Dunlop protested for form's sake but was secretly relieved. This expedition was going to cost enough as it was, and possibly cause awkward questions from the accounts people. He hung back discreetly, finding something to talk to the doorman about, and allowed Ava and Bushmill to precede him. They went in the direction of the Malibu wing. 'Silver bullets,' Dunlop said aloud. 'I beg your pardon?' A woman standing nearby, dressed in the resort uniform for females of starched whites with blue piping, looked puzzled as Dunlop spoke. He smiled at her. 'Nothing. Touch of the sun.' She returned the smile. She was an attractive woman—slim, dark hair, deep tan—and in other circumstances Dunlop might have tried to build on the exchange. Proximity to Ava was making him feel something like randy. But not now. He bought a copy of Time at the stand in the lobby and settled down in a courtyard where he would see Ava as soon as she emerged from Bushmill's room. He found it hard to concentrate on the articles in the magazine.
