Sharyn swallowed. “That’s all I know.”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed on her, then he nodded. “Let’s hope the professor wasn’t there when the fire broke out.”
She prayed for the same, but she held out little hope. She pictured Mrs. Kenworthy’s body slumping to the entryway floor. She shuddered, still struggling to come to terms with all that had happened, still furious at Professor Wright for putting them all in such danger.
The weight of the crossbody bag hung heavy on her shoulder.
What is so important about this book?
Tag searched around. “Is there somewhere less deafening in this place? Where a guy can talk without straining his vocal cords?”
Duncan pointed to the left. “We have a corner booth. With table service.”
Archie shook his head. “Sorry. Won’t do. That spot is currently overflowing with hormones and Paco Rabanne cologne.” He turned. “But follow me.”
As he swung to the right, Sharyn cast Duncan a questioning glance, but he only shrugged.
Archie led them to a side door markedEmployees Only. He shoved through, then held the way open for everyone else. “There’s a breakroom ahead.”
“Are we allowed back here?” Naomi asked as she crossed the threshold.
The same question must have been on a server’s mind. A lanky woman in a Lemon Grove polo headed down the hall toward them. She carried an empty drink tray tucked under an arm and scowled as she sidled past them. Then her eyes spotted Archie, and the hard set to her lips softened.
“Hey, Arch, coming to see the boss?” She nodded down the hall. “As usual, Haran’s holed up in his office.”
“Nah, I’m sure he’s too busy. Friends and I just wanted to rest our ears a bit.”
“All right then.” She called back as she exited into the club, “But stay out of trouble.”
Sharyn knew it was far too late to heed such advice.
Archie led them down the corridor. As they crossed an open door, a shout called from inside. “Masa' alkhayr, sadiqi!”
Archie stopped, shoved his head through the doorway, and answered back in Arabic. The exchange was brief, but clearly warm.
Duncan leaned toward Sharyn. “Archie’s father was with the British diplomatic core. Did a stint in Riyadh. Don’t let Archie’s exterior fool you. He can speak nine languages. Some better than English.”
Archie rejoined them and waved onward with a grin. “The manager offered to send a few free pints our way. I thought it impolite to decline.”
Sharyn had no interest in partaking, but Tag and Naomi looked relieved.
As they passed the office, Duncan nodded back to it. “A few years ago, Archie’s father helped smooth the visa process for the manager’s family. A favor that proved uncannily fortunate, considering where Archie ended up being enrolled. Though, truth be told, his father has connections everywhere. In fact, it’s how I got so many free passes to the club.”
“And now free beer,” Sharyn noted.
Duncan shrugged. “All further proof of the effectiveness of British diplomacy.”
As they reached the breakroom off the hall, Sharyn hung back and searched farther down the corridor. She spotted a glowing Exit sign at the end. The sight of another way out eased the tension in her chest—but only slightly.
Still, it was enough to push her into the breakroom, where concert posters plastered the walls, as if someone had decoupaged the interior. The skunky notes of weed hung in the air, likely pickled into the bones of the place long ago.
Sharyn did not complain. She crossed to the long table that split the room and sagged gratefully into a hard plastic seat. Duncan stepped over to a small fridge and retrieved two bottles of water. He passed her one and took the chair next to hers.
“Thanks,” she said, but she left her bottle unopened. Her stomach was too knotted to take anything in.
She also felt Duncan’s gaze on her, probably weighing whether or not to challenge her on the night’s activities. To deflect any questions, she spoke first. “Sorry about your thumb. From earlier. I thought you were with the military police or something.”
His brows rose higher. “And your first go-to is to attack a British officer?”
