Clare said, a realist. Her hair was pulled back off her face in a tight ponytail, accentuating her strong cheekbones. She was dressed in BDUs. I found it impossible not to think about what she might be wearing under them. A framed photo of her son sat on her desk, his innocent, big brown eyes following me. Sorry, kid. “I'm leaving tomorrow,” I said, straight out. “Orders.” “And the good?” she replied, without the slightest flicker of regret evident. Clare Selwyn wasn't the type who'd be standing on a train platform waving anyone good-bye with a tear-sodden hanky, unless it was her son. “That doesn't bother you? The fact that I'm leaving?” I said. “Of course I'm disappointed. The sex was pretty good, but this is the Air Force.” She shrugged. “What can you do?” The sex was pretty good. Pretty good? I'd have said amazing. “So, the good news?” she asked again, this time with a frown. I took her through the discoveries on Wright's iPod by showing her, loading the QuickTime MPEGs up on her computer.
