Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(9)

The scream of the gas alarm was shrill enough to shatter the glass on Zafir’s emergency-only adrenaline store. Once upon a time, he’d felt this urgent, explosive focus before every game, the roar of the crowd battling the rush of blood in his ears. But he was an old has-been now, so he took his thrills where he could get them, and if that meant handling a routine, semiannual drill like he was Jason bloody Bourne, so be it.

George, the secondary officer responsible for Echo, appeared from a nearby corridor, took one look at Zaf, and snorted. “You do know this is a drill, yeah? Why are you giving me Terminator vibes right now?”

Zaf rose to his feet, let the vibes intensify, and said grimly, “Shut up, George.”

George shut up.

“All right. As discussed, I’m your point, timer’s set, go.” They split apart and got down to business. While George took the primary sweep, Zaf opened all exits before going to hunt down anyone who might have unregistered mobility issues. He had a database of staff and students who’d need emergency assistance in situations like this, but none of them were in the building right now. Still, there might be someone who’d broken their leg last week, or someone whose knee stopped working when it rained, or some shit like that. It was Zaf’s job to keep an eye out for those people, because, as his line manager had said, “I reckon you could lift anyone, if you had to.”

Bit presumptuous, but not exactly wrong; Zaf could do anything if he had to. Like wearing a uniform jacket that didn’t come in a size big enough to cover his wrists.

After a sweep of the building showed staff and students evacuating without issue, Zaf went back downstairs to coordinate with the professors checking their class registers. He found the pavement outside Echo a mess of pure chaos, because, routine drill or not, people loved a fuss—and, he was discovering, they rarely checked their bloody emails. Students in particular were shouting useless questions at each other, shoving like trapped animals, and generally fanning the ever-glowing coal of his anxiety.

Well, maybe it wasn’t the students doing that last part. Maybe it was the fact that he still hadn’t seen Danika evacuate, even though he knew full well she hadn’t left with her class half an hour ago.

By the time George returned, Zaf was outside scanning the crowd for cropped, pink hair while using a bellow honed on the rugby pitch to make sure everyone knew, “This is just a drill! You’re safe, and there’s no need to panic. There is no threat to you inside, but we can’t let you back in until the building is secure.”

“But you just said there’s no threat inside!” A nearby student scowled.

Obviously, one of the email ignorers. Give me bloody strength. Zaf sighed. “I know. This is part of the drill.”

“Well, if it’s all just fake, I don’t see why you can’t—”

He speared the man with his flattest look, the one that made his mother smack him on the head and call him a shark. “Do you know what the word drill means, mate?”

The guy swallowed, shrugged, and turned away.

George appeared at Zaf’s shoulder to mutter, “Anyone ever tell you that you have strong supervillain energy?”

“Be quiet. Final sweep?”

“All clear.”

Zaf studied the crowd again. “Did you see Danika? Because I haven’t.”

“Er, no.” George scratched his ear, brow furrowing. “Probably took one of the emergency exits.”

Probably should be good enough, in a situation like this, right? Clearly it was for George, because the man looked annoyingly unconcerned. For all they knew, Dani could be trapped in a supply closet by some evil academic rival whose theories she’d called “woefully uninformed.” Or maybe a cult obsessed with worshipping her had seen their chance in the chaos and swept in to steal her away. Or something.

“All right,” George was saying, “I think that went well. Let’s shut it down.”

“No.”

A slow blink. “Erm . . . pardon?”

“No,” Zaf repeated. “I’m going back in.” Yes, he was paranoid about safety, and no, he didn’t give a fuck. Maybe if everyone was paranoid about safety, his dad and big brother wouldn’t have died in a car accident seven years ago. And if that was a messed-up thought process, oh fucking well. He was a work in progress.

“Back in? Why?”

Zaf pushed through the crowd, ignoring George’s obvious confusion. “Danika Brown,” he called, his voice rising over the chatter and the sound of passing traffic. “Who’s seen her? Pink hair, teaches English lit, about this tall—”

“I know Dani!” chirped a blue-haired girl a few feet away, turning toward him. “I had a seminar with her, last period.”

Relief rolled through his body. “Did she leave with you?”

“Uh, no,” the kid said, twisting the end of her ponytail around her finger. “She stayed behind on her laptop, I think. But I’m sure she’s fine—it’s just a drill, right?”

“Yes.” Zaf nodded calmly. “This is just a drill. What floor?”

“Third. Hey, are you okay? You look—”

“I’m fine,” Zafir said over his shoulder, already running. “Remain calm,” he shouted as he raced back toward the building. He yanked open the power-assisted door so hard it actually smacked into the wall. Fuck. Had he just broken the motor? Never mind. He turned back to the crowd and reminded them, “This is just a drill!”