She looked straight into my eyes for three seconds, then turned on her heel and walked quickly toward the double doors into the kitchen.

“Give me a minute,” I told Frank.

“Where are you going?” Frank asked, glancing up from the wet napkin.

“We’ve still got six pages of terms.”

I didn’t answer.

I pushed my way out of the booth and walked past two full tables toward the swinging stainless steel kitchen doors.

The kitchen smelled of seared beef and lemon dish soap.

Cooks squeezed past me with aluminum trays, but I kept my eyes on the red exit sign at the far end of the prep line.