Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(4)

“You’re wearing Adventure Time pajamas to a lab, mate. You already look like a dick, and in five minutes’ time your professor will tell you so.”

“I—what?” He looked down. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Come here.” Zaf slung the lanyard over the boy’s messy hair. “Now piss off.”

With a few glares and muttered comments, off he pissed.

Then a slow, sarcastic clap started to Zaf’s right, which was all it took for him to realize that his niece had entered the building. He turned to face her, his standard bad mood evaporating. “Fluffy! What are you doing here?”

She widened her kohl-rimmed eyes in warning, jerking her head pointedly at the group of girls behind her.

Zaf cleared his throat and fought the twitch of his lips. “Sorry. Fatima, I mean.” He gave the girls a little wave. “Hello, Fatima’s friends.”

“Will you relax?” she whispered. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“I was aiming for mortifying. I’ll have to try harder.”

She growled at him like a little lion and turned to wave off the girls. “I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?” When they nodded and melted away, she turned back to him. “I see now why you chose this job. You get to bitch at people on a professional basis.”

“Dream come true,” Zaf said dryly, and sat down. Tucked behind the tall security desk was the table he actually used for work. He tapped his computer to bring up the time . . .

Not that he was watching the clock for anyone in particular. He had absolutely no reason to do that.

“You look tired,” Fluff was saying. “Mum reckons you run yourself ragged and you’ll regret it in your old age.”

“Add it to the list. And I don’t look tired, I look mysterious.”

“Mysterious like a zombie,” Fatima said.

“You’re such a rude girl. Respect your elders.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, tilted her head mockingly, and simpered, “Please, dearest Chacha, sleep eight hours a night instead of writing charity letters or whatever it is you do, and maybe you will not be at work looking like a dead thing, inshallah.”

She was just like her father. The thought was bittersweet. “I’ll think about it. Why are you here? There’s nothing wrong, is there?” In the months since Fatima had enrolled, Zaf had only caught glimpses of her on campus from afar. He usually pantomimed his best Embarrassing Uncle routine, and she usually skulked away while shooting daggers in his direction—but now here she was, in his building. A kernel of anxiety skittered within his chest, always ready and waiting to blow. His Protective Uncle routine was even more intense than the Embarrassing Uncle one.

But Fatima rolled her eyes—she had a minor eye-rolling addiction—and sighed, “No, Chacha. Nothing is wrong. I just moved a class around to fit in Level 1 Punjabi.”

Zaf raised his eyebrows. “Your Punjabi is fine.”

“Exactly. I look forward to my distinction. Of course, I didn’t know my rescheduled lit seminar would be”—she wrinkled her nose, looking around the foyer with blatant disgust—“here.” Echo was a squat, gray relic of a building halfway down University Road where medical-science students did weird things to dead bodies and animal organs.

“Ah, it’s not so bad,” he told her cheerfully. “At least you’ll get to see your favorite uncle more often now.”

“I see you almost every day, and you are my only uncle,” she tutted, shifting her handbag from her left arm to her right. He’d told her countless times to wear a rucksack for even weight distribution, but she was a little fashion plate like her mother.

“Grouch as much as you want, Fluff. I know you love me. Now hurry up to your lesson, or you’ll be late.”

“Nag, nag, nag. This is what I get for checking on your welfare, ah?” With another epic eye roll, she turned to leave.

“Niece,” he called after her, “be good and bring me breakfast next time.”

She ignored him, increasing her pace as she walked away.

“A snack, even. Fluffball! Are you listening to me?”

The flick of her headscarf over her shoulder was an unspoken Fuck you.

And then Fatima was gone, and Zaf was alone—a realization that made him tap his computer again. If he was the type to obsess over women, he might notice that a certain someone was late, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, he rubbed at his short beard, clicked his tongue against his teeth, and checked his emails. There was a reminder from the team leader about the evacuation drill planned today, because Echo housed a ton of dangerous gases as well as weird organs. There was another email from the university’s staff rugby team, inviting him to play—but, as much as he’d like to, that might be asking for trouble. Zaf was rarely recognized these days, what with the beard, and it was almost a decade since he’d last played pro. But getting on a pitch with local rugby fans could jog someone’s memory, and if anyone said to him, “Hey, aren’t you the guy whose family died in that car crash?” he might accidentally punch them in the face.

While he trashed the email with a sigh, Echo’s automatic door heaved itself slowly open. In his peripheral vision, Zaf registered a familiar figure, and something inside him grew quiet. Watchful. Hungry.