“Come on, this has to be a quickie.” He tugged me into the bathroom and locked the door.
I stared at him. He had to be kidding, didn’t he? There was barely enough room to use the toilet. I’d have to be a contortionist. Or he would. Or incredibly flexible. Nothing at yoga class covered emergency sex in an airplane loo. What if someone banged on the door and we both emerged? People aren’t that stupid. My face burned.
Consistent, if nothing else, Fraser was right. God, is that man creative. Relaxing. He wasn’t kidding. Much better than champagne. Lots better than in-flight exercises and more fun. My body was boneless after I signed up for the Mile High Club. I like it a lot better than the Frequent Flyer Program. No upfront costs, the fringe benefits are immediate and you cash in your points on the spot.
A curious series of numbers on a scrap of paper fell out of the file to the floor.
40 300 30 10. 31. 10--31 1, 1,2.
I considered a few possibilities. A phone number? A bank account? Weary from the day, I showered and climbed into bed wishing for Fraser next to me. He’d be in Scotland by now, in Dundee. What he wanted to do there was still a mystery, the same as the numbers. Maybe he would have known what they were right away. I’d have to ask Ian in the morning.
I never got to ask. When I arrived at the archive and rapped on his office door, there was no answer.
“Ian?” I pushed the door open and walked in. Papers still scattered on his desk, stained tea mug half full. He must have left in a hurry and couldn’t be far.
I glanced at the papers and froze. Mitzi’s file was on his desk clearly marked but the file was empty. Maybe he was copying another document. I walked around the desk and staggered. Ian Cowdray was slumped on the floor, wedged between the chair and the desk. I knelt down immediately to check for a pulse, the nurse side of me kicking into gear.
The minute I touched him I knew it was futile. His skin was icy, eyes staring up like the doll’s. Ian would never tell me what the numbers meant. A gunshot to the chest had ensured that. Ian had been murdered and I’d just tampered with a dead body. There was nothing left to do but scream.