I bite my lip to suppress a smile, half at her words and half at the flush that creeps over McCreadie’s face.
“Er, yes. ‘Ought.’ That was the word I meant. You ought not to see the body.”
“But I can, and so I will.”
She starts to pass him.
Gray clears his throat. “Isla…?”
She keeps walking. Gray sighs, follows, and leans past her to brace one hand on the door.
“Hugh is correct,” he says. “It will give you nightmares.”
She looks between the two men and straightens. “May I remind you that I am no longer a child needing you two to protect my delicate sensibilities.”
“It’s your delicatestomachthat’s the problem,” Gray says. “And your overactive imagination.”
“Overactive?” she huffs.
“This is not a science project, Isla,” Gray says. “It is a murder victim.”
Her lips tighten. She doesn’t like that, particularly as her brother does indeed use murder victims as objects of scientific study. But I presume she doesn’t study forensics, and so his point is valid enough to accomplish what he intends—make her reconsider her zeal to see the body.
Finally, she flutters her fingers. “All right. Off with all three of you then, and I shall await the report. There will be a report, yes? And if there are any unknown substances to be analyzed, you will bring them to me?”
“We shall report and, of course, anything requiring chemical analysis shall be delivered to your laboratory.”