<strong>Malcolm Wade -- More Questions, and More Questions</strong><br/><br/>Malcolm nearly choked on his bourbon as he listened to McDermott's withering commentary on Hatcher's experience. Although he largely agreed with the man, he didn't expect him to blast their potential employer's story quite so openly. He had to admit, though, it was sort of refreshing to meet someone who had less tact than he did.<br/><br/>"I think it<em>could be</em>the work of an Outsider, sure," Mal said, a little defensively. "I admit it's not totally likely, though; like I said, we really should visit the house before we decide what's responsible for...that," he continued, pointing at the files.<br/><br/>As they talked, Mal noticed Ms. Tate's return to the restaurant and grinned inwardly when he realized the only open seat was next to him. He shifted a bit and offered a little 'welcome back' wave, then immediately regretted it when she sat down and started looking through the victims' photos. Still, it wasn't as if he could protect her from it; if she was here to do the job, she'd have to wade through the horror just like the rest of them. He stayed silent as she went to the bar to get herself a drink; he couldn't blame her for needing a little liquid courage to continue.<br/><br/>Her first question of the evening concerning the property's previous owners seemed to open Hatcher's flood gates a little more, and he held forth for several minutes on the house's history. Obviously whatever was involved here started with the Harrows, but what happened to them? And what happened to their money? There were still a few questions to be asked, and probably a lot of information to sift through. Fortunately from the look of the other envelopes in front of Hatcher, it seemed their host had already saved them the trouble of compiling and summarizing the relevant facts.<br/><br/>Malcolm was about to inquire about those other files when another woman approached the table. Decked out in dark, glossy vinyl and boots that showcased her already fantastic legs, the woman was a hair's breadth between 'trashy' and 'elegant'. In Mal's opinion, it was sexy as hell. She stopped at the table and introduced herself, and a dim lightbulb seemed to click on in his brain.<br/><br/><em>'Lisa Morgan. Why do I know that name? I know I've heard of her, somewhere.'</em>Mal's thoughts turned a mile a minute, trying to place her familiarity as he rose from his seat and offered a hand. "Malcolm Wade, Ms. Morgan. Good to meet you."