I strapped myself into the jumpseat and stared out at the only two passengers I could see from where I was: Dr. Pressman and the chiropractor. The doctor was reading a journal. The chiropractor was tossing goldfish crackers into his mouth. I was partway to a good sulk when the answer came to me. The only reason we had researched all of them was that we didn’t know which guy it was. If I could get my date to raise his hand and identify himself, problem solved. If it turned out to be one of the wild cards, I would call Harvey and give him the name. If it was one of the original four, we were already set.

By the time we were airborne and I was released to the galley, I had a plan.

I fixed the kid’s “double GTs” with an extra slice of lime and put a couple of Advils on the side. I poured Malcolm’s red wine, opened the two beers, and got a scotch and water, orange juice, and club soda for the other passengers. While the almonds were heating, I found a pen in the pocket of my apron, smoothed out six cocktail napkins, and wrote the password on each:Saturn.

When they were ready, I gathered the nuts, picked up the tray, and emerged into the den of possibilities. I served the passengers in the sequence I’d taken the orders. The baby titan was asleep. One of the wild cards, a guy named Leland Cole, was in the window seat next to him. He was reasonably young but seemed determined to discourage anyone from thinking so. His lightweight short-sleeved shirt was buttoned one button too high and was made of the same lightweight suburban madras plaid my father used to wear to barbecue in the backyard. When I put the marked napkin in front of him, he handed it right back.

“May I have one that’s not been used?”

“Of course.” Cross him off the list.

Malcolm didn’t even notice the napkin I placed on his tray. He was busy looking at me. I set his drink down and served the woman next to him her orange juice.

I dropped the other two marked napkins in front of the bulkhead boys. Dr. Ethics didn’t even look up from his screen. The chiropractor saw that his napkin had something written on it and flipped it over, apparently eager to get his pudgy fingers around his beer.

No sooner had I returned to the galley then I turned to find Malcolm, hands in his pockets, relaxed against the coat closet. I was disappointed but not surprised. I stacked some cups that didn’t need stacking. “The seat belt sign is still on,” I said. “You’re in violation of about twelve different FAA regulations.”

“You wouldn’t turn me in, would you?”

“I’d be taking a risk not to. There could be an inspector onboard.”

He gave me a look that made me believe the risk might have been worth it. He was clearly the kind of man who didn’t have much use for rules.

“Would you be available to join me for a drink this evening in Chicago?”

I stared at him. He was disarmingly flushed and a little nervous. He was obviously flirting, yet he offered no password. What was I to make of this?

“Well…that depends.”

“On what?”

“It’s possible I will be otherwise engaged this evening.”

“Is that true, or are you giving me the brush-off?”

I lowered my voice. “I’m not brushing you off. I’m waiting for verification.”

“Verification?”

When he said it back to me, I realized what an odd choice of words that must have seemed if he wasn’t the guy. Maybe he wasn’t. That would be nice. “I’m waiting to hear back from a friend. We’re supposed to get together tonight. Otherwise, I would love to get a drink with you.”

He grinned. “Do you mind if I check back with you later, then?”

“Please do. I expect to hear something soon.”

After he’d gone back to his seat, the cockpit called to say they were hungry. I was setting up their trays when I heard the curtains rattle behind me and felt a hand on my butt.

“Hey-”

I whipped around, expecting that Malcolm had finally made his move. Instead, I found myself eye to eye with the pudgy chiropractor. He didn’t look bored anymore. He held his empty beer glass in the hand he wasn’t using to grope me.

“Just sampling the merchandise. So far, I like what I see.”

He set the glass down and started to reach for me again. I grabbed his wrist. “I’m not exactly on the clock right now. Not yours, anyway.”

His blue eyes danced in his raspberry soufflé face as he leaned in close enough for me to smell his deodorant. “You like it rough, right?” He let out a low groan that might have been aiming for sexy but sounded as if he had sciatica. “That’s what I asked for.”

I squeezed his wrist, roughly, and moved close enough that my knee brushed the inside of his thigh. Not a lot of tone going on there. “You can’t get rough enough for me, baby. What’s the code word?”

“Mercury.”

The correct response sent my heart pinging around in my chest like a copper BB in a tin can. I had successfully connected, a realization that both excited and terrified me. I couldn’t wait to get him out of my space.

“Go back to your seat. I’ll bring you another beer.”

“Nine o’clock,” he said. “Seven Oaks Hotel. Call before you come up.”

After he disappeared behind the curtain, I picked up the Airfone and dialed up Harvey. I crossed my fingers that the call would go through. When it did, he picked up quickly.

“It’s the chiropractor.”

“Oh, dear. I still have not heard back from my contacts. I believe we are short of the critical facts we need for him.”

“We have several hours yet. I’m not meeting him until nine o’clock. I’m sure you can come up with something by then.”

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You sound-”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can call this off.”

I took a deep breath and tried to let my heartbeats space out. “Thanks for worrying, but I’m okay. I’ll call you after we land.” As I was hanging up, the toilet flushed, and my date for the evening emerged, gut first, tugging at his pants. About then is when what he said really started to sink in. He wanted rough sex.

Please, Harvey, please, come up with something good.

Malcolm took my rejection cheerfully. I wished he’d been a little less cheerful. Once I knew he hadn’t tried to buy me for the evening, I had spent time talking to him-maybe flirting was more like it-throughout the service and after, mostly to keep from having to look at the chiropractor in 3E. Every time I looked his way, he seemed to be leering back at me.

We landed routinely, and as the passengers filed out, I stood at the door to bid them adieu and ask them to fly us again sometime. Malcolm slipped me his business card as he deplaned, which I tucked into a safe place. The baby titan dragged himself off, still looking distraught and listless. He did thank me for the Advil. My date went by with a wink that might not have seemed lewd to a casual observer.

I was gathering my own things, getting ready to leave, when my colleagues from coach started to filter up from the back. One of them, Monica, tapped me on the shoulder as she went by.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Meet me out front.”

Monica’s name was as much as I knew about her. Besides one point late in the flight, when she’d come forward foraging for snacks, we hadn’t spoken except to introduce ourselves. She didn’t look happy when I approached, and I wondered if I had screwed something up again without even knowing it.

“We’re switching,” she said.

“Switching what?”

“We’re swapping dates.”

For about five seconds, I had the luxury of not completely absorbing the meaning of what she’d said. But then confusion gave way to understanding, which turned immediately to the highest state of alarm, and as she stared back at me and it all started clicking into place, I wondered why I had never come across her name or her face in my investigation.

“No. No way.” I worked hard to keep my voice from turning shrill. “I’m not swapping dates with you.”