Code Red Lipstick by Sarah Sky

,he claimed. Ministers should realize it is impossible to conduct pioneering research without sufficient funds. If the situation continues, it will force scientists like myself into the private sector. Only then will we raise enough funds to pursue our research .
    So Sam was working at AKSC for the cash, and according to his mum’s letter, he was planning to go back to Cambridge soon. He must have earned enough to pursue his private nanotechnology research, but what was it, and why had it caught the eye of a terrorist? It must be pretty groundbreaking.
    She turned the iPad off. It’d been a good day’s sleuthing. She knew her dad’s disappearance and Lara’s death were somehow linked to Sam Bishop, who hadn’t left Paris voluntarily. If she could track down Sam, she’d probably find clues to her dad’s whereabouts too. Hopefully Margaret would be true to her word and get her a casting at AKSC. It definitely looked worth a snoop around.
    She texted Mattie to say goodnight, changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. Her phone beeped. She smiled as she read the message.
    Detention was lonely ;) Where are u?
    Becky must have given Jamie her number. She started to text her PFB back but stopped herself. What was she thinking? It was far too risky getting Jamie involved in any of this. She turned off the light and hugged her pillow. She couldn’t be distracted. She had Dad to think about. She was getting closer to finding him, she knew it.

Blood streamed down her neck as the life slowly ebbed out of her body. The vampire was moving in for another bite when a sudden movement in the corner of the room scared him off.
    â€œYou’re supposed to be biting her, not asking for directions to the supermarket!” a voice yelled in French. “I need you to look dangerous.”
    The photographer stamped his foot impatiently, making the bloodsucker jump. He bared his teeth more ferociously and lunged at her again. Jessica gagged. Ben’s breath smelt revolting. Weren’t vampires supposed to be afraid of garlic? He must have eaten a stack of garlic bread last night. She knew he’d been hailed as the new Adonis of the male modelling world with his dark, chiselled good looks, but she was thankful she just had to pretend to be bitten by him. It would have been a lot worse if they’d had to do a fake kiss. Gross!
    She moved her neck, which was at an awkward angle. She’d been squeezed into a whalebone corset, voluminous petticoats and a huge, crimson Armani Privé gown that was sprinkled with hundreds of Swarovski crystals. Her face had been powdered chalk white and her lips were a slash of glossy scarlet. More Swarovski diamonds were sprinkled in her hair, which had been curled into ringlets and piled into a towering stack. This was one of the best bits of modelling – wearing clothes she could never afford to buy herself in a zillion years and becoming someone else: a character from a different world.
    She sat at a table piled high with cream pastries, pastel-coloured macaroons, cheeses and fruit. Her stomach rumbled. This was torture. She was starving. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other models, Sara and Margurita, slumped over the table. They too were being attacked by bloodthirsty vampires during the feast. Thankfully, the photographer worked a lot faster than Sebastian Rossini. She figured they’d all spent longer in make-up and being sewn into their extravagant costumes than actually being on set because he called a wrap thirty minutes later.
    â€œSorry about that,” Ben said, wiping the fake blood from his mouth. “I had a heavy night last night and couldn’t concentrate properly. I don’t usually need so many directions.”
    He helped her out of her chair, as she could barely move. Grinning, he exposed a row of perfect, white teeth. He pushed his long black hair behind his ears. His eyes were the darkest blue she’d