Page 8 of Midnight Escape

Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to five in hopes that Boyle passed her and she could get the hell out of there. Of course, it hadn’t worked. He might not have noticed her, but the minister had, and issued an order. “Go to the kitchen and ask for a tray and bring it here.”

The compulsion to turn and act confused saying, “Me?” rode high. However, her professionalism stopped her from the childish act. She almost laughed out loud. Her professionalism wasn’t stopping her from walking out on this gig.

With a new plan, she’d have the chef prepare the order and be gone before it was ready, so someone else would be required to carry it to the office. Aye, that sounded perfect.

Of course, her luck kept getting worse. The chef had anticipated his boss’s request. “It’s ready for you to deliver,” the man in a pristine white shirt stated. How did these people keep their clothing so clean and white?

Oh crap. Moira swiveled her head around, hoping to find someone—anyone—to cart the rather large tray to the minister’s office. After stints with Cassie at temp serving gigs, Moira knew she could tote it, but she had no desire to do so.

The chef passed her a sympathetic gaze. “They’re making beds upstairs. You’ll have to take it yourself.”

“But I just made the beds.” The cook didn’t deserve the indignation she’d inserted into her voice.

“Remaking.”

Moira closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She’d taken those relaxing breaths one too many times today. Remaking beds. Another task gone arseways. Although, after today’s disaster, and Cassie abandoning her, her friend would have to work to regain her position as BFF. Once she caught up with Cassie….

She should just leave without this last task. Run away and not look back. Not even ask for her pay. But, her professionalism—that kept returning—and a curiosity, that’d typically gotten her in a jam over what type of conversation was occurring in the office, kept her there. Government leaders and a known criminal?

Maybe the leaders had a sting in process for Boyle. Wouldn’t that be cool to witness? That arrest would be worth the hellish day she’d spent cleaning. A slight eagerness crept into her that she knew she should ignore, but she didn’t always listen to reason—even from herself.

Before she turned away, the chef reached across the kitchen island and pulled something from an oddly out of place decorative box. “Here.”

Moira wanted to kiss him. Their phones. Although Cassie would be searching, she wouldn’t allow them to remain until her friend found them. Just in case. After accepting them, she dropped both mobiles in her apron pocket. “Thank you.”

“Before I could give them to your friend, she got caught by—”

“Let me guess,” Moira interrupted. “Miss Smellsalot.” She nearly slapped her hand over her mouth for the slip. These people worked together. Who knew? They could even be married or something.

The chef chuckled and nodded. “That’s a good one. Cassie rushed out of here without the phones.”

“Right.” With a brief nod to the chef as he turned away, Moira left the chef lover’s kitchen, wondering if Cassie planned to return for the phones or abandon them. That’d be the first thing she’d ask her when they met up for their late lunch. She hefted the tray and hoped this trip would be worth something more than a few minutes pay.

Close to her destination, Moira slowed her steps, her heart thudding loudly in her chest, and while excited something big might happen, fear drizzled down her spine. That made no sense to her. It was only delivering a tray of tea and light snacks. Sure, there were powerful people in the room, but that shouldn’t drive her emotions back and forth. Then it hit her. She worried about being caught earwigging. Well, she’d just have to be sneaky about it.

The office door stood open a crack, and she didn’t want to push her way through without permission. Plus, they’d probably quit talking when she entered.

Not willing to juggle a large tray full of afternoon tea on one arm so she could knock with the other, she lowered the tray to the carpet.

Knowing earwigging was terrible, she couldn’t help herself. An opportunity like this didn’t happen often. After a couple of minutes and disappointed she couldn’t make out the words, she raised her hand to knock. Time to just get out of here. She could always tell Cassie, who had been in the room, and see what Quinn had to say about it. He’d probably be more in the know working as a junior minister under Donnelly.

Wait!She nearly snapped her fingers.

Dropping her hand, she reached into her apron for her phone. Maybe it would pick up the conversation and she could listen to it later at a higher volume. If it worked, she’d have some nugget of information for her brother. If she caught the sting, or whatever happened, it would put a smile on Declan’s face. He needed something to lift his spirit. He’d been blue lately, and while he argued to the contrary, she saw it in his eyes, forced smiles, and voice.

She could already hear him accusing, “You wereearwiggingagain. Aye?”

Finding the recording app, she stepped over the tray and moved the phone closer to the sliver of open doorway. While itching to open the door more, she wouldn’t dare and potentially be caught.

At the few words she’d made out clearly, she glanced nervously up and down the hall. She had to move because she didn’t want to be standing here if one of the three—or all—exited the room and saw her. They’d know she’d heard them. She couldn’t even imagine if they knew she recorded their conversation.

Bored and disappointed that she couldn’t understand more, she decided her departure was well overdue. She’d knock and get this done. If the recorder picked up any words, she wouldn’t have wasted her time.

“You said you knew who the fuck is sleeping with my daughter.” She couldn’t make out the raging voice. It had to be Boyle or Fitzgerald, as she’d heard Donnelly on television often enough, plus the voice had definitely been masculine.

Although it sounded like juicy gossip, a knot inside her belly told her to get the heck out of there. It had been the tone of the voice. Menacing. Angry. Accusing.

Listening to that warning, she dropped her phone back into her pocket and decided to leave the tray where she’d placed it near the door and depart. Screw professionalism. She’d left it in the kitchen when she’d decided to play snoop.

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