Midnight Girls: The Wicked Six Of All Saints Academy Part Two by Margot Drew Delaney

Author:Margot Drew Delaney [Delaney, Margot Drew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SWARM Publishing
Published: 2023-06-16T04:00:00+00:00

14

ABI / JUNE 2005

The receptionist cocks one eyebrow and purses her lips. I feign a confused expression. “I thought we had a breakfast meeting.”

“Sabrina eats breakfast at six a.m.” She looks pointedly at the clock. It’s just past eight and I’m pushing it trying to talk to Sabrina before work, but Harris himself has a breakfast meeting so I figure I have until about ten o’clock. Richie is another story but he’s not actually my boss so I’m not going to worry about him until I have to.

“Right, yeah. Coffee. Sorry.” I tap my head and grin, as if I’m some sort of happy idiot.

She eyes me with obvious suspicion. “You’re not in Sabrina’s calendar at all and she’s tied up all day.” A fake smile accompanies her next words. “I’ll ask Emilia to contact you about rescheduling.”

“Emilia?”

She narrows her eyes and hardens her voice. “If you really had an appointment with Sabrina, you’d know Emilia.”

“Emilia, of course.” I snap my fingers and smile. “That would be great.”

I’m not even close to pulling this off, I know, but I still allow myself a pulse of optimism when she picks up the phone.

“Mike?” she says into the receiver. “We’ve got another one.”

“It’s not about the fraud thing,” I say quickly.

“As soon as possible, please.”

Damn. I’m guessing Mike is one of the two security guys I saw downstairs. Maybe the one who saw me tailgating my way through the turnstiles and took chase but didn’t beat me to the elevator.

I hold up my hands. “I’m going, I’m going.”

A long shot but I had to try.

Downstairs, I pull out my phone to make a pretend call as I walk past the security desk as quickly as I can without looking like I’m fleeing, then pause just outside the main doors to consider my next move. I’ve got another hour before I have to get to the office, so should I try to talk to Daisy Demarco?

I’m about to move toward the subway entrance when I see her, lighting a cigarette as she steps out of a black town car less than ten feet away. She wears a black pantsuit with a white chiffon shirt underneath, which is drifting out at the wrists and floating along behind her from underneath the hem of the jacket. But it’s not the pantsuit I recognize, it’s the hair. Wild and red and halfway down her back in all its unrestrained chaotic glory. The inimitable Sabrina Christopher.

“Sabrina,” I call.

She turns, her face mostly shielded by dark sunglasses, slowing as she approaches the building, a long plume of smoke escaping her mouth.

“Can I—”

“Let me guess, just five minutes of my time?”

Her voice is low and sounds almost accented, as if she’s spent time abroad or had a foreign nanny growing up.

She takes a drag of her cigarette, clearly intending to finish it before she goes inside. The rate it’s disappearing, I figure I have less than a minute.

“It’s not about the fraud. It’s about All Saints.”

This gets her. She

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