Erica Cherry And Queenie Sateen

“Midnight,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll bring coffee. Black, two sugars—yours.”

Erica finally looked up. Queenie’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes—those sharp, knowing eyes—flicked over the cluttered desk, the scattered photographs, the open journal filled with cramped handwriting. erica cherry and queenie sateen

“No.” Queenie walked to the window, her silhouette crisp against the dim streetlamp glow outside. “The Valdez file. You marked three photos last night. I want to know why.” “Midnight,” she said over her shoulder