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Come to think of it, there was paper mail lying on the floor inside the door. I needed to check that. I wondered if there was a protocol I should follow about opening company mail. No one had actually told me I was fired, so I figured the best thing to do was carry on business as usual.That meant throwing away the junk mail and opening the one remaining piece. It was a check from FinCEN for the work Dag did last month on a laptop Jordan brought him. As usual, it was made out to D.H. Investigations for Computer Forensics. I could take it to the bank and deposit it like normal. I slid it into a desk drawer to deal with on the way home tonight. Or on Monday if need be. I’d not gotten far into email, which was mostly just subscriptions and a couple of messages regarding my research thesis, when a man showed up in the doorway.“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m looking for Miss Deborah Riley?”“How may I help you,” I said, straightening behind my desk.“I’m John Allen of Allen Jackson Attorneys at. All of whom, with typical feminine logic, she considered to be vastly more intelligent, attractive and generally desirable than her. Which was, of course, utterly ridiculous and I told her so. At length.Except, of course, that I didn't. I actually talked to the dog, telling him what an idiot she was. Which was fair enough, given that she done exactly the same when she was telling him what a prat I was.The irony that the dog belonged to Kath – the one person we'd both slept with – was not lost on either of us.We sat for quite a while on our separate boulders, dog sprawled between us, until the rain set in again with a vengeance and was nothing else to do but head back down as quickly as possible.Which descent – as Kath or Rosie or whoever had predicted – was ... impressive. In fact, what was usually a stiff but passable path was now mainly underwater, the cascades awesome in their power and noise. I could see Debbie getting really into it – the raw beauty of the scene, particularly.
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