Age:40s?
Occupation:Unknown. Involves him flying to the United States for multiple private meetings (Seattle and San Francisco) with clients in hotel rooms.
Medical conditions:Unknown.
Personality traits:Punctual and efficient (regular short meetings with “associate” in pricey hotel room every week). Fond of twelve-year-old son. Fond of wife’s cooking. Friendly and chatty to store clerks.
Other details:Returning to Seattle in July. Left behind mysterious spreadsheet in hotel room after meeting with client Raymond Darke. (What does this say about his secretive hotel meetings?)
Daniel and I stared at the printout for a long time, tossing theories around. None of them seemed reasonable. The only thing we could agree upon was that we’d finally made real progress. Ivanov might be headed back overseas soon, but our investigation wasn’t dead in the water. We had a tangible clue in our hands, and that was exhilarating. I just wasn’t sure what this clue was or how it added up in the bigger picture.
“It either matters or it doesn’t,” Daniel murmured out of the blue.
“What does?”
“Why you asked me earlier about dating people from the hotel.”
Ugh. I was hoping he’d forgotten that. Why did I bring it up? “It doesn’t.”
“No?” He folded up the printout. “So, you don’t care how many people I’ve dated?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t give two hoots about it.”
“Hoots? Oh my God, Birdie. You’re priceless.”
“Twowhatevers,” I said, frustrated. “Damns.”
“Shits,” he corrected. “You don’t give two shits.”
“That’s right. I don’t give two shits. Two shitholes. Two bear balls.”
“Yikes,” he said. “Youreallydon’t care about Beth.”
“Should we keep the bag? I think so. Could be evidence. You take the bag home, and I’ll hold on to the printout. I’ll see if I can translate it,” I said, taking it from him and stuffing it inside my purse. “And, no, I don’t care about Beth.”
“Because you have no interest in my love life,” he said.
“No,” I said firmly, turning to face him. “I do not. I was just being nosy.”
He nodded slowly. “And I have no interest in yours. You could be pining away for Joseph, for all I care.”
“Joseph? He won’t even look me in the eye.”
“Or Chuck.”
I made a face. “Not if he was the last boy on earth.”
Daniel shrugged. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t matter to me. I get it. You’re not interested.”
“In what?” And why were we still standing so close? We were done reading the printout.
I backed up a step.
Something flickered in his eyes. Leonine, limbs loose, he stepped forward and erased the distance I’d put between us. “You’re not interested in me.”
