Free The 39 Clues: Cahills vs. Vespers Book 2: A King's Ransom by Jude Watson

dashboard.
    “We’re supposed to be a diversion,” Jonah said. “Got to make an entrance. Can’t do that in a minivan, Giganto Boy. Can’t do much of anything in a minivan except look about as uncool as it gets.”
    “Hey! My dad drives a minivan.”
    “Snap.”
    “I guess I get your point,” Hamilton said as Jonah floored the accelerator. Eisenhower Holt was not known for his hipness. He was known for smashing the family recyclables into neat little piles. With his head.
    “I took a racing car driving course from a NASCAR dude for my movie,” Jonah said. “I spent a week learning defensive and offensive driving.” He squealed around a corner.
    “That’s great,” Hamilton said. “But can you drive like you’re not trying to kill me?”
    They zoomed onto the autobahn. Jonah slipped a CD into the player and the sounds of “Your Love Makes Me So Fly (More Than Money)” came booming out. Hamilton had to restrain himself from reaching for the earplugs he’d worn on the plane. Jonah’s music was loved by millions all over the world, but it was a mystery to him. It sounded like noise with a bass line.
    He endured three CDs before they were zipping closer to the foothills of the Alps, through scenery that even Hamilton had to admit was stunning. He appreciated power shakes and great football tackles and the way you feel after a forty-mile bike ride. Scenery wasn’t there to be admired, it was there as a backdrop for climbing, running, rowing, and picking up large objects and throwing them. But these mountains were so beautiful that he didn’t even think about how it would feel to drive a piton in them with a hammer.
    Up ahead they saw a yellow BMW pulled to the shoulder and a tall red-haired girl sitting on the bumper. She waved her arms at them.
    “We should stop,” Jonah yelled over the music.
    “No way,” Hamilton said. “We’re on a Cahill mission.”
    “We have time to give her a lift to the next gas station,” Jonah said. “C’mon, Ham — she’s a damsel in distress. Where’s your Samaritan spirit?”
    “I don’t think — ” Hamilton started, but Jonah was already crossing a lane of traffic and pulling over.
    The girl slid off the bumper as they came closer. Her jeans were tucked into soft leather boots. Her sweater fell alluringly off one shoulder. Hamilton gulped. Her hair, skin, and teeth were perfect. Her eyes were a vivid green.
    “Nice ride,” Jonah remarked. He paused, as though waiting for the girl to recognize him.
    “Eet would be nicer if it had
le gas
,” the girl said in a French accent. “I’m on my way to Salzburg for a shoot.” Her gaze flickered past Jonah, and Hamilton saw surprise on his face that she didn’t instantly recognize him.
    “Shooting what?” Hamilton asked. “Ducks?”
    “A tire catalog.” She shrugged. “Not so exciting. But eet pays the bills when you’re a model.”
    “You’re a model? Never would have guessed,” Jonah said in a lazy, teasing voice that caused Hamilton’s head to swivel. He’d never seen Jonah flirt before.
    The girl tilted her head. The glossy hair spilled down one bare shoulder. “
Un moment …
you look familiar.”
    Jonah grinned. “Yeah?”
    “’Ave we met?” Are you an ’airdresser?”
    “A
hairdresser
?” Jonah choked out.
    “Guys, we’d better get going,” Hamilton said.
    “The name is Jonah,” Jonah said, pronouncing his name carefully. He waited for a sign of recognition.
    “Nicole.”
    “Jonah
Wizard.”
    Nicole squinted at him. “You are a
wee-zhard?
Like the Harry Potter,
non
?”
    “I’m Hamilton,” Hamilton said, even though nobody asked.
    Nicole looked at her watch. “I am so very late now!”
    “Let’s bounce,” Jonah said. “We’ll give you a ride to the next gas station. So, where are you from, Nicole? I’ve been all over France.”
    “I am from Paris.”
    “Score! They love your boy in Paris!”
    Jonah trailed after Nicole, who leaned against the bumper to apply lipstick.