Free License to Thrill by Elizabeth Cage Page A

anyway?”
    â€œIt’s kinda like Presidents’ Day, but it happens three times a year,” Jo explained. “Sandra told us non-Brit translators all about it.” She sighed. “Listen, change of subject. I told a huge lie today, and I’m really worried I messed up.”
    â€œWhat about?” Caylin asked, pausing in the doorway.
    â€œShe told Jonathon she spoke Arabic,” Theresa said. “I told her it was no biggie.”
    â€œWell, he asked , and I said I did just in case it had something to do with the disc,” Jo admitted, stomach clenching.
    â€œYou were improvising , not screwing up,” Caylin told her. “Give me a break. You had the chance of a lifetime and you took it. I’d have done the same thing.”
    â€œYeah, I guess it’s not so bad,” Jo lied. She smiled confidently, but inside she was all butterflies. “But now I hope I don’t get to make good on it. If I have to get wired to a translator, I’ll scream. Those stupid things are so itchy, and I’d have to wear a baggy blazer to hide it.” She shivered. “If it ain’t tight, it ain’t right—that’s my motto.”
    Theresa laughed. “Hey, hurry up and get changed, Cay. I got an e-mail from Uncle Sam, and we’re supposed to check in tonight. Something about a new assignment.”
    â€œWell, do I have a story for him,” Caylin called, voice slightly muffled. “And maybe he has a story or two for us about Devaroux’s date book. I’ll be out in two shakes.”
    As soon as she returned to the living room in a sweatshirt and jeans Caylin dialed Uncle Sam. Jo’s anxiety mounted with each digit she punched.
    â€œHello, ladies,” Uncle Sam said, a Will Smith poster hanging in place of his silhouette.
    Jo laughed in spite of herself. “Whoa, Sam, cuttin’ loose!”
    â€œI always suspected you were a Man in Black,” Theresa joked.
    â€œOkay, okay—so he’s gettin’ jiggy wit’ it,” Caylin said impatiently. “Listen, something weird happened today.”
    â€œWhat is it?” Uncle Sam asked.
    â€œJonathon was completely rude to me,” she said. “This, after he was so sweet to me yesterday. The bugs are all copacetic, but still, I think he may be onto me or something.”
    â€œDon’t jump to conclusions,” Uncle Sam suggested. “Anyone else have any contact with him today?”
    Jo nodded, taking a deep breath. “Well, he came in and introduced himself, then asked us—the translators—if we spoke Arabic. Then I, uh, told him I did, even though I don’t. I just didn’t know what else to do.” She paused, feeling sick to her stomach. “I mean—I don’t speak Arabic, obviously, but what if this is the key that we need?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said after a beat, instantly alleviating Jo’s tension. “You did the right thing. We could easily cover you when the time comes. But he wasn’t rude or upset when he came into the translation office?”
    â€œQuite the contrary, really,” Jo said in relief. “All smiles.”
    â€œWell, how about you, Theresa?” Uncle Sam asked. “Anything?”
    She shook her head. “Not a thing. I guess Friday is a slow day on the phones. I have absolutely nothing to report. Not even a call from Alfred.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Uncle Sam said. “You’ll have lots to do next week after the holiday. Caylin, I’d like you to plantsome bugs in the Nicholsons’ offices on Tuesday—those will be ready at the hotel desk Monday afternoon in a faux tube of toothpaste.”
    â€œCheck,” Caylin croaked out. She sounded almost bored by the idea. “Hey, was there any word on Devaroux’s date book?”
    â€œClean as a whistle,” Uncle Sam replied. “Nothing that appears to be of any