I’m off-line until we dock—I’ve accepted that. So for now, I’m taking advantage of what limited resources I have and writing down everything I can remember about Gemma and our conversation that may come in handy with linking her to what is bound to be a big, fat lie. Decker wasn’t the kind of guy who would have a drunken one-night stand with his TA. Even if he did make that mistake, he also wasn’t the kind of guy who would just accept that some chick he knocked up was going to put their unwanted child up for adoption and never follow up to see how that went, or how she was doing. He had morals. And a conscience, too.

I start making a list of things to look up later, writing each on a separate Post-it and sticking it to the back of the stall door.

Are blondes more likely to lie than brunettes?

Boob job...pre or post Decker?

Mutual friends?

Double-check the timeline...

Nearly two hours later, I feel the boat jerk to a halt in the middle of scribbling another rapid-fire note on a Post-it. I’ve never been so happy to be back on land and immediately peel them all off, keeping them in order, and place them inside my bag.

I locate Casey by the sight of her red patent leather shoes and head straight toward her. She is conversing, laughing, and drinking with one of the guys from the speed dating table.

“Hi, excuse me, sorry,” I interrupt the two of them. “We need to leave, Casey. Now.”

“Why? Did you get your period or something? I have tampons...”

“What? No. We just need to go home. I can’t explain it all right now, but someone on this ship claims to have known Decker, slept with him, got pregnant, and now I’ve written down all this data that I have to put through my system so I can prove there was no connection between the two.” I fan the fluorescent Post-its her way to drive home the point.

“So...why do we have to leave?”

I can’t believe how oblivious she is being. I’m telling her that a bomb has been dropped and she’s showing no sense of urgency to move with me to get out of the way of it detonating.

“Umm, because I need to know if the two of them could have possibly ever hooked up and I don’t have my algorithm set to run like that right now and I can’t tweak the code unless we are off this boat.”

Was that all one sentence?

“So you need to see if they were compatible?”

“Exactly.” She’s finally getting it.

“Isn’t that the same thing I asked you to do with me and Justin before we left tonight?”

“Who the hell is Justin?” I ask.

“The librarian. The drummer. The guy I had the one-night stand with. I sent you his profile. You told me you’d run him through your app after you were finished getting ready. Did you do it?”