Taz, page 10
He smiled and then turned and trotted out of the room, squealing something unintelligible in the process.
A few seconds later, Lindsey was in my room, holding the baby, telling me that the kids had gotten home last night and that breakfast was almost ready.
“Hey Jackson,” I greeted and watched as he smiled before burying his face in Lindsey’s hair. “Is he normally shy?” I asked.
“Only with people he doesn’t know,” she replied. “See you at breakfast.”
I wiped the perspiration from my face with the hand towel I’d been given, and then dutifully wiped off the sweat I’d left on the weights I’d been lifting. It was workout courtesy and little things like that delighted me because it convinced me that, little by little, pieces of my memory were returning. I chuckled as I headed towards the treadmill at how important the words ‘declarative’ and ‘procedural’ had become to me.
Oh hell, I knew that Ralston would say that wiping my sweat off the workout equipment fell under ‘procedural,’ and I’m sure it did, but other little tidbits that were ‘declarative’ for sure had been seeping into my neurons. It was a little bit strange as to how they’d been filtering in, but hell, I’d take them any way I could.
They came to me in my dreams, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t fucking look forward to all the sleep I’d been getting. Hell, a lot of them were ‘wet dreams’ that my hot little wife starred in. I had mentioned one of them to her when the kids weren’t around the previous day.
“Lindsey,” I said, “Do you remember when Professor Matthews instructed you on how to find your own G-Spot, and then observed your success?”
She had dropped the plate she’d been getting from the cupboard, and turned to me, her mouth dropping open as well. “How did you remember that?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Came to me in my sleep,” I replied cockily. “Woke up with a hard-on as a matter of fact. Damn near took some baby steps toward your room.”
Her face had turned crimson, but I hadn’t missed the way the corners of her mouth turned up into one of her delicious smiles that I rarely saw. “Taz,” she had chided softly, turning away.
Yeah, that was another thing. All she ever called me these days was ‘Trace.’
I made it a point to ask Slate about that when he had picked me up the other day to take me to the gym. “Slate,” I said, “Everyone calls me Taz it seems except for Lindsey. Has it always been like that?”
He glanced over at me briefly. “She mostly called you Taz in the past, except when she was pissed or berating you for some inappropriate thing you did or said.”
“Or when she told me she loved me,” I finished.
“And you know this how?”
“Hell, I don’t know. It just came to me.”
“Hang in there, brother. She’ll come around. I’m sure of it.”
I was glad he was because I sure as hell wasn’t. The more these little bits and pieces surfaced, the more I ached for things to be the way they must’ve been between us before all of this went down. Not to mention the chronic Blue Ball Syndrome I’d been enduring.
Yeah, I know how that sounded, but fuck, it was the truth!
“Hey,” I had said to Slate just then, “Are Lindsey and Sammie talking yet? I mean, hell, I wouldn’t know if they were.”
“Naw,” he replied, “And that shit has gone on long enough. I’m thinking it’s time I intervened. Sammie is beside herself over it. It hasn’t been pleasant around my house either, Taz.”
So, my days had been filled with napping, dreaming, having pieces of the past blessedly replanting themselves in my neurons, and trying to bond with my rug rats. They both seemed a bit mystified and apprehensive about this bearded stranger that no longer slept in ‘Mommy’s room’ as my daughter had coined it.
I smiled thinking about Harper, and the unfiltered stuff that came out of her mouth.
That little girl was a trip! And I totally meant that in a good way. She looked like a clone of Lindsey, but hell if she didn’t act just like her Daddy.
How did I know that you ask? It’s called my fucking ‘declarative memory’ and it was coming back like a bitch!
Back to the present.
I finished my workout and grabbed a shower. I had a meeting scheduled with Slate in thirty minutes. I’d been coming to Quantico with him every day for the past two weeks. He was slowly helping me to get reoriented there.
At first, none of the faces had been familiar. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who knew me, but unfortunately, I hadn’t recognized. But that was all changing. Every day more and more people became familiar to me, and their names were known to me. I was also learning what their roles were at the Bureau.
So, I’d been working out, and then meeting with Ralston who had his office there. Three days a week Lindsey and I saw the doctor together and then I would ride back home with her. I was dissuaded from driving just yet because of the drowsiness that often accompanied my afternoon dose of medication. The other two days, I would stay there in an office that Slate had commandeered for me and study documents and videos that Slate provided me. He would drop me at home later.
The materials he gave me contained nothing sensitive. It was mostly job descriptions, organizational charts, agent protocol, global current events in the media, terrorist training manuals, and martial arts demos. It felt like I was in college again, but that in and of itself was a good thing because it proved that I could actually remember college!
The days where Lindsey and I had joint counseling were a bit more stressful for me. Ralston had his work cut out for him in getting her to open up. When he had brought up the possibility of her being depressed and suggested she might benefit from antidepressant medication, she’d freaked the fuck out.
“There is no way in hell I’m going on meds because of what Trace has done to this family!” she had shouted. That was followed up by flouncing angrily from the room, slamming the door behind her.
“I think you might’ve struck a nerve, Doc,” I had suggested.
“Trace, you really need to see what you can do at home to get her to open up. I realize she feels as if she’s being punished for something she had no part in, but the bottom line is that I don’t see things getting any better with your marriage until she’s on the same page, regardless of the players.”
“I hear you, Doc,” I had replied, “But she’s shut me out of our bedroom, and pretty much out of her life. The kids interact with me much better than she does. Let’s be honest here, she blames me for it all, and I swear that video has fucked her up bad.”
He nodded. “You have to understand that given the fact you were Lindsey’s first lover and consequently, her only lover, the reality of what happened has hit her harder than most. Still, I think it’s time you share with her the chain of events that led up to what happened. She needs to understand what you’ve been through with respect to your amnesia, your natural defenses to a dangerous situation, and your overall survival training.”
I looked at him closely. “Are you expecting me to put my psychologist hat on again, Doc? That’s a bit premature. I don’t think I’m equipped at this point with that expertise. I’m treading water here, and it sure as hell isn’t as if that knowledge base has returned. I’m not even close.”
He had studied me for a moment, removing his glasses. “I get that, Trace. But trust me when I tell you that one of the things that made you such a great psychologist and profiler had way more to do with your instincts and much less to do with your book learning. Please continue reading the case studies that I gave Slate for you to review, along with the interview videos. I’m betting, before long, you’ll know exactly how to rope that heifer.”
My head snapped up immediately. “Excuse me?” I asked; my jaw dropped at his particular choice of words.
For the first time ever, I saw Ralston chuckle and give me a shit-eating grin that couldn’t be fucking denied. “See you tomorrow,” he said with a sly smile, “Just keep in mind what I said.”
I woke up with a start. My hand found my forehead quickly, and I was sweating like I had a fever; my breathing was shallow and ragged, but nothing else hurt.
Then I heard a soft knocking on the bedroom door. “Trace? Are you okay?”
It was Lindsey, of course.
My breathing immediately evened and the nightmare I’d been having when I awoke, came swiftly back to my conscious mind. “Yeah, I’m okay. Bad dream,” I called out. The door opened and from the light in the hallway, I could make out her shapely profile.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked gently.
How about serving up some of that sweet pussy?
“I’m fine,” I replied stiffly. “It’s just part of the process. Both the good and the bad are coming back to roost, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.
I’d rather you simply fuck the memory out of my mind.
“Not necessary,” I replied, “I can handle it on my own. Goodnight, Lindsey.”
“Goodnight,” she replied reluctantly, closing the door softly behind her.
I grabbed a pillow and punched it into submission, and then rested my head back down on it. I was reluctant to even fall back to sleep, because the dream had been that horrific.
It was Lindsey.
She had been abducted by some fuckface named Kyzer. She hadn’t fucking listened to me all of those times I’d warned her about that motherfucker! So innocent; so fucking trusting. That was my Lindsey.
And then he had her and I couldn’t fucking find her…anywhere!
I had been a maniac—breaking all protocol and regulations, going against my supervisor, Slate. I hadn’t given a flying fuck because she meant that much to me! She was mine; she’d always be mine.
Fast forward.
Me and another agent…what the fuck was his name?
Hardesty. Agent Hardesty.
There we were in that abandoned factory, searching for her. And then we found her, and for as long as I live, I knew that I could never erase that picture from my mind.
She had almost died. She would’ve died if we hadn’t found her when we did. There had been weeks spent in the hospital; and surgery—more than one, before it was all over with. Then it was time for the emotional healing to begin. It hadn’t been easy. Not by a long shot.
It had been Kyzer Fucking Stanfield and that bitch of a stepmother…Susan Reynard…Capri DeSantis that had come so close to destroying our lives; from taking my Lindsey from me forever.
Fuck!
That’s when I must’ve screamed out; that must’ve been what had awakened Lindsey in the middle of the night.
That memory was back and firmly in place.
I should’ve taken her up on coming in so that we could talk about it. Should have told her that I deserved forgiveness for fucking that cunt, Natalia—or Talia, whatever the hell she called herself, because at the end of the day, I had snapped Susan Reynard’s neck. I had made sure that sociopathic bitch wouldn’t take another breath on this planet, or ever be able to mastermind someone else’s torture again.
Capri DeSantis.
Susan Reynard.
One in the same, but most importantly, she was Talia’s main carpet muncher, along with being the mastermind of what Kyzer Stanfield had done to Lindsey.
My Lindsey.
The one that I had found and saved.
I tossed and turned and my mind was a flurry of uncertainty. Why shouldn’t I go down that hallway and kick open those french doors like a modern day Rhett Butler and fucking claim what was mine? Why shouldn’t I prove that I could rope that heifer, as Dr. Ralston had so eloquently phrased it?
And I knew why.
Because that wasn’t the dance that Lindsey and I did with one another.
Oh, don’t get me wrong—I could be a savage, hell I had been a savage more than once in my day.
But not with Lindsey. Never with Lindsey.
Because what she and I had was way hotter than that, and it was so unique, that I knew for as long as I lived, I’d never have it with anyone else. Hell, I would never want it with anyone else!
More memories started flooding my declarative neurons.
The cruise?
Oh hell yeah, the fucking cruise!
There had been this masquerade party on the cruise. Couples dressed up with make-up, wigs and anything else to hide all signs of recognition. I had known that as soon as the guys were allowed in, I would be the first one to claim my girl.
And I had been.
I had been drawn to Lindsey, like a magnet to steel, because that’s just the chemistry we had going, and we always would.
My girl just didn’t understand that at the moment.
But she would.
And soon.
“How are things going at home?” Slate asked, his legs propped up on his desk, holding his signature coffee mug that had the words “trust no one” scrolled on it.
“Making progress with the kids. Not so much with Lindsey yet, but then she’s been pretty busy with this business of hers and Sammie. She’s constantly on the phone.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” he replied, sipping his coffee. “Sammie’s been taking the meetings with the top dog at the job site, so I’ve been stuck doing Mr. Mom duty at home.”
“Are they talking yet?” I asked, knowing that I’d probably hear it from Slate before I would ever hear it from Lindsey.
“Only when necessary. It’s driving Sammie nuts.”
“Maybe we should intervene,” I suggested.
“No fucking way,” Slate replied, shaking his head. “I’ve had a change of heart on that. For one thing, you’ve got enough on your plate as it is. They’ll work it out. The question is, when will you and Lindsey work it out?”
I stood up and stretched, rubbing my jaw I looked over at him. He was actually waiting for an answer as if I could possibly know that. “Shit, you tell me, man. Those sessions with Ralston seem to be getting us nowhere.”
“Oh yeah? Well what does he suggest for you two?”
I shrugged, “Medication for Lindsey and patience for me, I guess. Lindsey’s not down with taking the meds, but the longer I’m around her, the more unsettled she becomes.”
“Taz, give her some more time and maybe try working that special magic of yours on her,” Slate offered with a chuckle.
“Right,” I replied, “I guess that special magic hasn’t slipped back into my memory just yet. What I feel like doing is going all fucking alpha on her ass.”
“Whatever works, brother.”
I’d finished my workout, showered and had another hour before Lindsey would be here for our session with Dr. Ralston. I decided to kill the time by going over to the shooting range, which wasn’t located all that far from the medical building. I was curious to see if I could still handle my weapon.
Diana Hancock, aka ‘Dirty Diana’ was working the range. She’d previously been an agent trainee in our unit several years back. We’d been on a couple of undercover assignments together. She had graduated and gone on to pursue firearms training and now ran the program at Quantico, making sure the agents qualified and recertified per the newly revised Bureau criteria.
“Hey Taz,” she greeted, “How’s it hanging these days?”
I clearly recalled this was Dee Dee’s typical style. She’d had quite a reputation back in the day of being the one to carve the notches in her bedposts of agents she’d fucked. I hadn’t been one of those notches, not that she hadn’t invited me more than once, but even in my manwhore days, I didn’t fuck where I ate.
“Hanging tough, Dee Dee,” I replied giving her a wink. We’d chatted several times since I’d been coming back to Quantico. She knew the score with my amnesia, and had been helpful in updating me on the new guidelines for the pistol qualification course.
“What’s your pleasure today?” she asked, standing behind the counter where the rows of handguns, rifles, automatic and semi-automatic weapons were stored.
“Sixty rounds,” I replied, “Holstered Glock.”
“You’ve got it,” she said, pulling the tray out of one of the shelves that contained the gun, holster, safety glasses and ear protection. She slammed the ammunition down on the counter, and pushed the sign-out sheet over for me to sign. “You’ve got lane three,” she said, “Don’t forget, forty of the sixty have to be close range, three to seven yards from the holster, under your jacket.”
“Got it,” I replied, “Watch and learn, Dee Dee.”
“Still cocky after all these years, huh Taz?”
I fired my rounds, forty at close range, and the rest at twenty to twenty-five yards, hitting the moving paper targets in perfect lethal locations.
Must be ‘procedural memories’ kicking ass I thought to myself as I gathered the shit up to turn in.
“Agent Matthews, I gotta say, that was some sweet shooting there. I’m impressed. Still got your mojo going on, don’t you?”
She leaned over the counter as I signed off on the equipment return line, and I noticed her tits were ready to spill out over that too-tight push-up bra she was wearing.
“You might want to button your shirt up, Dee Dee. I don’t think that’s regulation,” I teased.
She rolled her eyes at me, as she initialed my signature. “You are so married, aren’t you? You know, I heard you used to be a lot of fun. What a shame,” she replied, sounding disappointed as she gave me a sexy wink.
“Trace,” a voice called from the entrance door, “Are you planning on making our appointment with Dr. Ralston?”
It was Lindsey and her voice dripped with irritation. I glanced quickly at the clock. Shit! I hadn’t realized it was ten minutes past the hour. She had her visitor badge on, and was waiting, tapping her foot impatiently.
“Sorry, Lindsey,” I said, pulling my jacket back on, “I’m coming. Later, Dee Dee.”
