License to Thrill (12 page)

“Mom's got a boutique here in London, so she arranged to have her samples messengered over today,” Theresa explained.

“What do you think of these?” Caylin asked, pointing to the large cat eye glasses perched on her nose. “Nonprescription.”

Theresa laughed. “
Très
chic.” She leaned over and grabbed a chartreuse boa from the stack. “How about this?” she asked, rolling her eyes as she wrapped it around her neck. “Is it me?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jo gushed, chuckling. “Watch out,
world—because the Spy Girls are glamming up tonight!”

“No way will Jonathon Nicholson recognize us under all this glitz and glimmer,” Caylin chirped as she balanced a vinyl poor boy cap on top of a towering bouffant wig.

Well, one thing's for sure—we'll get noticed, Theresa mused as she checked out her too flashy reflection in the mirror.
And
if
Jonathon
notices us, will he end up
recognizing
us too?

•  •  •

As Caylin entered Simpsons-in-the-Strand she almost burst out laughing. The restaurant was totally pretentious—huge abstract mural on the wall, well-coiffed diners in black clothes, tiny entrees on big plates with bigger price tags. It could have just as easily been in L.A. or New York—places like this were all the same.

“May I help you?” the snooty hostess inquired, looking them up and down sourly.

“Reservation for three. Stevens,” Jo replied, her tone just as stuffy as the hostess's expression.

“Yes,” she said, giving them one more sweeping glance. “Right this way.”

As they followed the hostess across the restaurant Caylin felt as though every person in the room had turned to watch them being seated. “Maybe we overdid it,” she whispered, feeling a bit exposed in her pink wig, white vinyl dress, and pink platform boots.

“I don't think so,” Jo said, shaking her cherry red wig and smoothing out her matching red vinyl jumper.

“Well, I for one feel like a Slip 'N Slide from third grade,” Theresa joked, obviously referring to her bright yellow vinyl pants, matching baby T, and white Marilyn Monroe wig.

“Hey—there he is. Three o'clock.” Caylin motioned slightly to a table for two in the corner where Jonathon was getting cozy with a striking redhead.

Theresa immediately started snapping pictures with the special salt-and-pepper-shaker cameras she had whipped out of her bag and placed on the table. “What's our next move?” she asked. “Maybe we should send two drinks to Jonathon's table anonymously, only we bug the glasses first.”

“I don't know,” Caylin began, her heart pounding.
“After what happened the other day, I think Jonathon's got his back up about this bugging thing.”

“Not to worry—I've got the power accessory of the day, ladies.” Jo waved a large, garish-looking costume ring under Caylin's nose. “It's really a long-range audio surveillance device. All I have to do is aim it in their direction and voilà.”

“But how are we supposed to hear anything?” Caylin asked.

“The audio feeds straight into this.” She pulled back a few wisps of cherry red “hair” to reveal an elaborate jeweled earpiece. “It's hideous, I know. Thank goodness it's hidden by the wig.”

“Yeah, The Tower
is
kind of behind in the style department,” Caylin said with a laugh.

“May I take your order?” a tall, waifish waitress inquired.

“We need a few minutes,” Theresa requested.

The waitress departed, and Jo's brow wrinkled in concentration. “I'm starting to get a feed,” she whispered. “Okay. It's working.”

Caylin leaned over excitedly. “Are they talking about the disc?”

“Has he noticed us?” Theresa whispered, feeling like a sitting duck in her bright yellow ensemble.

“Give me a second,” Jo admonished, putting her finger to her lips. She smiled. “Well, she
is
someone special.”

“A coconspirator?” Caylin guessed. “A secret love?”

“Alfred's wife?” Theresa blabbed, shrugging as everyone turned to give her blank stares. “Well, he could have a wife, you know.”

“Wrong on all counts. She's an old friend from high school who just arrived in London for a fellowship.”

“Think it's a cover-up?” Caylin asked, eyeing the woman suspiciously.

“Highly unlikely,” Jo said. “They're talking about old times—the prom, homeroom teachers, stuff like that. I think she's legit.”

Theresa ran her hands through her wig frantically, sending it slightly off-kilter. “You mean I got dressed in this getup for nothing?”

Caylin smiled. “I happen to like this look and the fact that we're out together. So we went on a hunch and were wrong—big deal! At least we'll get some good eats out of the bargain.”

“True and true again,” Theresa agreed. “Now get that waitress over here. I'm a starvin' Marvin, and the chocolate mousse on that dessert tray has been taunting me.”

Caylin's eyes wandered around the restaurant. Suddenly she spotted a familiar brunette parked at the far end of the bar. Short Hair! Their disguises weren't fooling anyone after all.

“Jo and T., there—at the bar—Short Hair!” Caylin whispered, pointing to the far end, where only a half-full glass and an empty bar stool sat. “Darn!”

“Where?” Theresa said. “
The
Short Hair? I don't see her.”

“She was right there,” Caylin insisted, her nerves jangling. “Let me go look around.”

Caylin did a tour of duty around the restaurant but returned a few minutes later, defeated. “She's nowhere to be found. Maybe she's the one who sent Jo the chocolates. Like, she's working with Antonio or something.”

Jo's face fell. “No, I'm pretty much convinced that this woman is involved with Jonathon. And if she knows we're here, then
he
might know we're here.”

“At this point I think it's safe to assume everyone's
involved with everyone,” Theresa suggested. “Let's blow this joint. I'll choose personal safety over chocolate mousse, no matter how painful the decision.”

•  •  •

When they arrived back at the hotel after grabbing fish-and-chips at the neighborhood pub, the labs were awaiting them.

“Well, it was lucky you didn't eat those chocolates, Jo,” Theresa said as she inspected the pages from The Tower's lab.

“What is it?” Jo asked. “Not a love potion, I'm guessing.”

“It turns out the chocolate was full of an elaborate chemical concoction dominated mainly by benazathol, kyryzalophin, and phyloranine. A signature cocktail—the kind of thing only used by spies and terrorists. Your average joe couldn't get this kind of thing on the street . . . or even on this side of the world.”

“What would it have done to me?” Jo whispered, trembling.

“It would have paralyzed you at first, then worked almost like a truth serum. But three hours after you ingested it, you would have been dead.”

“Oh, my gosh.” Jo's blood chilled to below freezing. “Death by chocolate. For real.” Tears welled up in her eyes. She'd come so close. . . .

Theresa wrapped her in a hug. “Hey, I was going to eat them, too, remember?”

“But you didn't, and that's what counts,” Caylin said. “Listen, these people are playing for keeps. They don't care who they hurt to come out on top. And if we let them walk all over us, we should just hang this gig up right now. I, for one, am
not
going to allow that to happen. Are you with me?”

“I am,” Theresa vowed.

Jo gulped as an image of her father flashed before her eyes. “Count me in,” she said, her resolve strengthening. She wasn't going to let anyone walk on her again—especially not Antonio. And on Monday she was prepared to hit him with the crudest joke she could play on him—surviving.

“Antonio, you devil, you,” Jo cooed as she leaned against his desk first thing on Monday morning. He looked up at her and half gasped. She could practically feel the shock radiating off him.

“N-Natascia, hi,” he stammered. “What's up?”

“Oh . . . not much,” she insisted. “I just have some great news for you.”

“And what is that, exactly?” he asked, his expression darkening.

“I finally tried those chocolates you gave me,” she said, running a finger up his arm. “I wolfed down
every single last one
of them. All by my lonesome. Mmmm . . . they really were yummy to my tummy.”

“Uh, that's . . . great,” he muttered. His jaw sagged a little bit to the left.

“Thanks again, sweetie.” She winked at him and sauntered over to her cubicle. There. Things were out in the open now. Seeing the look on his face made her brush with death almost totally worth it. She wished she knew what he was thinking now. He was probably going nuts trying to figure out who she was, what she knew, and why she hadn't perished from his spiked sweets. Probably questioning his masculinity or something, too.

Feeling empowered, Jo began sifting through the file cabinets in the office for info about the green room. She'd avoided the files thus far for fear of being caught. But today was the day to live on the edge. Finally, after searching through three full filing cabinets, she discovered a Spanish file marked
verde.
As she opened it slowly her heart nearly jumped in her throat. There,
en español
, were all the vital green room stats.

Jo, looking around the room to make sure she wasn't being watched, smiled triumphantly and slipped the document in her purse. She was going to find that disc before Antonio did, even if she had to die trying. She'd come close enough already.

•  •  •

As soon as Caylin and Theresa arrived at the Ritz on Monday evening Jo immediately sat them down on the living room floor. “Brace yourselves,” she said. “I hit pay dirt.”

Caylin held her breath. “What'd you find?”

“This,” Jo said, extracting a piece of paper from her pocket. “
En español.
Green room vitals. How many entrances the floor has, its exact location, and—presto!—the company who installed the security system.”

Theresa's mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Ohmigosh, it's too good to be true!”

“Rock on!” Caylin cheered. “This could be the key to finding our disc!”

“So what do we do next?” Jo asked, rubbing her hands together.

Theresa drifted away in thought for a moment. “I know. One of us should call to confirm the green room's security system ASAP. Once we've gotten that info, we move from there.”

•  •  •

“Hello, this is Verna Frazier,” Theresa announced in a nasal voice on Tuesday morning. “I'm an insurance clerk for the U.S. Embassy, and I need to confirm some security information.”

“Okay, let me connect you with someone who can help you,” said the Securitech receptionist.

Theresa's heart was practically pounding out of her chest, and she hoped her nervousness wasn't detectable over the phone lines.

From the red phone booth in which she was huddled, she had a perfect view of the embassy across the street. The disc is somewhere in there, she thought, exhaling deeply. She didn't take her eyes off the building until someone picked up the line.

“This is Naomi Thompson. How may I assist?”

“Yes—this is Verna Frazier,” Theresa said, making sure her voice sounded as nasally as it had before. “I'm an insurance clerk for the U.S. Embassy. I'm updating my files and need to confirm some security information.”

“What sort of information?” the woman asked, sounding suspicious.

Theresa bit her lip and looked down at the handwritten piece of paper Jo had given her. “Let's see,” she said, scanning the page. “It looks like I just need to confirm that the system in the green room is still the AC-Twenty, that there's a uniformed security guard employed twenty-four hours a day, and that the only person with authorized security clearance is William Nicholson, U.S. Ambassador.”

“And
who
are you again?” the woman asked.

Theresa clutched the receiver a little tighter, knuckles whitening. “Verna Frazier,” she repeated quickly, panic rising in her throat. “I'm an insurance clerk at the U.S. Embassy. I actually just started last week. The woman who had the job before me left the files in a wreck, and I have to turn in these reports this afternoon. So if you could help me, I'd really appreciate it.”

“Certainly, ma'am,” the woman said after a slight pause. “I can check that for you. Hold, please.”

As Muzak filled her ears Theresa took a deep breath. Please don't let her come back and bust me, she thought, crossing her fingers.

“Okay,” the woman said, returning. “The AC-Twenty
and the security guard parts are correct, but the clearance is not. Mr. William Nicholson has full clearance, and it says here the cleaning crew has limited access Thursday nights from eight to ten in the evening.”

Cleaning crew! Theresa thought, her spine tingling. Looks like they're going to have some replacements this week!

“You wouldn't happen to have the name of that cleaning crew listed there, would you?” Theresa asked, attempting to sound as off-the-cuff as she possibly could. “I should probably call to confirm a few things with them—how many are in the crew, how it's invoiced, et cetera.”

“Oh, sure,” the woman said, totally buying Theresa's whole clueless-new-clerk act. “It's Sunbeam Cleaning Company down Hollyview Road. They're top-notch. They pretty much handle all the high-security jobs in town.”

Theresa quickly scrawled the magic words on her piece of paper, then thanked the woman profusely. “You've really saved my day,” she said with a laugh, “and maybe even my
life
.”