“Then answer the seat question.”
Adrian rubbed one hand over his face.
“My assistant booked the ticket.”
“Name?”
“Claire.”
“Did she choose fourteen B?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was someone else supposed to sit there before you?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I changed flights.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
A different kind of tension entered the hallway.
“Why?”
“My original flight was delayed. I had a meeting in Houston tonight.”
“So you moved onto mine?”
“Yes.”
“How close to
departure?”
“Less than two hours.”
I tried to remember boarding.
The exhausted man beside me.
The navy jacket.
The ridiculous napkin animals.
“If you changed flights at the last minute, then whoever wrote that note may have known.”
“Yes.”
“And whoever knew would need access to your travel.”
“Possibly.”
“Or mine.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“Who was supposed to be in fourteen B before you switched?”
Adrian stared at me.
Then glanced at the photograph.
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
I almost smiled from sheer frustration.
“At least everyone is consistent tonight.”
“I can find out.”
“How?”
“Passenger manifests change. Airlines retain booking history.”
“Can you access that?”
“Not personally.”
“Good.”
He gave me a tired look.
“I do understand laws, Elena.”
“I’ve known you four hours.”
“Long enough to know I’m annoyingly careful.”
That almost made me laugh.
