entirety."

Maggie began laughing. "And that's why I love you, Matt."

Damn, she just told me she loves me. How do I respond to that? She was looking at me expectantly, awaiting my response. And then I realized something. I'd fallen in love with her. And I needed to tell her.

"Did you just say what I think you said?

"What? That I love you? Yes I did."

"And I love you, too. I've never been in love before. This is completely foreign territory for me. But I sure like how it feels."

That response caused Maggie to release her seat belt and crawl into my lap. The limo driver, no stranger to erotic goings on in his rear seat, simply raised the glass barrier between the front seat and the rear seat, effectively isolating us from outside observation.

We didn't actually have sex in the limo, but we got damn close. And when we finally arrived at Maggie's apartment, I tipped the driver one hundred dollars for his discretion. We all but raced to Maggie's bedroom, shedding clothing as we went. Our first coupling was frantic and over much too quickly. As we held each other, allowing time for recovery, Maggie was crying.

"Did I hurt you love?"

"No, not at all. I'm just so happy to have found you and to discover that you feel about me the way I feel about you."

"So what are we going to do about this? We live in completely different worlds. If nothing else, tonight demonstrated that clearly and completely."

"We'll work it out. If we truly love one another, we'll find a way to compromise. Or split our time between both worlds. We can, and will, make this work."

For the next couple of months, we spoke on the telephone every day we weren't together and spent every weekend together, alternating between Maggie's apartment and the camp. Most of the time, we had Ronan with us when we were together, although Melissa continued to care for him when we went out. I continued to fall more deeply in love with Maggie and with Ronan. And Maggie was clearly equally deeply in love with me. Life was really good. In fact, better than it had ever been for me.

Just like in Eden, though, our paradise had a serpent. In this case, the serpent was Sam's and my old "friend" Max. I'd been dating Maggie for almost four months when I got the call from Max.

"I have an assignment for you."

"I'm not doing that work anymore, Max. I have a relationship I'm hoping will lead to marriage and parenthood."

"You and that O'Brien woman? You have to be kidding. She's way out of your league."

"She doesn't think so."

"How do you think she'd react to finding out what you do for a living besides running that training camp? And more so, how do you think she'll react when she finds out that you were the hit man in her bedroom that night a few years ago? I doubt she's going to be nearly so lovey-dovey after those disclosures."

"Max, you have plenty of others who can do this assignment, whatever it is. I'm done with all of this. You've gotten nearly ten years out of me and that's enough. I'm pushing my luck and you're pushing yours. We both need to retire. I can't imagine, given how long you've been doing this, that you need the money. Just shut it down and let me go."

"Ain't going to happen, bucko. I own you."

The sad thing is that Max did own me. He'd mixed official and private assignments without making clear that some of the hits we'd made over the years were unsanctioned. And we had committed those hits, just not realized that they weren't kosher. With Sam gone, I'd be holding the bag for all of my individual hits and the ones he and I had teamed up on. I was seriously screwed and if Max carried through on his threat, I was going to lose Maggie and Ronan. What was I supposed to do?

I had a couple of choices. Because of the assignments Sam and I had performed for various three letter federal agencies, I had a number of completely documented identities other than my own. With the money I'd earned and that I'd inherited from Sam in the offshore accounts, I could disappear and live quite comfortably the rest of my days. But that would mean giving up Maggie and Ronan, something I was loathe to even think about doing.

My second option was to eliminate Max, but that would only work if I could guarantee that whatever materials that gave him the hold over me vanished completely forever. Knowing Max, it was likely that his demise from any cause other than old age or a well-documented fatal medical condition would simply trigger release of the materials in a fashion calculated to jam up every person who'd performed unsanctioned assignments for him. Since I didn't know who else might be in the same boat I was in, that approach seemed unattractive at best and potentially fatal at worst.

The third option was to find something equally damaging to hold over Max's head, a sort of mutually assured destruction. Hey, it worked for fifty years during the Cold War. It certainly could work here as well. The only problem was finding the necessary something or somethings.

In the end, it was Sam who reached out from beyond the grave to extricate me from Max's clutches. Demand for the training we provided had continued to grow, requiring us to find additional training space. Rather than construct another building on the camp property, I decided to clean out a barn on the edge of the training campus that was currently full of old junk and turn it into a year round building. That required cleaning out the materials stored there. While the camp staff was cleaning out those materials, John came across a locked filing cabinet with labels in Sam's handwriting. He called me and asked me what I wanted to do with the cabinet and whether I needed to review the materials before he disposed of them.

Because it was Sam's, I asked John to bring the entire filing cabinet over to my office, allowing me to open it and review the contents at my leisure. When I finally got around to unlocking the cabinet and began reviewing the contents, I discovered that Sam had left me a treasure trove of materials relating to every single assignment he had ever performed for Max and every assignment I had performed independently prior to his illness and death. He had copies of emails, recordings of telephone calls, a journal with detailed notes of every conversation, narratives of what had happened during the assignment, including clients, targets, explanations of why the target was chosen and results of the assignment. Max's name was heavily sprinkled throughout these materials and his distinctive voice easily identified on the recordings. Sam had committed the ultimate violation of data security rules by creating and maintaining these files. But he'd also recognized that having the ability to pull Max into any shit storm Max might try to create against him or me was the best protection against Max's doing what he'd threatened to do to me. I was ecstatic.

How to protect these materials in order to ensure I could use them as a permanent shield was my most important consideration. Finding a way to anonymously archive them, in a way that Max couldn't discover, was harder than it might appear. Max had many, many resources, not all of which were legal but all of which were far more sophisticated than the best of mine.

In the end, I decided that a simple, low tech approach was the solution. I had the recordings transferred to CD, making multiple copies that I could store in widely separate, not readily identifiable locations. I did the same with the journals and other printed materials. One copy went into a sealed container stored in a cave I'd discovered on the property. I left written instructions where that copy was stored as part of the succession plan, anticipating that if something happened to me, those instructions would be pulled off the shelf and the materials would be discovered as part of the transition process. I deposited another copy in a safe deposit box at a local bank, with written instructions in the box to turn the contents over to the FBI if anything had happened to me and prepaid the box fee in cash for the next three years. The third copy went to a local attorney, with similar instructions. Finally, I scanned a copy of the materials into a folder stored in the cloud, setting up a default transmission to the FBI and several major news organizations if the instructions to continue to store the materials were not renewed on an annual basis. Then I called Max.

"Matt. Good to hear from you. Are you ready to perform?"

"I don't think so, Max. I told you I'm done."

"Don't be foolish. You know I can destroy you."

"Max, Max, Max. Do you recall the Cold War? You were a younger man when that was still a thing?"

"What does ancient history have to do with this?"

"Surely you will recall the concept of mutually assured destruction. If you attempt to destroy me, I also destroy you."

"And how do you think that applies here?"

"Sam left me a present. Let me play something for you."

I pushed play on the CD player and Max's voice rolled out of the speaker and into the phone's microphone. He was detailing the unsanctioned assignment that he'd given to Sam.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Sam kept records. There are multiple copies hidden in various places with instructions to share the materials with the FBI and the media if anything happens to me. If you take any steps to screw me, they'll released and you'll be the most wanted man on five continents. So, we're done."

Max was silent for some time. "Why should I believe you. If you release that, you're screwed and Sam's memory is trashed."

"Sam's dead, so he won't care. I have no intention of self-destruction, so the only way that I will release these materials is if you've already launched your attempted destruction of me. Your choice."

"And what about your girlfriend? What happens when she finds out what kind of person you are?"

"If you launch, I'm toast anyway. She'll put me behind her just like she did Doors. She's a big girl."

I didn't really believe that, but I was bluffing. Max didn't have to know that.

"So Max. It's goodbye. Don't call me and I won't call you."

Max hung up and I breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had rescued me one last time.

That weekend I was due to visit Maggie and Ronan in New York. With Max out of my life, I was ready to move our relationship on to the next level. I wanted to do to Maggie what Sam had never done to my mother - ask her to be my wife and marry her as soon as possible.

That evening, after dinner, Maggie and I put Ronan to bed, saw Melissa off for the evening and sat down. I was nervous and Maggie picked up on my uncertainties.

"Maggie, my love, I have a question for you. Before I ask it, I need to tell you some things which could impact your answer."

"What is it, my dear?"

"For more than a decade, I've had a second 'job' as a paid assassin for several governmental agencies. Sam had a similar role, and he had me join him when I became an adult. But there's a problem."

"What's that?"

"The man who gave us our assignments was also giving us unsanctioned assignments that he and we were being paid for. If that ever comes out, I'm looking at having to run or a life sentence, possibly a death sentence."

"Good God, Matt. How likely is it that this will come out?"

"Less likely than it used to be. Sam left me materials that insulate me from disclosure by our handler. The biggest risk is that our handler's materials are released after he dies and I'm implicated."

"Oh Matt...."

"But I still need to ask you this question."

With that, I slid off the sofa, got down on one knee, and pulled the ring I'd purchased out from between the cushions.

"Maggie, I love you like I've never loved anyone. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be your husband, your lover, your friend, Ronan's father and the father of our other children. Maggie O'Brien, will you marry me?"

I'd expected a response, but not the one I got.

"I have to know something first, before I give you an answer."

That wasn't something I was anticipating.

"What?"

"That evening in the bedroom when you came to kill me. Why didn't you follow through?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't start lying to me now, Matt. You have a distinctive voice and an equally distinctive way of moving. I recognized you in the gallery the first time we met face to face. I needed a few minutes to make the connection. You were gone by the time it clicked, but I knew it was you then."

"And you hired me to train you, dated me and let me fall in love with you anyway? Why didn't you turn me in to the police? Was this one long setup?"

"No, I'm really in love with you. But I need to know why you didn't carry out the contract my ex-husband had hired you to perform."

"I've told you about losing my mother. What I didn't tell you was that she was two months pregnant with Sam's son when she was murdered. Sam and I both had some very hard and fast rules about the assignments we'd accept. Neither Sam nor I would accept contracts that involved domestic matters or would harm a child. Doors lied to us and when I discovered you were pregnant with Ronan and he was trying to avoid the pre-nup, I voided the contract."

"And you paid him a visit later? He told me that he'd had a very unpleasant experience with a masked man the same day you came to see me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to have happen to you what happened to my mother. I thought you and Ronan deserved the chance to live a happy life as a family."

"And I fell in love with you because you valued me and my son, to the point of abandoning a very lucrative contract when you'd been hired to kill me. I felt that you'd always protect us and put us first when I found out that you'd visited Willard and convinced him to cooperate in the divorce and leave Ronan and me alone. Now you're asking me to let you into that family permanently?"

"I am."

"And you'll continue to love and protect us, using all of the skills and talents that you have?"

"You, Ronan, and the rest of our children."

"Then, my dear, the answer is yes. I will marry you, bear your children and grow old with you. But you must promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"You are done with taking assignments like the one that initially brought us into contact."

"I can promise you that I will never accept another assignment, either from the government or from Max, the handler."

With that, I slipped the ring onto her finger and led her to the bedroom where we enjoyed an evening of lovemaking, confirming our commitment to one another.

We were married two months later. The wedding was low key, with Maggie's immediate family, Melissa serving as the maid of honor; a handful of my staff, with John serving as my best man; and a very few of Maggie's friends. Melissa agreed to keep Ronan for a week while we flew to the Caribbean, where I'd arranged to rent a house on the beach belonging to a former foreign training center client for a week. We spent a lot more time in the house than we did on the beach. We didn't know it when we left to come home, but Maggie was already pregnant with the first of our three children.

We managed to adjust to one another's lifestyles far more easily than I'd feared. It helped that Maggie was willing to meet me more than halfway. She loved living at the camp, but maintained the apartment in New York City for those times when she needed to be in the city or just to recharge her cultural batteries. She dragged me to the ballet, opera and symphony, plus the occasional Broadway theater performance. At Christmas time, she even took me to see the Rockettes. And we continued to enjoy the art culture in the city, acquiring a number of paintings by unknown up and coming artists that appealed to our respective tastes. And Maggie finally did reach agreement with David on that Hudson River School painting she'd been looking at when I first encountered her after the aborted hit assignment. It hangs in the living room of her apartment.

Once Maggie said yes to my proposal, I notified my contacts at the various three letter agencies that I was not accepting any further assignments, citing my new family obligations as the reason. My sole remaining employment was going to be running the training camp. My contacts at the agencies expressed disappointment, but accepted my retirement after a bit of grumbling and my refusing some fairly substantial offers of additional economic incentives to continue.

I never heard from Max again. Two years after I'd last spoken to him, his obituary appeared in the Times. He'd died after a "brief illness" which the scuttlebutt in the security community suggested was lung cancer, a legacy of Max's two pack a day habit. I didn't tell Maggie, but I was skittish for a few months after Max's passing wondering if he'd reach out from beyond the grave to get his revenge. As time passed and I heard nothing, I slowly relaxed and life went on.

Over the next six years we gave Ronan a brother and two sisters. Through our lawyers, Maggie and I quietly arranged for Doors' parental rights to be terminated so I could adopt Ronan. He's my son in every way now except biologically and I plan to be the father to him that Sam was to me. I'll teach him everything Sam taught me, including the need to honor and protect women and children. But neither he nor his siblings will ever be called upon to perform an "assignment" if I have anything to say about it. My only uncompleted assignment got me Maggie and I'm grateful for how it turned out. But that's not something you can expect to happen twice. I'll do all I can to ensure that none of my children will ever experience the opportunity to enjoy a hitman's romance.