“Voltaire?” I whispered, the name hanging with tension between us. We both recoiled as if struck—even the mighty detective exhibited strong surprise. My eyes darted to survey the area as I feigned a casual adjustment of my hat. Across the hall, a middle-aged man with a bowler hat made his way toward us, a slightly too-large grin stretching across his face.
A voice sliced through the air from directly behind us in response. “Ah, Carlton. Fancy running into you here.”
If not for Kyle’s grip on my arm, I would have instinctively whirled around. Holding me back firmly, he urged, “Go on ahead. I will resolve this.”
